Still Not Your Friend, Nagi/Omi, sequel to "My Bodyguard"
A sequel to emungere's My Bodyguard, written for my birthday. Thanks again! And EDIT: betaed by cosmorific, how could I forget to thank you?!?!
NC-17, because the Internet is for porn.
Omi opened his eyes to darkness. His heart was still pounding from the nightmare.
Nagi wasn't typing; the silence was surreal and unfamiliar.
"You done?" Nagi's voice; Nagi's power, as the blankets rearranged themselves around Mamoru's body.
Mamoru tried to move and couldn't. "Done?"
"You were dreaming."
"Yeah," Mamoru admitted. He hadn't had the nightmare since the hospital. "Where are you?"
"Bed."
"What-- what time is it?"
"Four am."
Mamoru suddenly wondered if Nagi even realized what he was doing-- if the force pinning his shoulders down was even conscious. "Can you let me up?" he asked, gently. "I have to use the toilet."
The force disappeared.
"Thanks," Mamoru said, and got up.
In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water. The marble sink still felt cold and strange as he leaned against it, trying to calm down.
Nagi hadn't realized; Mamoru was almost sure of it. On one hand, it was completely explicable; Mamoru had been upset, Nagi'd been pulled out of his sleep; it was probably a natural instinct for a telekinetic.
But Nagi was a bodyguard, not a friend; they'd both been very careful about that. The line was clear, and it didn't usually involve Nagi holding Mamoru down in the middle of the night after a nightmare.
But still, one incident in almost a year did not a pattern make. He shouldn't be so shaken over it.
The nightmare was probably most of it; probably caused by Hiroshi's removal. Mamoru rubbed his temples.
"You okay?" Nagi asked through the door.
"Yeah. Sorry."
"You don't normally have nightmares." It sounded like Nagi was leaning against the wall.
"I used to. When I was a kid." He passed a hand over his hair. He still wasn't sure of the new color; Grandfather said it looked dignified, but he felt like a freak. "You awake?"
"Yeah," Nagi said wryly.
"Wanna raid the fridge?"
A long pause. Every offer that was anything but professional was a gamble with Nagi; Mamoru had gotten used to waiting through the silences. "Yeah," he said finally. "I'm not getting back to sleep for a while."
Nagi found an unopened bottle of Kahlúa in the liquor cabinet and mixed the alcohol with milk and ice. "Try it," he said, handing a class to Omi. "Maybe we'll sleep."
Mamoru thought it unlikely, but took a sip anyway. It wasn't bad. A little like that Italian dessert Grandfather had given him in the restaurant last week...tiramisu? It burned a little on the way down and that felt pretty good. "You don't drink coffee," he asked Nagi. "How do you drink this?"
Nagi shrugged his shoulders. "I like coffee ice cream too. And it was the first drink Schuldig taught me to make. He said even I couldn't screw it up." He rolled his eyes.
Mamoru smiled and dug the ice cream out of the freezer. The cook had shoved it to the back but it was still okay; Mamoru's green tea chocolate chip, Nagi's vanilla bean.
They took the drinks and the cartons out to the entertainment room and Nagi turned on the TV. There wasn't anything on, even on the satellite; a little porn here and there, but it all sucked.
It was weird, Mamoru thought, how easily they both fell into it, like they stayed up eating ice cream and flipping channels all the time. Nagi put his feet up on the table; Mamoru got up and put in a movie.
They weren't friends. They'd worked really hard not to be friends. But they were used to each other, now, far more than Mamoru had realized.
"Why this movie? It's boring."
"That's kind of the point," Mamoru said, and Nagi nodded, putting his spoon back into his mouth and sucking.
Mamoru sat down, closer to Nagi than before. Nagi's eyes shifted to him, but he said nothing.
Sometimes when they were both on the computer, Nagi's username would still pop up on Mamoru's buddy list, and he'd half consider sending him an instant message. But he knew Nagi would probably just tell him he was being stupid.
Sometimes he missed the chatting, though, surreal as it had been.
He wasn't sure if it was the movie-- one of Grandfather's favorites-- or the alcohol, but he was starting to drift again, comfortable and almost sleepy.
He was ready to get up and go to bed when he realized how close Nagi's right hand had drifted toward him. If Mamoru shifted his weight just a little-- he tried it-- he could feel the warmth from Nagi's fingers.
He remembered reading in physics that atoms never really touched-- the energy from the electronics just repelled one another-- and he wondered if Nagi's power was some kind of extension of that energy; if it was possible to touch him without his permission, if it was possible to touch him at all.
He hadn't had enough alcohol to be drunk. He shouldn't be thinking like this. He couldn't be drunk, anyway; he was too hard for that.
And now his face was heating up. Perfect.
