Perpetual Injuries [Kekkaishi | NC-17 | Hiura/Yoshimori]
Title: Perpetual Injuries
By: worblehat
Fandom: Kekkaishi
Pairing: Hiura/Yoshimori
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hiura keeps getting injured and Yoshimori gets pissed off. Also, sex.
Notes: Written for word #103 @ 15_minute_fic. Pairing is denoted in alphabetic order. Self-beta'd.
Word Count: 5,748
Word #103 - Cut
"Hey, here you g- What's wrong with your hand?" asked Yoshimori, interrupting his own sentence to reach for Hiura's wrist. He inspected it, noting where the bandages from the previous night were soaked in a circle of dark red. "How can you just walk around with it like that? It's gonna get into your clothes, you know."
Hiura blinked at him, a blank expression on his face - as if he didn't fully understand the dilemma.
Yoshimori sighed. He'd been just about to hand over one of the pair of small teacups Toshimori had gifted him as as an early birthday present; the hard-to-miss red splotch didn't go unnoticed and Yoshimori decided that Sen was right: Gen and Hiura were not that alike.
Shishio would have at least noticed his hand was bleeding everywhere..., he thought. ... Though he probably wouldn't have cared. But he would've known why someone else would!
Karasumori was quiet except for Yoshimori's grumbling as he used two of his shikigami to tend to the wound that was dripping down the edge of Hiura's hand, creating lines of dark red along his pinky and ring fingers. Hiura merely looked on, seemingly oblivious to the pain he should be in.
"You should take better care of yourself," muttered Yoshimori as the shikigami disappeared. He felt stupid for caring more about a cut than Hiura did; and he still didn't understand what was going on in the other boy's brain most of the time. They'd agreed to be friends, but Yoshimori couldn't help wondering if the other boy had ever even had a friend before. Based on his reaction to the offer so many years ago now, chances were likely that he hadn't, or probably didn't even know the concept.
Shishio flashed briefly through Yoshimori's mind once more, sadness creeping into his chest briefly before he focused his attention on being alert. He still missed Shishio. Regret lingered in his mind - how they'd only fully been a team just before one of them died; how he didn't want that to happen again with Hiura.
"I heal quickly," said Hiura, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Yoshimori grumbled, "still..." and looked away. Madarao was floating along the grounds within full view from where they stood; things had been eerily quiet the past few nights, and Yoshimori knew he should be more concerned about the lack of activity than he was, but it was kind of nice, having this time to talk alone with Hiura while-
Did I just think spending time with him was nice? What's wrong with me tonight?
"I apologise for causing you unnecessary concern," said Hiura plainly.
Yoshimori frowned, looking at him again. In the moonlight, Hiura looked a little different; colder, and darker. In the mornings he looked warm; unguarded. It was probably the time he looked best, with his hair frazzled against the pillow, limbs curled up beneath the covers. Yoshimori had first only noticed it by accident, though by now, it was part of his morning routine to wake Hiura - after scrutinising his sleeping face for a few seconds (but not longer than a minute) in case one of his family members asked him what he was doing and he had to explain.
It bothered him though he preferred not to think about it. Tokine captivated most of his attention, and he still thought about the time he'd accidentally - it really was an accident! he'd remind himself with a red face - when he'd seen her in the bathtub. But he also (privately) enjoyed looking at Hiura. Three mornings ago, he'd found himself smoothing Hiura's hair away from his face only to have Hiura wake up and blink at him before he could pull his hand away. Hiura had merely sat up and said "good morning" - as if it weren't odd or awkward in the least to have Yoshimori feathering his hair like that.
Ever since then, Yoshimori had felt on edge around him, not really wanting to be too close. He'd forgotten himself at the sight of the wound tonight and it was in his nature to care about others; a completely automatic reaction. Now that it had been taken care of, though...
"She must be very sick."
"... Huh?" Yoshimori stared at him as if he'd just randomly started a conversation in German.
"Yukimura," explained Hiura.
"Oh... yeah," said Yoshimori, feeling sheepish. He'd been so concerned about not thinking that he'd over-compensated and forgotten all about Tokine not being here. "Her grandmother said she'd be okay in another two days."
"Do you want to visit her?"
Yoshimori looked at him. "You really don't pay attention, do you? I'm not allowed in their hou-"
"That hasn't stopped you before," interrupted Hiura.
Yoshimori blushed. "W-What do you mean?"
Hiura said nothing.
"It's not like I spy on them!" said Yoshimori defensively. "And that one time, I was just- It was- I didn't mean to!"
"That one time?" repeated Hiura.
"Nevermind!" said Yoshimori.
Hiura remained silent... for all of five seconds.
"Your face is really red."
Yoshimori glared. "Shut up!"
"You look like that a lot when she's brought up," said Hiura. "Does she make you uncomfortable?"
"No!" shot Yoshimori. You do!
"Do I?"
Crap! Did I say that out loud?
"Sumimura?"
"No! Yes... I don't know," said Yoshimori unhappily, burying his face in his hands. Why'd you have to ask? he thought miserably.
Hiura watched him through expressionless eyes. Sumimura had odd ways of behaving, but his reactions were usually interesting to watch and learn from. He had noticed a small change recently, though he wasn't sure as to the source. Something about it tugged at his attention - something he wasn't yet able to identify, but suspected had to do with the Sumimura girl in some way. It would be helpful information to discover and report discord among both of the Kekkaishi at Karasumori; but Hiura, for the first time that he could remember, felt something... a curiosity, maybe, about this particular Kekkai user; a desire to know, for his own benefit. He'd never been curious about anything before, so he wasn't clear on what such a thing should feel like. He'd neither liked nor disliked things until this point, so it was a strange experience to feel pulled in by something - compelled towards something that he wanted to observe closer, all other thoughts flying from his head.
Sumimura seemed unsettled by this, looking everywhere but at Hiura.
For a moment, nothing happened; then Hiura's fingers were in Yoshimori's hair, brushing it gently away from his face. Yoshimori binked at him, mouth dropping open in surprise. Hiura's touch was amazingly soft. His eyes were wider than Yoshimori could remember: more innocent-looking than the cold stare he'd recalled from their first encounter, when Hiura's face had had been masked.
Words stuck in his throat. His stomach felt warm and his hands clenched involuntarily. The tea lay forgotten on the side for the time being, steaming away into the tepid night air.
"... What are you doing?" he asked, his voice strained.
"You did this to me the other morning," said Hiura, reaching for one of the tea cups and raising it to his lips for a quick sip. It had lost some of its warmth but was still strong and not unpleasant in taste. "It was a relaxing gesture," he said when Yoshimori continued to gape at him.
"I... that was an accident!" sputtered Yoshimori. "I thought there was gum in your hair! That's all." He reached for his own tea, gulping it down and nearly choking.
"Why would there be gum in my hair?" asked Hiura. "I don't chew-"
"Look - just forget it, okay?!"
"Okay." Hiura took another sip, then looked up at the moon. It was only half-full tonight, yet provided enough light to bathe the Karasumori grounds with an uncertain blue.
Yoshimori sighed. "I didn't think you were awake, okay?" he said. "I wouldn't have touched you if- I mean, I- It was a mistake."
"Did you mean to do something else?"
"What?! No!" Yoshimori's face flushed a deeper red that even darkness could not properly hide. "Can we just stop talking about this?"
"Okay," Hiura replied again.
"Good."
"... What is it we're talking about?"
