Archive of Our Own

"Hikaru" shivers with excitement. He gives a simple command, which startles Yoshiki into action: run. His legs are pretty useful — they're agile enough to carry him to and from school on the seat of a bicycle, after all, and that's at least an hour long trek each time on rough, countryside roads. He's not exactly scrambling or sprinting to the point of desperation, but there was a blatant burst of motion. Somehow, its even more fun now because he definitely didn't think he'd actually move that fast. There was that, like, one time when "Hikaru" was having an aneurysm and malfunctioned, but - impressed whistle. Off he goes, out of view. If ‘Hikaru’ knows his scent so well, surely he would be able to track him down, right..?

He supposes those long legs are good for something other than keeping him in place against him, huh? There isn't a scent on earth that he's more familiar with than Yoshiki's, so after a few seconds to let him get a head start? He walks after him, and never once does that dead, dull-eyed gaze leave his form. This isn't like tormenting loudmouthed old ladies to death or taking a few short steps to enter someones space in an attempt to kill them - there is a threat and an active attempt to get away from him. It's new. It's exciting.

Most things just tend to attack "Hikaru" for whatever reason, regardless of differences in strength, because that's all they can do. Yoshiki's about as strong as a drenched shred of paper in a hurricane (respectfully and affectionately), so what other option does he have? He licks his teeth, letting his feet collide loudly against the flooring with every step.

And he does. Know him well, that is. intimately, even — both above and below the sheets they share in a bed they shouldn't be in together. at current, he's not looking for the smell of fear and Yoshiki would probably give him an earful if he was to admit that he's just sniffing for his sweat.

The shoes are loud and quickly abandoned for the soft padding of his feet instead, and the clicking of his belt is soon dropped to follow suit. His pulse dies - leaves room for his body temperature to drop and prevent him from overheating or sweating - and the writhing squelch that follows is from his insides leaking from the seam of his neck. "Hikaru's" excitement and Yoshiki's are far from being the same, and yet. . . they somehow circle back to being in the same realm of understanding. A chase is arousing for him? maybe not in the sexual way as humans understand it, but there's an undeniable something that makes "Hikaru" positively tremble.

"Yoooooshiiiiikiiiii～?" He muses, shirt coming undone by just a few buttons.

"Y҉o̶s̵̸h̶i̵̴k̵i̷?"

"Y͗̔́͞e҇͗̒́̍̎r̔̋̕ ǹ̍͋͝o҇̂͋t̅́̓͠ ȑ̒̓̾̔̕u̽͌͒͠n҇́̎n̎̐̿͞ī̛͒̀̃n͌̓̌̑̈́͡ f̛͌͆a̓͛͝s͗̊͛͠t҇̃͑ ė̓͠n̆͐̍̐̈́͡ȍ̀͋͠u҇̍̈́̇g̽͛͡h҇̇͌̉͊̚.̀͡"

"I҈̖͕̮͓̖̲͚͚͓̯̖͜ͅ C̸̨͇̫̠̫̳͈̗͓̘̗̰̠͓͖͔A҈͉̗͉̰͍͚̰̲͇̗͔̙̰͜ͅͅṈ̵̢̮̳̲̘̯ͅͅͅ S̴̟̘̭̥͕̬̫̠͜M҉̳͙̮̤̞̦̰͉̗̜̜͎͎̗͢ͅE̵̡͎̙͍͍̞̦̭͔̞̙ͅL҉̧̬̫̘̖͚͔͉̮L̶͎̬̰̪͚͉͓̤̯̰̦̱̜̦͖͢ Y̶̢̲̙̦̝̩̲͖̥̜͚A̸̢̲̯̥͙̳̩͕͚͕̭̦̪̞.̴͍͇̘̦̱͎̝͕͙̘͢"

Yoshiki senses the shift immediately. The air feels charged and heavy like an oncoming storm. He had fully intended on slowing to a jog and turning on his heel before long - to shove and scuffle a little before falling back into step - good natured rough-housing that the pair often spiral into.

But with the warbling shift of "Hikaru's" voice comes the stark realization that, yes, he is indeed going to keep Yoshiki on his toes. The tone whines like tinnitus, squeals and dips in a crude impression of an old radio struggling to find a signal and the deep, primal sense of dread that sinks in Yoshiki's stomach almost makes him trip over his own feet as his mind struggles to match the urgency of his body.

He chances a look over his shoulder. "... Why're ya..." Undressing? Right here..? And leaking. But the sight before Yoshiki doesn't seem like a passive ooze from overstimulation or stress.

Please let there not be a lamp post or a curb in front of him right now, because he isn't slowing down a mote.

"Hikaru" doesn't concern himself too terribly with whats happening around them. There is only Yoshiki, the distance between them, and him. Despite the shoes having come off, his steps are heavy — not because he's stepping particularly hard, but the weight of his actions are different now. Yoshiki wasn't keen to him before - not when he took that first initial step towards Matsuura and changed the very atmosphere around him and his future prey, but maybe times are different now?

Maybe he can feel the thrum and pulse of some other thing in the air, biting at the skin with little tingles of electricity to make nerves and hair alike stand on end.

Once again, it must be noted that he's bound by the human limitations of his physical body.

However, there are several ways around this.

The muscles in his legs wind and tense until the skin grows taut over them and they seem to be just a hairs breadth away from snapping; the entirety of their length tremble from strain, but if he notices, if he even cares? seems to be unlikely. Something creaks and whines inside of his body as he lowers into a sprinter's start, fingertips pressed to the ground.

He's too busy worried about what "Hikaru's" doing and not enough about getting somewhere safe. His pupils grow as wide as saucers and as deep a crimson as the slowed blood in his veins.  But would anywhere be safe? Maybe if he bolts towards somewhere more populated, but Yoshiki doesn't to risk this situation being discovered. It would be terrible enough for people to become privy to "Hikaru's" true nature, but it would be even worse if the circumstances of the discovery involved the fact that he's so blatantly on the hunt.

Adrenaline is surging, muting the prickle and ache of the supernatural mark that encircles Yoshiki's wrist. The more that "Hikaru" seems to manifest, the more insistent the thrumming feels. It isn't painful, but it is somewhat uncomfortable? They're resonating. The brand that ties the two together responding to its source, as if to say 'it's me, it's still me' — but the sensation is not so reassuring when he's being told in no uncertain terms to keep running.

The sudden release of tension in his legs is accompanied by an audible snap and tearing of ligaments, sinew, and muscle all coming undone in the blink of an eye as the distance between them becomes nearly nonexistent.  

The turn that Yoshiki makes is so sharp that he loses his footing for a moment to avoid moving forward and closer to "Hikaru" when he misjudges the distance, overshoots, and comes crashing down to a barely functioning knee. "Hikaru" doesn't like this about the human form. They break so easily. He hasn't even moved that fast and already his vessels legs are basically useless to further his endeavors, and his meal is getting away. He stumbles for a moment, his hands out to catch himself, but is quickly upright after shoving his palms against the ground below. He'll have to postpone the urge to retch over popping joints and snapping skin. There's no time to pause. To dwell.

"Hikaru's" head turns towards Yoshiki and bores into - through him - and straight to the soul. He's melting onto himself with half of his face having already succumbed to the incessant undulations of monochromatic fractals. This is fun. Maybe not so much for the panicked boy in a dead sprint for his life, but "Hikaru" finds a primal sort of joy in this.

He doesn't have to take anything in, either.

He's just watching the color and vibrancy of Yoshiki's soul explode into a spectacular fireworks show. Its addictive. Its glorious.

Truthfully? It's better than the sex.

"D̄̊͡o҇͋̂̄ň̾͒͆͡'̛́̓̌͊t s͆͋̑͐͠t̾͐͡o̓̌̕p̾̓̕."

Don't stop, "Hikaru" had said. Don't look back. Run. Keep moving. The entity's nose will surely catch the fear wafting from his prey by now, spiked by panic as Yoshiki scrambles and bolts.

Don't stop.

If he had been impressed before by the speed of which those long legs carry Yoshiki, then the desperate sprint that he's broken into would be a treat.

It isn't elegant. His strides aren't even. They are heavy, noisy, pounding against the floor as mouth gapes to swallow down greedy lungfuls of air. Pure, uninhibited survival instincts.

"Hikaru" pants, tries to gather himself upon feet and crumbles again, then lets out a frustrated growl-whine when that gorgeous soul - Yoshiki - gets further and further.

But he cannot be bound by that which he doesn't constrain himself to. It won't last very long - "Hikaru" has been weakened and broken in half, made smaller and less in control of his form than before, but. . . .

But he can abandon this broken husk for a moment or two. It won't take long to get to him and in his panicked, tunnel-visioned state? The dark form will likely go unnoticed amidst all of the peaking stress he's undergoing.

He asked earlier why "Hikaru" was getting undressed and now, chest bared and slit opening up to its chin, shows why. A seemingly endless stream of gelatinous, slithering ooze bursts from the corpse, leaving it a near empty husk on the ground. (Near empty, if only because something needed to remain inside if he wants to reattach without a give and take)(And because what's left behind pulls the corpse offside, out of the way and sight).

Now? Now its form coalesces into a singularity that sticks to and shuffles through the shadows.

Silent. Predatory.

Rapidly approaching his location with intent.

Yoshiki is terrifyingly aware of the fact that he is in way over his head. Things have escalated at a breakneck pace, but it seems as if he's gaining ground. At last. The sounds, gory and jarring, had worried him — but no sounds of pain follow. "Hikaru" can fix himself up. He has mangled his limbs before and snapped them right back into place. Yoshiki would rather he doesn't damage himself, but now isn't the time to scold him.

The footsteps have vanished. He can't help himself - Yoshiki peers over his shoulder again. Just for a second. Only to discover...

"Hikaru" is gone.

His panicked footfalls slow into a jog. Swallowing thickly to soothe the sandpaper sensation sticking in his throat, Yoshiki's shoulder meets the trunk of a tree to steady himself from the abrupt adrenaline spike. Despite "Hikaru's" warnings, he has stopped, but he isn't unguarded.

Far from it. The heat nagging at his wrist is the strongest it has ever been — it feels as if its coiling up his forearm, tightening like a noose. "Hikaru" is still around. His fingers throb, echoing the rapid beat of his heart. Where? Where is he?

He wants to run again. But where? Which direction? "Hikaru" is getting closer. From which shadow? Left, right? Just like the prey Yoshiki is compared to, he has struck the third option of fight or flight: freeze.

"Hikaru" is. . . big, to say the least, when not constrained by the body its bound itself to. From shadows and weaving of trees, it finds itself peering not only over Yoshiki's head, but down on it.

If they're talking about future scoldings, it's Yoshiki that should be receiving a full twenty minute tedtalk about why he should listen to the eldritch horror's warnings and do as he's told. Maybe that's its fault for not properly commanding him to do so.

The branches creak and rustle in the wind. Leaves fall. Hikaru's corpse is nestled away in nearby bushes, not too far off from where the rabbit had decided to make his resting place, and it watches the ongoings with a familiar sense of neutrality.

Left and right are good choices - they just aren't the right ones. Its form undulates, elongates, and arches overhead until the creature itself is peering straight down that head of black hair. Vibrations in the air increase as it grows nearer and as it shifts, wet slicks of gelatinous ooze passing by each other becomes more apparent.

It has neither hands nor feet nor even a proper shape; its an incomprehensible something with glowing dots for eyes and not much in the way of anything regarding a human appearance. Still, somehow, it feels like its reaching for him. Pulling him in, dragging Yoshiki closer to its overwhelming mass as it lowers itself to his level.

"c҈̢̐̑̎̕au̸g̶ḩ̶͗͡t̴͠."

and then, closer and lower still, its form twists until those glowing hues are much too close.

Yoshiki can hear those words echoing within his skull again. Don't stop. He wants to bolt, but indecision locks his knees and braces his muscles. His breaths come sharp. Shuddering. Eyes wild and wide, darting around desperately. Where should he go, where should he —

Everything is eerily still. Quiet. True to form to when a predator is skulking through the woods. No birdsong, no humming of insects. Even the wind itself seems to pause for a long, uncomfortable moment.

Tendrils and inky globs snake beyond the corner of Yoshiki's vision, yet he can't will himself to flee. Move. Move. MOVE. His legs shake with the desire he can't seem to manifest. The pressure is overwhelming. Humming. Sucking him in like gravity. Those eyes that it admires are wild and wide; his pupils pull into bewildered slits that almost vanish against dull irises.

That singular word, resonating infinitely against his eardrums, seems to snap Yoshiki from his stupor. He suddenly twists, gripping for the tree that he has been using to steady himself — adamant that he can use it to pull himself away, or to anchor himself in place. Best case scenario, he can push from it to earn a running start.

But first he has to reach it, and it feels as if he is thrashing against the atmosphere itself. Heavy, all encompassing, and possessive.

"Hikaru's" gaze. . . softens, perhaps? Its glow dulls for but a moment and seems to become slight when it takes his expression in. Wild and earnest, everything is worn so plainly on his face and he doesn't even know that. Most people probably don't.

The air is almost tangible, thick with - not a miasma, but something similar that accompanies the creature wherever it roams. A sort of pressure, heavy and uncomfortable - stifling. The buzz in the atmosphere is like having cicadas and flies directly in the ear, drumming their incessant noise straight into the brain.

It doesn't breathe nor blink nor truly even exist in this state anymore, does it? Tendrils and wisps of coiling fractals extend out to touch and hold, with its 'main' body following suit to nudge itself between neck and shoulder. Yoshiki's fingers, reaching desperately for purchase, bend and crook to a degree that almost contorts. He can't say that there is a warmth astride his jugular, but there is certainly a presence that precedes his vision flashing white and his surroundings turning to static with little more than a petering whimper.

in a flash, its insides are invading Yoshiki through the neurons and pathways its already become familiar with and immediately latch onto the brain. Yoshiki's eyes roll back behind their lids. His body judders. His shoulders heave with deep, rasping breaths. It may feel like little more than a second to "Hikaru", but the burst of sensation and stimulation feel far longer to Yoshiki. A flicker into a burst that sends ripples through every nerve he owns, right to his fingertips. A fire roaring behind his belly, his skull swimming, his very existence vibrating with an otherworldly sense of ecstasy.

Pleased. Content. Greed. Remorse. Dread. Desire. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I want to take in. I need him.

"Y̴̢̱͋̄͠ǫ̴̛̞̤̽̾.....ś̴̨͓͝h̴̛͚̑͜i̸̧̛͖͊̚....ķ̴̜̽̿̐͞ͅì̵̛̯̓́͜ — į̵̬҇͐͗́ —"

That feeling - the one from before, when it had so proudly situated itself between long legs and let something other than instinct guide it? Where they had become connected and that feedback loop of positive affliction didn't stop till it removed itself from him?

Its worse now. Three — no, four? — fold. Unfiltered. Uninhibited but over as soon as it begins. Its body trembles and quakes, becomes uncertain for a moment before it drags itself away from Yoshiki in his entirety (a very hard task indeed), and makes for the very bushes it had left its body behind in. it almost lost track of itself and lost its body.

