Worth
When Shiro returned, it rained kindly in the summer, the evening clouds tender and gentle against the tall window of Kuroh and Neko's apartment. The Black Dog had settled for a humble life, working odd errands and deliveries, enough for a modest living in a cramped apartment. Neko slept in the living room in a small cot and mewled in her sleep, but she left that evening to prowl aimlessly.
Even in the morning, when Kuroh fried eggs and ate with the idle chatter of Neko's pointless adventures (he still wondered if she was cat or girl; she owned no social tact, but by now learned the convenience of beauty in daily living), he felt something creeping in his skin like quiet murmurs, yearning, directing. Today was going to be different, and he'd be forced to take action concerning his shame.
Shame followed him, a lenient shadow; he closed his eyes and tried to shake away the thoughts of his fingers running circles on Shiro's back, maybe even a kiss. Did he deserve a kiss? He failed to protect him, and now he thought of him, heat radiating through his clothes and melting into his own, the contact paired with that light, unbearably benevolent voice, I'm proud of you, you waited for me, don't be embarrassed.
To serve was all that he was good for. In the death of his former master, Kuroh's chest heaved with a crater of worthlessness, craving for a use, a purpose, a cause. He clung to his recorded tapes, empty nights filled with nothing but the man's soothing words, which he carried like both weapon and shield, but he had neither now.
Shiro wanted to be his friend, not his master. Did he deserve a friend? He spoke too formally, and fit into social gatherings like a demon in a church. Everyone fit into something; a teenager to his friends, a husband to his wife, a child to his family. Kuroh had none of these; Neko was fairly self sufficient and only clung to him because of his association with Shiro. It left him empty and dry.
To serve was all that he was good for, and when he opened the door, when the Silver King greeted him with a lopsided smile and kind eyes, all he could do was kneel and bite his lip, stifling his urge to sob.
"Oh come on, Kuroh, I told you that all this formal stuff isn't necessary- whoa, are you alright?"
Perhaps the shame was too strong a monster. Shiro lowered himself and pulled him into an embrace, innocuous, and he heard words and sounds and howling that seemed to come from his own throat, but Kuroh could not quite connect fact and fiction, the man's hands rubbing his back affectionately, again innocent. If he revealed what he felt, he knew he would immediately be spurned, but what else could he do?
There were no wars for the moment. Master Ichigen had many purposes for him, despite living isolated in the mountains. Isana Yashiro had no need of him, but maybe he could be persuaded into thinking he had one.
He parted from the arms, momentarily, and Shiro smiled again, prepared to say something soothing, most likely, but Kuroh swooped in for a kiss; clumsy, inelegant, brief. He pulled away and regret seeped in immediately, but the expression greeting him was not one of anger, or even confusion.
"You missed me, didn't you?"
Too kind. Too kind, unbearably so. Kuroh's throat ached with weight.
"Don't leave again, I have nothing but you, I'm useless without someone to serve!"
It was pity in Shiro's face. It wounded him.
"Kuroh, don't say that. You're good at a lot of stuff, you're definitely not useless. You can cook, and sew, and you're very clever-"
"You don't understand," he choked out. "This was all I've ever done, all my life, I can't do this..."
He found himself embraced again, fingers lacing themselves in his hair.
"So, what do you want to do with me? To do to yourself? I don't want you to serve me, Kuroh. You're my equal, and I won't think of you any other way."
"Then what will I do? I can't get rid of this."
Shiro laughed, the sound almost delicate. "Well, you can have love without sex, and you can have sex without love, and love at first sight is the most ridiculous thing. I can't say I'm head over heels for you, but I like you a lot, and we can give it a trial run. You know, like normal people."
"I'm not a normal person," he replied weakly.
"Join the club."
The smaller man motioned for him to rise, and pulled him into a kiss, Kuroh wholly surprised that his partner appeared to have a greater level of experience than him (of course he would, age did that to a person). Shiro casually shrugged off his jacket, and began to undo Kuroh's meticulous buttons, mouth leaving damp kisses on the skin he gradually exposed. His head grew light, the sunset pouring through the windows, Shiro anchoring hands over his bare shoulders and pressing his ear to his heart.
"You're really nervous. Relax."
"I'm sorry then, I just, I... how are we doing this?"
"Preferably in a bedroom. It would be impolite to have Neko come in seeing us like this."
"No, I mean, this."
Shiro chuckled, holding his forehead. "I don't know, I'm up for anything, really. What would you like?"
"I... really only ever have been on the receiving end, in this kind of thing. I don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, that's all."
"Hey, I have a century over your head. Do you really think I'd have anything I'm uncomfortable with, other than the obvious bodily fluids?"
Kuroh couldn't help but snort, despite his embarrassment, and Shiro chose the moment to lead him into the bedroom, flipping on the lights to a clean bed that seemed almost unused. The Black Dog stared in impolite fascination as the Silver King shimmied out of his pants and kicked them in the general direction of the night stand.
"You are so stiff, Kuroh! What did I say about relaxing?"
"I'm sorry," he began, lowering his head, but before he could string together a long line of repentance, warm fingers pushed wayward strands from his face and held him still.
"Don't apologize to me. We're equals. You're my friend, and as of now, you're also my lover, what do you know. But I will never, ever be your master."
A foreign concept. It would take a while to comprehend it, but for now, he just nodded, undressed as well, and together they explored each other's bodies on the bed. Kisses, first, lapping tongues. Kuroh found that he crook of his neck, between his collarbones, was relentlessly sensitive, and that Shiro was incredibly ticklish, hands soft as summer rain on his skin. They stroked each other, somewhat awkwardly, while their tongues traveled with patience, heat and content tingling under Kuroh's skin and planting themselves in his bones.
"I don't feel like doing any work tonight," Shiro said with a little laugh. "So for now, you'll be giving."
"Are you certain?" Kuroh asked, blood flooding his cheeks.
"Did I stutter? Just get lube. That's a no brainer. You have Vaseline on your dresser drawer, use that."
He fetched it as requested, and Shiro smiled gently, popping off the cap and doing the entire thing on his own, Kuroh feeling intrusive, unworthy, as though he was privy to something he had no right to be. There was something there, in the man's face, so unnatural, too perfect to be human but lowering himself to the notion. He couldn't understand it.
"What position, Shiro?"
He felt detached from this, detached from the preparations, as Shiro motioned him to lay on his side (spooning, he remembered Master Ichigen calling it that), detached as he slung one arm around Shiro's waist as he entered. The sensation, however, proved as far from hazy as one could get, too much, too intense; it took everything in his power not to release right there.
They began with slow motions. Kuroh kissed his lover's neck, hands roaming idly, and Shiro entangled fingers with his own, guiding him along. He had pictured this in all the time the man was absent from his life, all different scenarios, but nothing quite like this. Too much, too intense, too overpowering, and he considered himself selfish for such a desire. Already, he received too much.
Kuroh stroked him in time with his thrusts, the noises elicited as a result a far better reward than expected. Shiro whined, helpless to the pleasure, and came in intense shivers, and allowed Kuroh a bit longer to finish off as well.
"That wasn't so bad, now was it, Kuroh?"
Shiro turned over and held him close, sweat clinging to them both. The Black Dog pondered what he hid under his pale eyes, and hoped one day it would be love.
"...No, I guess it wasn't."