Here is another quick drabble. I've been meaning to write a story with one of the earlier head canons that I had of Fukase, but I couldn't ever think of a decent plot so this drabble will do.
Fukase had always been an enigma. Of his physical idiosyncrasies, he had abnormally pale skin, various burn marks on the left side of his body, and a deep red eye reminiscent of a pool of blood. His most unnerving quirk, though, was the unpredictability of his thoughts and actions.
Yet despite the oddities, Oliver found himself unable to keep his distance from this peculiar individual. There was just something about the redhead's disposition that caught his attention. He was, of course, curious but unable to pinpoint his reason. Perhaps it was the air of mystery that drew his interest.
As a consequence of Oliver's curiosity, he found himself in a rather strange predicament. He had merely approached the redhead for a bit of small talk when he was suddenly seized by the wrist; he immediately regretted his decision. The cold, sweaty hand wrapped tighter around Oliver's wrist when he tried to pull his arm away.
For moments, Fukase stood there in silence as he stared emotionlessly at the blonde, grip unwavering. As each second dragged on slowly, Oliver shifted nervously and stiffened at the lack of explanation.
"L-let go of me." Oliver stammered as he tried to glare back menacingly, but his apprehensive tone betrayed him.
"Mmm…don't feel like it." Fukase nonchalantly replied with a hint of glee. The corners of his lips curved into a slight grin. He stepped closer to Oliver such that he was breathing down the blonde's neck.
At the sudden stream of air flowing down his neck, Oliver made another fruitless attempt to push himself away. His action was only met with the grip on his wrist being tightened further.
Fukase wrapped his other arm around Oliver's upper back; he let it slowly trail down until he reached the blonde's waist. The stench of his rotten breath caused Oliver to gag in response as the two stood face-to-face.
The foul odor, as Oliver described, was as if the redhead hadn't brushed his teeth in days. Despite the vulnerability of his position, he mused in his mind to jest about Fukase's lack of hygiene.
"You sure have an odd way of asking for a breath mint, you know." Oliver joked mockingly at reference to the other male's strange behavior.
Fukase, seemingly unfazed by the taunt, smirked in response and blew his breath on Oliver's ear. The blonde blushed profusely and wanted to complain, but the words wouldn't leave his throat. Before Oliver could say anything, Fukase's lips had met his own.
A few seconds within the kiss, Fukase aggressively pushed his tongue against Oliver's lips to deepen the kiss. The foul stench quickly invaded Oliver's mouth – to which he found nauseating.
Oliver found the whole experience to be uncomfortable, but oddly enough, didn't pull away. He could have easily pushed Fukase away since his wrist was released. But he didn't. He wanted to indulge longer in the strangely mesmerizing moment. Despite Fukase's eccentricity, Oliver was inexplicably captivated.
Fukase was the first to pull away after what felt like minutes. He seemed quite pleased to see that Oliver thoroughly enjoyed the moment. He gently stroked the blonde's face and gave him another quick peck on the lips.
Oliver thought that – perhaps he, himself, was the weird one for reveling in Fukase's company.
I've realized that I never wrote a proper kiss scene for my favorite pairing despite me writing so often about them (everything was always platonic). This has a different feel than my other stories though. I don't think I'll be writing something like this for a while again.
The title of this drabble is actually named for how it's so different from my other Olikase works.