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Lately, Ichi had been wondering why he and Gokuraku even bothered having separate rooms. He supposed it made sense in theory, but in practice? After the fifth time Gokuraku got up in the middle of a conversation because he forgot a part, or a tool, or ran out of something for whatever magic item he was tinkering with at the time, to go to his own room and pick it up, Ichi just went with him. They stayed there, on the ridiculously fluffy carpet, until they fell asleep side by side. Within three days, Ichi brought his bedding with him and pretty much only went to his own room when he needed a change of clothes.
Ichi was amazed, really, how quickly he got used to Gokuraku’s presence around him. His physical body as well. Gokuraku seemed to eschew personal space completely, and was always touching him. A hand on his head, an arm around his waist, pulling at his clothes, patting his shoulders, picking him up and carrying him around without so much as warning, assuming that Ichi would just go along with it—which Ichi did.
Sturdy, solid, big, whenever Gokuraku held him, Ichi felt himself go limp, content with the feeling of safety, as if he were leaning against a sun-warmed brick wall.
More than just being used to his presence, Ichi found himself paying attention to things he never considered with anyone else: how the muscles bunched and rippled under Gokuraku's skin. How the light caught in his eyes, making them sparkle. The way he'd flush with any even slightly heightened emotion and his freckles would blend with the blush. Ichi felt the same level of focus as when he locked in on particularly challenging prey, yet it couldn’t have been more different. It felt like if he managed to catch him—whatever “catching him” might mean in this situation—the feeling of satisfaction and success wouldn't follow.
He wanted to stay in this chase-that-was-not-a-chase forever. So much so that it followed him into his dreams. Dreams that left him sweating and glad that he did his own laundry.
Ichi wasn’t naive nor stupid. He’d spent most of his life, certainly the bulk of what he could remember, attuned to the cycles of the natural world. Mating seasons, pregnancies, same-sex bonded pairs, he’d observed it all. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that humans, animals that they were, would go through the same things. Though from what he remembered from his visits to the villages, women could have babies whenever.
Not that he and Gokuraku could ever make a baby. Which was for the best, probably. With his life, a baby seemed unthinkable, human babies should grow up in villages and towns and houses and know other people and never feel unsafe.
Ichi lowered the book he was trying to read. He still wasn’t very good at letters, and the stuff Desscaras dropped into his lap without any explanation wasn’t easy to go through without Kumugi’s gentle instruction.
Living today to tomorrow, that wasn’t his life anymore. The future, uncertain as it was, unfurled in front of him. At times he could even imagine parts of it: there were books he was supposed to read, places he was expected to go, majiks he wanted to acquire. Even that prophesied death that’s waiting for him, it was simply a far-off endpoint of a long journey that he could see the rough outline of.
Sprawled on the carpet, Gokuraku was poking at—Ichi forgot what it was called, but some kind of magic tool—with a tiny screwdriver. Gokuraku was part of that future. At least, Ichi hoped he was. There was a prophecy and everything, it was how they met.
Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. After all, wanting Gokuraku to lie on top of him and block out the world, and dreaming vague images of Gokuraku's naked chest under his hand didn't necessarily translate to becoming a bonded pair. It took two for that. Gokuraku was always touching him and it made Ichi feel all sorts of things but Ichi had no way to know if Gokuraku was simply like that, if Kagami people were like that, or if he should interpret it beyond that.
“Gokuraku,” honestly, it was easiest to simply ask.
“Hmm, Icchan?” Even without lifting his head from his work, Gokuraku’s voice was still full of sweetness, as if it was baked in.
“Why do you touch me so much?”
The tiny screwdriver stopped and Gokuraku lifted his gaze to Ichi, “Is it too much?” His eyes fluttered away for a blink, “I can’t tell.”
There was an indent of teeth in Gokuraku’s lower lip, he bit it when he was focusing on something fiddly. “It's not,” Ichi said, “but I can't tell if you're doing it because it's me, or because it's you.”
Gokuraku’s teeth found his lip again for a second before he replied, “Which one is better?”
Ichi frowned in thought for a second, turning the question in his mind, “If it's because it's me.”
Gokuraku swallowed, “Yeah?”
Ichi nodded, more sure now, “Yeah, definitely.”
Seeming relieved, Gokuraku exhaled and picked his contraption back up. Ichi however continued staring at him, expectant, “Well?”
“Well what?” Gokuraku replied, focus already halfway on his work.
“Well, which one is it?” Ichi pressed.
Still looking at his thingamajig, Gokuraku's face seemed to get consumed by redness, swallowing up his freckles. “Oh,” his voice came out thin and barely audible, like sharing a secret, “Yeah, it's because it's you.”
