[ D. Gray-man ] Kitten
Jan. 14th, 2008 09:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
murdering posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
cemetery_things+ Title Kitten
+ Fandom: D. Gray-man
+ Characters: Tiki Mick, Debitt, Jasdero, Rhode Kamelot, Millenium Earl
+ Rating: OT
+ Word Count: 2988
There was frost on every surface, rusting metal and rotting wood glistening with a sheen of diamonds that carried no value save the small beauty they brought to the dirt and rubbish. It was a village of the dead, a massacre of human neglect that had attacked the buildings and left the entire place in decay. The train station had fallen into a pile of blackened wood, burned by some hooligans years ago before their families had either fled or been consumed by disease. The resurrected version of this village was over the hills nearby, and the tracks of the railroad still ran along the deserted landscape as though promising that any moment the roar of the engine would return to rescue the ghosts of this place from the graveyard of plague. It was strange, how death could linger in the air for so many years, a vague stench drifting in the air that filled one’s throat and choked the clean breath from their lungs….
The footfalls were sharpened by the frozen wood, the sharp click of dress shoes audible even though the one wearing them was made invisible by the darkness of night. Shifting clouds revealed the moon in dimmed glory, revealing the walker as he paused at the platform that had once served as the entrance to the village. His hair was dark, a hue edging between black and brown reminiscent of Spanish chocolate that had been softened and twisted into impossibly soft curls. The majority of this was hidden by a tall top hat, but a few stray curls fell out from beneath to place dark shadows on the caramel tone of his skin. It was obviously habitual as the man pulled off his hat to run his fingers through the mess of curls, golden eyes scanning the wreck of buildings before him with slight annoyance in his gaze.
“Incómodo...” He sighed softly. Setting the hat back in the place with a twist to secure it, he started off into the ghost town, looking around with a soft whistle of summons. Nothing responded, the lingering silence almost deafening. A small number of houses were still standing in one part of the town, three structures that were sagging in their frames and threatening collapse at any minute. They were full of holes, most likely infested with every imaginable species of vermin native to this place, but there was a faint sound coming from within the least decrepit of the homes. The man stood completely still for a long while, simply listening to the night and skittering of rats until the noise came yet again; a creak of rotting wood, a soft whimper of desperation. He stepped carefully over the threshold to enter the house the sounds had come from, cautious of any decay that may have sent the entire place crashing down around him. “Hello?” He spoke softly as he moved up the ladder-steps to the second floor, one of the rungs giving way beneath his foot and forcing him to scramble up to avoid falling. There was the sound of something moving, or at least trying to do so, a ragged breathing before it was still again, but he could see it as he pulled himself to stand on the dangerous floor. He almost opened his mouth to remark on the difficulty he’d had, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he found the words had disappeared, swallowed by some shocked block of ice that had suddenly developed in the back of his throat. It was some sort of misperception, he was certain, but the one step he managed to take didn’t make it disappear.
There were two of them, mere boys, frail little creatures that barely seemed human beneath the ripped and torn clothing that covered their frames. Their faces were bloody, hands and arms covered with black crusts of old wounds and the seeping, damp crimson that slipped forth from the torn flesh of fresh injuries. One, seemingly the elder of the two, had somehow managed to sit up straight, back pressed to the wall as he held the other tightly in his bony arms. There was something strange about the smaller of the two: As the face barely turned to look at the intruder on their territory, the man felt his stomach turn in his gut. The lower half of the face was mutilated, entirely covered with blood and missing a mouth that had instead been replaced by zigzag indentations in the skin. Whatever had done it had been in a hurry, leaving some sort of stringy material hanging down from the face in bloody snarls, and the horror surged up once again as it tried to make some sort of crying sound. Both pairs of eyes were coated with sticky blood, barely able to open as dull gold stared out into the dark with some indescribable lack of spirit.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, the chill wind seeming to cut straight through his long winter coat as he stared at the pair before him. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself these were the wrong ones, that he had made a mistake, but there wasn’t any question in the scent and the feeling. He swallowed the lump in his throat with some effort, taking several careful steps forward to kneel before the mauled pair. The eyes were watching him, waiting for injury or threat in his actions, mistrust obvious in their gaze. There was no way he could make them trust him, or believe his good intentions, so he acted on sheer instinct, not allowing his lack of confidence to show in his actions. One gloved hand reached out, barely brushing across the blood-stiffened hair of the one sitting against the wall. He made a shushing sound as the boy flinched, letting the hand rest once again on the petite head. “Be calm, now. My name’s Tiki… I’m here to take you home.”
