pslplz | Futureverse

It’s like he’s been watching everything in slow motion and under water. The bustle and sound of the city around him is muffled, sluggish. All he can see is him. When he finally says something, the world suddenly comes back into focus.

He blinks.

Akaya stares at him for a moment, fixed on that expression that says so much and nothing at the same time. And even now, the questions don’t form in his head, much less his lips. They’ll come later.

He gets in without a word.

Akaya complies without making a scene, which is for the best (or the worst? It's what he wants from him, at any rate). Yukimura climbs in after him and pushes the button to close the automated door.

Instead of sitting down, he leans back against the side of the car with his arms folded. "Home," he instructs. The cab obediently glides into motion and merges into traffic.

The door opened, and he walked through it. He’s not really sure why. Maybe it’s because Yukimura told him to. Or maybe he’ll tell himself later it was to satisfy his curiosity. In truth, he should know that it’s reflex. Like an addiction, obsession. He has no choice but to follow it. Around Yukimura, it’s a familiar sensation. Sometimes, he forgets it’s a thing. And then he’s confronted by moments like this, and his body moves before he has a chance to think.

He stands on the other side of the car, which feels strangely too big and too small at once. If he finds it suffocating, it’s probably because he’s forgetting to breathe.

And whatever it is on Yukimura’s mind, he doesn’t seem especially willing to announce. Before, Akaya might've been tempted to ask. But why should he be the one to break the tension? Feelings begin to creep back from underneath the initial shock, and what do you know, he’s caught up in another familiar sensation - stubbornness. He stares back at him, daring him to speak.

Edited 2020-11-17 02:56 (UTC)

The tension in the air is palpable, the silence deafening. Yukimura lifts his gaze and meets that stare with a poker face. Does Akaya think he'll be the one to talk first? It would be perfectly reasonable to expect that, if only there were anything he could say that didn't expose this raw hurt and anger that would leave him so vulnerable he'd sooner walk home naked. He has everything to say and nothing to voice.

He won't speak. But he will eventually take his weight off the side of the cabin and step across it to Akaya and reach for his face to cup it. He brushes his thumb across Akaya's mouth. In his mind, it's wiping away whatever traces of that boy might have lingered there.

It doesn't belong.

The silence is heavy and long. The cityscape flies by outside the window like a dream, as if all this movement is happening to someone else. Inside, it feels like time stands still.

When Yukimura moves toward him, Akaya stiffens, keeping his eyes locked on his all the while. Yukimura’s hand reaches for him, brushing his face, his lips. He hasn’t felt his touch in a long while, but he can never forget what it was like. Even something as simple as this feels like a jolt beneath his skin. Akaya furrows his brow as he feels his lip tremor just a little. His body, it seems, reacts of its own volition.

His hand reaches out and grabs the hem of Yukimura’s shirt by his hip. He doesn’t know if he means to shove him away to pull him closer.

In the end, they don't speak because they don't need to. Touch speaks for itself. Akaya's hand closes around the fabric at his hip. Yukimura takes the back of Akaya's neck in his other hand and presses on his chin with his thumb to lower Akaya's jaw for the possessive, demanding kiss he pulls him into.

He takes another step in, pressing Akaya's warm body against the wall of the cabin until their hips are flush.

The questions, he knows, will come later...packed with plenty of accusations and hurt. Enough to fill a million silences and cut through all that deceptive calm on Yukimura’s face. Because Akaya isn’t fooled. He can feel it in his kiss. There’s unspoken desire, it runs deep and chaotic, just like Akaya’s own.

And later too, must come regret, and frustration, confusion. A long hard look at himself and what he really wants.

But all that is not now. Now is about what he needs, and he realizes this, the moment his back hits the wall and his fist tightens its grip. He growls under his breath as he opens up to him, kissing him back heatedly. He presses up against him, his other hand sliding around to Yukimura’s back to pull him close.

Indeed, this is all going to hurt very badly later, but Akaya doesn't seem to mind it any more than he does. Yukimura doesn't think he could pull away if he wanted to. Seeing Akaya with anyone that wasn't him was still so painful and wrong he couldn't stand it. He needs this now, as much psychologically as physically. That reciprocated urgency that says deep down, Akaya hasn't moved on either.

It's a terrible thing to need, and there's just enough of a sting over that need's existence that he can't block it out. Deep down, he loves Akaya, and in some form or another, he probably always will. That he wishes some form of suffering on him in spite of that love is a bitter piece of self-awareness to carry.

His kiss is hard. His tongue moves deep into Akaya's mouth while his hands hold fast to him, locking their mouths together. He leans into the pull towards Akaya's body and pushes his hips against him until it hurts. Everything hurts, for that matter, and the fact that they aren't already behind his apartment door is the most wretched thing in the world.

So wretched, in fact, he's not sure he still cares.