"Hikaru" disconnects and Yoshiki crumples. Its a miracle that his hands lurch forward fast enough to prevent his head from bouncing off the ground. He's gasping for air, gripping at the cool grass that tickled his palms. It feels like there's static beneath his skin still and his body feels leaden. Electric. His vision's returning, blotting in from his peripherals.

The stench of fear permeates the air around him. Fear, and a potent, unavoidable sense of arousal. Paradoxical reactions. Up. He needs to get up... But he's still coming down from that overwhelming blast of stimulation.

His limbs move at last, clumsily and with a noticeable delay, and... Yoshiki immediately fails to gain traction and ends up skidding and sliding along the grass, face first. So much for those earlier reflexes... At least he only falls from his hands and knees; he can't scramble any higher than that.

"Hikaru" doesn't so much as abandon - no, it does. Outright? Its abandoning him on the spot and leaving him to fend for himself in the brief moments it takes for the mass to arch through the air and plummet itself back through the opening in Hikaru's chest it left behind.

The pieces of itself that hadn't left the body were hard at work repairing what it has broken, giving it more time to settle back inside and fill out the pieces of the corpse. "Hikaru" doesn't take as long to get up as it did the first time it inhabited the body. There isn't as much damage and its 'up-to-date' with its memory catalogue and whatnot, but he still aches something fierce when he sits up.

"Hikaru" has got the craziest ache imaginable in his neck right now and the best he can do is rub at the nape hoping to ease some of the discomfort there. A groan. A creak of the wrist here, the pop of a bone there. Eugh.. Everything just kind of falls into place eventually. One way or another.

"Yoshiki?" His voice is back to normal. Everything about his person is 'normal' - at least, in the way "Hikaru" is supposed to be. The creature is. . . Half certain he didn't do anything detrimental to him? It was only a brief contact, and there was no ill intent behind that, so why's he face first and eating shit on the ground..?

Yoshiki is fine. Well, 'fine'. His mentality does not shatter nor splinter. If anything, Yoshiki is resilient. Or stubborn. He is as hale and whole as anyone could be when face down in the dirt after running for their life and having every nerve and neuron fire off at once in blinding, unfathomable bliss.

"Hikaru" is speaking but its voice is mostly smothered by the ring still whining against Yoshiki's eardrums. The shock is ebbing and his senses are returning, but it will take around another minute or two for him to properly recenter himself. His body's reeling, still horribly sensitive and on edge.

Dragging himself out from the bushes in which its body was hidden and teeter-tottering on over to Yoshiki's prone form, he smells.. Oh. Oh. It's difficult to parse for "Hikaru", so he'll just focus on the important things, like poking at Yoshiki's side to make sure he didn't just roll over and fucking die. Yoshiki gasps and yelps, twisting around like a fish fresh from its hook for a second or so when he is pressed in the soft, vulnerable trunk of his torso. His fingers spread and haphazardly grips at his side, potentially shielding the area from any further prodding.

"Hikaru" smells him. Its. . . He's never smelled this strong before. Here, when he inhales, its an amalgamation of scents. Arousal, stress, fear - mostly the former, with hints of the latter. His soul is utterly mesmerizing to look at right now, too, and "Hikaru" is having a hard time deciding if he wants to watch this eruption of brilliance emanating from his chest, or drink deep the taste of his arousal assaulting its senses.

The teen swallows. His mouth is dry and he can still taste the surge of adrenaline at the back of his throat. "... Mm... 'M fine..." At last he speaks. Rather, slurs. "Jus'... Jus' gimme a sec..."

"Yer sensitive. . ." He mutters, more so to himself than Yoshiki, and tries again with hands much more gentle than moments prior. "But y'can't stay there." He's got his own high that he's riding right now. His pupils have yet to return to a normal size and the heat on once pale visage is a toss up between the thrill of a chase, or this pathetic creature he's trying to gather into his arms and nestle between his legs. "Y'want me t'carry ya. . .?" "Hikaru" is very actively ignoring the way his smell is making his body react against his will.

Yoshiki has to remind himself to breathe. Usually, its the other way around with "Hikaru" neglecting basic functions, but Yoshiki is battling a lot right now, and the urge to hold his breath and lay as still as possible against the dirt is a survival instinct at the forefront of his mind; to hunker down like the rabbit he has been compared to by the wolf on its tail. Because any attempt to stand so quickly will lead to a horrendous impression of a fawn struggling to find its legs underfoot for the first time in its life, and that's without mentioning just how jittery and inexplicably aroused he is. Never has he experienced his body turning on a dime like this. His dick got hard so fast that it's a blessing that he didn't get whiplash.

His earlier detour to vent "Hikaru's" teasing clearly hasn't done anything to deter his traitorous blood flow.

A small consolation is that the grass feels cool against his cheek. His knees are probably stained from when he had fallen, but that's an acceptable price to pay.

“Nah…” Yoshiki murmurs, scraping along the ground as he's drawn closer. Not ‘nah’ to him being sensitive. He knows. He's aware. It isn't difficult to see. Goosebumps are dappling his arms where dark hair prickles to attention. His muscles are flickering and fluttering. He hides his face in the crook of his elbow, struggling to ignore the friction that drags his shirt upwards when "Hikaru" gathers him. He's refusing to turn around. Or trying to. He feels kitten weak, but the strength will return to his limbs soon.

“Don't wanna be carried…” Because pressing his body against "Hikaru's" right now, even in a platonic sense like that? Not a good idea. He'll probably end up hitched over his back and poke him all the way home, if the jostling around doesn't make him cum all over his trousers first. “S'gonna be too much.” Is the most polite way to put it. He knows that he wont be able to handle the stimulation.

Blindly, over his shoulder, Yoshiki gropes to snatch "Hikaru’s" wrist. Forearm. Anything to latch onto. “Stay here,” He turns his head to regard it with pleading eyes; hazy, half lidded, with pupils blown so wide they rival the entity's own. “I ain't… I ain't keen on bein’ alone like this.” Out in the open. Vulnerable. Trembling and fidgeting.

"Hikaru" watches with. . . no small amount of interest and distress. It's probably context that leaves him feeling so conflicted about the sight before him? If this was in one of their beds and the trembling was from tongue and teeth rather than primal fear, if the quaking of breath was from "Hikaru" taking it out of him with his hands in white hair and heels in his back, he probably wouldn't mind much at all.

But that's not the case right now so "Hikaru" feels a. . . desire? to be even gentler with him than before since just a poke had him yelping and trying to shy away. He's already chased this far and caught him - there'd be no point in letting him scurry out of his grasp now.

Its like. . . Holding a lit candle out in a storm and hoping to god "Hikaru"s' hand is big and safe enough to keep him from going out. That's what holding him feels like right now. He'll even let him hide his face; truthfully, the shorter male probably shouldn't look at him right now.

Right, so. Not carrying him? So they aren't moving for a while, it seems, which is fine by "Hikaru". He's probably the biggest thing out here right now in terms of power and lately he doesn't have the best track record, but he'd do anything to keep the human in its arms safe from everything (aside from himself). "'Kay. We won't move till yer ready then." Yoshiki grunts once because his words take a moment to form on his tongue: "Appreciate it." He doesn't have much dignity left like this — prone and panting on the grass, covered with a cold sweat, and that's without mentioning the residual tinging of nerves and synapses.

He inhales sharply and lets out a stifled whimper at the sight before his very eyes; how . . . pathetic feels like its both the right and wrong word to use, while also not leaving an opportunity for there to be a substitute. "I ain't leavin' ya. Ever. Y'won't let me, remember? When we went to the beach." "Hikaru" takes him by the hand and curls his fingers between his. Is this grounding? Is it helping or making things worse again?

He looks so...

Yoshiki is fine, he will survive. The ringing in his ears is all but gone and his vision is no longer narrowed solely on the path before him. The adrenaline crash is waning in the wake of the flash of blinding stimulation that peaked and vanished in an instant. But an instant is all a fragile human body needs to crumple. And Yoshiki is one of the more resilient ones.

"... Course I remember." The memory fills him with dread. "Hikaru", of his own will, saying his goodbyes and expressing his want to return to the mountains. Leaving him alone. But... Maybe that isn't what he should associate the trip to the beach with. The confession, the earnest conversation, "Hikaru" deciding to stay. Those are all good things, but in typical Yoshiki fashion he chooses to focus on the negatives. The master of self sabotage. His hand curls instantly around "Hikaru's", tucking fingers between his own and nails biting at pale skin from the force of his grip. It is grounding. Reassuring. But the shaking in his hands stalls in the wake of a shuddering breath that squeezes the air from his lungs.

Close. Their bodies are flush. The breath against the junction between his neck and shoulder subject to the vibrations of low, murmuring words and the clash of warm breaths. The firmer coil of limbs, ashamedly, coax Yoshiki into arching. This feels like a very vulnerable conversation. Something spoken from the heart and terribly important.

"'nd I said some stupid stuff, like how I love ya 'nd ain't sure how. I still dunno, but I reckon that feelin's gotten stronger, at least a lil bit." "Hikaru" buries his face between neck and shoulder and exhales a shuddering sigh against his flesh. Hot. Alive. Struggling to find a way to breathe that won't leave a knot in his throat somehow. "Hikaru"s' arms tighten around him and his voice drops, just barely above a whisper.

"So y'can't leave me alone, neither. I can't live without ya, Yoshiki. I love ya. i really do. Me, this monster that keeps hurtin' ya."

"Maybe i'unno what love 's at all 'cause I reckon I ain't s'posed to be hurtin' ya or makin' ya scared'a me, but. . ."

He curls itself around him, protective and unbearably close. "'s how I love 'nd i'unno how else t'show it. 'm sorry, Yoshiki. I ain't gon' do it again."

And "Hikaru" has chosen to express himself now? When Yoshiki is squirming and overstimulated?

"Don't be stupid..." Yoshiki breathes. "Knew ya weren't gonna hurt me. It... You were enjoyin' yerself, right?" His words are flowing easier. Good. Eventually, he'll be able to wobble to his feet. But not yet. "I think... I think yer confused, about love, an'..." No, Yoshiki is the one who's confused. "... But, this..? I don't mind it. Yer bein' polite, but ya can smell it, right..?"

"Hikaru" keeps hands, tongue, teeth, and all else to himself. Of course he smells him, but that's — that's not what's important right now. Even while in the process of courting him, he has enough awareness to not take advantage of his weakened and more vulnerable state.

Yoshiki is aching. Physically and emotionally. It's an exhausting, frustrating combination. The pining of his heart and the contrast of the demanding pulse echoing through the belly of his dick made him feel embarrassed.

The 'boy' snorts. 'don't be stupid' is one hell of a task to give something like "Hikaru". Nigh impossible, even. The creature is only physically affected by his smell — unfortunately, it has little influence on how "Hikaru" acts or reacts to Yoshiki as a whole despite the blood flow deciding where to go for itself. That would probably be embarrassing if he cared enough to think about it, but its not the first and seemingly not the last time they wind up in a precarious situation where blood settles where its not supposed to be.

"... I'd let ya do it again." His voice is hushed as if there are ears that may become privy to their conversation. "Maybe s'my way of showin' love, too, t'let ya do things that make ya happy..." There's that word again. Love. Something that he keeps inside, a single syllable that has his stomach lurch with concern the instant it slurs from his tongue.

He noses behind ear and hairline, content to let his senses melt and corrode away until all that's left is Yoshiki in the wake of every breath. Each exhale that expels his essence from "Hikaru's" body just makes him press that much closer to his form and start all over again. Until he's imprinted upon memory. Maybe even until everything smells a little like him and can coax the beast into relaxing more - especially so when they're apart for those few brief hours. "Hikaru" won't say, but his social battery and graces are near depleted when left to his own devices, though he manages to remain. . . more or less 'fine' on his own.

In a situation like this, Yoshiki is unable to physically run from a conversation and if its just a matter of fleeing from a topic, "Hikaru" has no issues pursuing it. So, yes. When he's trembling and panting and smells like he's about three seconds away from bursting is when the creature wants to have this conversation.

When they're both vulnerable.

"Y'always say 'm jus' confused when y'don't wanna talk 'bout somethin'. . ." He can't blame him since that's usually the case, but he doesn't want every thought and feeling to just be. . . dismissed so easily? to be chalked up to confusion and failing to comprehend one thing from the next. He knows what this feeling is, even if he doesn't fully understand what it all entails. Hikaru had loved and liked things, people, activities. This sort of love was in there, too, despite how compressed into a box and shoved away it was.

"Hikaru" loves and likes, but how to express those feelings into words and gestures a human will understand just won't work.

"Y'do." A pause. A full press of his front against Yoshiki's back and further, however brief, squeezing of the limbs. "Make me happy, I mean. I'on care what we do long as 'm with ya. Even jus' sittin' here like this makes me happy."

"Hikaru" wants him to want him. Need him, not because he touches his insides and left him an accidental mess, but because of a conscious decision to arch and whine into his touch.

"'s. . . 's that fine? lovin' ya, I mean. 's. . scary. 'm terrified of feelin' like this, Yoshiki. 's the scariest thing I've ever done in my life, 'nd 's only three stupid words." "Hikaru's" not sure if the shaking of arms is from how potent his smell is in its nose, or the cold, dreadful feeling confessing gives him.

He feels like some sort of pervert, to be so utterly wound up and stiff as a board when ‘Hikaru’ is wading through these difficult emotions.

Emotions that are taboo. Forbidden. Emotions that Yoshiki also feels.

“Yer right…” He admits along a breath that quivered astride the nosing along his hairline, so dangerously close to his neck. “Maybe s'just easier fer me to insist that you don't get it, ‘cause then I don't gotta face the music.” It doesn't take much convincing for Yoshiki to believe that "Hikaru's"concept of ‘love’ doesn't run as deep as it should. He loves katsu and fireworks. He loves warmth over the cold. He loves gacha games and shonen.

But the ‘love’ towards another human being, romantic in nature, is different. And Yoshiki can chalk those words up to crossed wires. A lack of deeper understanding.

“... Fuck.” He curses, his voice cracking. Long fingers hook and grip "Hikaru's" hands all the tighter, lending one more shuddering limb to the fray. “It ain't fine. Y’know it ain't. It's wrong. An’ it's worse than that. It's worse ‘cause I feel the same, an’ I shouldn't. We shouldn't…”

"Hikaru" shakes his head. He already knew all of that. He can still hear the echoing of neighbors and elderly folk saying how sick and gross that is. How abnormal. Disgusting. The kids saying slurs and adults backing them up on it. "Hikaru" remembers because Hikaru wasn’t much different. If it meant fitting in? If it meant staying in the positive light of folks that could’ve made his life a living hell afterwards? He’d pretend until he wasn’t sure anymore. Until he was gaslit into believing he never had feelings for Yoshiki at all.

A deep breath can't soothe the lump swelling behind Yoshiki's throat. A thick swallow can't temper it, either. He loved Hikaru, but he also loves "Hikaru." It was coping initially; chasing shadows. Selfishly using the entity as a means to remain in the company of his first love. But then Yoshiki had slowly found himself endeared to the monster. His quirks, habits, differences.

