Day and Night (Nikaido/Senga, PG-13)
Title: Day and Night
Character/Pairing: Nikaido/Senga
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, dub-con
Summary: In the dark of the night, sometimes the lines between right and wrong aren't always so clear.
AN: I started this about a year ago, and yararanger was helping me with it, but I could never get it to go where I wanted. She seemed to really like the idea though, so for her birthday I dragged it out of the trash pile and did my best to whip it into shape. It's not the fic it was intended to be, but hopefully maybe it's better. Thanks to mousapelli for the beta, and a very happy belated birthday to yararanger.
Day and Night
He doesn't mean to touch him, not really. Nikaido's hair is falling across his face and Senga can't keep himself from reaching up to push it away. He just wants to see him clearly. So it's entirely an accident when his fingers brush Nikaido's cheek. He freezes, but Nikaido doesn't move, and then the draw is too strong and Senga wants to do it again.
There's no harm in it. It's not like Nikaido will know. Senga does it more deliberately this time, careful, his fingertips light on Nikaido's face, and he traces the line of his brow, across his cheekbone, along his chin.
Nikaido shifts slightly when Senga runs a finger down the side of his neck. Senga freezes, then pulls back slowly, hardly daring to breathe, but Nikaido doesn't stir again. Senga stares, watches the way Nikaido's eyes move just a bit beneath his closed lids, wondering what he's seeing. He reaches out, fingers hovering, and he wants to trace his lips, parted in sleep, to feel their softness beneath his fingers. Maybe beneath his own lips, even. But the feel of Nikaido's breath on his hand makes his nerves come back to him in a rush and he pulls away. He can't. He definitely can't.
Senga goes back to his bed and tries to sleep.
Nikaido has always dreamed about Senga. He’s his best friend and a huge part of his life, so it’s not unusual that he’d show up in Nikaido’s subconscious. But recently, he’s been starting to show up in unusual ways.
Senga doesn’t think much about it after that, but that night comes rushing back in an instant when Nikaido mutters something in his sleep. Senga’s at Nikaido’s house this time, working at his desk under the low lamplight. Nikaido had given up a while ago, sprawling out on his futon when Senga waved him away.
Go ahead, he’d said. I don’t mind if you sleep. I’ll be done in a bit.
But he’s not done and isn’t going to be, not now.
“Nika?” he calls softly, leaning over to see if Nikaido is awake or not. Nikaido doesn’t move.
Senga is about to turn back to his lyrics when Nikaido mutters something again and he freezes. He doesn’t know what he’s said, but now he’s curious. He abandons his pencil and moves carefully to kneel next to the futon.
“Nika?” he whispers, watching carefully.
“Nnga,” Nikaido replies, unintelligible. Maybe it means nothing, but maybe...
“Yeah?” Senga tries. Just maybe, maybe Nikaido is saying his name.
Nikaido just shifts slightly in response, but says nothing more. Senga inches closer.
“Nika? It’s me...”
But after another few tries, it becomes clear that Nikaido is dead to the world, silent and unmoving save for his breathing. Senga sighs.
“You really are asleep, aren’t you?” Senga says, a little louder, and pokes dejectedly at Nikaido’s cheek. But the moment he makes contact with Nikaido’s skin, a nervous sort of excitement swirls in to replace the disappointment. He touches Nikaido’s cheek again, lingering this time, holding his breath as if that alone will wake his friend.
But nothing happens.
It’s just like before. With Nikaido clearly asleep, Senga feels more confident. He scoots closer until he’s sitting on the edge of the futon next to him, leaning over to watch. The lamp casts long shadows across Nikaido’s face, and Senga reaches up to follow the lines of darkness across his skin, trailing his fingertip along the boundary of light and dark and knowing that he’s walking a fine line himself. He slides a finger down along Nikaido’s temple, down into shadow, and he knows then that he doesn’t care if he crosses that line.
He lets himself go where he wouldn’t before, touching two fingers lightly to Nikaido’s lower lip. His skin is dry and a little rough, but fascinating, a part of him that Senga’s never been allowed to touch before. Nikaido’s mouth twitches beneath his fingers and Senga pauses, but Nikaido is sleeping too deeply for such a touch to wake him.
“I wish I could kiss you,” Senga tells him, tracing his mouth.
But he can’t.
There had been a girl, Nikaido is sure. There had been. He just can’t remember her face. He can’t remember anything about her, really, and the only clear thing in his mind is the feel of Senga’s arms wrapping around him, the press of his body against Nikaido’s back, the brush of his lips on his neck...
If Nikaido has a hard time looking Senga in the eye that morning, Senga doesn’t point it out.
Nikaido tries to forget about it. Dreams are dreams, after all, and dreams can be weird. They don’t mean anything.
Senga wonders if he’s being tested, or if fate is just messing with him. Nikaido falls asleep easily, but sometime in the last few weeks, Senga seems to have lost that ability. He lies awake next to him, listening to his breathing even out as he drifts off, wishing he could follow. But then if he did, he might miss things. Like Nikaido saying his name.
