Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation (much to the thanks of several fans and its creator).
Coming Clean
---
He had always been a night person, really. There was just something soothing about it; about the encompassing darkness. The sky, so black and concealing on its own was, by far, more pure than even the bluest of skies. For, only in the darkness would the masks fall away. Only when light was hidden, and far from grasp, would people begin to remove their masks.
Itwas none-too-ironic that darkness, the element most feared by the human soul,was the self-same element responsible for cleansing it.
This night was no different, he noted, as he continued his slow walk down the park's winding footpath. Unending black swallowed him, but for the wane dusty-golden glow of the streetlights lining the walkway, and the doleful silver moon and stars above. The late spring shower from earlier that day had stopped shortly before; leaving a cool chill on the air as its only reminiscent, save for his still-damp surroundings. Crickets chirped off in the near-distance somewhere, though the buzzing of his mind offset their otherwise lovely melodies drastically, and reduced the sound to shrill, skull-piercing sirens.
He shivered slightly as a cool gust of air washed over him, sending loose Sakura into a mad frenzy about him. He smiled familiarly as he pulled his cropped, black leather jacket around his torso more tightly with one hand, and struggled to push his long, deep russet hair back from his face with the other. As the winds receded, and the Sakura came to rest once more upon the glistening, water-slicked cobblestones, he cast them a small, poignant smile.
It had become an almost nightly ritual for him as of late; the long evening strolls, the wistful glances at things so small and insubstantial as the out-of-season Sakura… the long, drawn out struggle to make sense of his own resurfacing emotions.
Ever since that night, one that mirrored this one closely, he had been struggling with his resurfacing feelings for his best friend, Shindou Shuichi. He remembered that night well, and with frightening clarity — not that he could forget all that easily. It had been a night just as this one, though, by far, more ominous.
Shuichi had been raped; and for no better a reason than because he wanted to be with the person he loved most… the man he loved most.
Having taken advantage of Shuichi alone was enough to make his blood boil. But, to subject him to that merely because he loved another man… it was too much for him to take. What did it matter who Shuichi loved? Wasn't his happiness the only thing of real importance? What did it matter that the subject of his affections was another male? Since when was it wrong to be with the person you loved? What… Did… It… Matter…?
His fists clenched reflexively at his sides as he recalled the words — the questions — that Shuichi had asked him on that night. Though the entire ordeal had left him as no more than a mass of beaten and bruised tissue, and although his throat had been rubbed raw from his cries of resistance, the tone with which he had asked… it was with such innocence, with such childish naivety, that he had been left largely speechless. How could he still hold such an outlook despite what he had gone through?
"You see, I like Yuki. I don't want to hurt him… Why did it turn out like this? Because I'm a guy? Because I'm famous? Is it wrong to want to be with someone you love?" Even as Shuichi said the words, pounding an angry fist into the rain-beaten concrete beneath him, Hiro couldn't bring himself to speak. His best friend sat before him, crying pitifully into the rain, and it was all he could do to keep from tears himself.
After a moment, he kneeled down, placing his hands bracingly on Shuichi's shoulders. "It's not wrong." He muttered thickly, his voice as smooth as he could muster. "You're not the one who's wrong, Shuichi."
No. Hiro shook his head, casting heavy ebony eyes upon the ground. No, it wasn't wrong to want to be with the person you loved. Even if that person was another man, it wasn't wrong. What had happened to Shuichi had been wrong, but his feelings? No. His feelings would never be wrong.
"But…" he sighed heavily. "The man you have those feelings for is all wrong… Yuki doesn't deserve you, Shuichi."
Yuki, the very man who didn't give a damn one way or the other whether Shuichi was with him or not. The man, who claimed to want to be with him, yet pushed him away repeatedly. The man who made a mockery of the very feelings Shuichi had for him… how was that deserving?
After all, it had not been Yuki who had found him slumped against the wall by his house — hell, it hadn't even been Yuki who he had called — It hadn't been Yuki who had sat their alongside him as he cried, nor was it Yuki who had carried Shuichi's battered form inside and laid him to bed, staring in complete shock and awe at the condition he had been left it.