~+~
Carrying them both to Mitsuboshi was a task, but he somehow managed, the light frames fitting neatly beneath his arms as he kept his steps gentle enough to avoid shaking them too badly. The younger was unconscious before he’d even picked them up, but the elder of the two was a bitterly stubborn boy, eyes remaining open to watch every move Tiki made. The boy didn’t trust him in the slightest, he decided, passing through the massive door to the only place their kind could call home with ease. The warmth of the entryway washed over them like a wave of relief, a sigh passing Tiki’s lips unbidden as he closed his eyes. “Duke Millennium!” It was a call, but he didn’t bother putting much of his voice into the summoning; The Earl was probably aware of his arrival already. Rhode appeared first, at the top of the staircase in her nightgown, watching curiously before Tiki spoke to the girl. “Would you mind helping me?”
She came down the steps lightly, looking between the two forms before pointing at the youngest of the pair. “Can I have that one? It’s got longer hair.”
He was opening his mouth to refuse, but the Earl chose that exact moment for his entrance. “Oh my, two? That’s certainly unexpected! ” His broad grin said otherwise, but Tiki didn’t really care at the moment. He was tired from walking and had no patience for games.
“Then take one before I just drop them and let you take care of it by yourself!” Tiki was just losing his temper at this point, ready to make good on his threat before something quite surprising and painfully sharp sank into his leg. He felt it break the skin before he instinctively let it move through, looking down to see the stubborn brat’s teeth clenched on his pant leg with menace in his eyes. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh, how delightful! It seems he’s taken a liking to you, Tiki-pon! ” The Earl clapped his hands with sheer enthusiasm, earning himself a less than enthused glare from the Noah being addressed.
“Don’t call me that, Duke. And yes, Rhode, you can have this one.” He set the smallest of the pair down gently on the floor, smiling just a bit snarkily as he straightened and moved toward the stairs. “Be sure he gets cleaned up and bandaged.” Killing two birds with one stone was perfectly within boundaries, he decided, feeling the complete rage emanating from his passenger at being separated from his brother- or perhaps it was the fact that he was being carried up the stairs like a bag of rice under Tiki’s arm. The man sighed, shifting his grip so the sickly boy was draped in his arms like a rag doll.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, really. Tiki was supposed to just pick up these kids and then get back to his friends in Benavente, not babysitting a little boy with the personality of a feral cat. He didn’t bother opening the door to his room, simply walking through the locked door and dropping the boy onto the bedspread with a sound of relief. Now he just had to- what, exactly? The Noah contemplated the bloody doll strewn on the bed, wondering exactly how he should begin the obviously arduous task. “Sangue nas folhas…” He muttered to himself, not bothering with English when he knew the boy wouldn’t be responding to whatever language he chose. “First we’ll get that blood cleaned up.” Tiki shrugged the black overcoat from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle of silk lining and wool. His dress shirt took a bit more effort, the buttons fighting against their freedom, but that was soon discarded as well. Careful steps carried him to the bathroom, the sound of running water soon following through the doorway he had disappeared through. Light began to appear through the rectangle, candles being lit to maintain some light without the blaring annoyance of the electric bulbs. The dull eyes were watching him as he emerged once again, apparently not at all impressed by the sleek figure that had been revealed. Tiki wasn’t aiming to impress, though, which he made quite clear as he moved over to start gently removing the tattered rags from the boy’s skeletal frame.
