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It’s quiet. Almost unbearably so.
There is nothing but him and ‘Hikaru’ — nothing but the heat prickling his skin, the cicadas crying loud, the thunder of his own pulse as Yoshiki heaves in, then out. In, then out. His own sweat trickling down his chin before he wipes it away.
“You’re staring,” ‘Hikaru’ says, not even a beat after. A certain weight in his voice, a flicker of affection in one eye. He gives his stomach a scratch, fabric hiking up a little, unmarred skin exposed — and Yoshiki dips his gaze elsewhere before he could even think of granting himself a glance. Before rope frays and everything loses itself to temptation. Moth to fire. Him to ‘Hikaru’.
“I’m not,” comes his defense, a second too late, a whisper too hushed. Another lie through gritted teeth.
“You are,” ‘Hikaru’ laughs, voice saccharine sweet, laugh tasting like home, like him. Even if the look in his gaze is different, aching. Pained yearning that sits foreign on a familiar face. “You look like you want something.”
There’s a question there — something left unsaid. Wanting and waiting, like a disease crawling in to linger, to fester. Feeding on anything it touches. Do you want me to give it to you, ‘Hikaru’ seems to say, but doesn’t. The hunger loud enough in the way his fingers quiver, in the way he leans in; warm breath tickling over Yoshiki’s lower lip, a touch too close, too far.
“You’re not making sense again,” Yoshiki says. Except he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even flinch when ‘Hikaru’ brings a hand to his cheek, when he grasps his chin, thumb an aching path along the slope of his jaw before tilting to his lips.
“This makes sense, though,” ‘Hikaru’ murmurs instead, nail pushing at his pulse, at the beat of his heart under a fingertip. Lingering too close like he wants to climb in, like he wants to build a nest, carve a home right where he should be. “Doesn’t it?” A pause as he hesitates. Considering. Waiting for permission. “Or you can push me away. I won’t do what you don’t want me to do.”
For a moment, Yoshiki stops breathing. Weighing between what he wants and what he shouldn’t. Between what feels right and what doesn’t. Affection or reason. Something winding up heavier as he caves — as he falls and meets ‘Hikaru’ half-way. As their lips touch and the world rights itself. A yes in the way he tangles fingers through white hair, tugging, unfurling and furling around soft locks like he’s afraid he’ll slip away again.
This should feel wrong. It is, he tells himself. Lies again because he wants despite everything, he wants because this is everything. And he’ll allow himself the slightest taste of supple flesh — of ‘Hikaru’ on the tip of his tongue — even if it is selfish, even if it is primal. Something carnal pooling in the pit of his gut, something both wrong and right. Air and the surface, the ground and everything in the flutter of skin on skin, in the pant ‘Hikaru lets out as he pulls him in. Closer and closer like he wants to meld them into one.
“You taste weird,” is Yoshiki says once they pull apart. You feel like home, like everything, is what he doesn’t. A thin string of saliva connecting their lips before ‘Hikaru’ licks it away. Before teeth digs into skin and blood spills and ‘Hikaru’s tongue darts out to kiss away the bruise, the indents left behind. The lust in red.
“That’s a little mean,” ‘Hikaru’ pouts, but doesn’t let go as Yoshiki cups a hand over his neck and forces him closer. Once again, lips on lips and warmth to warmth as all that Yoshiki is, is familiarity in the press of skin. All that Yoshiki is, is ‘Hikaru’.
“Say it again,” Yoshiki whispers at some point as he slots inside tight heat, as he ruts too deep, too hard into something slimy and nasty. Pretty and ugly — perfection in the way ‘Hikaru’ clamps down on him like walls sucking him in. In the way he shudders as Yoshiki buries a hand into the cavity in his chest, as his fingers clench, stroke all the right spots in places they should and shouldn’t be.
“I like you,” and ‘Hikaru’ listens. Obedient to a fault as though to impress, to please. He says it between chopped moans, between stuttering breaths after each thrust. Each one rougher than the last — faster and harder; needier and hungrier. Yoshiki’s fingers once again squeezing around flesh.
Yoshiki touches their foreheads together. “Say that you won’t leave me.” It sounds hushed. Broken. A plea and affection, both equally loud and silent. “Say that you’ll stay. That you won’t disappear on me ever again.”
“I won’t leave you,” ‘Hikaru’ says. “I’ll stay. I’ll never disappear. Not again. Never again,” he whispers. All the right words, all the wrong emotions. Once again, that weight in his voice. That feeling too foreign on his face. Clawing at Yoshiki’s back as his legs lock him in place — as Yoshiki’s hips falter before doubling down. A gasp and a whimper, another squeeze too hard in his chest as Yoshiki throbs, as he grows bigger inside something both familiar and not. Something slimy sliding too weird, too good along the length of his cock while he’s still lodged inside. Like a tentacle palming around him, building him up and up and up. Pushing him closer off a precipice.
“You promised,” Yoshiki rasps, soft but firm like it’s decided, an ultimatum, no room for escape in the way he pounds his full weight into ‘Hikaru’, in the way he fucks him harder into the bed. Keening at the way ‘Hikaru’ shatters; his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his knees twitching, flush spreading all over and everywhere.
“I do. I promise, I really promise,” and yet, ‘Hikaru’ doesn’t deny it. Never denies him; at least not when he needs him like this, not when Yoshiki burrows teeth too deep into the junction between his neck and shoulder. The reverence in his tone so poignant, so honest and raw and visceral in a way that is unlike the real Hikaru. Once again, foreign. Unfamiliar but not unwelcome — not when Yoshiki starves for it like it’s everything, like it’s good, like it’s safe and right. Takes it as though there was a hunger in him he never realized needed to be sated.
“You have to keep it this time,” Yoshiki demands — no, begs. Hips slapping too hard against ‘Hikaru’s as he shoves as deep as he can, as he tries to make a home inside. Ruin him for anyone else in one way or another. He can feel his own need rotting in his bones, like a disease, like something forbidden blooming bud by bud, bit by bit. Breaking him then piecing him back together; rewriting him into something he can’t and doesn’t understand.
“I will,” ‘Hikaru’ swears, and it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t —
— but that does it for him. It’s all it takes before Yoshiki comes undone; before he snaps like a rubber band worn thin and everything becomes too hot, too overconsuming. His hips slamming into ‘Hikaru’ a few more times before going still. Body tensing, pulse too loud in his own ears as he shoots in thick spurts inside somewhere he shouldn’t be.
Yoshiki thought his heart had grown cold. Thought the ice had frozen soft matter into stone the winter Hikaru died. It felt like it, anyway — the loss of something familiar, the grief that felt like it could swallow him whole. Like it could kill him, slowly but surely, day by day, bit by bit.
And yet.
And yet.
Longing, despite everything. Longing, because there he is again, in a form he knows but doesn’t, in skin that doesn’t fit quite right. Something else wearing his face, donning his body like it belongs to it. Kissing his lips, holding him close, whispering his name in a way that feels like home.
“I won’t leave you,” ‘Hikaru’ says. A promise, reverent and guttural. And Yoshiki can do nothing but gasp, can do nothing but embrace him as he’s pulled apart, as he’s broken then put together. The callouses around his heart not strong enough to withstand the fire as he melts, as he burns. With need, with love that will no doubt reduce him asunder.
“You promised,” is all Yoshiki says. What else is there to say?
The next morning Yoshiki wakes up, he does not wake up alone.