For Bungou Stray Dogs Rarepair Week 2017.
Day 5: Late night talks
"Once I believed love poems were foolish, yet now I do nothing but dream about love." - Nakahara Chuuya, Exhaustion
disaster
.
She arrives with night tangled in her hair and the moon in her eyes.
She carries a storm within, rain held inside a mouth that finds no words, only a taste of desperation that mixes with his own as they collide and drown in a shared eagerness. Arms that bring him close in breathless gasps, terrified of both touching him and forgetting what his skin feels like.
She came looking for him.
.
His turbulent sea takes her in.
It is fire what shines behind a gaze supposed to be cold, hunger driving impatient hands as the earth opens to swallow her whole in his embrace. Grunts accompany thirsty kisses along a white throat where a hastened breathing shakes with a quick heartbeat, mirroring his reactions to her mere presence.
He was waiting for her.
A kiss was the only greeting needed between them.
Yosano had meant to say something first, to ask about his day just to revel on the familiarity of a small talk that carefully revealed a bit less nothing each time the scene repeated itself. To tell him about her own experience, because keeping their guard up had become too hard to keep trying weeks ago but their sleep would be more peaceful if they at least pretended to care about the walls between them.
If they feigned concern over the distance that collapsed every night under the weight of countless kisses, the mist raised above the rubble just enough to keep drowning them in the illusion of a non-existent comfort.
The blue in his eyes was taken aback by such bold advances –always surprised that she kept disregarding warnings and common sense to come back to him–, but he was far ahead of the blush inevitably creeping up his neck, under the crumpled collar of a white shirt; he stood his ground, kept her bound to him as her lids drooped closed, hands slipping beneath the hem, avid for his skin.
A smirk twisted her lips at the muscles tensing under her touch; it was short-lived, though, for the black fabric isolating her fingertips kept them too far apart. The teeth scrapping along her jawline, pressing just below her earlobe, spoke of a similar frustration as he lifted her skirt and found the cold smoothness of her stockings.
She kicked her shoes off, only six centimetres over him now, gave a short grunt at the nails grazing up her thighs.
A giggle bubbled up Chuuya's throat, lips distracted where they had meant to kiss the side of her neck. It echoed through the small flat, prompted her to laugh along, stomach tightening as the weight pinning her down disappeared, stumbling against Chuuya's legs as they danced their way to the bedroom.
"Missed you," Yosano breathed out as she pushed Chuuya down on the mattress and was dragged with him, biting into the tip of her middle finger to remove her glove.
Chuuya took care of the other one, tumultuous blue looking up at her as she straddled his thighs, barely brushing the bulge between his legs. "It's only been three days."
But he had been keeping count.
"Maybe I should worry," she muttered, reaching for the first button of his shirt.
Chuuya hummed, pulled at her hand to bring her down for a new kiss.
"Maybe you should."
It was an addictive symphony, Yosano mused when her hands were finally able to wander across Chuuya's naked torso freely, what his eager heartbeat and his hastened breathing and the sounds escaping his lips composed. He loosened her tie just enough for burning fingers to unbutton her shirt in messy movements.
A huff left Chuuya's lips as his arm snuck around her waist, palm flat against the small of her back. He pulled at the black lace still around her neck to bring her down, fingers crawling up the fabric until they threaded through Yosano's hair, tearing a low whine off her throat when his lips focused on her clavicle.
"I missed you too," he whispered into a patch of skin halfway between throat and shoulder, a secret sealed with a kiss. Because that was as much honesty as they could afford, because crossing the line was too terrifying to look at the consequences in the face.
Which was the reason they kept making love with the lights out, why they avoided the other's eyes to admit a poisoned truth.
Yosano gasped in surprise when Chuuya rolled with her until their positions were switched, hair that smelt of cigarettes brushing her face as her back sunk into the mattress. A helpless moan left her as Chuuya's mouth strayed off hers, down to a throat full of half-healed love bites that darkened again beneath his lips before he raised his head at the sound, a confused frown clear between red locks.
"Come back up here," Yosano ordered, voice low and raspy.
Chuuya's blue eyes glinted mischievously as he got off her, smiling.
"I'm on my way," he whispered as he reached beneath her skirt again, this time all the way up to her waist, pulling both stockings and underwear down with exquisite conscientiousness. "But you value your clothes, don't you?"