Inhaling, Ichi felt warmth spread throughout his whole body, starting from his chest, engulfing everything in its path. He'd never had someone do something for him just because it was him.
“Huh,” was all he seemed to be able to respond.
“Is that…” Gokuraku's throat bobbed, as though he was struggling with the words, “wrong?”
“Well,” Ichi considered it, “I don't know if it’s wrong, but it makes me very happy.”
Gokuraku's eyes went big. “Really?”
“Really,” Ichi said, nodding. “Keep doing it.”
With the way his shoulders relaxed, Ichi was genuinely surprised that he didn’t notice just how much Gokuraku had tensed up. Then, in a deceptively languid motion, he grabbed Ichi by the lapels, yanking him across the space between them. Ichi landed with his palms on Gokuraku's chest and knees over his thighs. He could feel the heat of Gokuraku's body as well as the squirming, skittish sensation rushing under his own skin, seeming to speed up with the proximity.
Gokuraku let go of his shirt, only to pull at his limbs to rearrange him, as if Ichi were a doll. It made him a bit woozy with the rush of blood.
Once he was satisfied by their position—Ichi practically cocooned by his body—Gokuraku picked his project back up, “Lemme just finish this part, I'm onto something.”
Ichi could feel the words being formed in Gokuraku's chest cavity, so he leaned against his front, wanting to hear better. Gokuraku's breathing deepened in response: slow and steady.
“That's fine,” Ichi mumbled into Gokuraku’s shirt, “I don't know what comes next anyways.”
He closed his eyes and listened to the patter of Gokuraku's heart, like a terrified rabbit in a trap. One Ichi didn't know how to put out of its misery. He curled towards Gokuraku’s body, the minute hum and heat of a living being curled around him, in combination with the clickety-clack of metal on metal as Gokuraku worked, blocked out the outside world. Ichi felt safe, lulled and comfortable. He snuggled in as close as he could.
“Icchan?” Gokuraku’s voice was soft and gentle, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say anything.
“Hm?”
The clicking of the screwdriver stopped, “What are you doing?”
Despite Ichi's lack of social graces, even he could guess that saying ‘I want to crawl under your skin and inside your ribs,’ wasn't something most people would want to hear.
“Trying to get closer,” he said instead.
He felt Gokuraku’s laugh against his ear, “The only way you could do that is if you cut me open and crawled in.”
Ichi tensed. The chest under him expanded with a slow, deep breath. There was a clatter as Gokuraku put away the magic project, then a muffled sound as he pushed the box where he kept it over the carpet.
Gokuraku leaned back onto his hands, robbing Ichi of the snug warmth but allowing him to look at his face and the smile that Gokuraku was biting back. “How'd you do it?”
“What?” Ichi croaked.
Slowly, with a hand on Ichi to keep him upright, Gokuraku lowered himself all the way, until his back touched the floor, “Show me!” He spread his arms as far as they could go, then brought them to his stomach and trailed them up to his chest. “How would you disembowel me?” Then he hesitated for a moment. “Obviously, don't really do it, I doubt I'd survive, but walk me through the process!”
Looking at Gokuraku’s beaming grin, Ichi felt like the floor below them was turning to gelatin. “Er,” he swallowed.
Biting into his smile, Gokuraku maneuvered Ichi so that he was straddling his hips. There was an expectant glint in Gokuraku’s eyes, like he couldn't wait to see what Ichi would do next.
Ichi steadied himself by gripping Gokuraku’s sash, “Weren’t you paying attention when I butchered that goat?”
“That was a while ago, Icchan,” Gokuraku waved his hand dismissively before settling it on Ichi’s thigh. “A lot of stuff happened between then and now.”
“Well,” Ichi’s grip on the sash tightened, “usually you start by removing the genitalia.”
For a second, Gokuraku tensed under him, “Oh.” His face turned that endearing red, freckles yet again losing ground to a flush, “Yeah, maybe we could skip that part?”
An inexplicable disappointment flashed through Ichi, “You shouldn’t skip parts when dressing prey.”
Flush still high on his face, Gokuraku snickered, “It's play-pretend Icchan, and I doubt I can learn much when I’m the prey.” His mouth settled back into a smile, “You can teach me for real next time.”
Next time, Ichi’s hindmind echoed. There'll be a next time, Gokuraku wants a next time. “Then what exactly is the point of this?” his hands were still curled around Gokuraku's sash.
From underneath him, Gokuraku trailed his eyes up Ichi’s body and met his gaze through lashes, “I like it when you touch me too, Icchan.” The hand on Ichi’s thigh dug in, “I wish you did it more.”