"Huh?"
Hiura placed his tea cup next to Yoshimori's leg. "I'm not sure what I'm saying to upset you," he explained. "If you tell me what it is, I will be sure not to bring it up again."
"You..." There was a loud slap! of palm against forehead as Yoshimori groaned. "That's the same as talking about it!"
"But I don't-"
"Nevermind, fine - I'll... Look." He forced himself to look Hiura in the eye. "I just... feel... " His fists clenched tightly, nails nearly cutting into the skin of his palms. "You make me feel weird. Sometimes."
"Weird?" Hiura blinked, processing the information. This development seemed like a step backward in gaining the Kekkaishi's trust.
"Yeah. Like... " Yoshimori coughed. "Kind of the way I feel around Tokine... sometimes... "
"Feverish?"
"No. Just- Do you know what it means, to like someone?"
Hiura considered this. "No."
Yoshimori deflated a little. Wait - am I disappointed? Why?! If he doesn't know what it's like, then I can just stop talking about this, and I don't have to worry about it and go back to doing my job without wondering if it's okay to-
"What is it like?"
"AHHHH!" screamed Yoshimori. Hiura's face had gotten a lot closer in the span of very few seconds, which Yoshimori hadn't been expecting. Though I probably would have screamed either way.
"Sumimura?"
"Don't you know what personal space is?!"
"A distance that provides comfort and ease when interacting."
"Well... yeah." Yoshimori was dumbfounded. How come he understands that but not what liking someone means? Why do I care about this so much anyway?!
"Should I move back, then?"
Yoshimori's heart thudded loudly in his chest. He really didn't want it to. This uncertainty around Hiura was making him feel a little crazy. The strangeness of his thoughts recently and how his eyes seemed to center on Hiura's lips subconsciously - the way they sometimes did in the morning after a particularly vivid and confusing dream - these all seemed... wrong. Flashes of said dreams slid past his thoughts now, warming his body awkwardly.
The moonlight shone just at the tips of Hiura's hair and Yoshimori felt recklessness overtaking his mouth.
"... No," he answered, slowly. "You can come closer if you want."
His body was shaking and Hiura's eyes were watchful, leaning in a few more inches until they were eye-to-eye. It was a strange angle for kissing, but Yoshimori couldn't stop staring at the blank eyes, searching for a sign of warmth.
He reached out, placing his fingertips against Hiura's jaw line; uncertainly, slowly tracing the spot from ear to chin.
Something in Hiura's eyes flickered and Yoshimori's chest tightened with anticipation.
"... What are you doing?"
"Hiura?"
"Yes?"
Yoshimori blanked his mind, eyes warm and focused. "Stop asking questions for a little bit," he said lightly before pressing his lips to the other boy's, eyelids closing; his movements unhurried and unpracticed; clumsy, yet sweet.
When he pulled back, Hiura was looking at him, confusion evident on his face. Guilt gnawed at Yoshimori; I probably should have warned him or something...
"Is that what you want to do with Yukimura?"
Yoshimori shrugged and looked away. He did want to do that with Tokine; but he also sort of wanted to do that with Hiura again. Hiura's lips had been surprisingly soft, and Yoshimori wanted to see that look on his face again - wanted to see a deeper flicker of emotion than the one he'd seen just seconds ago, but was gone now.
"Oh," said Hiura before Madarao reappeared, yawning and asking if they could go home already. Yoshimori snapped at him, packing up the tea and heading back - all while casting continuous glances at Hiura, who noticed but said nothing.
Ω
A week later, Yoshimori had finally shuffled over to him while Tokine was out of earshot. He muttered, "you can forget what happened... last time" and walked away.
Hiura had nodded to the retreating back. The thought of what had occurred between them seemed overly-taxing to Sumimura, and the resulting discord of such potential unrest would go against his orders.
But sometimes he would touch his lips in the dark when the rest of the house was in bed and wonder silently.
Ω
"Be careful with the frid- Oi!"
Yoshimori came barelling towards him, pushing at the huge square of technology as they shifted it further into the corner. Once it had been settled, Yoshimori wiped at his brow.
Then he punched Hiura.
"Why aren't you ever careful, stupid?" he scolded.
"Sorry," said Hiura politely.
"Sorry, sorry - you're always sorry," muttered Yoshimori, pushing him out of the way to reach for the first of five stacks of coffee milk. "Here," he said, handing the first crate to Hiura. "Start putting this in the fridge."
"Okay," came Hiura's response.
They worked on putting away the rest of the groceries together, Yoshimori sneaking in two coffee milks in the process, protesting somewhat guiltily that he needed the extra energy after moving so much furniture into their new apartment without much help. His grandfather had lectured him the previous night about not using his powers for something simple like moving, claiming the manual work would be great training and after an hour, Yoshimori had reluctantly agreed - anything to get him to stop talking, he'd thought in annoyance.
Yoshimori chucked the empty containers into the nearest trash can. One fell out and Hiura reached for it, dropping it neatly into the bin. He ignored Yoshimori's resulting burp, walking past him into their shared bedroom, and from there into the bathroom. The cabinet gave a small squeak as he opened it to retrieve his toothbrush and toothpaste. He was unsurprised to find Yoshimori watching him when he closed the cabinet and begin running just enough water to wet his brush before applying the paste and placing it in his mouth.
"How come you don't look tired at all?" complained Yoshimori.
Hiura shrugged. It had been five years now since he'd first met Sumimura, and while he didn't always understand him, he liked the concern that was shown, as well as the jealousy for the difference between their bodies. But more than that, he liked Yoshimori's warmth. It was so unlike his own everything (feelings, body, and so on); he couldn't help but be compelled towards it, and often curled around the other when he was sleeping, apologising somewhat sheepishly when Yoshimori complained of having nightmares of being suffocated to death.
In the mirror's reflection, Hiura watched as Yoshimori made a face and reached for his own toothbrush, his located in a cup versus Hiura's preferred cabinet location. He ran the water and applied paste to the head of the brush hastily, shoving it into his mouth and brushing in obvious annoyance. He continued to speak, though Hiura could only make out bits and pieces. Of what he understood were things such as Hiura and his "stupid regenerative powers," as well as concerns over whether or not the last crate of coffee milk had spoiled; and if so, someone was going to pay (the implication being that it would be Hiura, though he had done his best to check and double-check expiration dates before any purchasing took place, knowing how serious Yoshimori took his supply of coffee milk).
Being the first to finish, Hiura placed his toothbrush back into the cabinet and left Yoshimori behind as he found the futon and laid it out. It was king sized but partly lumpy. Still, both had agreed that it would do the job, at least for the first month or so.
As he was setting out the blankets and bedding, he became immediately aware of Yoshimori's eyes on him. From speaking and listening to others, he'd learned that being looked at in such a way either made people feel extremely unsettled or desired. He felt neither; it was just what Yoshimori did.
He paused in his movements when he felt Yoshimori kneeling next to him, one hand one his waist. Hot breath fell against his ear. "Leave it for now."
Hiura immediately stopped, turning to look over his shoulder at Yoshimori. He may not have experienced the same reactions to being stared at when his back was turned, but being face-to-face with Yoshimori was a different story. It made his heart beat abnormally and his body temporarily stiff, or frozen; it was difficult to pull away, smile, speak, or do anything but look back at Yoshimori.
