"How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit of the hill? A kiss, and all was said."

~ Victor Hugo

.

S

Nezumi's hair fanned around his head on the pillow when he dropped himself back down on the bed, breathing out his relief. Shion watched his expression relax, his entire endeavor mirroring a sense of familiarity and a habitual ease. Nezumi knew how to be with Shion like this. They both knew how to be together like this. That was why Shion had never considered another place for Nezumi to sleep.

For eight years… they had spent every night they were in each other's lives in the same bed. Nezumi had fallen asleep in Shion's arms the night they had met and never once for over six months they had shared together, had Shion slept in anywhere else but Nezumi's bed. It was how it was meant to be. It was natural.

The mere fact that Nezumi had felt the need to ask him, sent prickling currents of understanding across Shion's nerves. Nezumi was fully aware of what his return meant to Shion. He could see the possibilities –the inevitable– the outcome of the choices they had made. He knew, just as Shion did, what they were now.

Nezumi had changed, Shion suddenly realized. The four years he had spent traveling across the endless expanses of the world had given him something more than calloused hands, knowing eyes and a permanently etched air of freedom he carried around him like a cloud. He smiled easier. Laughed louder. His crystalline eyes of incandescent grey burned with more vitality than they had ever had. Something within him had calmed… not tamed… but satisfied. His gaze fell on Shion with a gentleness that threatened to leave Shion breathless. He was much more patient –he had never interrupted Shion as he had babbled on and on about his life as they had breakfast– much more cheerful –Shion had always loved this side of him; even though those were rare, precious moments in the West Block– and he was much quieter. He was listening.

Nezumi's soft murmur brought Shion back to their bedroom. Nezumi had chosen his story. He looked up towards the ceiling and started telling Shion another tale of a different city, of different people.. of a different world.

"I had been through two towns by then. No.5 wasn't far from my sights—now that I think about it. A couple of kids—reminded me a bit of the ones you used to read to—were spying on me reciting a few lines of Hamlet. I sent them away, not really thinking much of it. The next day though, I spotted a group traveling in the back of a wagon—all of them singing. I decided to join in."

Nezumi smiled. Shion thought he looked proud.

"All the sudden, the kids popped up shouting and waving at me. Turned out, the group was an acting troupe, and the two kids had been telling the others about me the night before. The troupe was one reminiscent of the old Commedia dell'Arte style. I'm sure you haven't forgotten what that is."

Shion's trained mind had swiftly provided him with the knowledge. He felt his heart skip a beat for knowing what Nezumi was talking about. The old Italian theater form consisting of improvised performances… It was just Nezumi's kind of thing. Shion nodded enthusiastically to answer Nezumi's gaze and leaned in closer towards him propping his chin on the palms of his hands.

"Apparently there was 'trouble in paradise' for two of the actors. One of them refused to perform, so the group was in dire need of a replacement. And after hearing a few lines, they decided on past performer had been part of their 'innamorati' set, so I was filling in as an over dramatic woman in love. Guess that's what I get for reciting Ophelia's lines. Anyone with an ear for talent always casts me as a woman after one verse.

"To be honest, the performance was over the top, more so than anything I performed in West Block—and don't get me started on the costumes—but it was enjoyable."

Shion had nothing to say to that. He was too busy trying to imagine Nezumi on a make-shift stage, dressed as a beautiful woman who pledged her love under the night sky. He had heard Eve's voice many times… He could easily imagine how he must have captured everyone's attention, stealing their breath away, leaving them in a silent, goosebump filled awe that remained hung in the air even hours after the play was over.

Shion was startled when Nezumi suddenly sat up and held his hand. The moment his silver gaze caught Shion's through dark eyelashes, Shion let out a weak 'oh'. Nezumi's lips, curved gently in an inviting smile, pressed against the top of Shion's hand. The kiss was fleeting and evanescent… A mere graze of velvet lips against his skin. Shion swallowed hard as one more time, he was subjected to the full power of argent grey.

"'Now by this kiss, th'admirer of thy skill,
Thou art well worthy th' honour thou hast given
With so sweet words—to thy eye-ravishing art,
Of which my beauties can deserve no part.'"

Shion felt his entire body being lent to the melody of Nezumi's voice, his soul trapped in the confines of numinous grey eyes and his mind–always analytic, always rational–fell silent as if spellbound. His lips parted although he could not talk, he could not even breathe. Oh, how he had missed this…

Nezumi's chuckle as he shed Eve's opulent grace and allowed their entangled hands fall on the bed once more, reverberated within Shion's heart. Feeling the warmth of his skin in his palm, Shion watched him talk, listened to the mellifluous rise and falls of his voice and tried to imagine Ai and him sitting by the fire at night. Was it summer? Or was it spring? How did the air smell like? What did she look like? What had she seen in Nezumi's eyes? Was it this new touch of kindness that seemed to flicker behind his intimidating grace? Or was it something else Shion had, yet, never seen?