“What?” Senga asks, entirely awake, because it had definitely been his name, a soft whisper of Kenpi, but clear enough. “Nika?”
Nikaido mumbles something and Senga sits up. He peers closely, but he can’t see much in the dark.
“Are you awake?”
Nikaido doesn’t answer, so Senga reaches out for him, moving carefully so that when he finally makes contact, it’s just a soft brush of his knuckles against Nikaido’s arm.
“‘enpi,” Nikaido repeats, and Senga’s heartbeat picks up speed.
“I’m here,” he replies. “What is it?”
But Nikaido just shifts into his touch, and Senga can’t make out most of his words. He catches things that sound like me, and there, but nothing more, and it’s clear that Nikaido is still asleep.
And then it occurs to Senga.
“Nika... are you dreaming about me?” he asks softly, grinning. He runs his fingers up Nikaido’s arm where Nikaido is leaning into him, then freezes when Nikaido lets out a quiet moan. Senga bites his lip, thinking for a moment, then leans in closer.
“Who are you dreaming about?” Senga says, keeping his voice low and coaxing, soothing his hand across Nikaido’s shoulder.
“Kenpi,” Nikaido answers, and it’s distinct enough that Senga feels startled; he hadn’t really expected an answer. Not that he knows if Nikaido is really answering him, or just responding to noise in general, but either way, it’s not the first time he’s said Senga’s name tonight.
“What are you dreaming about?” Senga tries, but that earns him nothing more than another mumble of jibberish. Senga sighs. “Why do you have to be so...”
Senga shakes his head. Nikaido has no idea what he’s doing to him, so he can’t really blame him. He leans over to kiss Nikaido’s cheek and smiles to himself when Nikaido gives a soft hmm in response.
“I hope you’re dreaming about something good,” Senga tells him.
Sometimes Nikaido looks at Senga and feels like he’s forgotten something. Some conversation, something he was supposed to tell Senga, sits half-remembered in the back of his mind, or on the tip of his tongue, and he can’t figure out what it is.
Nikaido can be really dense, Senga thinks. He’s written song after song after song for him, but Nikaido doesn’t get it. Senga’s not sure how to tell him.
But somehow, it all seems so much easier at night, the lights down low and Nikaido’s breathing a soft counterpoint to the scratching of Senga’s pencil on his notebook. Senga gives up for the moment, setting the pencil down and swiveling in his chair to watch Nikaido sleep.
“You know,” Senga says quietly. “It would be a lot easier if you’d just understand the lyrics.”
No response. Of course. It makes Senga feel a bit more confident. He gets up and moves to sit next to the futon.
“Hey, Nika?” he asks. “How do you tell someone you love them, when you can’t tell them you love them?”
He waits for a long moment, watching the rise and fall of Nikaido’s chest, and unconsciously matching his breathing. He wonders if their heartbeats match, too, and then reaches out to check. It’s easy, Nikaido’s covers pushed down far enough that Senga can place his hand on his bare skin, right above his heart. The beat of it, slow and steady, in no way matches the nervous patter that Senga’s heart is drumming out.
But Senga sits and waits, watching, feeling, until his own pulse slows. It doesn’t match Nikaido’s, not exactly, but it’s close enough. Senga feels it distinctly in his chest and smiles, a sad little smile.
“Because I love you, Nika.”
They’re just joking around as usual, and Senga’s done it a million times before, but when he reaches out and shoves Nikaido away, his hand right over Nikaido’s heart, Nikaido feels a sharp sense of deja vu. He laughs because he knows he’s supposed to, but suddenly his heart is racing with excitement and he doesn’t know why. He imagines Senga’s hand lingering on his skin, warm and comforting, and shakes his head to get rid of the idea.
Somehow, he already knows what it would feel like.
He learns as he goes. Senga thinks he should feel guilty about it, and he does, kind of, but not enough to make himself stop. It's intimate and wrong, and he gets to know Nikaido's reactions well, all the little signs he'll make in his sleep, how much he'll move without waking up.
These are things he shouldn't know, Senga thinks, but feels a thrill in knowing them just the same.
It become a game almost, a challenge to see just how much he can get away with, how much he can push, continuing until Nikaido is on the verge of waking. Only then does he return to his bed.
It’s harder to convince himself that they mean nothing when the dreams don’t stop. He tries to chalk it up to spending too much time with Senga, but that doesn’t explain why he’s dreaming of Senga like that. And he can’t exactly spend less time with him. They’re too busy.
Nikaido doesn’t know if they’ll be ready in time for the tour, or even if they’ll be allowed to perform if they are, but he does know that he wants to try. He and Senga spend almost all of their free time together, and there are dozens of songs scattered through notebooks in their rooms. Computer files full of rejected melodies and half-completed demos. It’s nothing professional, but Nikaido hopes that when they find The One, it will be.
One of the main problems is that Senga hates his own lyrics, or something like that. Nikaido likes them quite a lot, songs about discovering that your true love has been with you all along, about fate and bonds and never letting go. He thinks they’re beautiful, but Senga refuses, saying he doesn’t want anyone else to see them.
