Disclaimer: Watase Yu owns.

About: Mindless fluff. They're in the palace. Assume that the Emperor snuck out late at night and slept in my favorite seishi's room, sharing the bed. Oye. Shounen-ai. If you don't swing that way, it's no longer my concern.


Gonna Make You Love Me

The duvet is white; the oak is a deep brown. It looks sturdy and sexy, like it grew naturally from your floor and you could spend days lost amongst the pillows, duvet; burrowing your head and the sun slanting to warm the planes of your face and shoulder.

It's your favorite place in the world, it always has been.

And that's before you ever open your eyes and see his hazel ones across the pillow, smiling sleepily at you.

You still can't believe it. You want to pinch yourself and blink ('last night, did he really..?') , but you simply grin and close your eyes, sliding closer and burying your face in his neck, his hand settling at the small of your back. You hear his contented little sigh and answer with your own.

You don't know how much times passes, drifting lazily against each other, and just not giving a care, before you speak.

'I love my bed,' you say and can feel more than hear his answering laugh. You grin against his collarbone, mouth open and the rest of your body stretching against his as he rolls half on top of you. 'I really like you in my bed.'

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, agreeing and ducking his head, clamping down on your bottom lip. It feels swollen, red when he finally pulls away, ghosting his nose down your cheek, under your chin. He stops his lips on the pulse beating in your throat and says, 'I like it too.'

You smile and pull him closer, maneuvering back on top of him, closing your eyes. Your right leg settles between his and you reach up blindly to touch his face. Eyebrows and eyelashes, his temple and jaw, lips and the indention above it, his long brown hair fanned out on the pillow, your long violet hair curtaining the two of you from the world. You'll never get enough of touching and his hands wandering down your sides tell you the same is true for him.

You're sure that someday, years from now, each morning won't seem so miraculous, but for right now, you have to clamp down on the scream, cry that the thought of those years, real and true and happening, have on you. You're sure that some day you won't want to drink him in with every moment, every pore, but you can't help yourself right now.

Eventually, his hands slow on your skin, settling firmly around you and your hand falls to his neck. You press your thumb against the pulse thudding steadily there, right under the place where the mark, so alike the one on your chest, is, your heart beating counterpoint to his.

In this world, just for tonight—today, there are no seishi responsibilities, no court to attend to, no empire to run, and no dress to be worn to pretend. In this world, on your bed, there's only the two of you, brown silk, purple silk, cream colored skins, and two characters blazing… One over a heart, one over that pulse on the neck—both lies right above the beating, the proof that you two are still alive.

You fall back asleep, feeling your pulses hum, lulling you.

N/H - the touch beneath the sheets