SATURDAY, DECEMBER 12TH, 2020- 5:24PM // SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2020 - 2:38AM // next | tw: alcohol, horny bird pt. 2
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13TH, 2020 - 2:38AM
“Cheater!” Kei exclaims, scattering several UNO cards across the floor, “You’re -hic- cheating.”
He pouts dramatically, throwing himself against the living room carpet. This childish display has you cackling. Perhaps he’s a bit too drunk, but it doesn’t matter because so are you.
“Can we play a different game, please?” he pleads, slurring.
“It’s not my fault that I’m a god, Kei!”
“If I wasn’t drunk, you’d be a goner.”
“You said five minutes ago that you aren’t even drunk!”
“I’m not!”
“Liar!”
“Different game!” he bellows, still throwing a tantrum.
You reach over and flick the back of his head. Even though you’re hammered, you still manage to land it squarely in the center. His head flies off the floor to face you, honey eyes narrowed.
“You’re dead, (Y/L/N).”
One of his feathers darts toward you, aiming directly for your exposed ribs. You know this game far too well, and while you could easily avoid his attack, you secretly enjoy this kind of attention. In a way, it’s like he’s touching you. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.
You leap to your feet and begin sprinting in the direction of your bedroom, but the feather is simply too fast. Before you can even make it through the door, it’s teasing the sensitive area, causing you to convulse with defeat. You, unfortunately, are being tickled within an inch of your life.
“K-Kei!” you shout, breathless and laughing, “Stop it!”
“No, you flicked me!”
You crash into the wall and slide to the floor, feather never leaving your side.
“I’m gonna pee!”
“You shoulda thought of that before you flicked me, then!”
“I -- fuck -- I’m sorry!”
“What? Can’t hear you. Speak up!”
“I’M SORRY!”
“That’s what I thought,” he says, a fake threatening tone to his voice.
With that, the feather zips back into the fold of his wings, bumping into a lamp on the way. You stay slumped against the wall, attempting to catch your breath. Meanwhile, Kei has raised himself to a relaxed sitting position on the living room floor.
“Now, a different game, please,” he smiles.
“Fine, crybaby.”
“Watch it, or I’ll tickle you again!”
“Nooo!” you whine, returning to your spot on the living room carpet with a graceless thump.
“I have an idea!” Kei gasps.
“Shoot.”
“How about, um, Truth or Dare, but, like, with alcohol! Like you take a shot if you don’t wanna do your truth… or your dare… or whatever.”
“I didn’t realize we were sixteen years old.”
He calls a feather to hover dangerously close to your ribcage once again.
“Jesus, alright! Just put that shit away.”
He smirks with satisfaction as the torture device returns to its crimson plume.
“I’ll go first!”
“Hold on, let me get the vodka,” you grumble, hoisting yourself up.
As you hobble to the kitchen, Kei begins the game anyway.
“Truth or dare?”
“Let’s do truth,” you decide after a moment, returning with the bottle of vodka.
“You’re no fun,” he pouts, considering his options, “Hmm…. oh! Okay, so, you’ve got good aim.”
“Yeah. Truth or dare?”
“I WASN’T DONE YET!”
“I’m teasing, Kei! Someone’s touchy.”
“Leave me alone,” he growls, “I wanted to know what your quirk really is. Because I don’t think that’s all.”
“Yeah, that’s not all. All of my senses -- you know, sight, hearing, whatever -- are better than a normal person’s. Not all of them are the same amount of better though! My sight is the best, and then touch, then -hic- hearing, smell, and taste. It kinda sucked at first, but I worked really hard to make it worth something, ya know? I even got an ultimate move out of it!”
Kei’s mouth is hanging open in real, but overexaggerated shock.
“Really? Show me!”
“It’s not really something I can show you…”
“Oh. Well, can you, like, tell me about it then?”
At this, Kei scooches closer towards you, eyes widening even further.
“I just, um, focus more, and it makes my senses almost perfect. Like they’re great on their own, but with more focus it gets to the point where, like, I can tell what people are gonna do before they’re finished doing it. It’s like -- ‘oh, I can hear their pinky toe moving in their shoe, they’re probably gonna take a step’. It gives me a migraine when I’m done though.”
Kei nods and begins the long, arduous process of standing up.
“Okay, so I’m gonna get up and then I’m gonna do something totally unexpected. You gotta say what I’m gonna do.”
“I just told you it makes my head hurt, birdbrain!”
“But I wanna seeeeee!”
