[The comfort is a daunting thing. Comfort is something for which one hopes, for which one waits. Having faith is all about comfort. And after that comes need, where the relief of faith and its comfort grows into something one could not bear to lose. If Akira takes comfort in Shindou—for his own angle in their fifth kiss was also one of settling, resting, and feeling at ease—if Akira finds his comfort here, it will only be worse if Shindou breaks this promise.
But he'd like to think... he looks at Shindou's eyes. They're mercurial in their coloring, but never any less compelling in one shade over another. And they're so strong. The strength of them is overwhelming, and Akira feels and has always felt this unshakable desire to align with that strength. He'd like to think, while he looks at Shindou, that Shindou means it. That they mean the same things. And he would like to think that this comfort is good enough a thing that Shindou will think of Akira and find it too hard to flee him.
Shindou shuts his eyes, but Akira keeps watching his face. His fingertips shift back and forth, quite slow, quite new, against the ends of Shindou's hair. Even performing the action is enthralling. Akira answers,] Mmhmm. [It's an inadequate sound on its own, only reinforced by the continued stroking of his fingers. He tries to get a feel for this part of Shindou, for this space of him—for being in his space this way—like a game he'll retread in his head for days and days. This is Shindou's scent just after washing. This is how warm the nape of his neck feels. Akira's touch is growing more confident, and it gives him the confidence to use real words.] Yes, [he says at first, and his hand curves further in exploration, until he's touching a spot behind Shindou's ear. He thinks he can be bolder.] It's nice. [A catching of breath, while Akira gathers himself. He isn't afraid of how he presents himself: needy or clingy or overbearing, foolish in what really must be yearning... he doesn't stop to consider those things. But he is afraid of being unworthy to hear the answer he wants when he asks this question.]
Isn't it?
[Isn't it nice, and wouldn't it be nice, if Shindou thought well enough of this to make it last. And if it's so nice, then Shindou could continue to seek it out. That's what Akira wishes for. He wants to be sought, and he wants Shindou to value every day enough to seek him. It's starting to feel like things could be that way. Akira bites his upper lip, taking a moment to relish the novelty. It makes him blush to be asked by Shindou if something sounds good, or if he likes something. So often, too often, when Akira is voicing his opinion, it's a negative one, designed to rile. But here, Akira's palm is full of the hope that Shindou might want more of him. Here, Akira's palm fits against Shindou's jaw line when he leans in to kiss him in his own way, studious in manner, looking to learn how to design a kiss in exactly the right approach. (Perfectionist, fixated on the minutiae of details.) His other hand, before so like granite, tugs out from beneath Shindou's. It's so he can hold Shindou's head with both hands—the side of his face, and up into his hair—while he insistently tries to be nice. He is trying very hard, in that. A little too hard. When Shindou is asking if Akira wants to do this again, Akira is saying, let's. For once, let Shindou want a thing just as much.]
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But he'd like to think... he looks at Shindou's eyes. They're mercurial in their coloring, but never any less compelling in one shade over another. And they're so strong. The strength of them is overwhelming, and Akira feels and has always felt this unshakable desire to align with that strength. He'd like to think, while he looks at Shindou, that Shindou means it. That they mean the same things. And he would like to think that this comfort is good enough a thing that Shindou will think of Akira and find it too hard to flee him.
Shindou shuts his eyes, but Akira keeps watching his face. His fingertips shift back and forth, quite slow, quite new, against the ends of Shindou's hair. Even performing the action is enthralling. Akira answers,] Mmhmm. [It's an inadequate sound on its own, only reinforced by the continued stroking of his fingers. He tries to get a feel for this part of Shindou, for this space of him—for being in his space this way—like a game he'll retread in his head for days and days. This is Shindou's scent just after washing. This is how warm the nape of his neck feels. Akira's touch is growing more confident, and it gives him the confidence to use real words.] Yes, [he says at first, and his hand curves further in exploration, until he's touching a spot behind Shindou's ear. He thinks he can be bolder.] It's nice. [A catching of breath, while Akira gathers himself. He isn't afraid of how he presents himself: needy or clingy or overbearing, foolish in what really must be yearning... he doesn't stop to consider those things. But he is afraid of being unworthy to hear the answer he wants when he asks this question.]
Isn't it?
[Isn't it nice, and wouldn't it be nice, if Shindou thought well enough of this to make it last. And if it's so nice, then Shindou could continue to seek it out. That's what Akira wishes for. He wants to be sought, and he wants Shindou to value every day enough to seek him. It's starting to feel like things could be that way. Akira bites his upper lip, taking a moment to relish the novelty. It makes him blush to be asked by Shindou if something sounds good, or if he likes something. So often, too often, when Akira is voicing his opinion, it's a negative one, designed to rile. But here, Akira's palm is full of the hope that Shindou might want more of him. Here, Akira's palm fits against Shindou's jaw line when he leans in to kiss him in his own way, studious in manner, looking to learn how to design a kiss in exactly the right approach. (Perfectionist, fixated on the minutiae of details.) His other hand, before so like granite, tugs out from beneath Shindou's. It's so he can hold Shindou's head with both hands—the side of his face, and up into his hair—while he insistently tries to be nice. He is trying very hard, in that. A little too hard. When Shindou is asking if Akira wants to do this again, Akira is saying, let's. For once, let Shindou want a thing just as much.]