‎‎Incidental Findings

Niragi watches him intently. Not exactly worried. Vigilant, cautious, curious. Still tired, maybe.

He remains silent, though. Almost silent. That is enough to continue.

Chishiya smooths a fingertip over Niragi’s canine. Entirely ordinary. Regular, normal, regularly brushed. Nothing out of place.

He keeps one hand at Niragi’s neck as his fingers trail lower, the silk of his shirt cool beneath them despite the body heat underneath. His thumb works one button open before moving back up, tipping Niragi’s head the other way.

Niragi will not go away.

He said that. Threatened it, as though Chishiya has to pay for what another version of him did. A version Niragi lost to.

So he is here to lose again. Or win. Or simply fight, which would all be fine if he had not chosen Chishiya’s workplace as the battlefield, then his flat, then every remaining inch of space in the hotel. Under those circumstances, setting him ablaze does acquire a certain appeal.

Chances are he would not have tossed the rifle aside like that if he still needed it. He would keep more distance if the stun gun in Chishiya’s pocket posed any real risk. So Chishiya does not reach for it. He holds Niragi’s chin firmly in place instead.

“No biting, either,” he says, and leans in to kiss him.

Niragi is no fun. Growling and snorting every chance he gets as if he needed to remind himself every second that he could just get up and leave.

And he can.

He doesn’t have to sit here, hands between his body and the carpet of Chishiya’s room. He can get up, leave, find someone else to take his anger out on.

Or grief. Inadequacy. That thing buried in there that makes him posture and leer and wave the rifle around.

He’s no fun because Chishiya has to watch for everything when he pulls back. His shoulders, his hips, his legs, eyes, mouth. All of him.

One bag of fleas, almost dog-shaped.

“Shut up,” Chishiya says. Just in case.

He undoes two more buttons, then presses down on Niragi’s propped-up knee until his leg lies level with the ground.

It’s a difficult decision, whether he should sit cross-legged or remain on his haunches. He settles for neither, sitting down with his legs folded to one side between Niragi’s.

Easy to get up. Easy to keep Niragi’s legs apart. Fairly comfortable in case this takes too long.

He pushes his sleeves up toward his elbows until the elastic is tight around his forearms.

There’s disinfectant in the bathroom. He can use that later.

@anemia-rp

The asphalt is wet with rain when Chishiya gets off the bus, hood drawn low over his face, hands in his pockets.

He moves past the pedestrians still milling through the streets. Not as many as during the day. Still enough. A few elderly people, gaunt men in sweat-stained business suits, partygoers in glossy vinyl and coloured hair. A pair of girls in corsets and bunny ears linger at the corner he rounds, leaving the main road for the maze of narrow back alleys.

Usually, it is a cheap motel when someone’s apartment is too embarrassing or their wife is home. Sometimes a park. Some parking lot somewhere.

A garage is a first.

Chishiya smooths his thumb over the stun gun in his pocket when the garage comes into view. It has been a while since he last needed to use it. A while since he has done this, too. But there is always someone who takes short and light as permission to ignore common courtesy, or agrees to one thing and decides, once Chishiya arrives, that his discomfort should become Chishiya’s problem.

Fuji seems too deliberate to be careless.

Still.

People are people.

The garage has a roll-up door with a narrow personnel door set into it. Chishiya tests the handle. It gives exactly as promised.

He presses it down and slips inside.

Fuji’s hands move over Chishiya’s back, firm in some places, light in others, and Chishiya shifts into all of them. Into Fuji’s fingertips tracing his ear.

All good.

All welcome.

None of it comes with an artificial role attached, an expectation or meaning Chishiya has to answer or reject or ignore. Just Fuji seeing with his hands when there is not that much for the eyes to learn from Chishiya’s skin alone.

Fuji is almost pliant now. Not soft, not meek, not anything less than he was before, with his voice all deep and his claws around Chishiya’s throat. It should be an odd instinct, leaning into the touch of someone taller and stronger, someone spelling out don’t mess with me with every inch of his body, just because he is not using it against him in this moment.

Chishiya smooths Fuji’s hair behind his ear, fingertips on the soft skin there, drawing small circles. Fuji liked that, him playing with his hair. Chishiya liked hearing him like that, so he does it again, threading his fingers through the silky strands, pulling at them, slow, measured, stroking in between.

There is a frown on Fuji's face when his skin is warm under Chishiya's fingertips at the very lowest part of his back, and then it dissolves. No shove. No wrist grabbed. So Chishiya licks his lips, just a little, as he takes a step closer, sliding his hand deeper with the movement, almost slightly drunk on Fuji being there.

Right there.

The fangs give him pause, just for a moment. Something that has been slightly off about Fuji’s smile. Something he has not paid close enough attention to. Probably more than a fashion statement, another piece of him constructing himself. Most likely nothing real, or more real than the ink. Something to look at closer later.

Chishiya curls his fingers into Fuji’s skin when he closes the gap between their faces the rest of the way, grip tightening in his hair. Not to fix him in place. Just to make him feel where he is held.

He sighs when he parts his lips, licks at Fuji’s lower lip, kissing him slowly, taking his time to find the unfamiliar shape of the teeth without cutting himself on them. Then deeper, because Fuji has already said yes and because there is no reason to pretend he wants less than that, adjusting his grip in Fuji’s hair, knuckles scraping against the waistband.

upstairsdownstairsandinbetween

Three Story Private Staircase Commission, London, 2008,

A work of Art by Vincent Dubourg,

Manufactured with the help of Roxburgh Construction,

Carpenters Workshop Gallery

The fuss is there, though not quite as expected. Chishiya feels the corner of his mouth tug up a fraction and he takes a breath, waits for it to settle down again, before he crouches down in front of Niragi.

Eye level now. Ready to get up at any moment.

The hard line around Niragi’s mouth doesn’t take too much away from the soft curve of his cheekbone. A face any mother would love, a mind underneath she’d rather not look at too closely.

