Don't read this if you haven't read the previous chapter ('Remedies'). I'm told there's not enough caring!Akari in that chapter, and so this is for requi and Reina Ariadne, who both wanted a sequel.
Also, my version of caring!Akari is more tough than love. Sorry if he disappoints on that score, but I didn't know how to write this piece differently. Oh, and this is long, but I think it needed to be to establish the various dynamics at play. Go get a snack before you sit down to read. I can wait.
Hirato's eyes creak open to blinding effulgence. Early morning light suffuses the room in a dazzling haze, reflecting off Research Tower's institutional white walls and obscuring his vision. He smothers a groan and allows his retinas to acclimate.
Shifting fabric captures his attention. Immediately beside the hospital bed, Akari stirs. The blond is dozing in what appears to be a horribly uncomfortable armchair, lab coat draped over crossed arms, lithe legs resting atop the bedrail. It's enough to make Hirato reconsider his bad opinion of over-bright sunlight. Directly under the window, Akari's pale, alabaster skin is positively luminescent and his mop of pinkish hair takes on an unearthly radiance. He's surreally beautiful like this, the captain thinks. If not for the frown contorting his mouth, he'd look like an illusion, like he'd been conjured into existence by sheer fervor of Hirato's desire.
Exquisite. A smirk. And all mine.
Before he can stop himself, he reaches forth in attempt to smooth the crease that's formed between Akari's brows. As if attuned to his lover's every movement, the researcher's eyes snap to his face before tracing a path to his outstretched hand. "You've developed an irritating habit of touching me when inappropriate," he says dryly.
Hirato's leer turns dangerous. "Ah, there's your mistake. You assume I'd ever want to touch you in an appropriate manner."
"Shameless, even when hospitalized," Akari retorts swiftly. "One would think a soldier would be more attuned to his environment."
"Is that a threat? It's ineffectual, I'm afraid. I would relish being at your mercy, my dear doctor."
Akari scowls. Hirato essays a chuckle, but he's racked by a biting sting in his throat. He's parched, tongue scraping against the roof of his mouth like sandpaper. The physician is quick to his feet. He pours water into a glass and holds it before the brunet, the barest hint of a grin twisting his lips. It's the sort of playfulness only Hirato would notice, and he relishes that too—that his paramour holds so much in reserve, away from the world's prying eyes.
"I think I can manage a drink of water." He plucks the cup from Akari's fingers and takes a grateful sip.
"Really? Given your complete lack of self-control last night, I question your ability to manage anything with much success."
Hirato's relief is short-lived; he nearly chokes at the words. A muddle of incoherent memories race through his psyche as he makes a futile attempt to piece together the events of the previous evening. He remembers but slivers of the whole; it's akin to producing blueprints from rubble. Nevertheless, one sensation slices through the murky haze, clean and sharp—a careful hand cupping his cheek, thumb brushing across his lips. "What happened?" he asks, feeling a bit unsettled by the lacuna in his memory.
"How much do you recall?" Akari inquires, keen gaze scanning the prone man as he retrieves the empty cup.
"Very little. I remember being at Round Table for a debriefing…" The brunet shakes his head, hoping to jar loose anything of help. "And you. Your panic." He searches Akari's inscrutable expression in hopes of gleaning any additional information. "I also remember thinking how cute you are when you're all prickly and imperious."
Akari tries to hide it, but it's there—the tiniest sparkle of amusement dancing in ruby orbs. "So you don't recall telling me that you'd like to fuck me against the table?"
Hirato laughs. "You really ought to leave the teasing to me, Akari. It's so… unnatural when you do it."
A perfectly-arched strawberry blond brow is the only response he's afforded.
It dawns on him that perhaps he is capable of crudeness given the right circumstances. "No," he breathes, more in bemused observation than shame or remorse. If he could feel something resembling embarrassment, he might have at that moment. Instead, staggering disappointment is all he can manage. This means no sex for a week. Violet eyes dart again to the doctor's pursed lips. No, it'll be two weeks. At least.
"Yes," Akari confirms. "While I was giving a report, no less."
He hesitates for effect. "Are you waiting for me to apologize?"
The blond settles himself on the bed, intense stare boring into Hirato. "Yes."
You'll be waiting for a while. He'll never weary of playing such games, he realizes, shrugging dismissively and patently not apologizing. "In my defense, I was just being honest. I've always wanted to take you during Round Table."
"Am I supposed to be appeased by that?"
"No... but maybe a little turned on."
Akari sighs in half-exasperation, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "What am I going to do with this perverted lout?" he mutters under his breath. A hand flies over Hirato's open mouth before more boorishness can ensue. "It was rhetorical. Don't answer."
"Should I demonstrate instead?" He slips his hand around a fine wrist and kisses the physician's fingertips. They're cool and ungloved; Akari never covers his hands when the captain is under his care. Hirato suspects that this little habit has gone unnoticed by the doctor himself. He has no intention of pointing it out, either. Hospitalization is a complete waste of his very valuable time, but he's less inclined to walk out if it's his partner's gentle touch ghosting along his skin.
That erstwhile gentle touch turns forceful, prompting the younger man to wince. Ah, I spoke too soon. Fingers curl into either side of Hirato's chin, securing his attention. Akari leans in, eyes narrowed and menace in his voice. "You remarkable idiot. Somehow you managed to contract a rare infection in less than eight hours. Under normal circumstances, I'd congratulate any organism that incapacitates your facility for thought and speech, but you're insufferable when delirious."
Hirato can't work his jaw, not with long, powerful fingers gripping so tightly. He makes a placating gesture with his hands.
