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“Yoshikiii, c’mere,” Hikaru calls. “Is this real??” The whine of Hikaru’s voice combines with an ominous crinkling of plastic, reverberating down the convenience store aisle.
The taller boy tears himself away from the refrigerated section, approaching his best friend as if summoned. He furrows his brow when he sees what Hikaru is squinting at. “Whaddaya mean? Is candy real?”
Hikaru shoots him a look of utter confusion. “No, I’m talkin’ about this…” He shoves the label in Yoshiki’s face.
He rolls his eyes. This happens far too frequently. “Hikaru. ‘s too close.”
“Ah, right. My bad,” Hikaru giggles sheepishly, retracting his hand by a few centimeters.
Yoshiki sighs at a bag of assorted chocolates whose label reads, Valentine’s Day Special Mix. “I still dunno what yer talkin’ about, Hikaru. Yes, it’s real.”
Hikaru’s bright eyes widen further. “Whoa… I had no idea…”
“No idea ‘bout what?”
“That humans know about it. About… mixin!”
Yoshiki’s face burns as he realizes the misunderstanding. “Keep yer voice down,” he hisses through nervous laughter. “It’s not like that. It’s just some valentine’s candy.”
“Ohhh,” Hikaru responds, clearly thinking hard about something. He sticks his tongue out in a way that is impossibly cute. Yoshiki buries the observation as soon as it comes. “That s’posed to be different than regular candy?”
“It’s only called a mix cuz it’s a bag of different types.”
Hikaru’s face lights up in actual understanding this time, and Yoshiki chuckles at the sight. “Ohhh! Ok, thanks, I think I get it now. Can we buy some, and eat it at yer place? I wanna read more Master x Master.”
Yoshiki smiles back, snatching the bag and reaching for his wallet. “Sure thing.”
“So, what’s this valentine thing about, anyway? I don’t really get it,” Hikaru asks during their trek back. The sun’s dying rays glow orange by the time they reach Yoshiki’s house. Hikaru’s bright hair looks like a writhing mass of flame as their bikes fall together haphazardly, discarded in the yard.
Yoshiki mutters a tired tadaima as they enter the house. “You know about valentine’s day, Hikaru. We celebrate it at school.”
“Yeah, you guys celebrated it, but I never did.” A gasp cuts through the buzzing of cicadas just outside. “It’ll be my first valentine’s day as a human! We should do something.” he slips his sneakers off his feet and pauses. “Yoshiki… what are humans s’posed to do on valentine’s day, anyway?”
Hikaru’s line of curious questioning is making Yoshiki’s skin crawl. Oh, well. I decided I’d be the one to teach him, right? Things like this come with the territory, I guess. “It’s just a holiday. Means different things to different people. It’s, like, a celebration of love. For some people, it’s a day to take their partners out on dates, show ‘em how much they’re appreciated—”
“Oh yeah? Then they hold hands and kiss and stuff, huh?” Hikaru’s smile turns impish, his sharp little canine poking out.
Yoshiki feels a blush creep up his face. Talking about this with Hikaru is downright embarrassing. “Um…Sure. But for some people, it’s about popularity, and getting’ lotsa gifts. Don’t ya remember what it was like before? For Hikaru?”
“Hmmm…I think…” he nods slowly, glancing upward and swinging the grocery bag loosely by his side. “I remember my—I mean, Hikaru’s locker, bein’ full of letters and candy ‘n stuff, yeah.”
“See, you get it, then,” mumbles Yoshiki, his long, impatient strides leading them upstairs to his room.
“But it don’t make no sense!” Hikaru protests, following with loud footsteps. “Why doesn’t everyone get a locker stuffed with letters? Why did Hikaru get all that candy and you didn’t?”
“Cuz Hikaru was popular. Lotsa people… liked him,” Yoshiki answers through a knot in his throat.
“Lotsa people… even you?” Hikaru presses, gently.
Yoshiki finds himself wishing they could talk about literally anything else right about now. “I dunno, man,” he sighs. “Yes. Obviously. But I mean, he got all that stuff from girls. I wasn’t… It’s not normal for a guy to get another guy chocolates on Valentine’s Day.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous,” insists the shorter boy, flopping down onto Yoshiki’s bed.
“Yeah, well, I don’t make the rules,” Yoshiki grumbles. He’s rummaging through his bookshelf absently, trying to find the manga volume they left off on.
“You bought this candy, and we’re gonna eat it, and that’s not a big deal… right?”
Feeling a twinge of apprehension about where this is going, Yoshiki offers a tentative “…right…”
“So? We’re both guys.”
“Are we?” Yoshiki chuckles. “I mean, to be fair, we don’t know what the hell you are.”
