Hello. This is a "what if" fiction. What if something happened to Akihiko (not that I wish him any bad luck) and Misaki would be left behind, alone? How would it change him? How would he, after the long years spent together with his lover, cope with his loss and further life, how would everybody around him cope with this? I thought it interesting to try and elaborate on that possibility a bit.
Misaki & Akihiko are my favourites in the manga, but I'm also fond of the other guys (and girls), unlucky with relationships in the original story. I've thought to give them some happiness here. I hope my baby fiction will find some fans between you despite a non-canon pairing/s; its storyline will go back and forth between present and the past eight years of Misaki's life and is told by Haruhiko who during those years tried again to win the boy over, and, despite all odds, build a working relationship between them. The prologue shows the outcome of his effort.
Warning: Not M-preg.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them.
Thanks to CheyanneChika for help with English, I apologize if there are still any mistakes, they are my own.
Prologue.
(Present)
The morning in our bedroom has started much earlier than for other folks today usually would. Every weekend at this time it is the liveliest place in our house. Now please, don't jump into any naughty conclusions, we aren't up before the sun for the reason you might like to think of. Yet, there is nothing I should complain about. It is all as I've ever wanted.
Cozy but still spacious, our favorite hideaway accommodates with ease what we like and what we need. There are books neatly ordered in the shelves, magazine collections stacked at the bottom of both bedside stands, while on the top, a few mangas are cramped with an alarm clock next to the one of the table lamps. Our yesterday clothes hang idly over the arms of the comfy chairs, and socks, they lay on the carpet, along with scattered children toys that take up a great part of the floor. The only space spared of this slight disarray is under the bed, large enough to fit us all.
Like a huge colorful roof, a picture book "How Stuff Works" hides Misaki's and little Akihiko's faces with perfectly focused countenances. Akihiko's latest morning routine, as much as he can keep it, is spying with his 'little eye' all over the various construction sites.
A four-year old has already started to read, but hardly anything is more enticing for him recently, than to challenge his papa, or himself, with some well hidden trifles between the mix of imposing construction machines and unfinished buildings.
I tilt my head in their direction, when all the sudden Akihiko shifts the book to the side, away from me, because right now Misaki is failing to find some forgotten water barrel. It reveals the silver locks and triumphant smile on my son's freckled face, appearance all due to my partner's very particular pick on a surrogate mother. Yet his eyes have an unmistakable amber shade, identical to mine.
The hardcover clamps down almost hitting Misaki's nose as he shuts me out from their game and I can only decipher his muffled warning,
"You are not helping!"
Somebody else is watching the entire scene with mild curiosity while comfortably sprawled across my chest. I try my best not to dislodge him with my movements, or bump his baby teeth against the glass bottle with milk, to which he returns his full attention after short and apparently unimportant distraction.
Sure, I'll be scolded later for letting him play with the dummy, but he is another of my little treasures, although not of my own creation. I can't deny him this short indulgence, as nothing compares to such peaceful moments that we have only occasionally throughout the week.
I play with his delicate toe and he happily lets me to do it, not as overly ticklish as his father, but, save for that, he is all Misaki. He is his small copy, toddling around the house.
And even though we've given the boy a different name, nobody calls him anything other than Little Misaki.
A tentative "Ohayo" coming from the entrance hall stops all activities in our private world. After the sounds of a few steps up the stairway, the strangely enthusiastic voice of my father continues, "Is there anybody up? I have special breakfast here in the basket!"
Akihiko freezes for a moment. He is probably trying to process in his little head the fact that the old man he usually meets during holidays and birthdays in restaurants, cafés, or in that awfully big house next door, is now in our hallway.
"Grandpa!?"
He springs from the bed to door, the book instantly forgotten; and is closely followed by his younger brother. Little Misaki, never giving up the bottle miraculously attached to his chubby fingers, has somehow maneuvered trough the blankets, pillows, and his father's legs to get down to the floor. Seeking the last reassuring look of approval from us, he trails after Akihiko.
"Slowly down the stairs!" Misaki calls after him for what feels like the millionth time.
Finally, we have our bed for ourselves. I don't mind my father, who was helping our relationship simply by ignoring us until now, to deliberately break into our house. Practically his too, since I've rebuilt the south wing of the Usami's residence into our current home.
No, I don't mind. As long as I can get a couple of solitary moments with my partner. However, the terms 'breaking in' and 'ignoring' are not entirely in order here, given the safety arrangements he has set from the day Akihiko was born, and due to which, hardly anybody was paranoid enough to check the front door twice before going to sleep. I might consider that option again.
As for my partner, taken aback as much as I, Misaki props on his elbows on the other side of suddenly enormous mattress and shoots at me one of his quizzical, almost interrogating stares.
"Don't look at me like that. You didn't believe it either when he suggested a family day out." I try to sound easy.
The two-week old idea of my father going for a weekend to his summer lodge to spend some quality time with 'his sons and grandsons' seems to me extremely surrealistic. Still, it was the first time he acknowledged Misaki as his son. Thus I'm willing to tolerate the proposal he is apparently serious about.
