𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦.

tell me not to even dream about it.

[sachingja]

· * ·✵ i've loved us, after all. an independent, highly selective & private multi-muse, featuring characters from stage, television, and originals. low activity. please read rules before following or interacting.

사칭자 / SACHINGJA (kr. impersonator) navigation. ¹ carrd. ² visual.

[exitvelo]

Oh, quit that. Blushing is for virgins and Christians. 🌙📁

it seems to be the case that uniquely embarrassing things only ever happened to elijah. if there is a ten mile radius filled with people he knows, and that know him, or even just complete strangers, there is an absolutely definite chance that the rotten luck would meet him with the certainty of an arrow to a bulls-eye. that is just the truism of his life, and eli's only made peace with it because he learned that he couldn't outrun it. if you extend yourself to such a mile as he always does, and if you live a life so open to everything that could happen, then you invite in the good with the bad, and the really, really weird stuff too, and really learn how to just roll with the punches. that doesn't mean that eli enjoys rolling with the punches though, since they do leave him with a lightly elevated pulse and flaming hot ears he can feel blush down to his neck, which is quite honestly not his style, but that doesn't seem to disappear the longer hideo looks at him with that look in his eyes, the one that means he thinks this is very funny and that he is extremely delighted by getting eli to crack a little ( or a lot ) because usually eli is the harbinger of chaos between them. put-together, well-done and well-dressed hideo, still and deep as a calm lake, has so many devious bones in his body, hidden away under his layers of clothing, that he knows how to rattle eli unprompted. he might be the only person in the world to know just how to play eli like a fiddle, make him sweat, and wring a harmony out of an otherwise discorded tune. a trick far worse than the devil

" get that smug look off your face, nemo, " eli tells him, swats at him, against his arm, only refusing to hit harder because he knows hideo's coaches might complain about any kind of discomfort one of their star players would be feeling. not that eli cares about that, at least not more than he's supposed to during most of the year, but he can't let hideo settle into his overlording victory just yet - it's on the lines of his face, etched like a mischievous spring evening and laughter around his eyes, making him look far too handsome for a man as plotting and scheming as he is. hideo is an analytical mind, physical with his work and expressive with what his capabilities, but he exists in his head first and foremost, and that means eli's always able to be caught off guard, or found out, or be at hideo's mercy before he could even ask for it. this is no different - there is warmth blooming in eli's sternum, pushing past the residue heat on his face that's trickled all the way down, that he knows comes from seeing hideo enjoy himself. if eli can do that, can be a part of that, half of stupid amusement he brings hideo sometimes, that hideo can pool out of him, is worth it; even if eli's ears really don't stop burning.

the magazine's taken out of hideo's hand, still open on the interview eli did that hideo knew all about, but he's been particularly invested in some of the middle section, where they have been asking eli about his recent past-time or hobbies for some of his upcoming schedule, as if not one innocent soul has seen eli in one of the seats in that stadium in new york. it's as much a love letter as anything, the admission; yeah, i do enjoy a game here and then, why else would i be in the city? and on he went, no one cutting him off, to hideo's abject delight and eli's mortification. it hasn't even been edited that much for clarity! so much for industry myths. the only thing missing is another photo of eli in one of hideo's jerseys, his number somewhere visible, but they haven't gone that far. " i didn't know they'd put this in there! it was a softball question! and what do you even know about virginity or christianity? both concepts passed you by over a decade ago! stop laughing! "

deathless starters, accepting. | ft. @sachingja

[sachingja]

it had not been a complete surprise.

hideo had been aware of the interview, had a vague overview of elijah's schedule whenever he opened their shared calendar and was confronted by the barrage of colors highlighting different events, all his games in cool gray while eli's life was a vivid mixture of blue, red, yellow, green, pink, all for different occasions (blue meant filming, red meant overseas, yellow meant interview or press, green meant photoshoot, pink was reserved for premieres, a color added to the vernacular after eli's life had expanded and exploded, the hectic usually only reserved for hideo's erratic season schedule finally clawing at elijah, too.) when he had been in the middle of it, hideo had been on the other side of the country for a series in seattle right at the beginning of the season, and he had gotten a million texts in between the setups, the pictures, the questions and whatnot. about the bad craft table food, the terrible phone reception, the even slower wifi, the nice lady interviewing him, the bespoke clothes they had put him in. hideo had soaked it up like a sponge once he was reunited with his phone, had saved every candid picture elijah had sent him to his phone, not necessarily uncaring of who was watching but mindful either way. it was better to be safe than sorry. after all, loose lips sunk ships all the time and hideo enjoyed his career for what it was.

the result was infinitely amusing, though, and miguel, one of their rookie infielders, had left the magazine strewn around in the clubhouse, easy for hideo to catch the sight of a familiar face in the middle of it. not in the back, which was reserved for people no one gave a fuck about, but close to the center, where the good stuff and important people where located. it made him stupidly proud, no matter how meaningless it was, because he had seen how long it had taken eli to get there, and if eli could cheer for every asinine achievement hideo had accomplished, he could do the same three times over. it was no hardship to do so, even less so when he had sat down in front of his locker and read what had actually been written, what eli had actually said. he was known for his quick mouth and the funny nonsense he occasionally came up with, blessed with a quickfire wit hideo could never hope to even attempt, and it made conversations with him fast and quirky, something hideo had enjoyed the first time they had met, that he enjoyed to this day or else he would have never shared his life with the actor to begin with. he had made his peace with the fact that the only silence he would ever find was on the field, because his home was a constant wall of noise, music that played from phone speakers or his vinyl player, the television playing some show that eli had grown obsessed with, the constant stream of words eli never got tired of, that hideo listened to with rapt attention. for the most part, anyway.

" am i looking smug? i think i have any right to, " hideo said and he could barely hide the grin on his face. elijah was standing in the middle of their kitchen, his face dismayed and somewhat sheepish, his ears and cheeks pink, and hideo was leaning against their kitchen counter and grinning so wide that he was afraid it made him look all dumb. " i mean, elijah hsu said that the only reason he goes to the stadium is to see the players. one player, actually, he corrected himself in the middle of the interview. it has to be true, because i read it in a magazine, hm? " he knew he was gloating, insufferably so, but he couldn't help it; when he had read what eli had said, he could barely hide the warmth flooding him either, the satisfaction of such a public, obvious claim, even if eli had never said his name. it wasn't hard to figure out if you checked his instagram, and hideo had finally arrived at a place where he was comfortable enough to admit it, admit this big thing he had kept a secret for so long. his agent was about to get a heart attack once the season was over, once hideo would make the announcement, but it was a fair price considering the years of secrecy hideo had lived in. he snorted, " please be serious, i lost my virginity like twenty years ago. " give or take, it was a rough estimate but hideo was old now, older than he had ever been. " they should have given you my jersey, actually. you should have been photographed in that. "

[blotgydja]

FROM THE DESK OF SOPHIE BAEK, TO BENEDICT BRIDGERTON. ◗ BRIDGERTON HOUSE, GROSVENOR SQUARE, MAYFAIR ░ @sachingja

[ 𝑫 ] ear Benedict,

[ 𝑴 ] y Dearest Benedict,

And thus I begin my first letter to you. I admit I have not written many in my lifetime, especially not of the informal kind, so I beg you be patient with me while I learn — as I once gave you French lessons, I must now inquire after your willingness to give me lessons in the art of penmanship? If you decide to indulge me, perhaps your first might be on the content of letters, what is expected and what is not, what is proper and what is not. Until then I will write what I think and what I feel, and hope you will not find me dreadfully boring.

Not even a full evening had passed in your absence before I found myself reaching for the pen, for the only source of connection I have to you now that your mother has sent you off to your lodgings. Armed with parchment and ink stolen from your brother's office I have snuck into your bedroom and now I sit at your table, pausing my writing only to gaze out your window. The stars here in the city are likely as dull as they were last time we discussed them, yet even so I find they shine brighter tonight. Still I yearn for the countryside, for our time in solitude there. But no longer does the memory linger with a sense of grief, for now I know it will not be the last. There will be many more memories. If it is unladylike to express my excitement, then so be it. After all I am no lady. I cannot wait for our life to begin!

If you are feeling creatively inspired, might I inquire after a new sketch of My Cottage? Your first was wonderful, but I seem to have lost mislaid misplaced it. It evoked such feelings of home, of comfort and peace, and I should like to have it framed, so I may look upon it and feel close to you whenever I miss you.

I will not send off this letter to you until morning, by which I will surely have a million more things to write you. The only solution will be to compose another letter, or better yet, to see you in the flesh. I will be hoping for the latter.

Sleep well, Benedict. I wish we were not apart, but I will comfort myself with dreams of you.

Eternally yours, Sophie

[sachingja]

MY DEARLY BELOVED,

first, i must tell you how there are no words enough in this town and far beyond the countryside that could encapsulate how much i long for you. you see, words have never been my strongest suit, i know better how to paint than how to make sense of what i feel with mere words. perhaps, it is because you render me speechless or it might simply be due to my comfort residing in the colors, never in between the pages of a book or in the ink of a letter. that is colin's forte, but i would rather you do not waste your ink and most precious time on my dearest little brother.

that said, i shall be your humble and dutiful servant in any and all matters regarding the content of letters, and everything else, too.

i assure you, the journey to the cottage has been most arduous in your absence, and as dreadful as one might imagine when stuck to their own devices. it is quite wondrous, how many times i have taken that journey by myself and yet, i do not wish to be lonesome any longer. any journey that could be taken with you instead of away from you would be much preferred, my dearest sophie. i long for the day we shall cross the threshold of our cottage together again. the halls are simply too quiet without you and the crabtrees are trying their utmost to pretend as if they are not missing you almost as much as i miss you. this does not surprise me at all; i, too, long for you to roam these halls with me.

the night has been unbearably lonely. i wish you were there beside me, that you were in my arms rather than hours away.

i shall include a drawing of our home in my next letter to you, do not fret. your wish is my command, as it will ever be from now on until my dying day. perhaps, i should draw our lake as well. as soon as i laid eyes upon it, i had to think of you and reminisce.

i should hope my sisters are not giving you too much grief without me around, but eloise hardly contained her excitement at the prospect of my leaving without you, leaving you to her eager audience. as long as i am gone, they shall enjoy your company and i shall envy them.

should there be any delay in my return to you, i shall inform you as soon as i know of the fact.

eternally yours, benedict

[exitvelo]

🍃🌋 — ft. asano kōji, @sachingja

the grocery store is quaint though not entirely quiet. the middle of the week never lends itself for shopping when it concerns them as a household, so satō usually keeps his most necessary errands for these days and the larger, more sprawling one for the weekend. as a routine it has taken little to no finesse to implement, as kōji's only as eager to check the produce section as he is to visit the botanical garden or the vegetable farms and rice fields outside of the city - the diagram shaping the contents of his stomach and the reason for the small line between his brows disappearing being two circles overlapping that did not take satō long at all to figure out. despite his boyfriend's active reminders that the rest of the world is in opposition to him, especially the people he sees on the daily while he is in the office, he is far less brooding when he is at home; more at ease and more beautiful for it, satō's heart always lurching into his throat when he sees kōji out of his suits and done away with the layers he clings to otherwise. even with the increasing time spent in satō's bed, or with the two of them wrapped around each other on the couch, satō's not sure he will ever get used to the sight of kōji letting down his guard, that armour of perfectly cool propriety only for satō to see beneath it. what a heady privlege, one satō tries to pay back a hundred times over, not only with managing their daily meals or the maintenance of the house, but with making sure kōji has nothing to worry about anywhere else either.

there'd be a summer storm in the coming week, which means grocery shopping is a long list of needed things satō's written down on one of his notepads with kōji's input, and they chart their way through the store like sailors through the seas, heads bend over their list with serious attention, satō folding himself about in half to be on the same eye-level as kōji, who holds reign of it while satō pushes the cart along in front of them. it's already half full, as they got most of the ingredients satō's been eyeing for some cold dishes he can make for them in the next few days, though there is still a stop at malon's farm left for them to stock up on meat and some vegetables. kōji's frown in the produce aisle's been telling, and satō's vowed to himself to take care of it the moment he noticed it. one hand on the cart, the other on kōji's back, they move along while satō reads the list over kōji's shoulder. for the trouble of his hair having grown out a bit, he got one of his old baseball caps on, the brim backwards, to not have to worry, and as he leans down he takes a look to the side, getting lost in kōji's focused face for a moment, the straight line of his nose and the scar above one of his eyes, the mild blush of his cheeks.