Shuichi hadn't even protested as Hiro laid him down. Not that he really could protest; he was so exhausted that Hiro had been amazed that he had even gotten as far as he had. As soon as his head hit Hiro's pillow, he had lapsed into a fitful sleep. It was all Hiro could do to sit there beside him on the edge of the bed, listening as Shuichi relived the ordeal in his dreams. He fretted feverishly, meek groans escaping his battered form.
The blanket, no more than a thin-worn, black, cotton sheet, that Hiro had covered him with, had been promptly lobbed off the bed in Shuichi's constant motions, leaving the younger boy largely unexposed again. Hiro slipped off the bed quietly and retrieved the discarded blanket in a quick motion. Resuming his seat and taking up his sentinel once more, he urged the grudging sheet back over the bed with a few strong tugs, as he resolved to re-cover Shuichi.
Gently, he lay the blanket over his companion once again. In the action of pulling the blanket around him once more, however, he felt his hand brush against Shuichi's writhing form. It had been an unintentional graze; nothing more than a light touch, lasting no more than a fraction of a second, yet the effect it had elicited was instantaneous, and convulsive.
At the light touch, Shuichi's body curled in on itself, a wave of tension running down his body and sending his muscles into a fit of compulsive rippling. A quiet moan fell from his mouth, teeth biting into his bottom lip so sharply that it coaxed a slow trickle of blood to roll down his chin. He moaned again, rolling onto his side, knees curling up to his chest. His face was pale, and sweat beaded his forehead as his feverish jerks continued. Spastic sobs and groans sprang from his lips every so often, his whole body trembling in fear and anguish.
Hiro bit his lip. This was probably the last condition he had ever wanted to see Shuichi in. His body, so frail and wrought with terror, bore the scars of loving another male quite clearly. Pale, untouched flesh was blue-purple, some of the latter already turning black. Bruises formed on tender flesh. They would serve to remind Shuichi for a good while of his actions before receding.
After carrying on his silent vigil for a few minutes more, and waiting until Shuichi calmed from his current state, Hiro got up. He made no move for the once-again cast-aside blanket — he didn't want to see Shuichi go through what he had just been through, again.
Instead, he walked into his kitchen, a small adjoining nook that sat off the main wall of the living room, accessed by walking out the bedroom and straight across its threshold. It was an easy enough trip to make. Turning on the sink, he ran a clean washcloth under the forthcoming jet of cold water. A quick turn of his wrist turned off the faucet, and he wrung out the damp cloth, watching as a steady waterfall of the translucent liquid poured from the harsh knot he had twisted the material into. After wringing it dry, he re-crossed the room and took up his silent vigil once more.
At first, he sat hesitant. After all, if a brief touch from him had sent Shuichi into such a spastic state, he hated to think what a more prevalent object coming in contact with him might cause. But, at the same time, Shuichi wasn't getting much better just by laying there either. He still twisted and cried feebly, his eyes never once opening to release him from his nightmarish ordeal. The cool cloth would probably do wonders for him, Hiro knew.
He carefully brushed bubblegum pink bangs, laying damp from rain and sweat against Shuichi's forehead, aside. The heat of his body, radiating from the sweat-dampened flesh, took him by surprise. Then, taking advantage of the fact that Shuichi had become still for the time being, he lay the cloth gently upon his forehead. At the contact, a groan slipped past his lips, but it was more of a restful moan — the cooling sensation seemed to relax him, as his fretting eased.
Within a few minutes, it was apparent that the damp cloth was helping. He still cried out and twisted, but it was less frequent, and more mentally derived than physically. Hiro sighed a breath of relief as he continued watching his friend. He would be fine — perfectly fine. Right? — Right?
He blinked; his eyes suddenly overcome by a dry, burning sensation. Bringing his hands up, he passed them both over his face, suddenly tired. Clamping his eyes shut, he maneuvered his hands to his temples, using his fingers to push his thick hair away, and to massage them vigorously. He would be all right. He would be all right. Shuichi WOULD be all right!