Hikaru lets out a boisterous peal of laughter. “Yer right, Yoshiki. Like always,” he beams. “C’mon over here already, or I’m gonna eat everything in this bag!”
Hikaru rips through cheap plastic, pouring the chocolates onto Yoshiki’s bed. (Thankfully, everything’s individually wrapped.) A small stack of manga sits next to their candy pile, and Yoshiki finds he’s actually excited for a mundane afternoon together.
“If ya get yer hands dirty, you gotta wash ‘em before toughing the pages, got it?” warns Yoshiki.
Hikaru grins, revealing a row of caramel chocolate stained teeth. “I promise.” Unease mixes with a sense of something thrilling, the combination swirling in Yoshiki’s belly. He looks down.
“Oh, hell yeah, there’s dark chocolates, too.” Yoshiki paws through the assortment of candies, surprised to find a wide range of choices. There are the standard sweet treats—nougats, caramels, milk chocolate—but also truffles, chocolate covered pretzels, and small pieces of dark chocolate. Yoshiki isn’t the biggest fan of the sweeter varieties, but he knows that Hikaru (this Hikaru, at least) prefers them.
Hikaru perks up. “Dark chocolate? Oooh. Haven’t tried that kind yet.”
“You have. Hikaru liked ‘em.” I like ‘em more, though.
“Well I mean me, I dunno what it tastes like.”
He narrows his eyes uncertainly. “It’s… kinda bitter. You sure you wanna try?” Yoshiki doesn’t want to waste a whole piece that he already knows he wants, so he offers a compromise. He bites his in half. “Here,” he mumbles through a mouthful of barely-sweet chocolate. “Try half of mine, before ya waste a whole one ya don’t even like.”
“Aw, thanks, Yoshiki!” Hikaru accepts the morsel gratefully, tossing it into his mouth. He chews it once, twice, then grimaces and spits, sending the half-chewed bits flying.
The wet, rejected piece of chocolate lands unceremoniously onto Yoshiki’s off-white bedsheet. He swears there might even be a little bit of Hikaru’s insides on the piece.
“Hikaru! What the hell!!”
“Omagaaa, it’th thooo groooth,” Hikaru complains with tears in his eyes, wiping his tongue with his palms, a childish effort to dislodge the foul taste.
He’s like a little kid. Yoshiki is already back from the other side of the room, mopping up the disgusting chunk before the stain sets. “Ugh. Hikaru, you can’t do that. It stains. Go to the bathroom, wash yer mouth and yer hands. Don’t touch anything. I mean it.”
“Thorry, Yothiki…” The dejected Hikaru tiptoes across the room, hands raised. If he were a cat, his ears would be drooping. Yoshiki chuckles at the mental image as he scrubs the last of the offending candy from his bed. Hikaru returns, sporting an expression completely unfitting for him—it reminds Yoshiki of the time he’d found a frightened, guilt-ridden Hikaru hiding under a blanket, after the outburst that left Yoshiki with a permanently bruised wrist.
“Hikaru?” Yoshiki begins softly, “you ok?”
He nods, slumping down onto the bed next to Yoshiki. “I just… really don’t wanna mess up.” His eyes shine with anxious, unspilled tears.
“It’s okay,” soothes the taller boy. What a crybaby, he thinks with a little smile. “Really. It’s just… annoying to have to clean. You didn’t hurt nobody, s’not a big deal.” He rests his hand over Hikaru’s—a clumsy gesture of comfort—which seems to help. “Just… don’t make a mess or spit anythin’ out again. It’s really gross.”
“I won’t,” Hikaru promises somberly, squeezing Yoshiki’s fingers.
They split up the remainder of the chocolates, dividing them evenly, making sure Hikaru steers clear of the dark chocolate. (He actually likes the truffles, even though they have dark chocolate in them.) The two sit side by side with their backs against the wall, reading from the same manga. It’s a little tight—their shoulders and hips are flush together—but Yoshiki certainly isn’t complaining.
After setting down the newly finished volume 3 of Master x Master, Hikaru pops another caramel into his mouth. “I don’t really get why Hikaru never gave any of his chocolates to you,” he blurts out. “Y’know, back then.”
Not wanting to repeat the conversation twice, Yoshiki tries to explain quickly. “I told you, it’s because—”
Hikaru interrupts him. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, boys can’t give valentines to other boys or whatever. I mean, I don’t get that; it’s a dumb rule. Cuz Hikaru always wanted to give you his candy.”
Yoshiki freezes, nearly choking on a truffle. “What?”
