They slotted together like a balancing act, the two of them. Just similar enough to know one another, to see past every mask, know every little corner of shadows, but as starkly different as could be otherwise.
What did Kohga know of planting seeds for future growth? He would never have patience for such a thing—or else would forget them within a span.
But Astor, oh, in many ways, planting seeds and waiting patiently was all a Seer could know. It was in his very nature, as intrinsic as breathing.
Kohga was stubborn. That they had in common.
But every time Astor forced him to say the words, to act it out, to glance at that deeply buried secret he so vehemently denied, the seed was nurtured. One day, it would sprout vines long enough to curl about his throat and choke him in its grasp.
"You're right," he replies with a sharp, cruel grin, and pulls Kohga down to him until that connective line of salvia merges upon their lips. "Let me show you how to do it properly."
It is the irony of a snake telling a tanuki how to live honestly, of two blind men debating the colors of a painting.
And when Astor kisses Kohga, it is in contrast to him in every way. It is slow and tender and sharp enough to peel back raw layer upon layer. The mindful motions of the attentive gardener.
Doesn't this feel good? the kiss whispers like a fire tempting wayward souls, Come, take your comfort, ease your weary bones. I've got you, darling.
So says the snake to the tanuki.
The kiss travels from lips to jaw to neck, to the soft lobe of his ear, a scattering of fertilizer disguised as affection.
"You see...?" Astor whispers in that deep, velvet tone of his, "It's not so difficult."