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“Hey, Yoshiki. Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
Yoshiki looks up. Meeting ‘Hikaru’’s gaze; a flicker of crimson, inquisitiveness in one eye. He sucks in a breath, wondering why the answer leaves him even though it shouldn’t.
“No,” he says, wry. Hesitant. A hairline fracture before he curls into himself again. His index finger tracing the paper edge of the manga in his lap. Absent-minded; a sudden hunger for something now gone.
‘Hikaru’ tilts his head, that lilt of curiosity scratching his face again. “Why not?” he asks, leaning in. Too close, too far — a whiff of summer, of petrichor and something else. Something sweet, soft as it sits on the line of his jaw. “You don’t have anyone you wanna kiss?”
There’s a pause. A moment frozen as syllables catch in his throat; as a shadow of white hair and sun-kissed smile flits past his peripherals. Yoshiki doesn’t say anything at once, lips parting then thinning shut again. Deliberating between a lie and something else. A need he always buries.
“Where is this going?” he says instead, sweat rolling down one side of his chin. It’s hot; heat burning into his skin as something warm puddles in his gut. Heavy, aching for something he shouldn’t.
‘Hikaru’ shrugs. That over-consuming scent dissipating as he leans back just a little. “I dunno.” He tips his head, Yoshiki’s gaze catching the dip of sweat down the curve of his neck, the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His skin prickling, fingers twitching to touch, to taste. “I’m just curious, I guess?”
For a moment, everything stills. A ringing in Yoshiki’s ears as blood rushes to places it shouldn’t.
“I can’t help you there,” he says. Voice hoarse in a way he hates. “Can’t say I have any experience.”
‘Hikaru’ considers him then. His silence loud as it weighs on Yoshiki like boulders. Like devil beckoning him close.
“Do you wanna try it then?” he finally asks. Words flowing out of him with an ease that Yoshiki is almost envious of. He tries to mimic it; tries to straighten his back, to school his face. “With me, I mean. Doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Yoshiki bites the inside of his cheek. The tension in his body is odd; stiff, fire spreading all over as something swells in his chest. Blink and he might spill — fondness; lust for something disgusting creeping out the cracks of him. He doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t want to. A plea teasing the tip of his tongue before he swallows it. Shoving it down where he hopes it doesn’t resurface again.
It leaves him soft, barely even above a hushed whisper. “Why?”
“Why not,” ‘Hikaru’ says, not even a beat to hesitate. Like it’s fine, like there’s nothing off or insane about his proposal. Tone excited as he makes it sound like they’re just going to play Mario Kart as his hand curls around Yoshiki’s knee. His fingers warm, gentle and good in a way Yoshiki tries to ignore.
What does he say here? He can open his mouth — list all the reasons they shouldn’t do what they’re about to do. You almost killed Asako, he could whisper. The village would be in an uproar, because why wouldn’t they be? You’re not Hikaru. He isn’t. Hikaru’s dead; a boy once loved lying five feet underground even if his body isn’t.
Yet, he chases after it, anyway. Grasping at ‘Hikaru’’s chin, thumbing at the slope of his jaw. Following that dip of sweat down the curve of ‘Hikaru’’s neck, that bob of his Adam’s apple up and down. Something unnatural in the way he doesn’t even pulse under his fingertip.
“Only once,” Yoshiki murmurs, more to himself than to ‘Hikaru’. A promise he knows will break; an excuse he will wear thin. But he doesn’t think about it — forgoes reason at least for now.
“Only once,” ‘Hikaru’ echoes. No actual conviction in his voice; not even a lie of a promise. As always, an open book. Honest to a fault. A dog wagging its tail as he lights up in anticipation.
Yoshiki doesn’t know why he doesn’t mind it more.
But he lets it happen. Lets ‘Hikaru’ guide his other hand to his cheek — lets him lean in, breath hot and mouth pursed. That scent of sun-kissed skin and something sweet as he bridges the gap between their lips. His steady fingers calm, wanting. Careful only to make sure he doesn’t scare him off. A contrast to the way Yoshiki shudders as he threads the hand on his neck into white hair.
“Yoshiki,” ‘Hikaru’ whispers, devotion heavy in his throat. “I like you.”