"…The group thanked me for filling in the role and offered me a permanent stand-in position if I wanted it. And those kids from before were begging me to stay around a bit longer.. but we had to part ways at No.5. I was told the next time I ran into them, that I had a free seat at any performance—very generous of them, right?"

Shion nodded in agreement, still feeling slightly dazed. He couldn't take his eyes off Nezumi. The hand in his palm was also a great distraction when he needed all his attention to focus on giving a coherent reply to Nezumi. He had always had this effect on Shion. Rendering him speechless, making him tumble over his own words, cause disruptions and snaps between his articulately formulated thoughts when all Shion could think became the luminescent grey of his eyes or the sweet sound of his voice or how his heart leapt inside his chest when he heard him laugh.

"Maybe if you make No.6 even more inviting, they'll stop by here and give us a show?"

Nezumi smiled and Shion indulged in the sight of a crescent dimple at the corner of his lips. His expression showed a sort of calm Shion had never seen before. His smile was genuine, his hand holding onto his was gentle but firm and his eyes reflected elation; probably because, one more time, he had reduced Shion to a gaping admirer, not so unlike his very many fans across the world.

Shion's mind reeled and replayed Nezumi's words once more; focusing on the meaning this time rather than the voice that enunciated the vowels and consonants. He smiled warmly back at him with true enthusiasm.

"I'll definitely do my best."

Shion's answering smile ebbed into the rise of memories. His hand in Nezumi's twitched slightly as Shion was suddenly hit with the clandestine contrast of Nezumi from four years ago and the Nezumi sitting on his bed with him right now. He idly wondered if anyone but him would be able to tell the difference. If anyone would be able to feel the same tightening in their hearts the way Shion did when he saw the ease in which Nezumi moved, when he heard the joy in his voice or when Nezumi looked at him with eyes of placid grey… as if he was assured, certain… as if he was safe.

Shion's eyes of red wine, as easily captivated by Nezumi's gaze as ever, fell lower as he couldn't help but stare at the little curve of his lips. His heart throbbed in his chest and he immediately felt embarrassed. Instead of looking away, Shion looked back into Nezumi's eyes–they were a little too knowing for his liking– and searched for the slightest implication of warning in the brilliant grey.

There was no warning.

Shion dropped Nezumi's hand as he leaned in and placed a hand on his chest. Without breaking the gaze, he tried to determine how to go best with it. He could feel the insecurity of having no real previous experience in the matter but he doubted anyone could have more motivation.

"Nezumi…"

He muttered the word in an exhale… His gaze momentarily broke away from the grey to his hand on his steadily heaving chest. His heart raced as his mind reminded him of the balcony and what had happened there. Of how it had felt, how Nezumi had felt against him, how he was lost in that warmth and how he had never felt more found, exposed and infinitely safe. How it had felt like, Nezumi too, was feeling the same.

–It should be okay, right? If I do this…?

"Nezumi…" he met the silver eyes again. His heart skipped a beat. With each word that left his lips Shion felt a wave of heat rise from the core of his stomach to his face.

"Can I kiss you?"

N

With such bright and exuberant eyes peering toward him—no, through him, Nezumi had to wonder just where Shion had wandered off to. Had his mind somehow traveled far enough into the past to reach those summer's nights three years ago? Had he found himself seated along side Ai by the fire as the flames rose higher and higher into the blackened sky or was he standing mere inches away from the troupe's make-shift stage with various characters dancing about in elaborate hand-stitched costumes, making jokes of all sorts and rallying up the crowd? Did he stroll along side Nezumi when he joined in on the group's merry-making or.. was Shion a mere spectator in this retelling, someone who viewed it from a comfortable distance, unable to grasp the finer details or find a place for himself amongst the shuffle? Where exactly had Shion's thoughts taken him, over the course of the tale? And now that the story was finished.. how long until he returned?
Thankfully, Shion hadn't taken all that long to finally shake off that dopey expression of his; it seemed the airhead had found his way home once more—sure, he probably dilly-dallied on the return trip, but he had gotten back; that's all that mattered. Nezumi swallowed down a sly remark or two, and opted instead for keeping that dashing smile of his in place, the one that Shion was practically gawking at—yes, the same one that only popped up in the first place because of how awestricken he had gotten Shion with a few cheap lines. Though, it only remained because of Shion's response. He hadn't needed an answer because Nezumi had already known it. He had always known Shion would always do his best. The day they had parted, Shion took upon his shoulders a promise to reform this damned city into a true utopia—no, that wasn't quite right, not a utopia, but a place that welcomed those from all walks of life, a place that instead of sucking the life out of its surrounding areas, stretched it roots deep into the soil and entwined itself with the world around it, forming a mutually beneficial relationship between the city and all the special blocks and districts.
In due time, the troupe would find its way to the newly formed No.6. They'd stroll through the opened gates asking for a stage to perform on, and when that happened, Nezumi could introduce the lot of them to Shion, and the pair of them could take up that offer for front row seats. It'd be nice to find out just what the group had gotten into: were they still modifying scripts and running age old performances now and then or had they gone back to their origins, back to pure improvisation? Well, that would be something to wonder about later..
Right now, there was something far too interesting in front of him for his thoughts to drift elsewhere..

