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Gon breathes in the scent of summer on Whale Island — sickly sweet fruit orchards, sea salt, and the wraith-like smoke of the ships that leave as quick as they come. His fingers topple and wrestle over each other, jittery bones, full of nervosity and anticipation… Last night, when Gon acted out of pure and unstraying regard for himself only, and took Killua’s angel-stricken face between his palms and kissed those lips puffy; it was an action that broke the exact promise Gon made to himself before Killua arrived.
To not be selfish, to be considerate of others, of Killua .
The previous night, a simple Do you want this? or Can I kiss you? never even slipped past Gon’s lips. He fell back into that sticky, morally grey web of self-serving, just like old times, but it shouldn’t exactly be like old times because they’re no longer barely entering adolescence and growing into their bodies. They’ve gotten comfortable in their newly developed bodies, their stretched bones. When Gon watched Killua step off that steamship, he was a man — no longer a boy, inhibited muscle and grace and Gon’s mouth felt the thirst of those trapped in a desert for days. But Killua was also no longer going to aimlessly follow Gon and his trail of childish idealization, past the blow, the storm, the wrong. He proved that when they separated at World Tree.
Gon is extremely lucky that he awoke to Killua’s wintry cold, invigorating, one-of-a-kind comfort with him in the room, on an air mattress below his bed, hair spreading out across pillows like blinding white wings from a deity, and snowflake kissed lashes that fluttered across his newly freckled skin. The domesticity in the moment was too much and for once, in the entirety of the Freecss’ bloodline… One of them rushed and ran out.
That’s how Gon has ended up out here, sitting on the wooden bench outside his cottage, watching the slight draft sway the grass, trees, plants to the natural rhythm of Mother Earth. The flowing air ruffled Gon’s hair more, aiding the disheveled appearance of his from having halted getting ready for the day, dwelling on his foolish choices on the outskirts of Whale Island’s life’s harmony.
The thing that stung about the situation yesternight? Killua never even made an attempt to talk about the kiss after it had happened, it was I know my way back and then God Sped his way away from the place, where Gon had acted like a fool thanks to the flower’s nectar intoxicating him and he repeated history.
When Gon returned home, it was too late, Killua’s still body ricocheted off Gon’s bedroom walls, otherwise still and devoid of any sign of movement. Gon only ghosted over the slight bend of Killua’s cheekbones with his fingertips, savouring the gentle contact, something he wouldn’t get when Killua was fully conscious. Killua, fully conscious, would raise his hackles out of fear, preparing for an attack, and Gon isn’t that cruel to chase after a skittish being. After that, Gon crawled into his bed.
The sound of the front door’s opening, a drawn out grating sound, as if the opener was unsure of their decision — Gon’s head spun around to catch sight of who was there… Killua, briny lake irises baptising a hesitance under a new name: fear. He utters one word, “Gon.”
In response, Gon scoots his body over to the other side of the bench but it’s not enough, well it is with the way Killua’s bare, hairless legs sigh against his own, there’s just a lack of personal space and Gon is aware it only fuels Killua’s shyness. Killua stares at Gon, blankly, the thoughts formulating inside his brain, taking his bottom lip between his teeth, quickly ceases eye contact only to return a minute later. Gon perceives the words he wishes to speak into existence linger on his tongue, staining it a synthetic red. But even so with the timidness that plagues Killua, determination sets his skin alight. He wants to say something. He is going to say something.
“Was it a mistake?” Killua flat out asks.
“No. Do I ever do anything I don’t want to?”
“Good point,” Consideration washes away the previous look on Killua’s face, ridding him of the trepidation. Now there’s nothing to hold him back. Gon knows Killua. “So, why didn’t you stay? Earlier.”
Gon’s hand reaches to rub the back of his neck in utter embarrassment, caught. “Killua — you’re so pretty, you make things feel so normal. When you’re sleeping, when you’re training, swimming, cooking. I want to kiss you all the time… Now that I’ve done it, I can’t go without.”
After processing the words that left his own mouth, that he said to his best friend, the very one he kissed last night on a whim — a palm cages his mouth and prevents the further escape of any more unplanned words out of shock. He really said that.
“You’re an idiot, do you know that?” Killua answers, his eyebrows are set in that placement, the placement where they’re entirely fascinated, engrossed.
“Hey! Take what I’m saying seriously!”
Killua barks back, “I am! You’re just so embarrassing… And hot…”
“And what?”
“Gon, you heard me.”
Gon smiles wide at the sound of how Killua’s tongue wraps around the letters of his name, G-O-N, the octave his voice dips into at the O, how he swallows — Adam’s apple bobbing along the smooth ocean of vanilla skin of his throat — when looking at Gon. Moon blessed hands snake their way to reach the apricot flesh of his thighs, Killua repositions himself to face Gon head perched back on his bare shins.
His fingertip runs along the curve of Gon’s cheekbone, following the same exact pattern he was subject to last night. “I know you thought I was asleep when you did this, but I can’t fall asleep unless you’re in the room with me,”
“Killua, you’re being unfair—”
Killua disregards Gon’s breathless note. “I wanted you to chase after me when I ran away. I felt as if you chasing after me would’ve proven that it wasn’t a mistake.”
Killua’s hands are nomadic, feeling along the newly filled out parts of Gon’s jaw, the indents of old scars, taut pulled muscles… A deep noise from the core of Gon’s chest gurgles in the back of his throat, caught on the way Killua hungrily soaks up every bit of contact — every inch of kneaded skin. A soft breath is pulled from his mouth like a rope, drawn out and handled with caution, as Killua presses a short kiss to his neck.
“You’re not the only one who can be a selfish bastard, you know?” Killua says with a tremble to his voice, Gon hauls him into his lap.