Over the years, slowly (and with much patience on Yoshimori's part) he'd learned to react, allowing his body to be touched and warmed not just by Yoshimori's hands, but the gaze that Yoshimori was no good at hiding whether they were in public or not. Hiura had never teased him, but the older Sumimura - Masamori - seemed to have no problem doing so. Yoshimori's face got the most red when this happened.
Hiura didn't mind; he liked that feeling. Yoshimori's kisses always made him immediately horny, which was what had initially made it easier to move under his gaze. As their lips touched now, Hiura made a small sound, his eyes closing. Yoshimori's other hand slid beneath his shirt, resting easily at his waist, drawing Hiura closer with just a faint press of his fingertips.
His hands remained just as gentle, just as soft as Hiura maneuvered himself onto his back, the intensity of Yoshimori's movements causing him to buck upward, grinding himself against the rapidly-hardening cock above him. He tugged at Yoshimori's shirt, pulling it over his head. Tanned skin is what he would have seen if he'd bothered to look, but Yoshimori's lips were on his again, diverting his focus to wetter sensations.
Soon they mutually unbuckled, unbuttoned and shrugged out of their jeans, Yoshimori letting out a small tsk of annoyance as he finally coerced Hiura out of his shirt. Neither bothered with the blankets - it was spring and bordering on overly-warm. They focused instead on sliding their bodies against one another, the warmth more tantalising than the words Hiura could remember hearing in one of the X-rated movies Yoshimori had unsuccessfully attempted to hide from him.
He slipped his hand between them, the action practiced and fluid after so long - the strokes always different, and always designed to frustrate Yoshimori to the point where he would frown at Hiura or gasp at him for more. Or sometimes to the point where he would flip Hiura over and hold him down, neither speaking until Yoshimori had slid in deep, Hiura's body adjusting to the wet, insistent press of flesh inside him.
Tonight Yoshimori slowed down, fingers running along Hiura's skin, touching whatever they could before finally centering between his thighs. His thumb rubbed over the dark patch of skin on the right leg where he'd sucked hard a few days ago as an experiment, using only ghostly touches around the tip of Hiura's cock with his hand - tongue and mouth sucking and marking until Hiura's hips had practically lurched upward, his entire body shaking as he hissed. Yoshimori had dropped his hand in response, sucking and licking in that same spot, again and again, memorising the sound of Hiura's cry as he came: loud and frustrated, yet full of almost grateful relief.
"Does it still hurt?" he whispered, pressing against the bruised area.
"Mmm... no," answered Hiura, pushing up into Yoshimori's touch. He let out a slight, involuntary gasp at the soft squeeze around the head of his dick; wrapped his arms around Yoshimori's neck as harsh, biting kisses lined his neck. "Yoshi...mori... "
"Can I turn you over?"
Hiura opened his eyes, pulling lightly at Yoshimori's hair until the kissing stopped. Each kept their eyes on the other's face, erections rubbing against each other shallowly.
"What about face-to-face?"
Yoshimori stopped dead. Even in the darkness, Hiura knew the boy above him was blushing. He could tell by the way his eyes had widened, looking a little scared and a little tempted at the same time.
"Face-to-"
"We don't have to worry about anyone walking in," Hiura pointed out.
"Well... that's..."
Hiura rested one hand against Yoshimori's cheek. "You don't want to?"
"Don't be stupid!" came the flustered reply. Yoshimori pushed himself up just enough to reach over to the makeshift nightstand they'd brought with them. It was a temporary kind of thing, much like the futon: something to tide them over, nothing but a small block of wood with one drawer. It was enough to keep the few things they needed by the bed: flashlight, batteries... lubricant, tissues, oils.
He fished around, finding two of the latter. Propping himself up on the bed, he sat between Hiura's legs. He hesitated, a question visible on his lips.
"You're sure you want to-"
"Yes."
There was silence for several seconds before Hiura heard the bottle cap un-screwing, the unmistakably wet sound of lubricant following soon after. "You could have at least let me finish asking the question before interrupting," said Yoshimori. Hiura watched him carefully in the darkness, enjoying the caring undertone veiled by annoyance.
That's what had seeped into everything - not their first kiss or even Yoshimori's gentle fingertips in his hair. It was that first moment when Yoshimori had asked him to make a promise - when he'd said he wanted to be friends, when he'd made it plain that he cared, as if it were something Important, something Worth Noting. Until that point in time, Hiura had known about friendship in a vague way; he just hadn't been sure if the term applied to Yoshimori. The more Yoshimori trusted him, the more confusion began to jumble Hiura's thoughts.
It would have been easier, he'd often reflected, if Yoshimori had taken his own advice and forgotten about the kiss; but the very next day, Hiura had woken up to those same fingers in his hair and Yoshimori staring at him. He'd known he was being stared at even before opening his yes; yet he still asked "Have you been watching me sleep?"
Yoshimori had blushed faintly. "So what if I have?" he'd retorted.
"Are you going to kiss me again?"
"... So what if I am?"
Hiura had merely replied: "Then you'd better do it in the next twelve seconds, before your grandfather bursts in."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Yoshimori had replied before inexpertly mashing their teeth together, accidentally biting into Hiura's lower lip. Hiura, for his part, hadn't minded. This was a new sensation, and not a particularly disagreeable one. It also seemed to coincide neatly with his mission of being more trusted by at least one of the Kekkaishi.
And really, he hadn't expected to leap in front of Yoshimori like that five years ago. He definitely hadn't planned on going against his orders at the last moment to save the main protector of Karasumori. In fact, he was pretty sure that he would have died, quite willfully, if Yoshimori hadn't crushed him to his chest, quietly begging, just once, in a voice no one else on the battlefield could hear:
"Not you, too. You can't leave me, too. ... Please."
Hiura had been useful his entire life, but never needed. Those words had drawn strength he hadn't been aware of. Within the next four months, he was fully healed.
Three years later, he had gotten to third base with Yoshimori - "by accident!" Yoshimori had claimed vehemently. Three weeks after that, they'd had sex - with Yoshimori offering to be on the bottom. In fact, Yoshimori still offered from time to time, and Hiura always took him up on it. It was nice to be needed like this, with Yoshimori's voice begging the way he had that night; sad desperation replaced with unhidden need.
"Relax your body," said Yoshimori, slipping one finger inside Hiura. A second one soon joined it, both moving in and out in a rhythm that was shaky and rough. Hiura contracted around the digits and Yoshimori swore.
"Did you do that on purpose?"
"Yes."
"Well... don't," said Yoshimori; sometimes he hated how Hiura just did whatever he felt like. Other times, it made him want to screw so badly, he hoped Hiura would never stop.
"Why?"
"Because I won't be able to wait if you do," admitted Yoshimori.
Hiura slid one hand around his own cock, stroking slowly. "Who said I wanted you to wait?"
The bottlecap rattled as Yoshimori quickly shifted his position on the bed, rubbing the clear liquid along his shaft, giving only a few quick strokes, not wanting to make himself come by accident. Hiura raised his legs without being asked and Yoshimori used one hand to position himself at the recently-stretched entrance. He pushed in, doing his best to be gentle. The legs that wrapped around his lower torso urged him silently deeper and Yoshimori acquiesced, forcing himself the rest of the way in with one harsh thrust.
Hiura's head tipped backward against the pillow and he let out a long moan. His legs tightened around Yoshimori's hips once more and Yoshimori pulled out until just the tip remained; then slowly, slowly filled Hiura, groaning from how close he felt to coming already.