He opened his eyes slowly; fully aware of how they burned and stung. He was also numbly aware of the choked, scratchy feeling rising in the back of his throat and forming a painful lump. He swallowed hard, taking in a deep breath of air in the process. No luck. The burning in his throat and eyes was persistent as ever before.
He cast a tired look to Shuichi. His form had stilled again, though his face was still contorted in pain. At the sight alone, the burning sensations he felt escalated. The hard lump in his throat grew, his breaths coming out in short gasps much like Shuichi's, and his eyes burned as though they had been both cast into a blaze of flames. Yet, no matter how severely they burned, he could not blink, nor could he swallow.
He raised his hands from his temples, sending streams of russet hair spilling haphazardly into his face again. One hand fell limply to his side, his fingers clutching reflexively into the material of the twisted bed sheets. The other moved, very slowly, and very carefully, towards Shuichi's form. He lay it gently against Shuichi's throat, fingers moving swiftly up his jaw line — though stopping long enough to linger on the pulsing vein coursing up his neck — and then curved into his cheek, where they rested. His fingers stroked the flesh softly, marveling at the smooth texture; the unmarred flesh. His palm cupped around it, his thumb coursing up and down his cheek bone in slow, circular, sweeping motions.
Continuing his ministrations, in a silence that was all-too-suddenly overwhelming, he turned away from Shuichi. And as his hair finished falling back into place as he turned, and once he was sure that it had masked his face thoroughly — an easy accomplishment for hair so long as his — He finally blinked, and the feelings he had been holding back all night burst the damn within him, as a single tear made its lonesome way done his cheek.
Yet, even as it descended, and he watched as it fell onto the bed sheets, he knew that, just as the tear had faded into the sheets, his feelings would have to fade away within him.
---
Hiro shook his head, a heavy feeling suddenly settling in around his stomach. "Only you, Shuichi…" A resigned sigh resonated on the still air. "Only you are important… only your happiness." He shoved his hands, curled respectively into pained fists, deeply into the confines of his jeans' pockets, and continued walking.
That just begs the question if he's happy now… He mused quietly, keeping his eyes trained steadily on the cobblestones beneath him.
He knew Shuichi.
It was a token that came from being his best friend all through grade, middle and high school, up to this very point. And, he knew that Shuichi, for as big an optimist as he played, was inanely afraid of being truly happy.
Take, for example, the time when Bad Luck had just been contracted by NG Pro, and they had begun to work on their debut single. It was around that time, too, that Shuichi's dysfunctional relationship — he still wondered if it could rightfully be called that — with Yuki had taken off. And, Hiro himself couldn't have been happier about the way things were working out for his best friend. Yet, Shuichi hadn't seen it as quite so lucky. He worried that it was a dream, not real. Like he almost couldn't believe their luck; his luck.
Now, it was his turn to wonder.
For, as happy as Shuichi somehow was with Yuki, it seemed strange to him.
Shuichi was the trusting type; the "never going to hate you unless your really, really, give me a reason to" type. That was why he could put up so well with Yuki's less-than-welcoming demeanor, Hiro knew. But, Shuichi was also the type that not only trusted people, he believed people. And, that's what worried Hiroshi. He knew that Shuichi took things seriously; if you told him something he'd believe it; if you told him he could do something, he'd believe that too. He'd believe he could fly like the birds if you told him he could. It's just how he was.
But, there were some things that, no matter what people told you, you couldn't do. No matter how hard you tried.
Shuichi hadn't learned that lesson yet, because Hiro had been there to keep him largely protected from having to learn it. Now, he couldn't be there to protect Shuichi. He had given Yuki fair warning, but ultimately, Shuichi stood alone this time. And, that scared him slightly.
Shuichi loved Yuki, and could continue to love him with all of his heart, soul and being. He could be there for Yuki. Could live with him. Could make love to him. Be with him… There were countless things that he could truly do. But, there was one thing — one thing that Hiro knew Shuichi hadn't yet realized — that he simply could not do. Ever.
He could not have Yuki.
