we are all dying to give our lives away to something, maybe.

[protential]

--
i don't know why you think spamming me with shit is going to help anything

Comments

[ashlar]

[There's a knot between Akira's shoulders. Knots in his shoulders, too. His lower back, and up into his neck. And his eyebrows are a knot, tight together in a terrible tangle, looking like something that couldn't ever be picked apart. Hikaru can pick them apart, of course. Hikaru knows to touch them, now, and how to touch them, to guide them smoother and help spread away the headache. His fingertips have the same familiar rounding; his fingerprints are just right. The exact shape of him is a key that slips securely into all Akira's locks. And he doesn't even need to touch Akira's brow with his hands, anymore, to bring their crease to peace. When their foreheads guide together—it's magnetism, it's supposed to happen by cosmic law—Akira's brow begins to smooth. He takes in a slower breath, not so shaky, and his eyes fall shut further into relief.] Seriously, [he agrees, before Hikaru kisses him. Akira's hands go tenser than before, tense enough that it has to hurt him—but then they're relaxing. Then he's relaxing, leaning against Hikaru, and all his knots are easier to ignore.

He makes sure to open his eyes so he can see Hikaru, when they part just so. His eyelashes have stayed damp, and his eyes are light in the way of rainy dawn. He doesn't answer Hikaru, at first, and when he does answer, it's by kissing him again. He does this more intensely, as he does most things, as he always kisses Hikaru after they've had a fight. He's licking Hikaru's top lip right away, and when he says ah against Hikaru's mouth, it means all sorts of things. Stupid, idiot, among them, probably meant for them both, insistent and pleading together. His hand slips down to catch Hikaru's hand, the one holding the shopping back, and Akira feels like throwing the bag on the ground for getting between the two of them. It's all right, though. He manages to clutch Hikaru's fingers even against the bag's handle.

He's quick to leave Hikaru's mouth with a glisten when he pulls back this time.] I was pretty quiet. Right? [Maybe he sounds humbled.]

[protential]

[Hikaru does know to touch Akira's knotted places, and how to touch them, yeah. It took some patience on his part, some careful observation, like dealing with a life and death problem of his own. When Akira resembles a statue in his arms, it's important to stroke the back of his head like this, first, just to begin with. He drags his fingers down afterward, delving into that dark hair, until he finds the back of Akira's neck and where it's gone damp with anxiety-riddled sweat. He thumbs a certain muscle there, one that's stubborn and stiff; it seems like it's petrified over a million years. Little by little, and with the help of another kiss, he can feel it loosening and relaxing and letting an epoch unwind from it. He'll need more of a chance to unravel this one in its entirety, not to mention all the others. Something to get started on as soon as they've gone home and had a couple scoops of ice cream.

...Unless it's gone and melted by then, anyway. Hikaru isn't expecting the kiss to be a heat wave, to be a one-on-one with the surface of the sun, but then Akira makes that sound--that sound, with all that pent-up anger and relief. It's the sound that never fails to encase Hikaru in heat. His mouth is wet, too, so wet, making his lips all slippery when Akira pulls away from him--not too far, but still going away--and they're tingling all over. Eyes half-closed, Hikaru has all the colors of a field of grain stretching out to the horizon. He could keep Akira fed with this summer harvest. He thinks, Really. He thinks, Right here on the sidewalk. But that doesn't mean he's moving anywhere else.

He exhales into something too light to be laughter.] You were pretty quiet, [he says in complete agreement.] Really quiet. Quiet enough that I forgot why I asked you to be quiet in the first place. [His lips quirk a little.] I mean, I didn't know you had it in you to be that quiet. But now I know, so... [For a long time, Hikaru thought of Akira as somebody who didn't need praise, who provided his own validation--an unstoppable force regardless of the circumstances. But the truth of it is a lot more mundane, and a lot more compelling. All along, Akira has craved every scrap of a compliment from the people he cares about. They aren't so different from each other in that respect.]

Feeling better?

[He's asking it again because he wants to know, to hear it for himself, and he'll keep asking until Akira confirms as much, or at least stops looking so windblown and rainswept.]

[ashlar]

[Hikaru's hair is so soft, smoother than fresh grain, a better whisper than the sway of summer grasses. It's nourishing. It keeps Akira fed. Akira rests his cheek against Hikaru's hair, and he's holding onto Hikaru—his hands are hooked up over the back of Hikaru's shoulders. Little by little, with Hikaru stroking him in the way he's learned to, Akira's fingertips press less harshly. Eventually, he's just holding Hikaru, mostly gentle about it.] I'm feeling better, [he confirms quietly. Sometimes it amazes him that Hikaru wants to ask that. Hikaru makes him so angry sometimes, and it used to be even worse, with all the outrageous, disrespectful things Hikaru would say and do... Akira wanted to scream at him. Sometimes he did scream. And he still screams, but...

But he's thinking about something Hikaru said over the phone, earlier. If you cared about what I wanted, he said, if you cared...]

Are you feeling better, too?

[He's not so good about being forthright in his care. His love, maybe, for all the passion and the intensity of it, but not his care... In fact, he's poor enough that maybe he hasn't realized it wholly until now. He turns his head, nosing into Hikaru's hair, speaking against him.] I want you to be, so tell me. Tell me so I know. [If you're not, he means. Maybe he can be better enough that Hikaru will forget why Akira ever needed to be better in the first place.]