"More," said Hiura simply. It was all the direction Yoshimori needed. He placed his hands on Hiura's thighs, holding him steady as he began to fuck him in quick, hard thrusts. There was no light in the room but as he looked down, he could make out the outline of where their bodies joined, one sliding deep and fast into the other. Even without the light, he could hear the wet, harsh slap of skin each time their bodies met, and could feel the sweat slowly forming on both of them.
"Closer."
"Hmm?" asked Yoshimori, doing his best to stave off his orgasm for as long as possible. This felt amazing, and the idea of Hiura like this - legs spread, one hand pumping his cock - made Yoshimori's whole body shiver. He wished he had remembered to leave any of the lights on and made a mental note to do so the next time.
With his free hand, Hiura reached upward and looped his fingers into the hair at the base of Yoshimori's neck, pulling gingerly until they were closely facing each other. He could see Yoshimori's eyes, not wide like before but heavily lidded, thick with lust.
"I want to watch you," said Hiura. "When you come."
"What are you talking about?" asked Yoshimori, angling a little more differently, watching as Hiura's brow knotted in the jolt of pleasure he received. "You've seen me when I've come before."
Hiura's breath was quickening; it was getting difficult to talk. "Not while you've been inside me."
Yoshimori stopped briefly. It was rare that Hiura said something that made his whole body so hot, all at once. Forcing his mouth to work, he let out a small: "... oh."
He thrusted in faster, Hiura's words simple yet echoing deep in his mind and also in his groin. He leaned in close, their foreheads occasionally touching as they panted into and against each other's mouths. Hiura's hand was moving quickly and Yoshimori's were gripping hard - at the pillow, at Hiura's shoulder, at anything that he could possibly grab as pleasure threatened to assail and overwhelm him all at once.
"So close..." murmured Yoshimori before his stomach tightened, eyes closing involuntarily when he came, shooting deep within Hiura. Hiura's eyes remained sharply focused on Yoshimori's features: this, this had been what he'd wanted to see, ever since they'd started sleeping with each other. It was a desire that had stuck with him ever since he'd first brought off Yoshimori with his hand: to see Yoshimori so involved in the union of their bodies - to really lose himself, and for it to be because of Hiura.
"It's... good," he gasped, so close to his own release yet not wanting to tear his eyes away from Yoshimori, even briefly. He could feel the last spurts of come from Yoshimori's cock emptying with him and tightened around it, as if to draw as much of it within himself as he could.
Yoshimori shivered, then leaned down and kissed Hiura on the forehead. Slowly, he pulled out - glancing up when Hiura said "not yet."
Ignoring Hiura, Yoshimori lowered his head to stomach-level. He stopped the hand that was moving desperately along the shaft of Hiura's cock, covering the hardened skin with his mouth. He licked from the base to the top, finally sliding it against his tongue and sucking in.
Hiura moaned loudly, not lasting much longer as Yoshimori slid two fingers softly inside him, pressing deep - his mouth working all the meanwhile, cheeks hollow and flushed. Hiura's hands found their way into Yoshimori's hair once more, holding tightly as he thrust up in to the warm mouth; until he was coming, thick and wet down Yoshimori's throat.
"You pulled too hard," complained Yoshimori once he was let go, his voice hoarse.
"Oh," said Hiura, closing his eyes. His body felt completely sated, warm and lazy. Yoshimori sat up, removing his fingers and reaching for nearby tissues. He flopped down next to Hiura when he was done, bodies touching but not intertwined, the heat from outside overpowering their already-tired and exhausting limbs.
Yoshimori sighed. "Guess you can't say sorry if you don't mean it," he said, words tinged with slight exasperation, voice still obviously straining.
Hiura turned his head to look at Yoshimori, placing one hand gently at the base of his throat. "Do you want me to say sorry?"
"No," Yoshimori answered, coughing once. "It'd just be empty words."
Hiura grunted that he'd heard, too tired to do much else. Beside him, he could hear Yoshimori's breathing get shallower. The wetness between his legs would prove to be a mess to deal with in the morning; for now, he couldn't bring himself to move away from the boy beside him. He ran the tip of his index finger along the inside of Yoshimori's wrist, body warming at the soft sound that emanated from Yoshimori in response.
Silence filled the room, Hiura's body being lulled into the same warp hole of sleep that Yoshimori was currently being pulled towards. It had taken a while to get used to sleeping early, but Yoshimori couldn't seem to keep a regular schedule and Hiura didn't mind changing his.
Yoshimori's voice from that night resounded in his thoughts. "Please..." Hiura opened his eyes.
"Yoshimori?"
"... Hmmm?"
"I won't leave you."
Yoshimori didn't respond.
Hiura closed his eyes, surprised when he felt one arm slung around his stomach two minutes later. "Idiot," murmured Yoshimori before falling asleep, his head against Hiura's shoulder.
Ω
"AH!"
"What?"
"Your hand!"
"... Oh. It's bleeding."
"What did you do to it?"
"I think I grabbed the knife by mistake and-"
"Why is it so hard for you to be careful?!"
"My cell phone was ringing."
"Who was it?"
"The display says Masamori."
"That- Fuck! Come here."
"... It really was just a mistake this time."
"Yeah, yeah. There, it's taken care of. God, you never learn..."
"Yoshimori?"
"What?"
"Thanks for caring about me."
"Yeah... well. Stop staring at me like that! And take out the trash."
"Okay."
"Hey... Souji."
"Yes?"
"... Thanks."
"Your face is red."
"It's spring! I got too much sun! And before, I was carrying- Shut up!"
"It's cute."
"OUT!"
"Okay."
Yoshimori buried his face in one hand, sinking into a nearby chair. The last thing he needed was for Hiura to see him grinning like the world's biggest idiot.
"I think I left something in h-"
"OUT! OUT, OUT, OUUUUUUUUT!" screamed Yoshimori, throwing the nearest thing he could reach.
Ω
"How the hell did you get that cut?" complained Yoshimori later that night, dragging out the incredibly overused First Aid Kit.
"You threw a stapler at me this morning."
"... Oh. Well, you deserved it."
"Did I?"
"Yes!"
"Why?"
"Nevermind!"
"That's what you say whenever you're embarrassed and don't want to answer."
Yoshimori glared. "It's what I say when I'm pissed off!"
"Masamori says it's your flustered state."
"Shut up! And stop talking to my older brother! And go away!"
Hiura stood, his wound fully dressed. He looked at Yoshimori, kissed him on the cheek, and walked into the living room.
Yoshimori looked out the window. He's definitely not like Shishio, he grumbled to himself silently. But... at least he looks at people now. And actually sees them. Yoshimori felt his heart skip at the idea and pretended he didn't feel anything.
He watched Hiura on the couch, now engrossed with Persona 4. His phone rang but he ignored it, walking over to the other boy and sitting next to him. "Remember your promise," he muttered.
Hiura paused the game to look at him, dispassionate eyes suddenly awake. "Always."
"And stop injuring yourself on things."
"I'll try."
"Do more than try!" growled Yoshimori angrily. "I'm the one who's stuck patching you up every time! Show some appreciation by taking care of yourself!"
Hiura looked back at the screen. Both of them knew any wound he'd get would close up soon. Both knew that if Hiura could recover from that night three years ago, he was guaranteed to be practically immortal for the coming years.
Both knew it wasn't about that.
Yoshimori was saying he cared.
Hiura stared, enjoying the new pressure of Yoshimori's knee against his, flooding his entire body with warmth. He pressed down to resume the game, a faint grin on his lips. "Okay."
