wizardmanor | Floor 4, Room 4

Uh huh.

[He can demand whatever he wants! Kurapika has no choice but to answer him honestly anyway. Akira's snickers give him away long before his words do, bottle set aside so he can smoosh Kurapika's cheeks in his hands and untuck that pretty face from his shoulder. No cheating now.]

Do you think I'm cute?

[ Ugh. Akira won't let him escape, and so all Kurapika does is frown at him, as hard as it is with his cheeks held captive between his hands. ]

Of course I do. [ ... ] Idiot.

Good boy, good boy~

[A wittle kiss on the lips for his good, obedient Pika-chan~]

Do you think I'm... sexy?

[ That kiss does nothing to make his frown disappear. In fact, it just grows more intense. ]

"Sexy" is a ridiculous word. I think you're attractive.

How surprisingly childish.

[Sexy? It's a good word. Kurapika would sound cooler if he added it to his daily vernacular.]

If you could do anything to me, what would you do?

[ ...

That question all but makes him short circuit, and all he can do for several moments is give Akira a blank look. ]

I... don't really know.

[ A disappointing answer, probably, but it's an honest one. ]

[N'aww, that's okay. It's not the answer Akira was hoping for, but with the emotionally constipated Kurapika, it was to be expected. Akira smiles, warm and fond. Here, he'll help him out.]

Would you kiss me?

[ This is such a stupid game. Why is he even playing this right now? ]

Obviously. You should know the answer to that by now.

[ And yet he relents anyway and answers. ]

Right. [Pfft.] Obvious.

Lemme do you a favor and ask something less obvious. Do you want to touch me?

[ Touch him? How? Like the way he's touching him right now, laying haphazardly on top of him with his arms wrapped around Akira's middle? ]

I am right now.

[ But he knows, deep down, what Akira means here. ]

...

[ He tires to wriggle out of Akira's hold, reaching for one of those bottles of wine. ]

[He'll give Kurapika enough room to grab a bottle, sure, but he's not nearly done with him. He snorts, shaking his head.]

No, not like this. Don't play dumb.

[narrator: but kurapika really was that dumb,]

I meant...

[...Akira leans up, whispering in Kurapika's ear.]

[ It's hard to make Kurapika flush, but he certainly is now, a light dusting of pink cascading over his cheeks.

Akira really isn't going to let this go, is he? ]

Of course I do. [ God. He hates this wine for making that spill so easily past his lips. It takes him a moment to recover, to grab that bottle and tilt it so that more of the wine pours down his throat. ] But you know that isn't as easy for me to admit to as it is for you.

[ For, you know, a floozy. ]

Edited 2024-05-19 02:40 (UTC)

[Great, now his cheeks are all red again. Thanks a lot, asshole.]

What, you think it's easy for me to admit that? It's not. My hands get all clammy and I have to stop myself from thinking so I don't trip over my own tongue. If you rejected me, I'd probably cry.

[...]

And never tell you. Even though I'm telling you.

[ Embarrassment is cute on Akira, enough so that he finds himself staring at his face for a little bit longer than usual before he turns his attention back to the wine bottle, examining its label.

If they weren't forced to spit out the truth right now, he wouldn't know whether or not to believe the bit about clammy hands, but... hm.

He didn't expect that. ]

So much for never telling me. How long were you going to last like that anyway?

Last like what? Be specific.

[Sassy, sassy...]

Not voicing those thoughts.

[ And he's only sort of voiced them now, but they're out in the air and making his heart race. ]

You're a very forward person, after all.

[...Yeah, he can feel Kurapika's heart racing too. It pairs well with his own, beating so hard he can taste it in his throat.

Akira purses his lips— he'd rather not answer. Not like this where he's out of his depth, where he's in too deep, where he can't collect himself long enough to deliver his answer with any amount of grace.

All he has is raw, vulnerable honesty, and it's that honesty that's about to damn him. Can Kurapika feel how hot he's burning? Probably. Feeling so seen has never been as hard as it is right now.]

...Do I have to answer that?

[He's giving Kurapika an out. The option to keep their post-date shenanigans a light and easy affair. He should know, even if he's as emotionally dense as they come, that there's always a point of no return. Will he cross it?]

[ And just like that, a thick layer of tension blankets over them both, and Kurapika doesn't know what to do with it. This sort of tension isn't the kind he's used to, not in any circumstance, and it leaves him feeling impossibly out of his depth.

He sets that bottle of wine down, plugging it closed so he can lay his forehead against Akira's shoulder, breath warm as it fans out against his shirt.

This is crossing a line that he's terrified of what might be on the other side, and he finds himself frozen, unable to figure out the mess of feelings swirling in his chest. All of this has been new and scary, but this is something else. ]

If you don't want to answer it... I'll understand.

[ It's the coward's way out, and he's positive that Akira will toss this right back to him. But he needs to think. It's just impossible to do when Akira's warmth and the smell of his clothes already dissipate all of his thoughts. ]

...It's not that. I can tell you.

[They aren't meant to take the coward's way out. Neither of them are. Kurapika's options are these: back out now and never know what good might come from taking that plunge into the unknown, or throw caution to the wind and give in to what he knows he wants just as badly as Akira.