“What’s your name, boy?” It was a casual question, but he was curious to know. The answer didn’t come, as he had expected would happen, but as he moved to begin tearing down the seam of a rag around the boy’s neck the damn teeth scraped his flesh again. Tiki brought his hand up in a jerking motion, the knuckles tapping the jaw hard enough to sting but coming nowhere near the force of a harsh blow. A gasping yelp was the reaction Tiki had anticipated, but the terrified shaking was far from the norm. He hesitated as the last of the fabric tore away, eyes watching the cringing child with slight guilt in his chest. “Don’t be like that…” He felt a bit bad for it now, but there wasn’t any way he could simply allow the boy to bite people like that. “Stop it. I won’t hit you again if you won’t bite me, alright?” The pants and boxers were delicately discarded; the consideration being that he didn’t feel enough motivation to actually have to dry them out once he was finished. Careful handling brought the boy into his arms, allowing him no room for another teething assault as Tiki carried him to the bathroom. Stepping over the edge of the basin and into the steaming water, he sank into the bubbles with a content sigh. One foot reached to turn off the tap as he leaned back against the far end of the tub, positioning the child to ensure his head was above the water. The bony jut of a spine pressed against the bare skin of Tiki's torso, a bumpy line of protrusion that was interrupted on occasion by the scabby remains of some injury. Wrapping a strong arm around the emaciated frame, Tiki pulled the boy close, almost able to feel the movement of frail lungs beneath the fragile ribcage as little ragged breaths shifted between the skin. "Criança doente… Que lhe aconteceu?" His only response was a glare, accompanied by a snarl in the back of the child's throat. Opening one eye, Tiki glanced at the reaction to his inquiry. Could it be he actually understood...?
The blood soaked away, puffing up as water filled the spaces between long-dried crimson and skin, black bits floating to the surface of the water in clumps before disappearing to a small filtering hole in the side of the bath. Tiki waited, eyes closed, until the boy was almost asleep on top of him, one hand reaching out to draw the sponge into the water with a sigh. “No biting, gatinho selvagem.” It was a gentle reminder, the soft sponge being guided over sensitive and stinging wounds by gentle hands as the last of the blood and dirt disappeared into the depths of Mitsuboshi’s tunnels. The hands even moved upward to the matted, gnarled hair, massaging shampoo and oils into it for what had to be hours before the tangles finally began to unravel, falling into long dark locks to the center of his back. Despite his efforts, even Tiki couldn’t amend all the damage that had been done; Piece by piece, the mange was cut away, falling to the water’s surface in knotted masses of blood, dirt, sweat, and excrement. It was pitiful, how still the boy was, staring straight ahead with stubborn indifference until it was at last the end. The water had long since turned cool, and as Tiki stood to dry him out the boy was drawn forth as well to be supported in his arms. The bathwater began disappearing almost immediately, fascinating the boy as it sucked downward and disappeared into the dark. Tiki made sure he was completely dried, every bare inch meticulously wiped clean and dry. The roll of cotton bandaging was conveniently placed in a basket near the bath, ready for any incident in which Tiki may have returned to this place with a wound, but he wasn't the one in need at the moment... The boy was lowered to sit on Tiki's crossed legs, leaning against his shoulder as the elder Noah carried out his work. The clean fabric soon covered the bleeding spots, self-inflicted cuts, scratches, bitemarks disappearing beneath the white bandages, a lingering scent of medical alcohol in the air. He saved the final wounds for last, the thin blood trailing down from the crosses on his forehead as though they were marks left from a crown of thorns. It was a sentimental moment for Tiki, though he couldn't place why; A memory of the blood on his own face, the stinging in his eyes. The boy's gaze was still distrustful, blinking sharply as a few drops of crimson fell past his lashes, but the expression quickly changed to one of shock as Tiki bent his head.