The misanthropic novelist wouldn't allow it. It was a miracle in, and of itself, that he had even allowed their relationship — again Hiro had to consider if it were truly that — to escalate to this point. Though, considering Yuki's cruel tendencies, it was really none-too-surprising. Knowing him, he would let it build up, right to another crescendo, and then let it bottom out. No easy drop, no sloping decline. Just a flat out freefall.
And, Shuichi was playing into Yuki's very hands. He would keep falling for Yuki, and Yuki would keep the walls and distance well in place. He'd build Shuichi up, feeding him with false affections and poison-laced lies, until everything was perfect. And then… he'd break everything off. And Shuichi would be sent spiraling back to reality with a sick sense of vertigo and without the will or energy intact to claw his way back up once he hit the ground. Because, Hiro knew that when it happened, he wouldn't just hit bottom. He'd hit hard.
And, he wouldn't get up again.
Because that's what happened when false hope was ripped from under you.
"I just hope you know what you're doing Shuichi." He mouthed quietly after a moment, in which his musings had subsided. "Because when it happens — when you hit bottom — this time, this time I won't be there to help you to your feet."
As though to concede the fact, the wind, rustling steadfastly through the trees surrounding him, picked up, singing its mournful agreement.
He let out a hollow laugh, the low tenor hum echoing quietly along the cobblestones until the wind carried it away. "But, maybe that's how it should be. Maybe it's time for you to learn to stand on your own, Shuichi. Maybe… Maybe it's for —" His voice faltered of gently, his remaining train of thought momentarily forgotten.
Being carried along, it seemed, by the breeze, was a feeble white object. It's color, already in stark contrast to the adjoining night, was illuminated brilliantly as the wind swept it beneath the constant watch of a nearby streetlight, highlighting the object's simple beauty and it's elegance as it passed beneath the luminescent glow.
So simple as it was, and so completely out of place, it drew his eyes. He followed its progress slowly, almost in a hypnotic gaze. As curious as the little object was — and after closely watching it, he decided it to be a piece of paper — there was something about it that demanded his attention. Something almost significant, he thought, to his situation. A ray of light in the darkness; a lingering hope. It was peaceful. Familiar, even, though he could not quite pinpoint why it was so.
Even stranger still, he noticed, was that the paper was drifting his way. In fact, if he walked forward a few steps more, towards the bridge spanning the middle of the park, he would be mere inches away from reaching his hand out and snatching the diminutive thing from the air.
He did so, amiably jogging towards it to close the distance between himself and the object. As he neared it, the winds supporting it died down, and it drifted lazily to the cobblestones. He made a quick swoop to grab it before it touched the ground, as the cobblestones were still semi-damp from the previous rain shower, and would otherwise ruin the paper.
Straightening himself up again, as he retrieved the paper, he took note of its wrinkled appearance. It was obviously an old paper, he concluded.
"It's a good thing I kept it from the ground then," he humored himself. In the darkness, it was difficult to make out what appeared to be written on it, so he walked along a little farther until he stood comfortably beneath a streetlamp. Then, he returned his gaze to the paper.
It really was an old paper. There was something written on it, the black lead spots revealed what might have been letters at one time, but for the most part, few actual words were discernable. As he struggled to make sense of the scribbles and smudges, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, two words among the mass of scribbled symbols stood out to him.
Glaring Dream.
A sick swooping sensation rose in his stomach, making him feel suddenly nauseous. Now he knew why the paper had seemed familiar; at least it was familiar in a disembodied third person perspective kind of sense. He clearly recalled Shuichi's description of how he had first met Yuki, and though he hadn't been there to see it the first time, he was living the reality now.
His throat constricted painfully as he fumbled with the paper, his fingers having suddenly gone numb, trying to refold it.
"The only thing worse would be if —"
"Hiro?"
Hiro sighed, the rest of his sentence tapering off dully. "— Shuichi were here…"
"Hiro?" Shuichi's voice rang through his ears again, as hurried footsteps marked the approach of the said boy. "Hiro, what're you doing here?"
Although Shuichi's tone was questioning, curious, yet completely welcoming and friendly, Hiro recoiled slightly, cringing at the words as he friend closed in on him.
