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#literally I am DYING w/ the suspense of whether I should care about the film
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Random Writing Tidbit I Felt Like I Hadn’t Posted Writing In A While…
… And I really crave validation right now. TT^TT
Also I remembered to post on this blog! ^^ Yay!
I’m just feeling very sensitive. ^^;
But this is an idea that’s been floating in my head since the SODA mag… Sorta. It’s a little like a smooshed together preview of something I want to try and work on… But I haven’t gotten very far w/ it, and I def want to work on my other chaptered stuff first.
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Fuwa stared sourly at his face in the mirror, fumbling with the unnaturally sleek tie, trying to get it to stay in a knot for the umpteenth time. It was official, he hated silk, and he had no idea why he had agreed to go to this stupid gala, even for ‘security.’ He hated parties, rich people even more, and he really hated… ‘Dressing up.’ He’d been doing so well keeping his resolve—until Hiden had stared at him with that obnoxious, wide eyed, pleading look, and the next thing he knew, he’d been agreeing to let the kid procure a ‘suitable suit’ (he’d thought his lungs were going to burst trying to hold it together at Zero-One’s stupid puns again), and setting up a time to show up. It was also an infuriatingly nice suit—all three piece and silk and satin and designer. He didn’t like people buying things for him already (it had been a massive relief when he convinced Hiden to just rent it for him), and something this expensive… He felt stiff and unnatural in it, not like himself at all. He felt… He felt like Amatsu.
With another groan, he shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to focus on the tie again. He’d decided he might as well be as presentable as possible, so he’d taken great care to shower and brush out his hair, too—but he couldn’t get the damn tie to stay. The smooth, shiny fabric refused to cooperate; he wasn’t used to dealing with it, and it always just came undone or was all crinkled because he pulled too hard. He was both running out of time, and missing his simple, cotton ties.
“You’ve been getting ready for two hours.”
He didn’t start as much as he would have before at the sound of a voice behind him, instead merely raising his gaze to look at the reflection of the figure standing in the doorway of his bedroom, one hand on the frame. Horobi wasn’t wearing either of his kimonos, just the shirt with the buttoned up collar, the fancy belt (or maybe it was technically a sash?), the usual flowing trousers and the ornamented boots—Fuwa felt slightly envious of him, especially because the HumaGear so rarely looked so casual. With a sigh, he scowled, dragging his eyes back down to the piece of cloth he was wrestling with. “This is stupid thing is made to be unusable, I swear.” He grumbled, “I don’t understand why these are supposed to be ‘better.’”
Horobi hummed softly—and then his hand came down on Vulcan’s shoulder abruptly, having crossed the room as swiftly and silently as he often did when Fuwa wasn’t looking. Turning the human around to face him, he pulled Vulcan’s hands away from the tie, taking over the job. Fuwa bit his lip, dropping his arms to his sides and trying not to stare at the attractive frown on the HumaGear’s face as he worked, focused solely on the tie, motions quick and efficient—a stark contrast to Vulcan’s messy attempts.
In moments, Horobi had the tie perfectly done, taking a moment to straighten it before leaning back a bit to look Fuwa over. Vulcan took a deep breath, chewing his lip even more, one hand drifting up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “… Well?” The HumaGear continued surveying him for another moment, still frowning slightly—then he hooked his fingers into the loop of the tie, loosening it, before undoing the top two buttons of the shirt. “Wait, what are you-” Horobi had already let go of his collar, reaching up rake fingers through his hair, mussing up all the work he had put into trying to get it to sit right. Fuwa stumbled back, hands flying up instinctively, though there was no way he could recreate the effect again with his fingers, “Hey!”
But then he properly looked at Horobi’s face, and his heart skipped. The HumaGear was gazing at him with a soft, actually… Affectionate, expression, the very ghost of a smile flickering across his features. “Now you look more like you.”
Fuwa’s face heated up immediately, and he swallowed, looking deliberately at a spot on the wall. “… Oh.”