" i've been thinking, and you can just shoot me down if you don't like it, but have you ever wanted to put your name on the house deed? i mean, we've been living together for a while now, " he asks kōji, then leans over his arm to grab a pack of new dish towels since the old ones have begun to fray; usually satō would just make them himself, but his increasing workload of outdoor projects with summer in high gear means he's been spending a bit less time in the house, so this is an easier solution. nose bumping against the top of kōji's head, satō carefully moves the cart out of the way so kōji can tick off the towels from their list. as he does it, satō ponders on, voice evidently enamoured, " it's not just my place anymore, is it? it's - well, yours too. ours. what do you think? "

[sachingja]

it had been a slow and steady crawl into this comfortable togetherness, the slowest of kōji's life, who had never experienced anything of that sort before, who had already made peace with the fact that he would pine after his handsome roommate for potentially ever, to never pay that pesky feeling any more attention than his subconscious already did. but life had a most unpredictable way of hitting you out of left field and after one thing had led to another, he had found himself in satō's bed, these days more often than he wasn't, and it was as daunting as it was exciting, sent his heart into an anxious frenzy followed by a warmth that slowly settled in all his limbs, his entire body, and the marrow of his bones. he couldn't deny how nice it was to expand their daily life and infuse it with a quiet romance, replace some of the friendliness with clear affection, the small and quiet touches, a hand to his back or his head against satō's arm, something kōji had to stop himself from doing even while they were in public which was especially unlike him, but it was as if his body was constantly seeking out the other man, wanted to stick close whenever they were around each other.

the grocery store usually saw more of satō than it ever did of kōji, who was usually still in the office or asleep by the time satō made it there, but he had left earlier than expected today and had enjoyed the mundane act of putting the list together the night before, with satō rummaging through the fridge and the cupboards while kōji dutifully jotted down everything they needed, whatever they had run out of and whatever they had to stock up on with the projected summer storm arriving in a few days' time. kōji had some work to do either tonight or tomorrow, to prep the garden for the eventual damage, but for now he enjoyed strolling through the store with satō, even though the produce aisle had looked rather pathetic. but that was fine, kōji had already texted malon the day before and had given her a list of everything they needed. he never really trusted the produce in the store anyway, and perhaps that made him unbearably anal but he did not care; the fresh produce was far better and superior in taste, anyway. satō knew that as well, because he knew these things better than most other men his age, and kōji liked that he didn't have to tell him these things. that satō heard and understood him, had done so even before they were a thing.

when satō leaned past him, kōji leaned back so he would not be in the way, but snapped his head up as soon as satō's words reached his ears. it had been on his mind, the fact that their arrangement was rather unorthodox, especially considering the fact that kōji was still paying rent for a room he barely stayed in anymore. but it was the right and proper thing to do and he tried to refrain from thinking of their relationship as exploitative or unsavory simply because they were roommates. lots of people fell in love with their roommates, kōji was sure, so it was not out of the ordinary. really, tons of people did, probably. " huh, " he made, very intelligently, before he reined himself in and tried to formulate his thoughts a little more precisely; it was admittedly harder to do with satō so close, looking as good as he did, his sleeveless shirt doing little to hide his thick arms or shoulders. it had been a task entirely for satō to even put a shirt on to begin with. kōji blinked. " i mean, am i not already on the deed? i've signed a contract and all, or should we amend it? you know, i really don't mind paying my rent or helping with the groceries and stuff. i don't - i don't wanna be a freeloader or anything. "

[blotgydja]

FROM THE DESK OF MARCUS WHITMORE, TO FRANK ABAGNALE JR. ◗ THE FRENCH QUARTER, NEW ORLEANS ░ @sachingja

[ 𝑭 ] rank,

In a shocking turn of events, I have decided to indulge you (again, for don't I already indulge your every whim? I can't claim to know many others of my kind who so willingly share information about our species to self-described vampire hunters, even if the hunt is only of the academic kind) and forego texts and e-mails for the sake of handwritten letters.

Ideally I would have liked to make some teasing comment here, say something about your nostalgia, your somewhat romanticised view of the past, bla bla bla, but now that I'm sitting here, putting pen to paper, I realise you might have been onto something — believe it or not, there was a time I used to write letters constantly. To my family, Ysabeau most often, weekly and sometimes even more. Matthew much more rarely, unless there was something of importance to note, some family gathering or death to report. I wrote to friends, for a time, before I'd inevitably have to stop to avoid certain questions about me, the kinds of questions I'm now willing answering for your sake. I think I've missed it.

Maybe I should start journaling. That might scratch this itch. And wouldn't that be something? A journaling vampire. On second thought, no, I shouldn't. I'd be too powerful, with too much self-insight. For everyone's sake I should stick to the pints and Tuesday nights at the club, really dedicate myself to living up to my reputation as the black sheep of the family.

I did promise I'd answer some more of your questions while I'm away. Go ahead, have at it. Though if it's too embarrassing I reserve my right to refuse to answer.

In the meantime, it's your turn to indulge me! What's Oxford like in my absence? Grey, dull, lifeless, void of meaning? Spare no details.

Don't miss me too much.

Your most obedient research project, Marcus

[sachingja]

DEAR MARCUS,

could you, for a second, imagine the sheer delight on my face as the lady working the front desk hand-delivered this letter to me? if you have a spare breath (...) please take a moment out of what i assume must be a terribly busy day for you to envision how purely and deeply enraptured i must have looked. considering the considerate amount of time you have spent in my presence, i would assume you have every inch and every corner of my face memorized, after all it is quite the memorable face, i have been told. only complimentary, of course, and never from you, really, but you shall be forgiven for that oversight. you have seen so many faces, haven't you? probably hard to compare to that vast number, who knows.

perhaps it seems to be puzzling, this archaic form of communication, but i do find it deeply romantic, you are right. do you ever walk past a postcard and think of the messages you would try to cram onto that small rectangle, just so you could tell someone you love how much you miss them? or to share with them what you have seen? perhaps, you can think of these letters as elevated postcards. your thoughts, your knowledge, would be wasted and lost on and in the pages of a journal so simply consider me as your personal safekeeper. your own personal journal, if you will. whatever you want to get off your chest, just tell me. i won't tell anyone, i promise.

(and i would hardly consider matthew a great pen pal. far from it, actually... but fear not, it does not run in the family for with this letter you have already cleared that very low bar. overachiever that you are.)

oxford is the same as ever, gray and boring and horribly devoid of beautiful men with exquisitely sharp teeth. they have all left the country and crossed the ocean, haven't you heard? no, but it is really quite lonely here without you. your father is pricklier when you are gone, far more agitated, and the librarian has already tried to shoo me away from my desk and out of the library no less than three times, but i valiantly remain where i am. there are quite a few books i have dedicated myself to, and quite a few records that have glaring gaps where dates of death should have been recorded. is that common practice? did you just vanish, too? perhaps that is too personal of a question to ask, so let me start with something easier than that.

how is new orleans? and what exactly are you doing there, except missing me, obviously? i assume your kind has spread all over the globe with the extensive amount of time at your disposal. should i have stayed in the states to pursue my research? but then i would have never met you.

it is true that i miss you. cannot help myself.

write to me as soon as you can find pen and paper. don't keep me waiting, i cannot bear it.

a picture of boredom and longing, ever yours,

frank.

BODLEIAN LIBRARY, OXFORD, UNITED KINGDOM FAJR

[exitvelo]

in the warm glow of the evening it was easy to forget everything but the space in which the two of them existed. the kitchen lights were golden, no harsh or cold tones anywhere to be found, with the small lightbulbs set in over the stove only illuminating enough of the counter-top for satō to have an easy time working there at any hour of the day. otherwise the room was warm, wooden fronts nearly everywhere to compliment most of the wooden furniture in the house, and a windowsill that held small pots of herbs satō regularly used; but by now it was wholly dark outside, the trees at the edge of the yard swaying in the wind the only detectable sign of movement. they were shut-in here more or less, away from the world, and satō hadn't known how perfect it would be for kōji, who preferred the absence of people and less impulses from outside environments, but it felt serendipitous when he first took him here and saw how much he calmed, settled in, and let the constantly tense line of his shoulders droop and round out. kōji would love it here, he thought, all the time, but satō wasn't sure of saying it until now when soon there would be over a week and a whole lot of gravity between them for kōji to monopolise the house, and the yard, and make all of it as much his home as it already was satō's. maybe he should be there for it, supposedly so if they did all of that in the right order, but then again which couple had daily cafeteria lunches to count for as their first, and second, and probably twentieth and seventieth dates? because satō counted all of those hours he spent at a table with kōji, the world around them dropping away, as precious time, as precious as it was romantic to him all because kōji was there, when so much of their work already took so much from them and rarely gave them regular time off long enough to try and create elaborative dates.

not that satō didn't already see them far past that stage, he mused, as he got started on dinner while kōji was gone, as that was the only way for him to break out of the reverie of kissing kōji senseless and touching him everywhere, to instead manage and get some food for them ready. most of the smaller dishes were prepped in the fridge already, one of satō's mandatory tasks on his days off once a week, but he measured out rice for the rice cooker and heated up soup as well. when kōji returned to the kitchen, a small line of dishes was set out on the table and two bowls were ready to, while satō was frying an egg and waiting for the rice to be done, but thankfully his hands stayed secure on the pan handle as he swept his gaze over his boyfriend and found his breath trapped in his chest - as simple as it was, he never tired of the sight of kōji, even less so to see him in the most familiar of environs, and with all the layers of his office hours and lab work shed from him. satō's eyes must have doubled in size when kōji was suddenly a warm and small line against his back, but he reached his arm around to hold onto him while a quarter of his attention on the egg sizzling away, and didn't even wait until he could safely say it was done before he turned over his shoulder and said, " come around and kiss me again, will you? " and did exactly that. truly, it was a hard time to find words for the adoration he felt for the other, a love that suffused him down to sinew and bone, and that only ever grew to the point that he wanted to shout it into the world and share it, show it off, show off this man he loved so much. settling for pressing kōji against his chest, a hand at the small of his back, satō smiled down at him once he kissed him enough. " food's ready in a few minutes, but, hm, i could get used to this. spending every evening together. seeing you like this, i think i won't be able to let you go. "

only letting go enough to keep the egg from burning, satō kissed kōji's nose before he extracted himself enough to reach around and grab a dish towel from past kōji's back, keeping the hot pan away from him as far as possible, to put the pan into the centre of the kitchen table. " i know you can drive. i'd let you drive the truck whenever you want to, but do you want to? and isn't it more fun to do it with someone - well, carrying everything over at least. if you don't want the conversation, i'm sure link would help you as well, " satō answered, turning off the rice cooker after its indignant sound announcing it was all done, looking over at kōji while he measured out the two bowls for them, more for him than for kōji by second nature, and ushering his lover to sit down across from him. satō would prefer sitting next to each other, but it wasn't comfortable with the size of most tables, and besides he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself. even across from each other, he reached out and took kōji's hand in his, placing a kiss against the back of it, kōji's knuckles, before grinning at him, delighted by every thought kōji shared with him, as minuscule as they may seemed, satō remembered every detail and information kōji mentioned, from each flower he had at home to the plants he loved from afar and those that interested him enough to grow them himself. satō had dreamed of it, the yard and garden filled with more than just the vegetables beds, kōji in the dirt in mornings and evenings, while satō would help him with every little thing he needed before carrying back inside and to the bedroom, or just to the wall of the house, as there was nothing more exciting for him than to see the man he loved fully immersed in his element. it was like a high, but so much better than any addiction he could develop. not even the stars could compare, he was sure. " you already planned it all out, haven't you? ah, i knew it. it was all waiting for you anyway. also, i'm not leaving tomorrow, we can start working on it together. what do you think, maybe there's room for a greenhouse too, or at least i can redo the shed. it's a bit sad. how does that sound? "

