There was this part of Kyohei that often asked himself if the other even knew, if he even knew how attractive he was. If he knew the way the light hit his hair made it an even lighter blue in places, and dark along the bottom, where the ends of his hair touched the dark skin of his neck. Dark skin that had been dyed that way after long exposure to the sun, skin that was naturally lighter than Kyohei's own. Speaking of skin… Kyohei also wondered if Marlon knew the way the water stuck to his hair, or the way it ran down his hips and over the starts of his pants, the way the tan line despite how obvious it was, how desirable it could be. Something like that shouldn't be attractive, the stark white being compared to the dark skin on top of it, the dark skin that if Kyohei didn't know any better about, would tell him that Marlon was black. But then it just took a glance down at his feet and that assessment was gone. Marlon was as white as white came, but he swam so much that his color had changed slowly over time. Kyohei had a theory that the sun had taken extra special care of him and that's why he didn't have skin cancer and how he had managed to get so dark, that even the sun had wanted to pull him close to get a chance to kiss all over him.
It was those good looks, those impossible blue eyes, that dark hair, the defined lines all over him that were hard to look away from, that kept Kyohei coming back. He kept coming back to stare at him, to long for him. To watch enviously as the water ran over him, as the water loved up on him, on the man he wanted to touch… No, the man he wanted to want him. The man who he wanted to crave him in all the ways he was feeling right now. He wanted this man to chase him down, to pin him, to lick and bite at his neck, to make him wiggle underneath of him. He wanted Marlon to make him whine, to make him moan, to make him beg. He would take it in any way Marlon wanted, honest! He just wanted to feel craved. He would take it rough, soft, loving, desperate, in a romantic sense or even just for the fuck.
The point was that Kyohei wanted Marlon, and he wanted Marlon to want him.
He wanted Marlon in the late hours of being around his house, when he was in his bed, the fan turned up as high as it would go, but he was still left to work up a sweat. When the thin sheets were clinging to him and the moisture rolling down his body while he craved something more, anything that the other man could give him, anything at all. He wanted Marlon while he laid there and bit his hand while using the other to give his body what it craved in the only way it could. He wanted him while he tried to find any part of himself that Marlon could ever want in return, any piece of himself that was good enough to be noticed and be blessed with by being lavished by those lips. He wanted him in every and any way at all.
No, he needed him.