[ his stomach twitches at the scrape of teeth, and the suction he wasn't expecting, but he doesn't say anything about it. why does he ever try to be nice to him? it's stupid. he's never tried to repay his kindness, made it his mission to rebuff every hand extended to him. until now. that's what he has to accept. jonouchi gave him a deal and he agreed to it, didn't even pretend to argue. he can tell himself it was curiosity, or a willingness to accept thanks where he felt it was due, but...
seto lifts his hand — the one he'd grasped jonouchi's wrist with — and touches the nape of his neck, where his thick blond hair is damp with sweat. he can't see, but he can imagine how he looks, with his already messy hair hanging limp, bangs in his face where they're tickling his navel. his stomach turns too, but for a different reason.
he doesn't rest his hand over the back of his neck, but leaves the tips of his fingers hovering, strands of hair caught between them. ]
no subject
seto lifts his hand — the one he'd grasped jonouchi's wrist with — and touches the nape of his neck, where his thick blond hair is damp with sweat. he can't see, but he can imagine how he looks, with his already messy hair hanging limp, bangs in his face where they're tickling his navel. his stomach turns too, but for a different reason.
he doesn't rest his hand over the back of his neck, but leaves the tips of his fingers hovering, strands of hair caught between them. ]