Hikaru nods, laughing at the memory. “Yeah! He didn’t even like most of the chocolates he got. Too sweet. But he ate ‘em all anyway, every year. I remember how bad it hurt his stomach. Blegh,” he shivers at the memory. Yoshiki almost laughs when Hikaru shoves another nougat past his lips. “I member him thinkin’ about how he wanted to share ‘em with you, though,” he mumbles, mouth full.
A familiar pang of grief assaults Yoshiki between his ribs; it cuts fresh with this new piece of information about Hikaru. About the real—no, the original Hikaru, the boy he grew up with.
Was it a lie? Hikaru has no reason to lie now. And Yoshiki wants it to be true, so he tries imagining it— receiving chocolates from a shy, younger Hikaru. The fantasy feels bittersweet (or perhaps it’s just bitter). “Why’re you tellin’ me all this?” he finally asks, voice cracking in a near whisper.
Hikaru shrugs. “I dunno.” There’s a peaceful smile on his face, and Yoshiki can’t bring himself to stay upset for very long. “This’s nice, right? Eatin’ candy together?”
After a long while and a few steady breaths, Yoshiki nods. “Yeah. It is.”
With no warning, Hikaru starts moving closer. Yoshiki swallows, hoping the awkward gulp wasn’t audible. “Uh… what’s up?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothin’… Lemme just…” Hikaru is staring at his mouth. Yoshiki’s heart pounds.
Closer. “Hikaru…” What the hell is he doing??
Something wet makes contact with his cheek, just a swipe. It takes a moment to register.
Hikaru just licked him.
On the face.
“There we go,” Hikaru pulls back, an easy grin returning to his features. As if what he just did was completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary at all.
“W-w—” Yoshiki wants to ask what the hell that was. But words fail him, his brain scrambled from the unexpected touch. Air kisses the wet skin on his face, mere centimeters from the corner of his mouth. It sends a shiver down his spine.
“You had chocolate on you,” Hikaru explains matter-of-factly, when he sees Yoshiki raise his fingers to graze the dampness off his cheek. “Just tryin’ to keep from makin’ a mess.” Registering Yoshiki’s continued stunned expression, Hikaru winces. “Oh no—did I do somethin’ weird?”
“Did ya—Hikaru, of course that’s weird!” Yoshiki barks with a laughter that is just a bit too shrill to be genuine. “You don’t do that, it’s like…”
“Ahhh, I made ya uncomfortable again, didn’t I?” Hikaru’s wearing that same anxious expression from before, the one Yoshiki hates. “I’m real sorry, Yoshiki, I’m really tryin’—”
Yoshiki interrupts him before another meltdown can happen. “Whoa, Hikaru. It’s okay, it’s not—ya didn’t make me… uncomfortable, exactly,” he explains, searching for the right words. “It was just… surprising, is all. People don’t usually do that kinda thing, unless they’re—” No, he’s not gonna describe that, not to Hikaru, and certainly not when he’s flustered and full of nothing but sugar. “People just… don’t usually lick each other.”
Hikaru’s eyebrows knit together. “Well, that’s another boring rule. It was kinda fun.”
“What about licking my face is fun?” Yoshiki is beyond disturbed at the words he’s just spoken aloud.
“I dunno… I like yer face, and I like chocolate.” Hikaru glances up at the ceiling, as if he were looking for the answer to a math problem. “Putting ‘em together just makes sense.”
“Hahhh,” Yoshiki breathes a half-laugh, trying and failing to steady his racing heart. “That’s a… weird thing to say, Hikaru,” he manages.
Hikaru grumbles something that Yoshiki doesn’t hear.
“Huh?”
“I said, we do plenty of weird stuff,” Hikaru repeats, taking a piece of dark chocolate and pinching it between his fingers. “I like doin’ weird stuff. Especially with you, Yoshiki.” He holds the candy, using the warmth of his hand to let it melt a little. Then, taking his index finger, he smears a line down his own cheek.
“What’re you—”
“It’s cuz you were confused! You should try it too, it’s fun. C’mon!” He leans in, much too close (always too close). “Lick my face!”
Taken aback by the sincerity of Hikaru’s request, Yoshiki snorts, then stammers. “I, uh… that’s okay, Hikaru. I’m not exactly dyin’ to know…” He’s been lying for so long, he barely registers how blatantly false that statement is.
Hikaru catches Yoshiki’s hand as he goes to scratch the back of his neck— an anxious habit— and holds it earnestly. “You’ve taught me so many things, Yoshiki. Let me show you something.”
“Hikaru… You don’t know what yer askin’—,” Yoshiki begins apprehensively.