[protential]

[It isn't often that Hikaru regrets any of the fights they've had, but he's starting to feel a twinge of regret about this one. If he hadn't flown off the handle... If he hadn't splashed the paperwork in Akira's face, and if he hadn't stormed out after that, cursing loudly...] That's good. Really good. [If he hadn't done those dumb, dramatic things, they could have had this much so much sooner: holding each other, murmuring to each other, making sure they're both fed. There's nothing nicer than being this close to Akira when his entire body is relaxing like fresh honey from the comb. Eventually, Hikaru's hand slips downward, chasing stress away, away, away, until he settles near the small of Akira's back with tender intention. They're standing on a sidewalk in the busy afternoon, but they might as well be sprawled in a field of clover together.

He can't forget just how lucky he is to have what he has. He can't take it for granted. Even when their circumstances aren't the greatest, they're so much better than what they could be. They're so much better. Incomparable, really.]

Mm, well... [Hikaru tilts his head in acknowledgment, but he's content to have Akira nuzzling against him, uncommonly docile. The ice cream is less important than letting Akira lean in to have his fill.] Not exactly, [he says, but his tone is too indulgent to be a bad thing. His throat isn't sore anymore from yelling or crying.] I'm not gonna feel all the way better until I get to go home, and I get to lie down with you. It's been a long day already, you know, with the move and everything, and... [A bed, a futon, a cardboard box, whatever. He was serious about being willing to sleep anywhere if it means sleeping with Akira.] We can finish unpacking tomorrow, I think.

[ashlar]

[If he hadn't, if he hadn't. If Akira hadn't curtly said that Hikaru was complaining way too much. If he hadn't glittered with outrage at Hikaru's defiance, and if he hadn't followed that glitter with fire from his mouth. If he hadn't pressed the flat of his foot onto a packing box of books, sent it spinning on its side... But now, his docility. When he's in Hikaru's arms, Akira remembers what true docility is like. It isn't the proper language and softer pitch of professionalism, when he manages to strike that much. It's—he's breathing. It doesn't make his head rush. His throat isn't gripped in on itself; maybe, this way, he could speak closer to cotton. And it all affects his chest, too. Strange how he doesn't realize the way his chest hurts him until it doesn't. Until a time like this.

He is docile. He doesn't care that they're in the middle of the sidewalk at the mouth of a shopping center. All that matters in this moment is Hikaru's body and the things it offers: the solidity, the solace.] You know, my parents still sleep in their own futons. [It's the most traditional thing: two futons, side by side, a couple of inches between them. It's the first sort of marriage bed Akira ever saw.] So I think it's good I didn't get a bed just now, because I need you to show me what kind you like and how it works. [Of course he's slept in beds. Hotels and things. They've slept in hotel beds together, too. But it's different, isn't it, when you're choosing a marriage bed. He thinks Hikaru might be saying some of that.

He's reluctant to remove himself from this tight, solid hold, and to loosen his hold on Hikaru, but he does it. He's still close, though, leaning against Hikaru's arm, his shoulder up against Hikaru's. He's demanding of touch.] Well. Let's go make you feel all the way better. [It takes effort for him to be that soft, you know. To mend his hoarse throat at least a little of the way. Hikaru can be such honey, though, down his throat, tending to his belly. Even when Hikaru is otherwise vinegar, Akira will always come after the honey.

He seems further mollified by the ice cream, when he finally gets to eat it. Hikaru was considerate in his purchase of the little pistachio carton for Akira, and Akira seems to have been made tired by all his earlier anger, so his lashes are low while he idles with his spoon in his mouth. He's leaning heavy against Hikaru's shoulder, from a far angle, while they sit on the back porch. You know, their porch.

He breaks the quiet of his own breath with,] I'll sleep in a bit tomorrow. [That probably means by half an hour. It's his own sort of concession, though. A little lenience for Hikaru. Akira's morning alarms tend to be unforgiving. And they'll have that much more time to lie together.]

[protential]

[The grass in the backyard--you know, their backyard--feels so good on Hikaru's bare feet. He opens his eyes and looks down at them, at his toes curling and meshing with the vivid green, and he wonders why he was so worried about his future here. There's really no better place they could have found for living together. To be honest, he still doesn't know how they were ever able to afford it... The house itself is more traditional than not, without too many modern upgrades, but it's still functional and comfortable. The backyard is just incredible--totally unlike the uninspiring, sardine-packed neighborhood he had to grow up in. Here, the backyard is a sprawling dream with its own large pond and wildflowers in abundance. The smell of it is so good, so fresh; he can't help but breathe in deeper with each breath. He's careful, though, not to jostle Akira and Akira's warm perch on his shoulder. He's being careful not to do anything to upset Akira again, not after what he did earlier, not after all the stupid things he did and said...

Hikaru exhales into a quiet laugh, and he licks the evidence of cookies-and-cream from his own lips.] If I ask you nicely, [he murmurs, because he knows how to be nice when he wants to be,] can you make it so it's longer than a bit? Maybe you could let it happen on its own? [They do have an official function to attend in the mid-morning, but it isn't mandatory, technically speaking, when it's compared to most other things. He isn't aiming for the extra sleep so much as the chance to ease Akira awake without the help of a blaring alarm clock.] Then we can really take our time, and... you know, enjoy our first morning together. Our first real morning together.

[No vinegar to speak of. This is honey all the way down, every last drop.]

That sounds good, right? You can't tell me it doesn't sound good...