Letting go of the sash, Ichi took in a slow breath. He moved his hands to rest against Gokuraku’s stomach. The muscles underneath his palms tensed. He trailed his eyes up then down Gokuraku's torso, “I guess I'd get rid of your shirt first.”
Gokuraku shot up, nearly knocking Ichi back. “Easy enough!” he exclaimed, tugging his shirt over his head in one swift movement. Ichi was left with an eyeful of the toned chest that followed him into dreamland.
“I thought we were playing pretend,” he said, eyes glued to the way Gokuraku's flesh flexed while he lay back down and got comfortable.
“Well yeah,” Gokuraku looked up at him, “but no reason not to strive for some realism!” His grin was back full force. Ichi could only nod in agreement, Gokuraku was right, why not have some degree of immersion? He remembered that he had a carving knife, laying discarded where he was sitting before.
“So, you'd take off my shirt…” Gokuraku prompted.
Ichi blinked, perhaps not that much immersion.
He put a knuckle to the spot where he knew Gokuraku’s collar began, “I'd cut off your shirt.” Gokuraku swallowed. It made Ichi still, head tilting in question. He received an encouraging nod in response, Gokuraku’s hands settling on his thighs again. He traced the path down, to the hem of Gokuraku’s pants.
“After that,” he pressed into Gokuraku’s abdomen, “I’d split you tail to throat. Careful to not pierce the stomach and spoil the meat.” Gokuraku's body rippled under Ichi's touch, the rise and fall of his chest visibly speeding up as Ichi's finger passed over it.
It didn’t matter now, though. Ichi was imagining the weight of a hunting knife in his hand. “Dig the knife under the skin,” he curled his digit, just as much as the blade would need to go. “Enough to peel it back so no hair gets into the meat,” he said, finger tracing the few centimeters he’d need to peel for this—very few, there wasn’t exactly much hair to worry about.
“Cut to one side of the sternum,” his finger traveled down Gokuraku’s chest again, the force necessary to cut through bone driving the air out of his lungs.
“Then,” Ichi placed his palms flat on Gokuraku’s middle, so he could dig his thumbs into the space under his ribs, “I’d open the chest cavity.” He couldn’t really get a proper grip from this angle, nor with the skin in the way so he just mimicked the movement, palms on chest, fingers digging into sternum. Gokuraku’s heart thundered underneath.
Once he got to the collarbones, Ichi dropped one hand to the side, the other curling around Gokuraku’s throat. “Reach inside,” if he were really in, he could wrap his whole hand around Gokuraku's windpipe, as it was, his fingers barely reached half way around, “and cut the windpipe and gullet as close to the base of the skull as possible.” Ichi squeezed, testing out the girth.
“Krk,” Gokuraku let out a strangled noise. Ichi let go as if burned. He didn’t get far, however, because Gokuraku's hand shot out like lightning and closed around his, tight enough to bruise.
“Sorry!” Ichi blurted, the realization what he had just done practically punching the word out of him. “I…” he scowled, struggling for words, “I'm not used to being able to hurt during this part.”
Gokuraku swallowed audibly, “No, ah,” his face was flushed, lips bitten red. “It's fine, I was just surprised, that’s all.” Ichi thought back to his mountain, and the wall of trophies he left there. Somehow, Gokuraku’s expression elicited the same feeling of pride, with unprecedented heat mixed in.
Adjusting the grip, Gokuraku brought Ichi’s hand back to his neck, “I'm a sturdy man, Icchan,” he splayed the fingers to curl around his throat, “you can be a bit rough.”
Ichi's mouth was dry. He swallowed. “I don't want to, though,” forming words was unusually difficult all of a sudden. He ran his thumb over Gokuraku's carotid. Gokuraku inhaled sharply and something twitched against Ichi where he was sitting.
Okay.
It wasn't that Ichi was doing much differently but still. Okay.
Gokuraku's teeth found his lip again and his eyes fell to Ichi's crotch, as if checking the same thing. He looked up and their eyes met, suspending the moment.
“I don't know what to do with this,” Ichi said finally.
Like a released bowstring, Gokuraku relaxed under him. Then he laughed, hoarse and breathy. Ichi tightened his thighs, wanting to feel more of him, closer. His free hand curled around Gokuraku’s bicep, otherwise he would’ve squeezed his throat again.
