Summer Nightmares // EbiKisu
For kuro_chin, I think? ♥
Summer Nightmares
Kawai/Fujigaya
R, 694 words
Despite having been in love with the man for all of his adult life and most of his adolescent one, Kawai never intends to give in to Fujigaya’s advances. It’s not like Kawai doesn’t know the score. When Fujigaya comes to him, looking at him with those eyes and speaking to him in that voice, Kawai knows exactly what’s going on.
“Don’t you remember?” Fujigaya asks in a low, gentle murmur, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosts over the nape of Kawai’s neck and makes his flesh stand up in goose pimples all over his arms. “Don’t you remember those summers, together at home? Don’t you remember how we used to be best friends? Don’t you remember the way you used to look at me? Don’t you remember?”
All of which are stupid questions, because of course Kawai remembers. He remembers every last bit of those naïve, glorious days.
As a matter of fact, even if he wants to, Kawai can’t make himself forget the humid summers when they’d been fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and he and Fujigaya had come back from their separate boarding schools to terrorize their small country town for three intensely joyous months each year.
They would kick off their sneakers and run down the roads that had been newly tarred in those days, shouting when their bare feet came in contact with the hot black heat of the ground. Then they’d burst into the ice cream parlor down Main Street and Fujigaya would turn on all the force of his laughing charm and they’d get two scoops of ice cream in their sundae for the price of one. (It’s strange, reflects Kawai, how a sundae always tastes better to a boy when he’s shoving it down his gullet, fighting for the last drip of the sweet, melted cream with his best friend, out-and-out warring with their spoons.) Then they’d churned that ice cream some more inside their stomachs, doing cartwheels and backflips and tumbling willy-nilly through the flower beds of Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Brown, before rushing off to the creek or the train tracks to play at Indians or Cops-and-Robbers. Then the dinner bell, calling them home for cold chicken and iced tea, and then out again in the warm evenings, clambering up trellises and lying on their backs under the starry night sky, making up their own constellations.
And then at night, when Kawai was lying alone in his bed listening to the concert of the cicadas in the backyard, he would close his eyes and think of Fujigaya’s grin, Fujigaya’s hands, Fujigaya’s hips. He would imagine Fujigaya’s voice, whispering to him low and soft, or crying out in passion; or those hips, twisting and bucking against his own; or those unruly bangs, all mussed and falling in his eyes. And then he wouldn’t be able to refrain from touching himself, palming his erection through the cotton of his shorts until he had to bite his lips to keep from gasping out loud. And when he came, it was always with a muffled groan, because Kawai could never keep himself properly quiet when he fantasized about Fujigaya.
So when Fujigaya asks him if he remembers...
When Fujigaya looks at Kawai with those eyes, speaks to Kawai in that voice, it makes Kawai feel like he’s sixteen again, hopelessly in love with his best friend.
There are a hundred things wrong with this picture, Kawai knows, but Fujigaya's lips are dewy and his eyes are warm and he’s Kawai's perfect summer nightmare.
He doesn’t intend to give in, but he does.
Fujigaya is everything Kawai has ever fantasized about, and more. But Fujigaya is also everything Kawai has ever expected, which means that when Kawai wakes up in the half-dawn, he is already gone, leaving only an impression of his body in the sheets beside Kawai. Everything is still a bit sticky, thanks to the summer heat, and Kawai grimaces as he kicks the whole mess of fabric onto the ground. With the sheets goes the imprint of Fujigaya, all traces of his visit obliterated.
Somewhere outside his window, a cicada starts to chirp.
Summer Nightmares
Kawai/Fujigaya
R, 694 words
Despite having been in love with the man for all of his adult life and most of his adolescent one, Kawai never intends to give in to Fujigaya’s advances. It’s not like Kawai doesn’t know the score. When Fujigaya comes to him, looking at him with those eyes and speaking to him in that voice, Kawai knows exactly what’s going on.
“Don’t you remember?” Fujigaya asks in a low, gentle murmur, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosts over the nape of Kawai’s neck and makes his flesh stand up in goose pimples all over his arms. “Don’t you remember those summers, together at home? Don’t you remember how we used to be best friends? Don’t you remember the way you used to look at me? Don’t you remember?”
All of which are stupid questions, because of course Kawai remembers. He remembers every last bit of those naïve, glorious days.
As a matter of fact, even if he wants to, Kawai can’t make himself forget the humid summers when they’d been fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and he and Fujigaya had come back from their separate boarding schools to terrorize their small country town for three intensely joyous months each year.
They would kick off their sneakers and run down the roads that had been newly tarred in those days, shouting when their bare feet came in contact with the hot black heat of the ground. Then they’d burst into the ice cream parlor down Main Street and Fujigaya would turn on all the force of his laughing charm and they’d get two scoops of ice cream in their sundae for the price of one. (It’s strange, reflects Kawai, how a sundae always tastes better to a boy when he’s shoving it down his gullet, fighting for the last drip of the sweet, melted cream with his best friend, out-and-out warring with their spoons.) Then they’d churned that ice cream some more inside their stomachs, doing cartwheels and backflips and tumbling willy-nilly through the flower beds of Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Brown, before rushing off to the creek or the train tracks to play at Indians or Cops-and-Robbers. Then the dinner bell, calling them home for cold chicken and iced tea, and then out again in the warm evenings, clambering up trellises and lying on their backs under the starry night sky, making up their own constellations.
And then at night, when Kawai was lying alone in his bed listening to the concert of the cicadas in the backyard, he would close his eyes and think of Fujigaya’s grin, Fujigaya’s hands, Fujigaya’s hips. He would imagine Fujigaya’s voice, whispering to him low and soft, or crying out in passion; or those hips, twisting and bucking against his own; or those unruly bangs, all mussed and falling in his eyes. And then he wouldn’t be able to refrain from touching himself, palming his erection through the cotton of his shorts until he had to bite his lips to keep from gasping out loud. And when he came, it was always with a muffled groan, because Kawai could never keep himself properly quiet when he fantasized about Fujigaya.
So when Fujigaya asks him if he remembers...
When Fujigaya looks at Kawai with those eyes, speaks to Kawai in that voice, it makes Kawai feel like he’s sixteen again, hopelessly in love with his best friend.
There are a hundred things wrong with this picture, Kawai knows, but Fujigaya's lips are dewy and his eyes are warm and he’s Kawai's perfect summer nightmare.
He doesn’t intend to give in, but he does.
Fujigaya is everything Kawai has ever fantasized about, and more. But Fujigaya is also everything Kawai has ever expected, which means that when Kawai wakes up in the half-dawn, he is already gone, leaving only an impression of his body in the sheets beside Kawai. Everything is still a bit sticky, thanks to the summer heat, and Kawai grimaces as he kicks the whole mess of fabric onto the ground. With the sheets goes the imprint of Fujigaya, all traces of his visit obliterated.
Somewhere outside his window, a cicada starts to chirp.