[sachingja]

the kitchen was warm and smelled of all sorts of spices, flavors that kōji had grown accustomed to the more time he spent with satō, that he was not afraid to try anymore, because satō had taken the time to figure out what kōji preferred, what he would barely grant a glance and least of all a chance. kōji had become flexible but he was not breakable, not so bendable that he would snap, and satō had carefully figured out just far he could push him out of his fiercely guarded comfort zone. kōji had grown with those stretches, those expansions, in a space that satō had made for him, and whenever he entered the house the engineer lived in, he felt like it was simply an extension of that zone, the warmth that surrounded him everywhere, not just in satō's arms, the golden glow of the dim, tasteful lighting. all of it seemed as if satō had molded himself into every inch of his home, every wall and every floor, and kōji wished to be there with him, some green in the midst of all the earth. he could see it so clearly, dreamed of it occasionally, usually when he was laying next to satō, curled up in his bed that was big enough to fit the both of them comfortably, unlike kōji's bed in his own apartment, that he had acquired because it was functional enough and he did not need more than that, or so he had assumed. he thought he would spend most of this time in the lab, anyway, and he was right about that assumption but he could have never foreseen the addition of satō to his life, could have never confidentially claimed that someone like that was out there waiting for him, right under his nose, even.

there was an egg on the stove, kōji could hear and smell it frying, but he inhaled satō's scent first, a whole day's worth of it, and basked in it for a few seconds before he unwound himself and stood closer to satō, leaned into his side with his arms as far around his back as he could reach, happily pushing onto his toes so he could kiss satō as much as he wanted him to, as much as they both wanted it, because kōji had something to lose now, something they would take away from him and put so far out of his reach, his greed would know no bounds. but such were the machinations of their shared work, the work they had dedicated their life to, and kōji should have not been so surprised when it finally came to pass. he sighed softly and stepped out of satō's embrace, rounding the stove so he could take a peek at the dishes set on the table: mostly vegetables prepared in advance, which kōji knew was how satō usually spent most of his sundays, and he delighted at the sight of the cucumber salad he preferred, the one thing he did not mind eating, no matter the time or place, besides squid and white rice. " you didn't have to make that for me, " kōji said as he turned his head to look back at satō, who was maneuvering the frying pan onto the table with scary ease. for someone as tall as he was, satō was far more graceful than anyone gave him credit for or perhaps even expected. it made kōji smile, all those little things, stuff that only he knew and noticed, that no one else was privy to. it made him feel like he was someone special to someone else the first time in his life. " you know, if you would decline that order and just stay here, we could spend every evening together. i mean, besides when i have to go home and take care of the plants, but that's only so many days of week. " he sat down and shrugged, bowing his head slightly when satō handed him his bowl of rice. as per usual, it was the first thing kōji dug into, something so stupidly simple that put him so at ease.

he could eat most of his meal with one hand, the other in satō's loose hold, enough for him to reach for whatever he needed and return to it, and he didn't mind it at all. while he minded other people touching him or getting too close to him, especially hideo, who thought it was funny to lurk with his stupid head right over kōji's shoulder just to take the piss, he never disliked it when satō touched him, and it was easy to put his bare feet in between satō's legs. the sleeves of the sweater were far too long for his short arms but kōji didn't mind that either, only pushed them up absentmindedly whenever they covered the back of his hands again and bothered him while eating. " it's not like i planned it, " he murmured, though that was a bit of a lie; back home, in one of his notebooks, there were sketches for a potential layout of satō's backyard, which was large enough to become a proper garden with vegetable and flower beds, and enough room for a chicken coop if they ever wanted animals. kōji didn't really like them and loved the alternative of a greenhouse much more, but he knew that this was not just his decision, mindful of the fact that it was still satō's property, his house, and his backyard. he sat up a little, gathering steam, feeling himself flush despite the fact that satō never embarrassed him for being the way he was. " but i am just saying, if you don't just want squash, we can grow much more vegetables, like proper tomatoes and stuff. we can grow enough so you can do most of your prep with what grows in the garden, so we could, i mean, uh, you could spare yourself some of the trips to the market and grocery store. and the shed could be refit with proper tools, not just the tools you use to cut wood and build stuff, but proper gardening tools. i can make a list, if you want. a greenhouse would be ideal to grow more fruit and a few other vegetables, but it's not necessary. but, i mean, it would be really nice. it would look nice, too, right? in the garden i mean, but. uhm, only if you want to, obviously. this tastes really good, by the way. "

[sachingja]

🍃⚾

[exitvelo]

it made sense that elijah was the only one between them who dreamed, and he should have known that already. but somehow this had slipped his grasp, as if he hadn't grown accustomed to the napping spot on hideo's couch while the other was either working from home or busy doing something else, letting eli doze off while he didn't try to wake him until it would seriously hinder eli's ability to fall asleep again at night. of course, hideo could spend hours in the night by nurture, whereas eli was a night owl by nature though with far less nurturing of the habit compared to hideo's many centuries. with anything hideo told him, all those uncanny truths that should put off anyone, eli would either take them head-on or he would revisit them a few days later in the confines of his mind, alone on set or in the silence of an early-morning bedtime, and ponder over them like fairy kings used to pour over their gold with no end in sight. it never was a lie, when eli said he wanted to know everything about hideo, and it hadn't changed when he found out about hideo's affliction, about his nature, which instead had only propelled his curiousity to new heights, the kind that made him want to spend hours figuring hideo out, seeing all of him for himself, savouring all of him for himself too. eli wanted to be the person that knew hideo best, knew every vile and dirty truth of him, but he knew there were still miles to go - even more reason for him to stick it out, stick around, and let the beat of his heart run rampant at any new thing he uncovered. if his love was an ocean, or a river, than hideo successfully controlled the tide, and had to face the torrent of all of eli's dams breaking for him. always breaking for him.

hideo's fingers touched the skin of his inner thigh, mild in their temperature but anything but that in their intention, and eli couldn't hold back from moaning if he tried to, his own fingers digging deeper into hideo's shoulder, up to his neck, as if there would be any kind of way to even out the white-hot arousal hideo made him feel with whatever touch eli could anchor himself to where he was seated over hideo's lap. it was agonising to be so close and yet not close enough, to not feel hideo inside of him - anything he'd have in mind would do - and neither to feel his teeth scrape against eli's throat again, that phantom sensation of the most delicate yet thrilling touch eli might have ever received in his life. maybe it was a damning thing that he was so enticed by the prospect of it all, how he had fantasasised not only about hideo's hands but also about his teeth, his fangs, against eli's throat or other, even more sensitive parts of him. the waiting would have possibly done him in more than anything else at this point, wringing him dry in nights where he woke up from wet dreams filled with images of hideo's pale skin over him, his hands on eli's body, inside of him, doing anything he wanted to do with eli, that eli asked him for and sometimes didn't even need to say a word about, to the point he was more frustrated about the fact that he woke up from his fantasies than that he woke up with his underwear ruined already before he even got a hand on himself. he wanted hideo so much that it had begun to become a problem, but he knew he couldn't push too much, needed hideo to come to him - and at least that had worked.

it was hard to concentrate on anything when hideo looked at him the way he did, the lines around his eyes deceptively soft when his gaze was piercing and dark, when his hand on eli's groin ran a shiver down his spine, that only grew when hideo kissed him again. eli sighed into the kiss, arms wound tight around hideo's neck to take all of him from it all while hideo kept even this as carefully measured as the creation of a missile. there were goosebumps on eli's skin from hideo's touch, from the way he went back to ignoring where eli was so evidently hard, and all of him was hot to the touch by now, and even the whine that escaped eli's throat when hideo pulled away. even if it was for his benefit, helping him out of his shorts, he felt like any kind of distance was too far. hideo's words made his blood sing, arousal spreading through him once more, so that eli had to struggle not to touch himself beyond adjusting himself just once to relieve some of the aching pressure, hideo's lips back on his, again and again. eli could do this all night, all day, figure out the exact time of his refractory period if that was what it took for hideo to smile at him like this, his voice velvet deep, and pulling eli back to him like water. " you manage to make everything sound romantic, " eli told him once hideo let him go, and then did as he was told, as that lovely smile with pointed teeth demanded of him, and got on his back in hideo's sheets, not looking away from hideo when he slowly lifted his arms over his head. it wasn't too comfortable, but he didn't care, he just wanted hideo closer again, he needed hideo on top of him, skin on skin, now. " hideo, " eli rasped, the weight of hideo's eyes on him making him burn up where he was; he could even feel his thighs tense from it, anticipation barely keeping him from caving in further. " hideo, don't make me wait. touch me. do anything. "

[sachingja]

an abundance of time had taught him the importance of patience, that thing that was so fickle to the living, to the man inside his bed, but that was worth enough to indulge in it, to keep himself tightly contained, restrained, so he could sit and appreciate the view of elijah in between his sheets. miles of tanned, flushed skin spread out as wide as the eye could see, or as far as hideo could see in that moment either way. it was almost too good to be true, that view, this reality, and it seemed implausible that he had denied himself this for so long, but when the burn of hunger clawed up his windpipe, hideo knew that he had been right to approach this with such severe measures. that elijah's well-being was tantamount to everything they did, this entire relationship hinged upon it, and hideo would not know how to forgive himself if he ruined it simply because he could not keep himself in check. it had been far too long, perhaps, since he had felt such a draw to anyone but when his eyes found eli's, when he allowed his gaze to linger and slowly wander downwards, he knew that his many futile attempts and denials had only worked to underline what he had known all along: a once-in-a-lifetime affection, once in his lifetime, an overwhelming feeling he had not experienced before or would ever since, he was sure of that much. so, hideo did not need to dream because he had whatever he wanted right in front of him, at his fingertips. his dreams would only invite ghosts, anyway, and he had no inclination to offer them any part of his heart, or his mind. it would do him no good to dwell on what had happened or who he had lost to the wheels of time. it would certainly offer not as much pleasure as this moment right now did.

his desire spread through him like a fever, with a heat he did not experience anymore, that he could not feel unless he brought his hand to a flame. when he put his palm to elijah's neck it felt just the same, a flame burning brighter beneath the weight of his hand, and he leaned over him to kiss him slowly, surely, deeply, until he could hear and feel elijah's heartbeat accelerate and the others hands come up to reach for him, claw at him. hideo only smiled before he crawled over elijah, caged him in between his arms and legs; he rarely felt small, but with elijah underneath him, he could tell that the boy had a few inches on him, enough to remind hideo of the fact that elijah would always have to lower his head to kiss him, to hold him. it was a delightful thing to be aware of, especially because he knew that despite all of it, eli was still so fragile, the flutter of a bird's wing in the palms of a predator. that did feel good, hideo could not deny it, and he lingered with his teeth close to the thin skin of elijah's neck, kissed the indents they left when he pushed a little, and moved lower, towards elijah's sternum. one hand came up to palm elijah's chest, massage the muscle there shaped by hours the other spent in the gym to hone his body with considerable effort into the picture it painted every day, much to hideo's enjoyment, his palm caught on one nipple because he surmised that elijah would be sensitive, as sensitive as he was to his mouth, his fangs, the touch of his fingers. how wonderfully human, hideo thought with some fondness, as he trailed his mouth lower and lower, and licked along the edge of elijah's pectorals only to watch him react to it. there was nothing better than that, nothing that hideo found more thrilling than witnessing elijah in the throes of pleasure. it was as addicting as the scent of his blood, as the promise of a taste of it.

