You know when everyone says, 'the idea came to me in my sleep.' Well this one really did. I was outside daydreaming, having my cigarette and I think it powered my creative juices because as soon as my head hit that pillow I had a story.
Of course, I read it the next day and cringed. But here we are, four days later. Story is ready so I'm posting it up.
As usual, read, review and enjoy, my friends.
(/0.0)/
Living together had been the result of a number of unforeseen events. Thinking back to when it all started, Kanda couldn't help but wonder if Lenalee had paid the stalker to stalk Allen in the first place. She'd just seemed too prepared when he'd told them all he planned on moving out, her purple lips drawn back in a manic manner as she'd suggested the mutual benefits of them sharing accommodation.
.
.
.
.
When the heating broke Kanda had briefly considered chaining Allen to one of their frozen radiators. Maybe he could sleep in the car? Failing that he was pretty certain one of the local barmen had a thing for grouchy Asian's and would take him to their house and warm him up with an act that falls under the sexual category.
'How was I to know the thermometer was the little box behind the living room door?' Allen had huffed while Kanda fiddled with the boiler's settings.
'It was one of the first things I told you, idiot.'
'You know, I hadn't actually realised your mouth was capable of usable information,' the sarcasm stabbed Kanda right between the eyebrows.
'Shut the hell up, you messed up the boiler.'
'You had it on fourteen degrees,' he shouted beside Kanda's earlobe. 'I was frozen.'
'Wear a fuckin' jumper if you're cold, dipshit.'
'Make me, jackass.'
The argument quickly dissolved into nothing but a childish insult match that abruptly ended when Kanda slammed the cupboard door shouting, 'phone the fucking Landlord,' and for Allen to, 'fuck off,' as he'd left the frigid flat with a growl.
.
.
.
.
When Allen entered Kanda's bedroom the same night, stuffed creature Tim in toe, Kanda feigned sleep. As he crept further into the room, reaching the man's bed, Kanda felt a teenage nervousness gather in the depth of his stomach. Unable to get words working, he opted to an acknowledging hum instead.
'The Landlord said he'd get someone to fix it,' Allen had sighed, not the slightest bit embarrassed as he pulled back Kanda's bed covers and climbed into the bed.
'Fuck are you doing?' he'd whispered, unsure as to what it was he didn't want to disturb.
Allen shifted about, pulling one of the man's pillows beneath his arms as he maneuverer himself into a comfortable position.
'Too cold to sleep alone,' he'd whispered back, close enough to prevent a uncomfortable atmosphere yet near enough to feel the warmth of another's body.
'Whatever.'
Kanda had deemed it a satisfactory reason, ignoring how rigid his back felt being so close to Allen's.
.
.
.
.
Neither of them slept for quite some time the first night.
.
.
.
.
After the initial awkwardness, sharing a bed wasn't too bad. Kanda was unsure if it was the cold seeping in through the creases of his duvet, or the water bottle body that was Allen that helped him reach the conclusion. All he knew was that when said male shifted till their backs met, Kanda had to bite back a sigh of relief at the warmth.
.
.
.
.
Allen had recently fallen into the habit of toeing Kanda's ankle at night. He'd call it therapeutic if it didn't suggest a fondness for the action. On this particular night the chill in the air was more vicious than usual. It seeped in through the gaps of their duvet barrier and nipped at any flesh free from the confinements of clothing. Allen flexed his toes around Kanda's ankle as he murmured, cold scratching at his legs. His breath came out in a humid puff across Kanda's neck and said man held back the shudder that threatened to wrack his body. Instead he clenched his eyes shut and prayed for a quick plummet into slumber.
.
.
.
.
Allen's new favourite thing was watching Kanda cook, especially when the food produced was going to be silently laid on the table in a mute invitation to eat together. He sat at the island counter, watching as thin fingers coiled around kitchen utensils and ingredients. The little purse of his lips Kanda did when stirring a near boiling pot never ceased to do things to Allen's already queasy stomach. And the feeling never failed to sink lower when he watched Kanda lick spilt sauce off his very long, very delicate fingers. He couldn't help but think that something was very wrong with him.
.
.
.
.
When Kanda couldn't sleep he became dangerously jealous of his bedmate's ability to do so. The situation wasn't helped with the knowledge of the packet of Mayfair cigarettes that sat innocently on his bookshelf, calling out with the promise of relief and a lung choking warmth. The thought of slithering out of bed plagued his mind for a dangerous handful of minutes and with a click of the tongue he shifted himself away from Allen.