“It’s even dark chocolate! Yer favorite!” Hikaru snickers. “Except, well, it’s on my face,” Hikaru’s finger points to his own jaw (as if Yoshiki could possibly be staring at anything else right now).
This can’t be happening.
“Don’t ya wanna know how it tastes?” urges Hikaru, his eyes sparkling like rubies.
No… The thought chosen by his painstakingly guarded mind clashes with a subtle nod of his head. Yes.
“O-okay,” Yoshiki stutters. “Just gotta psych myself up for this. It’s… pretty weird.” He takes a few breaths, knowing that no amount of oxygen could actually prepare him for this. He holds the base of Hikaru’s skull in his palm, tilting the shorter boy’s head upward.
It’s just a silly thing Hikaru’s askin’ me to do. Just gonna eat some chocolate, off his… face…
Yoshiki watches himself leaning in, one eye closed and tongue darting out. He starts right below Hikaru’s cheek, drawing a wet line up his face as he laps up cooled, bitter chocolate. Half of him is screaming to stop… the other half is just screaming. It tastes sweeter than from the package, and he longs for more. Daring to pretend he missed a spot, he licks again, this time slower. No chocolate, only the salty taste of skin.
“How was that?” Hikaru breathes when Yoshiki sits back. His question is low, almost coy. Has he ever spoken that softly before?
Yoshiki swallows thickly, unable to answer; his brain is swimming with thoughts and emotions, tongue much too heavy to cooperate.
“Taste good?”
He clears his throat at Hikaru’s humiliating question. His nod is barely there; Hikaru’s smirk is immodest and plotting.
Another piece of chocolate falls victim to those tempting hands—the chocolate is melting, Yoshiki is melting—and, using his thumb, Hikaru spreads some onto his bottom lip, now pouting. “Oops, Yoshiki… I’ve made a mess again.”
Holy shit. They’ve been eating nothing but candies for the past hour, yet Yoshiki’s mouth waters at the thought of tasting more. Is he really asking me to do this? The teasing lilt of Hikaru’s voice draws him in like a magnet, closer, closer, until…
No. The right answer is to walk away. Walk away, demand he wash his face, kick him out, something. Boys don’t do this—
But Hikaru does. Hikaru makes a mess of things, a mess of Yoshiki. He always gets away with it. He can get away with painting Yoshiki’s lips dark, too. He leans in. Hikaru’s breath is hot; Yoshiki’s barely breathing.
The tongue on Yoshiki’s lips is testing. He tentatively licks some of the candy off, flinching and pulling back as soon as he hears a gasp.
“Yoshikiii—” Hikaru pleads, a perfect, dizzying sound. His hands reach for Yoshiki, cradling his jaw and crashing their mouths back together.
No more thinking.
Hikaru’s lips are more appetizing than any chocolate, so soft, so welcoming. He kisses him deeply and hungrily, taking the bottom lip between his teeth; Hikaru’s left his mouth open for Yoshiki to slip inside. Hands smaller than his own card through his hair and scratch his scalp, and his heart pounds as exhilaration and fear mix into one.
A wave of revulsion crashes over Yoshiki as he feels his pants tighten. It’s absolutely mortifying that this is happening with another person around. He feels the sudden urge to push Hikaru away, to leave and never return. (Which is ridiculous; they’re in his house. Alone. Together.)
But when Hikaru presses Yoshiki down onto the mattress and climbs on top of him, he feels something hard brush against his thigh.
Oh.
If Hikaru wants this, too, is it really so bad?
It all feels so good. The slightly sugary flavors still faintly present on Hikaru’s tongue. A pressing, grounding weight of the warm, eager body above him, the only thing tethering Yoshiki to this plane. Those deliciously gratifying, humming noises that Hikaru spills into his mouth…
If it feels this good, then how could it possibly be wrong?
Can’t I just have this, please, I’m not hurting nobody, so—
You’re disgusting, the ugly voice inside of him blares. You’re kissing your best friend’s corpse—and enjoying it so much—clearly, you’re a pervert. A monster.
No, I’m not… I like this, he likes this—
It’s a good thing Hikaru’s dead. Thank the gods he’s not around to see you defile his body like this.
Stop it… please…
It’s fortunate that this thing took his place… nobody else would be with someone who’d so easily desecrate their friend’s memory like this—
“Yoshiki…? You ok?”
Yoshiki snaps out of the spiral long enough to realize the kissing has stopped. Even with the fucked up thoughts swirling in his head, he still longs for more contact. What a freak.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Ya wanna stop?” Hikaru hovers above, holding him delicately by the jaw, and for the first time, Yoshiki notices the tears, leaking from the corners of his eyes, down to his ears. When was I…? Hikaru wipes away the wetness and gazes down at him so tenderly, with such concern and kindness, it seizes Yoshiki’s aching heart.