" i don't make everything i say sound romantic, " hideo protested, his mouth so close to elijah's skin that his fangs brushed it with every syllable he uttered, every word he spoke. he did it again to watch goosebumps break out on elijah's body, and trailed the touch towards the dip in his waist, his other hand curling around elijah's thigh now, holding him there before he pressed it up and outwards. that was almost too much to take, but hideo did it anyway and enjoyed the view of eli all bare and spread out for him, his cock hard and flushed, leaking at the tip. begging for a taste, for a touch, for anything, but hideo liked to see elijah beg for him, how desperate he could get when he did not get what he wanted just then, not quite as immediately as he got anything else in life. or demanded it of the world. " you just lack the context of hundreds of years worth of language and that is not your fault. it is a tall order for anyone to take upon, but the words to encapsulate my desire for you have yet to be invented anyway, " he said, and rubbed circles into the crook of elijah's knee with his thumb, where it rested securely inside his grasp. far away from where elijah wanted or needed him, probably. it made him smile. " hm? where do you want me to touch you? i've been touching you this whole time, haven't stopped touching you since you've laid down. i know i've let you go without it for far too long but not tonight, am i right, my love? not tonight. "

[exitvelo]

the argument was a moot point since neither of them could change it, and yet satō wished he could do anything to soothe kōji's evident anxieties for a future that was still a few months off, if not more. there would be training to go through, and mission protocol to memorise, and all the other mundane work that would continue on the side so satō could hand it all over to his team when he'd probably be going all the way into space. he wasn't frightened, not exactly, not in the way one was scared of things as a child, but there was a healthy dose of nervousness in his system at the prospect of really being called up and having to go. while he worked on all kinds of space vessels for a living, from small satellites and sondes to bigger pieces of a whole station, he had never been in one of his own creations in their intended purpose. standing in zero gravity simulation, after all, was still not the same as experiencing the real thing; and in a similar vein fretting over the potential pains of being without each other now was no realistic assumption or match to what it would be like in reality later. satō already missed kōji whenever they had to part for their respective parts of the base, him in one of the several hangars on the premises and kōji in his office with impa, a distance that already felt too far but was made manageable by the fact that satō was determined to spend every day with kōji, even in small ways or moments, and dedicated enough to the love of his life that he wouldn't derivate from that goal too much. how he'd fair in space he didn't know - he would miss kōji like an evergreen ache, he knew that, but he couldn't fathom the scope of it yet, not even through estimated guessing. kōji wasn't to be predicted and satō didn't want to do him the disservice of trying to. he'd take every second he'd get with kōji now, and cherish them until he had to leave, and then pour himself into every second with him once he was back. that was the only feasible way to make it work.

when kōji exited the car, satō followed him and received him readily when he pulled his arms around his waist while satō unlocked the front door and they walked through the patio into the house. it was always much better with kōji here, who brought a tranquil presence to the space satō himself never could, and who looked ravishingly beautiful in the warm light and in satō's arms. taking kōji's back and his jacket from him, satō disposed of them alongside his own, before he moved kōji in his hold and then lifted him up and into his arms. like this they were on eye-level again and kōji was in much better position to be kissed, which satō indulged himself in once more, a long and passionate kiss that mingled the taste of kōji's mouth with his again where kōji let him in, and that soothed some of the immediate anxiety with the presence of their bodies against each other. it wasn't something satō could do when they were at work, where they shared a table in the cafeteria and he loitered around kōji's office door whenever he was coming from or going to a meeting in the main building, so satō always wanted to do it more than anything when they were here. kōji fit perfectly into his arms, and his nimble legs fit neatly around satō's waist, and he was growing warmer by being so close to satō himself. satō liked being the reason kōji's touches were less cold, his hands less clammy, and he never wanted to refuse that or not let kōji as close as possible to him. not even space could stop that, how kōji was a vine and satō happily posed as the stone he could wrap around. " i wish i wouldn't have to go either. i never want to leave you alone. i'll miss you so, so much. you have no idea, " satō said once he let go, mouth against kōji's cheek to leave a kiss there too, and then another against his nose. satō looked at him, this wonderfully smart and scheming man that somehow tolerated him long enough to fall in love with him, and really couldn't ever imagine to go without, even when their superiors decided he'd have to.

nose gently nudging against kōji's, satō kissed him again, and then carried him into the kitchen where he placed him on the table. " if you want to change, you can. i will just get dinner started, it won't be long, " satō said before he let him go, stealing another kiss for good measure, and then lingering there once again to follow with one more, and another, and another. he really could never get enough of kissing kōji, and of seeing him under the light of his kitchen or living room or bedroom, and to think kōji would make his home here while satō was gone for ten days was a little like ripping a piece of his heart out. satō felt it as prevalent as a bruise - that he should be there for that, to see kōji make one single place for them out of two different existences, and to then convince him to never leave. in satō's favourite fantasies they both worked from home, as unrealstic as this was with their jobs, and he could have kōji for himself for the whole day and night; but he knew that was impossible, so he had to make their time during nights like these count. he always wanted to show kōji all his love, all the time, and always hoped kōji felt it, knew how much and how deeply satō adored him, more than anyone or anything in the world, so much so that he'd build him a whole other house only to say they never lived under the same roof apart. finally letting off, satō's hand had found its way onto kōji's thigh, encircling it easily, and the other was next to him on the table. satō leaned back, a little abashed. " bring all the plants you want to, and anything else too. just ask malon to bring her own truck along, or for her to drive mine. i won't mind anything you want to have here, " satō told him, giving him a warm smile he hoped put kōji at ease. " the garden's got a vegetable bed, too, but it's, ah, only squash and eggplants. i'm sure it was just waiting for you. everything around here has. "

[sachingja]

the warmth of the house soaked his body almost immediately, as soon as satō wrapped hims arms around him and embraced him as tightly as he could, as if they could fuse their bodies and become one, as if there was a possibility to become closer than any two beings possibly could. they tried often enough, kōji thought fondly, some of the warmth increasing as he thought of just how often and valiantly they tried, and with that enthusiasm satō had drawn kōji into his bed, and anywhere else, really. satō's pure adoration didn't just stop in the bedroom but extended beyond the borders of his bed, of that door, dripped into the real world and reminded kōji every day of how much affection could be stored in one person, who seemed to be made of affection only, who had, somehow, decided that kōji was the worthy recipient of such love. it was so implausible that hideo had not believed him when kōji had told him about, the first and only time he did anyway, and that impa stared at them with barely concealed fascination whenever she walked in on them or satō dropped by the lab to bring kōji packed lunches or pick him up to take him to the cafeteria. not many people understood this, them, but kōji didn't need anyone to do so at all, or to even try. their relationship was theirs alone and kōji had no intention of sharing it with anyone, least of all the entire galaxy, but it seemed that he had no say in that regard. instead, others had made that decision for him; he would have to share satō with the stars after all when he would be up there with the crew, who were in the best hands imaginable, kōji knew that much as well, but he did not have to like it one bit. perhaps, he would spend those ten days sulking, hiding behind his computer and inside the lab for as long as he could get away with it. it would be better than having to explain himself to anyone who'd see him.

satō was quick to pull him closer and lift him off the ground, and kōji went easily, as if he was as light as a feather, his legs curling around satō's waist with the rehearsed ease of months of practice. it was easier to kiss each other then, and of course his boyfriend didn't waist the opportunity to do so; if kōji didn't know that satō could walk through his house blind, he would have been worried for his safety, but as it was he could wind his arms around satō's neck and bury his hands in his ink-dark hair to kiss him as deeply as he wanted to, as he needed to with their impending separation looming over them like a specter. " you'll be so busy with keeping that ship together, are you sure you will even have time to miss me? i know how you get when there's something to be fixed, or taken care of. " look at me, kōji wanted to add but didn't, pressed his words close to satō's cheek before he punctuated the sentence with another kiss, off-center, to the corner of satō's mouth, more kisses that followed the line of satō's jaw where his day's worth of stubble started growing in, and lower towards his neck, where kōji could bury his face and inhale a day's worth of his scent. it was calming and stupendously attractive and kōji wondered if it was delusional or insane to ask satō to leave as much of his worn clothes as he could. he'd be wearing company issued gear anyway, right? they'd all look like twins. kōji soured at the thought of hideo and satō wearing the same clothes. ugh. " but i will miss you. i'm trying to think of a way to keep track of you up there, so you know i'm thinking of you. i'll be thinking of you all day long, anyway. " it was as much of an admission of his feelings as he could offer, words that used to come so hard to him now easier to attain when they were together, in the privacy of their shared solitude.

it was difficult to let go of satō when he would not stop kissing him, when kōji did not want him to stop kissing him, but the engineer was right: kōji would have to change because he did not like the smell of the lab clinging to his clothes at home, and he preferred to be comfortable rather than stuck in slacks and dress shirts. unlike satō, kōji showed up at work in some resemblance of coherent office attire, mostly because it felt right to do so. " you know, i can actually drive, " kōji reminded him, not that he did it very often or was very good at it, but he felt like it deserved a mention. maybe satō didn't want him to drive the truck, which was fine too, kōji could respect his boundaries as much as satō had respected all of his. but before satō could say anything more, kōji kissed him again and slid off the kitchen table, his hand lingering on satō's waist until he was fully out of reach and he made his way down the hallway, towards the bedroom, where he knew satō kept most of his clothes and he had left some of his as well. it was easy to strip off his pants and shirt, carefully folded and hung over the appropriate clothing hangers, and to change into a pair of pajama shorts he kept here for that express reason alone and one of satō's sweaters he had left on the bed. he hardly ever wore any of them, usually only for kōji to steal them, but maybe the cold evenings had gotten to him a little; when kōji buried his nose in the collar, he could smell the familiar earthy, warm smell of satō and it made him smile. once he returned to the kitchen, he could already hear satō busy with dinner. " would you like to have some flower beds, too? i know you like all the veggies and stuff, but the garden could be multi-use. there's a way to do that. i could bring some stuff, " he said as he walked in, and it did not take much to step behind satō at the counter and wrap his arms around him, press his face in between his shoulder blades. " so it's not just squash, you know? "

