tags: blood, possession, description of illness, teeth stuff, demon/spirit Makishima 508 words remix of mother_herbivore's makishima/kinjou fill here
Makishima licked the pad of his thumb and held it up to the air, looking at Kinjou all the while. “Wind coming from the south,” he said hoarsely, baring his sharp teeth.
“Thought you would have already known that,” Kinjou said with affected mildness. In truth, he could feel the beat of his heart all the way up in his throat.
Whenever they came to the mountains, Makishima would shift, bones and muscle rippling under his skin as he got more comfortable in his own shape. It wasn’t that he actually changed very much, physically speaking. It was just in the way he held himself, like he suddenly knew himself better.
It was something Kinjou enjoyed, though he knew the risks of enjoying it too much. Usually they planned their travel paths more carefully than this, tried to avoid coming across more than one mountain a month. This would be their third in two weeks.
Makishima’s smile widened, hovered on the edge of being too wide to be possible. “Need to keep you at ease,” he said, lowering his eyelids and glancing to the side. It was a coy look. “Last time you didn’t stop bleeding for two hours.”
“We’re not changing how we do this,” Kinjou said firmly.
“Ah,” Makishima said, closing his eyes. “Good.”
He turned away then, crouching on the ground to search for sticks. Makishima liked to clean his teeth to an almost obsessive extent, especially before a possession. He would chew on sticks to get the young woody fibres right between his teeth, worry away at his gums in tiny twitchy movements. Once Kinjou had commented on how squirrel-like his actions were, and Makishima had sulked for half a day even though Kinjou had meant it as a compliment. It was hard to tell what animals a mountain spirit actually liked and respected. Since then, Makishima wouldn’t let Kinjou watch any teeth-cleaning.
Instead Kinjou looked at the fall of Makishima’s hair against his bare back, how it moved in soft undulations on its own, cleverly avoiding tangles. It was something to get lost in while Makishima did his preparations.
“I’m ready,” Makishima said, licking his lips. “You?”
Kinjou nodded and sat himself down on the forest floor.
--
First came the blood, dripping weakly but consistently from his nose, always at an annoying pace. Each time he’d wipe a hand across his upper lip there’d be another trickle just as he’d lowered his arm. The wracking coughs and fever and chills came later. Whatever sleep he managed to get while twisting and turning on a bed of rotting leaves would be filled with strange, uncomfortable dreams.
But then he’d wake up to the sunlight streaming through the foliage and the clean woodsy smell of the trees. He’d wake up with an understanding of the forest around him as clear as the water from the mountain stream he used to wash off the dried blood of the night.
He couldn’t see Makishima, but he could feel him in mind and body. That would be enough.
FILL: TEAM KANZAKI MIKI/TACHIBANA AYA, G
508 words
remix of
Makishima licked the pad of his thumb and held it up to the air, looking at Kinjou all the while. “Wind coming from the south,” he said hoarsely, baring his sharp teeth.
“Thought you would have already known that,” Kinjou said with affected mildness. In truth, he could feel the beat of his heart all the way up in his throat.
Whenever they came to the mountains, Makishima would shift, bones and muscle rippling under his skin as he got more comfortable in his own shape. It wasn’t that he actually changed very much, physically speaking. It was just in the way he held himself, like he suddenly knew himself better.
It was something Kinjou enjoyed, though he knew the risks of enjoying it too much. Usually they planned their travel paths more carefully than this, tried to avoid coming across more than one mountain a month. This would be their third in two weeks.
Makishima’s smile widened, hovered on the edge of being too wide to be possible. “Need to keep you at ease,” he said, lowering his eyelids and glancing to the side. It was a coy look. “Last time you didn’t stop bleeding for two hours.”
“We’re not changing how we do this,” Kinjou said firmly.
“Ah,” Makishima said, closing his eyes. “Good.”
He turned away then, crouching on the ground to search for sticks. Makishima liked to clean his teeth to an almost obsessive extent, especially before a possession. He would chew on sticks to get the young woody fibres right between his teeth, worry away at his gums in tiny twitchy movements. Once Kinjou had commented on how squirrel-like his actions were, and Makishima had sulked for half a day even though Kinjou had meant it as a compliment. It was hard to tell what animals a mountain spirit actually liked and respected. Since then, Makishima wouldn’t let Kinjou watch any teeth-cleaning.
Instead Kinjou looked at the fall of Makishima’s hair against his bare back, how it moved in soft undulations on its own, cleverly avoiding tangles. It was something to get lost in while Makishima did his preparations.
“I’m ready,” Makishima said, licking his lips. “You?”
Kinjou nodded and sat himself down on the forest floor.
--
First came the blood, dripping weakly but consistently from his nose, always at an annoying pace. Each time he’d wipe a hand across his upper lip there’d be another trickle just as he’d lowered his arm. The wracking coughs and fever and chills came later. Whatever sleep he managed to get while twisting and turning on a bed of rotting leaves would be filled with strange, uncomfortable dreams.
But then he’d wake up to the sunlight streaming through the foliage and the clean woodsy smell of the trees. He’d wake up with an understanding of the forest around him as clear as the water from the mountain stream he used to wash off the dried blood of the night.
He couldn’t see Makishima, but he could feel him in mind and body. That would be enough.