However when the arm that threw itself over his waste was accompanied with the sleep filled whine Allen emitted, Kanda forced his craving down. Quietly groaning, he fell back into Allen's warmth, cigarettes gradually forgotten as he listened to Allen's content hum.
He was certainly pleased with the play of events.
.
.
.
.
Allen managed to get Kanda to stop smoking once. This is a statement when you realise people believed him to be part steam train with the amount of toxic fumes he emitted.
'It's disgusting.'
'No-one asked you to live here,' was Kanda's drawn out reply, eyes focused on the packet of Mayfair Allen had in his possession.
'You'll die young.'
'I could get hit by a bus tomorrow,' had been the man's reply.
Allen quickly figured the conversation wasn't going anywhere so he gave the packet over with a dejected huff. It was only later in the evening, when he watched Kanda's strop over losing to Lavi at Mario Kart that the idea came to him.
.
.
.
.
A few days later, Kanda walked into the kitchen to find a sheet of paper stuck to fridge. Upon said paper, in a familiar scrawl, were both his and Allen's names with a line drawn down the middle of the length of paper.
'I thought we'd have ourselves a little competition,' Allen had said from the kitchen doorway.
Kanda didn't reply straight away, instead he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. 'Where are you going with this, Walker,' he asked, brows furrowed as he pulled a glass from the upper cupboard and filled it. 'And how can I win.'
'You win by not smoking,' he replied, watching as Kanda paused in putting the carton back in the fridge. Allen swallowed, unsure as to how this plan was going to play out.
'Yeah,' Kanda eventually said, 'that's not gonna happen.'
He was losing him. Allen's dream of a smoke free house, no smelling the cigarettes on Kanda's breath while he slept, no cigarette butts stinking up the bin, all of it was fading before his eyes.
'For every cigarette you resist, I'll owe you a favour,' his words left him steadily, like a teacher explaining homework to a child.
'A favour,' Kanda echoed, swirling his orange juice as if it were a glass of scotch. 'And what do you mean by resist?'
'What do I mean,' Allen repeated, not fully understanding the question. 'What do you mean, what do I mean?' He paused, words tasting funny in his mouth, 'that's a complicated question.' Kanda huffs in what Allen's learnt to be a laugh.
'Resist, what do you mean? Every cigarette I own, I don't smoke? What classifies as not smoking? At what point does owning a cigarette become not smoking a cigarette? If I'm gonna win I need specifics, Walker.'
God he's an idiot, Allen thought.
.
.
.
.
Allen suffers from nightmares. It's not all the time, just every now and again, when the nights feel private enough for such events to occur. He wakes with a start, his sleep laden eyes wide as they scan the room and the man asleep beside him. He holds his left hand over his mouth and scrubs at moist eyes with the right, ghoulish murmurs still echoing inside his head. He eventually lies down and looks at the man beside him, silently fingering Kanda's loose locks as he resists the dampness prickling his eyes.
'Thank you,' he whispers, sliding himself beside the man's body, leeching any heat he can get from him, 'for being asleep.'
Kanda rolls onto his side and into Allen, maintaining his sleeping façade as he gently lays beside the drowsy man.
'You're welcome,' he replies internally, huffing as he shifts himself in order to place his chin nearer Allen's head.
.
.
.
.
When Allen eventually woke up the next morning he spotted a still steaming mug of tea on the bedside unit beside him. He could only stop the smile on his face when he pursed his lips. If he strained his ears he could still hear Kanda clinkering around in the kitchen, alongside the low murmuring of the TV he had become so accustomed too. It took a quick sip to realise that when Allen had said he took his tea with two sugars months ago, Kanda had learnt he'd actually meant three and the realisation made a warmth bloom across the bridge of his nose.
When he finished the cup, he quickly got himself ready for work and left the flat without uttering a single word in his bedmate's direction. The only thanks Kanda needed (and received) were the empty mug being placed beside the sink.
.
.
.
.
Kanda never mentioned Allen holding his hand under the warmth of their duvet so long as Allen never mentioned how Kanda always gripped it back.
.
.
.
.