Yosano chuckled, breathless as she raised her hips to make Chuuya's task easier.
"That's one hell of a detour."
The clothes were carelessly thrown to a chair, Chuuya kneeling in front of legs that dangled from the bed and pushing black folds aside. Leaning on her elbows, Yosano held her breath as hands ran up her shins like spiders, kisses climbing up the inside of her left calf, fingers tickling the back of her knee just to tear another giggle off her as her heel dug into Chuuya's side.
"Hey," he complained, kissing the inside of her thigh, hand grabbing her ankle. "No kicking."
Yosano breathed out slowly. "How are you going to avoid it?" came her teasing reply; and for all they were, Chuuya could answer easily, maybe even make her regret having asked in the first place.
But he drew circles over her ankle bone with his thumb instead, his free hand resting on top of her knee as his lips kept tracing a path along her thigh, up, up, up until they brushed black curls; and when he blew on the wetness between her legs, only the right amount of borrowed strength kept her knees from giving into the instinct to close them.
"No squeezing my head either," he added, and she wanted to kick him again.
Because there was a familiarity of sorts as kisses and nibbles hopped up her other leg, a trust they found easier to rely on; because there had been a time –long, long ago– where all they were was reduced to mutual pleasure, to something simpler, way less dangerous than the mess that was their relationship, everything they neither could nor had the will to put an end to anymore.
Yosano inhaled sharply when Chuuya reached his destination for the second time, managed to keep her legs spread this time.
"You––"
She wanted to tell him to hurry up his stupid detour, to finish undressing them both and bring him close to her, where they could feel each other the most; but Chuuya's determination to satisfy her first, no matter his taunts, was somewhat lovely.
Yosano squirmed when his tongue finally touched her, felt Chuuya's fingers tighten around her ankle in a cautious warning. Her already agitated breathing only grew faster as he made his way between folds of skin, exhalations cool against her burning need.
"Ch––"
He only hummed, acknowledging the unfinished call but deliberately disobeying, cheeks endearingly warm against Yosano; she threw her head back when Chuuya's tongue pressed further inside, then back out and up, and she choked on a broken moan as her back hit the bed again, feeling a smile against her skin.
"Chuuya," she finally stuttered out.
When he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, Yosano wondered what she looked like to him. Shirt open to reveal pale skin and a black bra, chest rising and falling rapidly with the loosened tie still hanging between her breasts. She managed a smirk upon realising her butterfly hairpin was still on her hair, aware of Chuuya's dislike for it.
Still, if the smugness shining in those blue eyes, lighting up his cheeks, and the grin as he licked his moist lips meant something, her appearance must have been pretty messy.
"Hm?"
And Yosano could only let her smile mellow, extended an arm to reach for the hand still resting on top of her knee.
"Come here already…"
Chuuya's palm was warm against hers when their fingers intertwined; he pressed his lips to black curls one last time before finally complying and standing up, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles.
What was left of their clothes and the butterfly hairpin fell with Yosano's stockings on the chair; the woman found herself laying on her side as Chuuya reached for the drawer of the nightstand, red locks falling dishevelled over his face.
Yosano closed her eyes as he fiddled with the plastic envelope, opened them again when he brushed her dark fringe aside. There was a small, understanding (dangerous) smile on his face.
"Something happened today, right?"
She sighed.
"Right," she admitted. "Nothing serious."
Both of them knew, most times, when they had to stop prying. It was a precarious balance that leant more and more to a sincerity that bound them closer; they were outstandingly good at pretending nothing was different even though everything between them changed far too quickly for their circumstances to ever catch up.
A question danced on her lips, brief and painful.
Terrifying.
Yosano swallowed it down, hoped it died once and for all as she rolled on top of Chuuya, straddling his hips, a smile curling her mouth at his raised eyebrows as he sat up, one hand leaning on the mattress behind him, the other reaching out for Yosano's waist.
When she helped him to make his way inside her, she felt nails digging into her skin. As she swung in a cautious rhythm and he quickly caught up to her pace, she saw that known darkness battling its way against a blue gaze. As they sped up, fingers pressed hard enough to bruise, teeth biting into her shoulder as even her hair hung towards the planet held within a single person that was Nakahara Chuuya.