He looked for a second between the ill-folded paper held in his hands and his best friend, who now stood beside him, waiting for a greeting. Then, he looked up, facing Shuichi with a sheepish grin. God, I hope he's fooled by it… Hiro thought mutinously.
"Oh, hey Shuichi —" I hope that didn't come out as curt as it sounded… "—What's up?"
Shuichi blinked, looking at him slightly confused before flashing him a trademark smile. Hiro noticed something restricting about it, though. Guess I'm not the only one with things on my mind tonight…
"Not much," Shuichi began happily. "Just —" He stopped, his violet eyes widening slightly as they wandered over the paper Hiro held in his hands. "Oh! Y-you found my paper —"
"— Yeah," Hiro shrugged, feeling the muscles of his shoulders ripple tensely. "Heh, I know I'm no Yuki." He let out a forced laugh. "But, looks like I'll have to do for tonight, ne?"
Shuichi nodded slowly, as though not quite sure about the statement.
Hiro noticed the reluctance in his friend's action and frowned lightly. "Something happen between you and Yuki?" He asked calmly, expecting his companion to burst in to tears, as so often was the case.
Surprisingly, no tears came. Shuichi merely shrugged and turned away, his back towards Hiro. He shrugged indifferently, though his shoulders seemed oddly heavy, and took a few steps. Hiro followed him casually, waiting for his friend to open up.
After a few minutes of walking in silence, Shuichi stopped and dropped himself tiredly onto a park bench, his legs swinging slightly beneath him. As Hiro joined him, he just continued to stare out into the distance quietly.
Hiro joined him hesitantly. "Shuichi?" He prodded gently.
He let out a quiet laugh, followed by a tired sigh. "Yuki kicked me out again."
At the quaint explanation, Hiro relaxed. So, it really wasn't as bad as he had thought. After all, this wasn't the first, second or even third time Yuki had kicked Shuichi out. He was used to it by now.
"But," Shuichi went on. His voice had taken on a pained tone. "This time it feels different."
Hiro tilted his head to the side a bit, waiting compliantly.
"It feels like - like, I don't know. Yuki's kicked me out before, but… this time… he said, he said 'you're a damned noisy brat. Get out! Don't come back!'"
At this, Hiro shifted uncomfortably in his spot as his stomach twisted painfully into a knot within him.
"And, you know" Shuichi went on, his voice full of reminiscence. "Normally, he says that and means 'don't come back tonight', 'cause, I mean, I know I'm loud and I know it bothers him. But, it felt different this time… like this time —" His voice cracked, and finally, the hellstorm Hiro had been expecting came forth.
Lip quivering, eyes enlarged and liquidy, he began to cry. "It feels like it's the last time, Hiro." He sobbed, his body shaking in insuppressible grief. "I, I don't want it to be the last time!" He went on bitterly, tears dripping down his cheeks in shallow rivulets. "Yuki!" He bellowed mournfully. "Yuki, why?" And the rest of his miserable ranting was lost to a sea of tears.
The sick feeling in Hiro's stomach only worsened at the display his friend made. And, to make matters worse, amid a sick feeling of dread that his speculations had come true, there was a sick sense of want meshed in with all he felt.
"Don't worry, Shuichi," He placated evenly, ignoring the burning feeling welling in his throat, and placing a bracing hand strongly on his shoulder. "I'm sure you're wrong… Yuki just needs a break from you. —" When doesn't he? I'll kill him for hurting Shuichi again… "— He has his deadline to think of, that's all."
But, Shuichi wasn't hearing it. The feeble attempts Hiro made at soothing the wailing boy were in vain, as he sat there, rocking feebly back on forth on the bench, mouthing the words "Why, Yuki? Why do you hate me so much? Yuki, why?" amid a torrent of tears.
Hiro sighed aggrievedly, pushing locks of his fine ebony hair from his face and running his fingers through the strands annoyed.
"Shuichi — Shuichi, listen to me..." He tried again, only to be greeted by a fresh wave of sobs. "Shuichi!" His voice crescendoed, slight anger flaring in his words. "Listen! — Shuichi!"
