Krueger and Oni have a relationship of desire, which is now growing and changing into something far more volatile. Neither wanting to show too much vulnerability all at once, see how they show feelings without the need for words.
Krueger lay sprawled on the bed on his stomach, giving himself time to catch his breath and steady his quickened heart. Not bothering to look up as he heard footsteps come from the bathroom or when the bed creaked as another person sat on the bed.
He did react when he felt something cool touch his sensitive inner back thigh. Flinching at the foreign but familiar sensation of a wet towel as it went about cleaning up the evidence of what had just occurred.
The room was silent as Krueger was cleaned. He even found himself relaxing into it, thinking the coolness almost soothed his still-heated skin. Once done, he felt a hand take its place on his lower thigh. Brushing over the risen skin of a scar.
“I didn’t notice this one,” Oni said from behind him, voice low but steady. A voice Krueger usually found infuriating for its coolness now seemed to calm and reassuring almost.
Krueger turned his head to see where his Japanese comrade sat by his legs. Tracing the crater in the skin from a bullet.
“Really? With all the staring you do at my ass, I would think you’d have it all mapped out.” His voice was snide but not biting. When Oni showed only lack of bemusement, he relented. “Mexico. Trying to acquire some cargo. A little shit hid under a car and popped out just as I was passing.”
Oni let out a small huff of laughter, his right eye crinkling in a way Krueger secretly found endearing. “Smart man. The only mistake was that he missed.”
“But that’s what every scar is, isn’t it?” Krueger asked as he sat up to face Oni, ignoring the dull pain growing in his abdomen. He then pointed at a similar cratering mark on the Japanese’s right side, above the protruding bone. “I remember this one. That’s from when you got hit in Mulan.”
“Correct,” Oni said, not recoiling as Krueger reached out and touched it. The wound was newer still a tinge of pink. “And this?”
Oni had both hands on Krueger’s outreached arm, turning it so it showed a burn mark that crept from the wrist to past his elbow. Textured skin aside, it had healed well and no longer discoloured.
“Molotov in Bulgaria. Radicalist hoping to attack a minister.” Krueger said, smirking a little as he recalled what he had done to the man who threw it. “Here?” He pointed at a knife wound in the muscle of his left trapezius on his shoulder.
“That was from you, ass.” Oni said with a hint of annoyance. Faltering when Krueger let out a little snicker. “If I recall correctly, the gym doesn’t allow us to fight with real weapons anymore.”
“Disappointing but true,” Krueger sighed with exaggeration.
Oni gave that hint of a smile again and Krueger wanted to pinch himself to stop his heart from fluttering. “And how about this one?”
The two did this for a while, pointing at most if not all the prominent scars on the other's bodies. Guessing as well as asking where they were all from. Krueger gave distinct descriptions and would even divulge further if he knew Oni was interested. Oni’s explanations, however, were short and simple. A place, rarely even a how or when unless Krueger pushed. Which he rarely did.
He knew Oni well enough to know not to push. Not that he did not want to.
He disliked it but Krueger had a twinging need to know more about him. He wanted to know more about his past, his interests, his . . . - Krueger wanted to almost puke- everything.
Krueger knew what this meant but he had no plans on divulging these changes in feelings to Oni. After all, it was almost a miracle they had managed even this level of intimacy. What with Oni being a prideful asshole and Krueger being an inconsiderate asshole.
They weren’t even together, not seriously anyway. Both of them guilty of avoiding conversations about this detail. And Krueger had preferred it that way, until recently.
No, he wasn’t sure.
He hated the idea of divulging his feelings, disliked showing any side of weakness in general really. But . . . Oni made him want to.
They had also seemed to have grown tender in the months of heated intimacy. Like metal or glass, their hardened surfaces melt away in fire. And Krueger found he did not mind it, reciprocating even.
Krueger had been laughing about a rather traffic depiction of how a gunman learned that a thrown brick would hit him before he could aim and fire. Settling down, he tentatively took Oni’s left hand.
The man’s fingers flinched but he didn’t pull away, watching as the Austrian examined it. Calloused fingers over roughened skin, Oni was no surprised when Krueger asked, “What about this? Who did this?” His fingers cupped the shortened stump of his pinky finger.
The pinky finger was missing the tip, nail and first knuckle. Cleanly lopped off by a knife if Krueger surmised.
He had to admit he had always been curious. Oni usually wore gloves but when they were alone and the clothes were abandoned he had noted the shortened appendage.
Oni did not answer for a moment, his dark eyes watching how Krueger’s finger cautiously touched the nub and over.
“I did.” Krueger looks up and doesn’t hide the look of intrigue. But he doesn’t speak. Oni, although uncomfortable, explained. “In my family’s line of work, when someone seeks atonement, they cut this finger and deliver the severed part to their leader.”
“Rather gruesome way to apologize,” Krueger said simply, examining the wounded hand for a moment. Then, perhaps more out of instinct than pure intention. Krueger lowered his head to kiss the shortened finger. Lips brushing warm skin.
He looked up to see how Oni would react and - to most - he would appear unruffled, Krueger knew better. The Japanese’s ears were dusted with pink and his lips had thinned as he pressed them together.
Krueger may have once mocked him but now, the thought did not even cross his mind. He kept Oni’s hands clasped between his as he leaned forward and kissed him.
He was usually more eager, hungry like a man starving. But in this moment, he had no such need. Only a wriggling want to touch him, to feel him. To . . . give comfort.
He pressed at Oni’s lips tenderly. Trying to convey somehow, without embarrassing himself with words, that he was moved by Oni’s explanation. And that he was grateful he indulged in telling him.
Krueger pulled away after a moment, face still close as he looked into those dark eyes.
They looked cool but there was a flicker of something there. Confusion? Caution? Love?
Krueger still struggled sometimes to tell. So he pushed forwards again and took Oni’s mouth in his.
This time, he let the embrace lengthen. He kept one hand clasped on Oni’s own while the other lifted to hold at his chin. Oni reciprocated in turn, going to hold the back of Krueger’s head to keep him close.
They stayed there for a while. Naked and bare on top of the bed, legs crossed with only their hands and lips touching.
Their kissing was soft, caressing. Unhurried and savouring. Krueger even considered the idea of staying like this. Let their lips convey what their words couldn’t and let them softly tumble over each other in affection.