Break up, move on, and be stronger for it. That’s probably what a lot of people might say about a relationship like theirs, more bitter than sweet sometimes, and volatile. But closure is fake. At least, it’s not as clean as they make it out to be. As if there’s a stark line between ‘okay’ and ‘not okay’ that you can cross over one day and be forever happy. Akaya can tell you that it’s a lot messier than that.

There is no line. Maybe there’s such a thing as distance, and he drifts away enough to think he’s fine, until something like this snaps him back so hard it gives him whiplash. He is not okay.

But neither is he, which he finds painful and daunting. And weirdly gratifying, which is fucked up but he doesn’t care.

Akaya’s kiss is sharp, aggressive to match the hard thrust of hip to hip. His fingers pull at the hem of Yukimura’s shirt, yanking it loose from his jeans so he can reach underneath to touch him. His palm slides across his waist, hot and possessive. He once knew every inch of this body, and he means to claim it back.

Yukimura lets out a small noise of approval into the kiss as Akaya's hands come into contact with his abdomen, still just as toned as from his tennis days because you couldn't afford not to be in an industry that sold sex appeal hand-in-hand with music. His palm drops from Akaya's jaw and clutches around his ass as if there were some chance he might move away. As if there were any place for him to go.

By all accounts, he should be pissed off shouldn’t he? Yukimura’s hands on his body, like they belong there. After all that bullshit about not being right for each other or whatever it was he’d said. If Akaya were feeling rational at all, he’d punch him in the face instead of sucking it. But then again, ‘rational’ was never really a trait he was good at around him. It’s just the way it is. He drives Akaya crazy.

Besides, it’s all the same. The hand that slides across Yukimura’s skin is just as possessive, because if he can map every curve and dip of his body by touch, why shouldn’t it belong to him?

His other hand moves up to grab a fistful of Yukimura’s hair, possibly yanking some strands of it out as he pulls to expose the slender neck. He traces the curve of Yukimura’s jaw with his mouth, down his throat, edged with sharp hunger.

Edited 2020-11-18 16:41 (UTC)

Their lips part too soon, as if any span of time would be long enough. Akaya seems as eager as he is for them to get in each other's pants. It's a discovery that calms the turbulent waves of jealousy and anger that have been stewing inside him ever since Hokuto mentioned Akaya was seeing someone. Whoever he was, Yukimura was clearly correct in his assessment before: it wasn't serious.

He ignores the pain in his scalp, focused instead on the graze of lips and teeth over his throat. That Akaya was going to bite, wasn't he? Yukimura feels a small thrill in the anticipation of it. He senses Akaya's possessiveness, a mirror image of his own looking back at him, asserting itself in the touch of Akaya's hand, the sharpness of his parted kiss. Leaving a mark would be right in keeping with that energy. With Akaya in general, really.

He tips his head ever so slightly, exposing his neck for him. Go ahead, then, if it's what you want. And expect the favor to be returned twice over.

Even if Akaya knows that he’s playing right into Yukimura’s design (and he probably does), it doesn’t matter. He’d still sink his teeth in, because this isn’t about proving anything. Whether he’s over him or not; whether he’s serious about Omi or not. What he feels about Omi, it still exists, unchanged. And despite what Yukimura might think, it is pure, unadulterated. It’s his feelings about Yukimura that have never really been easy to define. It’s not a label he can slap on and point to, because it’s taken root so deep inside that it’s impossible to know where to look. Nowhere, everywhere.

So he puts his mark where he can see, a blemish on his perfect skin.

Yukimura hisses in a breath when he feels Akaya's teeth dig into his neck, erotic pain that sends a shiver up his spine. Despite that pain, it causes the corner of his mouth to turn up in the barest hint of a smile. Fingers travel from Akaya's neck into thick curls of hair, this familiar mop of unruliness, to cradle Akaya's head against him with a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to the aggressive kissing and groping, the hard press of his body that traps him against the wall.

"You seem quite energetic. Akaya."

His teeth graze over his skin, a taste that’s all too familiar to Akaya, despite all the months he’s spent apart from him. He’s not sure if energetic is the word for what he’s feeling now as he pulls back just enough to narrow his eyes at that barely there smile.

What is he feeling right now? Hot. What else? Does Yukimura want to put a name to it? That’s probably not that wise.

“What are you trying to say?”

What is he trying to say? Does this have to be complicated? Yukimura sets his forehead against Akaya's.

" 'Hi.' "

Hi. Hi?? What the fuck.

Out of the blue, Yukimura pulls him off the street with the full expectation that Akaya would comply. He pushes back into his life, his space, making Akaya completely hot and bothered, and that’s his answer?

Akaya’s feelings are a mess right now. He’s not in the mood for tender hellos. But neither is he in the right mindset to start asking questions either, so he just stares back at him with mixed emotion, biting his lip.

Yukimura thinks that's probably about the best reaction he could hope for, all considered. He wanted to say something before it went so long that saying anything at all would be impossible, and because as tempting as it might be to take Akaya right there on the floor of the cab, in the end he really does still care that they aren't behind his apartment door yet.

In the end, he's going to have to bide his time a little before he properly reclaims what's his.

