Gently

He doesn't allow you to turn.

He presses himself up firmly against you, a human form birthed for this purpose, a purpose to make you remember something that you forgot long ago.

Slowly, one hand slides down your arm, over your fingers, those dark clothed fingers guarded with blood-tainted iron taking a special detour over his sword form before it comes to rest on your hip. You are quite calm--something like this could never startle you into action, really, but it leaves you curious, a curiosity that doesn't belong. A wonder that you should not possess. What way will he take this? What is he trying to prove?

There are too many things, reasons, on your mind already, ones that scream you must pull away before he takes off your mask, that tell you it is best not to get involved. Others say that there is no one who understands you like he does, that you aren't giving up, you are merely accepting this aspect that a master and servant will sometimes have.

He is taking care of you, like a servant would.

His other hand finally releases its grip on your shoulder as the one on your hip tightens its hold. Those nimble fingers dance carefully around your scarf, tip-toeing down your chest, leaving strange, tingling trails in their wake before they slow at the white obi that ties his sword form, and your hakama, to you.

"May I show you, Master?" He asks carefully, warm breath rushing from beneath a mask of the oni, running even hotter over the sensitive flesh covering your pulse.