[exitvelo]

a sweetness undisturbed by anything the world threw at it, hayun was of such rare beauty that idris had to wonder how he was even real to begin with. not even the athlete he was, as this was the most obvious thing about him, the box he'd always be put into by anyone that heard of him or first saw him, but who he was beneath all of that - who he was away from the daily grind that made him who he was to so many eyes. idris was not fully uninterested in who hayun was in his professional life, no, there was appeal to seeing him excel at what he was doing, a sport mostly foreign to idris until his brother suddenly decided to move continents for the work opportunity ( what - did rugby not cut it any longer? the horror in their parents' faces seemed carved in ) and that was only ten times more intriguing because whenever idris got to watch it he was watching hayun. his teammates were periphery, the decoration surrounding the main attraction, and any time idris went to the stadium he knew if anyone would be able to see his gaze beneath his sunglasses that they could tell just how focused he was on following one person only. even then though everything about hayun away from his profession was so much more enrapturing, pulling idris in like a tide, from the shier nature to the bolder cracks coming through, always coming through for him at least, thar even had idris consider if he wasn't too tame when it came to their courtship. and that was what that was in the early days, a song and dance back and forth in a trickle, until it was idris who had cracked. between two languages and an ocean, he knew there would never be the right words to describe what hayun made him feel, that reawakening of his numb heart, and how right it was to chase that, to keep that feeling, to keep the person who ignited it, and to give him everything in return.

famous last words anyway, as idris learned just how much hayun wanted and saw he had a mountainside in scale to climb. but if there was anything idris could do, it was to get out of his comfort zone to achieve something, even more so when he found out that it could expand what he was comfortable with. maybe put it on his very long, and very reasonable, dry spell, or the fact that he wasn't able to do half-measures ever, but there was something beautiful, something thrilling, in realising that hayun wanted him so much he wanted him to have everything too, every part of hayun marked or touched or held by idris, undone by him, in a show of trust that was as vulnerable as it was intoxicating. and the sight of hayun was intoxicating, the flush and sweat throwing him into disarray, which seemed impossibly with a body as virtually perfectly composed as his, and only made him more of a sight to behold for idris. the sounds of his voice, moaning and whining, in two languages that idris learned to understand as if he were the one on command whenever hayun opened his mouth, seering idris' blood boiling hot beneath his own composure. it took concentration, but also devotion, of a special kind not to fall apart under that kind of performance, but idris knew he had to keep a strict hold on himself, to keep himself at bay, even when hayun was begging for him as if he was about to die, saying his name like he was preparing himself for vows he'd never take back, that idris would never let him take back. it was piercing through his mind, that sound, and idris had to take a deep breath in before he squared his shoulders.

hayun had been open, a door without a hinge, the closer they had gotten, and idris could see the trajectory of their relationship marked by the increasing notches of the tension between them whenever they were sleeping with each other. hayun wanted it to hurt, he loved the sting and the pressure and the fire, and idris had to grow into understanding this - the desperation in hayun's body, the way he was between thrashing and complete stillness, on tenter hooks for idris alone, so hard and aching that idris could see it, could feel it against his stomach, and that he'd probably enjoy to take care of if it he wouldn't know that wasn't really what hayun was asking him for. he was asking for the absence of that completion, wanting the fullness idris could give him when he'd fuck him but not without the cutting ache of what idris could do to him before that. he gave idris that power, handed over everything, and it was up to idris to deliver. hayun's pleading definitely helped, idris' hand loosening where he held hayun's face in his hand, taking hayun's hand with him. first he leaned down to kiss hayun softly, the sweet pressure of their lips meeting, every part of hayun's body hot down to the inside of his mouth, before idris leaned back up, studying him again. " begging for me so sweetly. but it wouldn't be punishment, would it? you'd enjoy it. probably come the moment i touch you, darling, " idris muttered, a slow smile spreading over his face. it would have to be the palm of his hand, he knew it, and when he lifted it again he didn't hesitate when it met hayun's cheek and he let his hand linger, the slap coming before hayun could answer him, could even beg him again. that was what hayun's wanted all this time, for idris to do everything.

[sachingja]

it had been too long since he had done this with anyone, too long since hayun felt like he could trust anyone with this part of himself that he so scarcely revealed unless he was sure that the other half of the equation could take it, would want it. with ian, he initially hadn't been too sure; yes, he had wanted him from the beginning, from the first time he had seen a picture of him on said's phone, when a warmth thrummed through his body and reminded him of what it felt like to be caught in the sudden riptide of attraction, of simply wanting someone so much the wanting would be enough to live by. he had spent so many hours dwelling on those useless feelings, until they had become big enough to see, read it right off his face, and he had been helpless to it. hayun knew what he desired and he knew that those things were often not palpable to the average lover; and it would have been fine, certainly, if ian didn't want any of it but hayun also knew that he was far beyond average, the highest of highs, a man impossible to explain to anyone who had never met him. who had never touched him, had never been at the receiving end of his affection. the dream had grown from there, fostered inside of his chest like an infection, and it had been the only thing keeping the embarrassment at bay when he talked to ian (for hayun was not embarrassed by who he was and what he wanted but he knew how frustrating and uncomfortable these conversations could be), when he had spread it all out in front of him. all of him on display, as vulnerable as he would ever be. it was a lot to ask of anyone, what hayun desired, more to ask of ian, perhaps, but he felt so strongly that it was the right thing to do, that ian could give him what he craved, what he needed, what others had tried to give him and had failed at, and a few had exploited for their own gain; hayun had seen it all and yet, his heart hadn't hardened yet. instead, he wanted to give ian everything, every part of himself until there was nothing left and he was ian's, wholly. entirely. hayun needed it.

the world stopped, then, in a burst of bright color, the shock of the pain setting in after a brief pause, after the sharp echo of the flat of ian's hand colliding with his cheek had already subsided and left only heat in its wake. his reaction was instantaneous, a moan that reverberated within the small space between them, that came from deep within himself, that had hayun's body seize entirely. contrary to ian's teasing remarks, he did not come immediately, he was too old to, too experienced, but he could feel the telltale twitch of his own cock, so hard it ached, the arousal that raced through him so acutely that his spine bowed off the mattress before his body settled back against the sheets as if the strings had been cut. it was the perfect summation of the deprivation of his own desire and the long-lasting steadfastness of ian's steady hands, who had held out long enough to make hayun near delirious with desperation. not just tonight, when he had spread him out across his bed and taken his time with him, had brought him to the brink over and over until hayun was a blabbering, teary-eyed mess, but every day before then, every minute they had been intimate with each other and they had worked themselves up from a few pointed instructions to this. it was everything hayun had asked for and so immediately addictive that he already wanted more, needed it again, the sting of ian's hand against the apex of his cheek or every other part of him, the delicious pain that swam through his body downwards from his face, his neck, to his gut and straight into his groin. he wanted to roll over and rut against the sheets, wanted ian to do it again and again and again, and he had to collect his thoughts before he could offer anything in return. english was so far from his mind but it was important that they understood each other now.

the smile on ian's face was perhaps the worst and best thing about if all, a perfect blend of charming and cruel, and hayun could feel the part of himself that was wired to receive this pain and react to it in ways others didn't, the part that listened to ian so keenly and wanted nothing more than to surrender, separate himself from the here and now. towards that space where everything blurred together and only the sensations mattered, where his head lowered the volume of everything surrounding him and every single thought, too, where he only existed within the endless pleasure granted to him. it was a good space to be in, somewhere he had only found himself so rarely, but that never felt anything less than good. " ian, " hayun said like it was the only word he remembered, but he knew that the syllables were barely detectable, his voice sounding foreign to him, rough yet wet with unshed tears, and hayun knew he was flushed from his hairline down to his chest, the pink head of his cock, his thighs, all of it, the imprint of ian's hand on his cheek. he wanted to see it, wanted to press his fingers into it and work himself to completion; it would not take much, a few strokes. but he wanted ian inside of him more than that, the weight and fullness, the stretch that stole the breathe out of his lungs. he was so empty; his hand reached for ian's, caught around his wrist, fingers digging into his skin almost painfully, and he blinked his eyes until he could see clearly again, ian's face right above his. a perfect vision. " if you stop now, " hayun murmured, tried to get the point across as long as he still could, " please, don't stop now. fuck me, fuck me, please. "

[exitvelo]

something pressed insistently behind her breastbone, the kind of feeling she never knew how to name until that watch told her what it was. told her after it recorded to her the moment he brought back a whole crate of sweet potatoes, after he did the same with the cabbage, and carried them inside with her and his brother without letting her grandmother move an inch. it wasn't gratitude, and it wasn't pride, but something else, something men rarely made her feel: belonging. she felt something not unlike it with his brother, that understanding she hadn't experienced at all, as well as with miran, who was an addition to her group of friends, her family, that felt like a sibling she never had. but never had it come to her as unbelievably strong as it did with jinman, whose shoulders carried too much for her to alleviate all on her own and yet made her want to try, and whose inscrutable face, always downturned, softened and turned placid when she put a hand on his shoulder or curled her arm around his back ( as far as she could anyway. ) it was curious to realise she could experience a feeling she never really had explored before, the antidote to loneliness, that made her stand ten feet tall just thinking about it, but she usually preferred for the world to not seize her up when she was with jinman. not because she didn't feel secure, but she felt too much of it, and wanted to keep it between them and just for him, so nothing could tarnish a feeling as tender as a spring flower, easily swept away by the wind she knew how to employ by the force of her words.

they both had in common this cold air around them. she was a menace at work, known for it too, and has made it a point to wield it when she needed it. jinman was the same that way, far more ready to pounce than even dongman could be, and the only person eunah's ever met who was as outrightly honest as she was, though here he grew tamer, under her touch. she remembered when her grandmother saw him, this oak tree of a man, carrying food inside with his brother tucked in close behind, and her eyes swept over them to eunah as if to ask how she suddenly found not only one but two men who proved themselves to be useful for once, instead of the complete fads she's seen her granddaughter walk away with at the gate of their house. jinman fit into the space despite its narrow ceiling and walls, he fit into her bed somehow, and he fit into her heart more than anything else, a home made there that made her less miserable on the daily. it wouldn't be long that her grandmother would sit him down again, ask him how often he was here despite the days he spent gone working, and then eunah would either brace the mortifying fact that the three of them were now living together, and she'd have to tell dongman, or that her grandmother would suggest to her, sly as ever, to find a place for her and jinman together. never has eunah lived anywhere else really, but she imagined it, a place as nice as this, nicer than the one jinman and dongman lived in anyhow, that smelled like him and held his clothes in a wardrobe and had one bed, one mattress, for the two of them. it burnt as fierly through her as the sense of belonging he instilled in her, her heart beating like a drum.