“Don’t stop,” he pleads quietly.
Once again, Hikaru’s lips are pressing against Yoshiki’s, and, perhaps accidentally, one of Hikaru’s thighs slips between his legs. Yoshiki chokes out an embarrassing sound, something between a moan and a sob, and loses himself to sensation.
Please, let me just have this. Just this once. Please, let it be okay, he begs silently.
Fingers tug the hair at his nape, Hikaru’s weight pins his hips down, and he’s burning. A bathtub nearing its fill, threatening to overflow and flood. Yoshiki agonizes over whether to fall in and drown. Thoughts continue to race (I’ve already been too greedy, this is more than I deserve, it’s better than I ever dared to imagine) but he needs to slow down, or—
“Hey, Yoshiki?” Hikaru asks, breathlessly.
“Nn?” The soft, gentle lips have left. It’s disorienting, jarring, and he blinks back into the reality of his room. His bedroom, where he’s had almost a year of sleeplessness, each night plagued by grief-stricken nightmares…
His bed, where Hikaru floats above him, smiling crookedly. Hikaru.
“I’m havin’ a lotta fun right now. Are you havin’ fun?”
Yoshiki’s ears flush at such an open, honest question. “Y…yeah, course,” he forces out through tingling lips. He envies that Hikaru has never been ashamed about enjoying things. Never been terrified of his own pleasure. Yoshiki feels much more like the cursed one.
“Hey, ah… do ya wanna try mixin?”
The strangled sound that leaps from Yoshiki is not dignified. (but who can blame him?) He clears his throat and pulls away. “I’m… gonna need a minute.”
“Okay.” Upbeat and unbothered as always. Yoshiki lets out a quiet laugh, and Hikaru continues, slightly more hesitantly, “That was… it was really okay?”
Okay? How does he even answer that? ‘Okay’ doesn’t even begin to describe the rush of euphoria, the way Yoshiki can still feel the pressure of Hikaru’s lips. He doesn’t know how to put words to it, but damn it, he’s going to try. “Hikaru, it was… it was more than—”
Wait. When Yoshiki runs his fingers through his mussed-up hair, they catch on something… sticky. He discovers globs of chocolate tangled in his hair, on his neck, on his sheets.
Hikaru’s eyes follow his. “Uh oh… Looks like we made a mess, huh?”
“We, Hikaru?” Yoshiki is startled by the coldness in his voice. (He just really doesn’t like being dirty.)
Hikaru ponders the rhetorical question, and Yoshiki sees dried chocolate on the finger Hikaru brings to his chin. There’s brown caked under his nails, he notices, trying not to gag.
“I needa shower,” Yoshiki moves decisively, getting up. He’s blocked by Hikaru, who rises just as quickly.
Glittering pupils meet his. “Can I come with ya?”
Yoshiki’s eyes go wide, and for probably the third time today he’s short-circuiting at Hikaru’s words. “I, uh… I don’t think we… should…?” he gasps. Where did all the air go? It was there just a moment ago.
“Oh, haha! No, I didn’ mean…” Hikaru giggles wickedly. “I’ll stay outside. Can I talk to ya while ya shower, though?”
And so that’s how they’re in this situation—Yoshiki taking his first shower ever with someone on the other side of the door. It’s weird, but not unpleasant. Lotsa firsts today, he thinks, the corners of his mouth curling upward. Hikaru chatters like a bird at dawn, about all things mundane and mortifying.
“Oooh, that’s a lotta steam. Is it hot in there, Yoshiki? How’s it feel?”
“Hmm… it’s warm, it’s nice.” It’s true. The water is nearly hot enough to boil him alive, perfect for melting sugar off of his body. Also optimal for dissolving all the toxic sludge, the intrusive thoughts that plague his perpetually tense body. When it’s just the heat of the shower to feel, there’s no room for his mind to wander into dangerous territory.
“Does water get in yer ears?”
“… what?”
“Ya ever swallow the water on accident?”
“Hikaru, please…”
A brief pause. A slight respite from the onslaught of silly questions. (Questions that make Yoshiki wonder whether Hikaru actually showers regularly. He shoves the thought far, far away.)
“So… I think maybe I like dark chocolate now?” Hikaru admits quietly. Yoshiki can deduce his position from the way his voice reverberates against the corner of the door separating them.
Yoshiki can only laugh in response, a chopped, dry sound that rattles his hammering chest. He eventually manages an “Oh yeah?”, hoping to encourage Hikaru to explain as he douses his hair in too much shampoo.