By: worblehat
Fandom: Kekkaishi
Pairing: Hiura/Yoshimori
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hiura keeps getting injured and Yoshimori gets pissed off. Also, sex.
Notes: Written for word #103 @ 15_minute_fic. Pairing is denoted in alphabetic order. Self-beta'd.
Word Count: 5,748
Word #103 - Cut
"Hey, here you g- What's wrong with your hand?" asked Yoshimori, interrupting his own sentence to reach for Hiura's wrist. He inspected it, noting where the bandages from the previous night were soaked in a circle of dark red. "How can you just walk around with it like that? It's gonna get into your clothes, you know."
Hiura blinked at him, a blank expression on his face - as if he didn't fully understand the dilemma.
Yoshimori sighed. He'd been just about to hand over one of the pair of small teacups Toshimori had gifted him as as an early birthday present; the hard-to-miss red splotch didn't go unnoticed and Yoshimori decided that Sen was right: Gen and Hiura were not that alike.
Shishio would have at least noticed his hand was bleeding everywhere..., he thought. ... Though he probably wouldn't have cared. But he would've known why someone else would!
Karasumori was quiet except for Yoshimori's grumbling as he used two of his shikigami to tend to the wound that was dripping down the edge of Hiura's hand, creating lines of dark red along his pinky and ring fingers. Hiura merely looked on, seemingly oblivious to the pain he should be in.
"You should take better care of yourself," muttered Yoshimori as the shikigami disappeared. He felt stupid for caring more about a cut than Hiura did; and he still didn't understand what was going on in the other boy's brain most of the time. They'd agreed to be friends, but Yoshimori couldn't help wondering if the other boy had ever even had a friend before. Based on his reaction to the offer so many years ago now, chances were likely that he hadn't, or probably didn't even know the concept.
Shishio flashed briefly through Yoshimori's mind once more, sadness creeping into his chest briefly before he focused his attention on being alert. He still missed Shishio. Regret lingered in his mind - how they'd only fully been a team just before one of them died; how he didn't want that to happen again with Hiura.
"I heal quickly," said Hiura, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Yoshimori grumbled, "still..." and looked away. Madarao was floating along the grounds within full view from where they stood; things had been eerily quiet the past few nights, and Yoshimori knew he should be more concerned about the lack of activity than he was, but it was kind of nice, having this time to talk alone with Hiura while-
Did I just think spending time with him was nice? What's wrong with me tonight?
"I apologise for causing you unnecessary concern," said Hiura plainly.
Yoshimori frowned, looking at him again. In the moonlight, Hiura looked a little different; colder, and darker. In the mornings he looked warm; unguarded. It was probably the time he looked best, with his hair frazzled against the pillow, limbs curled up beneath the covers. Yoshimori had first only noticed it by accident, though by now, it was part of his morning routine to wake Hiura - after scrutinising his sleeping face for a few seconds (but not longer than a minute) in case one of his family members asked him what he was doing and he had to explain.
It bothered him though he preferred not to think about it. Tokine captivated most of his attention, and he still thought about the time he'd accidentally - it really was an accident! he'd remind himself with a red face - when he'd seen her in the bathtub. But he also (privately) enjoyed looking at Hiura. Three mornings ago, he'd found himself smoothing Hiura's hair away from his face only to have Hiura wake up and blink at him before he could pull his hand away. Hiura had merely sat up and said "good morning" - as if it weren't odd or awkward in the least to have Yoshimori feathering his hair like that.
Ever since then, Yoshimori had felt on edge around him, not really wanting to be too close. He'd forgotten himself at the sight of the wound tonight and it was in his nature to care about others; a completely automatic reaction. Now that it had been taken care of, though...
"She must be very sick."
"... Huh?" Yoshimori stared at him as if he'd just randomly started a conversation in German.
"Yukimura," explained Hiura.
"Oh... yeah," said Yoshimori, feeling sheepish. He'd been so concerned about not thinking that he'd over-compensated and forgotten all about Tokine not being here. "Her grandmother said she'd be okay in another two days."
"Do you want to visit her?"
Yoshimori looked at him. "You really don't pay attention, do you? I'm not allowed in their hou-"
"That hasn't stopped you before," interrupted Hiura.
Yoshimori blushed. "W-What do you mean?"
Hiura said nothing.
"It's not like I spy on them!" said Yoshimori defensively. "And that one time, I was just- It was- I didn't mean to!"
"That one time?" repeated Hiura.
"Nevermind!" said Yoshimori.
Hiura remained silent... for all of five seconds.
"Your face is really red."
Yoshimori glared. "Shut up!"
"You look like that a lot when she's brought up," said Hiura. "Does she make you uncomfortable?"
"No!" shot Yoshimori. You do!
"Do I?"
Crap! Did I say that out loud?
"Sumimura?"
"No! Yes... I don't know," said Yoshimori unhappily, burying his face in his hands. Why'd you have to ask? he thought miserably.
Hiura watched him through expressionless eyes. Sumimura had odd ways of behaving, but his reactions were usually interesting to watch and learn from. He had noticed a small change recently, though he wasn't sure as to the source. Something about it tugged at his attention - something he wasn't yet able to identify, but suspected had to do with the Sumimura girl in some way. It would be helpful information to discover and report discord among both of the Kekkaishi at Karasumori; but Hiura, for the first time that he could remember, felt something... a curiosity, maybe, about this particular Kekkai user; a desire to know, for his own benefit. He'd never been curious about anything before, so he wasn't clear on what such a thing should feel like. He'd neither liked nor disliked things until this point, so it was a strange experience to feel pulled in by something - compelled towards something that he wanted to observe closer, all other thoughts flying from his head.
Sumimura seemed unsettled by this, looking everywhere but at Hiura.
For a moment, nothing happened; then Hiura's fingers were in Yoshimori's hair, brushing it gently away from his face. Yoshimori binked at him, mouth dropping open in surprise. Hiura's touch was amazingly soft. His eyes were wider than Yoshimori could remember: more innocent-looking than the cold stare he'd recalled from their first encounter, when Hiura's face had had been masked.
Words stuck in his throat. His stomach felt warm and his hands clenched involuntarily. The tea lay forgotten on the side for the time being, steaming away into the tepid night air.
"... What are you doing?" he asked, his voice strained.
"You did this to me the other morning," said Hiura, reaching for one of the tea cups and raising it to his lips for a quick sip. It had lost some of its warmth but was still strong and not unpleasant in taste. "It was a relaxing gesture," he said when Yoshimori continued to gape at him.
"I... that was an accident!" sputtered Yoshimori. "I thought there was gum in your hair! That's all." He reached for his own tea, gulping it down and nearly choking.
"Why would there be gum in my hair?" asked Hiura. "I don't chew-"
"Look - just forget it, okay?!"
"Okay." Hiura took another sip, then looked up at the moon. It was only half-full tonight, yet provided enough light to bathe the Karasumori grounds with an uncertain blue.
Yoshimori sighed. "I didn't think you were awake, okay?" he said. "I wouldn't have touched you if- I mean, I- It was a mistake."
"Did you mean to do something else?"
"What?! No!" Yoshimori's face flushed a deeper red that even darkness could not properly hide. "Can we just stop talking about this?"
"Okay," Hiura replied again.
"Good."
"... What is it we're talking about?"
"Huh?"