Nikaido tells him he’s being silly; he has no problem with Nikaido seeing them, so why can’t other people?
It’s different if it’s you, is all Senga says.
Nikaido wonders if all the time together and all those lyrics are just getting smashed up together in his sleep. He’s pretty exhausted, after all. Maybe his brain is too exhausted to properly sort things, too.
Or so he tells himself.
It’s wrong, Senga tells himself. Totally wrong.
Hands trailing along Nikaido’s sides, fingers dancing across his nipples, soft brushes against his neck, and Nikaido’s body reacts exactly the way Senga wants it to. Even in the dark, Senga can see the way Nikaido’s erection is tenting his underwear. Senga stares, breathing hard, and reaches out.
He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, but knowing it doesn’t stop Senga from tracing a finger along the outline of Nikaido’s cock.
But the dreams get worse, more intense.
Nikaido stares as a bead of sweat trails a path down Senga’s throat, the remembered taste of Senga’s skin on his tongue.
“Something wrong?” Senga asks, giving him an odd look, but he turns to take a gulp from his water bottle when Nikaido shakes his head.
It’s not real, Nikaido insists. It didn’t happen.
But it feels like it did.
Senga kisses him through his underwear, delighting in the way Nikaido’s stomach muscles jump under his hands as his body reacts to the heat of Senga’s mouth.
Senga wants more than anything to taste him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Senga asks. “You’ve been acting strangely.”
He looks concerned, and Nikaido grabs the chance for escape.
“I’m just tired, I think,” he says. “I’m just... we’ve been working really hard, you know? Maybe... maybe we should just take a break for a few days? I should just go home and sleep tonight.”
Senga pouts. “You’re not coming over?”
His pout is pretty hard to resist, but Nikaido tries. “I don’t know. I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” he admits.
“We can go to bed earlier,” Senga insists. “We’ll only work for a bit, and then you can just relax. Come on, please?”
And it’s not like Nikaido has ever been able to say no to Senga, even if something deep inside is telling him that maybe he should.
Because Senga is always watching him, he can see the changes in Nikaido’s behavior - the way Nikaido won’t quite look him in the eye at times, the way he awkwardly glances away when he catches Senga’s gaze in the practice room mirrors. He can see the way Nikaido fidgets when Senga dances, and he notices the way Nikaido’s breathing quickens when Senga strips his sweat-soaked shirt from his body before he goes to shower.
He doesn’t know exactly what’s changed, but he knows that something has, and it makes him both nervous and excited to think that maybe Nikaido finally feels the same way he does.
Tonight, Senga decides. Tonight, Senga won’t stop. Tonight, Nikaido will wake up.
Nikaido senses a difference immediately upon waking. He often remembers his dreams, although to varying degrees. Some are vivid in their detail, others just vague sensations, but all of them share the same hazy fading quality as they dissipate into wakefulness. This time, though, his dream stays with him and makes Nikaido wonder if he’s actually still dreaming. Senga’s hands feel warm against his skin, warm and real.
“What were you dreaming about?” Senga murmurs, and Nikaido knows that he’s awake. The soft light slipping through the gap in his curtains lets him see Senga leaning over him, and Nikaido’s heart speeds up when he realizes that Senga’s hand is resting gently on the bare skin of his waist, real as anything. He’s not sure if Senga realizes how he’s touching him.
“I don’t remember,” Nikaido lies, the feel of sweat-slicked skin sliding against his chasing through his head.
“But you were dreaming about me,” Senga tells him. “You were saying my name,” he adds when Nikaido shakes his head.
Nikaido can feel himself growing warm. “Was I?”
“Yeah,” Senga says softly. “My name, and... some other things.”
Nikaido isn’t sure he wants to know what else he might have said. “Oh. I don’t...”
“Were we together?” Senga asks, and he slides his hand purposely higher up Nikaido’s side. “Like this?”
Nikaido’s breath catches and his heart feels like it’s going to pound its way out of his chest. How does he know? He can’t know!
Nikaido forces himself to speak. “I...” He trails off as Senga leans down close, so close, and he freezes, wondering what Senga is doing.
"Did I kiss you?" Senga asks, a teasing brush of air across Nikaido's lips, but before he has a chance to answer, Senga isn't teasing anymore.
Nikaido gasps, his mind racing too fast to latch on to any one course of action, and before he can figure out what to do, his body is making decisions for him. He kisses Senga back, his mouth already opening under Senga’s. His hands are already tight on Senga’s upper arms and he doesn’t know when he moved. He has no idea what they’re doing, panic racing through him even as his body responds to Senga’s touch, reminding him that this is all too familiar and yet entirely new.
He forces his hands to push Senga away. “Wait,” he manages. “Wait!”
Senga sits up, letting Nikaido struggle to sit up as well. He bites his lip, hoping he hasn’t made an awful mistake, and drags his eyes up to Nikaido’s face, ignoring the way Nikaido’s chest is heaving with the effort to breathe.
“What’s wrong?” Senga asks. “You don’t... want to?”
