Author's Note: Everyone be warned--here there be great big references to sex. Complete with a mad scientist on top... literally.
-,--
"I know what I do is crazy--
I want to be cold, but I'm out of control."
--Vitamin C, "The Itch"
The first time was good; the second time was better, which was frankly surprising.
In all honesty he hadn't expected there to be a second time at all--he'd believed that once would be enough, that one craving was like every other and would disappear once it had been satisfied. And it did feel far less urgent once the last shudders of climax were a faintly blurred memory, hours after they'd been slumped weak-kneed against each other, breathless and shaking. They were consenting adults with no real expectations of each other outside of work, and Watari was pretty sure he'd made it clear that he didn't kiss and tell; it had been a good experience, and it was over.
He hadn't expected the hunger to flare up again two days later, in the middle of a careful conversation about nothing.
Tatsumi had glanced down the corridor mid-sentence, and his line of sight rested on the broom closet door; Watari found himself backing up, moving towards it, and then they were in the dark again and fumbling their clothes off like frustrated teenagers. This time it had lasted longer, had been full of wordless teasing; there had been a bruise high up on his neck for a day or two afterwards where Tatsumi's mouth had found his pulse-point. He'd found himself noticing things that had escaped him the first time around--the way Tatsumi's fingers curled around his shoulderblades, holding him hard and insistent before he was even inside, or the way he nearly choked on his own voice in his efforts to stay quiet.
And this time, when they were both finished, Tatsumi had reached up with one faintly unsteady hand to toy with his hair.
The memory made him smile, as much from the surprise it had stirred as from real remembered pleasure.
Four days passed, and he worked overtime on all of them; he joked with Tsuzuki and with Bon in the afternoons, and was casual with Tatsumi when they met. The fourth night stretched into early morning, hours rolling over one another until it was nearly two o'clock and even 003 had tucked her head under her wing and given up on consciousness.
The knock on the lab door was almost inaudible; his visitor slipped in with the stealth of evening, and perched in near-silence on the edge of his desk.
"Can it wait?" Watari asked, trying to keep his hair out of his eyes with one hand and his boiling flask steady with the other.
"If you like," Tatsumi said quietly.
Heat spilled over him with a quickness that made him shiver; a minute blinked by, and he was sitting up straight, pulling Tatsumi down by his tie, leaning up as long fingers threaded through his hair.
Watari knew himself well enough to know that he could get over wanting someone if he knew what he was missing. All he had to do was wait for the nagging spikes of craving to die down...
But then, he thought, and the thought made him grin--then things wouldn't be half as interesting.
-,--
"I know what I do is crazy--
I want to be cold, but I'm out of control."
--Vitamin C, "The Itch"
The first time was good; the second time was better, which was frankly surprising.
In all honesty he hadn't expected there to be a second time at all--he'd believed that once would be enough, that one craving was like every other and would disappear once it had been satisfied. And it did feel far less urgent once the last shudders of climax were a faintly blurred memory, hours after they'd been slumped weak-kneed against each other, breathless and shaking. They were consenting adults with no real expectations of each other outside of work, and Watari was pretty sure he'd made it clear that he didn't kiss and tell; it had been a good experience, and it was over.
He hadn't expected the hunger to flare up again two days later, in the middle of a careful conversation about nothing.
Tatsumi had glanced down the corridor mid-sentence, and his line of sight rested on the broom closet door; Watari found himself backing up, moving towards it, and then they were in the dark again and fumbling their clothes off like frustrated teenagers. This time it had lasted longer, had been full of wordless teasing; there had been a bruise high up on his neck for a day or two afterwards where Tatsumi's mouth had found his pulse-point. He'd found himself noticing things that had escaped him the first time around--the way Tatsumi's fingers curled around his shoulderblades, holding him hard and insistent before he was even inside, or the way he nearly choked on his own voice in his efforts to stay quiet.
And this time, when they were both finished, Tatsumi had reached up with one faintly unsteady hand to toy with his hair.
The memory made him smile, as much from the surprise it had stirred as from real remembered pleasure.
Four days passed, and he worked overtime on all of them; he joked with Tsuzuki and with Bon in the afternoons, and was casual with Tatsumi when they met. The fourth night stretched into early morning, hours rolling over one another until it was nearly two o'clock and even 003 had tucked her head under her wing and given up on consciousness.
The knock on the lab door was almost inaudible; his visitor slipped in with the stealth of evening, and perched in near-silence on the edge of his desk.
"Can it wait?" Watari asked, trying to keep his hair out of his eyes with one hand and his boiling flask steady with the other.
"If you like," Tatsumi said quietly.
Heat spilled over him with a quickness that made him shiver; a minute blinked by, and he was sitting up straight, pulling Tatsumi down by his tie, leaning up as long fingers threaded through his hair.
Watari knew himself well enough to know that he could get over wanting someone if he knew what he was missing. All he had to do was wait for the nagging spikes of craving to die down...
But then, he thought, and the thought made him grin--then things wouldn't be half as interesting.