doooom, I say.
ficcing Kiri is like an scab I am not supposed to pick at. and nessie_is_ebil. ahaha. at least I have set up a tenipuri filter so I can fangirl with the conscience at slightly better peace now.
The first time Yanagi touched Kirihara in the showers, Kirihara turned around and bit his hand. It had been about a month since their first, awkward kiss, in between English homework, a week since they'd knocked over his bookshelf at 2AM and had to come up with some story about cats to appease the parents. There had been enough data to verify that Kirihara appreciated the attention, and Yanagi had never even weighed the possibility of a bite. They both said, "Sorry," at the same time, but Kirihara's voice was louder, shakier, harsh and brittle like the broken-glass green of his eyes.
"I'm not going to hit you," Yanagi said after a long minute of silence and stillness with Kirihara's face turned away from him, taut line of neck and shoulders braced for something terrible to happen. He leaned forward, but when Kirihara flinched away, he checked his balance and brought himself back, stepping backwards out of the shower room and shutting the door behind him.
Kirihara came out fifteen minutes later, hair straggling in dark clumps over his eyes and sticking to his bare neck. Yanagi was reading a book, sitting on the bench, long back pressed against ridged iron lockers; didn't move when Kirihara crouched down to rest his chin on Yanagi's knee, pulling at the damaged hand to have a look. "Shit," he said, fingertips soft, tracing the ragged edges, then, "I ought to wear a muzzle."
"I shouldn't have scared you."
"Not scared of you," Kirihara said, but he didn't chase the subject and Yanagi realised later that all the times he'd allowed himself to be touched he was always looking straight at Yanagi's face, chanting Yanagi's name, pressing his face into Yanagi's skin and breathing in, as though the hands on him might suddenly belong to someone else. Yanagi remembered being choked awake once by the curly head jammed under his chin, Kirihara seemed to like it there. Sharp little nose pushing against his throat, wet hair damp on his shirt, and Kirihara said, slightly muffled, "Can't smell anything in the shower."
Yanagi was quiet for a while, the deliberate heavy quiet he sank into when he was computing probabilities, like should I or should I not ask this question. He let go of it and said, lightly, "Unless you have any bathroom fantasies we'll be all right," which made Kirihara laugh, sound and vibration purring against his collarbone; it was a happy sound, and Yanagi didn't know why he suddenly felt like crying.
ok, am really going to study now, cross my heart and spit on the sky. will resist the siren calls of Sanadatobe MP log (hey, I LIKE MP Shishido >:3) and hilariously named fic on the friendslist. yes. will be strong. *puffs out prickles* well maybe the ice-cream log is not very long is it.
The first time Yanagi touched Kirihara in the showers, Kirihara turned around and bit his hand. It had been about a month since their first, awkward kiss, in between English homework, a week since they'd knocked over his bookshelf at 2AM and had to come up with some story about cats to appease the parents. There had been enough data to verify that Kirihara appreciated the attention, and Yanagi had never even weighed the possibility of a bite. They both said, "Sorry," at the same time, but Kirihara's voice was louder, shakier, harsh and brittle like the broken-glass green of his eyes.
"I'm not going to hit you," Yanagi said after a long minute of silence and stillness with Kirihara's face turned away from him, taut line of neck and shoulders braced for something terrible to happen. He leaned forward, but when Kirihara flinched away, he checked his balance and brought himself back, stepping backwards out of the shower room and shutting the door behind him.
Kirihara came out fifteen minutes later, hair straggling in dark clumps over his eyes and sticking to his bare neck. Yanagi was reading a book, sitting on the bench, long back pressed against ridged iron lockers; didn't move when Kirihara crouched down to rest his chin on Yanagi's knee, pulling at the damaged hand to have a look. "Shit," he said, fingertips soft, tracing the ragged edges, then, "I ought to wear a muzzle."
"I shouldn't have scared you."
"Not scared of you," Kirihara said, but he didn't chase the subject and Yanagi realised later that all the times he'd allowed himself to be touched he was always looking straight at Yanagi's face, chanting Yanagi's name, pressing his face into Yanagi's skin and breathing in, as though the hands on him might suddenly belong to someone else. Yanagi remembered being choked awake once by the curly head jammed under his chin, Kirihara seemed to like it there. Sharp little nose pushing against his throat, wet hair damp on his shirt, and Kirihara said, slightly muffled, "Can't smell anything in the shower."
Yanagi was quiet for a while, the deliberate heavy quiet he sank into when he was computing probabilities, like should I or should I not ask this question. He let go of it and said, lightly, "Unless you have any bathroom fantasies we'll be all right," which made Kirihara laugh, sound and vibration purring against his collarbone; it was a happy sound, and Yanagi didn't know why he suddenly felt like crying.
ok, am really going to study now, cross my heart and spit on the sky. will resist the siren calls of Sanadatobe MP log (hey, I LIKE MP Shishido >:3) and hilariously named fic on the friendslist. yes. will be strong. *puffs out prickles* well maybe the ice-cream log is not very long is it.