Hiura placed his tea cup next to Yoshimori's leg. "I'm not sure what I'm saying to upset you," he explained. "If you tell me what it is, I will be sure not to bring it up again."
"You..." There was a loud slap! of palm against forehead as Yoshimori groaned. "That's the same as talking about it!"
"But I don't-"
"Nevermind, fine - I'll... Look." He forced himself to look Hiura in the eye. "I just... feel... " His fists clenched tightly, nails nearly cutting into the skin of his palms. "You make me feel weird. Sometimes."
"Weird?" Hiura blinked, processing the information. This development seemed like a step backward in gaining the Kekkaishi's trust.
"Yeah. Like... " Yoshimori coughed. "Kind of the way I feel around Tokine... sometimes... "
"Feverish?"
"No. Just- Do you know what it means, to like someone?"
Hiura considered this. "No."
Yoshimori deflated a little. Wait - am I disappointed? Why?! If he doesn't know what it's like, then I can just stop talking about this, and I don't have to worry about it and go back to doing my job without wondering if it's okay to-
"What is it like?"
"AHHHH!" screamed Yoshimori. Hiura's face had gotten a lot closer in the span of very few seconds, which Yoshimori hadn't been expecting. Though I probably would have screamed either way.
"Sumimura?"
"Don't you know what personal space is?!"
"A distance that provides comfort and ease when interacting."
"Well... yeah." Yoshimori was dumbfounded. How come he understands that but not what liking someone means? Why do I care about this so much anyway?!
"Should I move back, then?"
Yoshimori's heart thudded loudly in his chest. He really didn't want it to. This uncertainty around Hiura was making him feel a little crazy. The strangeness of his thoughts recently and how his eyes seemed to center on Hiura's lips subconsciously - the way they sometimes did in the morning after a particularly vivid and confusing dream - these all seemed... wrong. Flashes of said dreams slid past his thoughts now, warming his body awkwardly.
The moonlight shone just at the tips of Hiura's hair and Yoshimori felt recklessness overtaking his mouth.
"... No," he answered, slowly. "You can come closer if you want."
His body was shaking and Hiura's eyes were watchful, leaning in a few more inches until they were eye-to-eye. It was a strange angle for kissing, but Yoshimori couldn't stop staring at the blank eyes, searching for a sign of warmth.
He reached out, placing his fingertips against Hiura's jaw line; uncertainly, slowly tracing the spot from ear to chin.
Something in Hiura's eyes flickered and Yoshimori's chest tightened with anticipation.
"... What are you doing?"
"Hiura?"
"Yes?"
Yoshimori blanked his mind, eyes warm and focused. "Stop asking questions for a little bit," he said lightly before pressing his lips to the other boy's, eyelids closing; his movements unhurried and unpracticed; clumsy, yet sweet.
When he pulled back, Hiura was looking at him, confusion evident on his face. Guilt gnawed at Yoshimori; I probably should have warned him or something...
"Is that what you want to do with Yukimura?"
Yoshimori shrugged and looked away. He did want to do that with Tokine; but he also sort of wanted to do that with Hiura again. Hiura's lips had been surprisingly soft, and Yoshimori wanted to see that look on his face again - wanted to see a deeper flicker of emotion than the one he'd seen just seconds ago, but was gone now.
"Oh," said Hiura before Madarao reappeared, yawning and asking if they could go home already. Yoshimori snapped at him, packing up the tea and heading back - all while casting continuous glances at Hiura, who noticed but said nothing.
Ω
A week later, Yoshimori had finally shuffled over to him while Tokine was out of earshot. He muttered, "you can forget what happened... last time" and walked away.
Hiura had nodded to the retreating back. The thought of what had occurred between them seemed overly-taxing to Sumimura, and the resulting discord of such potential unrest would go against his orders.
But sometimes he would touch his lips in the dark when the rest of the house was in bed and wonder silently.
Ω
"Be careful with the frid- Oi!"
Yoshimori came barelling towards him, pushing at the huge square of technology as they shifted it further into the corner. Once it had been settled, Yoshimori wiped at his brow.
Then he punched Hiura.
"Why aren't you ever careful, stupid?" he scolded.
"Sorry," said Hiura politely.
"Sorry, sorry - you're always sorry," muttered Yoshimori, pushing him out of the way to reach for the first of five stacks of coffee milk. "Here," he said, handing the first crate to Hiura. "Start putting this in the fridge."
"Okay," came Hiura's response.
They worked on putting away the rest of the groceries together, Yoshimori sneaking in two coffee milks in the process, protesting somewhat guiltily that he needed the extra energy after moving so much furniture into their new apartment without much help. His grandfather had lectured him the previous night about not using his powers for something simple like moving, claiming the manual work would be great training and after an hour, Yoshimori had reluctantly agreed - anything to get him to stop talking, he'd thought in annoyance.
Yoshimori chucked the empty containers into the nearest trash can. One fell out and Hiura reached for it, dropping it neatly into the bin. He ignored Yoshimori's resulting burp, walking past him into their shared bedroom, and from there into the bathroom. The cabinet gave a small squeak as he opened it to retrieve his toothbrush and toothpaste. He was unsurprised to find Yoshimori watching him when he closed the cabinet and begin running just enough water to wet his brush before applying the paste and placing it in his mouth.
"How come you don't look tired at all?" complained Yoshimori.
Hiura shrugged. It had been five years now since he'd first met Sumimura, and while he didn't always understand him, he liked the concern that was shown, as well as the jealousy for the difference between their bodies. But more than that, he liked Yoshimori's warmth. It was so unlike his own everything (feelings, body, and so on); he couldn't help but be compelled towards it, and often curled around the other when he was sleeping, apologising somewhat sheepishly when Yoshimori complained of having nightmares of being suffocated to death.
In the mirror's reflection, Hiura watched as Yoshimori made a face and reached for his own toothbrush, his located in a cup versus Hiura's preferred cabinet location. He ran the water and applied paste to the head of the brush hastily, shoving it into his mouth and brushing in obvious annoyance. He continued to speak, though Hiura could only make out bits and pieces. Of what he understood were things such as Hiura and his "stupid regenerative powers," as well as concerns over whether or not the last crate of coffee milk had spoiled; and if so, someone was going to pay (the implication being that it would be Hiura, though he had done his best to check and double-check expiration dates before any purchasing took place, knowing how serious Yoshimori took his supply of coffee milk).
Being the first to finish, Hiura placed his toothbrush back into the cabinet and left Yoshimori behind as he found the futon and laid it out. It was king sized but partly lumpy. Still, both had agreed that it would do the job, at least for the first month or so.
As he was setting out the blankets and bedding, he became immediately aware of Yoshimori's eyes on him. From speaking and listening to others, he'd learned that being looked at in such a way either made people feel extremely unsettled or desired. He felt neither; it was just what Yoshimori did.
He paused in his movements when he felt Yoshimori kneeling next to him, one hand one his waist. Hot breath fell against his ear. "Leave it for now."
Hiura immediately stopped, turning to look over his shoulder at Yoshimori. He may not have experienced the same reactions to being stared at when his back was turned, but being face-to-face with Yoshimori was a different story. It made his heart beat abnormally and his body temporarily stiff, or frozen; it was difficult to pull away, smile, speak, or do anything but look back at Yoshimori.
Over the years, slowly (and with much patience on Yoshimori's part) he'd learned to react, allowing his body to be touched and warmed not just by Yoshimori's hands, but the gaze that Yoshimori was no good at hiding whether they were in public or not. Hiura had never teased him, but the older Sumimura - Masamori - seemed to have no problem doing so. Yoshimori's face got the most red when this happened.
