Day 26 ★ Fic by everlind 'Heart' (Part 3) NC-17 (NSFW)
26
Heart
by everlind
He doesn't cry or anything, that's lame, but it is really really close.
***
Some people believe that love at first sight is impossible.
Shishido knows they're wrong. You can love someone or something at first sight. When the puppy leaped up as soon as the lid cleared away to lick at his face, he fell irrevocably in love with him. The sort that hurts bad in your chest.
And, of course, all over with Choutarou again, too.
That tends to happen a lot (heck, Choutarou may be coming out of the shower all bare-chested and gleaming and DAYUM - or walk in through the front door bedraggled and cranky. There's no rhyme or reason to it), but it's never stopped hurting. Sometimes bad enough Shishido wants to go hide for a while, shivering like he's been doused in ice cubes.
And this. This puppy he's given him. A dog. He's given him a dog. And Shishido has to smile because it is the kind of dog Choutarou would choose: fluffy like a little bear, with curious perky ears and an active tail. All white. Like the snow clothing the world outside. Completely white -but for the tip of it's tail and its feet. Those are brown. Like it walked through a nice sticky layer of fresh mud.
It's a rather awkward sight. But cute.
"I got him from the pound," Choutarou says, grinning. There's no fear in him when he reaches out to tweak his tail. The puppy sprawls in Shishido's lap, as smitten as he is. He's doing a doggy smile, upside down, at Choutarou. "I figured there's so much animals in need for a home… you wouldn't believe how many baby animals are in there." His handsome face shows a sadness around the edges of his mouth. Likely he's beating himself up he could only save one animal.
Shishido hasn't said a word since they lifted the lid. Mainly he's just swallowing against the leaden lump in his throat and running his hands through the soft, white fur; almost feverishly. The puppy's heart beats against his palm. It squirms happily when he rubs his belly. The tail wags erratically. Big, wide, doggy eyes look up at him, instantly and endlessly devoted.
There's nothing like a dog's love.
When you have it, you never lose it. Even when you don't deserve it.
And Shishido feels very undeserving.
But when he turns his hand palm-upwards on the ground, Choutarou reaches and takes it immediately. He's lost track of the times he felt undeserving of this, too, but he's stopped questioning it. Instead he'll murmur fervent thanks to his lucky stars and try to return what is given as best as he can.
Flopping about comically, the puppy clambers to his feet and sort of attempts to crawl his way higher into Shishido's arms. He's heavy already -the making of a huge, loyal hound. It's there in his clumsy big feet and broad shoulders (hah, kinda like Choutarou himself when he was a 'pup'). Happy muffled noises dust the side of jaw. Shishido presses his face into the ruff of his neck and tries to still his spastic heart.
At long last, when all three of them are sprawled on the floor before the heater and the puppy is asleep in between them, Shishido finds his voice. "Why?"
The Christmas tree looms up behind Shishido's back and the lights touch pinpricks of stars in Choutarou's dark eyes. They dance. His hand goes down in long strokes along the dog's body, almost unconsciously. The red Santa-hat still sits on his head.
"For us," Choutarou says, as though that's the only possible answer there is.
And maybe it just is.
***
Sleeping on the floor is stupid. Especially when it is cold out and there's only the single-directional blast of an heater to keep the chill at bay. Shishido's back informs him of his unfortunate choice in sleeping arrangements as soon as he wakes. It must be quite late.
Like a little jolt, his eyes fly across the room to find the white ball of hair- ah. A smile dashes along his mouth. The dog likes the kotatsu, too. He's tucked underneath, fluffy white butt sticking out. The white streak of his tail scythes in a lazy arc on the floor.
Not a dream. It slowly starts to sink in. It really happened. The puppy is here. Here to stay.
