Manji lay curled up, shaking his head as Rin's footsteps rattled the screens in their apartment.
"Dumb ol' honored brother," indeed. Light streamed over his rueful chuckle, and then he paused, pain shooting through his chest.
Bloodworms worked, all right. Didn't always mean they worked fast, or painlessly. Head wounds, for some reason, always hurt the least, but chest wounds seemed to take forever. Must be the mass of innards, Manji thought.
At least he wasn't coughing up blood anymore. Just sleepy.
Which was bad, because his sleepy mind would invariably drift back to the swordsman who nearly got him this last time.
Magatsu Taito.
He thought of the acrobat's body, crouched in the tree, and his slight slouch, when he thought he had won. Magatsu's haughty stance, looming over him while he was mired. Lithe. Strong. Fast.
Just what Manji wanted to be.
Or wanted.
He sighed. Typical, finding an attractive man that he had either killed or would have to kill.
Because, now? Now, all he could imagine was the glimpse of Magatsu's lips. That moment, when the kenshi had pulled down his mask. Manji could just imagine the sight as foreplay, not swordplay. Could imagine leaning towards that face, taking a handful of robes, and pulling a willing body closer…
The wave of pure lust that washed over him made Manji gasp, and actually brought him sharply back to reality.
No point in imagining things that could never be. He rolled onto his other side, and drifted off again.