[X] Finger, cont.
I said I was going to go to sleep, but I never quite did...
Finger, cont.
A genuine smile crossed Fuuma's lips. The Sakurazukamori had just gotten interesting.
"Can you now...?" he asked softly as his voice barely rose at the end, all the while locked in a steady gaze with the other.
Subaru visibly swallowed but after a brief hesitation, he answered in a soft and surprisingly sure voice, "...I can." And then, as if to prove it, he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Fuuma's awkwardly, almost, and the teenager accepted the kiss as if it were simply the next thing in the natural flow of events; he felt his lips curve up into a smile. Subaru was an inexperienced kisser and in the end, it was up to Fuuma to direct their movements, though he wasn't much more experienced than the Sumeragi. He was simply able to fool with his confidence more.
Fuuma's hands rest on the small of Subaru's back and as their lips moved against each other's - he slipped a little tongue into the older man's mouth, slightly startling him - one hand would slide up his band and the other would trail downward to cup his buttocks. Even through his lips, Fuuma could have sworn he felt Subaru blush.
With his mind racing in several chaotic directions, Subaru clutched the fabric over the Angel's chest, as if he were steadying himself or making sure that he had a firm an anchor so he didn't go floating off into space because the laws of gravity had no application to him. He wasn't falling this time in anything, no, he was floating, floating high above Tokyo, above Japan, above the world - light as a feather in contrast to usually being stiff as a board. ...Well, he was that, too.
Even without his tongue probing thoroughly, Fuuma knew what the Sakurazukamori tasted like: coffee, cigarettes, and the metallic hint of blood. Vaguely he wondered what Subaru tasted like, but he didn't want to disrupt the flow. And flow dictated that he press the man against himself, tightly, fully, to feel every part of themselves against each other; in that moment he felt the need to validate his own existence, to forcefully show the onmyouji that he was real and there, no matter how much anyone said otherwise. He had a crazy notion, as he kissed the man, that somehow they could repair their fractured souls and be who they really were - not what they naturally should have been, but what experience and environment forced them to be. That was the difference between a dream and reality, heaven and earth, Subaru and Fuuma.
And Fuuma wanted to find out who Subaru really was.
Finger, cont.
A genuine smile crossed Fuuma's lips. The Sakurazukamori had just gotten interesting.
"Can you now...?" he asked softly as his voice barely rose at the end, all the while locked in a steady gaze with the other.
Subaru visibly swallowed but after a brief hesitation, he answered in a soft and surprisingly sure voice, "...I can." And then, as if to prove it, he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Fuuma's awkwardly, almost, and the teenager accepted the kiss as if it were simply the next thing in the natural flow of events; he felt his lips curve up into a smile. Subaru was an inexperienced kisser and in the end, it was up to Fuuma to direct their movements, though he wasn't much more experienced than the Sumeragi. He was simply able to fool with his confidence more.
Fuuma's hands rest on the small of Subaru's back and as their lips moved against each other's - he slipped a little tongue into the older man's mouth, slightly startling him - one hand would slide up his band and the other would trail downward to cup his buttocks. Even through his lips, Fuuma could have sworn he felt Subaru blush.
With his mind racing in several chaotic directions, Subaru clutched the fabric over the Angel's chest, as if he were steadying himself or making sure that he had a firm an anchor so he didn't go floating off into space because the laws of gravity had no application to him. He wasn't falling this time in anything, no, he was floating, floating high above Tokyo, above Japan, above the world - light as a feather in contrast to usually being stiff as a board. ...Well, he was that, too.
Even without his tongue probing thoroughly, Fuuma knew what the Sakurazukamori tasted like: coffee, cigarettes, and the metallic hint of blood. Vaguely he wondered what Subaru tasted like, but he didn't want to disrupt the flow. And flow dictated that he press the man against himself, tightly, fully, to feel every part of themselves against each other; in that moment he felt the need to validate his own existence, to forcefully show the onmyouji that he was real and there, no matter how much anyone said otherwise. He had a crazy notion, as he kissed the man, that somehow they could repair their fractured souls and be who they really were - not what they naturally should have been, but what experience and environment forced them to be. That was the difference between a dream and reality, heaven and earth, Subaru and Fuuma.
And Fuuma wanted to find out who Subaru really was.