Choutarou's rolled in his sleep, facing away from Shishido. Without having to look he knows he's got his knuckles tucked against his mouth, like he always does when lying on his side. His shirt has twisted loose. There's a slice of lower back showing, the delicate knobs of his spine bisecting his body into two. At his shoulders the neckline gapes wide, leaving his nape vulnerable and exposed, a part of his shoulder bare. Miraculously the Santa hat is still on his head.
For some reason the sight of him is indescribably delicious.
Shishido props himself up on an elbow and looks at him. He likes Choutarou being so tall, likes the different proportions it brings along: the long, narrow back and the wide strong shoulders, his narrow hips and insanely long legs. The large hands and feet. The large- oh yeah.
Letting a wicked, little smirk rise to his lips, Shishido concedes. Not right now, maybe.
But he knows how to make it so.
Sidling closer until they're just not quite touching, Shishido leans in and breathes. Right behind Choutarou's ear. He smells of sleep and man. Maybe a little alcohol and dog, too. Home. It's comforting at all times, but right now it's a major turn-on. His stupid dick is trapped in his jeans and it kinda aches. He tries to ignore it. Lightly his fingers settle at the small of his back, traveling the exposed skin along the waistband of his pants. Choutarou's skin is pale and unmarred, smooth. Perfect. It's warm, alive and sometimes even this is wondrous, Choutarou's breathing body with it's beating heart and a person inside for Shishido to love.
Resting his face in the curve of Choutarou's neck, Shishido slides the hand up over the sharp jut of his hip and then down along that taut, yummy belly.
"Wake up," he tells him, tickling with the tips of his fingers.
Choutarou makes a disgruntled, sleepy noise.
Well then.
Putting his mouth on the back of Choutarou's neck, smack-dab between the knob of his spine and his hairline, he opens his lips, tastes. Salty and clean. Then he carefully starts to suckle. With his free-hand he starts to work on that blasted belt, easing it out of the buckle.
Choutarou dozes on, oblivious, right up until Shishido manages to undo his fly, and slip his hand down the front of his pants to rub his dick, palm hot and insistent over the light cotton. His brain might've been switched off, but his sure cock isn't. Shishido traces the length of him, feeling up and up and up until he finds the tip of his erection already fighting against the elastic of his boxers for more space.
"Hm," Choutarou goes, muzzily.
Lifting his mouth away for a moment, Shishido murmurs, "You awake?" There's a bruise blooming up where he's been busy and Shishido dips his head one last time to worry at it -all teeth.
"Ah!" Choutarou's body jolts a little. From pain, from pleasure. "Ryou."
"Yes?" Shishido answers, matter-of-factly. There's a damp patch forming on Choutarou's underwear, slick and curiously intimate from his desire and he knows just how good it feels to ease his finger along it, massaging, dragging it along the sensitive skin of his cock. Studying his reactions by peering over his shoulder, he can see lips part to breathe. They shine wet.
Shishido knows what he wants. And how.
Easing Choutarou onto his back gently he nuzzles along his jawline until he finds his mouth. The inside of it his hot and moist and tastes familiar but a little new, too, and it's fucking amazing to slowly slide his tongue inside, soft and curious, drawing back before Choutarou can fully react. Making it a point to lift himself out of reach, Shishido licks his lips and grins down as Choutarou follows him for more, before realizing that he's being teased. Choutarou frowns at him. Reaches for his face with insistent hands of which Shishido kisses the palms, sloppily, but avoids otherwise. Instead he gets to his knees.
It must be the middle of the night. The house is dark but for the twinkle of the Christmas tree. It's a changing glow and colorful reflections swaying over every surface as the baubles are lighted from alternate angles. Inside the elegant glasses the champagne has stopped fizzing, leaving tranquil, golden liquid inside. The great silver box still lays tipped to its side. Shishido's eyes rove over the man still sprawled on the ground next to him, taking in the near-aggressive black burn of his eyes, the submission etched in lines of his body. His mouth still gleams from being kissed.
It's too much.
Shishido stares.
"Don't just look," Choutarou mutters after a while, restless. He's shy, but too damn horny to do anything about it but bare his neck for Shishido.