“You can see it later! I don’t think I can do it right now, anyway. I’m drunk.”
He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest.
You learned from your last time drinking together that when Kei drinks, he often wants to play some sort of game. And when he’s drunk and playing a game, one of two things can happen. One, he gets extremely competitive. This is what happened last time, when he flipped your game of LIFE off of your coffee table. Or, two, he becomes a big, mopey baby, which is what’s happening right now. You know it’s all in jest, and while it’s slightly annoying, it’s mostly endearing. You can’t wait to remind him about this tomorrow. If you’re even able to remember, that is.
“Truth or dare?”
“I’m gonna pick dare, because I’m not a loser,” he mocks.
“Oh, now I’m gonna pick something terrible.”
You scan the room, drunkenly scrambling to find something hellish for him to do as revenge. You just did a deep clean of the whole apartment, so there’s nothing really gross around here that you can think of. You’re fresh out of mushrooms, otherwise you’d make him eat one. You know he would have hated that. You could make him wear one of your bras on his head, but that would require him to see it. Too embarrassing for you. Suddenly, a lightbulb pops in your head.
“Let me touch your wings.”
There are two reasons for this diabolical idea. Kei talks all the time about how he loathes when fans touch his feathers without his consent. But also, selfishly, you just really want to know what they feel like. You’ve felt individual feathers before, and they’re incredibly soft. Feeling multiple all at once sounds heavenly.
“No. Absolutely not!”
“Now you’re no fun!”
“They’re sensitive!”
“I’ll be gentle.”
“No, that’s wooorse!”
“How the fuck is that worse?”
In addition to the flush of Kei’s intoxicated cheeks, a new pinkess spreads across them.
“Either let me touch your wings for a few seconds or take a shot,” you urge him.
He locks hazy eyes with you, and you can see the gears turning in his head. Simultaneously, the gears are turning in your own. You can’t really gather how it would be worse for you to be gentle with them. Holding back on the pressure couldn’t possibly hurt him. In fact, that seems like it would be more pleasurable for him.
Your brain stops in its tracks.
Pleasurable.
Before you can stop yourself, you share your revelation.
“You don’t want me to touch them because you’ll like it too much!”
“No, I--”
“Don’t lie, Kei!”
“I don’t--”
“No, you do know!”
“FINE, TOUCH THEM!” he concedes, throwing his arms in the air.
You grin widely, feeling victorious, as he turns to the side. You use this opportunity to scooch closer to him, preparing to caress the plumes.
You could go about this one of two ways, you figure. You could make this as easy as possible for him. A quick stroke across a small section. Or, you could make this extremely difficult for him, running your fingers between the expanse of the whole wing. Something about the intimacy of the interaction, the inhibiting effect of the alcohol, and your burning desire to touch his wings, to touch him, make you pick the latter.
You wiggle beside his extended leg, facing the wing directly. Before you touch him, something possesses you to lean towards him and whisper in his ear.
“Remember, this game was your idea.”
All in the same motion, you draw your head back and carefully dive your fingers into his wings. As you run them along the surface, you suck in a breath. You expected them to be soft, but you’re taken aback. It has exceeded your expectations by a lot. Your fingertips tingle at the way each feather teases them. The fine barbs feel smooth underneath your touch. A strange sensation zips its way up your arm like it’s a live wire. You move at a sloth’s pace, wanting to savor this feeling for as long as possible, mesmerized. You’re only halfway across when Kei’s hand closes around your wrist, forcefully yanking it away.
His previously hazy eyes are now dark, met firmly with the wall directly across from him. His breathing is labored, shoulders heaving with each inhale and exhale. The previously pink flush in his cheeks is now beet red. Warmth spreads in your midsection, intoxicated by both the restraint he has you in and the downright primal look on his face.
“That’s enough,” he asserts, sternly.
You flounder, looking deep within you for some sort of snarky reply. There’s nothing left in your head; it seems that this interaction has wiped them all away. You feel redness creep up your neck and into your face. Your heart is beating out of your chest. You’re sure that Kei can hear it loud and clear. You swallow hard, and attempt to find your voice.
“Come on, that was nothing,” you offer, weakly.
