Fluffier than a blow-dried hamster. That was my promise to all of you, right? Okay. BTW, there's like, NO plot here. None. If you're feeling generous, then think of this as a character study.
Akari gazes out of Airship Two's high windows from his preferred perch—Hirato's bed. He brings his knees to his chest and rests his chin atop them, crystalline eyes staring out at a velvety expanse of unbroken sky. He's watched this vista change from city to seascape, from mountain to forest, and yet, it always soothes him. Perhaps that is resultant of the room rather than the view, he considers. After all, the captain's scent lingers on the tightly-tucked sheets—amber and cloves, and a note of something that can only be described as warmth. His distinctive elegance marks the décor, minimalist blacks and greys. Even the walls are etched with invisible memories—of the two of them, making love or war, conversing, teasing, working—living.
Indeed, Hirato's quarters are the closest thing to a home Akari's ever known.
His lover is on a mission presently, carrying out Circus' directives with trademark efficaciousness. While the assignment isn't uncommonly perilous, it has proven endlessly vexing. From the terse text Akari received this morning, he guessed that the typically-unflappable Second Commander is unusually spent.
So spent, in fact, that Hirato forgot today is Akari's birthday.
Not that the doctor minds, of course. He's never enjoyed birthdays and endeavors each year to escape the celebration of his own. Still, this uncharacteristic absent-mindedness is worrisome. As such, he decided to make a very rare house call. He can't very well neglect his favorite patient.
A small grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches the nighttime sky from aloft. Somewhere in the sparkling city laid out before him, his paramour is returning from an uncommonly arduous day.
He's almost home. The blond's fingertips tingle in their want for touch.
Hirato arrives aboard his ship, wearily tipping his hat to the sheep. "I'm home," he says, although admittedly, home is feeling less and less like sanctuary these days.
His current mission is the most preposterously inane assignment he's ever been tasked with. He hates it, truth be told, and that is saying something. Infiltrating front companies for Palnedo, playing the businessman instead of the fighter, attending board meetings and luncheons and all manner of frivolous activities. It's loathsome. It's more exhausting than annihilating an army of Varuga. It's also making him restless and prickly. Just this morning he sent his paramour the sort of harried message he employs when he's cross at the other man for running into harm's way.
Resolving to call and apologize, Hirato enters his quarters to find the object of his thoughts seated serenely on his bed, legs drawn up to his chest and hypnotic irises affixed to the view.
"Akari?" he calls in surprise. "You shouldn't be here. What are you doing?"
The doctor turns to face him, appraising gaze raking over his form. He smiles the smile that's intended for Hirato alone—the one that's not edged with menace or sarcasm, the one that's kindly, unguarded. "You look so tired," he states. "Come here."
"Akari—"
"Please."
Hirato silently acquiesces, brows furrowed and mouth turned down. It's unlike his fractious, intemperate lover to be so docile. He strips off his coat and folds it neatly over a chair before sinking down beside the blond, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry for being so short with you this morning," he whispers. "I did not intend to vent my exasperation on you."
Akari laughs softly. "Given my own proclivity for venting frustration upon you, I'd be remiss to begrudge you requital."
"I'm not complaining," the captain says, sweeping his hand up and down the other's back, "but why are you here? This mission doesn't appear dangerous; nevertheless, like any other, it may become so at a moment's notice."
"Don't worry; I'm under escort, courtesy of your brother. I'll leave before sunrise."
"What's wrong?" the brunet queries, confusing imbuing his tone. He's having difficulty determining what urgent business has brought the researcher so far from work.
Akari responds with a kiss, slow and romantic, and demonstrative of a depth of sentiment. He seldom kisses Hirato like this—like he's committing to memory his lover's taste. "Am I really so contrary? So much so that my unannounced presence at your side must be indicative of trouble?"
Obviously the answer is 'yes'; Hirato vacillates about articulating it.
Coral eyes glint in mischief as Akari intuits the battle waging beneath his lover's mask. "Don't answer that," he says with another kiss. "And undress. I'll prepare a bath."
I'm wholly undeserving of this, Hirato thinks as he reclines in the deliciously hot and fragrant water. Regardless, he knows better than to balk at whatever serendipitous happenstance brought him the affections of a brilliant, imperious researcher with a quicksilver mind and an enigmatic beauty unlike anything he's ever seen. He's enumerating the ways in which he's forfeited all right to being treated with such reverence when he feels Akari's hands settle on his shoulders. Those hands commence a deliberate movement, thumbs gliding along either side of his nape with firm and steady pressure. Instantly, the tension that had gathered there dissipates. Mere minutes of this attention, and all shadow of unease evaporates.