"No?" Shishido whispers, touching his stomach. "What should I do then?"
There's a little frustrated groan.
"What was that?" Shishido asks. "I didn't quite catch that." His fingers play along the edge of his boxers, nudging the elastic 'accidentally' here and there, pleased at every little quiver he gets in response.
It's abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous to see Choutarou hollow his back, all needy, and terribly ready. His hands curl convulsively on empty air. He's bad at this, still a little embarrassed. Which is kinda weird because sometimes he can be so damn bold, but when Shishido even thinks of talking dirty during sex he gets all bashful and starts to blush and becomes one mess of avoidant eyes and raging hard-on.
"I'm sorry, I don't speak frustrated," Shishido chuckles.
Choutarou's teeth flash white. "You'll speak frustrated fluently after two weeks if you don't… you don't- aaaaaah-"
His cock is hard and hot to the touch through the fabric. Shishido pumps him through it, shallowly. "You wouldn't last for two weeks," he tells him and starts to slow down. "Well?"
Grabbing his hand and trapping it onto his cock, Choutarou is about as red as a stoplight but definitely saying: "Touch me. Please."
Shishido laughs, slides down to straddle his legs. Makes quick work of Choutarou's pants. As he eases the fabric down the swell of those thighs, he answers, "Your wish is my command."
What it says about him that he really likes sucking cock (Choutarou's, that is), Shishido doesn't know. And he doesn't care either. He just really likes doing it. He likes the salty-sweet taste of desire, the sensation between his lips, the fullness of holding it in his mouth, cradled on his tongue. He likes the smell of it, that indescribable base scent. It pleases him to slant a look up through his lashes and meet Choutarou's eyes all hazy and shuttered as he bites his lips when Shishido suckles at the head of his dick. There's nothing that compares to seeing him breathe hard, stomach clenching and chest rising and lips swollen red and provoking kisses. Hearing his name being called like a curse and a prayer rolled into one feels like winning at life. Does that make him dirty?
Whatever.
Choutarou's hands are in his hair, a little too hard even while he's trying to be careful. Sometimes fingers skitter restlessly along his cheeks, close to his lips as he feels for Shishido's mouth closing around him soft but complete. When Shishido lifts his head away to nibble at the tip of his ring finger, before drawing it into his mouth exactly the same way he sucked Choutarou down a moment ago, he's rewarded by breath being sucked in like a sob.
His own hands aren't idle either.
One of them has eased a leg up while the other is carefully playing over him, testing. He can't do much, the lube is in the bedroom and he doesn't want to hurt him, but he can tease.
"Can you…" he breathes. "Can you-"
Shishido rests his head on Choutarou's quivering belly. "What?"
Hands rake through his hair convulsively, making Shishido close his eyes against the sensation. "I want you," he whispers quickly, going red in the face. "Don't make me say it again!" he adds, and Shishido closes his mouth wryly, just about to ask.
He draws away, leaving Choutarou's cock gleaming wet and painfully hard, and moves up a little, kissing the shadowy teardrop that his navel makes in the midst of his white, hard belly. "But I like hearing you say it." Shishido growls, rubbing his face into Choutarou's skin. "D'you want me to fuck you?" he asks. "Choutarou? Want me inside of you?"
Choutarou glares at him.
Shishido only grins at him. When he does that red in the face with his pants still caught around one leg, it looks sorta adorable instead of even remotely threatening. The Santa hat is still on his head, askew. "Fine," Shishido tells him, "But you're keeping that hat on."
There's outraged spluttering when he leaps to his feet to go and fetch the lube. "Keep yourself warm," he adds and turns his back on him without seeing whether he's listening.
The stupid little bottle is under the bed. Shishido knows it is because he booted it under himself, just that morning. Instead of simply picking it up. Of course now he reaps the rewards by having to lay on the ground to fish for it -a not particularly fancy sensation on his own erection, caught neglected in his jeans. As he's plucking dust bunnies of it, he wanders back into the living room and stops dead.