An enthusiastic “Mhm!” greets Yoshiki’s question. In the haze of steam and feelings, Yoshiki wonders absently if it’d actually be so weird to have him in here. He entertains the thought briefly with a soft hum, scrubbing his nails roughly into his scalp. “Isn’t that weird?”
“H-huh?” Hikaru’s monster doesn’t have mind reading powers… right?
“It’s so awesome bein’ a human!” Hikaru continues brightly. “Likin’ things, bein’ grossed out by things… It’s all fun to me. Why is it, tho, that gross things can sometimes be less gross, or even really good, when yer havin’ lotsa fun? That’s super interestin’ to me.”
Oh. Right. He’s talking about the chocolate.
Yoshiki ponders for a moment before answering. “You were only grossed out by the dark chocolate cuz yer mouth was full of caramel right before. The change in taste was overwhelmin’ to yer system, probably,” he explains, scouring his skin until he’s properly clean.
“Okay… But then why did it taste so good after?”
“Uh…” His face burns hotter than the water at the first thought that comes to his mind; he can’t just blurt out it’s cuz you were turned on, that’d probably detach his soul right from his body.
“Is it cuz this body got turned on from all that kissin’?”
What the hell, Hikaru. “Um… M-maybe?” His heart feels like it’s beating his chest hollow. Fielding Hikaru’s shameless curiosity, his blazingly bright directness, is gonna be the death of him. Time to turn the water off.
He answers thoughtfully, or attempts to, as he steps out and makes himself presentable. “I guess, sometimes, feelings can also… cancel each other out? Or complement each other. Like how happiness only feels so good, cuz you know what sadness feels like.” He explains, throwing on shorts and a t-shirt.
“Whoa… Yer so smart, Yoshiki,” Hikaru purrs, then the door swings open. Steam escapes into the rest of the house, and Hikaru lets out a startled yelp from the back of his throat.
“What’s wrong?”
“Yoshiki, yer… bright red, like, all over.”
“…Yeah. I just showered.”
“Do ya scorch yer skin every time ya shower?” he asks, eyes wide and slightly concerned.
Okay, so maybe Yoshiki scrubs a bit too hard, and turns the water to a temperature hotter than what is probably normal, in an effort to burn his skin clean. It’s sort of purifying, in a way; he doesn’t feel clean otherwise.
“Don’t worry about it,” Yoshiki murmurs, shoving past Hikaru on his way back upstairs.
All that stuff he said about opposite feelings complementing each other was so right; he’d never been touched after a shower before. His skin is on fire—feverish at first from the scalding shower, and now from Hikaru’s hands and lips on him again. Yoshiki tastes salt, hears the slightly obscene noises of mouths against skin, and he can’t get enough.
He’s drawn to Hikaru like a moth to a flame.
The two discard their shirts somewhere in the frenzy of chasing kisses and wandering hands. Yoshiki drowns in Hikaru, dizzy from the lack of breath. And he’s so warm. Like a hug, like a blanket fresh from the dryer, like passionate hands on his chest, music as Hikaru moans against him.
So this is what couples do? It’s so unfair.
The sweet sensations are almost enough to make him forget that he’s not supposed to have nice things like this, that he’s undeserving.
“Hey, Hikaru—” He pulls away, barely managing to extract himself—like a fly from honey. The other boy’s cheeks are flushed such a pretty pink. He loves looking at Hikaru, but he wants to see Hikaru. His other form.
“Hmm?”
Because now, when he thinks of ‘the real Hikaru,’ it’s not his dead best friend that comes to mind.
I wanna see you.
“Didn’ ya say ya wanted to…?” Yoshiki hopes he understands without needing to put it into words. Having Hikaru’s tongue in his mouth is just overwhelming enough for him to accept without thinking—pleasure overrides reason in that way—but asking to mix is somehow unthinkable.
“Oh, yeah,” Hikaru sits up, scoots back, catches his breath. Yoshiki’s eyes fix onto the reddened patches of skin of his neck and chest, evidence of their connection. Hikaru looks at Yoshiki with an expression bordering on shyness, which is unusual. “Ya wanna mix? You sure?”
Yoshiki nods quickly, his heartbeat erratic with anticipation. “Yeah.” Please.
“Don’t worry, I’ll try an’ be careful,” Hikaru whispers, an assurance. But in this moment, Yoshiki feels like he truly wouldn’t mind being consumed by Hikaru—if the monster elected to devour him, how could he possibly refuse? Huh… that’s… a weird thought. The physical excitement is messing with his head, crossing wires a bit.
