There were a lot of things wrong with him, none of which could be explained, known, or shared. The only answer he had were ones he couldn't give: I want to be the last thing you think of before I have to kill you. I want this one good memory to follow you down.
"Nevermind. It doesn't matter."
Instead, he let the other man huff and puff and knock his hands away, wiping them clean on the nearby grass (though the temptation had been to wipe them on the other's back out of spite), and crawled off of him. It was done. Over with. Now it was time for business and the real reason he came here. Stretching out on the bedroll, he let the moonlight play over his skin as he stretched, a little pop in his back as it settled comfortably. A small smile curved at his lips, the demands forgotten.
"Lay with me," he muttered. "I'm cold."
And that was hardly unusual. Regardless of his affinity of fire, his toes and hands found themselves uncharacteristically cool. Fingers (still warned from vigorous stroking) reached out for him, drawing little fans against Tobirama's knee as he looked up at him. Coy? Maybe, but far more calm than anything else.
How long had this genjutsu been going on? How long did he have left? How long would it take to lure the truth from his lips before others came to them, either his own men or the Senju. This... this had been far too long as it was, and he knew it. Time was running short.
no subject
"Nevermind. It doesn't matter."
Instead, he let the other man huff and puff and knock his hands away, wiping them clean on the nearby grass (though the temptation had been to wipe them on the other's back out of spite), and crawled off of him. It was done. Over with. Now it was time for business and the real reason he came here. Stretching out on the bedroll, he let the moonlight play over his skin as he stretched, a little pop in his back as it settled comfortably. A small smile curved at his lips, the demands forgotten.
"Lay with me," he muttered. "I'm cold."
And that was hardly unusual. Regardless of his affinity of fire, his toes and hands found themselves uncharacteristically cool. Fingers (still warned from vigorous stroking) reached out for him, drawing little fans against Tobirama's knee as he looked up at him. Coy? Maybe, but far more calm than anything else.
How long had this genjutsu been going on? How long did he have left? How long would it take to lure the truth from his lips before others came to them, either his own men or the Senju. This... this had been far too long as it was, and he knew it. Time was running short.