Chishiya picks up the same strand of hair he held before, when Niragi was unconscious, and tucks it behind his ear. He doesn’t pull his hand back all the way. Keeps it underneath Niragi’s jaw instead, tips his head lightly to the side as if to inspect any fangs that aren’t really there.

“You move, I stop,” he tells him, flat. Even. Not hard to understand. Hard to act on, probably. Or not act, depending on how you look at it.

He extends his index finger, pushing at Niragi’s upper lip, tilting his own head with it.

Niragi sees the faint curling up of Chishiya's lips, something that is easily missed if one doesn't look at him the moment it happens. His eyes narrow more as he keeps looking up at the smaller male, but he decides not to comment on what he saw.

The blonde gets his expression under control again before he crouches down in front of the militant. He allows their gazes to meet directly, trying to figure out what is going on in that cat's mind.

Niragi doesn't know what to make of the smaller male wanting to get closer to him while requesting to keep his hands where he won't be able to touch him.

The militant decides to rely on his own instincts and those are telling him that the cat in front of him is merely curious. It is curious and not in the mood to attack… at least not yet. It surely depends on what he himself will do as time passes.

He keeps sitting on his own hands, watching Chishiya as he starts to inspect his face. At least it feels like this is what he does. He watches him pick up a strand of the day goblin's own hair before tugging it behind his ears. For a heartbeat there is light confusion in his eyes. It's the first time someone has done that, and he doesn't know how to feel about it.

Of course, the fucking cat has to be the first one to treat him like either an animal in the zoo or an experiment. And the worst part is that he doesn't stop him and just keeps watching his face instead.

Niragi's eyes narrow again as the blonde's fingers find their way under his jaw, but again he lets him do as he pleases as he tips the militant's head to the side. It surely seems like the other is determined to find a difference between him and a human.

But the thing is, there aren't any differences if it comes to looks.

As Chishiya tells him not to move or else he will stop, Niragi lets out an amused snort. "I will humor you for now." He replies, still having not figured out why he allows the other to touch his face in that way.

Maybe because it's unusual behavior for the smaller male, and he wants to see where it leads. Maybe it's simply him being tired.

There is almost another snort as Chishiya pushes his upper lip up, and he simply stays put. He just wonders in what ways he will continue to inspect his face.

Niragi watches him intently. Not exactly worried. Vigilant, cautious, curious. Still tired, maybe.

He remains silent, though. Almost silent. That is enough to continue.

Chishiya smooths a fingertip over Niragi’s canine. Entirely ordinary. Regular, normal, regularly brushed. Nothing out of place.

He keeps one hand at Niragi’s neck as his fingers trail lower, the silk of his shirt cool beneath them despite the body heat underneath. His thumb works one button open before moving back up, tipping Niragi’s head the other way.

Niragi will not go away.

He said that. Threatened it, as though Chishiya has to pay for what another version of him did. A version Niragi lost to.

So he is here to lose again. Or win. Or simply fight, which would all be fine if he had not chosen Chishiya’s workplace as the battlefield, then his flat, then every remaining inch of space in the hotel. Under those circumstances, setting him ablaze does acquire a certain appeal.

Chances are he would not have tossed the rifle aside like that if he still needed it. He would keep more distance if the stun gun in Chishiya’s pocket posed any real risk. So Chishiya does not reach for it. He holds Niragi’s chin firmly in place instead.

“No biting, either,” he says, and leans in to kiss him.

The answer is simple, and Niragi still talks as if he has to, fixing Chishiya with his eyes like an animal shot and cornered, instinct too strong to stop and think when it might be better not to struggle.

He does stop struggling somewhat, though. Puts the rifle away. Not carefully. Tosses it aside like he no longer needs it, after cradling it like a stuffed toy for comfort earlier.

Maybe not fully awake yet. Maybe past caring. Not to be taken lightly either way.

Chishiya gets up slowly, smooths his sleeves down, then walks the few steps across the room. He does not crouch yet. Not with that glint still there, like Niragi does not even know himself what he is holding on to.

He nudges Niragi’s leg lightly with his foot.

“Hands at your sides.”

He waits, not expecting Niragi to comply neatly without a fuss first.

“Keep them there.”

Niragi isn't able to shake the tiredness fully off, but he has already made his decision and he will stick with it. The future that turned him into a day goblin no longer exists anyway.

He got used to holding the rifle close at all times, to make sure people stay away from him, but now at the moment he doesn't feel bad about tossing it to the side. He is willing to take some risk.

The militant watches the smaller male get up, smooth his sleeves down before making his way over to him. He stays on the floor without making any movement, but the look in his eyes clearly says he is still on guard.

It's better to be on guard, no matter how tired he still is.

As his legs get nudged, he just raises an eyebrow at the blonde before letting out a snort in reaction to his words.

"You really think that will do anything?" he asks, the tone of his voice meant to provoke.

He thinks to himself fuck it before simply going ahead and placing his hands next to him. He even takes it a step further and sits on his own hands.

"Dare to sit down now?"

The fuss is there, though not quite as expected. Chishiya feels the corner of his mouth tug up a fraction and he takes a breath, waits for it to settle down again, before he crouches down in front of Niragi.

Eye level now. Ready to get up at any moment.

The hard line around Niragi’s mouth doesn’t take too much away from the soft curve of his cheekbone. A face any mother would love, a mind underneath she’d rather not look at too closely.

Chishiya picks up the same strand of hair he held before, when Niragi was unconscious, and tucks it behind his ear. He doesn’t pull his hand back all the way. Keeps it underneath Niragi’s jaw instead, tips his head lightly to the side as if to inspect any fangs that aren’t really there.

“You move, I stop,” he tells him, flat. Even. Not hard to understand. Hard to act on, probably. Or not act, depending on how you look at it.

He extends his index finger, pushing at Niragi’s upper lip, tilting his own head with it.

@anemia-rp

The asphalt is wet with rain when Chishiya gets off the bus, hood drawn low over his face, hands in his pockets.

