Delicate Matters - PG-13 (13th Challenge)
Title: Delicate Matters
Author: Lauand
Warnings: Worksafe. References to incest.
Pairing: Gojyo/Hakkai
Prompt: Touch - 10 min.
A/N: 17 min taken. I still like the idea, but I’m not especially proud of how I developed it. If someone wants to tell me what they think I did wrong, please, go ahead. Unbetaed because I'm always too late.
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Gojyo hated being sick. Or that was what he was thinking when Hakkai reached out and put his hand on Gojyo’s brow. Hakkai’s skin was normally warm, but it felt cool against Gojyo’s fevered body. It was a gentle touch. The kind of touch that Gojyo didn’t want. A touch that didn’t revelled in sensual delight or tried to excite in anticipation for pleasures to come. No, Gojyo didn’t like it because it was the sort of touch that said ‘I care’, and Gojyo had no idea how to react to that. He disliked it because it made him feel at a loss, and he hated being dragged out of his comfort zone like that, out of his routine, what was familiar to him.
When Hakkai withdrew his hand and gently leaned in to feel him with his own brow instead, not trusting his hand enough to measure Gojyo’s temperature, the redhead swallowed. If he just moved his face a little bit forward he would be kissing Hakkai. He could even blame it on the fever. With his eyes closed, Gojyo whispered.
“Hakkai, stop mothering me.”
Gojyo missed the odd look he received at that, he just sighed when he stopped feeling Hakkai’s skin against his. When Hakkai next spoke, Gojyo opened his eyes again, because there was something slightly off in Hakkai’s light tone.
“Ha, ha, ha… You don’t want me to treat you like I would my son, then?”
There was something very wrong with that question. But then, Gojyo had always suspected there was something very wrong with Hakkai. Gojyo swallowed again and attempted a laugh to brush it off, to keep away the memories of his mother, of his brother, of what they used to do behind a closed door; to avoid the images of a red eyed children that would have been born of a green eyed woman if she hadn’t gutted herself in front of anyone.
“You’re sick, man.” He said, because he had learned that it was easier to evade a question with the naked truth. However, inside, in the place where he knew nobody would pry, he silently answered: ‘no, not like your son. Like your sister’.