Hiura didn't mind; he liked that feeling. Yoshimori's kisses always made him immediately horny, which was what had initially made it easier to move under his gaze. As their lips touched now, Hiura made a small sound, his eyes closing. Yoshimori's other hand slid beneath his shirt, resting easily at his waist, drawing Hiura closer with just a faint press of his fingertips.
His hands remained just as gentle, just as soft as Hiura maneuvered himself onto his back, the intensity of Yoshimori's movements causing him to buck upward, grinding himself against the rapidly-hardening cock above him. He tugged at Yoshimori's shirt, pulling it over his head. Tanned skin is what he would have seen if he'd bothered to look, but Yoshimori's lips were on his again, diverting his focus to wetter sensations.
Soon they mutually unbuckled, unbuttoned and shrugged out of their jeans, Yoshimori letting out a small tsk of annoyance as he finally coerced Hiura out of his shirt. Neither bothered with the blankets - it was spring and bordering on overly-warm. They focused instead on sliding their bodies against one another, the warmth more tantalising than the words Hiura could remember hearing in one of the X-rated movies Yoshimori had unsuccessfully attempted to hide from him.
He slipped his hand between them, the action practiced and fluid after so long - the strokes always different, and always designed to frustrate Yoshimori to the point where he would frown at Hiura or gasp at him for more. Or sometimes to the point where he would flip Hiura over and hold him down, neither speaking until Yoshimori had slid in deep, Hiura's body adjusting to the wet, insistent press of flesh inside him.
Tonight Yoshimori slowed down, fingers running along Hiura's skin, touching whatever they could before finally centering between his thighs. His thumb rubbed over the dark patch of skin on the right leg where he'd sucked hard a few days ago as an experiment, using only ghostly touches around the tip of Hiura's cock with his hand - tongue and mouth sucking and marking until Hiura's hips had practically lurched upward, his entire body shaking as he hissed. Yoshimori had dropped his hand in response, sucking and licking in that same spot, again and again, memorising the sound of Hiura's cry as he came: loud and frustrated, yet full of almost grateful relief.
"Does it still hurt?" he whispered, pressing against the bruised area.
"Mmm... no," answered Hiura, pushing up into Yoshimori's touch. He let out a slight, involuntary gasp at the soft squeeze around the head of his dick; wrapped his arms around Yoshimori's neck as harsh, biting kisses lined his neck. "Yoshi...mori... "
"Can I turn you over?"
Hiura opened his eyes, pulling lightly at Yoshimori's hair until the kissing stopped. Each kept their eyes on the other's face, erections rubbing against each other shallowly.
"What about face-to-face?"
Yoshimori stopped dead. Even in the darkness, Hiura knew the boy above him was blushing. He could tell by the way his eyes had widened, looking a little scared and a little tempted at the same time.
"Face-to-"
"We don't have to worry about anyone walking in," Hiura pointed out.
"Well... that's..."
Hiura rested one hand against Yoshimori's cheek. "You don't want to?"
"Don't be stupid!" came the flustered reply. Yoshimori pushed himself up just enough to reach over to the makeshift nightstand they'd brought with them. It was a temporary kind of thing, much like the futon: something to tide them over, nothing but a small block of wood with one drawer. It was enough to keep the few things they needed by the bed: flashlight, batteries... lubricant, tissues, oils.
He fished around, finding two of the latter. Propping himself up on the bed, he sat between Hiura's legs. He hesitated, a question visible on his lips.
"You're sure you want to-"
"Yes."
There was silence for several seconds before Hiura heard the bottle cap un-screwing, the unmistakably wet sound of lubricant following soon after. "You could have at least let me finish asking the question before interrupting," said Yoshimori. Hiura watched him carefully in the darkness, enjoying the caring undertone veiled by annoyance.
That's what had seeped into everything - not their first kiss or even Yoshimori's gentle fingertips in his hair. It was that first moment when Yoshimori had asked him to make a promise - when he'd said he wanted to be friends, when he'd made it plain that he cared, as if it were something Important, something Worth Noting. Until that point in time, Hiura had known about friendship in a vague way; he just hadn't been sure if the term applied to Yoshimori. The more Yoshimori trusted him, the more confusion began to jumble Hiura's thoughts.
It would have been easier, he'd often reflected, if Yoshimori had taken his own advice and forgotten about the kiss; but the very next day, Hiura had woken up to those same fingers in his hair and Yoshimori staring at him. He'd known he was being stared at even before opening his yes; yet he still asked "Have you been watching me sleep?"
Yoshimori had blushed faintly. "So what if I have?" he'd retorted.
"Are you going to kiss me again?"
"... So what if I am?"
Hiura had merely replied: "Then you'd better do it in the next twelve seconds, before your grandfather bursts in."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Yoshimori had replied before inexpertly mashing their teeth together, accidentally biting into Hiura's lower lip. Hiura, for his part, hadn't minded. This was a new sensation, and not a particularly disagreeable one. It also seemed to coincide neatly with his mission of being more trusted by at least one of the Kekkaishi.
And really, he hadn't expected to leap in front of Yoshimori like that five years ago. He definitely hadn't planned on going against his orders at the last moment to save the main protector of Karasumori. In fact, he was pretty sure that he would have died, quite willfully, if Yoshimori hadn't crushed him to his chest, quietly begging, just once, in a voice no one else on the battlefield could hear:
"Not you, too. You can't leave me, too. ... Please."
Hiura had been useful his entire life, but never needed. Those words had drawn strength he hadn't been aware of. Within the next four months, he was fully healed.
Three years later, he had gotten to third base with Yoshimori - "by accident!" Yoshimori had claimed vehemently. Three weeks after that, they'd had sex - with Yoshimori offering to be on the bottom. In fact, Yoshimori still offered from time to time, and Hiura always took him up on it. It was nice to be needed like this, with Yoshimori's voice begging the way he had that night; sad desperation replaced with unhidden need.
"Relax your body," said Yoshimori, slipping one finger inside Hiura. A second one soon joined it, both moving in and out in a rhythm that was shaky and rough. Hiura contracted around the digits and Yoshimori swore.
"Did you do that on purpose?"
"Yes."
"Well... don't," said Yoshimori; sometimes he hated how Hiura just did whatever he felt like. Other times, it made him want to screw so badly, he hoped Hiura would never stop.
"Why?"
"Because I won't be able to wait if you do," admitted Yoshimori.
Hiura slid one hand around his own cock, stroking slowly. "Who said I wanted you to wait?"
The bottlecap rattled as Yoshimori quickly shifted his position on the bed, rubbing the clear liquid along his shaft, giving only a few quick strokes, not wanting to make himself come by accident. Hiura raised his legs without being asked and Yoshimori used one hand to position himself at the recently-stretched entrance. He pushed in, doing his best to be gentle. The legs that wrapped around his lower torso urged him silently deeper and Yoshimori acquiesced, forcing himself the rest of the way in with one harsh thrust.
Hiura's head tipped backward against the pillow and he let out a long moan. His legs tightened around Yoshimori's hips once more and Yoshimori pulled out until just the tip remained; then slowly, slowly filled Hiura, groaning from how close he felt to coming already.