He moves past the pedestrians still milling through the streets. Not as many as during the day. Still enough. A few elderly people, gaunt men in sweat-stained business suits, partygoers in glossy vinyl and coloured hair. A pair of girls in corsets and bunny ears linger at the corner he rounds, leaving the main road for the maze of narrow back alleys.

Usually, it is a cheap motel when someone’s apartment is too embarrassing or their wife is home. Sometimes a park. Some parking lot somewhere.

A garage is a first.

Chishiya smooths his thumb over the stun gun in his pocket when the garage comes into view. It has been a while since he last needed to use it. A while since he has done this, too. But there is always someone who takes short and light as permission to ignore common courtesy, or agrees to one thing and decides, once Chishiya arrives, that his discomfort should become Chishiya’s problem.

Fuji seems too deliberate to be careless.

Still.

People are people.

The garage has a roll-up door with a narrow personnel door set into it. Chishiya tests the handle. It gives exactly as promised.

He presses it down and slips inside.

Fuji’s breathing misses one exhale when Chishiya’s hand finds its way to his hip. Unexpected, maybe. Like Fuji’s grip loosening around Chishiya’s throat, long fingers settling where his neck meets his shoulder instead, light and firm at the same time, and Chishiya holds his next inhale until he can feel the faint scratching, the thumb moving over bone under the skin.

Not too unwelcome, then.

He angles his head, giving Fuji all the space he might want there, humming low in his throat at the next scratch, at Fuji’s hand moving up his waist to his back, finding the spine as if his skeleton were something to hold on to. As if the lion started mapping him in return.

He twirls his fingers in Fuji’s hair, gives a soft tug, a harder one, watching his face before he goes back to gentle scratching. It leaves his side very open, his arm up there, Fuji right in front of him, hands already at his neck and back where a firmer grip would leave him quite vulnerable, and it makes his pulse beat faster without the faintest urge to do anything about it.

The lion can look. The lion can touch. And Chishiya knows what he is, so being exactly that does not come as a surprise.

He breathes in Fuji’s scent again, that lingering note of smoke underneath everything or on top, hard to tell which, and slides his hand from Fuji’s hip along the waistband of his pants to the side, then the back, slipping just his fingertips underneath.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he says, low. His gaze flicks to the metal at the corner of Fuji’s mouth.

“That might get touched.”

Niragi is falling asleep again, deep enough for his fingers to loosen around the rifle, not deep enough to prompt Chishiya to move.

It is an odd thing, him being more comfortable sleeping in the hallway than inside. As if there were things Chishiya could do to him in here that he could not do outside. As if he expected Chishiya to want to do something to him.

He must have left quite the lasting impression, somehow.

When the rifle finally drops, Chishiya starts counting. Slowly. Before he can get up, Niragi lifts his head and opens his eyes, and Chishiya settles back down.

He watches Niragi look around the room, skin itching despite there being nothing for him to find.

“Because you were asleep in the hallway,” he says, mild, gaze dropping to the rifle. “Put it down. I might come over.”

The answer to his question is very simple and causes a small snort to fall over his lips. "And since when do you care where I sleep?" He asks, fixating Chishiya to the best of his abilities.

He then follows the smaller male's gaze to the rifle he is still holding in his hands. He thinks for a few moments before he lets the curiosity win about what he will do once he comes over to him.

And without looking away from the other, he tosses the rifle a bit away from himself on the floor. There is a small thud, but he isn't bothered. The day goblin made sure no shot gets accidentally fired.

He is willing to take the risk, even though part of him is weirdly sure the blonde won't try to hurt or kill him. If he wanted to do that, he would have done so why he was asleep.

But in case he is wrong, he can always use his day goblin powers to get out of a fucked situation. So he keeps sitting on the ground as he keeps eye contact with Chishiya.

And he gives him a challenging look.

The answer is simple, and Niragi still talks as if he has to, fixing Chishiya with his eyes like an animal shot and cornered, instinct too strong to stop and think when it might be better not to struggle.

He does stop struggling somewhat, though. Puts the rifle away. Not carefully. Tosses it aside like he no longer needs it, after cradling it like a stuffed toy for comfort earlier.

Maybe not fully awake yet. Maybe past caring. Not to be taken lightly either way.

Chishiya gets up slowly, smooths his sleeves down, then walks the few steps across the room. He does not crouch yet. Not with that glint still there, like Niragi does not even know himself what he is holding on to.

He nudges Niragi’s leg lightly with his foot.

“Hands at your sides.”

He waits, not expecting Niragi to comply neatly without a fuss first.

“Keep them there.”

Niragi lowers himself beside the door.

No step further in. Not to the bed. Not toward the desk. Barely inside at all.

Chishiya watches him settle onto the carpet in that one spot Chishiya moved him in, rifle still held close, as though even half-asleep he understands his place.

The overhead light is too bright. Niragi’s groan made that clear enough.

Chishiya gets up and switches it off, leaving only the smaller lamp beside the desk, before he returns to the chair. He rests one ankle over the opposite knee and watches until the tension begins to leave Niragi’s grip on the rifle and he falls asleep again.

A few minutes pass and Niragi's eyes close while he dozes off even though he tries his best to fight the tiredness. But because deep down inside he knows where he is, this time he sleeps lightly.

As the rifle falls out of his hands and lands on his lap, the day goblin's eyes open again. He isn't willing to let his guard down, not while he is in the smaller male's room. He can not be trusted.

The militant lifts his head and lets his eyes wander around the room, deciding to not just get up. He can't know how many weapons the cat is hiding in their and how fast he can grab one. Plus, his body is still heavy with sleep so he can't react that fast. This whole situation is its own kind of twisted.

"Why did you let me in, huh?" Niragi finally asks, even his voice giving away he isn't fully awake. He is awake enough to talk, but not enough wanting to start a fight. And so he keeps sitting on the ground and waits for an answer.

Niragi is falling asleep again, deep enough for his fingers to loosen around the rifle, not deep enough to prompt Chishiya to move.