Your gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips. They’re parted slightly to allow for his panting breaths. The image of him closing the distance between you, crashing them against yours, flashes across your brain. Working against them in expert fashion. Just like you’ve wanted for so long. You can practically feel the pressure of them, sucking on your bottom lip and lightly nipping. To satiate the need you suddenly feel, you take your bottom lip between your teeth, returning your gaze to the predator before you.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Keigo’s palm burns around your wrist. It’s taking everything in him to refrain from pinning you down on the floor and reenacting the images flashing in his head. Your heartbeat is drumlike, rapid, and even more inebriating than the copious amounts of liquor he’s had tonight. Your erratic breaths cause your chest to brush lightly against his forearm, the additional contact driving him further into insanity. After years of training, he knows that this is the ultimate test of his will. He’s losing.
A part of him consistently suggests that loving you isn’t a venture that’s destined to fail. The rest of him usually overshadows that, spouting endless excuses for his actions. Well, rather, inaction. Right now, he’s forgotten every reason he’d previously given himself. No matter how badly he wants to, how desperately he needs to, he can’t bring himself to look at you. If your expression is anywhere near what he’s imagining it to be, he won’t be able to stop himself. In his soul, he knows that if he acts right now, he will be completely unable to show anything resembling mercy. The already looming threat of going completely feral will swallow him whole, and he will fuck you into oblivion.
It’s appealing, the thought of releasing hold on his inhibitions. The only thing stopping him now is the thing that stops him from doing a lot of things these days.
He must, above anything and everything else, keep people safe. And you just happen to be at the very top of the list of people in the world.
This is as instinctual as breathing for him. A knee jerk reaction to outside stimuli. His outside might be extremely stimulated right now, but the core of his very existence will not allow this to continue. Not like this. If he’s ever presented with the opportunity to sleep with you, it has to be centered around you. It has to be considerate. It has to be gentle. The current state of things doesn’t equate to that at all. Of course he cares about you, about your safety. He also cares about being a decent human being, a decent pro-hero, even in the face of quickly reducing into an animal.
Finally, in the raging battle of Keigo versus avian instinct, Keigo emerges victorious.
In one swift motion, he releases his grip on your wrist and raises himself off the ground. Semi-rational thought slowly starts to flow back into his head. He knows that whatever the hell all that was effectively ruined the banter for the night. The way he reacted to your touch scared himself, and he can’t even begin to imagine how terrified you must feel. Moments like these reacquainted him with the fact that his quirk, combined with all of the meddling the Commission did to him, essentially made him a monster. He goes to great lengths to hide that from the rest of the world, but now he’s revealed the most ugly part of himself to the only person in the entire place that matters. You, his entire life, now know that even the most human of hawks are predators, too.
He stumbles to your balcony. In his altered mind, he believes that leaving would be the ultimate courtesy to you right now. It doesn’t matter that he’s plastered. It doesn’t matter that you’re already following him, begging him to stay. No one, especially you, deserves to spend another moment with such an unholy creature as Keigo Takami.
Without so much as a backward glance, he surges off of the balcony and into the night sky. His aim is to fly across the city, across the country, across the world. But, his double vision doesn’t grant him much aid in the darkness. Before he can make it even fifty feet from your apartment building, he clips the one across from you with his massive wing. In any normal circumstance, he would be able to recover from this without much issue. But he’s shitfaced. So, instead, he careens into the street below at remarkable speeds. With a yelp, he lands on the gravel and slides, scraping his entire left side. For a moment, his deafening, panic induced thoughts are quiet. It happens to be just long enough to hear you from your apartment four stories above.
“KEI!”
A pro-hero such as him should be able to take an injury like this like it’s nothing. In fact, he’s done it countless times before. Something about the drunkenness and the complete descent into self-loathing keeps him glued to the pavement. He knows you’re coming. He knows he’s going to have to face you. He knows that you’re probably worried out of your goddamn mind. He knows it’s all his fault.
For the first time in recent memory, Keigo feels entirely lost. Though he’s tried so hard, he knows now that you’ve found him out. In his perfect world, he hoped that you took his lack of affection and general emotional standoffishness as a sort of defense mechanism. In essence, that’s what it was, but he never wanted you to find out any of the myriad of things he was defending himself from -- defending you from. Now, there’s no way in hell you could view it as anything else. He wants you. Badly. And now, you know.
He hoists himself up into a sitting position with difficulty, both hands finding their way to his hair. The panic is starting to give way to crushing defeat. He’s already running through ideas on how to cope with the loss of your presence in his life. After the imminent rejection he’s about to face, he’ll have to cut off contact with you for his own sanity, at least for a little while. Maybe he can contact Kana and see if there’s any way she can assign another pro-hero to your case. Just as he’s running through candidates to recommend, he hears your sandals crunching against the gravel.
“Hey!” you call out.
Keigo inhales deeply and raises his head.