Wow.
Maybe he should say the lube's gone missing and enjoy the show. It would be worth any discomfort. Choutarou on the ground, long fingers wrapped snug around his cock, pumping slowly, softly, trying to keep from coming but so damn turned on his own body rises into the ministrations all the same…? Worth it.
He falters when Shishido kneels next to him. His eyes are nearly black, his color high. He might've tormented him a little too much. "Hang in there," he murmurs. "Not without me. Don't stop, though," he closes his own hand over Choutarou's and caresses him into motion again.
Men can be beautiful. Or at least, Choutarou can be. It's not a traditional, girly sorta beautiful. But Choutarou's body going smooth and ready for him, the lights of the Christmas tree reflecting on the hard bracket of his collarbone or the swell of his shoulders -and even and the wetness gathering at the tip of his cock as his own hands work up and down himself and Shishido's in and out of him… that's beautiful to Shishido. He likes the angles in his face, the surrender and the demand, the strength under his palms, resting below the skin.
"I'm good," Choutarou breathes. "Please."
"Sht," Shishido replies, clumsily trying to work himself out of his own clothes as he eases another finger inside. It sounds easier than it is and Shishido knows he's fumbling as he feels around for that one spot that'll drive Choutarou crazy. Who's not helping, with his restless shifting in an attempt to hurry things along. "Stay still!" Shishido hisses, pressing his forehead against the inside of a thigh even as he finally gets his pants and boxers off.
Choutarou positively whines, but subsides -just for a second, because Shishido's fingers slide over that rougher spot. Then he yells, surging up and hands grabbing for Shishido's shoulders, hard. That's gonna bruise. But the look of stunned ecstasy says it all. Shishido nearly puts out his own eye as he scrambles out of his t-shirt, unable to stand it covering his skin a moment longer. The clothing falls aside, forgotten and they both stare at each other.
Even though he's hot and wanting and nearly there, when Choutarou looks at him like that, in that sort of way that is beyond sex, Shishido can't do a damn thing. He can only kneel there, his freakin' stupid dick twitching in the air, and stare as his throat closes up.
Choutarou smiles at him and it feels like he's put his goddamn fist right through Shishido's chest.
"Come here," he murmurs.
So Shishido gathers him into his lap, sweet and clumsy like he usually gets when he's had too much to drink and is so damn turned on he feels like he could die. He drapes Choutarou's legs over is own kneeling ones. He palms his ass, squeezing and kneading, cradles it as he drizzles more lube at the base of his cock smooths it down.
"Ryou," he groans. Hands scrabble at his legs, catch one of his wrists and pulls at him. Shishido catches himself with both palms at either side of Choutarou, staring down at him. "Now. Please."
"Dammit," he snarls.
It hurts to hold himself ready, positioning, he's a little too close and a little too eager to be inside of him. It's torture to press forward, to feel the sting of fear of this is not gonna work or I'll hurt him, before Choutarou's body gives warm and hot and unbearably tight and he has to stop, has to, only his hips are moving and his hands are greedy on Choutarou, spreading him wider, tugging him closer -fingers clenched cruel on his hips. Nothing compares to the sight of him spread out for Shishido, muscles cording in his stomach and the urgent jut of his cock, the slick touch of perspiration coating his body, nipples hardening after Shishido dips his head and drags the flat of his tongue across them. And all the while he looks at him, eyes dark and warm and the littlest bit shy because he wants this so damn much.
It feels amazing when Choutarou makes a low, deep sound, clenching sudden around him and even better when he braces himself and rises up to meet him, to receive him deeper, even when Shishido thinks he couldn't and then he's suddenly he is.
"Yes," Choutarou hisses, sweat beading on his face and as red as the silly hat. "Yesssssssss…."
Shishido wants to laugh, and he starts to, but then he chokes on a sob because it feels so fucking good and there's not a rational thought left anyway.