Kanda liked watching Allen get dressed in the morning. He liked to think of it as an art form, looking that good while stumbling into a pair of work slacks. He didn't openly gawk at Allen, more of a groggy, just happened to have my head turned in this direction as I wake up, kind of stare. He could never fathom the paleness of the man, his eyes tracing how the pale skin was tightly pulled over his shoulder blades. How the man's hips swayed when he pulled said slacks up past his scandalously toned thighs, the agonisingly slow pace Allen took to thread his belt through the loopholes. Kanda groaned as he rolled onto his stomach, trying to sound bleary as he ignored the ache in his groin.
.
.
.
.
They kissed once. Of course alcohol had been involved, and this was why only one of the pair could remember the events of the night. Kanda had tasted like nicotine gum and Allen had the taste of rum dancing in his mouth. They'd both welcomed the unfamiliar flavours, panting against one another's mouths as they'd blearily staggered into the hallway. Kanda's hands held either side of Allen's neck, the other man simply placing his palms on Kanda's chest, unsure as to anything but the feel of Kanda's lips against his own as they'd attempted toeing off their boots. He had lent forward, placing a quick kiss beside Kanda's nose, pulling away in order to speak-
Kanda had spent the rest of the night watching his vomit soaked shirt whirl round his clothes washer, the sounds of Allen retching echoing from the bathroom.
.
.
.
.
Allen couldn't help but notice Kanda's new taste for rum. The sight of Kanda cradling a glass of the deep amber liquid had made him feel oddly aroused and a little bit queasy.
'When did you start drinking rum,' he asked, pretending the reason he'd entered the lounge was to grab his stuffed creature Tim.
'I tasted it recently,' had been the answer and as Allen turned round he saw Kanda's eyes flicker to his lips, his eyes, then lips again. 'Guess I took a liking to it,' he smirked and, God, Allen swore he'd almost ripped the man's trousers off there and then.
'I used to love rum,' He muttered to himself instead, palming his stomach as he rattled his brain. 'I can't stand it now, makes me feel ill.'
'Weirdo,' Kanda huffed, sipping from the glass with a gleam in his eyes.
'Jackass,' Allen sighed, walking into Kanda's bedroom, Tim in hand, a smile on his lips.
.
.
.
.
Allen almost ruined everything one time. He did it by asking too many questions. The man loved his questions.
'The boiler's been fixed for a couple months, y' know,' Allen had murmured one night. Kanda was laid on his back, arms outstretched with Allen curling into him, his head on the taller's bicep.
Kanda sighed, bending his arm so he could thread fingers through Allen's hair, 'I know,' he stated, closing his eyes and trying to sleep. Allen gave him a handful of seconds to continue, and when the man didn't, he squinted.
'What, that's it?' Allen scoffed, lifting his head from Kanda's arm, untangling the long fingers from his hair as he glared at the man. 'We're not going to talk about this?'
Kanda need not open his eyes to know what Allen was referring too. He reshuffled himself, eyes slammed shut as he threaded his arm under his pillow and lay on it facing the smaller man.
'I'm tired, talking about it makes it a thing,' Kanda started, waving his free arm gently through the air with his words. 'It doesn't need to be a thing.'
'Of course, because it being a thing would be terrible,' Allen replied, sinking back into the covers and pulling them up to his chin, face sitting just in front of Kanda's collar bone as he let his annoyance fester.
.
.
.
.
That night, hours later when Kanda felt himself slipping into slumber, he felt a pinching pain at his collar bone. His eyes pinged open, fingers darting to the pulsing teeth marks indenting his skin.
'Did you just fucking bite me,' Kanda all but squawked, sitting up. He lent down and placed his hands on either side of Allen's face, bringing it up from the pillow and nearer his own. 'You just bit me, Walker,' he hissed, bringing their faces closer with every word. He pushed Allen's cheeks together till his lips stuck out in a fish like manner, the goofy look clashing with the steel in the man's pale eyes.
'I know,' Allen squeezed out through the face, opening his mouth and snapping it gently shut on one of the man's fingers.
'What the hell is wrong with you,' Kanda spat, squinting at the man beside him, a hand still on Allen's cheek, gently pinching it as he waved the other feigning hurt.
'I'm tired,' Allen sighed, pulling the man's hand away as he snuggled back into the pillow. 'Talking about it makes it a thing. I'm too tired for things.'
