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@aeoliananomie
Oh..
Ah…okay then. [He’s uncomfortable. The way his heart’s pounding has him running a hand through his hair.]
Curry. Do you still like it spicy?
Ah... yeah. You remembered.
Ayumu's more fond of the sweet kind, though. So lately we've been having that.
's been forever since I've had any free time.
Maybe trying to finish high school was a bad idea.
Curry could be good.
You don’t have to come if you’re busy. Don’t you have work…?
I've already made this a free day.
It's, uh... not everyday I get to have you around, you know?
[he tries not to think about the dream he’d had of kissing Katou….the dream he suspects is not a dream]
…I see. Ah….do you need anything? I was thinking about going to the convenience store…
Mm--we already have enough lychee cups, huh...
... I want to say more won't hurt, but that makes me sound like a glutton.
Maybe just some curry. Do you want me to come with you?
And you?
…You didn’t sleep in the bedroom.
I slept a lot later. And you looked so cosy I didn't want to accidentally wake you up.
…
…I don’t remember it clearly. When did I go to bed…?
A little after two in the morning.
kurono-kei replied to your post:Katou...about last night...
….never mind. It’s fine.
...
If... you don't talk about it now, you might never.
Katou...about last night...
... yeah?
He cast his eyes down in shame upon being reminded of what he did to his papas. “Le…Let’s just find them, ne? A-Aoi doesn’t want to talk about it.” He replied softly, his hand tightening around the male’s shirt as his silent refusal to hold his hand. He didn’t want to be rude and say no, but Arata had always told him never to hold a stranger’s hand — though perhaps he missed the part which included not to talk to strangers.
Ah... so something bad happened. And gathering from the kid's reaction, it isn't so much the face that his parents lost him, but more of the fact that he'd chosen to run away.
The guilt on his face is clear, but Masaru doesn't bring it up in respect to the boy's--Aoi's--wishes.
"Your name's Aoi, huh?" he says as they walk, his hands in his pockets. At any rate, Masaru should be able to distract him at least a little bit. "I'm Masaru. It's not as cool a name as yours for sure."
"…what they looked like?" Aoi mumbled repeatedly as he carefully considered the question. "Ara-tan’s hair is like cotton candy." He stated as he made a cheerful gesture with his hands around his head, "Taka-tan always looks angry like this…" He forced a frown and knitted his eyebrows angrily before pointing a finger at his expression, "And and Dai-tan looks grumpy, but not like Taka-tan."
The descriptions are just as vague as Masaru suspected they'd be. He smiles just a bit, rubbing the back of his neck, and gets to his full height to look around at the crowd. Six feet and some change is pretty tall--he can't seem to find anyone fitting any of those descriptions yet, though.
That 'Ara-tan' sounds like the easiest one to look for. There're lots of grumpy people in this place, but how many people have hair like cotton candy?
"Do you remember what you were doing before you got lost?" he asks, looking down at the kid and holding out his hand. "Maybe we can find a place where that stuff's usually done and find one of them there."
He can feel Katou shiver and shake. He can feel those fingers clutching into his hair and the sound of soft, hushed groans is filling his skull.
The tongue in his mouth has his heart pounding in his chest and it’s such a strange feeling. A strange, wonderful feeling and he can’t help the moan that pours into their shared kiss at the way those nails rake down his neck and spine and their bodies are pressed flush against eaach other.
His body’s flushing with heat, and when that mouth finds his neck, touches his fluttering pulse, his body reacts, and he’s letting out a soft, low moan.
And then Katou’s speaking and it’s filtering through his alcohol-clouded thoughts and he’s clutching at the other’s shoulders.
He’s dizzy and flushed and filled with heat and he’s not sure how to handle it after being cold for so long. He’s letting out a quiet whimper.
"M-masaru…"
And then he’s slumping against that broad, warm frame, his breath hot against his neck.
When Kei becomes dead weight in his arms Masaru's suddenly filled with a sinking, grounding feeling. It comes to his attention (fully this time, instead of little glimpses) that he'd taken advantage of his best friend. He'd made Kei moan, and though it makes his stomach coil with heat, it also makes his entire frame cold with guilt.
Each exhalation Kei whispers into his skin has Masaru trembling. He's overwhelmed, really; the mishmash of emotions running in his veins is the sort of thing he never believed to be possible in real life. If only Kei would forget everything... but he knows he can't be that lucky. Kei would remember at least a little bit of it, surely, and Masaru can't think of any good excuse as to why he willingly kissed his best friend sober.
He's an awful liar. If he tells Kei he was drunk too, he knows he'll be called out for it.