" i wanted to see what it was like to really see someone lose their temper for me, you know? i heard about you doing that for dongman and i couldn't stop imagining it. now i know, i'll say the word, " she said, her words muffled against the fabric of jinman's sweater. his chest was warm against her nose and her cheek, he was always so warm, like a heart for her to hide away in, a flame lit only for her. she freed one of her hands and curled her arm around his side, resting not really far against his back but she bunched his sweater in between her fingers and pulled at him like she'd pull a branch forward to see its leaves. jinman wouldn't budge at all, not with such a careful motion, but she could leverage herself even closer against him until her ear was flat against his chest and her nose too, and his hand on her neck rubbing back and forth send a pleasant tingle down her neck. like this she couldn't see the room past his shoulder, or smell anything that wasn't him, and she could knock her knees against his to beg for space there, squeeze her way in between, two puzzle pieces completely fitted against each other, all gaps filled. when he spoke again, his voice was low and careful, deliberate where he drew out his words, and making the back of her head ring a little in return. so much so that she let it sit there for a moment, the meaning of what he was telling her, before she told him, " no, don't ever leave. i want you to put down all your weight on me. i want to feel that you're with me, that you're here. so don't live too lightly anymore, because i'll notice. i'll notice right away when you're not with me. i do, all the time. tomorrow, i will already miss you when you leave through the door. "

[sachingja]

to live in the absence of loneliness was a heady feeling, one that jinman had to adjust to over days, weeks, and months, really. it was not the same as living with his brother, which felt more like a necessity to keep each other alive than the exertion of free will; instead, this was waiting at street corners and by the restaurant until eunah would inevitably come towards him and link her arm with his, or, on a few, rare occasions, hold his hand, and it was less weight in the plastic bag he carried on his way home, less staring at the television screen until the green of the soccer field became blurry and meant nothing anymore. it was the fork in the road and the choice to take the other way, walk down the street to her house, where he had silently begun to stock the fridge with produce he brought home, the ingredients for gimbap and whatever else they would want to make for themselves, which included him in some roundabout way these days, too, even if he only took home the side dishes eunah's grandmother prepared so thoughtfully. for the two handsome men living up the street, she always said, and it had been so long since jinman felt heat climbing up his neck but it always did then, and he could not help himself. he wanted her to like him, enough to let him take care of her granddaughter, and in a way he knew she already knew enough to let him get away with this. hours in her bedroom, near silent. it offered far more privacy than the mat on the floor of his living room, and jinman would be a liar if he said he did not enjoy that. he wanted eunah, in the barest sense of the word, in every sense of the word, and he wanted to love her with no reservations, without that chasm inside of his chest begging to be filled. it felt like he was meant to do just that, as natural as the seasons turning and folding into each other, as ink on a page.

when she slid his legs in between his, he let her and pressed a smile into the crown of her head, wrapped his arms around her until she was properly embraced by him, until they were almost as close as two people could possibly be, and that feeling alone restored the air inside his lungs, made it easier to breathe. he wondered about the words he had lost for so many years, and the work that had taken their place instead, and how both was equally fulfilling, how the latter was less agonizing than the former. wondered if it had ever meant anything to anyone, but then he remembered that it did: miran, eunah's sister, who liked to drop by unannounced to simply sit next to him and eat ramyeon with him while they silently stared at the soccer match he was usually watching. it was her way of making sure he didn't waste away, jinman was sure, and he had only begrudgingly accepted it, but now he did not mind so much. these people that had entered his life in tow with dongman, with eunah, were less of a nuisance and more of a support system. perhaps he had been too jaded to see that, too deep in the dark to figure out that there was a light to return to, but he could see it now and he allowed it in. as off-putting as he was, he knew they did not mind. it was strange, this unconditional acceptance of his condition, but jinman had learned to live with, to swim with it like a boat along the tide, and so far it had yet to lead him astray. she had done that to him, he thought silently, as their chests moved in unison, their breathing falling into the same rehearsed pattern; they did the same whenever they fell asleep at night, when he wrapped himself around her and held her close to him.

" i don't think it's that good, " he murmured but he could not hide the fondness that crept into his voice, that warmth he could not fight anymore, even if he remembered how dongman had looked at him at that police station, when all they did was fight. when all jinman knew was how to use his anger, that slow-burn simmer that constantly lived inside of himself, to the detriment of everyone around him. or perhaps not, he thought as he heard her words, the sincere wonder in it that never left him quite as untouched as it used to be. she was warm against him, and he could smell her everywhere around him, and he bedded his cheek against the top of her head and held her for a moment, letting her words sink into him and sit with it for a moment. this unequivocal endorsement of his existence did something to him that he could not quite put into words, when all he ever had were words, and so, he slowly shifted himself onto his back and pulled her with him, so she could lay between his legs and he could hold her as close as he wanted to. it was easier on his back, too, though he would never say so out loud. he already complained enough whenever he returned home after a week's worth of work. " i won't be gone for so long, i promise, " he said after a moment, and knew that he meant more than just that week, those few days. a promise for forever. " you will barely have time to miss me with all that work director choi has you doing. you are busier than me these days. before you know it, i will be back here with you. "

[blotgydja]

[ 𝑳 ] ong before they became partners, back when he was simply yet another competitor against whom she could never hope to compare, Sophie had watched him from afar; both envious of & admiring him for the ease with which he seemed to glide across the ice,  always with a detached sense of joviality sketched into his smile — she knows better than anyone now that his aloofness and unseriousness was as much a mask as her self-imposed solitude. There are no facades or pretense between them anymore,   his careful touch wiping away her falling tears proof of this. Far beyond the fear and the melancholy she can see the banners of her own anger flying, hoisted in fury at the idea of her former coach having such an effect even now that it threatens the greatest thing she’s ever held in her hands, this partnership that matters more than any medal ever could. Sophie wishes she could wash herself of it all, but like a splinter under her skin Araminta lingers, aching under the slightest pressure.

❛❛ I know, ❜❜ she confirms his gentle inquiry, the agreement slipping from her mouth as she takes a deep breath, shoulders falling and rising with the attempt to steady her own breathing and settle the panicked ruckus in her mind. ❛❛ We are on the same page. I want to be here with you, I want to do this with you, I swear I'm happy I am, even if— ❜❜ With a halfhearted shrug she gestures lamely to her own appearance; even if it might not have looked like it to any spectators, with the tears descending on her flushed cheeks, though they are slower and slower to come. But his gloved hands, soft as they continue to brush the droplets away, keep her focus on him alone, the rest of the rink and the world beyond stripped of any importance so long as he keeps her tethered to him.

Promises are fickle things, easily broken under the slightest bit of pressure and rarely ever amended. The age old instinct to dismiss his oath does not rear its ugly head quite so forcefully now, not when it’s his promise being made — so many of them made over the years, and despite her unwillingness to ever believe even a single of them, he’s never let one break. Instead she allows herself to believe in his words (attempts to, at the very least); with her arms around his waist she uses his weight as a pillar to drag herself even closer, aided by the ice beneath their blades, and tucks her head under his chin, breathing in the familiar scent of him. Forehead pressed to his chest, she feels the thud of Benedict’s heartbeat against her skull. The sensation is a steadying reminder of the mundanity of the moment, the safety of it now that his hands are the only ones she will ever reach for. ❛❛ And are you so certain you won't be the one getting sick to death of me, begging me to go bother someone else? ❜❜ One corner of her mouth twitches, a small smile there and gone. ❛❛ No take backs now, Ben, you promised. ❜❜ She tightens her embrace around his waist, takes a final deep breath to center herself, then slips from his hold; but only enough to take his hand in hers and pull him slowly along the periphery of the rink. ❛❛ You've gotten very good at talking me off the ledge. Thank you. [Her gratitude is expressed with a quiet voice, dark eyes glossy even as she smiles at him.] Anything you want to have a little cry about while we're at it? ❜❜

[sachingja]

while this could be a hardship to others, to the many, perhaps, or they have made sophie feel as if it should be, benedict has never found it hard at all to be with her, to give her his undivided attention; on the contrary, he has always been too eager, somewhat overeager, in his desire to be with her, to comfort her and support her as best as she could. when he had been too young to understand this, they had sat him down and explained to him that he could not be who he was used to be, who he was to anyone else: a jovial boy with no real sense of seriousness. pettiness, sure, competitiveness, too, but he had never been quite as invested in this as his mother wanted him to be, as anthony had assured him he should be.

but benedict is neither his mother nor his older brother, he is himself, and that has not always boded quite so well for him. but then sophie came along; at first, a mirage on the ice, the girl with the flushed cheeks and the dark hair whipping around her like tendrils of smoke or electricity filling the air, how he hid behind the boards to watch her, sat in the stands so he could witness how she ran through her programs with studious, almost stoic focus. he had wanted her then, and he wants her now. time has changed many things but has not touched any of his feelings for her, has only amplified them.

they don't always have much room between them, though, and he is aware of that. when she can finally bear to look at him with something less that that ancient terror, that beast that still has its claws in her, he can breathe easier, holds her close to him with the ease of years and years and more years to come. he has promised to never let her fall and so far he has kept that promise, too. his family used to say that he never kept his word but they are wrong, at least about this, at least inside the rink, at least whenever it concerns sophie; benedict would rather die than break his word, would rather quit than watch her walk away from him. it is quite simple, actually, this entire thing. he knows that he loves her, but sometimes he wonders if she loves him, if she sees him as anything more than her partner, the guy who drags her around the ice and lifts her onto his shoulders and into his arms. could there be room for more than that? occasionally, he feels foolish for even considering it.

" even if? even if nothing, " he tells her with a small, soft smile, too private even while there is no one else around, giving away all his tells before he can ever give them away one by one, consciously. " y'know, you do scare me sometimes when you say these things, but then i remember that you're only really scary when you yell at me about twizzles. like, that is actually scary. " he flashes her a smile before he slowly skates backwards, aided by her hand dragging him, easy as the air to breathe, easy as nothing. his hand find hers a little more firmly, glove against glove, and holds it gently enough so he can lead her into a slow glide, a dance; before she knows it, they are slowly gliding along the rink in an easy hold. the kind of stuff they learned when they had just begun skating with each other and it had been almost excruciatingly embarrassing to be so close to another person. " nothing to thank me for, sophie, " he says, honestly, and shrugs it off. casual. " well, if you insist, i've been worrying about the free dance for quite a while now. don't you think we should change the ending, make it more dramatic? it's good right now, but it's not as good as it could be. " he pauses as he leads her into a turn, then smiles when she comes back around, pulling her closer. " it could always be better, right? "

[exitvelo]

if the ground could shift under him from the force of his feelings, eli was sure that it would probably do that just now. or would have done so the moment hideo decided not to let his advances go to waste and disappear into the metaphorical mist again but pull him close instead. eli had a hard time making heads or tails since that happened, as if his whole day had its clocks suddenly turned over and around and now all he could do was to give himself up to the logic hideo adhered by. there were worse lots in the world, though eli knew he was playing with fire - cold fire, by all means the kind of freezer burn they warned about leaving behind scars, but eli didn't mind, he couldn't mind. there was a well inside of him, water overflowing since it hit the brim months and months ago, that had been waiting to spill since the first time he touched hideo, the first time their eyes met not across the room but in the hospital parking lot where hideo somehow, finally, didn't push his advances aside for the very first time. it was like trying to catch a ghost then, half the time still felt like it, yet eli felt so sure in his heart, a sensation of pressure against his breastbone and down to his ribs, that this was where he was supposed to be and what he should be doing. love never was a thing of sense, or of manners, and least of all to him, but if there ever was a case made for him finding some of it somewhere then it was here, then it was with hideo, where the constant, gnawing desire in eli finally settled down, where the ever-pacing animal of him laid its head down, throat bared, even if that meant more harm than good. still he believed, that it would not come, at least nor permanently or terminally, and even so the trust outlast it. his trust in hideo could possibly outlast any probable danger.