His fingers sift through Kurapika's hair, folding the soft ends around each finger while he thinks, considers, ponders taking that dive. It's no easier for Akira, like he said, and there's no room left for Kurapika to doubt him.

His fingers comb back through his hair again, again, until they tangle up in Akira's fist and sharply pull, urging, taunting Kurapika to snap up and meet him with that sharp-eyed glare. Don't back down now. I won't forgive you if you do.]

But I'd rather show you.

Edited 2024-05-19 03:40 (UTC)

[ This, of all things, is a challenge. It always is, isn't it? The both of them thrive off of challenges, enjoying the pain of navigating through them and untangling the intricacies of the puzzles they face.

This, then, is not any different. It's anxiety inducing, his heart thundering in his chest ever louder when he feels Akira's fingers in his hair. But what is normally comforting is instead anticipatory, as if they're both peering over the edge of a cliff that leads to unknowable depths. Will he regret this? Will Akira regret this? Kurapika thinks there's a chance that he will, but part of him wonders if Akira would even care at all.

He's pulled out of his thoughts, though, when Akira suddenly tugs on his hair, forcing him to come face to face with the very precipice they've found themselves on. As Akira expects, his glare is sharp, that passion he likes so much broiling just underneath the surface of the cool brown of his eyes.

Kurapika leans forward, shifting so that he's hovering over him. Like hell he'll back down. ]

What are you waiting for? Do it.

[No need to ask him twice. Akira loosens his grip only to slide his hand down to settle on Kurapika's nape, pulling him down to meet him in a kiss. It's a little off the mark, the clumsiness more drunken ineptitude than nerves or inexperience, but the second time's the charm.

It's easy falling into a steady rhythm, slotting their lips together like puzzle pieces again and again, the fit always perfect... but is it wrong to want more? To want as much of Kurapika as he can wrap his lips around?

Akira's arms slide down the expanse of Kurapika's back and settle at the small of it, urging him down, urging their bodies to lie flush against one another's. Maybe Kurapika feels better caging Akira beneath him, maybe he feels he can hold onto some semblance of self-control that way, but there's no point. In the end, they'll be giving into each other anyway. In the end, they'll be stripping each other down to nothing but their raw, honest selves, every vulnerability on full display. Just as it should be.]

[ How many times has he kissed Akira by now? Kurapika has honestly lost count, the feel of Akira's lips familiar against his own by now, warm and fitting perfectly against his.

It's easy to be urged down against him like this, falling against him with no thought to feeling in control. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's Akira's lips pressed against his that makes settling against him something that doesn't deserve a second thought. While he isn't sure what the best position for this might be or where he should put his limbs, focusing on the warmth radiating through their clothes is enough for those anxieties to feel far away.

And so, he parts his lips against Akira's, urging for their tongues to meet, to see what the alcohol tastes like on his tongue. ]

[It's easy to retreat into the warmth of Kurapika's mouth, tongues on less familiar terms than their lips, but not by much. Kurapika tastes of wine, of heat and want, his breath hot against his cheeks and his heart hammering just across the way from his own.

A warm rumble emanates from Akira's chest, snakes its way across their tongues, but their kiss is too messy, too important, to break away and speak. I want you, he would've said. I need you. I won't let you go.

Kurapika admitted that he'd like to touch him, didn't he? But he doesn't know how, or where, or when, Akira's sure. He needs guidance, and the best way to learn is through experience. He can easily imagine Kurapika's anxious goading — show me — and so he will.

His fingers stretch broadly and roam the expanse of Kurapika's back, sliding up the back of his shirt so that he might drag his nails down his back, all the way down, and cup his ass in both hands. Been keeping up on your squats, Kurapika?]

[ Experience is the best way to learn, and Kurapika knows this to be true, even if he's the sort of person that really prefers to plan. There are no books or research papers on this, however, or at least nothing that would properly capture the way his heart beats almost unsteadily in his chest and Akira's breath warm against his face anytime they part more than a few centimeters. He's more confident in the way their tongues slide together now than he was the first time, almost bold the moment he feels like he's gained the slightest amount of experience.

The touch to his back already has him pressing closer, suppressing a shiver at the merest touch.

It really shouldn't be a surprise, then, that he gasps when he feels Akira's hands on his ass. Not even alcohol can fully remove the prudishness from him, after all. But at least there's something there for Akira to grab at all, the sheer amount of work he does with his legs incredibly obvious now, if it wasn't obvious with the way he fights before.

A hand grasps at Akira's shirt for purchase and for lack of any real idea of what he should be doing. This is new territory, after all. ]

[That gasp earns a self-satisfied snort. That's right, get shocked. Removing the prude from Kurapika won't take much more than inundating him with touch and sensation, all the stimulation he's denied himself thus far, but Akira's going to have fun with him while this is all so novel and mortifying.

What monster will Kurapika become when he's soaked up everything Akira has to teach him and put his own spin on it? That thought excites Akira too, prompts shivers and little eager laughs that melt on the tongue.

Akira takes his time feeling up the hard muscle hidden beneath Kurapika's pants. Tight glutes, tighter quads, all on a deceptively svelte frame. Akira would both love and hate to be on the business end of Kurapika's kicks.

In the midst of his groping, he makes time to help Kurapika out, taking one of those awkwardly lingering hands and guiding it to his head. Here. Play with his hair. It's one of those universally enjoyable feelings, right?]

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