You can come straight to me after your lessons, Natsume-kun, you don't have to linger alone in your room.
[ He wants the boy around, wants to have him near. His little prodigy might as well spend as much waking time with the exorcist, he supposes, they can work on the remainder - he'll have this boy in his bed sooner or later; it won't be too great a task. The teenager seems to hang on his every word, and has never been given any real affection to speak of. If Matoba plays his cards right, spares him just enough of his time, touches him just so? Oh, then he'll see the boy bloom beneath his fingertips, he thinks, he'll see him shatter.
Turning to the boy, Matoba offers him a smile of his own - it's not nearly as bright as Natsume's, but it's pleased, in a foxish, sharp way. The exorcist is dressed in a plain, dark yukata, his collarbones exposed at the neck, his hair hanging loose down his back, fringe in its usual casual disarray.
He has been sure to supply Natsume with similar clothing - the clan keep to a sort of uniform when at the central mansion in which Matoba resides. He can appreciate the sight of the boy in the more traditional dress; there is a softness to the way the robes cling to his skinny frame.
Reaching out, he tucks a stray strand of the boy's pale fringe behind his ear, pausing there, stroking the strands for a moment before returning his gaze to the boy's face. ]
I hope that things between you and I can be open, you shouldn't hesitate to tell me anything, Natsume. [ There's a pause while he seems to consider his own statement, then, his expression very focused: ] How are you finding your new life?
no subject
[ He wants the boy around, wants to have him near. His little prodigy might as well spend as much waking time with the exorcist, he supposes, they can work on the remainder - he'll have this boy in his bed sooner or later; it won't be too great a task. The teenager seems to hang on his every word, and has never been given any real affection to speak of. If Matoba plays his cards right, spares him just enough of his time, touches him just so? Oh, then he'll see the boy bloom beneath his fingertips, he thinks, he'll see him shatter.
Turning to the boy, Matoba offers him a smile of his own - it's not nearly as bright as Natsume's, but it's pleased, in a foxish, sharp way. The exorcist is dressed in a plain, dark yukata, his collarbones exposed at the neck, his hair hanging loose down his back, fringe in its usual casual disarray.
He has been sure to supply Natsume with similar clothing - the clan keep to a sort of uniform when at the central mansion in which Matoba resides. He can appreciate the sight of the boy in the more traditional dress; there is a softness to the way the robes cling to his skinny frame.
Reaching out, he tucks a stray strand of the boy's pale fringe behind his ear, pausing there, stroking the strands for a moment before returning his gaze to the boy's face. ]
I hope that things between you and I can be open, you shouldn't hesitate to tell me anything, Natsume. [ There's a pause while he seems to consider his own statement, then, his expression very focused: ] How are you finding your new life?