[They've confessed so much to each other, by now, and Akira has long since admitted the early starting point of his fixation with Hikaru. Still, he wonders sometimes if Hikaru really understands. He'll look at Hikaru, and Hikaru will be eating french fries, or squinting at something Akira has written into the planner he forces Hikaru to keep, or flashing his eyes like jade daggers while the both of them wield their stubbornness. And when Akira looks at him while he does any of those things, while he does anything, Akira wonders if he can truly understand how much Akira really is his. And it's precisely because he is utterly Hikaru's that Akira wishes to receive all of him in turn. He wants every ounce of Hikaru that can be offered, and he won't wait for the offer if he feels short-changed. All of Hikaru, the sum of him... Sex is what really shows the sum of him. He is all at once exhausting, enlivening, humbling, and maddening... His hips and his mouth are simply shorthand for the inspiration he incites. Hikaru's body is a vivid reminder of obsession and yearning and dedication. Akira is enraptured with its bounty, every single time he sees or hears or feels Hikaru come.
After everything, they're further apart than visiting the depths of each other, but they aren't disentangled. The weight of Hikaru's leg and the nearness of his warmth are comforts vital to the state of being. Akira could fall asleep, now, he could, but he's affectionate enough to keep himself awake, even though the world, this suite, is filtered through a haze. He's able to run his thumb slowly, slowly, along the inside of Hikaru's wrist. Over and over. Just the reassurance of skin. And Hikaru speaks to him, and it is more real than skin, more corporeal and lifelike than warm skin. Akira turns his face to look at him. He looks at Hikaru, and he wonders all the things he always wonders, and then he shifts in close, then closer. He nudges against Hikaru until he can roll Hikaru onto his back, and he's remarkably gentle about doing that. This is assertion, but done with great care. He guides Hikaru flat onto his back, pressing their chests together, laying one of Hikaru's arms out straight and clasping his hand like any priceless thing. Kissing Hikaru, like he does now, is his way of trying to lap up those words, as if he can get a taste of that move for himself. 9-17. So this is how defeat passes from Hikaru's tongue to his own.
He's not quite sated, when he dwindles out of that kiss, but he supposes he can have the rest tomorrow. For now, he's sweet enough to tuck his head beneath Hikaru's chin, mostly snuggling in, but kissing at his neck a little, too.] I knew you were the one. You always remind me that I was right about that. [He hasn't let go of Hikaru's hand. He hopes he doesn't have to.] 9-17. Amazing. But I'm telling you right now, I'm going to make it last. I'm going to make you work for a little while longer, tomorrow.
no subject
After everything, they're further apart than visiting the depths of each other, but they aren't disentangled. The weight of Hikaru's leg and the nearness of his warmth are comforts vital to the state of being. Akira could fall asleep, now, he could, but he's affectionate enough to keep himself awake, even though the world, this suite, is filtered through a haze. He's able to run his thumb slowly, slowly, along the inside of Hikaru's wrist. Over and over. Just the reassurance of skin. And Hikaru speaks to him, and it is more real than skin, more corporeal and lifelike than warm skin. Akira turns his face to look at him. He looks at Hikaru, and he wonders all the things he always wonders, and then he shifts in close, then closer. He nudges against Hikaru until he can roll Hikaru onto his back, and he's remarkably gentle about doing that. This is assertion, but done with great care. He guides Hikaru flat onto his back, pressing their chests together, laying one of Hikaru's arms out straight and clasping his hand like any priceless thing. Kissing Hikaru, like he does now, is his way of trying to lap up those words, as if he can get a taste of that move for himself. 9-17. So this is how defeat passes from Hikaru's tongue to his own.
He's not quite sated, when he dwindles out of that kiss, but he supposes he can have the rest tomorrow. For now, he's sweet enough to tuck his head beneath Hikaru's chin, mostly snuggling in, but kissing at his neck a little, too.] I knew you were the one. You always remind me that I was right about that. [He hasn't let go of Hikaru's hand. He hopes he doesn't have to.] 9-17. Amazing. But I'm telling you right now, I'm going to make it last. I'm going to make you work for a little while longer, tomorrow.