He wants to kiss Choutarou -wants to taste those sweet, urgent noises he makes-, but he can't, he's too tall and all he can reach is the slope of his shoulder so he puts his mouth there, his passion and desire written with teeth and lips and his tongue, tasting sweat, salty and alive. His voice breaks when he gets hold of Choutarou long enough to hold him suspended, trap his body and slam into him, using him for his own desire if it wasn't for Choutarou saying: "Ryou -harder. Yes, yes, yes- d-don't stop- I, oh god, I- Ryou, please. Please please please please please-"
A whole lot of nonsense, basically, but it's the sweetest thing ever and it spurs him on until he fears he's going to break Choutarou under the force of his thrusts and he must be hurting him, he's got him pinned double to the ground and he can taste something that isn't sweat and his hands hurt from clenching so hard and still Choutarou's got breath left, sobbing in and out of his lungs and his long arms press Shishido's face to his neck as though inviting him to rip his throat out and how can this still not be enough?
At this rate he's not going to last.
"Choutarou," he murmurs, holding him as he tries to angle himself better. "You have to come, I can't- Choutarou. Come for me."
The fact that he does, catches Shishido completely off guard. Choutarou's back bows, his lips part and his hands gather fists full of Shishido's hair and holds onto him as though it'd kill him if he didn't. A broad hand finds the small of his back and presses, urging him in deep to stay so that Shishido gasps and comes, too, rough and sudden and disorienting. He empties himself, mouth open on a silent scream because it feels like it's drawn out of him with more strength than his feeble human body can handle.
There's only that for a moment, the shattering reality of his orgasm, and one hand of Choutarou's cupping the back of his head tenderly, the other spanning his hips. After, he stays that way, voice in his breathing. He can feel sweat slide down his spine, the thick cling of Choutarou's come between them.
"My back is killing me," Choutarou informs him weakly.
No shit. He's all but bend double. Carefully, Shishido eases him down, until he's spread out flat on the ground, only his hips tipped up because Shishido is reluctant to break the contact.
They cling to that and study each other. Shishido manages a weak chuckle. "That stupid hat is still on."
Choutarou's hand creeps feebly up to pat at it. Then he laughs, too, helplessly and spent. His body moves, shudders, grips Shishido's softening dick.
Sucking in air through his teeth, he grabs Choutarou's waist. "Don't laugh!" he whimpers. "Fuck, don't laugh."
Of course that makes Choutarou laugh harder, until Shishido's wounded face convinces him to attempt to smother it. He yawns instead. Shishido can feel that, too. Carefully, he eases out. They both sigh at the loss.
"Take me to bed," Choutarou tells him, rearing up and putting his arms around Shishido.
"I think you killed me," Shishido complains.
Choutarou snickers, mighty pleased with himself. "So many awful things I ask you to do."
"Hn," Shishido goes, and then lurches forward to kiss him. Catches him on the chin instead. Tries again. The lips under his are warm and soothing. "Merry Christmas," Shishido mumbles.
"Ho ho ho," Choutarou replies, dead-pan.
Rolling his eyes, he pushes the Santa-san hat off and throws it aside. Then buries his hand into the soft, white hair and tackles him to the floor once more.
***
He doesn't quite remember how they managed to drag their sorry carcasses to bed, but that's where they are when Shishido wakes up. Between one heartbeat and the next his eyes fly open and he's wide awake, his whole body is tense, ready to act… no react. But to what?
Against his neck there's only Choutarou's sleepy exhales. He lies tucked up against Shishido's back for warmth. A leg is wedged between his own, an arm slung possessively around his waist.
The clock blares the time into his retina in harsh, merciless red:
03:21
Shishido blinks, knuckles his eyes with a fist.
And then there's a noise, the noise that woke him up and Shishido is affected by it like a mother hen is by the cheeps of its chick.
The puppy. Crying.
Shishido sits bolt upright and has both feet slung over the side of the bed when Choutarou growls low: "Don't even think about it."