It is an odd thing, him being more comfortable sleeping in the hallway than inside. As if there were things Chishiya could do to him in here that he could not do outside. As if he expected Chishiya to want to do something to him.

He must have left quite the lasting impression, somehow.

When the rifle finally drops, Chishiya starts counting. Slowly. Before he can get up, Niragi lifts his head and opens his eyes, and Chishiya settles back down.

He watches Niragi look around the room, skin itching despite there being nothing for him to find.

“Because you were asleep in the hallway,” he says, mild, gaze dropping to the rifle. “Put it down. I might come over.”

Chishiya doesn’t listen all that closely to Kuina. He sits beside the pool with her, swirls his drink, hums, nods.

Niragi is nowhere in sight.

Which doesn’t have to mean much, given that he can turn into flame. So why not water, fog, the cheery little party umbrella in Chishiya’s glass.

When he walks back to his room, he still doesn’t feel observed.

Weird. Not unwelcome. But weird.

He immediately knows why when he rounds the last corner and finds a slumped figure directly in front of his door, rifle across his back.

Chishiya slows as he approaches, giving him a wide berth at first.

Niragi doesn’t budge. His breathing is deep and even, his head dropped toward his chest. Almost peaceful.

So much for no next time, then.

Chishiya crouches in front of him and waits through a few breaths before picking up a strand of black hair between two fingers. He lifts it a few inches and lets it fall.

Nothing.

Niragi really fell asleep in front of the door of the person who must have lured him into some kind of trap before. Stabbed him in the back. Outsmarted him somehow, because this man does not allow anyone to simply walk up and set him ablaze.

It’s quite stupid. Careless. Pathetic, perhaps.

Threatening to patrol Chishiya’s door and then losing consciousness beside it like an abandoned guard dog that doesn’t need a chain to remain anchored.

Chishiya sighs quietly, then draws in a deeper breath.

He was tired, and he chose to stay outside.

There are footsteps farther down the hallway, laughter. A shriek dissolving into giggling.

Chishiya nudges Niragi’s shoulder.

“Wake up.”

He pushes him a second time before standing and unlocking the door.

“Let’s get you inside.”

He lets Chishiya pull him inside by his sleeve and stops once the hand lets go of the fabric. A small groan comes from him as the lights are on, not liking the brightness that much.

Niragi glances around the other’s room, but he can’t take in thighs fully because he can’t get rid of the tiredness he is feeling. He is awake, but also not awake at the same time.

The day goblin can’t really decide what to make of the blonde deciding to let him inside his room. But he can’t really think about it as he has to yawn. In the end he decides to just sit down next to the other’s door. He can feel cool night air come inside the room, but it doesn’t make him more awake.

In fact he is too tired to argue with Chishiya about where he can’t or cannot sit or what he can’t and cannot touch. Staying at the door should keep him in a grey zone.

Niragi lowers himself beside the door.

No step further in. Not to the bed. Not toward the desk. Barely inside at all.

Chishiya watches him settle onto the carpet in that one spot Chishiya moved him in, rifle still held close, as though even half-asleep he understands his place.

The overhead light is too bright. Niragi’s groan made that clear enough.

Chishiya gets up and switches it off, leaving only the smaller lamp beside the desk, before he returns to the chair. He rests one ankle over the opposite knee and watches until the tension begins to leave Niragi’s grip on the rifle and he falls asleep again.

#-imaging

Michael Griesbeck, Shibari Nr. 1 - Deva, 2023

@anemia-rp

The asphalt is wet with rain when Chishiya gets off the bus, hood drawn low over his face, hands in his pockets.

He moves past the pedestrians still milling through the streets. Not as many as during the day. Still enough. A few elderly people, gaunt men in sweat-stained business suits, partygoers in glossy vinyl and coloured hair. A pair of girls in corsets and bunny ears linger at the corner he rounds, leaving the main road for the maze of narrow back alleys.

Usually, it is a cheap motel when someone’s apartment is too embarrassing or their wife is home. Sometimes a park. Some parking lot somewhere.

A garage is a first.

Chishiya smooths his thumb over the stun gun in his pocket when the garage comes into view. It has been a while since he last needed to use it. A while since he has done this, too. But there is always someone who takes short and light as permission to ignore common courtesy, or agrees to one thing and decides, once Chishiya arrives, that his discomfort should become Chishiya’s problem.

Fuji seems too deliberate to be careless.

Still.

People are people.

The garage has a roll-up door with a narrow personnel door set into it. Chishiya tests the handle. It gives exactly as promised.

He presses it down and slips inside.

Fuji has been told not only to have a cool, unapproachable aura but to be hard to read and unpredictable just as well. Sometimes he does the opposite of what's expected from him out of spite. At other times he does exactly that to prevent unnecessary drama. That's why many people don't have quite an idea of how to deal with him, and to be fair, he can't blame them. Just as less as he can easily get out of his skin. But it's not as if most would have bothered to learn about his. The majority would have been both intrigued yet disappointed about what meets the eye.

Chishiya seems to be different than said majority. It's too early to make any predictions, but the dynamics have gone into a direction different from what Fuji is used to. It intrigues him. This pace is unfamiliar to him, but not uncomfortable. Not unwelcomed at all.

Just like the kiss. His hands find Chishiya's waist and lay onto it, and when he settles on his heels again they still rest there for some more seconds. Unfamiliar. But not uncomfortable. At least not for him.

"I did chose it", he approves. "It's been my wish even. I had to alter my skin. But still…" He shrugs with a huff, his feelings regarding it aren't easy to describe. So instead he lays his hand onto Chishiya's, the one that is close his tattoo, and lays it onto his arm. The tattoo. "The more I altered my skin the more I started to feel like myself", he says, his voice still lowered. The other hand strokes over the other's shoulder while his eyes rivet onto him. "You feel well in your skin the way it is?"

@voidshiya

Chishiya’s breathing slows when Fuji takes his hand and places it over the switchblade. Stops, briefly.