In an act of virtual desperation to get his friend to listen, he turned in his spot and roughly grabbed him around the shoulders, yanking him around to face him. And, instead of carrying on rationally with a 'listen to me' or 'pay attention', he pulled the smaller boy towards him sharply, bringing their lips together roughly in a quick, jerked pull.
Shuichi gasped at the feel of warm lips against his and make a hasty move to protest, but Hiro gave him to leeway to do so. Hiro snaked his arms, muscles shaking slightly at his own actions, tightly around Shuichi's lithe waist and urged him closer, using his arms to hold the stunned boy in place and using his mouth and tongue to probe and explore the region beyond Shuichi's parted lips.
For a brief moment — a seeming eternity, yet it couldn't have been more — doubt lanced through his mind, bidding him to, for the love of God, pull away. And, preferably throw himself off a bridge thereafter. But, he paid no mind. If Shuichi was struggling, he didn't notice. He didn't care. The only thing he knew was his yearning, and that he now had his chance, short-lived as it may be.
God, he tastes so good, he thought to himself as he delved further, deepening the kiss with a furious passion. His hands ran up his back lightly, and he took immense pleasure in feeling Shuichi press against him as he shivered under the touch. Then, traversing his back, his fingers wound themselves into the coral tresses of Shuichi's fine hair.
Confusingly enough, he met little resistance from his latter as he pressed himself against Shuichi, willing the newfound tightness in his groin region to dissipate.
Slowly, as he continued to work his way against Shuichi, his mouth working hungrily to appease his growing neediness, Hiro felt his actions reciprocated. That was the last thing he had expected. Yet, slowly, Shuichi leaned into him, swiftly, gently. And, with practiced-ability, kissed him back almost chastely.
That did it. As suddenly as he had advanced upon Shuichi, he pulled away. As though the spell cast over him had been promptly shattered. Breathless, and slightly red in the face, he broke the kiss, a look of utmost horror reflected in his glassy eyes. Shuichi looked startled, a faint roan creeping into his cheeks.
"I-I'm sorry, Shuichi — I don't know wh-what I was thinking!" Hiro rasped hoarsely, fighting to regain control of his voice. "I-I have to go," he stammered still slightly breathless. Then, without another word, he turned tail and began his slow walk in the direction he had first come.
---
"What the hell was I thinking!" Hiro asked himself bitterly once he was sure to put a decent amount of time between himself and Shuichi, jamming his fisted hands once more into his pockets, and kicking out angrily at a loose stone on the ground before him. "What the hell was wrong with me?"
He shook his head roughly, dark hair spraying about him wildly on the wind as he did. There was a scowl on his face. "How could I have done that to Shuichi?" He spat out in a self-disgusted manner.
Yet, as readily as the disgust had set itself upon him, it receded into something short of resigned disappointment. He knew that Shuichi did not have feelings for him as he did for Yuki. Even knowing that, having kissed him made no difference; it would change little other than their work environment, and would change his unreciprocated feelings not at all.
"I shouldn't have done it," Hiro scolded himself, knowing full well that it was too late for 'shouldn't' now. "I knew Shuichi didn't feel the same… I knew. So… why?" Even he didn't fully understand what it was that had made him decide to kiss Shuichi. Especially now, of all times. But, he had, and it couldn't be undone. So, he supposed, he would just have to bury the experience deep within the confines of his mind so peruse on a rainy day, decades from now in a time when he and Shuichi probably would no longer be friends, much less lovers.
"And it's all my fault," Hiro continued on, berating himself further. "I might have had a chance… somewhere along the line, anywhere, and now it's gone. It might have worked out…" he sighed, suddenly tired again.
"Might have?" A quiet voice asked from somewhere behind him.
At the familiar tone, Hiro stopped cold, his back rigid, breathing shallow. Not now… please, Shuichi… Not now… he pleaded silently. Go away… I'm fine… leave me alone…
"Well?" Asked the same quiet voice. The peaceful tone synchronized with the beat of steadily nearing footsteps.