"…but…"
"Pancake wasn't allowed to sleep with us," Choutarou tells him, voice fuzzy with sleep. "So give me one good reason why the dog should be."
Behind the closed door, the puppy lets out a mournful, bereft whine. Shishido's body jolts in response, but he remains in bed, feeling guilty. It's true. It was him that decreed that Pancake stayed out. She often stared when they were… you know and what if she had just visited her litter box and there was stuff stuck between her toes? Not to mention that she most definitely would have leeched cozy bed-time with Choutarou from him; he'd have cuddled her more than Shishido.
Of course, he's never regretted being a jealous ass about that more than he does now -and not just because it might have meant that the puppy could have come and slept with then. So, heart quaking with regret, he lies back down and closes his eyes forcefully. Trying to shut out the noises of dog, still calling out for him.
Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that Choutarou is an enormous softie and gets up himself barely ten minutes later. There's some stumbling about as he worms himself half into his pajama pants before shuffling out into the living room. His voice is a low mix of amusement and irritation as he addresses the dog.
Silence.
Shishido feels a little better.
Choutarou returns, yawning and sits down hard onto the bed. "Here," he mutters, and then soft fur and a wriggling puppy body is in Shishido's arms. Holding the dog, Shishido gapes at him, noncomprehending. "I must be mad," Choutarou sighs,.
Even though he says that, they sleep with the puppy in between them, their fingers laced across his body.
It's not Pancake.
That can't be fixed. The puppy isn't a replacement -couldn't be if he was meant to be.
Shishido thinks about their cat and hurts, sharp, inside. But this is new and tentatively okay, and it's something that's gonna be good.
Very good.
***
"You know," Choutarou says next morning as they walk the dog together. "I think you owe me something."
The puppy isn't used to the leash yet. He darts about like it's got a firecracker up his ass and seems forever surprised when he gets pulled up short. The leash is one problem. The snow another. The puppy seems both delighted and terrified at the sight of all the white, everywhere. One moment he'll be trying to eat it, the other Shishido has to pick him up and tow him along because he refuses to go on. Of course, the moment he gets put down he'll leap into the snow himself and all but disappear completely but for the tip of his tail sticking out like a discolored antenna.
Christmas day dawns with steely skies that whisper of more snow soon. Everything is very still, almost smothered by the deep layer of snow. Feebly sunlight makes the crystals shimmer like fragments of rippling waves. Shishido is wearing so many clothes it is a small miracle he can still walk. It's very very cold.
"C'mon dog, pee!" Shishido chants under his breath, before humming in reply: "Oh yeah?" as he tries to keep from tripping over the leash as the puppy winds about him. "What?"
The puppy doesn't pee. It paws at his ear and then trots on.
"Hmm-hm," Choutarou goes and smirks.
Shishido feels dread slide down his spine like a cold finger. See, Choutarou isn't the smirking type. But when he does, Shishido knows there'll be hell to pay.
"Seeing as you got to name Pancake, well, Pancake," Choutarou says, mouth curling. "I think it is my turn to name the dog."
He stops dead in his tracks. The puppy bounds along and is predictably brought up short. He sits on his butt looking confused.
"No," Shishido says, seriously.
"Oh yes," Choutarou answers, equally serious. He looks down at the dog. "How did that saying go again… tooth for a tooth, eye for an eye?"
"Choutarou…"
"Let's see…" Choutarou makes a show of rubbing his chin. "What about Fleas? No?"
"Look, I know that-"
"Shush." Choutarou says as they walk on, beginning to circle back. The puppy still hasn't peed. "Maybe Fleabag? Or Mudbutt!"
"I'll do anything!" Shishido blurts, regretting it almost instantly.
A low, shiver-inducing laugh. "Tempting," Choutarou concedes. "But no. Oh, maybe a cute name is better! Like Fluffball! Fluffy? Tinkerbell? Dinky? Dandelion!"