Akari is unimpressed. "Shut up." If he could, the brunet would point out that he isn't, in point of fact, speaking. But all his thought processes cease when sharp teeth bite his earlobe, sending anticipation zipping up his spine. "If you ever traipse off to a tropical bacterial paradise without proper inoculation again, I will invent new ways to break you."
It's not the threat that undoes him. Akari would never hurt him; they both know that. It's the knowledge that he'd thoroughly enjoy whatever was contrived. His hand inches up the other's thigh, sliding scandalously higher and higher. This sort of suggestive petting has become a conditioned response. The commander is largely unaware he's doing it. Akari, however, cants his head and slowly removes the roving appendage from his person. Hirato understands now: this is his punishment for being so careless about his own health. His bedmate can be spectacularly cruel—like at present, demonstrating the authoritativeness that he knows drives Hirato wild with thirst and then refusing to satiate him. How unfair. The least he could do is undress.
"Am I interrupting?" Tokitatsu calls from the doorway. He's terribly amused at finding his brother on the receiving end of teasing for once.
Doctor and patient answer simultaneously.
"Yes," Hirato barks, clearly hoping to turn the situation to his advantage.
"No." On the other hand, Akari is rather accomodating. "It's time for his medicine anyway." Coral eyes glint maliciously as he releases the bed-ridden man. He walks out with no further comment.
The older man waits until the researcher's footfall is well out of earshot before addressing Hirato. "You're a lucky, undeserving bastard, you know that?"
"So I'm told. How did you get in here?" he inquires, surprised that a Rank One officer's room is so easily breached. He doesn't mind having his brother around occasionally, but Tokitatsu's penchant for mischief is outstripped solely by his own. The bureaucrat may be genuinely concerned, but that won't deter him from making trouble.
"Akari gave me the code so I could visit at will."
Hirato huffs in defeat. "Unsurprising. He's disciplining me for coming home in such a state."
"Can you blame him? You had us all extremely worried." Tokitatsu's affect hardens momentarily, a shadow of unease flitting across his features before they're schooled into perfect impassivity. Evidently, he was extremely worried. "How much do you remember?"
"Just fragments, honestly."
The elder nods. "I guessed as much. So you don't remember Akari threatening to resign so he could accompany you here?"
"He did what?" Hirato has rarely felt it, but he recognizes the knotty, twisting sensation in his chest as guilt. His brilliant workaholic fool of a partner was prepared to give up his position, his life's work, simply to be at his bedside. He's been acquainted with Akari's selflessness for years, of course. Even so, the news is staggering.
"Did you think the director of the nation's top research facility had nothing better to do than administer antibiotics?" Tokitatsu adjusts his glasses. "Any Tower personnel could have treated you after Akari made the diagnosis."
"What's your point?" The words are harsher than intended; Hirato's too preoccupied by the gnawing in his stomach to participate fully in the usual pantomime.
A consoling hand rests on his shoulder and Tokitatsu's eyes soften considerably. "Don't be a difficult patient, hmm? Not this time, anyway." The administrator whirls on his heel and heads for the door. Before he crosses the threshold, he glances once more at his younger sibling. "I'm glad you're okay."
An hour passes before Akari returns. In the interim, Hirato has bitten back nearly two dozen impulses to seek escape. The amount of work that awaits him is ungodly. Furthermore, each minute spent out of commission is opportunity for another Varuga-related incident to threaten his crew. Even if he must be quarantined to his quarters on account of contagion, he would accomplish more than he is currently. He loathes this—the feelings of helplessness attendant to serious illnesses. Yet he's determined to behave; he owes it to Akari. Only this once. Next time, all bets are off.
"Did Tokitatsu say something?" the blond asks, brows furrowed while he injects various fluids into Hirato's IV. "You're awfully quiet."
"Hmm?" He looks at his lover—actually looks at him. Akari's hair is a tousled mess, and Hirato knows instinctively that he must have been roused by an emergency yesterday morning. He was probably exhausted before I returned from Mariyama. Tired bags have formed under still-alert eyes. Even the square of his shoulders is imbued with a slight languor. Spent he may be, but the physician stands too stiffly, as though his back aches miserably. Sleeping in an armchair can't be pleasant. Finally, the captain takes in the disquiet clouding those hypnotic irises. Akari isn't the effusive sort; it's one of the myriad reasons they're so well-suited to one another. Not demonstrating sentiment, though, is a far cry from being unfeeling. Hirato considers how gorgeous the other man looked under the early morning light. Flawless. Ethereal, almost. Nevertheless, he finds he prefers Akari like this, not in spite of his haggard appearance, but because of it.
The object of his contemplation sits beside him, graceful fingers stretching forth to sweep aside untidy ebony hair. Hirato doesn't resist. He doesn't even pretend the gesture is unwelcome. Docility has never come easily, but he endeavors it for the other man's sake. "Akari?" he calls softly.
"What is it?"
"Am I contagious?"
"Very," Akari answers. "That's why I took the liberty of vaccinating everyone who'll be around you for the next few days. I may share your bed, Hirato, but even I have my limits."
"Good." Hirato's mouth curves in impish delight. He sits up and moves closer, crossing the distance inch by agonizing inch, giving Akari plenty of opportunity to resist. Finally, he rests his lips against the blond's, content with intimacy and warmth alone. There's no salaciousness, no intent. It's a kiss speaking what his voice cannot articulate, but he's sure the meaning is being read with consummate precision.
Akari pulls away after several moments, gently pushing him against the pillows until he's reclining again. His smile is indulgent at first, and then it grows sickle-sharp (although the affection obtains). "Nice try. But you're still not getting any for a month."
"Is that a challenge, doctor? I accept."