Either way, the words seem to have thrown Akaya off-balance. Yukimura shifts his angle and covers his mouth with another kiss that's no less insistent but that's turned the temperature down from the first. Something a little softer, a little slower. A little more romantic.

If he expected Yukimura to say something to ease his confusion, he probably should’ve known better. Akaya’s hands slide off of him to his sides as Yukimura kisses him again. His brow knits into a troubled frown, because it feels like he’s being pulled into some kind of game that he doesn’t know the rules to. But submitting his kiss bruised lips to him seems like the only thing he can do. Resisting would take conviction and clarity, and he has neither of those right now.

It's submission and surrender that meets him this time. It's not like Akaya when he's got his wits about him. That's by design. Akaya was coming too close to self-assertion, and Yukimura needs to feel in control right now-- over the reality he faces and over Akaya himself. Never mind that all Akaya was doing was answering Yukimura's own call of passion.

He explores this mouth he's visited so many times before, mingling their tongues with a calm control. His hands glide down and come to rest at Akaya's hips; Yukimura slides his forefingers through the belt loops of his pants, and his thumbs just brush against the skin under Akaya's shirt at the waist.

It's fine like this. Akaya doesn't need to do anything back. Just so long as he doesn't fight.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, controlled. There’s something about it that’s so characteristic, and it’s irritating. Why should Yukimura be so calm and composed when Akaya is so messed up on the inside? But somewhere in his heart he must know that it’s not really this way for Yukimura either. So he closes his eyes and sucks his breath back as he feels the subtle touch against his skin. He can have the control he wants so much. Maybe he needs it, more than Akaya does.

For the remainder of the ride, it's like this. Yukimura kisses him long and slow and deep. He holds him, filled with bittersweet nostalgia over this body he knows so intimately well even two years later. His hands eventually leave Akaya's hips and instead find those hands hanging loose by Akaya's sides to intertwine their fingers.

This should have been what made him feel better-- and it does, on the surface. Yet deep underneath, he knows something is wrong. For Akaya to just be standing there, not putting forth that spirit that is so unconquerable and uniquely his, something is deeply wrong, and Yukimura knows what it is. And underneath that calm, content exterior, it's fermenting into a well of frustration and grief and inescapable dread that he doesn't know what to do with. He clings to those fingers as though it might somehow keep Akaya from slipping away from him.

What's his name?

It's a question burning at the front of his mind and the tip of his tongue. It's a question he won't allow himself to ask. Not when it would give the whole game away.

Desire, he understands. Even if all those months ago, Yukimura ended things with him, it doesn’t change the obvious chemistry that still exists between them. Akaya also understands obsession, this dark and chaotic instinct that drive him to do irrational things (like get in the cab). But tenderness he finds confusing, because it radiates something more profound, a longing, a warmth. Love. So when Yukimura reaches for him and twines their fingers together, his breath hitches for a moment.

He can almost taste the bitter sadness in Yukimura’s kiss. Why should he feel this way? Isn’t this what Yukimura wanted? Akaya loved him more than anything, but it wasn’t enough for him. It pisses him off.

His fingers curl tightly around Yukimura’s as his breath falls hotly on his cheek.

It's too dangerous. Yukimura feels those fingers clinging right back like a whisper of hope that maybe it's not too late. Is that really a door he should try to open? He's well aware already that wanting Akaya to be indefinitely his like this-- without the commitment of being Akaya's back-- is utter chickenshit. What is he supposed to do, though? They don't work.

Why can't he let Akaya go, then? What is it you really want, Seiichi? In times like this, he envies Akaya for how sharply and directly he can ascertain what he wants and go after it, neither flinching nor looking back over his shoulder at what he left behind.

The cab comes to a stop and slides open its door to the building that Yukimura's penthouse crowns. It's a moment that comes too soon and not soon enough. Yukimura draws back from Akaya and steps halfway out before he hesitates, keeping himself in the doorway and blocking Akaya's exit. The cameras. He was so caught up in Akaya and his own thoughts he almost forgot about the throng of paparazzi that tend to camp out around here hoping for a glimpse of anything remotely suspect that can be photographed, picked apart, and marketed for rumor.

He thinks again of the kiss he saw, and he sees a chance. If the papers caught wind of this--

Yukimura banishes that dark thought immediately and turns back around to face Akaya. He sheds his windbreaker and holds it out for him to take.

"Cover yourself completely. I'll guide you in."

Edited 2020-11-22 12:44 (UTC)

The cab doors open. For a while, it felt like the ride would go on forever. When Yukimura first told him to get in, he complied without a thought. This time, as he looks at him holding out the windbreaker for him to take, he feels more in control. How many times before did they dodge the photogs, pulling on random disguises and giggling at each other’s appearance? Or get a stupid thrill out of getting away from them and stealing kisses ducked behind an empty alley?

There’s something more deliberate about his movements this time, as he reaches for the windbreaker and pulls it around himself. He gives him a conspiratorial grin.

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