this is not a drill
Self, self. STOP. SHRIEKING. Every time something even remotely good happens, like a new music video for a band you like comes out or someone posts pretty brushes to a comm you're a member of or you breathe you start shrieking happily like some kind of prozac-addled bird.
Like when you finished this fic. :/ And when you started this fic. And halfway through this fic, when you realised you were actually able to write stuff that isn't all about Sosuke and his marvelous penis and have it not completely suck.
Foursquare
Fandom: Tomica Hero Rescue Force
Rating: PG
Notes: Hikaru/Kyousuke (and implication of Hikaru/Ryuuji).
foursquare • \FOR-SKWAIR\ • adjective
1 : square
2: marked by boldness and conviction : forthright
Fear wasn’t an emotion Hikaru was accustomed to. Whether he was running into a burning building to rescue the people trapped inside or climbing great heights to reach grab someone’s hand, fear didn’t come into it; there was no room for it.
He wasn’t afraid when there were flames licking his ankles or when he balanced on a shaky ladder in danger of toppling and falling backwards with him clinging to its rungs, so it couldn’t be fear that he felt when Kyousuke, drunk on a truly pathetic amount of beer, tumbled into his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck, mumbling something about curiosity and experimentation.
Hikaru was somewhat inexperienced when it came to having someone curled up around him, their lips wet on his neck. There had been messy fumbles in dark rooms and one incident he actually wanted to forget involving a boy who looked so much like Ryuuji but had objected to actually being called Ryuuji, but when it came to a co-worker sitting in his lap purring drunken obscenities into his ear, he was ill-equipped to cope.
“I think you should lie down, sempai,” said Hikaru, awkwardly peeling Kyousuke off himself. “I’ve never seen anyone get drunk so quickly.”
As if magnetised, the instant Hikaru had picked Kyousuke’s hand off his shoulder it slid back into place, persistent. “You’re no fun,” moaned Kyousuke, leaning against Hikaru.
Hikaru braced himself, waiting for the inevitable sharp poke that always came after Kyousuke accused him of being boring, but instead Kyousuke merely wrapped himself around Hikaru again, swinging a leg over Hikaru’s.
“Don’t hinder my ‘tempts to exp’ment,” he slurred, fixing Hikaru with a foggy gaze.
“Experiment?”
By way of answer, Kyousuke leaned in and pressed his lips to Hikaru’s, who discovered staring wide-eyed in shock when your face was so close to someone else’s was uncomfortable for the eyes. Kyousuke hadn’t kissed a boy before? Did he kiss girls this way, wet and sloppy and hands roaming everywhere, pinching and prodding and cupping? No wonder he didn’t have a girlfriend. Hikaru was trying not to smile into the kiss when Kyousuke pushed him backwards, ignoring the “oomph!” of discomfort when Hikaru’s head collided with the floor. Didn’t even slow down, if anything he sped up, his hands fumbling with the buttons on Hikaru’s shirt, missing the buttonholes and groaning into Hikaru’s mouth (Hikaru tried not to think about the pleasant vibrations that created) when the buttons stubbornly stayed put; Kyousuke gave up after a few seconds and simply stuffed his hands up Hikaru’s shirt instead.
When Kyousuke finally lifted his lips off Hikaru’s, Hikaru took the chance to mumble, “You’re so drunk, sempai.”
“Aren’t you?” said Kyousuke quizzically, fingers still pressing into the skin of Hikaru’s chest.
“Normal people don’t get drunk on one bottle of beer,” said Hikaru, squirming under Kyousuke’s touch.
“If you’re not drunk why aren’t you shoving me off you?”
Oh, there it was. The strange sensation again, the worrying tingles in his spine, pitter-pattering up to his neck. Hikaru wasn’t afraid of burning buildings, towering heights, poisonous gases, any of that, but the ever-unreadable desires of his colleague, who claimed to hate salad yet ate it more days than not, who swore blind he could take his alcohol with the best of them but was dizzyingly drunk after just one bottle of beer... the butterflies in his body built to an almost unbearable frenzy as Kyousuke stared hard at him, his eyes suddenly frighteningly clear.
The silence was almost palpable when Kyousuke spoke again:
“If you’re not drunk and you’re actually into this, then why aren’t you kissing me back, you bastard? Don’t make me do all the work!”