And she welcomed every part of it.
.
Everything looked too white when they made their way to the bathroom, too pale after being in Chuuya's dimly lit bedroom for what had felt like a small, blissful eternity.
Everything except the blood. It kept pouring from the wound on Yosano's shoulder, drawing dark rivulets that ran down to her chest, dripping on the tiled floor and betraying her path until she sat on the edge of the bathtub, all exasperated sighs as she watched Chuuya fetch gauzes and oxygenated water.
"There is no way this doesn't look ridiculous," she mumbled as Chuuya walked back to hair. "The doctor here is me."
"You'll be here until tomorrow, using only one hand," Chuuya grumbled. He bit his lower lip. "Sorry about that."
"Hm." Yosano closed her eyes at the soft tapping of gauzes against her wound. She didn't look in pain, at least. "While I didn't expect you to get this excited, I'm fairly sure I will survive."
Chuuya would have liked to close his eyes to the unnatural clarity around them, to the dissonance that Yosano's blood was for his senses. Instead he gritted his teeth, pushed through layers of guilt she didn't want. This one didn't look very deep, at least; actually, the reason Yosano had commented on it was, according to her, not wanting to stain his bed.
"I didn't mean to," he muttered.
"I know." And she sounded like she really did. "Don't worry, in the worst case I'll only have to nearly kill myself."
Chuuya's back tensed; in the pale bathroom, he felt his and Yosano's breathing suddenly too loud, echoing against the tiled walls as the night that fuelled most of his nightmares lately dodged every hindrance to lodge itself back into his heart.
She opened her eyes, glanced at him cautiously.
"No," he managed, aware that he had to say something. "You'll leave blood all over the place."
Yosano's gaze was serious as it tore off him. "That's true," she conceded, but Chuuya heard a soft sorry clinging to her voice.
And he found he didn't want her apologies either.
Silence wrapped both their bodies as they walked back to the bedroom, cold brushing naked skin as simultaneous chills brought them closer. They slid under the covers without a word, a pair of strangers except for the warmth where their hands intertwined.
Once upon a time, thinking them as strangers had lulled Chuuya into an odd feeling of comfort.
Now her smell did, the subtle scent that would cling to his sheets even after she left a reminder that she was there, beautiful and strong and just about as stupid as himself.
"Akiko?" Her name slipped between his lips, sweet and uncertain. A sleepy gaze met his, the question clear beneath her half-closed lids. "Do you ever regret this?"
Yosano's eyes opened completely, shock taking over her features at the question– and Chuuya knew she had thought about it, too, wondered why she hadn't voiced it if that were the case. Then they closed, a slow breath filling her chest as her grip on his hand tightened, as if seeking to buy some time.
Eventually, though, she could no longer delay her answer.
"No." She looked at Chuuya again, and despite the hurricane within her eyes he saw no trace of remorse. "It's the worst part, isn't it?"
Chuuya wanted to both laugh and cry.
"Yeah," he eventually agreed, eyes closing out of pure exhaustion. "Everything about us is a disaster."
Yosano didn't reply. The clarity preceding dawn painted her skin pale, purple flowers standing out against her neck, half hidden between locks of dark hair. Her fingers curled tighter as Chuuya's thumb drew circles on the back of his hand, unsure about who the gesture was meant to soothe as he inched closer and leant his forehead just centimetres away from the wound he was responsible for.
"Disasters are necessary, you know," she whispered then, somewhere above Chuuya's hair.
He huffed out a laugh, sleep already curling familiar tendrils around his mind.
Beautiful and destructive.
They were a disaster, indeed.
He watches her go, hands still tingling with greed.
He clings to her in playful hugs to delay her leaving, steals minutes to a clock that eventually betrays them both. Waves her goodbye as the morning light sobers him, a quiet reminder of how reckless all of this really is.
.
She walks away with ghosts of kisses painting constellations all over her body.
She pretends her quenched thirst is all there is to the sluggishness hindering her every move as she readies herself for another few days apart, sharp remarks all she has to mask the truths she let slip into the safety of the night.
.
She leaves, and he already misses her.
This fic's format is... strange (and FFN makes it visually weird), but I hope it's not annoying.
Anyway, what do you think about it?