Author's Note: Thanks to Shoiryu, who provided teeny bits of the dialogue.
-,--
"I've seen you make a look of love from just an icy stare--
I've known you for a long time, but I've just begun to care..."
--Michael Nesmith, "Propinquity"
It was not, thus far, a good day.
For one thing, it was a Thursday, and he hated Thursdays; for another, he'd tossed off a rather harsh remark at Tsuzuki in that morning's meeting, and Kurosaki had been glaring at him all day. The weather was too sunny, the coffee was too weak, and when he'd run into Torii and Fukiya they had giggled too loudly.
"Hey, Tatsumi! I was wondering where you'd gotten to. D'you have a minute?"
And, of course, Thursday would not be anything approaching complete without a mad scientist.
He glanced over his shoulder. "I might. What do you need?"
"I was wondering if you could help me monitor an experiment."
Oh, god. He did not need this. Not now, not the day after, not ever. He gritted his teeth, and hoped there was ice in his expression; his othersense registered a faint wobble as his shadow twitched, ever so slightly.
"What sort of experiment?"
"Here, follow me."
Well, all right. Fine.
Watari was already moving down the corridor with quick steps; it wasn't much of an effort to keep up with him. It did, however, take a moment to realise that the door Watari stepped through was not the door to his lab. If he's doing unauthorised experiments with other people's property, he thought, I'll kill him with my bare hands.
He moved across the threshold, and Watari slipped behind him to close the door; in the moment before semi-darkness folded over the room he noticed how small it was, how devoid of scientific equipment... how many cleaning supplies sat huddled in piles against the far wall.
Watari had brought him into a closet, and he was suddenly very glad he had his back to the door.
"Watari-san." Tatsumi felt more than heard his voice growing harsh. "May I ask what exactly you have in--"
And then the rest of the words were lost, muffled by something firm and yielding and warm--pressed flat and silent by Watari's mouth against his own.
His first reaction was to stiffen in surprise, catlike, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in sheer alarm. This was not supposed to happen. This had come with no warning, this was unacceptable. It was not, under any circumstances, appropriate.
But Watari's weight was solid against his body, all low heat and smooth lines, and he could feel breath not his own in his mouth, swift as an injured bird struggling for the sky after falling.
Watari was kissing him.
He hadn't been kissed in sixty years.
After the fifth year or so, he'd simply stopped thinking about it, setting it away in his memory alongside comets and total eclipses. It had been nice while it lasted, but its existence in his life had been brief, skimming, touching, then vanishing into the wider reaches of the universe.
Odd, that he'd completely forgotten what it felt like.
How could he have completely lost a sensation? Something this simple, this warm, should have fixed itself firmly in his mind the first time he'd felt it. And, yes, it felt good, and that was slightly alien too--especially when it wasn't something he had to snatch for, something fleeting and bittersweet.
The tension was draining from his shoulders in a slow spiral of release, and he didn't care.
Tatsumi closed his eyes.
Even without muscle memory, he found himself responding; he reached forward and his hands tangled in loose thick hair. That quick breathing turned, briefly, into a sigh, and he felt more than heard it. One heartbeat went by--two--and then Watari was teasing his lips apart with the tip of his tongue; he gave up on anything like resistance and let the slow, warm slide of contact wash over him as the kiss deepened.
Something inside his mind was blossoming in orange and rust and red.
He only realised it when Watari shifted his weight and reached past him to lock the door.
-,--
"I've seen you make a look of love from just an icy stare--
I've known you for a long time, but I've just begun to care..."
--Michael Nesmith, "Propinquity"
It was not, thus far, a good day.
For one thing, it was a Thursday, and he hated Thursdays; for another, he'd tossed off a rather harsh remark at Tsuzuki in that morning's meeting, and Kurosaki had been glaring at him all day. The weather was too sunny, the coffee was too weak, and when he'd run into Torii and Fukiya they had giggled too loudly.
"Hey, Tatsumi! I was wondering where you'd gotten to. D'you have a minute?"
And, of course, Thursday would not be anything approaching complete without a mad scientist.
He glanced over his shoulder. "I might. What do you need?"
"I was wondering if you could help me monitor an experiment."
Oh, god. He did not need this. Not now, not the day after, not ever. He gritted his teeth, and hoped there was ice in his expression; his othersense registered a faint wobble as his shadow twitched, ever so slightly.
"What sort of experiment?"
"Here, follow me."
Well, all right. Fine.
Watari was already moving down the corridor with quick steps; it wasn't much of an effort to keep up with him. It did, however, take a moment to realise that the door Watari stepped through was not the door to his lab. If he's doing unauthorised experiments with other people's property, he thought, I'll kill him with my bare hands.
He moved across the threshold, and Watari slipped behind him to close the door; in the moment before semi-darkness folded over the room he noticed how small it was, how devoid of scientific equipment... how many cleaning supplies sat huddled in piles against the far wall.
Watari had brought him into a closet, and he was suddenly very glad he had his back to the door.
"Watari-san." Tatsumi felt more than heard his voice growing harsh. "May I ask what exactly you have in--"
And then the rest of the words were lost, muffled by something firm and yielding and warm--pressed flat and silent by Watari's mouth against his own.
His first reaction was to stiffen in surprise, catlike, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in sheer alarm. This was not supposed to happen. This had come with no warning, this was unacceptable. It was not, under any circumstances, appropriate.
But Watari's weight was solid against his body, all low heat and smooth lines, and he could feel breath not his own in his mouth, swift as an injured bird struggling for the sky after falling.
Watari was kissing him.
He hadn't been kissed in sixty years.
After the fifth year or so, he'd simply stopped thinking about it, setting it away in his memory alongside comets and total eclipses. It had been nice while it lasted, but its existence in his life had been brief, skimming, touching, then vanishing into the wider reaches of the universe.
Odd, that he'd completely forgotten what it felt like.
How could he have completely lost a sensation? Something this simple, this warm, should have fixed itself firmly in his mind the first time he'd felt it. And, yes, it felt good, and that was slightly alien too--especially when it wasn't something he had to snatch for, something fleeting and bittersweet.
The tension was draining from his shoulders in a slow spiral of release, and he didn't care.
Tatsumi closed his eyes.
Even without muscle memory, he found himself responding; he reached forward and his hands tangled in loose thick hair. That quick breathing turned, briefly, into a sigh, and he felt more than heard it. One heartbeat went by--two--and then Watari was teasing his lips apart with the tip of his tongue; he gave up on anything like resistance and let the slow, warm slide of contact wash over him as the kiss deepened.
Something inside his mind was blossoming in orange and rust and red.
He only realised it when Watari shifted his weight and reached past him to lock the door.