“I shouldn't, but I do…”

But he's not like him. He doesn’t care what those people think of him. Not really. Yoshiki’s opinion is the one that matters most, anyhow. “I ain’t askin’ ‘bout what they made ya think. ‘M askin’ you. ‘s it fine with you that I feel this way?” He's even articulating a little better than usual, if only to emphasize what’s important, because fuck is this scary. Because it’s more than just the village in his head. More than Hikaru. If Yoshiki rejects him even once while he's laying out his rabbit-quick beating heart, "Hikaru"ll' just die on the spot. He'll wither away with arms still wound around him and turn to dust because the alternative is hurting him.

‘I ain't askin about what they made ya think’

Yoshiki's rapid breaths catch in his throat.

A tangent, momentary but ripe with loathing. He really is pathetic, huh? His little acts of ‘rebellion’ were paltry at best. He was so afraid of being shunned by the village he already loathed that the most he could do to push back was grow out his bangs.

Yoshiki wishes that this exchange was easy. Simple. An honest, heartfelt ‘I love you’ echoed by a giddy ‘I love you too’. The situation itself is stressful, in the wake of a chase mere minutes after every nerve in his body has been flash-banged with unfathomable ecstasy, but… Yoshiki doubts that this conversation would have been easy even on more neutral grounds, but there’s no real good time to have a conversation like this with someone like Yoshiki. An emotional talk with someone so far in denial and repression that ‘Hikaru’ would have better luck finding the titanic without any gear. At least, if it hadn’t made some of those barriers crumble beforehand. An accident, honest, but one that’s helping. This conversation wouldn’t have started to begin with if the series of events hadn’t gone the way they had.

“... Yeah,” His voice is quiet, barely there. “It's fine. But… That don't mean it ain't scary. You lovin’ me, an’ me… Feelin’ the same.” For Hikaru and "Hikaru." Feeling himself grow closer to a monster isn't the issue at hand, and it speaks volumes that Yoshiki is more distressed by the homosexuality of it all than the fact that he is being courted by an eldritch horror.

"Hikaru's" strength is deceptive. Enviable, even. He can’t possibly bring their bodies any closer than they already are, but still tries to pull Yoshiki into his chest without having to open the cavity despite the dead weight still clinging to his muscles. Yoshiki is dragged as close as two bodies can wedge themselves and propped atop thighs that push themselves beneath. The height and weight disparity between them isn’t massive or anything but the uncooperative body "Hikaru" is hauling onto his lap would like to say differently. Still, it’s not difficult to move him — even less so when he doesn’t fight against it. Just don’t mind the way his scent has made the monster physically react and leave heat pulsing between the legs, of which he is nestled atop. ‘Hikaru’ either doesn’t care or notice the dull ache. He's more focused on his hands and the fidgeting, and how to alleviate the smell of stress He still isn't willing to relinquish his hold on the others hand, and now the poor(?) entity will have to endure the restless fidgets and shifts of Yoshiki’s hips. His arms coil, the fingers tense, and legs fold beneath his to bring him into the teen's lap —— caught. Just like it said he was. His fingers curl tighter around "Hikaru's" hand and his eyes screw shut.

”I keep sayin’ it but I mean it. ‘M gonna get ya outta there ‘nd make ya so happy it makes ya sick to yer stomach ‘nd ya forget ‘bout how this twists ya up inside.” ‘Hikaru’ rubs a cheek against his neck, temple to temple, then back to nosing along jawline and hairline. There’s so many smells here. Ones that make him shudder and gasp out exhales and bury himself as much as possible.

”’s a first ‘nd second time.” It’s barely above a whisper now, voice just loud enough to be heard above the wind through trees; a ghost of sound, meant only for Yoshiki’s ears. “Lovin’ ya, I mean. He did ‘nd that prolly ain’t somethin’ ya wanna hear, but ‘s true. ‘M prolly the only thing ‘round here that got to fall fer ya twice."

“‘nd ‘s selfish, but I gotta hear it from yer mouth that yer fine with it bein’ me. I’ll figure out how t’love ya properly if ya say yes. Ya jus’ can’t ever leave me.” ‘Hikaru’ is pleading; whimpering out a desperation to be loved and accepted and needed by him, his first and only through two lifetimes. Maybe he even selfishly hopes for this to be every lifetime.

He'll wait all night, not forever; he doesn’t have the same sort of coping mechanisms and patience Hikaru did — for the answer to find itself on Yoshiki’s tongue.

“I hate bein’ like this…” He murmurs, mostly to himself. His chin raised, baring his throat to a nose that insists its way along his jawline. Acceptance. Submission. Tension bundles in the pit of his stomach at the mention of the original and him sharing those feelings. ‘Hikaru’ unashamedly rubs a cheek to his neck, taking some mild delight in how its length extends itself for the beast to indulge in. “Nah, he didn't. That ain't it.” Denial for the sake of what little sanity he has left. He doesn't want to end up sobbing to make this even more awkward than it was.

and for his patience, a reward; a confirmation, however whispered and pathetic it may be. ‘Hikaru’ is close enough to appreciate the sound despite how it’s nothing like the fantasies he had in his head. There’s still not enough laughter or excitement or shame filled kisses and half assed plans to elope as soon as possible. And for a moment, he wants to leave it at that. To simply accept that Yoshiki is fine with the person he loved not liking him back — and he should be — but its dull and aching and grips something tight in the entity’s body that he dislikes and isn't sure if that’s from Him or it. Somewhere in there, Hikaru’s and “Hikaru’s” thoughts intermingle, but it doesn’t have the entity feeling a sinking pit of despair and disgust and a question leaving him wondering why?

Either way, that is going to be corrected.

‘Like this?’ "Hikaru" wants to ask, but a few moments of thought has him correcting himself.

‘Oh.’

’Homosexual.’

Eventually, they'll abscond to Tokyo. Yoshiki is aware that it isn't an instant fix — his internalized emotions and feelings regarding his sexuality won't disappear overnight. But he would be able to begin the process of healing. “I ain't gonna leave ya anyhow. Not when yer already latched on. Don't think I could even if I wanted to. So, good thing I don't.”

His maw parts, goes for the neck, hesitates, then detours to Yoshiki’s ear to pierce his snaggletooth through the outer shell. A sharp pinch snaps Yoshiki from his wallowing. The ground can't open up and swallow him whole when a snaggletooth punctures its way clear through the cartridge of his ear. He gasps and hisses through his teeth, nails scraping against the back of "Hikaru's" hand. Were it not for the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the wimp that he is would have surely yelped. But the most he can manage is a strained: "Ow..." Followed by a hasty, mumbled apology.

Yoshiki is about to make this horrendously awkward conversation worse. Well, the conversation itself isn't awkward – but the circumstances are. He can feel the distinctive prod against his backside of a body roused below his own. "Hikaru" may be ignorant, or in possession of enough raw willpower to ignore the natural response, but Yoshiki isn't. Not by a long shot.

“Yer doin’ it again. He did. No more or less’n I do. He wanted ya outta the village to protect ya, I bet. I couldntve taken ya from ‘im if ya weren’t here ‘nd if ya found someone else, he wouldn’t have to go worryin’ ‘bout ya, neither."

"I prolly don’t have many people that i'd go wishin’ to never leave with my dyin’ breath, but he did, ‘cause he wanted ya t’be happy even if he was gone. ‘nd he prolly liked yer moles more’n I do - ‘specially the one on yer lip. I bet ya didn’t know some’a his favorite characters had one by their mouth ‘cause’a ya."

“‘nd he watched ‘em weird pornos with two guys’n a girl ‘cause he ain’t have to think too hard ‘bout why he’d go picturin’ the two of ya doin’ somethin’ like that. He’d beat ‘imself up real bad over somethin’ like that ‘nd wouldn’t do a thing fer months at a time afterwards.” His grip tightens and it’s hard to see which is caging them more: ‘hikaru’ or their environment. “‘nd I know better’n anyone how he felt, so if yer not gonna deny me, don’t deny him, neither. ‘s jus’…. ‘s jus’ too sad, ain’t it? ‘cause he never knew ya liked ‘im neither ‘nd he’s never gonna, even though y’get to know how he felt. I’on like that.”

“So don’t say somethin’ stupid like that. It hurts ‘nd i’unno if jus’ reachin’ into my chest ‘s gonna fix that feelin’.”

And then Yoshiki falls silent. His already hasty breaths grow uneven, sticking in his throat behind a hard lump. His jaw sets tight and his head tips backwards as if the angle will help with the tears brimming behind his eyelids. His final attempt is to screw them closed, but that only squeezes the heavy tears free to roll down his cheeks.

And that is all Yoshiki needs to break down. A wobbling, wet "Fuck..." Croaking from his throat after a nasally sniff. His shoulders shake and he curls tighter into himself – rather, attempts to. "Hikaru" is still holding tight onto him after all.

"M'sorry..." Yoshiki blubbers. "That... I ain't... I ain't meanin' to..." To cry? To hurt him? To hurt both "Hikaru" and the original? He can beat himself up until the day is long, but to hear that he would be stomping on the memories of his first crush, the person who was the most dear to him, denying him in the afterlife is too much. Even if it is easier to cope by burying his head in the sand and 'accepting' that their love was never meant to be.

"M'just... Real glad yer here, but knowin' that... Or acknowledgin' it... That he–" A pause to sniffle and sob with an ugly, heaving breath that rattles in his throat. "... It's sad. Yer right. It hurts. It hurts real bad..." Yoshiki would probably explain that, sometimes, tough things need to be said. That rainbows follow in the wake of a storm. Something inspiring despite his dreary demeanor, delivered with only a shred of the enthusiasm such a statement would deserve. But Yoshiki is sniffling and sobbing, too caught up in swallowing back a lump in his throat to offer advice or reassurance beyond an occasional, whimpered: "Sorry, m'fine" between noisy breaths and damp lungfuls of air.

‘Hikaru’ did this, didn’t he? Make him cry, that is. He didn’t have to go and say a word — they probably would’ve both been happier if he hadn’t — but that sort of denial cut deep for some reason. Beyond just his own emotions, transcending somewhere out of reach. Somewhere, apparently, only Yoshiki could get to. so "Hikaru" speaks. And speaks. And speaks even past the point of return, and then even more on top of that. He was trying to deny the very foundation of "Hikaru's" affections and memories and, really, existence. He can’t say he values a life — not really. Not in a way that matters or would be accepted by humans, but the dying wish of a teenage boy so disgustingly bound and warped by his environment is why he's here.

That selfish selflessness is why Yoshiki even gets to know anything, because the alternative would’ve been Hikaru dying and leaving him to think he truly thought Yoshiki gross. He . . . doesn’t like that. Denying one half while accepting the other because it’ll make Yoshiki feel better.

And trust, it’s not a matter of restraint —— he's incessantly nosing at hairline and filling his lungs with Yoshiki's scent and reveling in every outstretched inch of pale skin and neck —— he just smells too stressed and sad for ‘Hikaru’ to focus on the arousing undertones. Even with nails in his skin or ass on his dick.

Slowly, "Hikaru" drags his unburdened hand from Yoshiki’s core and slips it upwards, capturing his submental space in an underhand grab that does little more than keep his head tilted back against his shoulder. The older teen thinks nothing of the nosing along the back of his neck – "Hikaru" has been doing that throughout this entire conversation and the tip of his head backwards at the behest of a firm hand is equally as dismissed. In fact, a sturdy shoulder to rest back against is welcomed, and Yoshiki's head slumps into place.

The wet tickle of a tongue against red, damp cheeks is unusual. Sweat and tears mingle together in a salty shine that swirl with stripes of saliva. Yoshiki's eye squints and his face twitches in the wake of the sensation. There are more efficient ways to dry his eyes, and he can't say for certain that he understands this method. But Yoshiki has learned that sometimes there is no understanding this being. Sometimes, its best to just fall into step and accept the eccentricities.

If sadness has a taste, it’d be whatever Yoshiki is made of; something pure and crystalline but so cold it burns a little when "Hikaru's" tongue presses against the flesh. If sadness has a look beyond the tears and snot and shaking shoulders, it'd be what his soul is like; an Ipomoea — fleeting and momentary, but so unbearably vibrant and beautiful that he's hard to look at or away from. A single bloom. A burst of color that leaves the entity yearning to have him crawl inside of his body and feel him wilt after said bloom.

"Hikaru" can do that for him. Make him bloom and wilt, that is. He already is, right here in his arms, right?

And Yoshiki is bad at licking his own wounds - clearly. He usually ignores them and "Hikaru" is only just now learning how to care for his own, but even something like this...

"'m sorry, 'nd 's cruel'a me, but 'm gonna hurt ya again."

"... Nn?" A short, sniveling sound. Dark lashes part, clumped and thick, to view the evening air through a kaleidoscope of tears yet to fall. "Yer gonna wha—" the captured hand flexes and works its way down, between half curled torso and thighs to instead cup and massage the appendages of his hand against clothed bulge. Yoshiki startles. He grunts, the sound catching and cracking its way through a sob. He had almost forgotten about his body's frantic state. It was beginning to calm itself down, but like a starving beast that caught a whiff of a scrap, a few moments of friction is all it takes to bait him back into action with increased fervor. The twitch that greets the firm gropes is more akin to a jump and, despite his efforts, Yoshiki can't fight the urge to buck against "Hikaru's" palm. "'nd give ya somethin' t'cry 'bout."

a squeeze.

"If y'hate it then I'll stop," an apologetic lick at the hole put into his ear. "But I wanna take care'a ya 'nd i'unno how ta 'sides from this."

His hand clamps the one within his grip, the one boldly massaging between his thighs, knowing full well that he doesn't have the strength to wrestle it still should he insist. Thankfully, "Hikaru" is well aware of the word 'no' should Yoshiki put his foot down on the matter. "Y... Y'don't have'ta do this..." God, Yoshiki feels pathetic. In tears yet hopelessly stimulated, humping and rutting at "Hikaru's" hand through his grass-stained trousers in the wake of a heavy emotional catharsis.

He should tell him to stop. That now isn't the time. But, fuck, he is aching. Desperate. The whimpers that spill from his lips are no longer entirely sorrowful, but they are no more dignified.

‘Hikaru’ caresses and massages the pad of his thumb along Yoshiki's jawline, tracing the curve as he licks half of his face free of tears and salt and stains. really, its because his hands are either currently busy or going to be, and the tongue is all he has left to swipe at cheek with. Yoshiki doesn't think that this sense of being completely and utterly pathetic will wane, but the distraction is welcome. As much as he wants to mope and mull over the words spoken, to be chewed up by guilt and spat into the grass, he can't. He is only human. An adolescent boy, repressed and isolated, now penned in the lap of his sole anchor to this world.

His reason for living. Twice over.

He can't bring himself to hate "Hikaru", as strange as his tongue feels slithering across cheeks beginning to subtly sting in the wake of salty tears. He can't fathom the thought of shying away from the plucking of lips at his neck. There is nothing, despite the circumstances, that can motivate Yoshiki to tell him to stop.