“I am so confused,” Nikaido whispers to himself, pressing a hand to the side of his head and staring at Senga with wide eyes. “Am I still dreaming?” he asks Senga.
“No,” Senga tells him, and then smiles as he realizes something. “So this is what you dream about?”
“N... sometimes.”
Senga is glad that Nikaido is admitting it. He’d had a pretty good idea, what with the Kenpi’s and the soft little whimpery sounds Nikaido makes when he’s clearly dreaming, but it’s nice to have it confirmed. It only bothers him that Nikaido looks intensely embarrassed about it, his flush nearly visible even in the darkness of the room.
“Me, too,” Senga tells him. “Or well, I don’t dream about us, but I wish I did, ‘cause it’d be nice. But I think about it. When I’m awake,” he points out.
“Why?” Nikaido wonders, still staring, and Senga has to laugh at how shell-shocked he looks.
“Because I’ve been in love with you forever, idiot.”
And it comes out easier than anything, without Senga having to think about it.
There’s a long silence as Nikaido continues to stare, and Senga fidgets a bit. He doesn’t want to force him to say anything, but he wishes he would.
Finally, Nikaido breathes out a little Oh, and Senga looks up at him.
“Those were for me,” Nikaido says, blinking.
Senga blinks back, trying to follow Nikaido’s unexpected topic jump. “What?”
“The songs,” Nikaido blinks faster. “They... your songs.”
“Oh.” Senga smiles, a little embarrassed, but glad that Nikaido is finally understanding. “Yeah.”
“A-all of them?”
“Well, not that one about the backstabbing, cheating girlfriend,” Senga explains. “But yeah, most of them.”
“Who was that about then?” Nikaido wants to know.
“No one. I just thought it would make a cool song.” Senga makes a face. “Come on, Nika, can’t you just...”
“Just...?”
“I confessed!” Senga feels unaccountably nervous by Nikaido’s lack of response. “How do you feel?”
“Oh! I...” Nikaido trails fingers across his lips, partially hiding his growing smile. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I accept.” Nikaido pulls his hand away, revealing a beautiful smile that shines in the darkness.
“You accept?” Senga echoes. “Oh, that’s... that’s good.” More than being relieved, as he’d expected, suddenly his guilt hits him in full force. “Ah, but Nika...” he starts.
“Hmm?”
“There’s something else I have to confess.”
Senga’s confidence completely fails in the face of Nikaido’s questioning look. Instead, he reaches out and cups Nikaido’s cheek. “I...”
Nikaido closes his eyes and Senga knows he’s expecting Senga to kiss him. Instead, Senga trails his fingers gently over Nikaido’s eyelids.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he whispers.
“Okay,” Nikaido says, frowning slightly. Senga reaches down to smooth out the frown with his fingers. Nikaido twitches, but doesn’t pull away or otherwise react. Senga continues. He doesn’t know how to explain what he’s done - he doesn’t know how to put it into any words that he could actually say - and so he shows Nikaido what he can’t tell him.
Senga touches his neck, his shoulder, places his other hand against Nikaido’s chest and holds it there, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths and the beat of his heart.
Nikaido’s eyes flash open. “Kento...”
“Eyes closed,” Senga insists, and waits until Nikaido follows instructions. He touches his sides, slides fingers down low to tease along his hip in the way he’s learned that Nikaido likes, and Nikaido squirms. Senga can see that he’s getting hard.
“Kenpi...”
“I know,” Senga tells him and pulls his hands away. “You can open your eyes.”
Nikaido doesn’t say anything, just looks at him like he’s trying to figure something out.
“I know,” Senga repeats. “I know what you like, and how to make you feel...” Really good, Senga wants to say, but it’s too awkward. He swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”
Nikaido’s expression hasn’t changed. “How?”
“How do I know?”
“How do you know,” Nikaido clarifies.
“You sleep really deeply,” Senga explains. “I... I always thought you’d wake up. But you never did.”
Nikaido stares.
“Are you mad?” Senga asks hesitantly. Mad. Nikaido should hate him for this.
Nikaido licks his lips. “I should be.”
“But?”
“I’m not,” Nikaido says. “I should mind, but I don’t. Mostly I just... wish you’d woken me up, I think.”
“To ask you?” Senga guesses.
Nikaido shakes his head. “So that I’d remember.”
“Oh,” Senga says, surprised, and thinks about it. “That’s... good. I always wanted to wake you up, but then I was scared.”
“But not this time?” Nikaido asks.
“No, I was scared this time too. But I really wanted you to know.” Senga says, and reaches out to take Nikaido’s hand.
Nikaido lets him lace their fingers together, squeezing back gently as they sit quietly in the dark.
“We should probably sleep,” Senga says eventually, although he’s wide awake.
“Yeah,” Nikaido agrees, but he doesn’t move.
“Are you going to dream about me again?”
“I don’t know,” Nikaido says. “Maybe I don’t have to anymore.”
“You definitely don’t have to,” Senga replies. He reaches out and hesitantly pushes Nikaido’s shoulder, and is relieved when Nikaido lets him guide him back down to the futon.
“Tell me your dreams, Nika. I’ll make them come true.”