Not armour, then. Not quite.

So he has been wrong. Again.

Or rather, he has found the right room, the right work, and Fuji has stepped beside him like a guide addressing the visitor who has forgotten to move on. Not telling him what to see. Only pointing out the detail omitted from the plaque.

Chishiya can revise the rest himself.

He has mistaken declaration for concealment.

The tattoos, the piercings, the clothes - they do not stand between Fuji and the world. They are how he has entered it. How he has made the body his.

There is no plainer Fuji concealed underneath. Chishiya is already looking at him. What remains guarded are the reasons: the route taken, the choices made, the ones that held and the ones that have begun to chafe with time.

And now Fuji has taken Chishiya’s hand and placed it directly over one of them.

Chishiya exhales, long and slow. His fingertips settle fully against Fuji’s arm.

Fuji will want something in return. He already does.

Chishiya turns slightly into the next stroke over his shoulder, making the almost-polite touch linger.

That much, he can have.

Then he turns Fuji’s forearm towards the light.

“I don’t know if ‘well’ is the word,” he says after a pause, his gaze still fixed on the blade. “It’s never bothered me enough to change it.”

His thumb moves over the linework, then into the skin left clear around it. No difference in texture. Only meaning.

“You chose it then.”

He adjusts Fuji’s arm again, watching the bone shift beneath the skin before finally glancing up.

“You just wouldn’t choose it now.”

His head tilts another fraction.

“So changing isn’t what you regret.”

Fuji can't remember when has been the last time he has touched someone in a way that's more on the gentle side. For him this is something to earn. But not with anything extraordinarily hard to afford, no. Some genuine interest in him is enough, by someone who isn't afraid to touch him softly first. They have to cast the first stone. Otherwise, so his experience, he risks for someone only feeding on what he may potentially have to give, without giving something back. That's the exploiting nature of humans after all.

He wonders if Chishiya knows how far away from self-evidently it is that Fuji supports him touching and looking at him. And even more that Fuji in return has the wish to feel his skin underneath his own fingertips.

"Permanent things aren't for everyone", he claims, noticing meanwhile how Chishiya inspects the plain skin on his arm. It fascinates him what this man pays attention to. "I like permanent things, even if they come with a risk."

His hand slowly glides down Chishiya's arm until it loosely hangs next to his body again. Like this he looks into the other's face, but his fingers once again start to comb through his black hair again as he speaks.

"I'd choose another tattoo artist. I'm picky with them anyway. Getting tattooed is something intimate. It's not just about the skills of the person but about you feeling comfortable with them busying themselves with your body to this extent." He smiles. "However, it's something I enjoy very much. I doubt I'll ever quit getting tattoos. Luckily I've got quite some space on my body."

Turning around he drapes his hair over one shoulder and presents Chishiya his tattooed back. A huge tarot card of the Death. "But not there. There's nothing to add to this part of my body."

@voidshiya

No clean separation between art and artist, then. Not where Fuji is concerned. Consequential, when the art is inseparable from Fuji himself.

Chishiya does not comment on Fuji’s explanation of why he allows another person this close to his body. The thought of granting someone that kind of access – of letting anything they leave behind sink too deeply - makes his skin crawl with the urge to scrub himself clean until it is all raw and red and blank again.

“Permanence does not have to be visible to be real,” he says, returning the smile – or maybe the idea of one - with a blink. “Easier to recognize if it is, though.”

Harder to dismiss. Risky either way. Chishiya draws his lower lip between his teeth when the lion turns his back to him. Somewhere along the way, being seen by Chishiya has apparently become more important than keeping watch on what Chishiya does. Or important enough, at least.

Chishiya swallows softly as he steps in behind him. His hands settle lightly on Fuji’s waist, thumbs against his back and the rest of his fingers at his sides, so Fuji does not have to guess where they are. The tattoo takes up most of the available skin.

The one part Fuji claims is finished. From a quick glance, it is almost painfully literal: bones, darkness, death.

The end of one state so another can take its place.

Change and transition made permanent on Fuji’s skin, across the part of his body he considers complete and cannot see himself. Does not have to, more likely. Solving change by fixing it down.

Chishiya’s thumbs press a little harder into Fuji’s back. His gaze drops to the switchblade on the back of Fuji’s right forearm.

Some things end. Some are reworked. The process itself does not stop.

“Thank you,” he says, because it seems fitting. Polite. Not quite enough.

"Easier to recognize and harder to get rid of that's why I'd say. What can be both good or bad."

It's true, he has let his guard down. Sacrificed it for the sake of something else. He relies on the assumption that there's no logical reason for Chishiya to stab him in the back, literally so. Risky. Someone could have sent him out to mutilate him, after all. Safety is nowhere. But for the moment he lets something else win. The inner child who's excited to show someone who seems to be interested in it something he's proud of. Protecting himself doesn't seem so important right now indeed.

And he shouldn't regret his deed. Fuji once again gets touched in this studying way he has found a liking in. He could get used to it.

Getting thanked for it is unusual. Like so many things taking place tonight. No one has thanked him for showing them his tattoos before, he can say so for sure. He likes it when people appreciate the sight of them. What they do often, of course. But a thank you means more to him than a 'this looks so cool!'. It might be because he yearns for gratefulness more then bold yet shallow seeming compliments.

He turns around again and nods. "I should thank you as well for dedicating me your time." Politeness gets answered with politeness. You get what you give. But he means his words. "How can I show my gratitude?"

@voidshiya

Chishiya blinks, his hands still hovering beside Fuji’s waist after he turns within their loose hold.

Gratitude.

For Chishiya dedicating his time. For taking his time to learn Fuji’s body, his history, his unguarded back, the meaning inked into his skin.

He has already been allowed to take so much, and Fuji is still offering more.

The discomfort comes quietly. A small tightening beneath his ribs. Not because Chishiya does not want anything. That would be easier. He wants too much, and none of it should be given as repayment.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says, while the other word continues to turn over in his mind.

Dedication. Not a word anyone has used for his attention before.