Gokuraku's other hand trailed up his body, until he reached the back of Ichi's neck. It was big enough to grip him and hold him in place. A thrill went down Ichi's spine. The memory of the last time Gokuraku was near his neck—the fear, the pain, the worry—flashed through his mind. He simultaneously wanted to trash and go limp, to give in and let Gokuraku do whatever the hell he wanted but also to fight until he drew blood, until Gokuraku would never think to touch him any which way again. That last thought made him untense, he’d miss Gokuraku’s touch.
Sensing that Ichi wasn’t resisting anymore, Gokuraku pulled him forward. Ichi allowed it, bending his elbows in order to follow Gokuraku's trajectory, until his hands were awkwardly trapped between them, and his face was once again buried in Gokuraku's chest. Gokuraku snorted.
“What?” Ichi’s voice was muffled.
Twisting his fingers through it, Gokuraku tugged on his hair, “Climb up, Icchan, you're short.”
Ichi frowned, “You're just very tall.” Still, he complied, once again letting Gokuraku position him like a doll.
Their faces were centimeters apart.
“This close enough for you?”
Ichi felt the words underneath him, and Gokuraku's breath against him. He could count every freckle and every eyelash individually, he could see his blurry, distorted reflection in Gokuraku's lip piercing. “No, not really.”
Gokuraku licked his lips, the stud in his tongue glinting with the motion, “For me neither.”
Was this where they kissed? Was that what's supposed to happen? Ichi had never kissed anyone, but he knew that in order to reach Gokuraku's mouth, he'd have to lean back.
“Roll over,” Ichi croaked.
“What?” Gokuraku sounded raw and breathless, adding impossibly further to Ichi's arousal.
“Roll over, so you're on top.”
Gokuraku blinked at him, then Ichi's world tumbled until his back was to the floor and Gokuraku's wonderful, warm weight was on him. Ichi sighed contentedly, in that moment, he felt like he could stay right there, forever.
Except Gokuraku seemed to have other plans, lifting himself to his elbows and smiling down at Ichi, “Yeah, I like this too.” He licked his lips again.
Ichi felt a burning need to burrow back under Gokuraku. Otherwise he would do something like reaching up to bite Gokuraku’s lip for him, to gnaw on that tongue piercing that he had no idea why or when Gokuraku even got. It was as if he took joy in changing things about his body just for the hell of it, just because he could.
Wanting to tug him back down, Ichi connected his hands at the back of Gokuraku's neck, right above the crystal grafts. Gokuraku gasped, going rigid.
Worry made Ichi just as still, “Painful?”
Gokuraku shook his head then buried it in Ichi's neck, “It’s just super sensitive, feels weird.” His breath was hot, “Honestly, I don't think anyone except me had ever touched there.”
The meaning of the words slithered into Ichi’s mind and he had to resist the urge to dig his nails in, to leave a proper mark. No one but him had ever touched Gokuraku like this. He inhaled deeply and simply followed the line where flesh and crystal merged instead.
In response Gokuraku's breathing got heavier against Ichi's skin, each exhale hotter and wetter than the previous. Ichi closed his eyes to better feel how Gokuraku’s body was reacting to his touch.
When he reached the end of the crystals, where he could connect his hands right under the graft, Gokuraku muffled a whine against his shoulder and what strength he was supporting himself with gave out, collapsing completely on top of Ichi.
“Ufff,” Ichi let out.
“Sorry,” Gokuraku mumbled against him, but made no move to get up, not that Ichi would allow it.
“It's alright, hah,” Ichi laughed, “I'm a sturdy guy, too.”
Gokuraku let out a breathy giggle, then slowly rearranged them so he was wrapped around Ichi more securely. His bracers dug a bit into Ichi's side but he felt that it was a small price to pay for the rest of Gokuraku around him.
After a few moments of quiet, where both of their breathing evened out and they managed to arrange their limbs for maximum contact with minimum metal-edge-in-soft-flesh, Gokuraku broke the silence, “Icchan, if you ever leave me, I'll cut off your arms and legs and keep you in a box.”
Ichi, who was at that point running his hands through Gokuraku’s hair, dug his fingers into the strands. “What if…” he guessed that his grip was now verging on painful but Gokuraku didn’t show any signs of it, “What if you leave me?”
Gokuraku jerked, as if struck by electricity but Ichi didn’t let him up. He felt too vulnerable to allow Gokuraku to see his face right now. Something which Gokuraku seemed to understand, after a second of struggle.
He snuggled closer to Ichi instead, tightening his grip around him,“ You can cut off my arms and legs and keep me in a box.”
Relaxing, Ichi let out a slow breath. The heat was still licking at every cell of his body and he could guess Gokuraku’s as well, but in order to do anything about it, they would have to let go. He clung harder.