kiri's wip wednesday: "kagihira touch exploration"
can you believe...? that it's actually wednesday for me? and that I've brought this back? um first off. this wip is like over a year old. I have posted bits of it before. I am probably... not going to make this into a full fic. that's why its got such a blunt title. also because I title boring like that.
...right, so I thought I'd post it! for the people. for kagihira, who I love with all my heart. it's about 1.2k so I'm putting it under the cut
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Hirano has barely turned the lights off and tucked himself in when Kagiura poses him a question: “Do you remember when you climbed into my bed?”
If Kagiura hadn't said far more absurd things, Hirano would suspect he’d succumbed to heat fatigue and was now hallucinating. It is hot—Kagiura’s shucked his blanket down to around his knees, and is sprawled over his bed like he’s willing the cold onto his skin and failing.
Times like these are what the reading light by their beds was made for, Hirano thinks, so he leans over Kagiura, hears a squeak from below him, and flicks on the lights. Sure enough, his face is flushed red, the color disappearing all the way under the collar of his shirt.
“Hirano-san,” Kagiura whines. “You didn’t give me any time to prepare!”
“Prepare for what?” Hirano asks, baffled. “You’re in bed. I’m in bed.” With you, he doesn’t add. “And you kicked the blankets off,” he concludes firmly.
Kagiura makes a wordless noise, and manages to bite out, “Just—um, Hirano-san, it’s the positioning…”
Hirano blinks down at him. He supposes, maybe, that last time he’d done this, Kagiura had said he’d climbed in his bed, not climbed on top of him in his bed. It doesn’t feel like a big deal, only Kagiura’s skin is flushed so bad Hirano wonders if he’s going to start running a fever.
Hirano’s heart doesn’t have the same chaos, but it’s nice to see it reflected on Kagiura’s face, and he looks the perfect part—blanket hooked around a leg, hair sticking in various directions, shirt ruffled and ridden up enough to reveal his abdomen.
And Hirano was right—Kagiura does have nice abs. They’re defined, not in a movie-star bodybuilder way, but… obvious, to anyone who’s looking. He knows that Kagiura came here on a sports scholarship, but it’s not often that he’s so aware of the corded muscle beneath him, a testament to the way Kagiura’s been training his body over the past few years. It’s hard to tell—the reading light doesn’t cast that far—but he’s pretty sure that even there, Kagiura’s turning pink.
“Hirano-san,” Kagiura repeats, shaking him out of your stupor. His hand taps weakly against Hirano’s wrist. “Time out?”
Hirano draws back, tucking himself into the thin free space left on Kagiura’s bed. He’s kind of wedged against Kagiura’s legs, but they’re separated by the thick blanket he has tangled down there.
“What were you thinking about?” Kagiura asks. He’s staring determinedly up at the ceiling.
“Huh?”
“You zoned out, just then,” Kagiura says. He chews nervously on his lips. “But you said not to assume anything about that kind of thing, so… what were you looking at?”
“You, obviously,” Hirano says, and Kagiura has the nerve to look shocked. He doesn’t vocalize it, but Hirano can see the Why? hanging at the edge of his tongue, and he snaps, “Am I not allowed to?”
“What?” Kagiura scrambles up to a sitting position. “You’re—um, definitely allowed, Hirano-san.” He nervously swallows, and makes eye contact with Hirano (good) before casting his gaze down to the shadow of his lap (bad).
“I mean, I—I look all the time, so”—he peeks back up at Hirano again—“it’s fine. Right?”
Hm. “…What were you looking at?” Hirano asks.
Kagiura whips his head back towards him, wide-eyed. Good. He opens his mouth, but words fail to come out of it.
Hirano says, “We’ll never get anywhere if you don’t tell me this kind of stuff, you know.”
“I know,” Kagiura says, though he looks a bit too stunned to have internalized it. “I just—don’t know what you want me to say…?”
It takes a minute, but Hirano finally realizes he’s basically asked Kagiura to aggressively compliment his looks, and feels a telltale heat creeping to his face. Nonetheless he forges on. “Not—I just was curious,” he mumbles, unsure how to phrase it in a way that doesn’t look like he’s begging for attention.
Kagiura tilts his head up at him, anyways, shy and searching, like he’s seeing him for the first time all over again, and the sense of wonderment in his eyes makes Hirano want to save that image of it forever. He understands, before Kagiura can speak, why he looks. What can be so captivating about a person. Especially when that person is as bright as the sun. Deadly. It’s strange to think that he’d been looking at him like this the whole time, long before he’d even made the conscious thought about romance.
“Well, I like your hair.”
Hirano’s eyes twitch. “Didn’t you say it felt super damaged?”
“Yeah, the strands are really fine,” Kagiura acquiesces. “But it doesn’t feel bad. And I liked… seeing it in black and in blond. And I liked that you let me touch it.” He smiles. “I mean, it’s really flashy. I didn’t know what to expect, when I met you.”
“I see,” Hirano grits out.
“I like your ears,” Kagiura says next, because he’s created some kind of monster. “Your piercings, especially. And the way you’re always wearing my gift.”
Hirano flushes. “You insisted,” he protests.
“And you accepted!” Kagiura rebuts. “If you really hated them, wouldn’t you refuse.”
“Haah? How is that possible?” Hirano demands. “Who’d refuse you?”
Kagiura stares at him and then doubles over with suppressed laughter. Hirano watches him, bewildered as he recovers his breath. “You would, if I went too far,” he says. “I mean, I don’t want to do anything you don’t want, too.”
“…Me too,” Hirano replies, wondering why words are so hard. “Okay, so my ears and my hair,” he says. “Is that all?”
Kagiura flushes. “Uh—no, not all,” he says. “I mean, I like… all of you,” he says.
“Right,” Hirano says agreeably. “But where were you looking. Sure wasn’t at my face.”
“Your… waist?” Kagiura says hesitantly. He cringes. “Sorry, I know—”
“Oh, good, me too,” Hirano says, absurdly relieved.
Kagiura makes another one of those endearingly wordless noises.
“I… don’t you dislike being touched there?”
“Yeah,” Hirano says. “But—well, I’ve been looking at your waist too.”
Kagiura is wide awake. “You have?”
“It should be,” Hirano says, only a little irritated by this point. “You’re the one who wouldn’t let me see your abs.”
“Hirano-san!” Kagiura whisper-shrieks, impressively mindful of the late hour. “That—that was different!”
“What do you like about it, anyway?” Hirano asks.
Kagiura screws his eyes shut, but he’s brave and lovely, so he answers well. “I just… think it’d be nice to hold?” he says. Quickly, he adds, “I mean, only if you’re comfortable. But… well… I don’t know,” he says. “I just think it could be nice.” He pauses. “It’s stable.” He peeks an eye open. “And… nobody else would touch you there. So, it’s… just me.”
Hirano mulls it over. He’s placed his hands on his own hips before, he thinks, and so he does so now, placing a hand in each side. There’s some truth to what Kagiura’s said—his hands sink around his waist like there’s a divot made for them. Even with his own hands, the feeling is slightly alien—and Hirano, at the very least, can understand wanting to be the only one.
He reaches up and ruffles Kagiura’s hair, watches his roommate obediently duck his head so that Hirano can properly tug at his hair and press his fingers against his scalp. “Is your waist off-limits?” he asks.
