（ there is no immediate violence. instead, there is an almost worshipful touch that starts at the elbow and chases gentleness to the wrist. his hands reach for both sides of sasuke's, and his thumbs kiss the space across his palm, skirting the lines of fibrous muscle there, and then down each finger where the knots of impact, breaks and damage are like braille beneath his touch. the story it tells is neither pleasant nor esoteric to him — and his expression is still water as it swallows light in old sorrows.
once he's worked back to the elbow, he disengages the intensity of the touch, walks his fingertips up the vein and then looks up to catch sasuke's eye in warning, waiting for an acknowledging response before he actually hits him, the slap of his hand loud in the hush of the air.
it's not a wholly light impact — but it's not one that'll bruise, either. yet, from that point of contact, the warmth of a pleasant sting will reverb outwards like the ripple of a stone in a pond. ）
no subject
once he's worked back to the elbow, he disengages the intensity of the touch, walks his fingertips up the vein and then looks up to catch sasuke's eye in warning, waiting for an acknowledging response before he actually hits him, the slap of his hand loud in the hush of the air.
it's not a wholly light impact — but it's not one that'll bruise, either. yet, from that point of contact, the warmth of a pleasant sting will reverb outwards like the ripple of a stone in a pond. ）