He groans involuntarily, dropping his head forward to grant better access. "Where did you learn to do that?"
The doctor is kneeling behind the tub, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie nowhere in sight. His breath tickles the ends of Hirato's wet hair as he works. "I'm a physician; anatomy is par for the course."
"Right," the commander replies, mind irreparably addled by the way the blond's knuckles grind into the flesh of his trapezius. He feels incredibly like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Lean forward," Akari orders.
Hirato does as told, eager for that precise touch travel over more of his skin, to melt away the stresses of the last few weeks, and to remind him what awaits at mission's completion. Clearing his mind, he concentrates on the rhythmic slide of his partner's palms along his spine, thumbs kneading under his shoulder blades and smoothing muscles he didn't know were contracted. He suddenly gasps when Akari's fingers brush dangerously low along his sides.
"Sorry," the physician says before returning his ministrations to safer areas. "I'm trying to relax you."
"So you say," Hirato counters impishly, "but you're having quite the opposite effect." He grabs Akari's wrists as they come up to his shoulders again. Tugging his tormentor forward, he twists around to steal a kiss.
"Then cultivate some self-discipline," Akari breathes against his mouth before pulling away.
The commander chuckles and rests his back against the side of the bathtub, lamenting the fact that he makes so infrequent use of it. He notes mentally to reverse the trend. This is positively heavenly. Only one measure could improve upon it. "Won't you join me? The water's fine."
"You're incorrigible," the researcher mutters, busying himself with the shampoo bottle. "That would defeat the purpose of my coming here." His soapy fingers begin combing through the captain's thick, inky locks, nails scratching lightly along the scalp in measured circles.
Hirato sighs in unconcealed pleasure, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Skilled hands work the lather into a fine foam, suffusing his senses with a familiar combination of ginger and citrus. "This is unbelievable. You're amazing, Akari."
A laugh. "Had I known I could tame you so effortlessly, I'd have done this ages ago."
That's when the captain makes his move. Without a hint of warning, he expertly whips around and pulls his paramour into the bath, sloshing water over the walls of the tub and drenching the floor. Akari lets out a shocked cry before landing—fully clothed—in Hirato's lap. "I'm hardly tame," the brunet murmurs, capturing the other's mouth before any protests ensue.
Hours later, a sated commander is fitted against his bedmate while nimble fingers trace delicate spirals into his bare back. Fragrance from the bath clings to the sheets rumpled underneath them, infusing the bedroom with a faint scent of sandalwood. Moonlight filters through the ship's windows, falling in columns along the bed and washing over their tangled limbs. Whatever tedium he felt earlier is all but gone, its tenuous grip dissolving with each arc of Akari's touch. Hirato can't recall the last time he experienced such peace.
"Thank you," he says, pressing a kiss to the blond's chest and drawing comfort from the heartbeat fluttering underneath his lips.
"You never need to thank me."
He's determined to disagree when the phone trills, shattering the tranquil satiety that envelops the duo. "My apologies for the disruption, but I should attend to this. It could be important." Reaching over his partner, he retrieves the offending object from the nightstand. It's a text from Tsukitachi: [So, what did you get Akari-chan for his birthday? I got him a home theater system. You wanted one, right?]
And then his heart sinks, taking along with it all the placidity of the last hour. "Akari," he begins. "It's your birthday, and I—"
The doctor pries the phone from his hand. "Save your apologies," he responds playfully, replacing the handset on the nightstand. "I've no doubt you'll need them. Soon, probably." Pale lips curl in a smirk. "You are so very irksome, after all."
"Can I make it up to you?" The commander is undeterred. He brings the other man's graceful hands to his mouth and kisses the tips of his fingers, hoping to impart even a fraction of his gratitude. "Or have I sinned unpardonably?"
The researcher is silent for many minutes, ostensibly content with this show of unabashed tenderness. When he speaks, it's with consummate sincerity. "You can finish this mission quickly and come home."
Hirato nods and elects to approach tomorrow's board meetings and luncheons with renewed vigor. "Of course. I am ever at your command."