And he feels incredibly fucked up for that.

but for all of Yoshiki's quirks and complaints or whatever, there is a handful of things "Hikaru" knows he can do because of how soft he is, like make him cry and still have him in "Hikaru's" lap. Or scare him half to death by chasing him. or make the poor bastard sob while actively putting a hand on his crotch and promising more tears.

He can't forget. He's been taunting himself with that scent for god knows how long and he might've been able to resist, just as he has been, if Yoshiki hadn't bared his neck. If he hadn't done something so simple yet impactful for a creature like this in a state like that..

"Yeah," He knows and, if Yoshiki was anyone else, wouldn't care. But he isn't just anyone and he may not have the same desires or displays of affection, but he does want to provide — a safe place. A home. Relief, if need be. "'s y'so I wanna." That neck and pale skin are so inviting - even more so when there's little spots dotting its expanse and "Hikaru" cant help but kiss those. Soft, tender, his lips a little chapped and teeth doing a poor job of keeping to themselves.

"Help me?" Fingers dance and drum atop erected cock and "Hikaru", by no means, actually needs assistance in popping open his pants button or pulling down the zipper - but Yoshiki's hand is already right there, over his own, and... He doesn't want to take his hand from Yoshiki's, really. That's all. Yet the situation, earnest and vulnerable, makes his senses sing despite the flash of blinding ecstasy that has been thrust upon him at the end of the chase. The quiet sobs that wrack his body mingle with quiet, breathy moans. Every drum of "Hikaru's" fingers make his hips jump, chasing the rhythmic impact.

He's already rutting in "Hikaru's" lap and making him exhale heavily from the friction. It's good, of course it is, but - it won't do for "Hikaru" what it undoubtedly does for Yoshiki.

so, surely, they can both ignore how the hand once holding his chin is now slipping shirt buttons open, right? Not even the cold caress of evening air against his chest, pale and bare as it is exposed button by button, can sober him up. He tends to release a lot and it's probably wise to not get any on his shirt since "Hikaru" isn't between his legs to capture and swallow it. “M'sorry…” Another apology. Pitiful. Drawled. “Ya opened yer heart t'me, ya made me realize some real hard truths, an’ yet…” Yet he heeds the request. He isn't keen on letting go of "Hikaru's" hand, either, but his left one was free. It takes a little fumbling, but the button on his trousers pops free. The release of pressure makes Yoshiki shudder and arch, unintentionally bearing down upon the hips rubbing up against his backside. “... An’ yet I'm still like this.” Hard. Aching. It is inappropriate. Embarrassing. Once again, pathetic. The zipper rasps and Yoshiki's trousers yawn open and his dick twitches in protest at the shift in temperature. His boxers are wet at the tip, punishment for his impatience, and the ambient air feels strange when it clashes against the sticky patch of fabric.

"Y'ain't gotta do anythin' t'me, neither, so don't even think 'bout it. I got ya."

His head leans back, resting itself properly against "Hikaru's" shoulder. “Gonna think about it. Ya know I will.” It's difficult for Yoshiki to accept that "Hikaru" derives ‘pleasure’ from selflessly giving. It feels as if he is acting selfishly. Using him, almost.

But if it’s any consolation to him, he’s not the only one feeling fucked up about the situation. Granted, their views and whys are different, but the sentiment is still there. It’s getting harder to rationalize the normality behind their actions with him, another man, and each act only drives roots of doubt, abnormality, and wrongness deeper into "Hikaru's" chest. He tries not to care, but sometimes the memories in his head get a little too loud and he feels sick and lets out a whimper.

"Hikaru" likes — loves? — Yoshiki and Yoshiki loved Hikaru. And now he loves ‘Hikaru’. They have aired out their feelings – at the climax of a chase, out in the open in some godforsaken woodland that neither of them know. It wasn't romantic or tender, but rather a burst of emotions and words in the midst of a moment of vulnerability.

Why is that wrong? Why does he have to feel dirty in ways that not even cleansing can remove? But ‘Hikaru’ can’t feel sad right now. He has to be strong, even if he doesn’t want to be, like the real Hikaru would’ve been.

Yoshiki doesn't feel sad about it, either. He feels worried. Scared, almost. But also giddy? Relieved? It's a strange, turbulent storm of emotions that crashes and churns behind his chest. It's a miracle in itself that he has yet to turn a concerning shade of green.

Having a hand on his dick and lips at his throat really is the ultimate distraction.

“Ah,” a breathy exhale. “Shuddup.” He’ll apologize forever if left to his own devices, so he'll give the teen something else to think about. They’re a little bit more removed from the village than . . . last time, and that, too, is getting harder to rationalize. For something that doesn’t have a sex drive, they sure are engaging in quite a bit of activity, aren't they? Being told to shut up is valid, because Yoshiki almost apologizes out of reflex from that as well. He manages to hold his tongue.

‘Hikaru’ exhales shakily at the weight and friction atop hardened cock that makes his hips cant upwards to bury himself further into the feeling.

It’s reactionary. Reflex — not something he can ignore as easily or readily as everything else. “‘S fine. I made ya that way.” Something he takes a modicum of pride in, really; Yoshiki’s hard, not because of the face or body it wears, but because of some utterly inhuman act it committed. Something monstrous and uniquely ‘Hikaru’. The horror caused that.

He's only got one hand to manage with but that’s more than enough for the purpose it’ll serve —— mostly because Yoshiki won’t have much choice but to aid its bodily endeavors. “Long as ‘s me yer thinkin’ of.” Its easier to keep his words at bay when his thoughts grind to a halt if it's only ‘Hikaru’ he's thinking of. His response is instant without any form of buffer. He isn't thinking, after all.

“Never thought of anyone else.”

There’s something about that confession — simple, short, yet.. Piercing? There’s never been anyone else for Yoshiki, just like there’s never been anyone else for ‘Hikaru.’ He’s "Hikaru's" one and only. A first and last. A swell of unnameable emotion almost makes him want to cry.

'Hikaru’ has a thought - or several - about his current view. Yoshiki will never believe him so there’s no point in talking about it out loud, but the way his body reacts and follows the cool of fingers leaves them a little colder. Blood is rushing southwards and there’s not much he can do about that. It’s embarrassing —— beyond sexual desire, yet still not immune to hormonal teenage bodies and the twitching expanse of pale flesh.

Right hand still intertwined, ‘Hikaru’ has no qualms about shifting the tangled mass to clothed dick and pulling at the fabric to get his target out. If he wants to hold hands so bad, then fine; he can stroke his dick for "Hikaru", too. The cool evening air striking newly bared skin prompts Yoshiki to hiss. His navel tightens and his dick flexes with a shiver that lances along his spine. The rosy, slick tip, exposed to the elements, is struck particularly hard by the chill, enough so that his hips roughly buck against nothing. A single, but forceful lurch.

He buries his reddening face into his neck instead and lets out a whiny exhale. This isn’t fair. If he keeps moving like that, he'll keep him from doing it again. Dulled senses or not, "Hikaru" feels every inch ache with the need to grind himself into the body sitting atop his lap. He wants to say he's doing a good job of refraining, but that one buck has ‘Hikaru’ growling out a purr and rolling his hips with a sort of mindless greed he didn’t know he had. Yoshiki cannot ignore the responses that he seems to be coaxing from "Hikaru" — a being supposedly void of sexual desire is doing more than mindlessly buck against him out of reflex. He's huffing. Whining. This isn't a purely physical reaction, is it? Yoshiki feels somewhat proud of himself, but also guilty.

Or maybe he's projecting. He'll mull over these thoughts later when his skull doesn't feel full of warm cotton wool.

The smaller teen rests his chin on Yoshiki's shoulder to watch what they're doing since the position, unfortunately, doesn’t particularly allow him to look at the faces Yoshiki makes like being between his legs does. Still, though, there's a lovely view of his chest and torso and how they connect — remain merged, one — right over his cock. Like this, ‘Hikaru’ can watch as he traces left hand’s digits up his side and splay as they reach rib cage, following the curvature of bone upwards to solar plexus, and dance along collar bone. Yoshiki's head tips, temple to temple with "Hikaru's". Closer still, but it never feels quite enough. His body, long and lanky, arches into the wandering touch, following splayed fingers like opposite poles of a magnet.

That hand comes up further still, to pretty lips, and pulls at the bottom tier with his thumb. “Yer prolly wet ‘nuff, but spit in my hand anyhow. I’on wanna hurt ya like that.” Goosebumps prickle in their wake, and there isn't a moment of hesitation when the pad of a thumb plucks at his lip and reveals that one, hidden mole that ‘Hikaru’ is particularly privy to.

His teeth gently take the first knuckle between them and gently squeeze. Why? He isn't sure. Maybe to vent some of that mounting frustration. Once blue-gray eyes are nothing but startling crimson. He’s biting? he’s biting. His attention pinholes to that sole fact and nearly forgets everything else. How does he feasibly tell him to bite harder? Maul the flesh? Dig in and take a proper bite, until he bleeds and he should heal himself but doesn’t because he wants the mark? The scar? There is only so much energy he can burn by fidgeting and grasping "Hikaru's" captive hand. If this situation doesn't feel dirty enough, being told to spit in his hand feels utterly depraved in a way that make Yoshiki's heart lurch.

He sucks his cheeks in, rolls his tongue to gather a decent amount of saliva, just as he's told, and once he is satisfied, he purses his lips and drools into "Hikaru's" palm. A thick, clear dribble of spit to gather and well into the creases of his hand. But Yoshiki can never do anything precisely on a whim, so there is certainly a few rogue streams staining his chin.

Messy. Unpracticed. But good enough.

It’s only because Yoshiki does as he’s told that ‘Hikaru’ can even fathom moving his gaze elsewhere. It’s a hard endeavor, too, and takes far longer than he'd be willing to admit. One blink. Two. Then three — inhale, shuddering exhale. "Hikaru" totally told him to spit in his palm but now that it’s there, ‘Hikaru’ wants to lick it up and mix their fluids up. Swallow him down whole and keep them together as one. He can feel himself salivating at the thought. Damn. Damn.

fuck, even.

‘Hikaru’ isn't immune to warmth and friction and it's Yoshiki on his dick, making him gasp and whine and cant his hips in . . . hopes? of something more stimulating. He doesn't know how good he smells - how much "Hikaru" is committing the scent of his arousal to memory because something like this is for him. He definitely doesn't know how good he looks, either - on a level beyond physical, even. He likes the form his soul has taken now; his face is handsome, his voice is nice even if he gets a little bossy or mean, and the body his soul resides in is. . . really nice, too. Despite his little pokes and prods about him being awkwardly lanky and one breeze away from flying off, he finds the form to be pleasing. Pale and lithe, muscle growing taut as he touches and noses at him, and - it's just a bunch of little things piling up that makes "Hikaru" react the way he does. Probably. He can't say for sure since he's never experienced this before and probably wouldn't care less if someone else tried grinding in his lap, but. . .

His forehead nudges against the crux of neck and shoulder before he gathers himself, realigns his focus to Yoshiki and his needs, and drools his own spit —— an almost gray liquid, undoubtedly with trace amounts of its insides — in hand.

‘Hikaru’ is leaving the spit on Yoshiki’s face there, if only because he'll lick that up later, and instead lowers that saliva covered palm down to his cock. Their mixed fluids squelch when he closes his hand around Yoshiki's length. Forming any coherent thought is a great undertaking in itself. Doubly so when a spit-slick palm coils around his dick. Instantly, Yoshiki's hips lurches upwards, smearing their combined saliva along the bulk of the shaft. Clear and tainted, mingling together. His navel tightens, his stomach clenches, and the sound that spills from his lips is low and earnest. A groan barely wheezes its way beyond the heavy huff of air that leaves his lungs.

“Oh,” "Hikaru" muses. “Y’got moles here, too.” He sounds a little too pleased with this information — especially so when the other hand moves to help pull his foreskin down over the crown of his cock. “Mnh, does that matter..?” Yoshiki grunts.

"Mmmnah, jus' like 'em."

Yeah, he has moles there. One along the belly of his cock, about two inches from the tip on its left side. Another closer to the root more angled towards the middle, barely far enough from the wispy tuft of hair that crowns his dick to be completely unobscured. There is no escaping the dark dapples of his skin, even when it comes to his most intimate areas and it's a shame "Hikaru" was too focus on taking him in to notice all of these moles beforehand - something that will be remedied if he ever finds his way between his legs again.

“Show me how y’do it?”

With his hand still covering "Hikaru's", he guides it down, covering the flecks he has drawn attention to. Up again. Lazy drags of slick friction, wagging both of their wrists in ‘demonstration’. Yoshiki can feel his breaths evening out, but falling heavier. Rhythmic, heaving. Up, to partly roll skin over the sensitive tip, and down again, tugging it free. He begins to rock his hips, thrusting into the tight, slippery hole of coiled fingers.

He fucks into "Hikaru's" hand and his neglected cock throbs at the friction. This is worse than when he was laid between his legs. At least then he could ignore his own body. Now, though? Impossible.

Yoshiki curls his toes and hisses through his teeth, head turning to nose into "Hikaru's" jawline, hiding his face as he falls into routine motions, basic and familiar. But even though he's the one guiding the touch? It isn't his own. He isn't privy to the way his heartbeat echoes through his aching dick, nor how it feels with every little jump and twitch against the entity's palm whenever foreskin catches the crown just right.

He's a lot slower about this sort of thing than Hikaru was and his bicep flexes, grows taut, as he restrains from showing him how they - both monster and man - would pleasure him in hand. He gives himself too much time to think and overthink and it comes as no surprise that he doesn't finish.

"Hikaru", however, is fascinated by this. Not even the tilting of his head to allow Yoshiki at his scarred neck is enough to make his attention waver. Down, until only index and thumb remain wrapped around his cock because the rest have slipped into boxers to nudge against testes and thighs alike. Up, lightly pinched fingers dragging from base to crown, coaxing foreskin back over his swelled peak before "Hikaru's" wrist twists then lowers again.

There's nothing performative or pretty about the way he's moving or grinding against 'Hikaru’s' lap every time he humps into his palm. Yoshiki’s eyes are screwed shut and the hand not currently playing puppeteer is accosting the back of the other's head with a white-knuckled grip into equally white strands of hair.

Even though he was told not to worry about him, Yoshiki really just can't help himself, can he? The entity hisses at the initial grab, but very quickly finds some sort of pleasure in how the pulled roots bring a hot, throbbing ache to his skull. "Hikaru's" jaw falls slack and, for a moment, stills. "Mh-mmngh.." he rumbles, the sound reverberating low and deep within the endless confines of the entity's chest. He takes hold of his hip and grinds it to a halt, "Hikaru's" own twitching - fucking greedily against layers of fabric and the fantasized softness of his flesh. Taking in feels indescribably amazing. Being taken in is probably just as good, he rationalizes, which is the only reason "Hikaru" presses his thick erection as close to Yoshiki as their clothes will allow.