The sharp, metallic taste burned on the tip of Tiki's tongue, catching the droplets that had been creeping downward before moving to clean the trails they had left from the boy's brow. Withdrawing with a soft swallow for only a moment, the attentions returned with a brush of lips against the sensitive skin. The little body shuddered in his grip, a soft breath of surprise released as the tongue traced the deep lines of the cuts with attentive care. After each individual marking was clean, the silken lips brushed the center of the cross, holding the blessing for only a moment before the tongue would emerge again to produce another sharp breath, another shiver of naive sensation running over flesh. It was tempting innocence, the little breaths of naivete almost begging Tiki to make the boy's snippy personality disappear in cries and whimpers of helpless pleading, but he wouldn't be so harsh quite yet. The child needed to heal and gain some semblance of health before he learned his place. He drew the bandages around the boy's brow with care, gathering him once more to be carried to the bed. A pair of boxers and an oversized shirt were the best he could manage for the child's nightclothes at the moment, though Tiki drew on his own pajamas once the boy was clothed. It was reminiscent of arranging a doll for sleep, pulling the limp form beneath the sheets, positioning his head on the pillow, checking the bandages once more before settling down beside him. Tiki was almost drifting into sleep when he heard the boy whisper something beside him.
“What now, gatinho?” He muttered, wondering what was wrong.
“D- Debitt-“ It was barely a wheeze, a pathetic sound in a dry throat. “M’… Debitt...”
Tiki smiled softly, a hand reaching over to rest on the bony chest with gentle fingers. There was the heartbeat, the even breathing- They wouldn't stop in the middle of the night, he was certain, but there was a lingering concern that came more from instinct than his own knowledge. "Go to sleep, Debitt. In the morning, I'll make you something warm for breakfast."
The breaths were already even, the eyes closed at last in sleep. Tiki watched his face, waiting until the darkness claimed him as well, hand still keeping check on the rhythm of survival at his fingertips. A feeling in Tiki's chest was curling about, some long-forgotten sensation that shifted from tickling gas to a solid weight. Concern... His eyes fluttered shut with a muffled yawn, a bit of hair falling into his face as he felt sleep pulling him downward. He was actually worried about the brat. The Noah barely breathed one word, an exhale of slight resignation to the night.
"Incómodo..."
+ Fandom: D. Gray-man
+ Characters: Tiki Mick, Debitt, Jasdero, Rhode Kamelot, Millenium Earl
+ Rating: OT
+ Word Count: 2988
There was frost on every surface, rusting metal and rotting wood glistening with a sheen of diamonds that carried no value save the small beauty they brought to the dirt and rubbish. It was a village of the dead, a massacre of human neglect that had attacked the buildings and left the entire place in decay. The train station had fallen into a pile of blackened wood, burned by some hooligans years ago before their families had either fled or been consumed by disease. The resurrected version of this village was over the hills nearby, and the tracks of the railroad still ran along the deserted landscape as though promising that any moment the roar of the engine would return to rescue the ghosts of this place from the graveyard of plague. It was strange, how death could linger in the air for so many years, a vague stench drifting in the air that filled one’s throat and choked the clean breath from their lungs….
The footfalls were sharpened by the frozen wood, the sharp click of dress shoes audible even though the one wearing them was made invisible by the darkness of night. Shifting clouds revealed the moon in dimmed glory, revealing the walker as he paused at the platform that had once served as the entrance to the village. His hair was dark, a hue edging between black and brown reminiscent of Spanish chocolate that had been softened and twisted into impossibly soft curls. The majority of this was hidden by a tall top hat, but a few stray curls fell out from beneath to place dark shadows on the caramel tone of his skin. It was obviously habitual as the man pulled off his hat to run his fingers through the mess of curls, golden eyes scanning the wreck of buildings before him with slight annoyance in his gaze.
