Linkage:
Hunger
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The apartment was dark, quiet, and empty, when Ken let himself in. Stepping aside, he watched Omi stagger in after him before closing and locking the door again. He wasn't really surprised that Yohji and Aya weren't back yet. It had been one of those nights where he'd pretty much expected both of them to disappear when the mission was complete.
Ken was tired, but not the bone-deep exhausted he was some nights. The bright burn of adrenaline had faded from his veins, leaving a kind of numbness, and a hunger. He knew what it was, this reaction of his -- face death, prove yourself alive -- but he didn't quite know what to do about it. He wondered if Aya and Yohji felt the same, if they were out feeding their hunger, alone. Or together. He thought about going upstairs, alone, to his room, and taking care of his hunger himself.
That was the last thing he wanted to do tonight. But he wouldn't leave Omi here, in the dark of a post-mission night.
"Ken-kun," Omi whispered from where he stood at the foot of the stairs. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
His heart skipped a beat as he crossed the room. Reaching out for Omi, he wrapped his arms tight around the younger boy, holding him close. Omi buried his face in Ken's shoulder, his hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.
"I'm here," Ken murmured, his lips close by the soft curve of Omi's ear. He wondered what darkness was haunting the blond tonight. They all had their darkness, he knew that well enough, but Yohji and Aya chose to embrace it, while he and Omi more often chose to step above it and show sunny faces to the world. It wasn't all a mask or a show, by any means, but some nights -- like tonight -- cheerful faces rang false and hollow.
Omi tugged at his shirt, stepping backwards, and Ken led himself be led up the stairs and into Omi's room. And there, with the door closed and locked behind him again, he found himself shocked into immobility by Omi's quick fingers reaching to undo the button on his jeans, to tug his t-shirt out of his pants.
Omi? he thought. But I love him like a brother.
But the hunger, the need for human touch, was faster than his slow brain, and he found himself reaching for Omi, helping him out of his own clothes. Like a brother, he thought again, as Omi's warm hands passed over his chest and reached up to his neck. But don't even brothers need comfort? And of all the people he might find tonight, Omi probably understood the hunger more than any could, having looked death in the face himself.
Their lips met, and the need in Omi's kiss drove away the last of his reserve. He answered each touch, each kiss, with a passion he knew he'd been hiding for too long. Somehow or other, they managed to tumble their way onto the bed. Omi pushed him down and Ken pulled the younger boy close against his chest. His fingers tangled in Omi's silky blond hair -- it smelled of strawberries, sunshine, Omi -- but restlessly they moved on, eager to explore every inch of his pale skin.
Ken traced the planes and curves of Omi's body, found delight in the sharp angles as much as the soft muscle. His mouth wanted to taste that delicious skin, softly scented with cinammon, but his lips kept finding Omi's, tongues tangling, fencing, each as desperate for this as the other.
His hands slid down to cup the curve of Omi's cheeks, and the younger boy gasped softly. "Please, Ken," he whispered, grinding his hips against Ken's. They rubbed against each other like sleek cats, moving almost instinctively in a harmony Ken would never have expected. "There's... stuff... in the night-table drawer," Omi murmured as Ken's fingers explored the crack between his cheeks.
Stuff? he wondered, reluctantly removing one hand from Omi's bottom. It took some strange bending of his arm to get the drawer open, but he did, and fished out a small bottle of lube. Lube? Omi has -lube-? His incredulous almost giggle was stifled by Omi's lips meeting his again.
Somehow he managed to get it on his hands, and from his hands onto his penis, but it was a wonder, given how tangled together they were, how impatiently they moved against each other. But he managed it, and then he was pressing up against Omi's soft, deep warmth, and then he was inside, and it was like heaven, like homecoming, deeper and sweeter than he ever dreamed it could be. Omi rode above him like a golden angel, murmuring his pleasure with a voice like silk, and it wasn't long before the world contracted down to the tiniest pinpoint of pleasure, then exploded outward in a great sea of sparkling, burning, drowning release.
Afterwards, he held Omi close, the blond's head resting on his shoulder, and thought sleepily about how exquisite it had been. Omi whispered, "Thank you, Ken-kun," as he was falling asleep, and Ken thought he would like nothing better than to hear that every night, every morning.
A shared hunger satisfied, he thought, running his hand down the sleek length of Omi's back. And I still love him like a brother.
And for once, he was completely content.
~owari~
06.05.2002
All fiction © 2002-2005 Tavam Shaytar