Disclaimer: If I owned Yami no Matsuei, I'd probably be less torn up about the pairings I like.
Author's Note: I feel sorry for Watari and Oriya. And I love them both. And their hair, which I have this urge to braid together. But really, I love them both and think that they deserve better. My apologies for any mistakes; I've only watched the anime and it's been ages since I've seen it.
SECOND BEST
The sound of the shower being turned off reached Watari's ears and he opened his amber eyes slowly. His hangover was beginning to fade but the remnants of it made his head ache. Just then the bathroom door opened and the blond watched as Oriya stepped out, drying his long brown hair.
Watari sat nervously on the edge of Oriya's futon, legs crossed and hands fiddling with the belt that kept the borrowed robes he was wearing closed. The swordsman stood a few feet away, not meeting his eyes.
As drunken sexual encounters went, this one was extremely unexpected and awkward.
Streets lit up by the streetlights, cold night wind blowing, and him drunk like a wino. He stumbled a bit but managed to retain his footing. Another cold gust of wind and he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep warm.
All he could see was Tatsumi looking at Tsuzuki with that painful longing evident in his features. Tatsumi with his sapphire blue eyes watching Tsuzuki walking across the break room. Tatsumi giving in to Tsuzuki's whining. Tatsumi patting Tsuzuki affectionately on the head.
Tatsumi and Tsuzuki.
He wished he were drunker.
"Thanks for lending me your comb," Watari said. He stood up and walked towards the brunet, offering said comb to the other man, trying to calm himself down. He ignored how his hand shook as he the brunet took the comb from him.
"You're welcome."
He tripped and fell, expecting to hit cement. He wasn't expecting to be caught in strong arms, his face pressed against a solid chest. He looked up and saw sharp, yellow eyes looking at him through dark brown bangs.
It was Muraki's friend, the one who gave them the key card.
"Hi." He smiled.
Oriya was running the comb through his damp hair when it snagged on a tangle. He winced and muttered an oath, trying to free his hair.
A sympathetic frown on his face, Watari approached the brunet again. "Here. Let me help with that." He took the comb from Oriya's hand and gently began the long process of untangling the brown locks. When he was done, the blond continued combing Oriya's hair.
They stayed like that for a while.
They were trading drunken, sloppy kisses. Oriya was apparently as sloshed as him. They tripped and landed on the futon, hands ripping clothes off and roaming over newly exposed skin, hair falling around them and tangling.
Screw foreplay. They fucked like there was no tomorrow and through the entire thing, he could only think of Tatsumi and his eyes. The bluest eyes he had ever seen. Gorgeous sapphire eyes. He came thinking about them.
Oriya gasped out what could have been Muraki's given name. He didn't care.
The two of them lay there, panting, gasping for breath. He fell asleep with his face buried in long dark hair.