FicWad

Asami shifts from his doze first, with Takaba still a dead weight sprawled across his chest.

Marked, bruised and exhausted.

Asami rolls away gently, careful not to disturb the sleeping figure before padding lightly to the bathroom. He stands in front of the mirror, hands on either side of the counter and surveys the damage.

His neck throbs with pain, a pretty pink mark, bruising rapidly and beating in time with the bloody crescent shaped contusions on the curve of his shoulder.

Takaba, Asami notes absently, has strong hands and a firm grip.

He remembers the relentless hold on his shoulder and it sends a thrill down his spine. Just the memory is enough to cover his skin in a sheet of goose bumps. His reaches up, fingers brushing against the marks almost reverently.

It's the first time he's been marked, and Asami is finally beginning to understand the appeal.