He doesn’t have much time to reconsider after that. Everything melts into nothing; melts into static, into a knot pooling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Hikaru’’s lips soft —coaxing and loving all at once as they slant over his. Hands wrapping around his torso, fingers bundling and clawing at his shirt; scratching for flesh to carve, for blood to taste. Dipping under to drag blunt nails over his chest.
“I didn’t say you could…” Yoshiki starts when they break off. A thin string of saliva connecting their lips before ‘Hikaru’ laps it off. His words trailing off like he’s unsure, like he wants this — wants more than the mouth now bruising his neck, the fingers now flicking at his nipple from under his shirt.
‘Hikaru’ lifts his head; his gaze hungry like a rabid wolf on the prowl for fresh meat.
“You don’t want me to?” he asks; hesitation, fear in the undertone of his voice as though as he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.
Yoshiki grabs at his arm, stilling it and forcing it closer before he could even pull his hand away. It’s the heat, he will tell himself later. A momentary lapse in judgement. He can convince himself; can sit and stew in regret when he’s done. Even though this is wrong, even though this is crazy and not at all okay. He should hesitate, should be more reluctant about teasing the line — think about this with a clear head, without the emotions, the longing for something never his. He knows he should.
But.
“It’s okay,” he says. For some reason, sincere. For some reason, needy. Desperate in all the ways he shouldn’t be. His lips closing the distance between them again. Head tipping forward, chasing after warmth and cold, past and present, Hikaru and not. “It’s okay, it’s okay, so —”
He doesn’t get to finish. ‘Hikaru’’s lips are terrifyingly supple; firm in the way they slither over his, the way they sit, heavy and eager with a weight he only recognizes as affection. His fingers caressing his nipple again — jerking, circling and pinching hard. The pain is oddly pleasant; less unwelcome than it should be as Yoshiki leans into it instead of flinching away.
Gonna go to hell for this, Yoshiki thinks, digits carding through ‘Hikaru’’s hair. Tugging at soft strands and pulling him in as Yoshiki responds with equal fervor. Fire to fire, bite to bite and teeth on tongue as Yoshiki runs it over ‘Hikaru’’s lips and ‘Hikaru’ answers with digging into flesh. Rust in his nose, blood in his mouth before ‘Hikaru’ laps it away.
“You taste so good, Yoshiki,” ‘Hikaru’ keens into the kiss; something inhumane in the warble of his voice. Like he’s drunk, like he’s starving and he wants — no, needs to feed. “Want more. Want you so much.”
Yoshiki doesn’t think ‘Hikaru’ knows what that means. He doesn’t think he does either.
And yet.
“Mmm,” he sounds, desperate — craving like he’s been deprived too long as brushes their lips together again. And again, and again, and again. Until everything cuts to sin, to filth, to ‘Hikaru’ as he rolls his nipple between his thumb and index finger.
‘Hikaru’ tastes like a phantom sensation; of an old memory never buried. Ruins of a home, a shell of something familiar. Like death, like a graveyard, like love and air and everything in between. Sucking him in, tugging him down further into the rabbit hole.
Yoshiki thinks he should hate it.
He doesn’t.
“’Hikaru’,” he rasps, bucking into him as he circles fingers around ‘Hikaru’’s free wrist and brings it to where he needs him. Where he shouldn’t be. His body jolting before rutting into warm palm as he guides his hand up and down the tent in his pants. “Please, I —”
One of them has to steer. He knows it won’t be ‘Hikaru’. He also knows it won’t be him. Not now; not even if something claws at him that this is too much, that this is crossing too many lines, confusing wrong into something right.
He can’t. He wants, he misses, he loves him too hard to let this go. Not again. Not after the first time.
‘Hikaru’ complies, fingers rubbing him through material a few times before reaching for his belt. Unbuckling it and pulling down the zipper before cold skin meets slick and Yoshiki’s cock bounces out of his pants all hard and throbbing; swollen, leaky and dripping arousal down to the base.
Then, a pause. ‘Hikaru’ sucking in a breath as he grazes knuckles soft — so soft they’re barely even there — over the veins pulsing with need.
“Three taps if you wanna stop, okay?” ‘Hikaru’ says, giving him an out. Yoshiki nods, but doesn’t take it — scratching at his wrist for more as he rocks his hips into the air. Waiting, aching for ‘Hikaru’ to stop teasing and just touch him already. Properly; not the ghost of nails over his balls, the trail of knuckles around his tip.
“Please,” Yoshiki says, and doesn’t say much else. It’s all ‘Hikaru’ needs, really.