Hiro remained still, clamping his eyes shut tightly. Please, Shuichi, please go home. Please, let this be a dream… let me wake up.
"Hiro?" The voice was concerned.
The footsteps had stopped, and Hiro took this to mean that it was safe to stir, for he eased his muscles slightly and shook his head in a slow motion, his hair swishing gently along the back of his leather jacket made a soothing sound.
Suddenly, from behind him, two slender arms slipped themselves almost casually around his waist, causing him to sharply inhale, as though frightened. Slowly, the arms, led by two small, yet undeniably talented hands, moved upwards, running slowly up his chest, and making him shudder involuntarily. Hugging him closer, Shuichi rested his chin against his shoulder, and in one breath — one unbelievably sensual breath that did nothing to lessen the tightness of his jeans — he whispered into his ear, making the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck prickle pleasantly. "Might have what, Hiro?"
Hiro exhaled, his breath coming out shakily. "Nothing. Might have nothing, Shuichi. I'm sorry about — that — I don't know what happened to me…"
His voiced faded off as his senses become all-too-aware of where Shuichi's hands had migrated. They had slipped, largely without his noticing, down his abdomen, only to be fiddling almost innocently with the button of his jeans.
"No," Hiro felt Shuichi's head move in a slight shaking motion against his shoulder. "Don't be, Hiro. You've always been a good friend… always cheered me up when I was down."
His agile fingers had managed to undo the loop of the button and he worked his war around Hiro's angular hips, moving his hands wonderingly over the flesh for a moment, before sliding beneath the denim material of his jeans.
"And," Shuichi continued, as though unaware of what his actions were causing Hiro, who's shaky breathing, had become all but nonexistent. "You were there for me when Yuki wasn't."
Oh, God… oh, God… Hiro's eyes were clamped shut once more, and he willed Shuichi away with every fiber of his being as he felt Shuichi's smooth hands glide over his pulsing manhood. Hiro bit his lip, his breaths coming forth in shallow drags.
"You've always been there. Even before Yuki." Suddenly, his voice, so softly throaty, became its trademark, nasal, five-year old voice. "You liked me, ne Hiro? Ne? Didn't you? Ne, Hiro?"
"Mmmmm…" Hiro moaned lightly, arching forward slightly at Shuichi's touch while his slim fingers continued their massaging ministrations. "Yes… Shuichi… I… liked you…" He breathed heavily, long since forgetting not to lose himself in the sensation.
Shuichi smiled and stopped his processions, running his hands slowly upwards along the inside of Hiro's thigh as long as he could before slipping his hands out and lacing themselves around Hiro's waistline, where they tugged playfully on the fabric.
Hiro sighed deeply, trying half-heartedly to recompose himself, but with Shuichi so close at hand, he found it a task no so easily accomplished.
"Well," Shuichi concluded thoughtfully, still in his high, nasal voice. "I liked you too, Hiro." He stopped for a moment, the hesitancy Hiro felt, suddenly reciprocated unto Shuichi for seemingly the first time that evening. "Yuki…didn't… Yuki never loved me, ne, Hiro?" His voice shook slightly, and Hiro was suddenly struck with a pang of horror that Shuichi would start to bawl once more. "You always did though… I guess anyways," he mused to himself. "That's why you kissed me, ne Hiro? You kissed me because you still like me, ne, ne? Hiro?"
"Yes, Shuichi… I-I… kissed you… because…" his throat constricted, and even in spite of the situation he could not bring himself to answer his friend's inquiry completely.
Suddenly, Hiro felt Shuichi pull away. His head, to this point a warm weight on his shoulder, slipped away, and his hands, the things he felt were keeping him presently grounded and from collapsing all at once, shifted their positions. He glanced around at Shuichi with moist eyes.
"You did because you like me. You said so." Shuichi had stepped before him, and was looking up at him with wide eyes. "But why did you pull back when I tried to kiss you, then?"
Despite their current situation, Hiro let out a low chuckle. It was such a naïve question that he just couldn't help it. He made a move to place his hands on Shuichi's shoulders, but thought better of it halfway through and sighed.