Yoshiki knows in his heart that 'Hikaru,' at his core, is a mimic. He copies humans despite the recent encouragement not to conform. But those sounds, those strained words, and ravenous motions? They seem real. Sincere. Maybe Yoshiki is falling for the imitation, or maybe he truly wants to believe that "Hikaru" is enjoying himself.

That this isn't performative. That he is making him feel good, too.

Something leaks, and while he's familiar with how overexcitement makes his insides ooze out from both neck and face, he's not terribly familiar with the same-ish feeling between his legs. "Yo-," a sharp inhale. "-Shiki.." He squeezes once, tentative and experimental, as thumb idly massages against one such mole.

The motion forces Yoshiki to buck and prompts his dick to flex. The pulse point beneath the massaging pad of "Hikaru's" finger throbs. A more lurid sheen is mixing with the medley of spit and ichor, drooling from the rosy tip of his twitching shaft only to be smeared with every tug and swipe over the crown. “Fuck…” A quiet, juddering curse is murmured into "Hikaru's" neck. Yoshiki noses at the seam that encircles the neck of the person dearest to him and clashes hot, ragged breaths against the wound. ‘Hikaru’ rubs his cheek against his temple, more than content and willing to bare his neck for Yoshiki to pant against. He's trying to stay together. Really, he is - but "Hikaru's" easily overwhelmed by feelings and sensations and its no real big deal when half of his face begins to melt; it isn't just Yoshiki that gets lost in monochromatic fractals that swirl and pulsate. No, even ‘Hikaru’ isn't safe from a physical slip that leaves that writhing mass to weigh heavily upon shoulder and slip through the line at his neck.

He, at least, keeps it to himself.

His thighs flinch but mindlessly shuffle aside, welcoming the exploring press and graze of fingers over his trousers. Every touch feels electric, and Yoshiki firmly believes that his balls can't feel any more taut until "Hikaru's" hand brushes over them through his boxers. Its almost painful. Legs uncurl and ankles hook around ankles, shifting their limbs apart lest he try to close his thighs and keep "Hikaru's" hand from exploring between them. And it's a real shame "Hikaru" has to keep Yoshiki from fucking himself onto his cock because he reacts nicely when he touches his balls? and he'd rather be exploring that than having to grit his teeth and hiss out a breath every five seconds cause that ass just won't quit.

Yoshiki has been wrestling with many difficult, complicated feelings this evening. From navigating his guilt and grief amidst a heartfelt confession, to pondering just why "Hikaru's" legs hooking around his ankles to wrench his thighs apart make his heart lurch. There isn't much of an opportunity for his thoughts to linger. Yoshiki will have to unpack this later.

He can't help when, on the upstroke, he stops the motion just before foreskin recovers the tip and brings his closed fist around it instead. Short, quick little flicks of the wrist and varying tightness of the fingers is all he's going to get from ‘Hikaru’ right now. Mostly because he wants to watch him come undone in his lap like Yoshiki is trying to make "Hikaru" do beneath him.

"Feels... Good. Y'feel so good fer me, Yoshi. . . 's incredible."

The iron-clad grasp over his hip to still the forceful jerks leaves Yoshiki growling through his teeth - a noise of frustration, not aggression. He bares his teeth. But all of that bravado melts the instant "Hikaru's" technique shifts to a rapid, relentless assault over the most sensitive part of his dick. “A-ah–? Hi… Hikaru, wait… Wait a sec, this–!?” The growl and baring of teeth only makes heat blossom over whats left of his melting visage and nails hook into flesh in such a way that he can't be sure it hasn't broken skin. Wait. . ? What would he do that for when he's making sounds and moving like this?

He is no longer guiding the hand stroking swiftly over him. Yoshiki is writhing, fighting against the hold at his hip in his struggle to fuck and mindlessly thrust into the surge of sensations that make stars bleed into the edges of his vision. Not a single breath is silent, each heavy gasp harbored a noise; whimpers, groans, heaving sobs. The hand not threatening to rip the hairs from the back of "Hikaru's" head is valiantly trying to wrestle its hand still.

The spit squelches and schlicks wetly in hand as wrist turns - overhand, twist, underhand, tug, smush his palm against leaking slit, close his fist again. He doesn't have to move his hand too much for him to focus the administrations on his cockhead, really, even if there is a momentary halt where "Hikaru's" hips roll and he growls as skull ripples with pain.

“S… Seriously, hold on, I… I, nhhn–” Yoshiki is barely able to wrestle his words into coherence. “L-lemme… Lemme jus’... Try somethin’, please…?”

His hand stops, but his fingers don't; still, his thumb presses and not quite pinches the crown of Yoshiki's cock as finger pads massage themselves into heated shaft or index finger finds itself carefully pushing beneath foreskin to idly circle the breadth of cockhead. He won't stop, not completely - there's no 'no' or 'stop' to be heard - but "Hikaru" will ease up.

He is. . . at least a little aware of something like this. Once he got a hand around Yoshiki's dick, memories of Hikaru tending to himself decided to blast his memories in full. The head is sensitive. Just keep giving that attention if there's no time to fully enjoy masturbating, or the shame starts eating too much away. Here, he pinpoints Yoshiki's tip because he's trying to physically limit where "Hikaru's" hand can go, so the options were few and far between.

Not that much would've changed. He's mewling over that sort of thing, so what reason would he possibly have to move the attentions elsewhere?

Thankfully, "Hikaru" has listened. Its both a blessing and a curse that his hand hasn't paused entirely; the shock of going from a frantic flurry of sensation to nothing at all would surely be jarring, but the scant presses and teases of thumb and fingers are borderline maddening. He has found a weak point and is shamelessly abusing it.

Another rub of the temple against his own. "Mmh. . ? Whaddya tryin' t'do. . ?"

The flushed tip of Yoshiki's dick is leaking, weeping a sticky sheen to coat the twirling and pressing thumb and its trunk bucks and flexes against managing fingers, straining and throbbing. Ah, its making him feel lightheaded. He swallows, thickly, and steels his resolve. A trembling hand eases "Hikaru's" grip just enough to allow Yoshiki to slip and carefully untangle their legs.

He does not detach himself from 'Hikaru.' Not entirely. Yoshiki turns and clumsily slings his leg around the entity's hip. Now they are face to face, yet he still can't bring himself to be eye to eye.

“... Jus’... Tell me t'stop if ya don't want it…”

His hands refuse to steady, but they both move to unfasten "Hikaru's" pants. He won't be hasty and expose him right away, but a clumsy grind of his dick against the clothed swell of underwear should express his intent. A sound catches in Yoshiki's throat, a juddering gasp that peters into a whine. Another rut of his hips. Another. Thin fingers once again find their mark behind "Hikaru's" skull and encourages his face, leaking and warping though it may be, to burrow back against his throat. To put his nose against his pulse point.

He'd be embarrassed to have been leaking if he wasn't staring at Yoshiki's face like a fish out of water trying to breathe. He doesn't even need the function, but his breaths are uneven and heavy as he tries to maintain form; tries not to let more slip out than what already has seeped from face and neck, and manages at least that much by turning his head away.

He's so. . . Pretty isn't the right word and in this instance, neither is handsome. He's just. . . stupidly attractive and doesn't even know it. The gloomy bastard has no idea how the drying spit on his face makes him look a little unhinged and vulnerable and maybe even a little needy. Or how he's trying to engage after being told he doesn't have to and how. . Nice? that is. Woefully moot as the actions may be. or how nice and soft his lower lip looks and how he wants to nibble and suckle on its plumpness just to see if it gets any more. . . . attractive? "Hikaru" isn't the best with language, but that the only word coming to mind.

And outside is cold and lonely and the ground isn't nearly as inviting or comforting as the bed they share, but Yoshiki is infinitely kind and warm in his arms. His heart stutters a beat or ten, teeth bite into lower lip, and the best response "Hikaru" can give is a very intelligent: "I do." want it. whatever ‘it’ is or will be.

"Hikaru" isn't too sure whats pre and whats spit on his hand anymore - not that it matters or anything, but he's. . . maybe a little interested in how well their fluids mix, and how nicely the sheen makes his fingers glisten under what little light is afforded to them. He almost claws down Yoshiki's hip to station him back onto his lap, but he wants to try something and he can deal with a momentary lack of warmth, even if he looks unhappy and confused by the movement. "Whaddya. . . ?"

the entity would be perfectly fine just tending to Yoshiki, but there's something about him wanting to. . . please? him that makes "Hikaru" submit to his whims before they can fully be communicated. He's kind enough to wipe his filthy hand off on his own thigh before bringing both bear paws up and around his waist. He's svelte and there's a moment where "Hikaru" wonders if he can clasp both hands around him and feel finger tips touch - but that's an experiment for later, when he's not physically restraining himself from making those grinding motions into the riding ones he remembers from porn.

Yoshiki probably wouldn’t be able to move his hips nearly that well and his stamina is so shit that even just thinking about him trying to fuck himself down on ‘Hikaru’ like that makes him snicker under his breath.

the boy pants, takes a few moments too long for his own comfortability, and gathers his insides back together at his visage before immediately finding his place back at Yoshiki's neck. He's trying to be kind and respectful of the differences in their flesh and how wounds appear, but he just has no idea how much it hurts to keep his teeth to himself.

He doesn't need to bite him into submission - Yoshiki willingly offers his neck and vulnerability without being prompted - but he likes how the teeth marks look in his flesh and how he smells after he gives his body attention and the sounds he makes. And when he's invited to do these things? to pant and whimper and lament that he can't control himself enough to keep his neck from leaking because he's too close?

God.

“Should be better th-than jus’...” A pause, a groan. Yoshiki's knees squeeze around "Hikaru's" lower back. “... Rubbin’ up back there…” The only downside thus far is the mess of smearing pre all over the front of "Hikaru's" underwear, but he is likely soaking his own patch into the unfortunate fabric by this point.

Oh. Oh, he's almost certain he can't grant his own wishes, but by god does he not want this to end anytime soon.

being able to look at each other before was fine. "Hikaru" was the one with a dick down his throat, after all. He was below him, then, and rather enjoying himself.

He's enjoying himself now, too, but they're equals. Pleasure isn't one sided. He's making "Hikaru" moan, too, and its scary to think about. He prefers shouldering this kind of thing by himself.

No matter what, there are parts of Hikaru that are set in stone in him.

"It felt. . . nice." Warm. Yoshiki wouldn't stop bucking his hips and fucking his erection along the seam of his pants, and there's definitely no complaining about that, as evident by the dark wet spot that's been smeared over the fabric from their incessant humping.

Yoshiki’s fingers, long and thin, reach out. His movements are slow. Steady. Like how one would approach a frightened animal to soothe it. One hand remains low between their bodies to maneuver 'Hikaru’s’ belt from its loop and the other tentatively touches the incomprehensible mass of melting shapes and colours. Yoshiki accepts the restless shifts and swirls of leaking insides to mindlessly wind through the spaces between his fingers. Wet, but they leave no trail nor trace. Vaguely cold but without temperature. Something inhuman and otherworldly.

Something distinctly ‘Hikaru’.

Yoshiki allows the mass to retract and retreat back into its human shell; through the eyes or the perfectly circular cut to his neck. A moment is taken to rub the back of his wrist over his lips but it does little to fix his ragged appearance: hair mussed and flying in every conceivable direction, pupils blown wide as saucers, and now the partly dried drool is smeared into flushed cheeks.

Those sounds… Each quivering whimper and earnest moan makes Yoshiki’s heart lurch and his dick twitch. “Felt nice..?” He echoes, speaking simply to hear the sound of his own voice, to anchor himself into reality and remind himself that he exists, and that this situation is real. That an awkward tug of a zipper and the pluck of his fingers against the band of boxers is happening. Right now.

‘Hikaru’ is, perhaps, not exactly a slave to Yoshiki’s whims per se, but he definitely dives head first into whatever it is he desires. If it means seeing him drooling on himself and flushed with eyes only for him? Oh, he'd rebuild the entire world for him if given a chance. Just one wish. One reason. One purpose——

“Uhnn.. Yer.. Bein’ with ya makes me feel nice. Even somethin’ like this,” forbidden. taboo. Something that should disgust and repulse the pair but merely intrigues and incites hesitation in ‘Hikaru’. It would suck if this was anything other than reality. Yoshiki sucks a sharp breath through his teeth. Yeah, this is wrong, isn't it? An exception. Not the norm. Something that neither of them should be doing – not with one another.

Yoshiki doesn't want to think about it. If he lets that thought, that reality, stew for too long within his thoughts? He won't be able to go through with this. He'll want to pull away, or his nerves will deny him the relief that he so desperately desires… Or maybe he'll just throw his head to the side and empty the contents of his stomach. None of these scenarios are ideal.

So, he does what he does best and buries his head in the sand. He doesn't pursue that comment aside from his initial grimace.

The sound of "Hikaru's" zipper coming undone brings him to hesitate even more, but… he won’t tell him. Can’t. It’s embarrassing..?

But he waited until Yoshiki was asleep to slip out of bed and jerk himself off in the bathroom. It was a … very frustrating experience? He to be human — wants all the experiences of it, if allowed — but something like that is out of his realm of possibilities.

He curled back into bed a ridiculous amount of time later with sore arms, tear stained cheeks, and a dreadful feeling that he'd disappoint Yoshiki.

So right now? He feels terribly anxious, even if he's trying to focus on Yoshiki's voice and hands and how they both tremble a little more as time passes; it’s always easier being the receiver, isn’t it? Initiating is heart attack inducing.

At least, it feels like that to ‘Hikaru’.

And honestly? Thank god Hikaru was so good at avoiding emotion. The entity isn’t even half as great at pretending, but he's suppressing the fear and anxiety.

Yoshiki, with one hand free, lets his thumb pluck at the band of the aforementioned boxers but move no further. He can't bring himself to look down and his movements seemed sheepish, but… “... Will ya let me try..?”

it twitches once, twice in response to his question and "Hikaru" whimpers at his own weakness. the entity can't resist his whims and desires, and actively plays into them even if the result will be catastrophic for himself. Even if it may be a little detrimental to them both, there's no real reason to tell Yoshiki he can't jerk him off.

". . . Yer not gonna hate it?" it'll just be a hand. It's fine. He can think of a hundred and one lies that'll center the blame on himself if someone happens to stumble across them this late into the night. It's fine. He doesn't have to worry about Yoshiki. "Hikaru" will make him stop if someone or thing comes too close to them. He doesn't even need something like this.

“I… I dunno if I'll hate it.” An admission, but not a deterrent. It's deeper than that – Yoshiki knows that he'll enjoy the act itself. Touching "Hikaru" and indulging in fantasies steeped in teenage hormones on lonely nights. But its scary, isn't it? Knowing that he will enjoy it. His mouth feels dry. Yoshiki swallows.

“But I wanna try.”

"Hikaru" is just fucking selfish.

The combined efforts of two hands eases "Hikaru's" underwear down, just enough to expose him and bare, neglected flesh to the evening air. One hand, slightly trembling, cups his fingers around both rigid shafts, pulling their undersides together and uniting the heavy pulses that leave the straining lengths buck. Yoshiki can't help himself and his hips jerk once at the moment of contact, grinding the bellies of their cocks together.