It used to scare Yoshiki—the view of Hikaru’s skin, spreading apart and flowing into abstractness. It was downright horrifying, the first time he saw those incomprehensible, reaching tendrils of dark and light. And rightly so; they’d hurt him before. Given him injuries he wasn’t sure would ever heal.
But when he beholds Hikaru’s swirling, separating face, he’s transfixed by a cascade of unnameable shapes and colors, fascinating and sublime. Gorgeous…
“C-can I… touch you?” Hikaru asks, and the membrane reaching toward him triggers a familiar clenching in Yoshiki’s gut. He swallows and nods, warring with his human self-preservation instincts that urge him to run away, his panic response ebbing to reveal exhilaration and excitement.
Yoshiki wants this.
And if Hikaru wants it too, who am I to deny him?
But Hikaru must have seen or sensed his reaction—a reflexive flinch, a tensing of his jaw—because he recoils his true form, and in a single jarring instant, all the bright colors are gone and he’s face to face with a human Hikaru.
“Ah… ‘m sorry, Yoshiki,” he begins, grimacing. “It’s gross, right? Or… s-scary?”
Guilt and shame, Yoshiki’s constant companions; he’d recognize them in a heartbeat anywhere; especially in someone he gazes at with such reverence. It hurts to see Hikaru like this.
Yoshiki leans forward, worry furrowing his brow. “No, not at all—” Not gross. Never gross. Amazing. Beautiful. He should say the words aloud, but he doesn’t.
“But you flinched!” Tears threaten to pour from Hikaru’s eyes once more. Why is this the sight that endears Yoshiki, takes his breath away? He’s so pretty, so vulnerable. (Once again, Yoshiki’s not sure who’s the real monster here.)
“Yeah, well, you hurt me before.” The words come out colder, more matter-of-fact than Yoshiki wants them to. But the shaky sigh coming from Hikaru softens him.
We’re really not that different.
It’s an absurd thought, that a lowly hick like Yoshiki has anything in common with this powerful, ancient being—this entity, this god. But it’s mind-blowing, too, that Hikaru has such human feelings: anxiety, self-consciousness, guilt.
He closes the distance and wipes tears away, Hikaru’s cheeks nestled between his palms.
“Hey, it’s… it’s okay,” Yoshiki insists. “That’s just a thing about bein’ human; sometimes, bodies respond to things from the past, instead of what’s happenin’ right now.”
Hikaru sniffles noisily. “R-really?”
“Really. I used to be terrified of ya,” he answers, letting out a chuckle that hes not sure is appropriate for the situation. “But I don’t feel that way anymore. I trust ya. It’s just… my body doesn’ know that yet.”
Hikaru offers a small smile. “It’s kinda like me with the chocolate, huh?” he sniffles, eyes red-rimmed from rubbing.
“Exactly… Hikaru, I do wanna see you, and touch you. Um… All of you,” he adds hesitantly, new heat rising to his ears. “Just, go slow, and listen. Don’t lose control. Ok?”
“Okay… you’ll tell me to stop? If it gets too much?”
“I promise I will.”
Hikaru exhales heavily, drawing out his flowing form again, and Yoshiki feels the familiar swoop of vertigo, the swimming right behind his eyes. This being that bends light itself, its immense power thrumming, reflecting, through Yoshiki’s corneas.
The tendrils inch forward and Yoshiki breathes steadily, willing his body to relax. It’s less of a fight this time.
A rippling, almost vibrating sensation settles itself onto his neck—pressing lightly against the artery in Yoshiki’s throat, as if trying to feel his pulse. The touch is cool and soft, yet electrifying, in a way that cool and soft things usually aren’t. He can tell from Hikaru’s slow, measured breaths that he’s trying to be careful, to be good.
“…This okay?” The voice, Hikaru’s voice, is laced with a shaky human nervousness and an otherworldly echo of want, of need.
Yoshiki swallows, tension palpable as the bob of his throat brings Hikaru’s tendril infinitesimally closer.
“Yeah. I trust ya,” he answers, honestly. His voice catches him off guard, the vibration against the dark tendril sending the minuscule sensation into a feedback loop. The euphoria of Hikaru against his throat is intoxicating, and he realizes far too late that he’s been vocalizing this entire time.
Hikaru reels it in, breaking contact. Yoshiki has a moment to catch his breath, but thankfully not long enough for shame to creep in. He answers Hikaru’s questioning look with an eager nod, hopefully communicating a yes, I’m good, please, please keep going, and the message is successfully received because Yoshiki feels the ecstasy of Hikaru’s lips on his again.
It’s a breathtaking sensation, one he wishes with every part of his being to be able to revisit. Just in case this is the last time, he commits it all to memory—the shape of Hikaru’s jaw under his palm, the smooth plush of his lips, the greedy way Hikaru’s hands reach and explore—
And then he enters Yoshiki’s mouth.