Character/Pairing: Nikaido/Senga
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, dub-con
Summary: In the dark of the night, sometimes the lines between right and wrong aren't always so clear.
AN: I started this about a year ago, and yararanger was helping me with it, but I could never get it to go where I wanted. She seemed to really like the idea though, so for her birthday I dragged it out of the trash pile and did my best to whip it into shape. It's not the fic it was intended to be, but hopefully maybe it's better. Thanks to mousapelli for the beta, and a very happy belated birthday to yararanger.
Day and Night
He doesn't mean to touch him, not really. Nikaido's hair is falling across his face and Senga can't keep himself from reaching up to push it away. He just wants to see him clearly. So it's entirely an accident when his fingers brush Nikaido's cheek. He freezes, but Nikaido doesn't move, and then the draw is too strong and Senga wants to do it again.
There's no harm in it. It's not like Nikaido will know. Senga does it more deliberately this time, careful, his fingertips light on Nikaido's face, and he traces the line of his brow, across his cheekbone, along his chin.
Nikaido shifts slightly when Senga runs a finger down the side of his neck. Senga freezes, then pulls back slowly, hardly daring to breathe, but Nikaido doesn't stir again. Senga stares, watches the way Nikaido's eyes move just a bit beneath his closed lids, wondering what he's seeing. He reaches out, fingers hovering, and he wants to trace his lips, parted in sleep, to feel their softness beneath his fingers. Maybe beneath his own lips, even. But the feel of Nikaido's breath on his hand makes his nerves come back to him in a rush and he pulls away. He can't. He definitely can't.
Senga goes back to his bed and tries to sleep.
Nikaido has always dreamed about Senga. He’s his best friend and a huge part of his life, so it’s not unusual that he’d show up in Nikaido’s subconscious. But recently, he’s been starting to show up in unusual ways.
Senga doesn’t think much about it after that, but that night comes rushing back in an instant when Nikaido mutters something in his sleep. Senga’s at Nikaido’s house this time, working at his desk under the low lamplight. Nikaido had given up a while ago, sprawling out on his futon when Senga waved him away.
Go ahead, he’d said. I don’t mind if you sleep. I’ll be done in a bit.
But he’s not done and isn’t going to be, not now.
“Nika?” he calls softly, leaning over to see if Nikaido is awake or not. Nikaido doesn’t move.
Senga is about to turn back to his lyrics when Nikaido mutters something again and he freezes. He doesn’t know what he’s said, but now he’s curious. He abandons his pencil and moves carefully to kneel next to the futon.
“Nika?” he whispers, watching carefully.
“Nnga,” Nikaido replies, unintelligible. Maybe it means nothing, but maybe...
“Yeah?” Senga tries. Just maybe, maybe Nikaido is saying his name.
Nikaido just shifts slightly in response, but says nothing more. Senga inches closer.
“Nika? It’s me...”
But after another few tries, it becomes clear that Nikaido is dead to the world, silent and unmoving save for his breathing. Senga sighs.
“You really are asleep, aren’t you?” Senga says, a little louder, and pokes dejectedly at Nikaido’s cheek. But the moment he makes contact with Nikaido’s skin, a nervous sort of excitement swirls in to replace the disappointment. He touches Nikaido’s cheek again, lingering this time, holding his breath as if that alone will wake his friend.
But nothing happens.
It’s just like before. With Nikaido clearly asleep, Senga feels more confident. He scoots closer until he’s sitting on the edge of the futon next to him, leaning over to watch. The lamp casts long shadows across Nikaido’s face, and Senga reaches up to follow the lines of darkness across his skin, trailing his fingertip along the boundary of light and dark and knowing that he’s walking a fine line himself. He slides a finger down along Nikaido’s temple, down into shadow, and he knows then that he doesn’t care if he crosses that line.
He lets himself go where he wouldn’t before, touching two fingers lightly to Nikaido’s lower lip. His skin is dry and a little rough, but fascinating, a part of him that Senga’s never been allowed to touch before. Nikaido’s mouth twitches beneath his fingers and Senga pauses, but Nikaido is sleeping too deeply for such a touch to wake him.
“I wish I could kiss you,” Senga tells him, tracing his mouth.
But he can’t.
There had been a girl, Nikaido is sure. There had been. He just can’t remember her face. He can’t remember anything about her, really, and the only clear thing in his mind is the feel of Senga’s arms wrapping around him, the press of his body against Nikaido’s back, the brush of his lips on his neck...
If Nikaido has a hard time looking Senga in the eye that morning, Senga doesn’t point it out.
Nikaido tries to forget about it. Dreams are dreams, after all, and dreams can be weird. They don’t mean anything.
Senga wonders if he’s being tested, or if fate is just messing with him. Nikaido falls asleep easily, but sometime in the last few weeks, Senga seems to have lost that ability. He lies awake next to him, listening to his breathing even out as he drifts off, wishing he could follow. But then if he did, he might miss things. Like Nikaido saying his name.
“What?” Senga asks, entirely awake, because it had definitely been his name, a soft whisper of Kenpi, but clear enough. “Nika?”