this was the culmination of months of hard work, of applying himself to the most important task his life had ever seen as far as he was aware. to be wrapped in hideo's arms was the lottery jackpot eli had almost worried he'd never get to cash in, but here he was, right where he should be, where he was supposed to be, and hideo had finally received him. the victory of it was swimming through him scalding hot, pressure against every part of him and shifting beneath his skin everywhere hideo decided to touch him. where hideo's teeth scraped against his skin eli could feel the sharper points of his fangs, something that caught his breath in his chest before he could even exhale it, fingertips digging into the weight of hideo's shoulder with what would end up in a bruising grip on anyone but hideo himself. the logic didn't elude eli, he knew there was little to no blood flowing on its own through the man he loved, but he knew that his own was enticing enough to spur hideo into action anyway. for once eli did as he was asked, as the hand at the back of his head demanded, and he kept still where he was situated over hideo's lap, his legs braced against hideo's thighs, fighting the shiver running down his spine when hideo nosed against his jaw, his neck. it was nearly as close as eli wanted him to be, knew he could take, and the tease of it alone was so alluring that hideo was right to test just how much eli was straining against his shorts, hard and delirious with want.

only finding his voice once hideo moved away, whole body wrecked with shivers, an earthquake left behind in the wake of hideo's mouth against his jaw, eli swallowed thickly. " well, i've been pretty obvious with it, unlike someone else, " he managed, words half-humorous as his eyes caught hideo's, could see the slow smile spreading on his lover's face, the fangs he felt before, had still not felt enough, on display for once. if this was the allure hideo's kind was so apt at wielding, then this must be the moment elijah felt like he was slapped over the head with it - if he was beautiful, then hideo was blinding, a sliver of winter sun in the half-dark, that kept eli's heart toppling in over itself as it quickened its pace once more. he leaned in to kiss hideo again, arms still reeled around him, and moaned shamelessly into hideo's waiting mouth when his hand pressed against his cock; because of course hideo could read him like an open book, and had centuries of experiences with others, which eli usually never planned dwelling on but couldn't feel too ungrateful now when hideo took the lead whereas eli felt like he was sinking, sinking deep, into the waiting chill and deft hands of the man he's wanted for so long it felt comical to expect anyone else ever wanted someone more. eli shifted his hips into hideo's grand, grinding up against the heel of his palm, and broke the kiss as he struggled for air, for thought, for anything that wasn't hideo's hands on him, the yearning for his teeth in eli's neck. " how much do you want me then? have you dreamed of this? i have. i've dreamed of you so often. what you'd feel like, how you'd look at me. how you'd touch me, and let me touch you, " eli said, gaze not breaking away from studying hideo, trailing down his face and his body, wanting to see all of it, the vulnerability of this desire he spoke about; what it was like to be longed for by someone who could have it all already, to be loved by him. " you can tell me. "

[sachingja]

hideo did not dream anymore, dreams escaped the extensive reach of his existence; time did not matter to him at all, was a non-factor in the grand scheme of things, in the integrity of his universe, but it mattered to elijah, meant everything to the man in his arms who seemed to exist completely removed from the flow of time, but appeared as if hideo's dreams, those far and fleeting and centuries old, conjured him, a manifestation of hundreds of years worth of longing, of love. it felt dizzying, this perpetual awareness that elijah had been nothing but particles of dust in the air, the wind in the trees, the sun slowly setting in rich amber, in furious red, licking over the rice fields and the mountains, when hideo had still been alive. he had been nothing but a thought or a whisper, the fleeting images of dreamlike perfection that humanity chased out of some inane sense of wonder, that hideo had given up when he had died. his kind did not sleep, did not dream, did not need any of it, and yet, he found himself lost in his thoughts more often than not, thinking of that sweet boy, honey-like, golden: like the sun in the sky, bright and hot, fizzy, setting all of hideo's nerve endings alight with astonishing aptitude. kōji was right, perhaps, in his assessment that hideo was flying too close to the sun, that he had exchanged the thrill of anonymity for the real danger of devotion, that kind of love that stuck to you, glued itself to your bones and fostered a wound that would only stop bleeding once time had folded in on itself, had stretched the pain into something unrecognizable.

but that would be a problem for their future, and hideo had no plans to dwell on it right now, not when he had elijah in his lap, eli, who was besides himself with want, his hands clawing at hideo's shoulders as if he could have done anything; a push against a boulder, nothing more than that. it was intoxicating, to see how badly the boy wanted him, how it contorted all the familiar shapes of him into something else, something more raw, more honest, and he smelled divine. no one had ever smelled like that to hideo, and he was scared of what he would taste like, scared he would lose himself inside of it when he already craved it. to keep his composure, especially now, was harder than he would have admitted to anyone, so instead he allowed his hands to feel the shape of eli through the fabric of his short, watched his face closely so he could soak up every single reaction, every hitch of his breath, every time his chest constricted and begged for air. how beautiful, hideo thought as he slid his hand over elijah's thigh towards the hem of his pants, that flimsy fabric, easy to let his fingers push up and inwards, by the inseam. elijah was hot here as well, the blood that pumped through his body scalding, a signal of his arousal that was almost more enticing than his obvious erection. to hideo, anyway. he appreciated the human body, enjoyed it whenever elijah stripped for him and allowed him to touch him anywhere (foolish as he was), but his blood was the thing that kept hideo under his spell. it made him want to push eli into the bed and sink his teeth into the inside of his thigh, taste him where he was so close already, when he was panting, wet and open beneath his tongue, his teeth, his fingers.

" i don't dream, elijah, " hideo told him, voice deep, the smile on his face warm despite how hard it was to keep himself together. eli was restless, and more beautiful for it, but hideo had to keep his wits about himself for a little longer or else this night would be over far too soon. he did not want that. he wanted elijah to feel his touch and want to escape because it was simply too much to take, wanted to show the boy what it meant to want this as much as he did, to dream of it. wanted him to know what it was like when those dreams became reality. what that reality actually was like. his fingers brushed the crease of eli's groin, humming softly as he kissed him again, careful yet with intent; it was almost as good as sucking his blood. almost, though. " i've stopped dreaming when i died, and i don't sleep anymore, either. but i've spent every waking hour wondering what you would sound like when i got my hands on you, " he said, and it was easy to follow his words, extract his hand so he could push elijah's shorts down his legs. the fumbling was decidedly unsexy but hideo enjoyed the view of eli's naked body moving this way and that, his chest on display, the flushed, tanned skin of his cheeks and his neck begging him to come closer. as it was, he simply reached his arm out so he could grasp elijah's face and rub his thumb over his cheekbone, up to his brow and down to his jaw. kiss him again, hideo thought and did, because he could. he could do whatever he wanted, now. " what you would look like in between my sheets. " he smiled them, a thing with less teeth though it was impossible to hide completely. the fangs, after all. " lay down, will you? arms above your head. "

[suuho]

ig.bli2s_

[sachingja]

[ tease ] sender drags their lips and tongue down the length of receiver’s stomach, but stops just before going lower 🍃🌋

it had taken a while for kōji to realize what it was, this fascination that satō carried whenever his eyes fixated on him, stayed for longer than they should have, that it was more than just mere attraction or appreciation for the physical form, or professional curiosity. satō saw all kinds of bodies walk in and out of his office every day, had worked with more people that kōji could fathom before he was ever hired by the team, and yet, he wondered if he had ever looked at anyone else the way he looked at kōji when he was out on the mat or practicing an apparatus, usually sans shirt, which seemed to be the key to satō's open staring. there were worse things, of course, and kōji was vain enough to admit that he enjoyed how openly satō looked at him, how he couldn't hide it, no matter how desperately he tried to do so, because it was the smarter thing to do but perhaps too late, already. hideo was constantly chirping in his ear about how their physiotherapist could not keep his eyes off him, and kōji wanted to shove him off and tell him he was well aware, that he also had eyes, that he sometimes shoved his shirt back into his bag just because he knew satō would be there to watch. just to see what would happen, to reap the benefits.

and reap he did. there was no one else in the office, or at least he hoped that no one would be coming by here for a while. it had taken approximately five minutes of his appointment to convince satō to work his muscles into putty later; kōji had other plans, and evidently they found fruitful ground right here, with his hand twisted around the edge of the bench, while satō had taken his time to work his hands over his body, touch him with a different intent, certainly different compared to whenever else he was here, but no less enjoyable. kōji exhaled on a soft whine, a noise he was far from proud of but could not help either way, with satō's body covering most of his, the warm, wet kisses trailing down from his neck over his chest, low and lower, and the view of satō's head slowly moving down towards where kōji was already hard and aching, tenting his shorts obscenely, had him dig the fingers of his other hand into satō's shoulder, who was wearing far too many clothes for kōji's liking. who cared about decency when this had nothing to do with decency at all, when kōji couldn't care less about it. some perverse, innermost part of him was thrilled at the prospect of anyone walking by or overhearing them, made him feel hot beneath the weight of satō's hands on his hips, holding him in place, trying to stop the restless shift of his body trying to push up and against the other man. it made the heat feel contained within himself, pressed into his skin with nowhere else to go, like it was about to boil over. it made him want to sink his nails into satō's skin and leave marks.

teeth nipping at the skin just below the swell of his pecs made him moan audibly, enough to try to stifle the noise with the back of his hand. satō was devious and dedicated, two terrible qualities that made kōji feel beside himself with arousal, made him return over and over, because he was addicted to it, addicted to watching satō give him whatever he needed, whatever he wanted to give kōji, which was everything, without ever withholding anything. " satō, " he said, loud enough to be heard over his own labored breathing, a little impatient and so very wound up from nothing but a few kisses down his chest, a tongue in the divots between his abs, god, it made kōji feel like he could melt into the bench, made him want to cage satō in between his legs so he would not dare to even consider leaving him high and dry. right when he was about to get what he wanted, the thin skin below his hip bone sucked until it would undoubtedly leave a mark, his cock twitching embarrassingly, leaking, satō stopped for whatever inane reason, his chin resting on the lower half of kōji's stomach, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and a red, spit-slick mouth, grinning. how evil. " satō, " kōji groaned, trying to move his hips, get friction, get anything. " you cannot stop now. "

[sachingja]

[ lapfull ] sender drags receiver onto their lap in the middle of a conversation, their hands already wandering 🌹☀️

it was one of his rare days off, in the middle of the season, when he had nowhere to be except for the stadium sometime later, before the game, while ian had somehow found a way out of london and to los angeles, which made this entire thing rarer than just a mere a day off, near miraculous to hayun, who had not expected ian until the all star break or september, earliest. when he would be here for the end of the season and the postseason, and hayun shamelessly dreamed of him watching in the stands, wearing a jersey with his number and name stitched across the back, like some middle schooler who kept doodling the name of their crush into the margins of every page. ian was sort of like that, to hayun anyway, the note in the margins of his everyday life, a phone call and a few texts away, the beginning and bookend to all of his days, navigating the insane gap in between their time zones, sometimes more, other times less successfully than he'd prefer. in between, whenever he had the time, he worked on his english homework, the teacher that team had sent his way giving him tedious homework, but he knew she meant well, and he was improving fast, fast enough to understand more in the locker room and from the press, and more importantly fast enough to hold conversations with ian. he had told no one about the end goal of his investment in his second language, but he knew that ian had picked up on it anyway, his eyes warm and fond where he looked at hayun, whenever he looked at hayun, so patient as he heard him stumble through some inane retelling of his last practice. he had done a rare batting practice on the field because korean press had been in attendance and it was supposed to boost morale; to fix all the words together, put them into their right order, was difficult enough for him to apply himself as much as he usually only did on the field, or in bed. he wanted to communicate with ian, wanted to tell him everything, and this was no exception.

before he could elaborate on the fielding practice with the rest of the infield, however, he did not even get the chance to look for the right words, because ian had other plans, evidently, when he reached for him, for they always existed within arm's reach of each other and if hayun had his way, he would crawl into ian, would attach himself to him so he would never have to go back home and leave him all by his lonesome, greedy in a way he had never been before in his entire life. no one had ever made him feel the way ian did, whose touch was enough to make hayun's heartbeat pick up and start a simmer in his blood, like he had never been touched before, like there was a physical craving, an ache in his body that only could be taken care of by the other man, who was never there for it. not often enough, anyway, and while hayun had gotten rather creative over texts and facetime calls, he preferred this. needed nothing else but this, the heat of ian's chest against his own, the width of his hands wrapped around his waist, sliding over the small of his back to rest on his thighs, thumbs pushing into the inseam of his sweatpants stretched tightly over the thick muscle. before hayun could even remember what they were talking about, what he was going to say, the entirety of the english language was eradicated from his brain, as if it had never been there at all, and he felt a soft sigh escape him. barely a moan, just a noise of content, though he could not deny the arousal that ran through him when ian held him so possessively, with such intent that hayun could not mistake it for anything different, something more innocent. it was easy to let his thighs slide apart wider, the cushions of his stupidly expensive couch digging into his knees, and hayun only found his voice when ian's hand was moving beneath his shirt, palm on his back, hot to the touch, skin on skin. it made him a little dizzy.

