Disclaimer: I own very little.
A/N: Written for the prompt, "AtoKaba, 'I must be the last of my kind / 'cause you treasure me despite all the signs / the love has disappeared and / Darling you shouldn't even try.'"
Lightness
There are fingers sliding over your back, teasing the skin lightly so lightly, drawing obscure, invisible patterns all over you like the wind shaping clouds into delicate shapes that are shattered the next moment. Light fingers, perfectly styled nails, never one thing out of order, not in this man, never ever ever, and he whispers something in your ear and you don't hear and don't know if you want to.
His hands are always so light, never using more strength than needed, as though he feared breaking you even though he knows it's not possible, not you, not by him. His hands are light and so are his kisses, even as his tongue slides into your mouth, tasting and exploring and touching every line even though he knows it all by heart already, he must know by now. You wonder if he'd be thrown away if you just blew lightly, his lips are so light on yours, afraid of touching, of tasting, afraid of being attached and dragged down. You never try, though, and his tongue is light against yours, his fingers sliding further down over your side and you don't protest, you never do.
Clothing is shed, the pieces falling on the ground like leaves in autumn, discarded for the moment as their function is voided by the touches and kisses and radiating heat. His hands are light and so are his kisses but his eyes are heavy, his gaze sinking into you, tracing the outline of your form as though trying to carve it into stone to stay for centuries. Blue or grey, colourless in the dim light, and the eyes are heavy and almost aflame but then ice cannot burn and neither can his eyes and all they can do is make you sink against the mattress in a way his touches could never accomplish.
His mouth is light even as he tastes you, tease tease draws another moan from you, and he knows exactly how to touch you and kiss you and what to whisper into your ear, plays you like an instrument and you're perfectly tuned and he's a master of years, decades of experience, and he knows every inch of you just like you know him. You've been together long, so long, perhaps too long, and even this is like a well rehearsed play and though the pleasure is real you fear the feelings are but an echo of the past, another part of the script that you just cannot forgo because then it all might come crashing down and that's something neither of you can afford.
He's inside you but you're barely touching, or so it feels at least, and his touches just aren't enough and neither are his kisses but his gaze is still heavy on you, heavy and burning. It's your name on his lips, whispered as though a desperate prayer, and his name on yours, but it's still just on the script and you wonder what'd happen if it weren't so, if there was no name, if it was another, would everything collapse or would you just break quietly, privately, out of sight, away from the heavy, heavy gaze.
Afterwards you lie together, and even now he is so light, his body over yours, and you try to remember whether it always was like this, whether he always was this light. Was it truly like this the first time, too, or was he heavier back then, more solid, did it feel like there was more in it, did you feel the heart beat in his chest, in yours? But his touch is light, as though the ghost of true contact, and then he rolls away from you, fingers brushing against yours, barely there.
"You deserve better than me, Munehiro," he says, and you know he means every word, it's his way of saying please leave me please before I end up leaving you, but you know you can't and he knows you can't and you both fall silent once again.
His eyes are closed, no more heavy gazes tonight, no light touches even, and for a moment you think of reaching out to touch him, just to remind yourself he is truly there, you aren't alone in the bed, but he turns his back to you and you wonder when it got so cold.
You wake up in the morning and he's there, he's always there isn't he, but once he was next to you and held you in his arms and now he's a full arm's length away, as though afraid he might touch you in his sleep, and you know that some day you'll wake up alone and you aren't even sure whether you'll be happy or sad when it happens.
The sheets are light over you, as though they aren't there at all, and maybe his touch was the same and you just imagined it all.