“Incómodo...” He sighed softly. Setting the hat back in the place with a twist to secure it, he started off into the ghost town, looking around with a soft whistle of summons. Nothing responded, the lingering silence almost deafening. A small number of houses were still standing in one part of the town, three structures that were sagging in their frames and threatening collapse at any minute. They were full of holes, most likely infested with every imaginable species of vermin native to this place, but there was a faint sound coming from within the least decrepit of the homes. The man stood completely still for a long while, simply listening to the night and skittering of rats until the noise came yet again; a creak of rotting wood, a soft whimper of desperation. He stepped carefully over the threshold to enter the house the sounds had come from, cautious of any decay that may have sent the entire place crashing down around him. “Hello?” He spoke softly as he moved up the ladder-steps to the second floor, one of the rungs giving way beneath his foot and forcing him to scramble up to avoid falling. There was the sound of something moving, or at least trying to do so, a ragged breathing before it was still again, but he could see it as he pulled himself to stand on the dangerous floor. He almost opened his mouth to remark on the difficulty he’d had, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he found the words had disappeared, swallowed by some shocked block of ice that had suddenly developed in the back of his throat. It was some sort of misperception, he was certain, but the one step he managed to take didn’t make it disappear.
There were two of them, mere boys, frail little creatures that barely seemed human beneath the ripped and torn clothing that covered their frames. Their faces were bloody, hands and arms covered with black crusts of old wounds and the seeping, damp crimson that slipped forth from the torn flesh of fresh injuries. One, seemingly the elder of the two, had somehow managed to sit up straight, back pressed to the wall as he held the other tightly in his bony arms. There was something strange about the smaller of the two: As the face barely turned to look at the intruder on their territory, the man felt his stomach turn in his gut. The lower half of the face was mutilated, entirely covered with blood and missing a mouth that had instead been replaced by zigzag indentations in the skin. Whatever had done it had been in a hurry, leaving some sort of stringy material hanging down from the face in bloody snarls, and the horror surged up once again as it tried to make some sort of crying sound. Both pairs of eyes were coated with sticky blood, barely able to open as dull gold stared out into the dark with some indescribable lack of spirit.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, the chill wind seeming to cut straight through his long winter coat as he stared at the pair before him. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself these were the wrong ones, that he had made a mistake, but there wasn’t any question in the scent and the feeling. He swallowed the lump in his throat with some effort, taking several careful steps forward to kneel before the mauled pair. The eyes were watching him, waiting for injury or threat in his actions, mistrust obvious in their gaze. There was no way he could make them trust him, or believe his good intentions, so he acted on sheer instinct, not allowing his lack of confidence to show in his actions. One gloved hand reached out, barely brushing across the blood-stiffened hair of the one sitting against the wall. He made a shushing sound as the boy flinched, letting the hand rest once again on the petite head. “Be calm, now. My name’s Tiki… I’m here to take you home.”
~+~
Carrying them both to Mitsuboshi was a task, but he somehow managed, the light frames fitting neatly beneath his arms as he kept his steps gentle enough to avoid shaking them too badly. The younger was unconscious before he’d even picked them up, but the elder of the two was a bitterly stubborn boy, eyes remaining open to watch every move Tiki made. The boy didn’t trust him in the slightest, he decided, passing through the massive door to the only place their kind could call home with ease. The warmth of the entryway washed over them like a wave of relief, a sigh passing Tiki’s lips unbidden as he closed his eyes. “Duke Millennium!” It was a call, but he didn’t bother putting much of his voice into the summoning; The Earl was probably aware of his arrival already. Rhode appeared first, at the top of the staircase in her nightgown, watching curiously before Tiki spoke to the girl. “Would you mind helping me?”
She came down the steps lightly, looking between the two forms before pointing at the youngest of the pair. “Can I have that one? It’s got longer hair.”
He was opening his mouth to refuse, but the Earl chose that exact moment for his entrance. “Oh my, two? That’s certainly unexpected! ” His broad grin said otherwise, but Tiki didn’t really care at the moment. He was tired from walking and had no patience for games.
“Then take one before I just drop them and let you take care of it by yourself!” Tiki was just losing his temper at this point, ready to make good on his threat before something quite surprising and painfully sharp sank into his leg. He felt it break the skin before he instinctively let it move through, looking down to see the stubborn brat’s teeth clenched on his pant leg with menace in his eyes. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh, how delightful! It seems he’s taken a liking to you, Tiki-pon! ” The Earl clapped his hands with sheer enthusiasm, earning himself a less than enthused glare from the Noah being addressed.