Nikaido mumbles something and Senga sits up. He peers closely, but he can’t see much in the dark.
“Are you awake?”
Nikaido doesn’t answer, so Senga reaches out for him, moving carefully so that when he finally makes contact, it’s just a soft brush of his knuckles against Nikaido’s arm.
“‘enpi,” Nikaido repeats, and Senga’s heartbeat picks up speed.
“I’m here,” he replies. “What is it?”
But Nikaido just shifts into his touch, and Senga can’t make out most of his words. He catches things that sound like me, and there, but nothing more, and it’s clear that Nikaido is still asleep.
And then it occurs to Senga.
“Nika... are you dreaming about me?” he asks softly, grinning. He runs his fingers up Nikaido’s arm where Nikaido is leaning into him, then freezes when Nikaido lets out a quiet moan. Senga bites his lip, thinking for a moment, then leans in closer.
“Who are you dreaming about?” Senga says, keeping his voice low and coaxing, soothing his hand across Nikaido’s shoulder.
“Kenpi,” Nikaido answers, and it’s distinct enough that Senga feels startled; he hadn’t really expected an answer. Not that he knows if Nikaido is really answering him, or just responding to noise in general, but either way, it’s not the first time he’s said Senga’s name tonight.
“What are you dreaming about?” Senga tries, but that earns him nothing more than another mumble of jibberish. Senga sighs. “Why do you have to be so...”
Senga shakes his head. Nikaido has no idea what he’s doing to him, so he can’t really blame him. He leans over to kiss Nikaido’s cheek and smiles to himself when Nikaido gives a soft hmm in response.
“I hope you’re dreaming about something good,” Senga tells him.
Sometimes Nikaido looks at Senga and feels like he’s forgotten something. Some conversation, something he was supposed to tell Senga, sits half-remembered in the back of his mind, or on the tip of his tongue, and he can’t figure out what it is.
Nikaido can be really dense, Senga thinks. He’s written song after song after song for him, but Nikaido doesn’t get it. Senga’s not sure how to tell him.
But somehow, it all seems so much easier at night, the lights down low and Nikaido’s breathing a soft counterpoint to the scratching of Senga’s pencil on his notebook. Senga gives up for the moment, setting the pencil down and swiveling in his chair to watch Nikaido sleep.
“You know,” Senga says quietly. “It would be a lot easier if you’d just understand the lyrics.”
No response. Of course. It makes Senga feel a bit more confident. He gets up and moves to sit next to the futon.
“Hey, Nika?” he asks. “How do you tell someone you love them, when you can’t tell them you love them?”
He waits for a long moment, watching the rise and fall of Nikaido’s chest, and unconsciously matching his breathing. He wonders if their heartbeats match, too, and then reaches out to check. It’s easy, Nikaido’s covers pushed down far enough that Senga can place his hand on his bare skin, right above his heart. The beat of it, slow and steady, in no way matches the nervous patter that Senga’s heart is drumming out.
But Senga sits and waits, watching, feeling, until his own pulse slows. It doesn’t match Nikaido’s, not exactly, but it’s close enough. Senga feels it distinctly in his chest and smiles, a sad little smile.
“Because I love you, Nika.”
They’re just joking around as usual, and Senga’s done it a million times before, but when he reaches out and shoves Nikaido away, his hand right over Nikaido’s heart, Nikaido feels a sharp sense of deja vu. He laughs because he knows he’s supposed to, but suddenly his heart is racing with excitement and he doesn’t know why. He imagines Senga’s hand lingering on his skin, warm and comforting, and shakes his head to get rid of the idea.
Somehow, he already knows what it would feel like.
He learns as he goes. Senga thinks he should feel guilty about it, and he does, kind of, but not enough to make himself stop. It's intimate and wrong, and he gets to know Nikaido's reactions well, all the little signs he'll make in his sleep, how much he'll move without waking up.
These are things he shouldn't know, Senga thinks, but feels a thrill in knowing them just the same.
It become a game almost, a challenge to see just how much he can get away with, how much he can push, continuing until Nikaido is on the verge of waking. Only then does he return to his bed.
It’s harder to convince himself that they mean nothing when the dreams don’t stop. He tries to chalk it up to spending too much time with Senga, but that doesn’t explain why he’s dreaming of Senga like that. And he can’t exactly spend less time with him. They’re too busy.
Nikaido doesn’t know if they’ll be ready in time for the tour, or even if they’ll be allowed to perform if they are, but he does know that he wants to try. He and Senga spend almost all of their free time together, and there are dozens of songs scattered through notebooks in their rooms. Computer files full of rejected melodies and half-completed demos. It’s nothing professional, but Nikaido hopes that when they find The One, it will be.
One of the main problems is that Senga hates his own lyrics, or something like that. Nikaido likes them quite a lot, songs about discovering that your true love has been with you all along, about fate and bonds and never letting go. He thinks they’re beautiful, but Senga refuses, saying he doesn’t want anyone else to see them.
Nikaido tells him he’s being silly; he has no problem with Nikaido seeing them, so why can’t other people?