With a deep intake of air, my green-eyed devil would like to start one of his heated retorts or reprimands, which I deem at the moment appropriate to the situation, but…
"Ah, good grief! What…What has been your cleaning lady doing!?" The upset exclamation comes from the kitchen this time, where my old man probably squashed or tripped over something not in place. "You can borrow Yamato for the time being, until you find better one and…" The tirade of solutions is interrupted by Akihiko's chattering, in defense of our cleaner.
Misaki just throws the duvet over his head and, in one graceful fluid motion, slides down into the pillows; he is so…himself, still able to sulk like a teenage boy, while unable to become really angry.
I turn off the night lamp. The morning sun is already creeping in through the every nook and cranny in the light, summer curtains as I make my way to the greatest comfort I know. It is under his chin and over his chest where I can rest my head and hear the steady rhythm of the heart I hold so dear. I can smell that peculiar scent of his that drives my needs. At last, I hide in warm crook of his neck, shut the rest of the world down and place soft kisses into the crevice between his clavicle and shoulder. He wiggles a bit, ticklish creature, and I slide my arms, hungry for a touch, around him. Finally, my fingers crawl under his t-shit to draw patterns of our foreplay over the already heated skin.
I can't compare to the mastery of nonchalant seduction that my brother possessed. I'm nothing like him. Akihiko preferred evenings and nights while, not that I hate loving it, I love mornings. And Saturday morning is my favorite. It's a time to recharge, to pay attention to what I had not time for during the busy week.
"How is the cleaning lady?" My low whisper directly to his ear makes him shiver and snuggle more towards me; the blanket shifts protectively around us with his movements. I feel the tips of his fingers massaging my scalp gently.
"Tired… Hmm, you smell like milk and baby shampoo," he remarks fondly when his nose comes in contact with my hair, "Did you bathe with Little Misaki yesterday?"
"I tried to avoid that. Futilely. Then it was pointless, going to take shower in our bathroom when I was almost completely wet and covered in bubbles, so I just rinsed myself right there. But you like it, don't you?" I wink at him before resuming soft kisses all over his jaw or neck, and when I press myself demandingly against his thigh, a response cannot be long in coming.
"You're not serious?" The words spill out from his lips, not in a warning or rebuke, but in the simple question of amazement.
"And if I am?
I'm rewarded with a low choked chuckle vibrating from somewhere deep in his chest and title of baka, "Are you revolting against your father again?"
Misaki is not overly stressed out though, for we cultivate our full-scale battles into more or less reasonable arguments.
A lot of time has passed until I've learned, to a fair extent, where to yield and where to push with my old man. How far and with what force to negotiate a tender equilibrium between obligations to both of my families. Between what I must and what I want. Between my freedom and my duties.
"After all, he's your father not mine," MIsaki states, amusement twinkling in his eyes and in an instant he is on top of me, invading my mouth, full force, while he lines up our hips and grinds mercifully against my desire until I let out a desperate groan for more. He holds back nothing.
"You two." It must be coincidence; I doubt that my father could hear anything, but his challenging voice somehow penetrates through the haze of lust between us. "You two coming? Because, if you wish to stay, I can just take the boys."
Misaki springs upright with the shocked expression in his eyes. "Boys? What the…he cannot handle the children himself?!"
He couldn't even handle his own self. What the hell does he know about his grandsons, when he never knew anything about his own sons and had no intentions learning? Why a sudden want to babysit them?
I sit up panicking, shouting the answer in an effort to save our offspring. "In a minute! Just wait a bit downstairs! Don't rush us, father."
"In a minute?" Misaki looks a bit hurt as he quirks an eyebrow at me. "Are you sure you want to finish in a minute?"
"Well…in ten minutes," I correct myself, loud enough so my father can hear. "But we are going to finish it in shower," I add, only to Misaki, and grab his hand, dragging him hastily to the adjacent bathroom.
...
Breath still hitched, Misaki slides down from the perch on the shower wall designed solely for our pleasure. Holding onto my shoulders for support, he takes one last opportunity to pull me into the searing kiss before he lets me go, again without any reprimand for my perverted inspirations. His hand skims around my hairline and cheeks to trace away stray drops of hot water still on us. A tender, sheepish smile plays around the beautifully swollen lips "You know, you can be flushed from taking a shower, but not that flushed."
I crush his lithe body in a heartfelt embrace, chanting my confession and statement of belonging to him into the damp tresses over and over. I don't care, I don't care… He can think it might be my continuing revolt. And he might be right.
Ever since I picked up the shattered pieces of a broken boy seven years ago, I didn't care about anything except making Misaki into a content young man by my side…as I believe he is now.
What do you think? I hope it wasn't so sappy at the end (shall be more nostalgic next time). I kind of like the idea of Haruhiko making up for all the mishaps he did in manga; I believe he would be like that at the end, after he learned his lesson, if he was the one who got a chance with Misaki. Let me know your thoughts, please.
Advises & constructive critique are very welcome as I'm only learning.