The next thing he knew, long fingers were curling under his chin, and Horobi turned his face forward again to plant a firm kiss on his lips, the HumaGear’s other arm slipping around his waist. Vulcan’s hands immediately floated down to Horobi’s hips, leaning forward into the kiss. Before, he’d always wondered why characters in movies kissed so much and for so long—but now that he was in the habit of kissing Horobi… It all suddenly made so much sense. He found himself thinking about the HumaGear’s lips during everyday activities, and whenever he started kissing him… He never wanted to stop.
But far too soon, it was Horobi pulling away, the fingers tucked under his chin trailing across his cheek. “… You’re going to be late.”
Fuwa shook his head slightly, wrapping his arms around Horobi’s middle, pulling him closer. “Mmm…” He stood on his tip toes, trying recapture the HumaGear’s lips, “Parties are boring…” Horobi, however, kept moving back, untangling himself from the human’s arms, resisting Vulcan’s attempts to keep him there, “Horobi-”
The HumaGear’s palm landed on his chest, pushing him back. “You promised Hiden.”
Even if the reminder hadn’t shaken him out of the pleasant fog and back to reality, the slight shake in Horobi’s voice would have. Even after months of calm, still terrified of disappointing or upsetting Zero-One in any way—to a point that it was starting to be a concerning trend. But experience also told him now wasn’t the time to be pressing that issue—at the very least, they had made it here, able to be affectionate and… Physical. Horobi was no longer panicking and trying to run from his own, more intense emotions, good or bad, scars from that incident finally healing—some of them, at least.
For now, he just sighed deeply. “… Right.” He moved his hand to cover the HumaGear’s, leaning forward again for another quick peck on the lips—that, as usual, went on for longer than he’d originally intended, until he finally dragged himself away, giving Horobi’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll come back to you, I promise.”
The HumaGear’s fingers ghosted back across his cheek, and when he leaned back in to press his forehead to Vulcan’s there was at least some mischief in his eyes, though the anxiety was still there. “Do,” He whispered softly—then his hand trailed slowly downward, running fingertips over the shirt collar, “The sooner I get you out of this silly suit, the better.” Fuwa promptly turned bright red, his heartbeat skyrocketing. Horobi merely smirked faintly, then freed his hand to gently cup Vulcan’s face in his palms; leaning in, his lips brushed lightly against the mole just below Fuwa’s left eye, prompting a soft, pleased sigh—that turned disappointed when the HumaGear pulled away completely, fingertips lingering until the very last moment. “You need to leave.”
Vulcan swallowed, nodding, briefly patting his cheeks to try and get the blush out. Yua and Naki already teased him enough, he should not be showing up to a formal event looking like he was thinking about… Taking a few deep breaths, he reluctantly stepped back and started to move around Horobi and toward the door.
The HumaGear’s hand connected with his backside without warning, prompting a yelp that was nowhere near as indignant as he would have liked. It wasn’t his fault—Horobi had somehow managed to calculate an exact level of force that didn’t hurt at all, but was strong enough that Fuwa always felt it for the rest of the day. Vulcan didn’t know if he was more embarrassed by the fact that he was now definitely going to be thinking about that slap and what usually followed—or by how much he liked it in the first place.
Biting hard at his cheek, he did his best to give Horobi a disapproving look, that was severely marred by the fact that his face had gone even redder. The HumaGear raised an eyebrow, smirking more visibly—but Fuwa had gotten good enough at reading him that he could detect a front when he saw one. Horobi didn’t let him have a chance to snap, giving him an even more suggestive look. “I may have to amend my analysis…” Another touch ghosted over his backside, and even just that sent a jolt through him, “… The pants actually aren’t that bad.” The faintest of chuckles, and a firm pat that actually made him shiver slightly. “… Though… Maybe it’s just you.”
He was certain the HumaGear was half trying to tease him into rushing out, and half genuinely flirting in the way of putting a carrot in front of a donkey—he could make it through a dreary society gala if it meant coming back to Horobi’s arms for a more… Exciting night. The HumaGear was also not excessively panicking about Hiden being angry yet, like he had a few times before, like Vulcan had been worried he might. Taking advantage of Fuwa’s more… Embarrassing reactions aside… This was major progress. So instead of arguing, he just gave another attempt at looking judgemental and marched out, resisting the urge to look back.
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I miss them so much. :(
I dunno why there are so many emoticons in this post.
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