" i don't think you're listening to me at all, " he said, in korean, and he did not know if ian knew enough to pick up on what he was saying, but it didn't matter. hayun's own hands grasped ian's neck and slid up to grasp his jaw, hold his face in his hand so he could lean in and bridge the distance between them. his mind was already halfway out of the door, wandering what they could get up to, imagining himself on the floor, kneeling between ian's spread legs, the taste of him on his tongue, or being relegated to stay where he was and endure ian's touch. the thought alone was enough to make heat crawl up his spine and flush his cheeks, and hayun knew that he already looked affected by this mere, chaste move alone, because ian had this effect on him, like he had put a spell on him the first time they had met and hayun had never been the same again. he shifted on ian's lap with some effort, his breath catching when he felt ian beneath his ass, enough to make him search ian's gaze, whose eyes were so dark that hayun grew flustered just looking at him. he wanted everything, thought of how far he could push it until ian would snap, until he would give hayun what he wanted and craved but never got to access unless they were together, and even then it was hardly a given. how unfair, he thought, when he always gave ian whatever he wanted, everything he asked for. hayun was generous in his love and in his loving. it had been too long since he had anywhere to put it, anyway. " ian, " he murmured, " where are you going with this? "

[exitvelo]

all in all satō was satisfied with his life. he had never set out to anything like becoming an astronaut, only ever wanted to put to paper and then to real life the things he saw in his mind and he knew he could build, whether it would have been houses or space shuttles, though he learned he didn’t mind much that for a few years now it had ended up being the latter. there was passion in his work, and care too, and he enjoyed the hours he could spend with his head stuck in some satellite or the part of a shuttle he had to make function in states of zero gravity or artificially engineered one. they were puzzled for him to put together, riddles for him to solve that he knew better than anyone else by virtue of having designed them in the first place, so it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that his bosses considered him as one of the prospects do the engineering position on this mission they have all had been planning for years now. for basically as long as satō was working here, this was the pretty clear-cut next big thing everyone had been working on, with one of the former astronauts of the last mission being the captain they’d send up there in charge of everything and everyone else. of course satō knew he could have been the first choice to send up there too, but he was so busy with all the work he did down here day in and out that it was half of a surprise when they considered zelda and him, though knowing to leave his friend to her academic work there there would be little chance it wouldn’t be him at this point. satō wasn’t scared of telling kōji, because he felt like he could and would always share everything with him, but they hadn’t give him the actual assignment yet so this was as concrete as he could have mentioned it. in a way he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, so he could give kōji much more information than the little he had to go on now, but as luck would have had it kōji beat him to it. that quick mind of his, that whirring of numbers and time, was something satō was no match to.

when kōji didn’t respond to the hug satō pulled him into, a creeping sense of worry settled over satō as he only squeezed him closer against his chest. they were good together, and there was nothing satō worried about between them in terms of the future — it’d be a future made up of the two of them and absolutely nothing else than that would do for him — but he could tell that his boyfriend’s mind was whirring away again and getting ahead of himself. all satō could do was press a kiss against his temple and the top of his head, a bit of reassurance, before they got into his car in silence. kōji’s hands were knotted in and out of each other periodically on the drive, his eyes staring resolutely ahead, and satō took every stop at a red light to look over and check in on him. at one, he put his palm over both of kōji’s hands, kōji’s fingers a bit warmer but not by much, and kept driving with one hand for as long as he could. satō had no fear about going up into space, for he’s helped send people up there on much smaller scale by now on more than one account, and he trusted his work with zero hesitation; but he knew that kōji wasn’t as convinced, not when it was something he had no power or control over, and that there’d be little he could do to take that nagging anxiety from him. everything satō would tell him would only help as a bandaid, a temporary fix, until the day would come where satō would return and kōji wouldn’t have any need to worry anymore, would have control over the time and space between them again. if satō could, he’d give him that now already, but he knew he was, for once, limited in his ability to try to anticipate and answer all of kōji’s wants and wishes, outdone by the moon and the stars.

pulling onto the curb by satō’s house, he didn’t kill the engine yet but instead unbuckled his seatbelt to lean over the centre console and take kōji’s face in his hands. his palms covered all of kōji’s cheeks and down to his jaw, and satō was thankful for the grip it gave him. he needed, and wanted, to feel kōji’s skin against his right now, to keep kōji from floating away from him before either of them would ever be fitted for any kind of space suit. “ hey, hey, i didn’t get any official calling yet. i probably will soon, but you’re running away with your head now. you gotta stay with me here, yeah? because i’ll come back to you, but for that you can’t disappear on me, ” he told kōji, insistent where he found kōji’s stressed gaze meeting his own. maybe satō didn’t treat things with the needed amount of worry sometimes, but he always wanted to make sure to treat kōji with all the love he deserved, to give him the certainty he first presented to him that day he sat down across from him, and if that meant he’d have to talk to twenty officials to give kōji clearance on all of his briefings for whatever this mission would be, then he’d do that in a heartbeat. for now, he just wanted to remind kōji he wasn’t gone yet, and he was more than happy to be with him in the here and now. leaning over further, satō slanted his mouth over kōji’s in a passionate kiss, pulling kōji close against him as much as he could with one hand grabbing at his shoulder, all but hauling him against his chest. “ of course you can stay here. zelda would just reorganise my pantry to her liking to play a prank on me. i trust you so much more. with you, i know the house is in good hands, ” he encouraged once he pulled away, his face flushed, thumb rubbing the spot above kōji’s ear by his hairline. satō wanted to kiss him again, so he did, until he had to breathe again. “ i would never leave without telling you as soon as i know for sure, yeah? never. i mean, i wanna tell you everything anyway, but something like this? i love you too much not to. ”

[sachingja]

the stars had never been the goal and neither had been the moon. all that kōji had ever wanted was down here on earth, easier to find for others than it ever came to him, but he found it when he had least expected it, in the engineer that seemed to get along with everyone, who had charmed every single person that ever stumbled into his hangar. it had just been kōji's luck that he was the one satō had chosen to be more than just his friend or acquaintance. something that had been unthinkable to kōji, that was beyond alien to him, had suddenly translated into the focal point of his life, where everything he did and all the threads he had woven entangled, where he found himself return to simply because he wanted to and not because he was obliged to do so by some inane social contract that he had never really understood, anyway. but satō made it so easy to be with him, to seek out his company and be near him, exist within the proximity of his body or closer still; kōji found he never got enough of being close to the other man, and could not really fathom what it would be like when he was so far away that he could not just call him. couldn't just text him. couldn't drop everything and take the bus to the nearest stop by satō's house or walk into work and see him first thing in the morning. it was a strange and befuddling sensation that crawled through him at the mere thought of what it would be like to exist on this earth without satō, that absence of the man kōji needed more than he could ever put into words, more than he ever had wanted to need anyone. satō made it so easy to want him, his affection and attention, and kōji felt already stupid again for wanting it so much that he was throwing a fit now. others dealt with this too, he was well aware. most of the astronauts were married or in relationships, married or parents, and they all had to say goodbye to their loved ones. kōji wasn't special, he just wished he was special enough.

he was about to leave the car when satō pulled him closer, over the center console between them, so he could kiss him, and kōji was simply not strong enough to deny him this or anything else, really, his hands unwinding from the fabric of his sweater to cling to satō instead. kissing him was second nature to kōji, as easy as breathing, and yet it never failed to render him speechless and instill a warmth inside of his chest that had never been anything but pleasant. if he could, he would bottle that feeling alone so he never had to go a day without it. it was those things he would irrationally miss the most while they were separated, kōji thought dumbly, kisses good morning and good night, the way satō always smelled distinctly warm and earthy and pleasant, the little noises he made when kōji buried his hands in his hair to pull him closer, how he tasted when kōji opened his mouth and allowed him in. the little details that made up the mundane whole, that he could not live without for as little as two weeks. satō was doing his best to reassure him, kōji could tell, and he was too weak to get a word in edgewise, let himself be held close to satō's chest, let himself be kissed until he couldn't breathe anymore, and found it did not matter what would happen in the future. satō was right; neither of them could change the fact that it would happen right now, couldn't change anything about decisions made by people that existed far above their pay grade: for once, this was not kōji's battle to fight. all he could do was miss satō and take care of his house in his absence, sleep in his bed and pretend that it was not just him in between the sheets, that the bedside next to his was not cold to the touch whenever he woke up in the morning. a tall order, yet not entire impossible.

before he could do something senseless, like climb over the center console and seat himself into satō's lap to cling to him for the remainder of the night, kōji pulled away and unbuckled his seat belt. the walk to the front door was short but out here it was chilly enough for kōji to curse as he exited the car, the cool breeze whipping around his ears, reminding him of the fact that satō's house was surrounded by nature out here, barely any neighbors as far as the eye could see. " i just wish they wouldn't choose you, " kōji muttered, mostly under his breath, irate just at the thought of satō climbing into that tin box, on hideo's heels no less, to leave for the stars, simply because the higher ups couldn't think of anyone better. and there was none, kōji was well aware, but he wished there was, more than he had wished for most things for quite some time now. when satō finally caught up to him, kōji held his hands out as soon as he was within arm's reach, wrapping them around most of satō so he could leech off some of his warmth as he unlocked the door. the light flicked on almost immediately, alerted by their presence, the golden glow drenching the entryway in warmth as kōji stepped inside, not planning to leave satō's side anytime soon, not if he did not expressly had to do so. he liked it here, kōji decided as he looked around, all that wood but not enough green, and toed his shoes off with his hands still somewhat on satō, socked feet on the warm floor before they went further inside. " i think i am going to bring some of my plants over, everything around here looks so lonely. the space really could benefit from some green, and i will need something to pass the time anyway. something better than reorganizing your pantry. " kōji said, well aware that he had barely any idea what to do with the stuff in satō's pantry anyway; he had barely ever cooked a meal in his life and would live off cafeteria food until satō returned, trying not to feel too humbled by how useless he was in areas that others deemed so essential. kōji was good at other things, numbers and routes and spreadsheets, and he knew approximately fifty ways to watch satō melt for him, which was as important as anything else. he sighed and pulled satō's hand so he could hug him properly this time, feeling small and insignificant against satō's chest, but needing it anyway. " i love you, too. i just. i wish it didn't have to be you. i will miss you so much. "