And this is not a transaction. Not one that feels weighted in Chishiya’s favor, at least. Apparently, Fuji thinks Chishiya has given something too.

His hands settle back against Fuji’s waist as he looks up at him. More tattoos. More to learn. His gaze drops briefly to Fuji’s mouth before returning to his eyes.

“Don’t make it gratitude.”

One hand moves higher along Fuji’s side, stopping against his ribs. Not pulling him closer. Leaving the possibility there.

“If you want to touch me,” he says, “do it because you want to.”

For Fuji there's the normal base and the base only someone who speaks the same language as him can understand because it's contrary to the normal base even at times. It's the one where disrespect and power imbalance aren't taboos. Sometimes it needs the other party to call onto this side of him first that's why. Fuji doesn't aim to have a talk with the cops after all and them lecturing him that assault is a crime. He has to know first that his darkness is wanted. Although it for sure it's difficult to communicate it by someone who fully relies on what /Fuji/ wants.

Chishiya has done fine though. Fuji understands. This certain side of him is touched. Thus something about the way he looks at the other changes. A sly glint appears in his almost black eyes. "You're right", he concludes calmly as he strips off the side of him he would only present 'normal' people who can't understand. "You're the one who should show his gratitude for touching me, and I'm glad you see it like this." His voice has seemingly become deeper. He can tell so obviously that Chishiya wants /something/ from him, but this something isn't touches.

He puts his index finger under the other's chin to make sure he keeps looking up at him, then strokes his cheek with his knuckles. It's not mere gentleness. It's rather a warning. "I rewarded you generously after all already." He cups his jaw with his long fingers. "I might let you learn more about my tattoos and me, but this is for you to earn first." Yes, this is how things are supposed to be. His fingertips wander down Chishiya's throat, featherly first, but then they wrap around it. Loosely so, but the grip becomes tighter when Fuji leans to the other's ear. "And what does one say if they get generously granted something?"

@voidshiya

The change in Fuji’s eyes arrives before the pressure does. Not gentleness stripped away, exactly. Something more deliberate taking its place. The finger beneath Chishiya’s chin, the knuckles along his cheek, the long hand closing around his jaw. Each touch chosen to direct rather than soothe.

Chishiya lets his head be lifted.

The fingers traveling down his throat remain light at first. Then they close, pressure increasing by careful degrees as Fuji leans toward his ear.

Not careless. Not uncertain either.

Chishiya’s breath catches once as the grip firms. His pulse beats directly into Fuji’s palm, exposed and quickening, but he makes no move toward the hand around his neck.

Fuji knows where it is. He knows what it is doing. No need to watch that.

Chishiya keeps his eyes on Fuji’s face. He lifts his own hand, fingers slipping into the hair at the back of Fuji’s head again. They comb slowly through it before settling at his nape, keeping him close without pulling.

His other hand moves down from Fuji’s waist to his hip. His palm follows the line of bone there, then passes once across the front of Fuji’s trousers - brief, unhurried, impossible to mistake for an accident - before returning to hold him at the hip.

“Thank you,” Chishiya says. The words come out quieter beneath the hand at his throat. His fingers tighten faintly in Fuji’s hair. “For finally touching me like you mean it.”

He angles his face just enough that his mouth nearly brushes Fuji’s cheek when he speaks again.

“But you misunderstood the rest.”

No struggle. No attempt to duck away. His hand remains low on Fuji’s hip, fingers curved against the fabric.

“I won’t earn anything from you.”

Chishiya’s gaze drops to Fuji’s mouth and rises again.

“And you won’t give me something because you think I’ve earned it.”

A hint of a smile touches his lips.

“I told you to touch me because you wanted to. You did."

His thumb moves once against Fuji’s hip.

"So you did well.”

Chishiya doesn’t listen all that closely to Kuina. He sits beside the pool with her, swirls his drink, hums, nods.

Niragi is nowhere in sight.

Which doesn’t have to mean much, given that he can turn into flame. So why not water, fog, the cheery little party umbrella in Chishiya’s glass.

When he walks back to his room, he still doesn’t feel observed.

Weird. Not unwelcome. But weird.

He immediately knows why when he rounds the last corner and finds a slumped figure directly in front of his door, rifle across his back.

Chishiya slows as he approaches, giving him a wide berth at first.

Niragi doesn’t budge. His breathing is deep and even, his head dropped toward his chest. Almost peaceful.

So much for no next time, then.

Chishiya crouches in front of him and waits through a few breaths before picking up a strand of black hair between two fingers. He lifts it a few inches and lets it fall.

Nothing.

Niragi really fell asleep in front of the door of the person who must have lured him into some kind of trap before. Stabbed him in the back. Outsmarted him somehow, because this man does not allow anyone to simply walk up and set him ablaze.

It’s quite stupid. Careless. Pathetic, perhaps.

Threatening to patrol Chishiya’s door and then losing consciousness beside it like an abandoned guard dog that doesn’t need a chain to remain anchored.

Chishiya sighs quietly, then draws in a deeper breath.

He was tired, and he chose to stay outside.

There are footsteps farther down the hallway, laughter. A shriek dissolving into giggling.

Chishiya nudges Niragi’s shoulder.

“Wake up.”

He pushes him a second time before standing and unlocking the door.

“Let’s get you inside.”

Niragi hadn't realized how tired his body had become after searching for that ID for three days at the hospital. And once he decided to sit down, his body decided to take what it needed.

It is rare for the day goblin to sleep as deeply as he is sleeping now. Usually he is alert at all times and can jump into action at any moment. This world is dangerous after all. No matter whether you can die or not.

And the militant only starts to wake up as his shoulder gets nudged, followed by hearing a familiar voice. As he gets pushed a second time, he lets out a groan before his eyes finally open.

Niragi's tired body only allows him to become half awake as he glances over at the blonde, his brain unable to process fully what he is saying or doing.

He somehow knows that Chishiya wants him to get up, and so he does that before grabbing his rifle. His body still feels heavy, which causes him trouble staying up.