'You cannot be serious,' Kanda said, mouth slightly open as he watched the other close his eyes.
Allen was very serious.
.
.
.
.
After that night Allen returned to his own bedroom. With the boiler working and the radiators pulsating delicious warmth, he no longer had any need for other means of warmth. Kanda didn't mention the dramatic shift in behaviour nor did he mention how the whole thing seemed like punishment. As he sat at the island counter and watched Allen butter his toast, he could help but think that maybe he should've talked about the thing while it still was one.
.
.
.
.
Allen had caught Kanda smoking, though he doubt the taller was aware of it yet.
Kanda was leant against the buildings railing, one of his cigarettes burning low and bitten between his teeth as he fiddled with his mobile.
'Son of a bitch,' Allen snarled to himself, pulling the keys from his pocket as he neared the entrance. 'I saw that, jackass,' he scoffed, watching Kanda quickly drop the stick from his mouth.
He stubbed it out and tried discreetly blowing the smoke from his mouth. It really hadn't worked, he figured, as the force of Allen slamming the door made Kanda's coat flap.
'Brilliant,' he muttered, unable to keep the little scowl off his face, 'just trying to get some warmth in me.'
He waited a while, coughing as the cigarette had wrung his lungs out like a dishcloth and he really needed to get them working again. Figuring five minutes was an adequate time, he made his way inside. Inwardly smiling as he planned his next move.
.
.
.
.
'Well that wasn't very clever, was it,' had been Allen's first response to watching Kanda chuck his cigarette packet full throttle out the window.
'But I resisted smoking this time,' he started, watching realization grow on the smaller man's face as he looked out the window for the packet. 'That was a twenty pack of Mayfair. About fourteen left.'
'You cannot be serious, ' Allen groaned. Kanda held up a finger, not that he'd see it, in an attempt at silencing him.
'You owe me, owe me fourteen times. You seriously owe me.'
Allen scrubbed his hair furiously heaving a deep sigh as he finally looked away from the window and at Kanda's face.
'What would the Lord have me do? His ironing? Have me cartwheel down the street, decree my patheticness from the balcony while wearing only my underwear-'
'A kiss'll do.'
'Perhaps have me,' he stopped. Eyes wide and mouth wider. 'You want me to do what now?'
Kanda was grinning, eyes crinkled at the corners as he did that fucking half smile that destroyed Allen's stomach. He lent closer, Allen's heart dropping to his kneecaps as he listened.
'Oh, and you need to sleep with me again, but apart from that, a kiss'll do it, Short Stack.'
Allen had nothing to say for once. A rather large, albeit stubborn, part of him flushed with relief. He was not only missed but wanted. So, with that thought making him smile, he leant forwards and repaid one of the many favors owed.
.
.
.
.
Their lives have levelled out now, Allen having officially moved in months ago. They still invited friends round, cooked for one another, slept with one another. Everything was relatively the same apart from the sex and official title.
.
.
.
.
'I hate the term boyfriend,' Allen announced out of the blue one evening, shopping bags hanging from his arms like bats in a cave as Kanda unlock the communal door.
'You're the one who wanted a thing,' he eventually replied, unpicking his share of the bags and trying his hardest not to grin.
'Don't you fucking start that again.'
'Start what again?' Kanda called over his shoulder, taking two steps at a time up the stairs.
'Piss off, jackass,' Allen sighed, the annoyance lacing his voice fake and more adoring then he'd originally intended.
The pair stood before their flat door, Kanda placing the bags back onto Allen as he found his other set of keys, and Allen felt a warmth flood through his body. It was their flat and their warmth. He still wasn't over the cushy, "first few months together" stage, so any thought including them both as a pair made his face split into a shit eating grin. Said warm, fuzzy feelings propelled the equally lovey words from his mouth.
'You mean a lot to me, Kanda,' he murmured, watching as the man grimaced at the affection, noise flaring and shoulders cringing. 'Like, you really do.'
'That's so fucking gross,' Kanda blanched, a light flush coloring the tips of his ears. He quickly unlocked the door and, grabbing his bags off Allen the coat rack, stormed inside. He could still hear the man's laughter, even from his place in the kitchen.
'Maybe I am fucking gross,' he squeezed out, the house's warmth enveloping him as he walked inside. 'But I'm gross because of you, Honeybun.
.
.
.
.
The door clicked shut behind them, and that was the end of that.