Shion, you can tell.. can't you?
For the briefest moment, their eyes had caught one another; there was no escape.
..It's written all over my face. You're not an idiot. You know exactly what I'm thinking.. but, it's what's running through your head too, isn't it?
And that second when Shion's eyes lowered, when they fell away, Nezumi found his answer. Wordlessly, Shion had made his intentions perfectly clear, and there was something about that candid behavior that made the motion seem.. sharper, per say. It was a swift and deeper cut that exposed more of Nezumi beneath those red-wine eyes, and even with the lingering fears, Nezumi felt a sense of ease because, here, their desires coincided.
There had been changes between them and within them. Shion had four years to come to terms with his feelings and the depth of them just as Nezumi had—well, sort of. There were still.. complications, but wasn't that expected? After all, it takes two, and when you've got more than six months of walking distance between yourself and your partner, it's kind of a "no-shit moment". Of course, not everything is going to end up being crystal clear. So yes, there were still complications. There was still so much red tape to cut through that they hadn't began to tackle it, and there would still be arguments, fights, and temptations to just say fuck it all, but there would also be compromise, understanding, and resolve to stay.. because it mattered. Because it would always matter.

The moment Shion leaned in, Nezumi knew. He kept his mouth shut, but he knew, and when Shion cast his gaze upward once more, he had to fight back a smirk. Shion could be both surprising and predictable within the same span of time; that hadn't changed.
..Well, aren't you bold.
Nezumi mentally readied himself for what would surely come next. They had already shared a rather passionate embrace on the balcony, so there was no telling how quickly things might escalate in a warm, safe, and dry bedroom. He had to be the one to set boundaries in this situation, not only for himself, but for Shion as well. Nezumi had the experience, and thus, he was in the position to redirect things if the situation got too heated. As much as he'd love to indulge whatever fantasies Shion had, now wasn't the time—at least, not the time to go that far.

A soft, low whisper of his name—nice angle, Shion, keep going—a hesitant glance downward—Go on, no one's stopping you—and then, another lengthy stare; one that was just as cutting as the time before, but double edged.
If he weren't thrilled by Shion's attempts to take the initiative, he might have laughed—honestly, being asked? Talk about unromantic—but in Shion's case.. there was something, dare he say, arousing about the proposition, especially when coupled with that deep fluster and those hungry eyes. ..Certainly, no laughing matter.

"I thought you'd never ask," He teased, leaning forward a tad himself but still not enough to steal the reins from their owner. "But yes," —a smile tinged in his voice— "you may." Ever so slightly, one of his hands pressed in the space along side Shion's upper thigh; the other remained stationary, keeping Nezumi fixed in place. This was a delicate process—heh, delicate? Since when had he become such a maudlin type—but, regardless, it was what it was. Jokes aside, he had to keep his own wits because there was a chance he could get just as caught up in the moment. Shion wasn't the only hot-blooded man in the room; as calm and cool as Nezumi would like to be, he was only human.

S

The slowly approaching evening pressed firmly against the bedroom windows. The lights of the city expanding all around the apartment Shion lived in –now with Nezumi– blinked and glowed into the dark boundary between day and night. The rain, after three consecutive days, had finally reduced to a light drizzle. A clear stretch of zaffre sky was slowly chasing the rain clouds away as night rolled into No.6. It would not rain that night.