It’s different if it’s you, is all Senga says.
Nikaido wonders if all the time together and all those lyrics are just getting smashed up together in his sleep. He’s pretty exhausted, after all. Maybe his brain is too exhausted to properly sort things, too.
Or so he tells himself.
It’s wrong, Senga tells himself. Totally wrong.
Hands trailing along Nikaido’s sides, fingers dancing across his nipples, soft brushes against his neck, and Nikaido’s body reacts exactly the way Senga wants it to. Even in the dark, Senga can see the way Nikaido’s erection is tenting his underwear. Senga stares, breathing hard, and reaches out.
He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, but knowing it doesn’t stop Senga from tracing a finger along the outline of Nikaido’s cock.
But the dreams get worse, more intense.
Nikaido stares as a bead of sweat trails a path down Senga’s throat, the remembered taste of Senga’s skin on his tongue.
“Something wrong?” Senga asks, giving him an odd look, but he turns to take a gulp from his water bottle when Nikaido shakes his head.
It’s not real, Nikaido insists. It didn’t happen.
But it feels like it did.
Senga kisses him through his underwear, delighting in the way Nikaido’s stomach muscles jump under his hands as his body reacts to the heat of Senga’s mouth.
Senga wants more than anything to taste him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Senga asks. “You’ve been acting strangely.”
He looks concerned, and Nikaido grabs the chance for escape.
“I’m just tired, I think,” he says. “I’m just... we’ve been working really hard, you know? Maybe... maybe we should just take a break for a few days? I should just go home and sleep tonight.”
Senga pouts. “You’re not coming over?”
His pout is pretty hard to resist, but Nikaido tries. “I don’t know. I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” he admits.
“We can go to bed earlier,” Senga insists. “We’ll only work for a bit, and then you can just relax. Come on, please?”
And it’s not like Nikaido has ever been able to say no to Senga, even if something deep inside is telling him that maybe he should.
Because Senga is always watching him, he can see the changes in Nikaido’s behavior - the way Nikaido won’t quite look him in the eye at times, the way he awkwardly glances away when he catches Senga’s gaze in the practice room mirrors. He can see the way Nikaido fidgets when Senga dances, and he notices the way Nikaido’s breathing quickens when Senga strips his sweat-soaked shirt from his body before he goes to shower.
He doesn’t know exactly what’s changed, but he knows that something has, and it makes him both nervous and excited to think that maybe Nikaido finally feels the same way he does.
Tonight, Senga decides. Tonight, Senga won’t stop. Tonight, Nikaido will wake up.
Nikaido senses a difference immediately upon waking. He often remembers his dreams, although to varying degrees. Some are vivid in their detail, others just vague sensations, but all of them share the same hazy fading quality as they dissipate into wakefulness. This time, though, his dream stays with him and makes Nikaido wonder if he’s actually still dreaming. Senga’s hands feel warm against his skin, warm and real.
“What were you dreaming about?” Senga murmurs, and Nikaido knows that he’s awake. The soft light slipping through the gap in his curtains lets him see Senga leaning over him, and Nikaido’s heart speeds up when he realizes that Senga’s hand is resting gently on the bare skin of his waist, real as anything. He’s not sure if Senga realizes how he’s touching him.
“I don’t remember,” Nikaido lies, the feel of sweat-slicked skin sliding against his chasing through his head.
“But you were dreaming about me,” Senga tells him. “You were saying my name,” he adds when Nikaido shakes his head.
Nikaido can feel himself growing warm. “Was I?”
“Yeah,” Senga says softly. “My name, and... some other things.”
Nikaido isn’t sure he wants to know what else he might have said. “Oh. I don’t...”
“Were we together?” Senga asks, and he slides his hand purposely higher up Nikaido’s side. “Like this?”
Nikaido’s breath catches and his heart feels like it’s going to pound its way out of his chest. How does he know? He can’t know!
Nikaido forces himself to speak. “I...” He trails off as Senga leans down close, so close, and he freezes, wondering what Senga is doing.
"Did I kiss you?" Senga asks, a teasing brush of air across Nikaido's lips, but before he has a chance to answer, Senga isn't teasing anymore.
Nikaido gasps, his mind racing too fast to latch on to any one course of action, and before he can figure out what to do, his body is making decisions for him. He kisses Senga back, his mouth already opening under Senga’s. His hands are already tight on Senga’s upper arms and he doesn’t know when he moved. He has no idea what they’re doing, panic racing through him even as his body responds to Senga’s touch, reminding him that this is all too familiar and yet entirely new.
He forces his hands to push Senga away. “Wait,” he manages. “Wait!”
Senga sits up, letting Nikaido struggle to sit up as well. He bites his lip, hoping he hasn’t made an awful mistake, and drags his eyes up to Nikaido’s face, ignoring the way Nikaido’s chest is heaving with the effort to breathe.
“What’s wrong?” Senga asks. “You don’t... want to?”
“I am so confused,” Nikaido whispers to himself, pressing a hand to the side of his head and staring at Senga with wide eyes. “Am I still dreaming?” he asks Senga.