"More," said Hiura simply. It was all the direction Yoshimori needed. He placed his hands on Hiura's thighs, holding him steady as he began to fuck him in quick, hard thrusts. There was no light in the room but as he looked down, he could make out the outline of where their bodies joined, one sliding deep and fast into the other. Even without the light, he could hear the wet, harsh slap of skin each time their bodies met, and could feel the sweat slowly forming on both of them.
"Closer."
"Hmm?" asked Yoshimori, doing his best to stave off his orgasm for as long as possible. This felt amazing, and the idea of Hiura like this - legs spread, one hand pumping his cock - made Yoshimori's whole body shiver. He wished he had remembered to leave any of the lights on and made a mental note to do so the next time.
With his free hand, Hiura reached upward and looped his fingers into the hair at the base of Yoshimori's neck, pulling gingerly until they were closely facing each other. He could see Yoshimori's eyes, not wide like before but heavily lidded, thick with lust.
"I want to watch you," said Hiura. "When you come."
"What are you talking about?" asked Yoshimori, angling a little more differently, watching as Hiura's brow knotted in the jolt of pleasure he received. "You've seen me when I've come before."
Hiura's breath was quickening; it was getting difficult to talk. "Not while you've been inside me."
Yoshimori stopped briefly. It was rare that Hiura said something that made his whole body so hot, all at once. Forcing his mouth to work, he let out a small: "... oh."
He thrusted in faster, Hiura's words simple yet echoing deep in his mind and also in his groin. He leaned in close, their foreheads occasionally touching as they panted into and against each other's mouths. Hiura's hand was moving quickly and Yoshimori's were gripping hard - at the pillow, at Hiura's shoulder, at anything that he could possibly grab as pleasure threatened to assail and overwhelm him all at once.
"So close..." murmured Yoshimori before his stomach tightened, eyes closing involuntarily when he came, shooting deep within Hiura. Hiura's eyes remained sharply focused on Yoshimori's features: this, this had been what he'd wanted to see, ever since they'd started sleeping with each other. It was a desire that had stuck with him ever since he'd first brought off Yoshimori with his hand: to see Yoshimori so involved in the union of their bodies - to really lose himself, and for it to be because of Hiura.
"It's... good," he gasped, so close to his own release yet not wanting to tear his eyes away from Yoshimori, even briefly. He could feel the last spurts of come from Yoshimori's cock emptying with him and tightened around it, as if to draw as much of it within himself as he could.
Yoshimori shivered, then leaned down and kissed Hiura on the forehead. Slowly, he pulled out - glancing up when Hiura said "not yet."
Ignoring Hiura, Yoshimori lowered his head to stomach-level. He stopped the hand that was moving desperately along the shaft of Hiura's cock, covering the hardened skin with his mouth. He licked from the base to the top, finally sliding it against his tongue and sucking in.
Hiura moaned loudly, not lasting much longer as Yoshimori slid two fingers softly inside him, pressing deep - his mouth working all the meanwhile, cheeks hollow and flushed. Hiura's hands found their way into Yoshimori's hair once more, holding tightly as he thrust up in to the warm mouth; until he was coming, thick and wet down Yoshimori's throat.
"You pulled too hard," complained Yoshimori once he was let go, his voice hoarse.
"Oh," said Hiura, closing his eyes. His body felt completely sated, warm and lazy. Yoshimori sat up, removing his fingers and reaching for nearby tissues. He flopped down next to Hiura when he was done, bodies touching but not intertwined, the heat from outside overpowering their already-tired and exhausting limbs.
Yoshimori sighed. "Guess you can't say sorry if you don't mean it," he said, words tinged with slight exasperation, voice still obviously straining.
Hiura turned his head to look at Yoshimori, placing one hand gently at the base of his throat. "Do you want me to say sorry?"
"No," Yoshimori answered, coughing once. "It'd just be empty words."
Hiura grunted that he'd heard, too tired to do much else. Beside him, he could hear Yoshimori's breathing get shallower. The wetness between his legs would prove to be a mess to deal with in the morning; for now, he couldn't bring himself to move away from the boy beside him. He ran the tip of his index finger along the inside of Yoshimori's wrist, body warming at the soft sound that emanated from Yoshimori in response.
Silence filled the room, Hiura's body being lulled into the same warp hole of sleep that Yoshimori was currently being pulled towards. It had taken a while to get used to sleeping early, but Yoshimori couldn't seem to keep a regular schedule and Hiura didn't mind changing his.
Yoshimori's voice from that night resounded in his thoughts. "Please..." Hiura opened his eyes.
"Yoshimori?"
"... Hmmm?"
"I won't leave you."
Yoshimori didn't respond.
Hiura closed his eyes, surprised when he felt one arm slung around his stomach two minutes later. "Idiot," murmured Yoshimori before falling asleep, his head against Hiura's shoulder.
Ω
"AH!"
"What?"
"Your hand!"
"... Oh. It's bleeding."
"What did you do to it?"
"I think I grabbed the knife by mistake and-"
"Why is it so hard for you to be careful?!"
"My cell phone was ringing."
"Who was it?"
"The display says Masamori."
"That- Fuck! Come here."
"... It really was just a mistake this time."
"Yeah, yeah. There, it's taken care of. God, you never learn..."
"Yoshimori?"
"What?"
"Thanks for caring about me."
"Yeah... well. Stop staring at me like that! And take out the trash."
"Okay."
"Hey... Souji."
"Yes?"
"... Thanks."
"Your face is red."
"It's spring! I got too much sun! And before, I was carrying- Shut up!"
"It's cute."
"OUT!"
"Okay."
Yoshimori buried his face in one hand, sinking into a nearby chair. The last thing he needed was for Hiura to see him grinning like the world's biggest idiot.
"I think I left something in h-"
"OUT! OUT, OUT, OUUUUUUUUT!" screamed Yoshimori, throwing the nearest thing he could reach.
Ω
"How the hell did you get that cut?" complained Yoshimori later that night, dragging out the incredibly overused First Aid Kit.
"You threw a stapler at me this morning."
"... Oh. Well, you deserved it."
"Did I?"
"Yes!"
"Why?"
"Nevermind!"
"That's what you say whenever you're embarrassed and don't want to answer."
Yoshimori glared. "It's what I say when I'm pissed off!"
"Masamori says it's your flustered state."
"Shut up! And stop talking to my older brother! And go away!"
Hiura stood, his wound fully dressed. He looked at Yoshimori, kissed him on the cheek, and walked into the living room.
Yoshimori looked out the window. He's definitely not like Shishio, he grumbled to himself silently. But... at least he looks at people now. And actually sees them. Yoshimori felt his heart skip at the idea and pretended he didn't feel anything.
He watched Hiura on the couch, now engrossed with Persona 4. His phone rang but he ignored it, walking over to the other boy and sitting next to him. "Remember your promise," he muttered.
Hiura paused the game to look at him, dispassionate eyes suddenly awake. "Always."
"And stop injuring yourself on things."
"I'll try."
"Do more than try!" growled Yoshimori angrily. "I'm the one who's stuck patching you up every time! Show some appreciation by taking care of yourself!"
Hiura looked back at the screen. Both of them knew any wound he'd get would close up soon. Both knew that if Hiura could recover from that night three years ago, he was guaranteed to be practically immortal for the coming years.
Both knew it wasn't about that.
Yoshimori was saying he cared.
Hiura stared, enjoying the new pressure of Yoshimori's knee against his, flooding his entire body with warmth. He pressed down to resume the game, a faint grin on his lips. "Okay."