"Go where?" The day goblin then asks, trying his best to keep his eyes open. The last time he was this tired was when he lost his human form, but his mind wasn't able to make that connection at that moment.

He takes one step forward, trying to fixate on the other male while holding onto his rifle as tightly as he can.

Slightly disoriented. Coherent speech. Still knows himself, judging by how tightly he is clutching the rifle.

Chishiya opens the door wider, pulls Niragi in by the fabric of his sleeve far enough to close it behind him.

He lets go, flicks on the lights, walks over to the desk, moves the soldering tools and wires into one of the drawers, wipes the surface clean with the piece of cloth that goes into the drawer last. His bed is made, no clutter around, not even a book. He hasn’t found anything interesting to read in the hotel.

Chishiya opens the windows, pulls the curtains closed, and sits down on the chair next to the dresser before he looks up at the intrusion still by the door.

“All that trouble for no next time,” Chishiya says, giving him one lazy glance over his shoulder. He keeps walking.

Niragi doesn't reply to Chishiya comment and instead watches the smaller male walk until he is out of sight.

Unwilling to let go the day goblin moves to sit in front of the other's door, putting his rifle behind him on the floor. That way nobody can steal it and he hasn't to hold it the whole time.

Time passes and after a while Niragi starts to feel tired and before he knows it he has fallen asleep.

Chishiya doesn’t listen all that closely to Kuina. He sits beside the pool with her, swirls his drink, hums, nods.

Niragi is nowhere in sight.

Which doesn’t have to mean much, given that he can turn into flame. So why not water, fog, the cheery little party umbrella in Chishiya’s glass.

When he walks back to his room, he still doesn’t feel observed.

Weird. Not unwelcome. But weird.

He immediately knows why when he rounds the last corner and finds a slumped figure directly in front of his door, rifle across his back.

Chishiya slows as he approaches, giving him a wide berth at first.

Niragi doesn’t budge. His breathing is deep and even, his head dropped toward his chest. Almost peaceful.

So much for no next time, then.

Chishiya crouches in front of him and waits through a few breaths before picking up a strand of black hair between two fingers. He lifts it a few inches and lets it fall.

Nothing.

Niragi really fell asleep in front of the door of the person who must have lured him into some kind of trap before. Stabbed him in the back. Outsmarted him somehow, because this man does not allow anyone to simply walk up and set him ablaze.

It’s quite stupid. Careless. Pathetic, perhaps.

Threatening to patrol Chishiya’s door and then losing consciousness beside it like an abandoned guard dog that doesn’t need a chain to remain anchored.

Chishiya sighs quietly, then draws in a deeper breath.

He was tired, and he chose to stay outside.

There are footsteps farther down the hallway, laughter. A shriek dissolving into giggling.

Chishiya nudges Niragi’s shoulder.

“Wake up.”

He pushes him a second time before standing and unlocking the door.

“Let’s get you inside.”

@anemia-rp

The asphalt is wet with rain when Chishiya gets off the bus, hood drawn low over his face, hands in his pockets.

He moves past the pedestrians still milling through the streets. Not as many as during the day. Still enough. A few elderly people, gaunt men in sweat-stained business suits, partygoers in glossy vinyl and coloured hair. A pair of girls in corsets and bunny ears linger at the corner he rounds, leaving the main road for the maze of narrow back alleys.

Usually, it is a cheap motel when someone’s apartment is too embarrassing or their wife is home. Sometimes a park. Some parking lot somewhere.

A garage is a first.

Chishiya smooths his thumb over the stun gun in his pocket when the garage comes into view. It has been a while since he last needed to use it. A while since he has done this, too. But there is always someone who takes short and light as permission to ignore common courtesy, or agrees to one thing and decides, once Chishiya arrives, that his discomfort should become Chishiya’s problem.

Fuji seems too deliberate to be careless.

Still.

People are people.

The garage has a roll-up door with a narrow personnel door set into it. Chishiya tests the handle. It gives exactly as promised.

He presses it down and slips inside.

Fuji has been told not only to have a cool, unapproachable aura but to be hard to read and unpredictable just as well. Sometimes he does the opposite of what's expected from him out of spite. At other times he does exactly that to prevent unnecessary drama. That's why many people don't have quite an idea of how to deal with him, and to be fair, he can't blame them. Just as less as he can easily get out of his skin. But it's not as if most would have bothered to learn about his. The majority would have been both intrigued yet disappointed about what meets the eye.

Chishiya seems to be different than said majority. It's too early to make any predictions, but the dynamics have gone into a direction different from what Fuji is used to. It intrigues him. This pace is unfamiliar to him, but not uncomfortable. Not unwelcomed at all.

Just like the kiss. His hands find Chishiya's waist and lay onto it, and when he settles on his heels again they still rest there for some more seconds. Unfamiliar. But not uncomfortable. At least not for him.

"I did chose it", he approves. "It's been my wish even. I had to alter my skin. But still…" He shrugs with a huff, his feelings regarding it aren't easy to describe. So instead he lays his hand onto Chishiya's, the one that is close his tattoo, and lays it onto his arm. The tattoo. "The more I altered my skin the more I started to feel like myself", he says, his voice still lowered. The other hand strokes over the other's shoulder while his eyes rivet onto him. "You feel well in your skin the way it is?"

@voidshiya

Chishiya’s breathing slows when Fuji takes his hand and places it over the switchblade. Stops, briefly.

Not armour, then. Not quite.

So he has been wrong. Again.

Or rather, he has found the right room, the right work, and Fuji has stepped beside him like a guide addressing the visitor who has forgotten to move on. Not telling him what to see. Only pointing out the detail omitted from the plaque.

Chishiya can revise the rest himself.

He has mistaken declaration for concealment.

The tattoos, the piercings, the clothes - they do not stand between Fuji and the world. They are how he has entered it. How he has made the body his.