Nezumi's eyes glowed silver, tinted golden with the lightest touch of Shion's bedside lamps. The hair draping loose around his shoulders smelled of vanilla –Shion's shampoo– and much like the hand against his thigh and the enticing fire in his argent eyes, that too, made it difficult for Shion to concentrate. Nezumi spoke; voice low and mellifluous, tingling against Shion's eardrums as he gave him permission to proceed but Shion barely waited for him to finish. He felt on the very edge of a cliff, looking down as his entire balance hung at the end of his carefully constructed resolve to not fall into it. He was aware there were boundaries still. That no matter what Nezumi's return meant, it didn't mean he would want everything Shion wanted–had wanted for years. But this moment was unpremeditated. It was not devised, it wasn't planned. Shion had no expectations nor did he have any ulterior motives. He only felt an irresistible gravity towards the man sitting across from him. An unadulterated need to be closer to him when he finally could be.

It was like skipping a step down the stairs. That throbbing motion jumping awake at the pit of his stomach as he realized his next step would not fall somewhere he expected. He idly wondered as his hands cupped Nezumi's face before he was even done talking if that's what people meant when they used to words 'to fall in love'. It indeed felt like falling into something unknown to him. Something bottomless and infinite. Something he was still too naïve to fully understand for his life of twenty years was not enough to fathom the vastness of this feeling. He also had an aching premonition that no matter how long he lived alongside this man, inhaling his exhalations, sharing his meals, watching his raven locks turn as white as his own hair, and feeling that even the wrinkles of old age on their hands aligned to one another's when they held hands, he would still not fully understand what it meant to love Nezumi. 'Maybe I don't need to understand' he thought as he closed his eyes. 'Nezumi is here and he is alive. Isn't that all I need to understand?'

It was an elision, Shion knew. He lost his balance.

The feel of Nezumi's lips against his alerted all his senses. The memory of their reunion out in the balcony, although still vibrant and fresh and so very exuberant, paled in comparison to what he felt now. Shion couldn't fathom why or how kissing Nezumi felt as right, as natural to him. How it felt more right than anything else he had done in his life, whether it was something as insignificant as him deciding to shave that morning or something as grand as moving the people in the lower parts of the West Block to the new residential area in Southern No.6. His heart rose up his throat as his hands brushed against the smooth skin of Nezumi's face, feeling the chiseled bone frame it was stretched over. Leaning in, Shion hesitantly parted his lips. His fingers buried themselves in locks of evening black; the smell of vanilla filled his lungs and Shion's tongue touched Nezumi's bottom lip. It slid over every minuscule crack and fractional rupture of skin, through the light graze of Nezumi's teeth and finally indulged in his succulent taste. Every thought in his mind disappeared in a penumbra of needful haze as his entire universe became the man in front of him. His mouth moved in a languid rhythm–one that he did not know how he had acquired. He breathed through his nose; each inhalation threatening to steal a shiver from his spine.

Shion felt an overwhelming sense of idyllic peace. His expression was calm, concentrated and very much invested. He didn't think whether he was good at kissing Nezumi nor did he try to analyze the situation. He was aware of the slowly spreading fire Nezumi's taste–and his response– ignited within him and as it began to seep into his kiss, he didn't try holding it back. Tilting his head, Shion deepened the kiss. One of his hands ran up at the back of Nezumi's head through his hair, while the other remained over his cheek and jaw; holding him in place. Nezumi was everywhere around him. Shion's intake of air through parted lips climbed to a broken moan.

Where was he supposed to stop at? How would he stop when Nezumi showed no signs of stopping himself? Shion felt like he could go on forever like this. He was wrapped in Nezumi's warmth, intoxicated with his taste and dizzied with his scent. He had imagined many times over the past four years how it would be like to kiss Nezumi for no other reason than simply wanting to. He had always believed he had a wild imagination–too wild to be suppressed by the old government's brain-washing. He was blessed with an overly active mind, allowing him to solve and resolve the most complicated types of problems; a memory that allowed him to conjure any necessary knowledge he had previously learned, no matter how much time had passed and he had an infallible observation skill. What Nezumi taught him; in stark contrast to what he had been taught since he was a child, was to feelinstead of analyzing. To experience instead of turning things into theoretic knowledge. That's why only when Shion allowed himself to feel, he felt free.

When he had first met Nezumi eight years ago, Shion had thought that his eyes had reminded him of the sky right before the crack of dawn. Eight years later, as he kissed him with all the love in his aching heart, and felt more alive than he ever did in his life, Shion thought Nezumi was his freedom.