“Don’t call me that, Duke. And yes, Rhode, you can have this one.” He set the smallest of the pair down gently on the floor, smiling just a bit snarkily as he straightened and moved toward the stairs. “Be sure he gets cleaned up and bandaged.” Killing two birds with one stone was perfectly within boundaries, he decided, feeling the complete rage emanating from his passenger at being separated from his brother- or perhaps it was the fact that he was being carried up the stairs like a bag of rice under Tiki’s arm. The man sighed, shifting his grip so the sickly boy was draped in his arms like a rag doll.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, really. Tiki was supposed to just pick up these kids and then get back to his friends in Benavente, not babysitting a little boy with the personality of a feral cat. He didn’t bother opening the door to his room, simply walking through the locked door and dropping the boy onto the bedspread with a sound of relief. Now he just had to- what, exactly? The Noah contemplated the bloody doll strewn on the bed, wondering exactly how he should begin the obviously arduous task. “Sangue nas folhas…” He muttered to himself, not bothering with English when he knew the boy wouldn’t be responding to whatever language he chose. “First we’ll get that blood cleaned up.” Tiki shrugged the black overcoat from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle of silk lining and wool. His dress shirt took a bit more effort, the buttons fighting against their freedom, but that was soon discarded as well. Careful steps carried him to the bathroom, the sound of running water soon following through the doorway he had disappeared through. Light began to appear through the rectangle, candles being lit to maintain some light without the blaring annoyance of the electric bulbs. The dull eyes were watching him as he emerged once again, apparently not at all impressed by the sleek figure that had been revealed. Tiki wasn’t aiming to impress, though, which he made quite clear as he moved over to start gently removing the tattered rags from the boy’s skeletal frame.
“What’s your name, boy?” It was a casual question, but he was curious to know. The answer didn’t come, as he had expected would happen, but as he moved to begin tearing down the seam of a rag around the boy’s neck the damn teeth scraped his flesh again. Tiki brought his hand up in a jerking motion, the knuckles tapping the jaw hard enough to sting but coming nowhere near the force of a harsh blow. A gasping yelp was the reaction Tiki had anticipated, but the terrified shaking was far from the norm. He hesitated as the last of the fabric tore away, eyes watching the cringing child with slight guilt in his chest. “Don’t be like that…” He felt a bit bad for it now, but there wasn’t any way he could simply allow the boy to bite people like that. “Stop it. I won’t hit you again if you won’t bite me, alright?” The pants and boxers were delicately discarded; the consideration being that he didn’t feel enough motivation to actually have to dry them out once he was finished. Careful handling brought the boy into his arms, allowing him no room for another teething assault as Tiki carried him to the bathroom. Stepping over the edge of the basin and into the steaming water, he sank into the bubbles with a content sigh. One foot reached to turn off the tap as he leaned back against the far end of the tub, positioning the child to ensure his head was above the water. The bony jut of a spine pressed against the bare skin of Tiki's torso, a bumpy line of protrusion that was interrupted on occasion by the scabby remains of some injury. Wrapping a strong arm around the emaciated frame, Tiki pulled the boy close, almost able to feel the movement of frail lungs beneath the fragile ribcage as little ragged breaths shifted between the skin. "Criança doente… Que lhe aconteceu?" His only response was a glare, accompanied by a snarl in the back of the child's throat. Opening one eye, Tiki glanced at the reaction to his inquiry. Could it be he actually understood...?