He resigned himself to watching more of the movie.
Nagi was younger than he was. And he could be an asshole. And he worked for Mamoru, which was always a bad idea. And he used to work for the other side, which made it even more of a bad idea.
He just had to will down his blush and his erection and....
Nagi's hand moved, just a centimeter, a gentle stretch of his wrist...just enough to put the backs of their fingers together. Mamoru bit his bottom lip hard.
"I think there's some more ice cream in the kitchen, if you want," Nagi said, his voice calm.
"I'm good," Mamoru said, his own voice more steady than he'd expected.
"Kay," Nagi said, and his fingers stretched out quickly and caught Mamoru's.
They couldn't pretend it was accidental now.
Mamoru almost wanted to laugh. Holding hands with the junior member of Schwarz. What was more ridiculous; that he was doing it, or that Nagi would want to hold hands in the first place? He remembered, suddenly, Nagi's words in the AIM window: I'm not your friend, Bombay.
I wonder what you are, he thought to himself.
"Can I turn off this fucking movie now?" Nagi asked.
"Yeah," Mamoru said. "Go ahead."
Nagi switched back to the satellite. As he flipped channels again, Mamoru asked: "So...you've thought about this?"
Nagi did laugh then; a harsh, cynical sound. "No," he said. "No." He leaned back. "First rule of business, according to Crawford; always keep your relationships strictly professional. And I met you in a fucking internet chatroom. And let you buy me a milkshake." He laughed again. "Fuck Crawford."
"Nagi-kun--"
"Yeah," Nagi said. "Say that. I like it when you say that."
"Are we friends?"
"I don't know," Nagi said thoughtfully. "I don't think so. Do you think so?"
"I don't know either," Mamoru said. "I...I don't think I care very much right now."
Nagi released his hand and rose in one abrupt motion. "I'm not performing for the security guards," he said. "Come on."
They threw out the empty ice cream cartons and rinsed out their dishes in the sink. Mamoru's hands were shakier than he'd expected them to be. Every time they brushed each other felt charged, now, weirdly electric.
"Nagi-kun," he said, when they were back in his bedroom, the door closed and locked behind him, and Nagi held up a hand to quiet him, tapped something into his laptop.
"Everything's looping now," he said, and looked back and forth between the two beds for a moment. "You've got the better one."
"...yeah," Mamoru said, and pulled his pajama top over his head, too impatient to bother with the buttons.
"You want the lights on?" Nagi asked.
Mamoru looked over. Nagi still had his t-shirt and boxers on; he was heavier and more muscular than when they'd first met. His hair was different too; it made him look older. It made him look hot. "Yeah," Mamoru said. "If it's okay with you."
'Yeah." Nagi was staring back. "It's okay."
Mamoru reached down and stroked himself through his pajamas, and Nagi hissed his breath in between his teeth. And then Mamoru was sliding backward, invisible force pinning his shoulders to the mattress, Nagi's hands on his hips tugging his pajama pants down--
"I'm sorry," Nagi whispered into his shoulder. "I get--"
"It's okay," Mamoru said, reaching up and yanking at Nagi's t-shirt. "It's good."
"It doesn't freak you out?"
"Not any more," Mamoru answered, which sounded a lot better than sometimes I jerk off thinking about it, and still got a nice reaction from Nagi, who ran a set of invisible fingers down Omi's body as his real fingers pulled his own boxers off.
Mamoru caught Nagi's face in his hands and stared at it. Nagi's eyes widened. "Do you--"
"Nagi-kun," Mamoru said, and kissed him.
Nagi's hand-- his real hand-- brought their cocks together as they kissed, and it was wet and sloppy and the alcohol didn't help at all and it was good, good like Mamoru couldn't believe, he was hard, so hard, and Nagi felt so good and Mamoru couldn't believe how sensitive he was to every sensation, to Nagi's fingers and mouth and the--
Oh--
"Yeah," Nagi said, and they came almost simultaneously, the heat of semen coating Mamoru's stomach, Nagi's neck damp from sweat against his hand.
Nagi floated over a box of tissues, and they cleaned up, smiling a little when they touched. Mamoru pushed a little hair away from Nagi's face, and they kissed again.
"Was that okay?" Nagi asked.
"It was good," Mamoru said. "Wasn't it?"
"Yeah," Nagi said. "Thanks." He glanced over at his own bed.
"Just bring your pillow over," Mamoru said. "If you want."
"They all think we're screwing anyway," Nagi said. "Get the light?"
Mamoru shut off the lamp, and Nagi grabbed his boxers from the side of the bed and slid them on, floated the pillow into Mamoru's bed.
"Good night," Mamoru said, and closed his eyes.
Nagi's hand moved over and squeezed it for a moment. "Night," Nagi said.