His body wasn’t designed to perceive Hikaru’s fluid form. Yoshiki knows this is why it overwhelms him. But there is no amount of knowing, no way of getting used to it, that could ever prepare him.
It’s nothing like the other times, when he was immobilized by force and fear and mortal peril, until the confusing pleasure kicked in. Those other times, when he’d watched himself from above, terrified and turned on and everything in between.
It doesn’t hurt at all. He’s not scared at all.
The kiss is liquid metal, a frozen flame, licking and blazing and tickling and soothing.
Yoshiki is completely flooded by blissful waves that radiate from the tip of his tongue, crash through his entire body, and converge into a trembling pleasure in his core. His moans reach his own ears in a voice he doesn’t recognize, and he’s too damn hot to care.
The essence of Hikaru that flutters against Yoshiki’s tongue changes, becoming more tightly wound as Yoshiki deepens the kiss. Flavors cross unbidden into Yoshiki’s awareness, and he’s unsure whether it’s Hikaru’s doing or his idle mind fabricating them: the cold creaminess of papico; a robust, bitter dark chocolate; a warm, salty tang Yoshiki doesn’t recognize—
Instinct pulls him in closer, closer, closer to Hikaru, until Yoshiki has him pinned to his bed. He climbs out of his trance to see a grinning, flushed Hikaru beneath him.
“I like havin’ you on top of me,” Hikaru sighs dreamily. “An’ that kiss was so warm.” Yoshiki can only groan in response, too lost in pleasure for words right now. Hikaru had stopped the kiss, but his otherworldly form is still pulsing, surrounding him like a halo.
It’s a feast for Yoshiki’s eyes.
It’s an exercise in futility to understand the visual input of Hikaru’s ancient form. There’s a deep red that seeps, sort of like blood, except that it’s comprised of dozens of colors his eyes definitely shouldn’t be able to perceive. It’s interspersed with swirls of darkness that rival those photos of black holes Yoshiki has seen.
Beautiful.
Hikaru laughs, blushing deeper. “Awww. Yoshiki, ya really think so?”
Yoshiki blinks sluggishly, not realizing he’d voiced the thought aloud. “Yer… incredible,” he responds, trying to take in all of Hikaru at once. It’s impossible. The words aren’t enough. He glances back down and fixates on Hikaru’s lips. “Can we…?”
“Pleeease,” Hikaru whines, that inebriating sound more than enough to send Yoshiki plunging clumsily into another kiss. He’s never been on top of somebody before, and it’s awkward—he’s trying not to crush Hikaru under his lanky, heavy body.
If he wasn’t okay with this, he’d say something, right? That’s what they agreed. Plus, the way Hikaru’s hands clutch to his back, pulling him down, feels like permission enough to relax a little. So he does, sinking into the space between Hikaru’s legs, and he’s rewarded with a noise that is beyond heavenly.
Hikaru’s delicious, incomprehensible form slides between Yoshiki’s lips once more, but instead of lightly flicking tongue tips together, it nestles itself thickly, firmly, warmly, pressing and sliding against the wide part of his tongue.
It’s taking everything left in Yoshiki’s crumbling self control to keep from pressing his hips forward into Hikaru’s—he might actually die if he takes in any more sensation beyond the monster coil snaking against his tongue and exploring his mouth. Each moan from deep in his throat vibrates against the tendril, which seems to react to the sound in turn. Hikaru’s voice harmonizes with his. It’s the most delightful, depraved, amazing thing Yoshiki’s ever been a part of.
Just when Yoshiki has the impulse to pull away from the kiss, before it gets to be too much, before it escalates to something humiliating, regrettable—he feels it.
Hikaru’s grinding into him.
Fuck.
It’s too much. The irresistible taste of Hikaru’s insides. The friction of Hikaru’s hips against his. The stunning view of a breathless, moaning Hikaru in his bed. The cacophony of voices, buzzing tendrils, blood pounding in his ears and everywhere else.
So good, so good, so—
Bliss. Light. Pleasure.
His arms become boneless and he collapses onto his side, still attached to Hikaru at every point of contact that matters.
His senses become… fuzzy.
“Yoshiki? You ok?”
A faintly frantic voice rings at the edge of his consciousness.
Hikaru? Whassamatter?
Course I’m ok. Better’n ever.
But Yoshiki is too sleepy to answer.
He passes out cold, the light of Hikaru’s true form the final thing swirling behind his eyelids: a lovely, boundless rainbow, each separate color its own rainbow, fractalling outward and beyond the confines of time and space.