His heart is thudding in his chest. Despite the scandal of it, Masaru still finds his arms circling Kei's form and holding him tight against his own body. And then, finally, he gets to his feet and carries Kei with him.
Opening the bedroom door is a challenge, but he manages, making sure Kei's chin is over his shoulder. Then he lowers him onto his own futon, cataloguing the look on his face--how his cheeks are flushed, his lips are swollen, his hair is fanned beneath his head against the soft texture of Masaru's own pillow. The shirt he's borrowed rides up just a little and the heat comes back, wrapping itself around Masaru's spine. The guilt comes with it, though, and he shakes his head as he moves to pull the blanket over Kei's frame.
Masaru can't help himself from brushing the fringe off of Kei's forehead, his fingers lightly touching the skin and feeling electrocuted from that simple contact. Kei had called him Masa-chan, and memories of their childhood flood through him with the most palpable sense of depression. He's not sure where it came from. He's not sure why the name seems to matter to Kei now.
The moment shatters and he withdraws his hand. Deftly, Masaru gets to his feet, and he heads to his closet to take clothes out for his shower.
At least Ayumu'll get what he wants.
Masaru is going to sleep in the living room.
He gently tugged on the stranger’s shirt while looking up with the most puppy-like expression, “Can you help me look for my papas?” One may never know how three adult men lose one adorable child.
His... papas? Plural? Masaru stares down at the child, but his expression is hardly one of distaste. He's dealt with a little kid his entire life, and this one seems just as behaved as Masaru's own little brother.
"Sure, kiddo." His lips curve into a small smile as he crouches down to look the boy in the eye. "What do they look like?"
He can hear that groan and it has his heart pounding and his body starting to warm and he’s flushing.
Katou’s lips are scalding against his own.
Katou pulls him closer and Kei doesn’t even resist, shifting so he’s straddling his hips and his arms around Katou’s neck and he’s kissing Katou back with abandon.
Kisses with Tae don’t feel anything like this. They don’t get his heart pounding like this.
And that empty part of himself where the darkness lies…it shrinks. Just a little, but for a while that cold is ebbing and he’s filled with the warmth that is Katou.
It’s so confusing but he likes this feeling.
"Katou….Masaru-chan…"
He’s swallowing hard, his heart pounding as he bites at the other man’s lower lip.
“Masa-chan...”
The nickname slips out and he doesn’t even know why it hurts to say it. Doesn’t know why it shatters in his skull and makes his chest ache.
And then he’s kissing Katou again, desperately.
Kei is so close to him that Masaru can hardly breathe. Shivers are crawling along his spine, heat filling his stomach and his chest and every inch of his skin to his fingertips, and all he can really do is clutch his fingers into Kei's hair and let out hushed groans into each press of their mouths.
The teeth in his lip have him shivering, aching, and Masaru's leaning in to lick his tongue into Kei's mouth when he says it.
And Masaru hasn't heard that word in forever.
It makes the harsh kiss even more necessary, his nails raking down Kei's neck and his spine as he pushes at the small of his back to press their bodies flush together. It makes it even more important, more pivotal, his teeth sinking into Kei's lower lip and tugging, his head tilting as he licks into the gap between Kei's lips and sucks softly. There's need sinking into him, burning, and he wants to kiss Kei forever.
But he can't kiss Kei forever.
Masaru's grip is tight, desperate, the taste of Kei on his tongue everything he's ever dreamed of--but then his hands loosen and he pulls away, and his forehead finds the curve of Kei's shoulder.
Still, he finds himself slipping. He kisses the cloth that covers him, moving up to his neck, finding the fluttering skin of his pulse and leaving a soft, sucking pressure there. Then he buries his face into the warmth of it, clutching Kei as tight as he possibly can against him.
Masaru doesn't want to let him go. Doesn't want to have Kei go back to a person who looks at him like he's a sad human being. Masaru's love is blinding, harsh--God, Kei.
He presses one last kiss to his skin, and he takes advantage of alcohol taking away the finer details as he whispers into it.
"You're precious to me, Kei."
"—To aid and abide by the words of the humans placed on earth. Lucifer did not care for the creations our father had made, and thought of them as disgusting, vile creatures. Because of his rebellion, he was cast into a cage in Hell."
"And demons?"
"What're they? Those who used to serve God but think like Lucifer? Or are they a different species entirely?"
The feel of that hand on the curve of his neck and the way that Katou’s kissing him has his eyes going wide, his heart swelling and exploding in his chest.
Electric shocks are rolling through his body and when the kiss finally ends and those fingers are gently tucking his hair behind his ear, and then Katou’s apologizing and something inside him clicks. Snaps.