Then Kyousuke’s lips were on his again, eager and tasting of alcohol, and butterflies dissipated, Hikaru made a note to himself to find out the names and numbers of every ex-girlfriend Kyousuke had and personally apologise to them all.
Like when you finished this fic. :/ And when you started this fic. And halfway through this fic, when you realised you were actually able to write stuff that isn't all about Sosuke and his marvelous penis and have it not completely suck.
Foursquare
Fandom: Tomica Hero Rescue Force
Rating: PG
Notes: Hikaru/Kyousuke (and implication of Hikaru/Ryuuji).
foursquare • \FOR-SKWAIR\ • adjective
1 : square
2: marked by boldness and conviction : forthright
Fear wasn’t an emotion Hikaru was accustomed to. Whether he was running into a burning building to rescue the people trapped inside or climbing great heights to reach grab someone’s hand, fear didn’t come into it; there was no room for it.
He wasn’t afraid when there were flames licking his ankles or when he balanced on a shaky ladder in danger of toppling and falling backwards with him clinging to its rungs, so it couldn’t be fear that he felt when Kyousuke, drunk on a truly pathetic amount of beer, tumbled into his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck, mumbling something about curiosity and experimentation.
Hikaru was somewhat inexperienced when it came to having someone curled up around him, their lips wet on his neck. There had been messy fumbles in dark rooms and one incident he actually wanted to forget involving a boy who looked so much like Ryuuji but had objected to actually being called Ryuuji, but when it came to a co-worker sitting in his lap purring drunken obscenities into his ear, he was ill-equipped to cope.
“I think you should lie down, sempai,” said Hikaru, awkwardly peeling Kyousuke off himself. “I’ve never seen anyone get drunk so quickly.”
As if magnetised, the instant Hikaru had picked Kyousuke’s hand off his shoulder it slid back into place, persistent. “You’re no fun,” moaned Kyousuke, leaning against Hikaru.
Hikaru braced himself, waiting for the inevitable sharp poke that always came after Kyousuke accused him of being boring, but instead Kyousuke merely wrapped himself around Hikaru again, swinging a leg over Hikaru’s.
“Don’t hinder my ‘tempts to exp’ment,” he slurred, fixing Hikaru with a foggy gaze.
“Experiment?”
By way of answer, Kyousuke leaned in and pressed his lips to Hikaru’s, who discovered staring wide-eyed in shock when your face was so close to someone else’s was uncomfortable for the eyes. Kyousuke hadn’t kissed a boy before? Did he kiss girls this way, wet and sloppy and hands roaming everywhere, pinching and prodding and cupping? No wonder he didn’t have a girlfriend. Hikaru was trying not to smile into the kiss when Kyousuke pushed him backwards, ignoring the “oomph!” of discomfort when Hikaru’s head collided with the floor. Didn’t even slow down, if anything he sped up, his hands fumbling with the buttons on Hikaru’s shirt, missing the buttonholes and groaning into Hikaru’s mouth (Hikaru tried not to think about the pleasant vibrations that created) when the buttons stubbornly stayed put; Kyousuke gave up after a few seconds and simply stuffed his hands up Hikaru’s shirt instead.
When Kyousuke finally lifted his lips off Hikaru’s, Hikaru took the chance to mumble, “You’re so drunk, sempai.”
“Aren’t you?” said Kyousuke quizzically, fingers still pressing into the skin of Hikaru’s chest.
“Normal people don’t get drunk on one bottle of beer,” said Hikaru, squirming under Kyousuke’s touch.
“If you’re not drunk why aren’t you shoving me off you?”
Oh, there it was. The strange sensation again, the worrying tingles in his spine, pitter-pattering up to his neck. Hikaru wasn’t afraid of burning buildings, towering heights, poisonous gases, any of that, but the ever-unreadable desires of his colleague, who claimed to hate salad yet ate it more days than not, who swore blind he could take his alcohol with the best of them but was dizzyingly drunk after just one bottle of beer... the butterflies in his body built to an almost unbearable frenzy as Kyousuke stared hard at him, his eyes suddenly frighteningly clear.
The silence was almost palpable when Kyousuke spoke again:
“If you’re not drunk and you’re actually into this, then why aren’t you kissing me back, you bastard? Don’t make me do all the work!”
Then Kyousuke’s lips were on his again, eager and tasting of alcohol, and butterflies dissipated, Hikaru made a note to himself to find out the names and numbers of every ex-girlfriend Kyousuke had and personally apologise to them all.