“No,” Senga tells him, and then smiles as he realizes something. “So this is what you dream about?”
“N... sometimes.”
Senga is glad that Nikaido is admitting it. He’d had a pretty good idea, what with the Kenpi’s and the soft little whimpery sounds Nikaido makes when he’s clearly dreaming, but it’s nice to have it confirmed. It only bothers him that Nikaido looks intensely embarrassed about it, his flush nearly visible even in the darkness of the room.
“Me, too,” Senga tells him. “Or well, I don’t dream about us, but I wish I did, ‘cause it’d be nice. But I think about it. When I’m awake,” he points out.
“Why?” Nikaido wonders, still staring, and Senga has to laugh at how shell-shocked he looks.
“Because I’ve been in love with you forever, idiot.”
And it comes out easier than anything, without Senga having to think about it.
There’s a long silence as Nikaido continues to stare, and Senga fidgets a bit. He doesn’t want to force him to say anything, but he wishes he would.
Finally, Nikaido breathes out a little Oh, and Senga looks up at him.
“Those were for me,” Nikaido says, blinking.
Senga blinks back, trying to follow Nikaido’s unexpected topic jump. “What?”
“The songs,” Nikaido blinks faster. “They... your songs.”
“Oh.” Senga smiles, a little embarrassed, but glad that Nikaido is finally understanding. “Yeah.”
“A-all of them?”
“Well, not that one about the backstabbing, cheating girlfriend,” Senga explains. “But yeah, most of them.”
“Who was that about then?” Nikaido wants to know.
“No one. I just thought it would make a cool song.” Senga makes a face. “Come on, Nika, can’t you just...”
“Just...?”
“I confessed!” Senga feels unaccountably nervous by Nikaido’s lack of response. “How do you feel?”
“Oh! I...” Nikaido trails fingers across his lips, partially hiding his growing smile. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I accept.” Nikaido pulls his hand away, revealing a beautiful smile that shines in the darkness.
“You accept?” Senga echoes. “Oh, that’s... that’s good.” More than being relieved, as he’d expected, suddenly his guilt hits him in full force. “Ah, but Nika...” he starts.
“Hmm?”
“There’s something else I have to confess.”
Senga’s confidence completely fails in the face of Nikaido’s questioning look. Instead, he reaches out and cups Nikaido’s cheek. “I...”
Nikaido closes his eyes and Senga knows he’s expecting Senga to kiss him. Instead, Senga trails his fingers gently over Nikaido’s eyelids.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he whispers.
“Okay,” Nikaido says, frowning slightly. Senga reaches down to smooth out the frown with his fingers. Nikaido twitches, but doesn’t pull away or otherwise react. Senga continues. He doesn’t know how to explain what he’s done - he doesn’t know how to put it into any words that he could actually say - and so he shows Nikaido what he can’t tell him.
Senga touches his neck, his shoulder, places his other hand against Nikaido’s chest and holds it there, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths and the beat of his heart.
Nikaido’s eyes flash open. “Kento...”
“Eyes closed,” Senga insists, and waits until Nikaido follows instructions. He touches his sides, slides fingers down low to tease along his hip in the way he’s learned that Nikaido likes, and Nikaido squirms. Senga can see that he’s getting hard.
“Kenpi...”
“I know,” Senga tells him and pulls his hands away. “You can open your eyes.”
Nikaido doesn’t say anything, just looks at him like he’s trying to figure something out.
“I know,” Senga repeats. “I know what you like, and how to make you feel...” Really good, Senga wants to say, but it’s too awkward. He swallows hard. “I’m sorry.”
Nikaido’s expression hasn’t changed. “How?”
“How do I know?”
“How do you know,” Nikaido clarifies.
“You sleep really deeply,” Senga explains. “I... I always thought you’d wake up. But you never did.”
Nikaido stares.
“Are you mad?” Senga asks hesitantly. Mad. Nikaido should hate him for this.
Nikaido licks his lips. “I should be.”
“But?”
“I’m not,” Nikaido says. “I should mind, but I don’t. Mostly I just... wish you’d woken me up, I think.”
“To ask you?” Senga guesses.
Nikaido shakes his head. “So that I’d remember.”
“Oh,” Senga says, surprised, and thinks about it. “That’s... good. I always wanted to wake you up, but then I was scared.”
“But not this time?” Nikaido asks.
“No, I was scared this time too. But I really wanted you to know.” Senga says, and reaches out to take Nikaido’s hand.
Nikaido lets him lace their fingers together, squeezing back gently as they sit quietly in the dark.
“We should probably sleep,” Senga says eventually, although he’s wide awake.
“Yeah,” Nikaido agrees, but he doesn’t move.
“Are you going to dream about me again?”
“I don’t know,” Nikaido says. “Maybe I don’t have to anymore.”
“You definitely don’t have to,” Senga replies. He reaches out and hesitantly pushes Nikaido’s shoulder, and is relieved when Nikaido lets him guide him back down to the futon.
“Tell me your dreams, Nika. I’ll make them come true.”