“. . . Okay.”

Because how can he ever deny him anything? ‘Hikaru’ has already given him half of its ‘life’. He can have the rest of it, too, if he asked.

He winces at the temperature change, displeased and confused by just how… hot? he has become. And how quickly the creature becomes embarrassed when he's exposed——? Or maybe it’s just how Yoshiki’s hand takes hold of “Hikaru’s” cock and makes his hips keen at the additional warmth? But something in the last few seconds leaves his face entirely red, wide eyed, slack jawed, and openly staring at where their cocks meet.

He's not necessarily blessed by any means — in fact, its length is just shy of Yoshiki’s, but it’s significantly thicker.

And an angry shade of red that rivals “Hikaru’s” face; pulling the foreskin down reveals just how almost. . . purple? the tip has become, with its incessant leaking and heavy beads of pre rolling down the ‘seam’ of their paired cocks. If he was human, the ache he'd undoubtedly feel would have him gritting his teeth.

“... Don't it hurt?” "Hikaru's" concept of pain is new and nebulous, but looking at how angry his newly exposed dick looks, flushed and straining, makes Yoshiki wince in empathy. He's been in that situation many times; amped up and aroused but unable to find relief amidst the shame of the images that crept into his mind. It's the sort of sickening ache that spidered into his guts and put him in a foul mood for the rest of the evening.

“Does it. . ?” Oh. He can lie and he’d never be any the wiser for it, but— “yeah,” it throbs and jumps, a none too subtle flex of the organ that leaves another thick bead of pre to weep from his cockhead. “It.. it hurts.” "Hikaru" can’t remember the last time this body has ever been this aroused before? To the point where even the chill air can’t put a damper on heated flesh and, if anything? feels good to have something juxtapose the way nerves are on fire and every single one of them has decided to take up residency at his dick.

“‘S ‘cause of you, yknow. . ?” So take responsibility for it.

Its because of him that ‘Hikaru’ is so desperately, so horribly hard. He isn't lying and Yoshiki knows it. There is no flattery behind the words of a creature who has no reason to curry favor or fluff up the opinion of humans. Does Yoshiki feel apologetic? Proud? A bit of both. It is affirming to know that "Hikaru's" reaction isn't conjured up specifically because he feels as if it's something that he has to do. The response is natural. Honest.

And because of him.

Amidst his concern, the details of the sight before him haven't escaped before he tears his gaze to the side. Honestly, he wouldn't have cared just what "Hikaru" had been packing; big, small, thick, thin? Its all the same to him and wouldn't dampen his attraction in the slightest

But for reasons he can't entirely discern, the fact that his cock is visibly girthy makes his heart flutter.

The boy leans back just enough to press their foreheads against each others and look him in the eyes properly. they glow unnaturally, but its more so from excitement than otherworldly horrors trying to influence or snatch souls through a means other than his throat. He shivers. He groans. Yet he can't bring himself to look "Hikaru" in the eye for more than a moment. He's bashful, self conscious, but he does not shy away. He presses his forehead against the entity’s in return.

"If yer not gonna regret it, then I'll. . . let y'do anythin' t'me, Yoshiki. I trust ya." His hand - the relatively clean one - rises to cup mole speckled cheek. "but if y'ain't gonna like touchin' me, too, then don't worry 'bout it 'nd lemme jus' make ya feel good."

“I mean it,” Yoshiki grunts through tightly set teeth. His hand, for the moment, isn't moving much; its purpose is to simply hold the two snugly together. He rocks his hips. Again. And again. A slow, experimental rhythm. “Don't jus' lemme do anythin’. Y'gotta speak up if ya don't like somethin’.” Yoshiki tips his head to nudge his cheek into the affectionate cradle of 'Hikaru’s' palm.

“I'm trustin’ ya, too. To speak up if ya gotta.”

Yoshiki’s hips jerk and the following friction has him biting down on his lip with a hiss of.. pleasure, maybe? It’s different from having his own hand to jerk off with. There’s warmth and human need and desire and a soul attached to this one.

It’s so much better.

"Hikaru" stares at him — watches with such… adoration in that crimson gaze that he's almost ignoring the things happening to his body in favor of drinking in his noises and reactions and gods, the way he looks—?

His heart skips a beat.

He's scared, he thinks.

Right arm wraps around the small of Yoshiki’s back and secures their bodies tightly together as "Hikaru" moves and begins shifting their positions — a gentle but unstoppable crowding of Yoshiki’s body before he's pressing forward to lower him onto his back. Hesitance bunches tight in Yoshiki’s muscles and his transition onto his back is… Stiff. Not unwilling, but uncertain. “What're ya…” The obvious question dies upon his lips when he readjusts on his knees, shrugs his shirt off and bunches it up to at least give Yoshiki something hopefully comfortable to rest his head on instead of the ground. His jaw falls slack and his thoughts grind a halt. A sight so simple in the wake of what they're doing, a pale and exposed abdomen is downright chaste in comparison to whats happening below a pair of open belts, but it still leaves him thunderstruck.

A pause.

Fuck. He's doomed. There is no ignoring the blatant flex of his dick at the sight. ‘Hikaru’ is simply trying to be a gentleman by giving him somewhere soft to rest his head, but Yoshiki isn't thinking politely or sensibly. ‘Hikaru’ becomes visibly pleased by his reaction; a bold, almost smug? and bitten back smirk graces his visage because he can call Yoshiki out on his bullshit. “‘m glad y’like lookin’ at me,” a rumbling purr as saucer eyed gaze travels around his body for any minor detail he can possibly pick up. Is it his scent that gives away his wandering gaze? Or is it truly that obvious, even clouded by lust and obscured by dark lashes that are clumped together from the elated wetness of his eyes? Had he the breath, the confidence, and the coherence, Yoshiki would insist that yes. He does. That ‘Hikaru’ is gorgeous. From the body he inhabits to the otherworldly glow of his pupils. The way his colors twirl and dance when his insides flow free, like oil in water. An incomprehensible kaleidoscope; hypnotic and taboo.

The best he can manage right now is a simpering grunt. Yeah, he loves the sight of him. The sound. The way "Hikaru" feels against him, grinding stiff and sensitive shafts against one another between the frantic strokes of clenched fingers. Everything coalesces into a brilliant glow that floods his body with a heat that both soothes and excites him. Nothing else exists beyond this moment. Only ‘Hikaru’. The friction of fallen leaves and broken twigs snagging his shirt and pricking his skin feel miles away, the chill of the evening air caressing the goosebumps along his arms may as well be moot.

An exhale —— and his dick doesn’t thrum with tangible, bucking need until he recenters his attention to Yoshiki's face.

But Yoshiki’s concerns don't hamper the way his knees press into "Hikaru's" sides, nor does it silence the groan that breaks into a wobbling keen at the end of its breath. His brow creases and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. “Ah…” A murmur, a choked whimper of a word: “Fuck…”

‘Hikaru’ looks away, shameful. He likes his face more than body — so what if the expressions he’s making now are going to burn themselves into his head and haunt him later? "Hikaru" is so stupidly, unfathomably attracted to who and what Yoshiki is as a whole that the sex itself is such a. . . nothing?

its meaningless and moot, and if anyone else ever tried to engage such a thing with ‘Hikaru’, he'd probably laugh.

especially a guy.

unless that guy is Yoshiki, in which case sex and physicality means everything and he has to wrestle with himself to keep from leaking when he has to hunch over the normally much taller male to do what he pleases with him.

but he never talks so ‘Hikaru’ never learns until its too late; like now, when everything feels good and he thinks he's doing good, regardless of positioning. In spite of, even.

but its true; if this was some sort of manga, ‘Hikaru’ would be the pathetic bottom that can’t get enough. It’s not normal —— but nothing they do is.

Shameless, desperate, his hips roll upwards – grinding and shoving at the weight threatening to pin them. A hand claws blindly between "Hikaru's" shoulders, short nails biting at skin and leaving pink lines in their wake. The other squeezes between both bodies to join "Hikaru's" with fingers as long and unwieldy as the rest of him shadowing the hand already squeezing both shafts together, slick with mingling saliva and evident excitement. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, only that he wants to touch every piece of him thats feasible. His knees part for better and closer leverage as "Hikaru" hisses and the muscles in his back tense from the nails irritating flesh. “A—ah..!” Hips buck against him hard enough to drive his thighs into Yoshiki — hard enough to bodily jolt them both a short burst into forest floor.

He's not elaborating why on anything. Only that he has to bite his cheek until stale copper fills his mouth and a mewl and nod are the only indications he understands. He readjusts his grip on their cocks and pumps his fist with renewed vigor, letting their mess of fluids slick and squelch between palm, fingers, and shafts.

“I’ll tell ya if I don’t, but more’n anythin’..? ‘M confused.” "Hikaru's" right hand splays in the dirt, between neck and shoulder to keep him ‘crowded’ whilst the left becomes a blur around their cocks; the weight of their sin is heavy and hot in his palm, but ‘Hikaru’ won’t let him bear it alone.

Yoshiki tugs at the grip to spur it faster. To encourage "Hikaru's" wrist to roll with purpose.

The buck of his hips is sloppy and uncoordinated at best, uneven, but the eagerness to please is evident from how closely he presses their bodies together. “If ‘s bad,” a shuddering exhale as hand squeezes and the other digs up earth under his nails.

“Why do y’feel so good..?”

“I dun– I dunno, but…” Yoshiki croaks. His nose buries itself into the crook of ‘Hikaru's shoulder. The heat rising from his face radiates against newly bared flesh. “Y'gotta… Keep goin’... Please, jus’...” His voice is unsteady. It shudders and cracks, threatened by ragged puffs of air and sounds that grow less dignified by the second. Grunts, gasps, whimpers, moans. All lost behind the ringing of his ears.

The way Yoshiki ruts against ‘Hikaru’ shifts. Short and swift. Firm. Forceful. Blind to rhythm. Animalistic, even. Mindlessly chasing the relief that is almost within his grasp. His knees tighten their grip around the body above it as if to pin their hips together.

“Jus’... Don't stop… Please, jus’... Jus’ a little more…”

He is at war with himself; he both thoroughly enjoys long legs around and pressed into his waist, but —— they’re kind of a hindrance? Makes his already unsure and stuttering hips even sloppier as he tries to accommodate around them. Its desperate. It hurts. Yoshiki feels, sounds, smells like a hit of crack to the system; wrong, taboo, but so fucking good. like every neuron just suddenly lights up the longer ‘Hikaru’ focuses his entirety on him.

He's going to go fucking insane. His pupils can’t get any wider than they already are and the way he's panting like a pug-bitch in heat leaves much to be desired, but he's earnest in every reaction he has. “Can’t…” a sound that’s on the verge of a sob, whimpered and frustrated as "Hikaru" buries his teeth into Yoshiki's neck and bites. He can’t stop now even if he wants to. He’s too much.

the snap of teeth at his neck certainly seizes his focus.

"Hikaru" can’t help but to bite like an animal, overstimulated and resorting to sinking its teeth into something in order to regain balance. There’s blood in his mouth, maybe —— he isn’t exactly kind when his jaw locks —— but that’s such a nonissue to the entity that the only thing he's really thinking about is the mark he can’t wait to see form on him.

Yoshiki cries out. His eyes burst open. He arches. His hand abandons ‘Hikaru's wrist and once again finds solace tangling itself within white hair, gripping tight until the sound that escapes his throat wobbles out into a pathetic, breathless whimper. Ow. That'll bruise. He doesn't need to be lucid to know that.

This is bad. Dangerous. Even "Hikaru" is aware of this —— how he's reacting to the body’s instinct rather than his own, and maybe this is what being a real teenage boy is like and it’s scary and exhilarating and he wants to feel Yoshiki’s warmth wrapped around "Hikaru" in his entirety instead of just their hands and the thought alone makes his head and hips roll.

every noise is another nail in the coffin, another desperate buck of the hips and squeeze of their hand and throb of his dick.

but as much as he loves the sounds —— jaw physically strains to pry itself from the chunk of flesh he's latched onto —— ‘Hikaru’ is much more fascinated in how he looks and reacts bodily to what he does. Free hand splays itself against his inner thigh and pushes it down and away, to the ground. “K—keeh…p, mm.. yer legs open fer me,” its worded like a command, but the plea in "Hikaru's" voice says it’s anything but.

‘Hikaru’ is moving. Yoshiki's fingers slip from his hair and clenches around a fistful of the shirt behind his head instead. His leg lolls aside when urged, bent at the knee but parting his thighs, and the ‘request’ made his breath catch audibly within his chest. He'll try to listen, even if every instinct is screaming at him to lock his ankles around "Hikaru's" waist and clamp him still.

And how scary it is to go from the commanded to commander and watch him obey without question. Yoshiki is the perfect prey and maybe that does something to his brain because his gaze becomes unfocused —— or too focused? "Hikaru" only sees him. His soul. Everything that he is, has been, and will be —— as thighs spread and grants ‘Hikaru’ with unlimited access to what’s available.

He is going to trust that Yoshiki will at least try to keep his legs down - parted -, if only because he's sitting back on his haunches and carding his fingers through sweat-slick tresses. The pause is brief — agonizing even to himself —— before the uneven, mindless rut is back in short order. Both thighs coil and twitch beneath strained pants, abdomen tenses, chest heaves with every breath he doesn’t even need, and the heat from his face has seeped towards leaking neck.

‘Hikaru’ wants him so bad and can’t even say how. Doesn’t know.

He's scared to.

but the fear doesn’t stop his sloppy pace nor hips from their short, wildly unrhythmic thrusts. If anything, it’s exciting. Leaves his head tilting back and crescendoing moans and growled grunts of aroused approval to spill from drool-glistened lips.

Dark, oil-esque fractals seep from his neck and eye, practically vibrating and pulsing in thrums of his pleasure. “Pleeeease…” the plea breaks into a warbled near cry. “Please, please, please..”

he is beautiful. Not in a way that's inherently male or female, either; he just.. Is. Looking at him is a miniature rapture and everything he can possibly hate is something "Hikaru" so stupidly loves. From the softness of his hair to eyes, just as dull and lightless as his own, yet suddenly so full of life. His voice makes butterflies form in his innards and the way words form on Yoshiki's lips are something he can watch for a lifetime or ten. "Hikaru" isn’t exactly horny because their dicks are being mashed together — although that certainly helps — but because it’s him.

it’s Yoshiki partnering with him. His scent riles the monster. Makes it want, which is no small nor easy task to begin with. There’s some sort of feeling here that makes the beast’s growls and keening moans wanton for the teen beneath him; eagerness manifests twofold, as does "Hikaru's" desire to be needed. Of use. Wanted.

“Y’look so fuckin’ good like this, Yoshiki…. I wanna cum fer ya ‘nd make y’do it, too. N—need.. y’to take it.

please lookit me———”

The second request is even more difficult. Look at him. Don't hide his face. Let "Hikaru" watch the way his features contort as his chest heaves with heavy, gasping breaths to fuel his aching lungs. To witness how mindless pumps of his hips drive him higher with each frantic buck. His eyes squint shut, rolling back partway behind weary lids. The inner corners of his brows pull together, his lips part, and his jaw alternates between tightly clenched and mindlessly slack.