His hands are lifting, curling into Katou’s shirt, and he’s pulling the man closer, and crushing his lips against Katou’s, kissing him sloppy and hard and when he finally breaks it to breathe.
"Dumbass," he murmurs softly, cheeks burning.
God.
God damn it all.
The touch of Kei's mouth against his own has a barely heard groan coming from the depths of Masaru's throat, right there from his chest, his eyes shutting and his own lips pressing back. His hands move to Kei's waist, clutching at the fabric there--his shirt, Kei is wearing his shirt--and he thinks about Kojima for only a split-second before she's forgotten entirely.
The insult is lost among the tribal drums of his heartbeat, and all Masaru can see when he opens his eyes is the look on Kei's face.
He's so beautiful, and--
"Yeah."
--Masaru is so bad.
He tugs Kei close to himself and he kisses him again, the gesture slow and easy as his lips part the slightest bit and close to brush over Kei's lower lip. He tastes like beer and that's the first sign that he should stop, but Kei is so close, so real, so solid and true and his hands aren't grasping at air, and Masaru can't. Can't think about the consequences when he's finally got him.
To his credit, all he does is kiss. He pulls away for breaths and he kisses Kei's lips again, and again, and again, coming back for more as his hands slowly crawl up from his waist to his back and up to his hair.
His hands are shaking, and Masaru brushes his lips down the curve of Kei's jaw.
"Kei-chan."
His heart is thrumming in his chest and wow if Katou isn’t looking pretty he doesn’t know what the definition of pretty is.
Katou’s hand is warm and steady and he can feel that pulse just beneath the skin. And that hand is touching his shoulder and squeezing and Katou’s saying something that isn’t quite translating through his skull.
"Easy?" He’s breathing softly.
"Katou…Masaru-chan…you are always there for me. You understand me." His brows furrow. "I don’t deserve you."
His lips are brushing against Katou’s as he speaks, and the sensation is a strange one. So very strange. Katou’s lips are not at all like Tae’s and it’s a strange sort of thrilling sensation. Tingles are running through his lips and then he’s laughing softly, his cheeks flushing.
"Your lips are really nice…"
Masaru could die.
The touch of Kei's lips against his own has his self-control dissipating to almost nothing.
"Yours are nicer," he whispers.
And then he knows he's lost.
The hand on Kei's shoulder is sliding, moving to the curve of his neck, and with the gentlest sort of pressures he leans in to press his lips against the other boy's. It's chaste and innocent, a point of contact that has his stomach flipping and his heart thundering in his ears, his chest--Masaru's thumb strokes over Kei's pulse point once before he pulls away and looks into his best friend's brown eyes.
Kei is so beautiful, even now. He grew up so handsomely, so perfectly, and Masaru's finally, finally, stolen a kiss. He feels like scum for taking it in such a situation, but he can't take the action back. And to be honest, just having some memory of kissing Kei is enough to power him for ten million lifetimes.
He smiles just a bit, the gesture soft, his hand tucking Kei's hair behind his ear as his fingers gently release the other boy's from their grip.
"... I'm sorry."
"Hmmmmm…." His fingers thread through that hair and he’s shaking his head.
"Don’t cut it. I like it. Suits you."
He’s chuckling again and his fingers are ghosting over Katou’s cheek and lips and throat and his own cheeks are burning and he’s looking at those lips again.
"You have nice lips too. Warm."
His brows are furrowing and he’s sitting up and leaning very close, looking at those lips.
"Masaru-chan is warm…makes me feel not…not cold."
And then he’s pressing his forehead to Katou’s, his eyes half-lidded and his cheeks flushed with alcohol. “I like that you are warm Masaru-chan….”
The sudden change in proximity has Masaru's throat getting stuck in his oesophagus and his mind rushing at a million miles an hour. As Kei's skin--flushed and pink and Christ, this is not the right time for him to project his god damned homosexual tendencies towards his best friend--touches his own, Masaru can feel his heart jump.
In another life, he'd be tugging Kei close and kissing him. Of this, Masaru is certain. And maybe in that other life he's full and happy and he isn't in love with someone who won't ever look at him the same way.
But that is not this life. And Kei is very drunk.
"Thank you." His voice is barely above a whisper, and he thinks of Ayumu in the next room. How is it that he still hasn't let go of Kei's hand? Now that he's thinking about it, it's such a steady solidity in his own hand, though not quite as solid as the press of Kei's forehead against his own, the shape of his lips as they remain only a few measly centimetres away from his own.
He couldn't care less about Kojima, but Kei does, and Masaru feels a sense of responsibility as his free hand falls over Kei's shoulder and carefully gives a squeeze. A warning. They're so close that Masaru's resolve is turning paper thin.
"Easy, Kei-chan."