The blood soaked away, puffing up as water filled the spaces between long-dried crimson and skin, black bits floating to the surface of the water in clumps before disappearing to a small filtering hole in the side of the bath. Tiki waited, eyes closed, until the boy was almost asleep on top of him, one hand reaching out to draw the sponge into the water with a sigh. “No biting, gatinho selvagem.” It was a gentle reminder, the soft sponge being guided over sensitive and stinging wounds by gentle hands as the last of the blood and dirt disappeared into the depths of Mitsuboshi’s tunnels. The hands even moved upward to the matted, gnarled hair, massaging shampoo and oils into it for what had to be hours before the tangles finally began to unravel, falling into long dark locks to the center of his back. Despite his efforts, even Tiki couldn’t amend all the damage that had been done; Piece by piece, the mange was cut away, falling to the water’s surface in knotted masses of blood, dirt, sweat, and excrement. It was pitiful, how still the boy was, staring straight ahead with stubborn indifference until it was at last the end. The water had long since turned cool, and as Tiki stood to dry him out the boy was drawn forth as well to be supported in his arms. The bathwater began disappearing almost immediately, fascinating the boy as it sucked downward and disappeared into the dark. Tiki made sure he was completely dried, every bare inch meticulously wiped clean and dry. The roll of cotton bandaging was conveniently placed in a basket near the bath, ready for any incident in which Tiki may have returned to this place with a wound, but he wasn't the one in need at the moment... The boy was lowered to sit on Tiki's crossed legs, leaning against his shoulder as the elder Noah carried out his work. The clean fabric soon covered the bleeding spots, self-inflicted cuts, scratches, bitemarks disappearing beneath the white bandages, a lingering scent of medical alcohol in the air. He saved the final wounds for last, the thin blood trailing down from the crosses on his forehead as though they were marks left from a crown of thorns. It was a sentimental moment for Tiki, though he couldn't place why; A memory of the blood on his own face, the stinging in his eyes. The boy's gaze was still distrustful, blinking sharply as a few drops of crimson fell past his lashes, but the expression quickly changed to one of shock as Tiki bent his head.
The sharp, metallic taste burned on the tip of Tiki's tongue, catching the droplets that had been creeping downward before moving to clean the trails they had left from the boy's brow. Withdrawing with a soft swallow for only a moment, the attentions returned with a brush of lips against the sensitive skin. The little body shuddered in his grip, a soft breath of surprise released as the tongue traced the deep lines of the cuts with attentive care. After each individual marking was clean, the silken lips brushed the center of the cross, holding the blessing for only a moment before the tongue would emerge again to produce another sharp breath, another shiver of naive sensation running over flesh. It was tempting innocence, the little breaths of naivete almost begging Tiki to make the boy's snippy personality disappear in cries and whimpers of helpless pleading, but he wouldn't be so harsh quite yet. The child needed to heal and gain some semblance of health before he learned his place. He drew the bandages around the boy's brow with care, gathering him once more to be carried to the bed. A pair of boxers and an oversized shirt were the best he could manage for the child's nightclothes at the moment, though Tiki drew on his own pajamas once the boy was clothed. It was reminiscent of arranging a doll for sleep, pulling the limp form beneath the sheets, positioning his head on the pillow, checking the bandages once more before settling down beside him. Tiki was almost drifting into sleep when he heard the boy whisper something beside him.
“What now, gatinho?” He muttered, wondering what was wrong.
“D- Debitt-“ It was barely a wheeze, a pathetic sound in a dry throat. “M’… Debitt...”
Tiki smiled softly, a hand reaching over to rest on the bony chest with gentle fingers. There was the heartbeat, the even breathing- They wouldn't stop in the middle of the night, he was certain, but there was a lingering concern that came more from instinct than his own knowledge. "Go to sleep, Debitt. In the morning, I'll make you something warm for breakfast."
The breaths were already even, the eyes closed at last in sleep. Tiki watched his face, waiting until the darkness claimed him as well, hand still keeping check on the rhythm of survival at his fingertips. A feeling in Tiki's chest was curling about, some long-forgotten sensation that shifted from tickling gas to a solid weight. Concern... His eyes fluttered shut with a muffled yawn, a bit of hair falling into his face as he felt sleep pulling him downward. He was actually worried about the brat. The Noah barely breathed one word, an exhale of slight resignation to the night.
"Incómodo..."