He finds trouble regulating himself properly amongst the other numerous sensations and thoughts he's having. His pulse? Through the roof and he worries the rabbit in his chest will burst forth from his bone cage from how fast it’s going. And his body is hot —— despite the chill nipping at his form, ‘Hikaru’ has a thin sheen of sweat making droplets roll from neck and between the dips of bone and musculature of both back and torso. White locks try and fail to stick on neck and forehead, if only because “Hikaru’s” quick to run fingers through and push them back.

His hair isn’t long enough to be an issue, but he still feels like he will miss something if he allows his hair to remain in his face. "Hikaru" can’t take his eyes off Yoshiki and he so visibly struggles between watching the faces Yoshiki makes and where they become one below the belts.

“Haaahnn… yer so good fer me,” he sighs, voice rumbling in a low, heady growl. ‘Hikaru’ can smell him. That alone spurs him on. to fuck, with reckless abandon, into his savage blur of a fist. He's not immune to pleasure, nor to the way eyes flutter and roll and the light in them dies as he staggers, mewls, and mauls his lower lip until blood prickles beneath ivory.

The force in which "Hikaru's" cock jumps from his reactions alone would have a lesser being emptying his balls on Yoshiki’s torso. His guts tie into knots, and those weave together, too, until he's left with a Gordian knot. It hurts. There’s a fire in his body, licking the tightly wound coils of a release with just enough something to keep ‘Hikaru’ chasing after the feeling.

But it's the sight of "Hikaru" sitting back on his haunches, pleading and thrusting, that breaks him.

And it’s the most beautiful thing, second only to how his soul flares with heightened emotion, becoming nothing short of a pyre for his shame. Something like that can’t be this good and be bad unless there's some sort of biblical catastrophe to follow after. Yoshiki is his pandora's box, and "Hikaru" can’t wait to rip the lid off its fucking hinges.

Yoshiki chokes, the groan that erupts from his throat cracks halfway through its escape. The hand not clinging to the shirt behind him snatches "Hikaru's" hand in a clumsy attempt to grip his wrist and force his hold to the very base of their dicks — to bump its side against his navel to emulate the sensation of burying himself as deep as possible into something that does not exist. His toes curl, his lips twitches, and his entire body shudders in delight as colors dance at the edges of Yoshiki's vision, and screwing his eyes shut does little to dampen them. His ears are ringing, whining, and he is deaf to the juddering cry that stows away beneath a haggard huff of air.

He follows the body’s instinct. “Hikaru’s” shin comes up and weighs, pins down, Yoshiki’s already lolled thigh before the other leg follows to splay him out. His fist audibly smacks against their pelvises as he surges forth and presses himself against Yoshiki's body as much as he physically can. The twitches and jerks of his hips are involuntary, as is the half sob and drool that follows. "Hikaru" rasps — inhales sharp and wet between doggish whimpers and pathetic hics of air he's trying to supply lungs with again. The burst of emotion causes his villi shake and vibrate the very air around them.

Rope after rope coat "Hikaru's" fingers, spilling indiscriminately with rhythmic twitches that pulsates throughout his dick. Over Yoshiki's navel, "Hikaru's" dick, both of their hands — three, generous spurts of white, hot cum, and a handful of dribbling spasms announces his climax. His hips continue to jerk to chase phantom sensations, petering and jumping from ebbing waves.

Fuck...

His arm feels weak, like jelly, but he's still (just barely) strong enough to push himself into a half-sit / half-hunch over Yoshiki. "Hikaru" licks his lips hungrily — cleans up the spit on his mouth — before doing the same to his dirtied hand; laps up Yoshiki’s seed from fingers and palm, never once breaking eye contact. "Hikaru" doesn't have to cum to know that made his body feel —— incredible? He's on his own version of cloud nine even without the euphoria of release to accompany the act.

If he pretends like he did, will it matter? Crowding him when Yoshiki cums is, in hopes, meant to hide that "Hikaru" doesn't release, too.

Another whimper. “Yer so….fuckin’ pretty, Yoshiki. Act jus’ like a needy kitty in heat.” Which is no better than the feral dog spreading him out.

“What… The hell..?”

Words of disbelief rasps their way along a strained chuckle. Yoshiki isn't amused, the brief sputter of laughter is a way to vent a flood of emotion that he can't otherwise parse. A climax that intense, that vulnerable and raw, has left him reeling. Kitten weak – a comparison that "Hikaru" would surely take joy in if his commentary is any indication. His limbs feel like lead and all he can bring himself to do is just.. Breathe.

His chest heaves, ribcage rubs against the forest floor, and eyes closed. His jaw rests agape, legs spread by their knees like the wings of a specimen pinned behind a pane of glass.

One eye forces itself open to peer at the sight looming above him: a dexterous tongue scooping and swirling to clean palm of… Of him. "Hikaru" seems... Real content to clean his hand of their mixed fluids with the most sign of hesitation being a brief pause to see if he's missed a spot between the fingers anywhere. He still tastes bitter and, really? it's a little (read: really) gross and the texture is really weird on "Hikaru's" tongue but it's Yoshiki's and he let it out for the monster to drink down. Waning though his dick may be, it's still hard enough to give a spirited twitch at the sight, drawing the eldritch boy's attention. It's only then that he seems to realize just what sort of position he's put Yoshiki into: on his back, looking up at "Hikaru" legs spread, chest heaving, and his girth weighing heavily on Yoshiki's leaking cock.

Dazed and lacking his usual reflexes, his gaze lingers and soaks in what detail it can behind bursts of color that still dance and dart across his sight.

Eventually, Yoshiki looks away.

“Ya say such… Weird things…” A kitten? Seriously? And… Pretty? Him? "Hikaru" must have been delirious, babbling in the heat of the moment, but Yoshiki has the advantage of, steadily, coming to his senses. The shroud of lust and hormones is beginning to ebb.

"Yer gonna hurt my feelin's, callin' somethin' weird like that." So do the Hikaru thing where he deflects, ignores the problem, avoids it with humor and a strained smile and the removal of his weight from Yoshiki's legs.

“Ya ain't… Ya didn't…” Another pause. Stiff, uncertain. “... Finish..? Why..?” Is he too quick to cum..? Probably, Yoshiki is aware that when it comes to "Hikaru," he gets overly excited. Has he done something wrong..? Is he just… Not into this, and has been pantomiming the whole time just to see him pleased..?

No. It felt too real for that.

With a wriggle of his back, iridescent cilia return to the entity's body and the look of discomfort is seconded only by his immediate need to placate. He can lie, but what'd be the point? Its clear by how hard "Hikaru" still is that release wasn't achieved but that isn't Yoshiki's fault in the slightest. And just from that '…why?', "Hikaru" can tell he's about to start thinking something stupid.

Hesitation. Yoshiki shifts, his elbow moving to help prop himself up into a sort of half sit; a shallow angle. “... Tell me. What can I do t’help..?” An earnest question and a quick addition to quell any protests: “It's somethin’ I wanna do…”

"I. . . I'unno, but y'ain't—" He would know better than "Hikaru" what one would need to cum. "It - you - feel real damn good when yer touchin' it fer me, 'nd I wanna," Uhh... What was the word.. "cum? when y'do, but it jus' ends up hurtin' real bad 'nd i'on try no more 'cause it jus' makes me sad 'nd upset."

And worry, mostly, that he'll find even more flaws with "Hikaru" because he can't emulate everything the way he should and Yoshiki will find some way to blame himself and they wouldn't have sex? anymore and he'll never get this sort of meaningful physicality with anyone else and that shouldn't be a terrible thing, but he. . . sort of, maybe, might like this with him especially.

….Ah. Wait a second.

His nose dribbles blood.

Has he been looking at this sort of sight the entire time? Kind of. It's not the sex "Hikaru" has interest in, so the acts itself are more or less just - action and reaction? His focus is elsewhere during, though; he watches his face. Listens to how he moans and readjusts whatever it is that he's doing to make it better for him. Hence the surprise and amusement when presented with moles on his dick - something he has surely seen before. He better remembers the ones on his ribcage, under his left collarbone, dappled upon pec, and thighs, but less so the ones on Yoshiki's ass or cock.

"Hikaru" doesn't really take the time to. . . enjoy? all that Yoshiki is in moments like this. Maybe he'll start. He has to, now.

The crimson from his eyes slowly but surely begins to dissipate behind the half veil of lids as he licks upper lip free of blood. Hardened cock twitches in kind and it probably says quite a bit about the entity being more. . . aroused? after the act and seeing how Yoshiki has turned out than during. Considering the intense bobs and jumps of his cock, its state of arousal is already painful at best and horrendous at worst.

“Woah… What's that about..?” Yoshiki brings his hand up, thumb gingerly swiping across "Hikaru's" upper lip, aiming to help in clearing away the nosebleed but accomplishing little more than smearing red into already flushed cheeks. “Take it easy. Is yer heart beatin’ too much? Don't push yerself…”

"'s beatin' a whole lot 'nd i can't stop it." "Hikaru" swears the sound of his heart can be heard pounding against the bone bars of its enclosure. His voice warbles and crosses that thin line between normal and something not meant to be; something truly terrible and unhinged and not of this plane of existence.

Yoshiki is always fraught with concern. Even as he is now, dizzy and still tingling with residual bliss, "Hikaru" is at the forefront of his mind. He is hurting. And it's his fault. “Ya don't have a desire fer sex…” He's speaking out loud, mumbling his thoughts into being in order to organize them thoroughly. “But yer doin’ it anyway. Same with eatin’, an’ sleepin’, right..?”

It hurts so much. It's one thing to bump an arm onto something and have a twinge of pain, and another entirely for the pain to be somewhere as sensitive as his crotch. The tears prickling the corners of his eyes surely don't exist? And if they do, its from joy and accomplishment and being needed, not because the veins on his shaft look just about ready to burst.

Stroking or grinding against "Hikaru" will probably do little more than frustrate him further. Yoshiki is no stranger to that sensation – many of his own endeavors to vent his hormones and urges ended in disappointment once the shame and disgust at the images that flashed into his mind overwhelmed him. Part of him wonders… Is this inability due to the way the entity is 'programmed'? Or is this some residual will of Hikaru’s..?

There's no point dwelling and Yoshiki shakes his head to dismiss the errant thought.

"Hikaru" pants. There's just so much going on with him right now that he isn't sure where he should even focus. His dick? The racing of his heart that he can't seem to calm down? The blood actively dripping from his nose at an accelerated pace because of said elevated heartbeat? Or this... Human beneath him, showing "Hikaru" vulnerabilities and pleasures of the flesh he otherwise would never have cared to learn about? He isn't made for sex.

And he especially isn't made for sex with another boy.

“But ya do have one desire, right..?” Tentatively, his hand shuddering with anticipation and trepidation, trails from "Hikaru's" cheek, down his throat, beyond his collarbone, and to the center of his chest. His touch alone brings a shiver down "Hikaru's" spine that spiderwebs throughout his body, bringing a tremble to both hands and ache to his dick. This is miserable. He's trying not to let this bother him, though. It's fine. this isn't something he needs. The body is just weak and feeble and still oh so terribly human.

"Hikaru" nods once, forgoes that when the action makes his head sink lower than intended, and resorts to words instead. "Mmh... I like eatin' 'nd sleepin'." But... He probably shouldn't say he'd likely only have sex because Yoshiki wants to, right? because he likes to eat and sleep as a whole, but sex isn't. . . for the sex? He likes the closeness. The physicality. The emotions and soul surges and everything Yoshiki does and becomes when they entangle.

He can't bring himself to look him in the eye, but the subtle hitch in his breaths isn't from fear. “When ya take things in… It does somethin’ to ya, so…”

"Lookin' at y'like that made my head all fuzzy 'nd cottony 'nd it made me dizzy.." Or, whatever blood he had left in his head suddenly dropped down to his dick by any means necessary - even if that meant oozing from his nose. He almost prefers the knife twisting in his gut. That hurt less.

Two fingers probe and press, cautiously seeking out the slit that cleanly severs the skin of the vessel that houses "Hikaru's" insides. “... So lemme try..? It ain't… I don't like that yer sufferin’ ‘cause'a me, an’ I…”

Yoshiki swallows thickly. “... I wanna see ya get some relief, too.”

"Whaddya—?" Oh. Oh, good fuck. He doesn't - He's not sure he can handle that sort of thing right now. He's already on the edge of.. something, and to have Yoshiki touching his insides, too? He panics, gets caught like a deer in headlights, then swallows so thickly that the protrusion of his adam's apple visibly bobs when he tilts his head back.

"Hikaru's" sweating enough to give Yoshiki a run for his money and it's entirely because of his raging heartbeat. It thuds heavily against the tips of Yoshiki's fingers, each pulse making him seem like the poor thing is mere seconds from having his heart either explode or go into cardiac arrest.

It isn't nearly as subtle when his breaths suddenly hitch and stop and he has to make a logical decision right this very instant. One thought out with his brain, not "Hikaru's" dick, which means he's going to tell Yoshiki no.

He's going to grab him by the wrist and set boundaries and tell him it isn't safe because he isn't in the right state of mind with the right amount of control and "Hikaru's" going to keep him safe.

He's going to.

Has to.

"Hikaru" doesn't and it's pathetic because the moment Yoshiki's fingers press into flesh, he is letting him in with a desperate keen and arch of the back and push of his chest towards him like that'll help coax his hand. "Pleeeease..." "Hikaru" half cries, the plea ending with a hiccup and the gritting of teeth. Yoshiki is taking this as a fifty-fifty shot. Either he is going to make the sensation, that visceral discomfort, worse… Or he will finally be able to provide relief to "Hikaru". There is a moment of hesitation, the words ‘never mind’ roiling within his skull and threatening to spill beyond his lips. If he makes this already painful situation worse..? The guilt will be immense.

But then "Hikaru" begs. Desperation causes his tone to judder. Yoshiki's breath catches audibly within his throat and is thickly swallowed down. No, this is something he has to do. Something he wants to do, as selfish as he surely feels.

He's selfish. He's disgusting. He's on hands and knees and letting Yoshiki into the void of writhing hell-flesh that needs this just as much as the body does. "I need ya, Yoshiki..." "Hikaru" buries his face into the others neck and sobs; the poor thing's shoulders quiver from how he tries to minimize how badly he actually wants to shake and breakdown, and tears fall from his face in thick droplets. "Hhhn-," He nearly chokes on air.

"I wanna... Ughnnn.. Wanna cum fer ya." He doesn't want to disappoint. "I need y'inside me, please. please, please, please..."

“Easy…” He coos, his voice soft. Reassuring. He noses into the scruffy spikes of white to draw "Hikaru" further beneath his chin - against his throat, tucked against the collarbone. “I'm gonna try an’ take care of ya, but if it hurts and ya don't think it's workin’...” "Hikaru" clutches that wiry form between the palms and curls his fingers inwards, threatening to crack the layers of his flesh with nails and desperation. His scent both helps and makes things even worse and the barely stifled sob that leaves his throat is earnest; “Hikaru’s” in pain and his form twitches, cock heavy with an arousal so fierce that it makes the entity slump forward into Yoshiki.