Mamoru fell asleep to the quiet sound of Nagi's breathing.
He didn't dream at all.
NC-17, because the Internet is for porn.
Omi opened his eyes to darkness. His heart was still pounding from the nightmare.
Nagi wasn't typing; the silence was surreal and unfamiliar.
"You done?" Nagi's voice; Nagi's power, as the blankets rearranged themselves around Mamoru's body.
Mamoru tried to move and couldn't. "Done?"
"You were dreaming."
"Yeah," Mamoru admitted. He hadn't had the nightmare since the hospital. "Where are you?"
"Bed."
"What-- what time is it?"
"Four am."
Mamoru suddenly wondered if Nagi even realized what he was doing-- if the force pinning his shoulders down was even conscious. "Can you let me up?" he asked, gently. "I have to use the toilet."
The force disappeared.
"Thanks," Mamoru said, and got up.
In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water. The marble sink still felt cold and strange as he leaned against it, trying to calm down.
Nagi hadn't realized; Mamoru was almost sure of it. On one hand, it was completely explicable; Mamoru had been upset, Nagi'd been pulled out of his sleep; it was probably a natural instinct for a telekinetic.
But Nagi was a bodyguard, not a friend; they'd both been very careful about that. The line was clear, and it didn't usually involve Nagi holding Mamoru down in the middle of the night after a nightmare.
But still, one incident in almost a year did not a pattern make. He shouldn't be so shaken over it.
The nightmare was probably most of it; probably caused by Hiroshi's removal. Mamoru rubbed his temples.
"You okay?" Nagi asked through the door.
"Yeah. Sorry."
"You don't normally have nightmares." It sounded like Nagi was leaning against the wall.
"I used to. When I was a kid." He passed a hand over his hair. He still wasn't sure of the new color; Grandfather said it looked dignified, but he felt like a freak. "You awake?"
"Yeah," Nagi said wryly.
"Wanna raid the fridge?"
A long pause. Every offer that was anything but professional was a gamble with Nagi; Mamoru had gotten used to waiting through the silences. "Yeah," he said finally. "I'm not getting back to sleep for a while."
Nagi found an unopened bottle of Kahlúa in the liquor cabinet and mixed the alcohol with milk and ice. "Try it," he said, handing a class to Omi. "Maybe we'll sleep."
Mamoru thought it unlikely, but took a sip anyway. It wasn't bad. A little like that Italian dessert Grandfather had given him in the restaurant last week...tiramisu? It burned a little on the way down and that felt pretty good. "You don't drink coffee," he asked Nagi. "How do you drink this?"
Nagi shrugged his shoulders. "I like coffee ice cream too. And it was the first drink Schuldig taught me to make. He said even I couldn't screw it up." He rolled his eyes.
Mamoru smiled and dug the ice cream out of the freezer. The cook had shoved it to the back but it was still okay; Mamoru's green tea chocolate chip, Nagi's vanilla bean.
They took the drinks and the cartons out to the entertainment room and Nagi turned on the TV. There wasn't anything on, even on the satellite; a little porn here and there, but it all sucked.
It was weird, Mamoru thought, how easily they both fell into it, like they stayed up eating ice cream and flipping channels all the time. Nagi put his feet up on the table; Mamoru got up and put in a movie.
They weren't friends. They'd worked really hard not to be friends. But they were used to each other, now, far more than Mamoru had realized.
"Why this movie? It's boring."
"That's kind of the point," Mamoru said, and Nagi nodded, putting his spoon back into his mouth and sucking.
Mamoru sat down, closer to Nagi than before. Nagi's eyes shifted to him, but he said nothing.
Sometimes when they were both on the computer, Nagi's username would still pop up on Mamoru's buddy list, and he'd half consider sending him an instant message. But he knew Nagi would probably just tell him he was being stupid.
Sometimes he missed the chatting, though, surreal as it had been.
He wasn't sure if it was the movie-- one of Grandfather's favorites-- or the alcohol, but he was starting to drift again, comfortable and almost sleepy.
He was ready to get up and go to bed when he realized how close Nagi's right hand had drifted toward him. If Mamoru shifted his weight just a little-- he tried it-- he could feel the warmth from Nagi's fingers.
He remembered reading in physics that atoms never really touched-- the energy from the electronics just repelled one another-- and he wondered if Nagi's power was some kind of extension of that energy; if it was possible to touch him without his permission, if it was possible to touch him at all.
He hadn't had enough alcohol to be drunk. He shouldn't be thinking like this. He couldn't be drunk, anyway; he was too hard for that.
And now his face was heating up. Perfect.
He resigned himself to watching more of the movie.
