Fay's hair was a curious thing. Sometimes Kurogane thought that some of his magic had seeped into his hair, because it always seemed to lay in a strange, teasing, floating sort of manner that only Fay himself could compare to. He had let his larger fingers explore the blonde locks lazily and found that no matter how often he smoothed it down, it always came back up around his face, soft and smooth and bright. Every now and then he wished Fay would let it grow out longer. It may have looked nice braided, or spilling over his shoulders and back freely, like a waterfall. But Fay was presice on cutting it, saying that it was 'necessary,' yet never explaining why.
Fay liked to wear gloves, but Kurogane remembered his hands. They were white, and strange, as if they hadn't seen enough sunlight or hard work. He supposed being skilled with magic rather than with a sword had everything to do with it, but looking down at his pale, long fingers, he thought there were many things that gentle hands like that would be able to do. He could paint, he mused, or sculpt, or garden - Kurogane could imagine all the different colors that could be called to his fingertips. And then he saw Fay use his magic for the first time, writing symbols swiftly and skillfully in the air with graceful, sweeping motions in spite of the sheer power of it. Iwardly he took a step backward, surprised at himself for not seeing such a thing coming.
He thought he liked Fay's lips - he had kissed them countless times - but at the same time he hated them, because he knew that they caused more trouble than they did pleasure. They lied, again and again, and they tricked, and they hurt, and they forced those damned fake smiles out even when their owner was practically being broken apart into tiny, jagged pieces. Sometimes he's start a kiss, gentle and sweet, and then think of the games they were playing with each other and instinctively bit down on his lower lip, ignoring the mage's little surprised cry. Sometimes the rougher kisses satisfied him more than the sweeter ones, because at least Fay's cry of pain had been honest.
Fay was smaller than him, but he was still lanky, and his legs were always very long. He had grown fond of them, the shape of them, how graceful they were, how easily Fay could wrap them around his waist, giggling a little, or move them so nicely when he walked, teasing, or when he crossed them, one over the other, casual and bored, eyes always sparkling. The worst (best?) part was that Fay knew he liked them, and that was why he was always so damn precise about flaunting them about like the smug little bastard he was.
He remembered the Dimension Witch demanding he give her his 'marking' at the beginning of their adventure. Now he wished he had payed a little more attention and remembered what it looked like. Fay's back was small, certainly not as fit for a tattoo as someone with broader shoulders might have been, but his thin waist and light build might have actually served to make it more beautiful in the end. Fay had never spoke of it out loud, but when they were alone together, and Kurogane begant to touch him, letting his fingers roam over his mystical hair, his long legs, half-parted, curious lips - all the now-familiar places he had grown so attached to - Fay would never let his fingers linger too long on his back. It became a silent tabboo, a one moment of weakness - the only place he knew would never belong to him.