There is no plainer Fuji concealed underneath. Chishiya is already looking at him. What remains guarded are the reasons: the route taken, the choices made, the ones that held and the ones that have begun to chafe with time.

And now Fuji has taken Chishiya’s hand and placed it directly over one of them.

Chishiya exhales, long and slow. His fingertips settle fully against Fuji’s arm.

Fuji will want something in return. He already does.

Chishiya turns slightly into the next stroke over his shoulder, making the almost-polite touch linger.

That much, he can have.

Then he turns Fuji’s forearm towards the light.

“I don’t know if ‘well’ is the word,” he says after a pause, his gaze still fixed on the blade. “It’s never bothered me enough to change it.”

His thumb moves over the linework, then into the skin left clear around it. No difference in texture. Only meaning.

“You chose it then.”

He adjusts Fuji’s arm again, watching the bone shift beneath the skin before finally glancing up.

“You just wouldn’t choose it now.”

His head tilts another fraction.

“So changing isn’t what you regret.”

Fuji can't remember when has been the last time he has touched someone in a way that's more on the gentle side. For him this is something to earn. But not with anything extraordinarily hard to afford, no. Some genuine interest in him is enough, by someone who isn't afraid to touch him softly first. They have to cast the first stone. Otherwise, so his experience, he risks for someone only feeding on what he may potentially have to give, without giving something back. That's the exploiting nature of humans after all.

He wonders if Chishiya knows how far away from self-evidently it is that Fuji supports him touching and looking at him. And even more that Fuji in return has the wish to feel his skin underneath his own fingertips.

"Permanent things aren't for everyone", he claims, noticing meanwhile how Chishiya inspects the plain skin on his arm. It fascinates him what this man pays attention to. "I like permanent things, even if they come with a risk."

His hand slowly glides down Chishiya's arm until it loosely hangs next to his body again. Like this he looks into the other's face, but his fingers once again start to comb through his black hair again as he speaks.

"I'd choose another tattoo artist. I'm picky with them anyway. Getting tattooed is something intimate. It's not just about the skills of the person but about you feeling comfortable with them busying themselves with your body to this extent." He smiles. "However, it's something I enjoy very much. I doubt I'll ever quit getting tattoos. Luckily I've got quite some space on my body."

Turning around he drapes his hair over one shoulder and presents Chishiya his tattooed back. A huge tarot card of the Death. "But not there. There's nothing to add to this part of my body."

@voidshiya

No clean separation between art and artist, then. Not where Fuji is concerned. Consequential, when the art is inseparable from Fuji himself.

Chishiya does not comment on Fuji’s explanation of why he allows another person this close to his body. The thought of granting someone that kind of access – of letting anything they leave behind sink too deeply - makes his skin crawl with the urge to scrub himself clean until it is all raw and red and blank again.

“Permanence does not have to be visible to be real,” he says, returning the smile – or maybe the idea of one - with a blink. “Easier to recognize if it is, though.”

Harder to dismiss. Risky either way. Chishiya draws his lower lip between his teeth when the lion turns his back to him. Somewhere along the way, being seen by Chishiya has apparently become more important than keeping watch on what Chishiya does. Or important enough, at least.

Chishiya swallows softly as he steps in behind him. His hands settle lightly on Fuji’s waist, thumbs against his back and the rest of his fingers at his sides, so Fuji does not have to guess where they are. The tattoo takes up most of the available skin.

The one part Fuji claims is finished. From a quick glance, it is almost painfully literal: bones, darkness, death.

The end of one state so another can take its place.

Change and transition made permanent on Fuji’s skin, across the part of his body he considers complete and cannot see himself. Does not have to, more likely. Solving change by fixing it down.

Chishiya’s thumbs press a little harder into Fuji’s back. His gaze drops to the switchblade on the back of Fuji’s right forearm.

Some things end. Some are reworked. The process itself does not stop.

“Thank you,” he says, because it seems fitting. Polite. Not quite enough.

"Easier to recognize and harder to get rid of that's why I'd say. What can be both good or bad."

It's true, he has let his guard down. Sacrificed it for the sake of something else. He relies on the assumption that there's no logical reason for Chishiya to stab him in the back, literally so. Risky. Someone could have sent him out to mutilate him, after all. Safety is nowhere. But for the moment he lets something else win. The inner child who's excited to show someone who seems to be interested in it something he's proud of. Protecting himself doesn't seem so important right now indeed.

And he shouldn't regret his deed. Fuji once again gets touched in this studying way he has found a liking in. He could get used to it.

Getting thanked for it is unusual. Like so many things taking place tonight. No one has thanked him for showing them his tattoos before, he can say so for sure. He likes it when people appreciate the sight of them. What they do often, of course. But a thank you means more to him than a 'this looks so cool!'. It might be because he yearns for gratefulness more then bold yet shallow seeming compliments.

He turns around again and nods. "I should thank you as well for dedicating me your time." Politeness gets answered with politeness. You get what you give. But he means his words. "How can I show my gratitude?"

@voidshiya

Chishiya blinks, his hands still hovering beside Fuji’s waist after he turns within their loose hold.

Gratitude.

For Chishiya dedicating his time. For taking his time to learn Fuji’s body, his history, his unguarded back, the meaning inked into his skin.

He has already been allowed to take so much, and Fuji is still offering more.

The discomfort comes quietly. A small tightening beneath his ribs. Not because Chishiya does not want anything. That would be easier. He wants too much, and none of it should be given as repayment.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says, while the other word continues to turn over in his mind.

Dedication. Not a word anyone has used for his attention before.

And this is not a transaction. Not one that feels weighted in Chishiya’s favor, at least. Apparently, Fuji thinks Chishiya has given something too.

His hands settle back against Fuji’s waist as he looks up at him. More tattoos. More to learn. His gaze drops briefly to Fuji’s mouth before returning to his eyes.

“Don’t make it gratitude.”

One hand moves higher along Fuji’s side, stopping against his ribs. Not pulling him closer. Leaving the possibility there.

“If you want to touch me,” he says, “do it because you want to.”