Nagi was younger than he was. And he could be an asshole. And he worked for Mamoru, which was always a bad idea. And he used to work for the other side, which made it even more of a bad idea.
He just had to will down his blush and his erection and....
Nagi's hand moved, just a centimeter, a gentle stretch of his wrist...just enough to put the backs of their fingers together. Mamoru bit his bottom lip hard.
"I think there's some more ice cream in the kitchen, if you want," Nagi said, his voice calm.
"I'm good," Mamoru said, his own voice more steady than he'd expected.
"Kay," Nagi said, and his fingers stretched out quickly and caught Mamoru's.
They couldn't pretend it was accidental now.
Mamoru almost wanted to laugh. Holding hands with the junior member of Schwarz. What was more ridiculous; that he was doing it, or that Nagi would want to hold hands in the first place? He remembered, suddenly, Nagi's words in the AIM window: I'm not your friend, Bombay.
I wonder what you are, he thought to himself.
"Can I turn off this fucking movie now?" Nagi asked.
"Yeah," Mamoru said. "Go ahead."
Nagi switched back to the satellite. As he flipped channels again, Mamoru asked: "So...you've thought about this?"
Nagi did laugh then; a harsh, cynical sound. "No," he said. "No." He leaned back. "First rule of business, according to Crawford; always keep your relationships strictly professional. And I met you in a fucking internet chatroom. And let you buy me a milkshake." He laughed again. "Fuck Crawford."
"Nagi-kun--"
"Yeah," Nagi said. "Say that. I like it when you say that."
"Are we friends?"
"I don't know," Nagi said thoughtfully. "I don't think so. Do you think so?"
"I don't know either," Mamoru said. "I...I don't think I care very much right now."
Nagi released his hand and rose in one abrupt motion. "I'm not performing for the security guards," he said. "Come on."
They threw out the empty ice cream cartons and rinsed out their dishes in the sink. Mamoru's hands were shakier than he'd expected them to be. Every time they brushed each other felt charged, now, weirdly electric.
"Nagi-kun," he said, when they were back in his bedroom, the door closed and locked behind him, and Nagi held up a hand to quiet him, tapped something into his laptop.
"Everything's looping now," he said, and looked back and forth between the two beds for a moment. "You've got the better one."
"...yeah," Mamoru said, and pulled his pajama top over his head, too impatient to bother with the buttons.
"You want the lights on?" Nagi asked.
Mamoru looked over. Nagi still had his t-shirt and boxers on; he was heavier and more muscular than when they'd first met. His hair was different too; it made him look older. It made him look hot. "Yeah," Mamoru said. "If it's okay with you."
'Yeah." Nagi was staring back. "It's okay."
Mamoru reached down and stroked himself through his pajamas, and Nagi hissed his breath in between his teeth. And then Mamoru was sliding backward, invisible force pinning his shoulders to the mattress, Nagi's hands on his hips tugging his pajama pants down--
"I'm sorry," Nagi whispered into his shoulder. "I get--"
"It's okay," Mamoru said, reaching up and yanking at Nagi's t-shirt. "It's good."
"It doesn't freak you out?"
"Not any more," Mamoru answered, which sounded a lot better than sometimes I jerk off thinking about it, and still got a nice reaction from Nagi, who ran a set of invisible fingers down Omi's body as his real fingers pulled his own boxers off.
Mamoru caught Nagi's face in his hands and stared at it. Nagi's eyes widened. "Do you--"
"Nagi-kun," Mamoru said, and kissed him.
Nagi's hand-- his real hand-- brought their cocks together as they kissed, and it was wet and sloppy and the alcohol didn't help at all and it was good, good like Mamoru couldn't believe, he was hard, so hard, and Nagi felt so good and Mamoru couldn't believe how sensitive he was to every sensation, to Nagi's fingers and mouth and the--
Oh--
"Yeah," Nagi said, and they came almost simultaneously, the heat of semen coating Mamoru's stomach, Nagi's neck damp from sweat against his hand.
Nagi floated over a box of tissues, and they cleaned up, smiling a little when they touched. Mamoru pushed a little hair away from Nagi's face, and they kissed again.
"Was that okay?" Nagi asked.
"It was good," Mamoru said. "Wasn't it?"
"Yeah," Nagi said. "Thanks." He glanced over at his own bed.
"Just bring your pillow over," Mamoru said. "If you want."
"They all think we're screwing anyway," Nagi said. "Get the light?"
Mamoru shut off the lamp, and Nagi grabbed his boxers from the side of the bed and slid them on, floated the pillow into Mamoru's bed.
"Good night," Mamoru said, and closed his eyes.
Nagi's hand moved over and squeezed it for a moment. "Night," Nagi said.
Mamoru fell asleep to the quiet sound of Nagi's breathing.
He didn't dream at all.