He’s pumping him up and down; sliding palm over wet flesh as he dips his tongue into Yoshiki’s mouth and pulls it in, then out. In, then out. Imitating sex like he’s already fucking him as Yoshiki meets him half-way, thrusting to the glide of cold fingers, scrambling, fumbling and pace stuttering before picking up.
“’Hikaru’,” Yoshiki sounds; a choked sound, a hushed, pained sound on the skin of ‘Hikaru’’s lips. Yearning in how he chases after his tongue even when he draws apart. Mourning for something no longer there as he slots into ‘Hikaru’’s fist like he belongs there, like this is okay, this is right, this is what he wants. Home, as tattered a pretense it may be. “Don’t leave me. Please.”
“I won’t,” ‘Hikaru’ says, even though he thinks Yoshiki doesn’t need to beg for it. His wrist slowing before he flicks it faster, harder, needier in how his tempo grows frantic, grows uncoordinated like he needs Yoshiki to crumble, needs him to melt. Yield into the pleasure. “I won’t, Yoshiki. You get to have me as long as you want. Forever, if you need that.”
I do, Yoshiki wants to say, but doesn’t. Words catching in his throat again as tendrils pour out and onto his tongue. Slinking around his teeth, kissing the roof of his mouth and mapping the insides of his cheek before poking at the back of his throat. Soft, so soft they’re almost afraid, so soft they’re careful as they crawl and crawl and crawl all the way down to his chest. Trailing over vertebrae, filling the gaps of his ribcage and imprinting the pulse of his heart into memory. Invasive, coaxing again in a way that shouldn’t feel good.
Tears sting at the back of his eyes; his insides fighting. More, less. Yes, no. Ew, please, need you, hate this, what the fuck, this is nasty, good good this feels so good —
A jolt. Stars in his vision as everything cuts through. One last thrust before the world goes still and Yoshiki is undone. Ropes of cum spurting in long, powerful bursts all over ‘Hikaru’’s chest.
I didn’t mean to, he tries to say, but he can’t. Words muffled, slurring and choking around tendrils as his eyes water and his nails scratch at ‘Hikaru’. Stop, more, fuck off, yes please please please as he claws all over. A cry of ‘Hikaru’’s name as he keeps bucking his hips, keeps fucking into his fist. Hard again like he’s already aching. Already begging for another release.
‘Hikaru’ thumbs the slit of his cock. I can give it to you.
Yoshiki startles; a heave of air as his chest rises and falls. Do it, then.
He doesn’t understand what happens then. Only the flutter of ‘Hikaru’’s lips on his, the finger pinching on nipple. The tendrils climbing lower still to his tailbone — teasing his spine, sticking to his bones, to his flesh and everything in between as they find his prostate. Kneading soft before flicking firm. Bruising on sensitive nerves as Yoshiki leans in instead of pulling away. Yes instead of a no. Leaking all the way to ‘Hikaru’’s wrist, wetting his fingers, his knuckles, the light feather of nails as ‘Hikaru’ jerks him off in a pace so ferocious his knees threaten to give out. Full-body shivers as his brain short-circuits and he feels another high looming close.
Please, is what he wants to say. He doesn’t — locking his legs around ‘Hikaru’’s waist instead as tendrils probe at his prostate, as they slither along crevices, push in and out of his ass from the inside. They’re wet; slippery enough it doesn’t hurt, slippery enough there’s no friction. Only constant pressure that hurts too good as they spill out of him before slipping back in. Again and again until his lungs burn, again and again until his chest feels too hot, too full, his hips rocking mindlessly despite. Everything distorts; a myriad of sensations too strong for him to resist.
This is morbid, he thinks. But somehow he doesn’t hate it. Doesn’t want it to end. Wouldn’t even mind it if ‘Hikaru’ decides to dig his teeth into him. Take a bite. Open him up: raw and candyfloss on the inside as he makes him hurt. Makes him yield, makes him ease into it. Sit there like an open wound, like something waiting to be picked apart. Bleeding, hurting — begging, that if love was a knife, for ‘Hikaru’ to pry him open with it.
“Yoshiki,” ‘Hikaru’ says, and doesn’t say much else. It’s all Yoshiki needs before fire pools low in his abdomen and everything dissolves into pleasure. Into ‘Hikaru’ — that sting of loss on lips.