Shishido groans. "I'll… I'll clean for a month! No! A year! I'll… I'll give you oral pleasure every morning? I'll do the ironing! … no? Yukata! I'll wear that yukata again!"
For a moment Choutarou looks severely tempted. Then he shakes his head. "I shall not be bribed by sexual proposals. I kinda like Fluffy, don't you? Or what about Snowflake? That's nice and corny."
Horrified, Shishido imagines having to introduce his dog as 'Snowflake' wherever he goes. If that doesn't scream 'very, terribly gay' he doesn't know what does. Choutarou isn't close to finished, though. And the dog still hasn't lifted his leg. Maybe he doesn't know how. Shishido doesn't feel like doing a demonstration, either.
"We need something more original. Like Elvis, perhaps. Or… wait. What about Chopin? I like Chopin."
Shishido stares at him.
"Bach, Mozart… or Paganini! Stravinsky then? Tchaikovsky, 's got a nice ring to it."
"I can't even spell that!" Shishido bites at him, hauling the puppy out of a pile of snow and shaking it, hoping to induce an urge to relieve himself. It doesn't.
"Debussy?"
"He's a boy!"
"Ludwig van Barkhoven."
"I'm not even gonna dignify that with-" Shishido realizes that he is and shuts his trap. Glowers.
"You're absolutely right, maybe we should base ourselves on his markings." They pass out of the park and onto a stretch of cleared sidewalk. The puppy's feet are wet and very dark. His tail wags rhythmically. "Dipstick!" Choutarou exclaims and Shishido thinks he dies a little on the inside. "Mittens! Socks? Paws. Uhm…"
"I hate you," Shishido informs him at this point.
"-we could do food, too, like you did for my cat. Let's see. Asashi, Bok Choy, Soup, BigMac, Skittles, Banana -"
"…banana? Seriously?"
"-Sugar, Hot Dog, Meatballs-"
"Enough!" Shishido moans, grabbing his sleeve and hanging on. "I can't take this anymore! I'm sorry, okay! Whatever it is, I'll do it, but fucking hell please don't call the dog Banana. Or Snowflake. Or any of those things. Just…"
Their house rounds into view and Choutarou cheerfully twirls the keys around his index as he nearly skips with glee. Shishido protectively puts himself between the dog and Choutarou's brilliant, mad and vindictive mind as though it could save him of the horrible fate of going through life as Soup or Chopin or Snowflake.
"Well," Choutarou informs him, smiling happily as he slides the key into the lock and shoulders the front door open. "You're in luck."
Hope stirs within Shishido as he clicks the leash off. The puppy is tired and simply sits down where he is standing: right onto Shishido's foot. "I get to name him?"
A laugh. "No, silly! I've already decided on a name ages ago. Look, I even had it printed on this collar. It's none of the ones I said -it's even better!"
And with that, he fishes a handsome leather collar out of his coat pocket and hands it to Shishido.
Taking it from him with not a little amount of trepidation, Shishido looks at Choutarou -and his wide smile-, then at the puppy -who's smiling with his steaming pink tongue dangling- and finally at the collar.
SHIN
"Oh," Shishido says faintly, hoping kinda desperately his face isn't showing all the mushy, lame feelings he's having. The name is etched into a silver plate is worked onto the leather of the collar. The letters are fashioned simply and Shishido recognizes Choutarou's own script in the subtly elegant sweep of them. As he traces the name with his thumb, the tips of his fingers detect an irregularity at the back, too. He turns it around. And there, engraved right into the smooth dark leather is a kanji.
心
Warm hands rest on his hips and a smile is kissed into his hair. "Alright?"
Nodding, Shishido breathes, trying to keep it all together, "Alright."
And then Shin has an accident. Right on Shishido's foot. In the middle of the genkan. A meter or three away from a lamppost -the door is even still open.
Choutarou says: "You're mopping that up."
Shishido hangs his head and nods.
Stupid dog.
But not really.
-fin-