“Oh, thank fuck,” you breathe as you approach him.
You stumble slightly as you finally reach him, hands reaching out. You crouch beside him and begin to inspect his form, picking pieces of the ground off of it.
“(Y/N)...” Keigo sighs.
You shift your focus from cleaning him up to his face. As soon as you see the look of despair on it, your own face drops.
“What? Kei, what’s wrong?”
Is it possible that you aren’t as thrown off by this interaction as he is? Did this even phase you at all?
“Um.. you were there five minutes ago too, right? You witnessed the shit that I just pulled?” he asks, softly.
“Yeah, you jumped out of a fucking window! Of course I witnessed that, you idiot!”
Of course you didn’t care about the fact that he almost acted on his innermost desires in the most animalistic way possible. As always, you just wanted him to be okay. He should have suspected as much.
But, after tonight, he’s not sure if he’s physically able to keep the act up much longer.
“I meant before that.”
Redness creeps across your cheeks as you nod in recognition.
“Yeah, uh, I did witness that,” you whisper.
“And,” Keigo gulps, “did that… uh… scare you? At all?”
You laugh nervously. A flighty and musical sound. Keigo’s heart drums faster.
“No. I wasn’t scared. I was…” you trail off.
You suddenly groan and throw your hands over your face.
“God, Kei, don’t make me say this,” you cry.
His mind races. What could possibly be worse than making you scared by that? He can’t immediately think of anything, but whatever it is must be awful. He definitely won’t be seeing you ever again after this, but he needs to know. He has to prevent this from happening ever again. Not that it ever will, because he doubts that he’ll ever let his guard down like this from now on.
“You’re gonna have to. I’m not following,” he mutters.
You whine, and retract your hands. Your eyes are glued to his chest, as if that’s as close as you can get them to his eyes at the moment.
“I -- it kind of… turned me on.”
Keigo feels as if someone dumped a gallon of cold water over his head. In fact, if someone managed to do that right now, he would probably be less shocked. He can feel his mouth drying out from the amount of time he’s spent with it hanging open.
“See! I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” you groan, shifting to raise yourself up.
Without thinking, he wraps his hand around your wrist again, pulling you towards him. You fall to your knees, face inches away from his own. He searches you one final time for any sign of regret, but all he finds is a desperate, pleading expression. He somehow finds it in him to speak.
“Can I?”
You nod softly and he does what he’s been wanting to do for months.
The first thing he notices when his lips finally meet yours is the taste of strawberry vodka. The second thing, hitting him immediately after, is an explosion in his chest. It’s a million sensations at once -- flowers blooming, fireworks popping, the sun rising. Keigo has done a lot of things in his short life, but not one of them has even come close to the pleasure of kissing you.
What was a tentative, slow pace quickly evolves into something needy, something frantic. His hands shift from the soft grip around your wrist to tangle themselves in your hair, pushing you closer to him. Even though you’re practically on top of him now, you’re not close enough, and he doesn’t think you ever will be. His tongue swipes against your lips, begging for entrance. You happily oblige, and he delves deep into you. As your teeth crash together, Keigo begins struggling for breath. He doesn’t want it, maybe he doesn’t even need it. Now, he feels as though you’re the only thing he needs to survive. Just as he accepts that as fact, you break away to rest your forehead on his. You’re panting, giggling softly between breaths. As he collects his thoughts, his mouth moves before any of the rest of him can.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he whispers.
“You should have done it sooner,” you retort, still out of breath.
He’s beginning to regain control of his body now, so he pulls away from you just far enough to plant a soft kiss against your nose. Even though he would love to continue to feel the most unique and gratifying thing he’s ever felt, he recognizes that now is not the time nor the place. But, if he has anything to say about it, there will be plenty more opportunities, scattered across the rest of time. He pauses as that thought, at how a simple kiss has fixed the position he’d been saving for you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You, his first friend, his last love. He finds your hand and squeezes it.
“It’s getting pretty late. You should probably get to bed,” he suggests.
“You could stay with me, if you wanted. I wouldn’t want you to get arrested for drunk flying,” you chuckle.
The smile that sprouts on Keigo’s face is strong enough to break his cheekbones. It’s a miracle that they stay intact.
“You’re absolutely right. Always looking out for me, aren’t you?”
He lifts himself up and pulls you with him. As the two of you walk back to your apartment, your pinky fingers are linked together. It’s a small, almost lazy connection, but neither of you seem to be able to entertain the thought of letting go.
(a/n): fuckin finally amirite