BUNRAKU REMIX
Negotiations
BUNRAKU
Negotiations
“I don't see how I need you to negotiate for me.”
He inwardly smiles at the blunt statement – inwardly smiles down at the face which is glaring back up at him – at the fact that the short Samurai was obviously trying to tower over the taller Drifter. The muscles in his face twitched a little as he bit back on a grin which was threatening to stretch across his face. Poker face – that was what he was known for back home. It wouldn't do for his reputation to be shot thanks to a puny Samurai (no matter how dangerously sexy and desirable a fuck he might be...).
There is a silence – and the Drifter, for a few seconds, considers how easy it would for him to pull those slight shoulders toward him, to crush his own lips on those delicate ones opposite him – to worship those eyes with a hard kiss – to draw that slim waist and neat hips closer, to grind up against that hard body against the bar counter and show him the power of his -negotiation- skills.
And the thought echoes through the room. He can feel it slip into the air like a toxin – and the bartender is already shifting uneasily – and there's a quality to the Samurai's eyes that seem to glimmer – until the sweet chin dips a little lower, stubbornly hiding that desire. The Drifter smiles and his fist lashes out.
He is sorry now – not regretful per se – but wistful, wondering what might have been. From now on though, it would be impossible – the Drifter knows that no man dares stand up to him twice (unless... unless.. one is a certain Woodcutter...)...
Against the odds – and here, he is reminded sharply of himself – the dark head rises, the eyes even harder with resolution, the muscles in the wrist jump as thin fists close and the Samurai slips into a low defensive stance.
And the Drifter smiles.
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