N

His mind wasn't overwhelmed by the atmosphere, nor did he give a damn about the setting sun or whether or not it would rain tonight. All that mattered sat before him, in this alien room, the one that felt as much like home as the person occupying it. But even then, the details of the room were just that—details, little tidbits that he couldn't care less about. What made this room, this apartment—Hell, even this fucking city—feel anything like home was Shion. Take him away and this place was as much like home as any other place in the world: just four walls that kept the elements at bay, or at least, muted enough to give this illusion of safety.
But what was safety, when he really considered it, not some textbook definition, but in the simplest terms, what was it? How could he describe what it felt like to him, and him alone?
Those eyes, so deep, so passionate, and so vividly alive could swallow him up in a sea of red, engulf his entire being and drag him into the depths. And right there, that was it: a gaze that could both split him wide open and reduce him to bits and pieces of a man.. was also the definition of safety. Shion wasn't a monster, nor was he some untouchable god among men. He was more so a beacon of light in the darkest hour, a safe harbor awaiting a long since sailed vessel, one of which had intended to circumnavigate the globe. Shion could repair neither the wreckage nor the wear and tear of the vicious waves. The damage was irreversible; this ship would likely never sail again. But why set off once more when all the wonders of the world couldn't satisfy Nezumi the way lingering in those shallow waters of the port could? Rhetorical question.

Each touch, every brush of those eager fingertips, left searing trails in their wake. Visible or not, he felt marked, claimed, like some branded creature, and yet, he remained still, allowing himself to be owned in this solitary moment.
'This is it..' His thoughts idly rang as hot breath slipped passed his lips, a rush of air from lungs that weren't his own, 'This is what I ran from..'. He wouldn't apologize because he wasn't guilty—he had no reason to be. If he hadn't left, none of this would have been possible. Without those four years, they couldn't sit before one another, letting hands and lips remember the other in a way they had never known to begin with.
Each moment, each second spent apart had its use. It allowed him time to reform himself, to become a person understanding of the longing within him and to what extent he was willing to change for the object of it. Over those four years, he had realized that since he was twelve, since he sat in a bedroom, not unlike this one, due to the kindness of a boy, now a man, that he had never been someone without influence of Shion. He had been given a second chance at life by Shion, and then, he had been bound by that debt: the need to repay it and escape the weight of it. At sixteen, Shion had become the sole source of countless emotions, ones he deemed unnecessary, but felt just the same. They were emotions that forced him to remember what humanity truly was, at its purest form: fighting, screaming, crying, and existing all for another's sake. Shion had become the subject of his fears, before becoming the hole in his heart, the darkest corners of his mind, and every shadow in every dingy apartment Nezumi ever slept in.
Shion was around him, within him, and to some extent, Shion was as much part of what made him as Nezumi himself was.

Without permission of his own thought, Nezumi's hand steadily climbed up Shion's thigh, palm rubbing up the fabric of his pant leg at a leisurely pace. Just the taste of that fire within Shion made it hard to contain himself, he just wanted to touch Shion, to let his hands wander, move about on their own accord. But there were boundaries, firmly drawn lines mapped out between them, he had to keep to himself; he couldn't roam like that—but he did. Slipping his hand upward, tracing along Shion's hip bone with his thumb all the while, Nezumi let his hand slide around Shion's waist, a finger hooking in one of his belt loops, held in place. The other shifted from the bed, causing him to lean backward onto the bed a touch more, and found its way to the nape of Shion's neck, digits barely tickling against that snowy hair he was so fond of.
As the kiss deepened, when he could taste that low moan in his mouth, Nezumi, for the first time ever, felt lost in a kiss; never before had he been so enraptured by another person, and as much as their balcony kisses had meant, something about this one now held passion tenfold. How was it that each kiss progressively intensified? Could it be possible that no kiss between them would ever feel the same, that there would never be a sense of familiarity? A cliched line came to mind—one reserved for tricking school girls into believing in true love, one he scoffed at, called cheap, the first time he heard it. But now, he considered, that there just might be a sliver of truth to it..

Shion moved on instinct, kissed in a way that couldn't be taught, one that let his cravings seep into the motion and spread to Nezumi; they stretched throughout every part of him until Shion's longing became his longing and vise versa, until they reached the same level of intensity. It was at that moment that Nezumi knew—he knew that if Shion wanted more than this, if he wanted something beyond kisses, there would be no way to deny him. Nezumi couldn't withhold anything from Shion, especially not pleasure.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

This is the fourth chapter of my roleplay thread with my partner A-Wanderer-No-More on Tumblr.

Nezumi = A-Wanderer-No-More. [a-wanderer-no-more. tumblr. com]
Shion = Me at Shion-of-No.6 [shion-of-no6. tumblr. com]

This is a really long thread. I expect it to be around 10 chapters long. My partner and I decided on weekly updates here.
I hope you'll enjoy it.

Preview image by Fujiroku [ fujiroku. tumblr. com ]