Writing Letters - Taikogane/Ookurikara
2207.04.
Taikogane wakes in a quiet room, and for a moment he thinks he’s alone. The bed is empty and, blearily, he wonders if Tsumaru and Ookurikara have both let him sleep in. He turns under the duvet, and finds that the bedding next to him is still warm. He wants to stay there, still half asleep, in bedding that smells like his lovers, but if they have left him to sleep in, that means it’s time to get started with breakfast, if not morning meal, so he forces himself to open his eyes.
The room is dark, except for the light of dawn through the paper doors and the smooth, soft glow of a lamp, half covered by a shadow. Taikogane props himself up on his elbows to investigate.
He isn’t alone in the room, after all. Tsurumaru has left, maybe for someone else’s bed, or maybe just for a snack, but Ookurikara is still here. He’s sitting at the rarely-used desk, just out of arm’s reach from the bed, shoulders hunched as he scratches away at something, the sound of writing punctuated by long pauses as he thinks.
Taikogane slides out of the bed, moving soundlessly across the short distance between them. He waits for a moment when Ookurikara’s pen stops once again, then wraps his arms around the other sword’s chest.
Ookurikara stills, and Taikogane nuzzles closer, burying his face in the crook of Ookurikara’s shoulder. The thin cotton sleeping gown he wears is not enough to keep Taikogane from feeling the warmth of his skin.
“Sada,” Ookurikara says softly, greeting and admonition and so full of love, and just that is enough to make Taikogane’s chest ache.
He presses his chest to the other sword’s back, tightening his hold.
“‘Morning,” he says, his voice muffled.
Ookurikara says nothing, just tilts his head against Taikogane’s, the slightest motion like the head rub of a cat. Taikogane grins against Ookurikara’s shoulder, and returns the gesture.
“Tsuru-san?” he asks softly.
“Annoying someone else,” Ookurikara replies, but the usual gruffness in his voice is gone.
“Mmm…”
Taikogane presses in closer, and Ookurikara shifts, allowing Taikogane to slip into his lap. He curls up there, ear pressed just over Ookurikara’s heart.
“… Didn’t you want to get up?” Ookurikara says, his voice echoing in his chest.
“Mmnnn, in a bit,” Taikogane replies, twining his fingers in the front of Ookurikara’s robe. “We don’t have to get up right now, do we?”
Ookurikara is silent, and Taikogane takes that as agreement. He stays still, and Ookurikara picks up his pen again, going back to whatever it is he’s writing. It’s hard to tell with his eyes closed, but Taikogane could have sworn the other sword is smiling.
Nestled against his chest, Taikogane breathes in deeply, Ookurikara’s comforting scent that of sun-warmed sand, and stone, and metal. He can hear Ookurikara’s heart, too, and the shifting of his muscles, and for a moment he wonders, idly, what it means for a sword to have a heartbeat. But such thoughts are complicated, and the morning isn’t so long. They’ll have to part soon, one way or another, and Taikogane wants to take advantage of this as long as he can. So he brushes such thoughts aside, and lets Ookurikara hold him close.