[Never............... He knows the truth about you, Rokurou Rangetsu....]
[Anyway, what even is normal?? Seiji is aware of such things; it isn't as if he hadn't watched classmates in school have normal birthdays with normal birthday parties, with friends and games and great fun. That was the sort of life that the powerless should lead. And he was different. He had power, and responsibility to that power. A responsibility to solitude.]
[It makes these interactions strange. Here he is, sleeping in this man's bed and eating the meals made for him, treating him at times as more of a servant or a keeper than anything. Stained by malice and by his own admission no longer a candidate to inherit his bloodline, Rokurou could be nothing else to him. But then, these strange softnesses come between them. They can enjoy them, in their own way.]
[They've made a good plan between them, simple as it is, so the few days that pass until Matoba's actual birthday arrives require no further planning. And yet, in the late hours where All Hallow's Eve passes into his birthday and the spirits' mischief hits its peak, something suspicious arrives from the knock of a bellhop: An unmarked, gold box, containing a set of adorable kitty-cat chocolates. Of course, Matoba ought to have expected some manner of trick on his birthday, but what comes doesn't seem... too bad, he thinks... In fact, it seems sort of fun.]
[He sits on the bed, Rokurou snoozing beside him, and reads the instructions over and over. Glancing sidelong at the man, and back to the box....... Well. It is his birthday. Shouldn't he be allowed to have a little fun?]
[Matoba was usually quite the solitary sleeper, preferring to be settled on one side of the bed on his lonesome, and not at all cuddled up to the daemon. But by the time Rokurou awakens, there's a warmth settled unusually half-over his lower half, with the occasional flick of soft fur against a hipbone, against his legs. And, he'll come to realize with more and more lucidity, a pleasurable warm wetness over his cock, flicking back and forth, and sinking over him. Just a little more than the usual blood-thickening throb of morning wood....]
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[Anyway, what even is normal?? Seiji is aware of such things; it isn't as if he hadn't watched classmates in school have normal birthdays with normal birthday parties, with friends and games and great fun. That was the sort of life that the powerless should lead. And he was different. He had power, and responsibility to that power. A responsibility to solitude.]
[It makes these interactions strange. Here he is, sleeping in this man's bed and eating the meals made for him, treating him at times as more of a servant or a keeper than anything. Stained by malice and by his own admission no longer a candidate to inherit his bloodline, Rokurou could be nothing else to him. But then, these strange softnesses come between them. They can enjoy them, in their own way.]
[They've made a good plan between them, simple as it is, so the few days that pass until Matoba's actual birthday arrives require no further planning. And yet, in the late hours where All Hallow's Eve passes into his birthday and the spirits' mischief hits its peak, something suspicious arrives from the knock of a bellhop: An unmarked, gold box, containing a set of adorable kitty-cat chocolates. Of course, Matoba ought to have expected some manner of trick on his birthday, but what comes doesn't seem... too bad, he thinks... In fact, it seems sort of fun.]
[He sits on the bed, Rokurou snoozing beside him, and reads the instructions over and over. Glancing sidelong at the man, and back to the box....... Well. It is his birthday. Shouldn't he be allowed to have a little fun?]
[Matoba was usually quite the solitary sleeper, preferring to be settled on one side of the bed on his lonesome, and not at all cuddled up to the daemon. But by the time Rokurou awakens, there's a warmth settled unusually half-over his lower half, with the occasional flick of soft fur against a hipbone, against his legs. And, he'll come to realize with more and more lucidity, a pleasurable warm wetness over his cock, flicking back and forth, and sinking over him. Just a little more than the usual blood-thickening throb of morning wood....]