Disclaimer: Nabari belongs to its creator.
I'll Never Tell
Miharu gasped, pushing lightly down on Yoite's insistent hands as they moved under his shirt.
"Uhh. . . . Yoite. . " Began the boy haltingly, hating that he had to remind the elder. "Remember our conversation? I thought we worked out a schedule, tonight isn't right. . . "
"Oh, I remember, Miharu." Purred Yoite, using extra words to smooth the scratches in his dead man's voice. "I just didn't think you'd mind. Do you want me to stop?" He finished, biting his greying lip.
Yes, Miharu wanted him to stop. He loathed the way those once kind eyes had turned so hungry, squirmed when they pushed their way across skin too young for such a filthy flush. Detested the feeling of those necrotic hands when they pushed through muscles resistant in more ways than one.
But the worst were the words. Yoite never said as much as he did when they were touching. Never felt any need to whisper nine thirty words straight into the younger's ears in the daylit hours. Never asked for things Miharu didn't want to give. Those words were for 'their time'.
The boy shook his head as those hands squeezed the cold-hardened nipple on the left side of his chest.
"C'mon, Miharu, moan for me. You know I won't be here much longer . . . "
Right there. The hook that kept the boy right there in his lax lap. Giving him that look that almost his killer's heart.
AN: I have no clue where this came from. I actually like Yoiharu as a platonic pairing, which is exactly how I usually write them. Additionally, the song that inspired this is Prozac levels of happy.