‘easy,’ he says, like he isn’t fighting for his life and sanity right now. How do humans deal with something like this regularly?  

He hiccups and stutters in his breathing but tries — honest to gods, he tries — to calm down. To try and retake command of his body and return some of the blood to other parts and forgo this feeling he isn’t used to and doesn’t know how to regulate yet. Maybe with time, he'll be able to do better. For now? He's absolutely cooked and currently burning away on the stove.

Yoshiki angles his wrist, applying pressure until two flaps of flesh split cleanly beneath the weight of his touch. The abnormal chill nips at the tips of his fingers and shoots spindles of cold all the way up to his elbow. He begins between "Hikaru's" pectorals, but gradually his arm slides upwards, slowly tearing sweat slick skin open and parting it like the wings of a butterfly. Warmth enters his cold, empty insides and "Hikaru" immediately keens —— practically sings out his pleasured delight with a long suffering moan that drags itself out of his throat. His toes curl and feet kick in the same instant that his head is thrown back in ecstasy. He doesn’t know how much blood the human body has, but at least half of it is at his dick whilst the rest colors his face an all too bright red, and tries to leak from the nose again.

“Then ya gotta tell me so I can stop, or adjust, or somethin’...”

Long fingers flex, kneading into the mass of the entity's insides. It feels wet, like it should leave a residue against his skin, but doesn't. Up, further, until the seam threatens to creep into "Hikaru's" chin. This is where the pulsing innards feel a little… Thicker? But, most importantly, Yoshiki knows it's around here that makes "Hikaru" keen with delight when they had first fumbled within the storage room behind the gym. The inner corners of his delicate brows pull upwards as eyelids draw to a near close and eyes roll —— they’re glossy, some light having returned to them by way of tears.

Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him. Is the constant chant in his head as corpse tears apart at his beckoning and villi vibrate and writhe, a coiling disaster of uncontrolled something that gives way for intruding fingers. It’s almost Newtonian, in a strange way? ‘Liquid’ and easy to pass through when movement is slow, only to flex and capture, grow solid, when escape is too fast.

"Hikaru" arches and bends like a willow tree, presenting himself and all of his vulnerabilities to Yoshiki without a second thought. He can’t say for sure why the ‘anatomy’ is thicker there before, but now it’s acting like scar tissue and, as Yoshiki nears his throat, the circling seam also begins to split. Tears freely roll down cherub cheeks to join with the drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. There’s nothing attractive about the sight —— He's a miserable, pathetic mess of bodily twitching, tears, and fractals spilling forth from his chest to snag Yoshiki by the arm. “‘Shi…ki…” A hand pries itself from where "Hikaru" has embedded his nails into skin and instead encloses his aching cock in a fist.

It is difficult to focus. The noises, the sights… They are all for him, aren't they? A sinful symphony. A performance for Yoshiki’s eyes only. His dick, having lost the majority of its bulk in the time that has passed, thrums. It wants to rise, to respond, but can't. This… is turning Yoshiki on again, but his body isn't quite at the point where it can behave appropriately. The heavy, uneven breaths and trembling limbs are all he could muster.

“Ya gotta relax, Hikaru…” Yoshiki murmurs. His fingers spread and stretch, twirling in their attempt to grip and play with tendrils that slip through the spaces between. “Take it easy. Lemme handle it…”

“D-deeper—— y’aint… gonna hit nothin’. Pleash—“ He slurs on spit. Pants, gasps, chokes on half swallows of saliva and air. "Hikaru" is nearly hyperventilating; the breaths he takes are too quick and shallow to provide lungs with any sort of oxygen that would be worthwhile, too panicked to slow down, too - needy. “—— harder, ‘shi?” Yoshiki is urging "Hikaru" to relax for that very reason — because he is losing himself. Yoshiki knows, sincerely and utterly, how much worse tightly coiled arousal can be when one is so terribly wound up. Tensing and writhing will make it worse. It can even trigger a cramp. The best course or action he has found during his own times of unsatisfied teenage whims is to simply… Breathe. Go with the motions.

Empty your mind as well as you can to discourage self-revolting thoughts from creeping back in.

Tiny palpitations thrumming and brushing his fingers would have once startled him into yanking back, but not anymore. The ticklish caresses almost feel like thousands of tiny kisses greeting his unflinching fingers. “Mm…” An understanding syllable and nod of his head meet the plea. “I jus’ don't wanna hurt ya none.” But he has yet to adjust to just how deep he can reach. Physics as Yoshiki knows them do not apply to "Hikaru". His arm, long and thin, delve deeper and disappear into the inky abyss to the elbow. The further he reaches, the colder it seems. He is convinced that, should he burrow far enough, the tips of his fingers will prickle and go numb.

“C'mon, Hikaru. Ya gotta relax fer me…” He seems frantic, and although it's a sight that both flatters and excites Yoshiki, he is concerned that all of this hyperventilating will cause his heart to stop. He can kick-start it again, this they both know, but the lack of circulation would also bring things to a sudden and unsatisfied stop.

The thought of "Hikaru" losing himself and harming him in his frenzy does not cross Yoshiki's mind for a moment. He is more concerned for him than he is for himself.

Deeper, Yoshiki has obliged. Harder? That is also doable. “See? I'm listenin’. I got ya…” His fingers hook, squeezing around a glob of something ‘till it slips from his palm through pressure. His digits dig into the mass, kneading it, scoring through a surface not quite liquid, not quite solid. Something a little firmer is met with a press of the kneel of his palm. He's just… Doing everything that comes to mind, really. He's hoping that "Hikaru" will guide him if necessary.

Relaxing and going with the flow isn't something he's capable of right now. Honestly, he barely even hears him - his voice is muffled between the static in his head and all he knows is that Yoshiki is making noise. It doesn't sound like moaning, though, so he doesn't know what he's trying to yap about. If he had lost himself any more than he already has, Yoshiki would've found that there's not so much an end as there's just... An exit to the other side of his body. There's still time for his grasp on this body to wane and crumble to ash in the midst of his throes and pleasures, however. "Hikaru" isn't — he's not thinking, sure, but he's too unfocused? out of sorts? for him to even consider anyone or thing around him right now. If anything, Yoshiki has never been safer. His whole body feels like its been left out in the summer sun for hours - days, even - at a time and his hand beating away at his still leaking cock is the first few drops of cold rain he can revel in.

If ever Yoshiki thought he's pathetic, let this be a moment he can look back on fondly and remember as having brought a once feared and worshiped curse god to tears. and not just a few rolling down the cheeks, but honest and quite frankly? shameful sobbing and hiccups and half coughs from when he tries to inhale and exhale at the same time and gets drool caught in the wrong pipe.

It's undignified. Ugly. Unrefined. It's so utterly, disgustingly, human of "Hikaru".

It's also for and because of Yoshiki.

He doesn't know what he just touched but he clenches his teeth to muffle the near scream that tries to rip itself from his throat. "Hikaru" sounds like a pug in heat after a race, left out to die without water. Never in his nearly three hundred years of existence has he ever felt such.. Primordial need. Even that isn't strong enough to fully encapsulate what sort of hell is going on in his head. He doesn't know nor understand the sensations and feelings he's having right now.

He's not even supposed to be having them.

But he is and "Hikaru" doesn't know how to parse and organize these feelings at all.

its so much easier to do when he just gives and doesn't have to receive. The physical reaction can be ignored without issue, but—

Even his insides begin to coil in the same way his climax just over the horizon forms low in his gut.

"Hikaru" isn't hearing him. He's not even hearing himself. His single focus is relief - to stop feeling so hot and be able to breathe without expecting his heart is going to explode. The thrumming of his pulse - vicious, angry, without pause - are mimicked by its winding fractals; each thousands and millions of villi touch at the nerves and pluck them along in time with the creature's own experience.

not unlike when they touched, just prior, outside of this vessel.

guiding Yoshiki would be impossible in his current state, given how sloppy and uncoordinated both his hand and hips are. The number of times a hand has slipped off makes him sob and shoulders catch from the desperate, choked on hiccup that follows.

i̒̓͞t̛́̂̈́ h͗̾̊͗͆͡u͛̔̽͞r͋̒̏́̏͞t̛̑̏s̽̅̈́̌̋͝.҇́͑ i҇̏̇t̄͛͐̉͡ h҇͂̍ȕ̿̍́̈̕r̍̓̀͐̈̕t͐̂̈͠s̽͗̃͠.̅̀͞ ȋ̆̿͊͡t̋́̍͒͝ h̐̈́̈͡u҇̄̓͒͛r̓́̐̋͝ť̋̎͛͝s̛̑̆.̔̀̾͋͗̕ i͑̚͡t͊̚͡ h̅̈̂͡ư̈͂͐̍r҇́̽t́͗̾̌̓͝s҇̅̿.̛͊͐̃ i̍̒̀͝t̎͂͐͞ h҇͗́̊́̀u͗͑̋̐̅͡r̛̔̈́̏t͗̑̾̌́͠s҇̈̃̆.̛͂͗̔ ĭ̿̕t͂̍̈́͝ h̀̓̕u҇̊͂r͛͌̀͋́͠t̛͊̀̿̓s͒̈́͊̕.҇̓͒͌ ì̚͞t́̒̀͝ h҇̒͐̑u——

He's not even aware of the potential distress being inflicted to Yoshiki from the haphazard movements.

even if he did, its unlikely "Hikaru" would be able to stop.

His jaw falls slack — clicks back together to grit his teeth — then opens again as his desperation is matched only by the savage jerking of his cock and desperate swing of the hips. He's wet and embarrassingly loud, squelching arousal between the fingers and smacking against his pelvis, muted only slightly by the soft tuft situated there acting as a cushion of sorts. His cockhead bumps and presses itself against Yoshiki's torso, nudging itself as closely to his insides as he can possibly get from the position they're in. Regardless of how he tries, "Hikaru" can’t get into his guts the same way Yoshiki does to him. Not yet, and not like this.

… It's working? He thinks? "Hikaru's" hand has returned to his dick, but Yoshiki isn't certain if it's due to blind desperation or a step towards hard earned relief.

Relaxing is beyond his current realm of possibilities and it shows in how "Hikaru" crawls into his lap and straddles him. He is so focused on his own movements, on watching his expressions and minding the oil-like ripples snaking up his arm that by the time he realizes that it's moving onto his lap? It is already too late. It’s mostly to force his arm deeper into its endless void, although the physicality is much enjoyed, too, somewhere in the back of his mind. “H-hold on—” Yoshiki whines through his teeth. In his infinite wisdom, he hasn't put his dick away. It's still sensitive, limp as it is, and the vicious bucks of "Hikaru's" hips inadvertently grinding against it punches the air from his lungs. His own hips lurch in uneven, fruitless motions – pure reflex from the sensations that he can't rein in.

This close, beyond even the noises of a boy both pained and pleasured, the vastness of its insides has its own sound — something deep and whirling, like a roiling wind, confined. The crawling of its insides is an audible affair as it shunts up the entirety of Yoshiki’s arm.

and when he does stop, its because its vessel is falling into the flesh-void of his insides, a mere melting pot of something as he finds brain altering relief.

i̒̓͞t̛́̂̈́ h͗̾̊͗͆͡u͛̔̽͞r͋̒̏́̏͞t̛̑̏s̽̅̈́̌̋͝.҇́͑ i҇̏̇t̄͛͐̉͡ h҇͂̍ȕ̿̍́̈̕r̍̓̀͐̈̕t͐̂̈͠s̽͗̃͠.̅̀͞ ȋ̆̿͊͡t̋́̍͒͝ h̐̈́̈͡u—— ĭ̈̆̽͂͡t҇̓̇ f̒͐̚͡ȅ̛́e҇̽̀̓l̈͂̐͡s̋̓͡ g̛̉̏̎ö̀͊͞o҇͆͒͊̊̀d̅́̓͝.̅͒̾̕ .҇̀̏̐̒̓ .҇̂̔̒̂̍ .̏͐͂͡ .̛̈́͗͊ .̋͂͝ ?̒̍͠

Something within himself snaps and it’s an eerily quiet affair when cum spills from his dick and webs thick rope after rope over fingers, stomach, his own pelvis —— everything just.. Stops for a moment. The sudden stillness startles him at first and his own breaths stall in response. His hand freezes. Has he nudged something? Gripped too hard when his fingers had clenched at the shock of friction shooting from his already spent dick?

No, he's cumming. Thank God.

Everything tenses at once, his eyes wide and bleary with tears and a mixture of shame, relief, and fear evident on his face. He's thinking too much and not at all and he's not sure if the white in his vision is Yoshiki’s soul or the absence of everything but it’s something and it’s terribly new? and “Hikaru’s” voice is hoarse and raw, but he doesn’t remember when his mouth opened to crescendo his gasps and sobs into a throaty, unrestrained moan that’s more wail than not.

He also doesn’t remember it being Yoshiki’s name he cries out, either? But that’s apparently the case.

The mess doesn't bother him, there is a strange sense of pride that burns behind Yoshiki’s breast instead. His ears ring from the sudden sound that splits through the silence: a call of his name. Yeah, he did that, didn't he?

Wait…

He did that.

Dread for another day. Another moment. One when he isn't struggling to keep "Hikaru" from crumbling into a fit of bodily tremors and convulsions in his lap with the arm not currently entangled in eldritch entrails up to his elbow. Overstimulation makes

The poor creature a miserable pile of melting fractals. He feels like he's just been punched in the gut and can’t do more than wheeze and helplessly latch on. The free limb wraps around the entity by his shoulders and wind partway into his chest. Predictably, the willowy arm trembles from the strain.

“Breathe. Ya gotta breathe, yeah..?” Rich, coming from the human that is practically heaving his words. “It don't hurt no more. Yer done.”

It takes everything that "Hikaru" is now to merely keep himself as together as he can be. Ignore that Yoshiki's hand is escaping from where his spine should be - maybe that's why he's having such a difficult time not collapsing into a fit against him? - and everything else below the protruding limb seems to slough off his body. The look of shame and panic have yet to leave his visage - and maybe "Hikaru's" a little horrified by himself right now. His muscles relax and then tense again, and then second by second he tries to do as Yoshiki says - because he can hear him now. For the most part.

But then his body spasms again with the aftershock of a hard fought orgasm and everything hurts again. Wracked with tremors that leave even his teeth clattering together, "Hikaru" clings to him for life. Breathing is the second hardest thing Yoshiki could've asked of him, with the first being to stop crying. "I-I-I—" He can't even get a word out without sounding like some old car transmission on its last legs. Instead, he cowers into his human and lets him witness "Hikaru" at his most disgusting, unabashed, and vulnerable.

He curls up around him, every fiber of his being vibrating, and lets out an incredibly strangled cry-laugh.

His mama is really going to hate him if she ever finds out, isn't she? He buries his face into Yoshiki's form, hoping the warmth of his body and the afterglow of an orgasm will keep him from despairing.