"Do you not like me now. Huh, Hiro? Is that why? Is it?" He sounded close to tears.
"Huh? No — No!" He shook his head hurriedly. "That-that's not it…"
"But," Shuichi pointed out, one what he probably thought to be reasonable grounds, "You haven't tried to kiss me again."
"Because of Yuki" Hiro pointed out in a would-be-painless tone. Though, at the mere mention of his name, a pang of anger surged through him. It was, after all, that bastard's fault that Hiro was here like this now, with Shuichi of all people.
Shuichi looked around confused. "Yuki isn't here now, though, Hiro. No. No Yuki here. Look." He motioned around the premises. For a moment Hiro actually had to wonder whether Shuichi was being intentionally dense, or if he wanted it to mean that he didn't care.
"Shuichi," he began gently, almost hating himself for actually trying to turn Shuichi's favor from him. "You love Yuki…" he finished somewhat meekly.
At this, Shuichi sighed and bowed his magnificently pink head, staring hard at the ground for a long while, as though deep in thought. Hiro watched him warily, waiting for him to look up again. In the time spent lapsed in silence between them, the wind had picked up and it sent Hiro's hair dancing madly; the movement of his hair, was the only motion between them for several minutes to follow.
After a few more subdued moments, Shuichi finally looked up, his eyes shining pale in the feeble light provided from the encompassing moon above. Then, he leaned forward, moving his arms swiftly around Hiro's taught neck, and pressed his lips firmly against Hiro's.
The abrupt action caught Hiro off guard, as his ebony eyes widened in disbelieving shock, and the sudden shift in weight sent him crashing painfully backwards. He landed roughly on his tailbone and let out a stifled yell, which Shuichi used as an invitation to deepen the kiss. He pushed himself against Hiro, one hand cupping his cheek, the other slipping down once again. Over toned muscles and a smooth rippling abdomen, down the gentle slope of his hips.
"Shuichi!" Hiro breathed coarsely, as the small coral-haired boy guided him gently to the ground, until his back arched up against the cobblestones. Shuichi's hand continued its slow descent, for the second time, slipping beneath the protective adornment that was his jeans. "Shuichi, what're you do — nnnng…." his voice dropped off into hard breaths as Shuichi's hand managed to find, and promptly arouse his, once-again, throbbing manhood. His fingers worked methodically, eliciting contented moans from Hiro, as Shuichi descended once more upon his mouth with a fiery kiss.
Slowly, Shuichi pulled away, a childish grin spreading across his face as he gazed down at Hiro's panting figure. He shifted his weight atop him, grinding his hips into the taller man's, amid protests for him to stop.
"Shuichi… what about… Yuki…" whispered Hiro throatily, his whole body shaking in anticipation of his next move. "You love Yuki!"
At his proclamation, Shuichi looked up slowly, and pressed himself against Hiro's chest, nodding slightly. "Yeah, I guess so." He muttered numbly, resting his head on Hiro's chest, listening intently to the rhythmic thrumming of his heart.
"So-so why are you…" he breathed heavily, "… why are you doing this?"
Shuichi blinked, looking up at Hiro, with a sad look mirrored in his gaze. "Yuki doesn't love me, Hiro. Ne? And, you do."
Hiro shook his head. That wasn't quite the answer he was looking for. Shuichi seemed to sense this, and resumed his thread in the conversation before Hiro had a chance to elaborate.
"Besides, Hiro… I can't have Yuki…He won't let me."
"Shuichi…" Hiro mumbled in tired disbelief at what he had just heard.
"But…" he continued, pushing himself forward to lay aline of kisses up Hiro's throat and along his jaw line. "You will, Hiro."
Author's Ramblings: Okay, so, this is my first Gravitation fanfic. I think I made them both rather out of character, so if you'd be so kind as to tell me if that is the case, it'd be much appreciated. Also, because I'm intending to enter this in a contest, I'd like your over all opinions, please? I happily accept critique, constructive criticism, rants, even flames (though they will be used to make smores). Thanks for reading, if you did, if not, thanks anyway and please be so kind as to leave yoru name at the door, ne?
Blackrose