andrew_in_drag | House of Cards: 32/?? (Reply)

Title: House of Cards
Author:

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: THE GENTLE HOUR

Toshiya was awake, but it was easier just to keep his eyes shut and feign sleep. He could sense Kyo hovering by the window, letting in the cold air that had woken him, and there was a lingering, pensive quality to the shateigashira that kept them both quiet.

Like playing dead, Toshiya thought bitterly, fighting the urge to shift against the sheets. His ribs were aching where he had been kicked, but the cool pillow was a relief against his bruised face. More uncomfortable was the torrent of thoughts racing through his head, the endless reliving of the earlier hours of the evening in a vain attempt to understand just what, exactly, had happened. What had changed.

What confused him was the shateigashira's sudden gentleness; the way he had so carefully pushed his clothing aside and touched his body, treating it like it was something special. The words he had said, and what he had done.

Toshiya had been bracing himself to get fucked, and it had terrified him. His body was so torn and sore from his ordeal down in The Pits that he was certain he would be broken in two; that he would be hurt in some terrible, obscure way, and though he knew in theory that people didn't really die from sex – at least, not outside of some pretty weird accidents – that knowledge didn't lessen his feeling that he might simply bleed and bleed and bleed, a stuck faucet, and shrivel into a pale white nothing. He had even begged, hadn't he? I can't, he had said.

Please don't hurt me.

“I never wanted to. I just wanted to touch you. I just wanted to know what you felt like.”

And he hadn't hurt him. He had touched him, had felt him all over, but – no, not hurt him. He had been light as a ghost; had worked him up slowly and then taken his hot, flushed dick into his mouth, and when Toshiya had gasped that he was going to cum and had tried to pull back, Kyo had pushed his hands away – had let him cum. Had wiped his lips with the back of his hand and kissed him so tenderly, it might have been a dream.

Well, maybe it had been.

Toshiya closed his eyes and let two fat, hot tears soak into the pillow.

It was late, but Die couldn't sleep.

He frowned up at the ceiling and then turned onto his side; threw his blanket off and then retrieved it. Curled up, and stretched out. Searched for a cooler spot on the pillow.

He sighed, smacking his head against the mattress lightly in frustration: he had nights like these sometimes, when it was clear that sleep just wasn't going to come, and what did he do? Continue to lie there in bed like a stubborn idiot, watching the hands struggle around the face of the clock and waiting for the first grey light of dawn to ease itself beneath his blinds.

He sat up in bed, feeling blindly in the dark for the lamp next to his bed. In the top drawer of his dresser, tucked away underneath his clothes, he had a small dented tin that contained a pack of king size papers, some loose tobacco, a small grinder and a good-sized amount of pot. Moving very slowly, tiptoeing to avoid creaking the floorboards and waking up everybody who was asleep downstairs – many of the younger brothers still slept together on the altar room floor – he retrieved his tin, settled down on the edge of his bed, and concentrated on rolling a joint that was just strong enough to get him good and sleepy.

He always felt edgy about smoking in the house. Kyo disapproved of Die smoking anything but cigarettes when he was 'on duty', and since the shateigashira rarely considered him to be off duty, his opportunities were fairly scarce. Still, he considered it unlikely that Kyo was going to suddenly burst through the door: it was gone midnight and he hadn't seen him in hours; not since he'd been left alone with Toshiya.

As he rolled, Die wondered absently what they were doing. Sleeping, talking, fucking? He found it hard to imagine Kyo in bed with anybody, or even really enjoying anybody's company.

But then, he always had a tough time imagining two men in bed together. In his head, he couldn't find a way to make it work. The limbs got in the way, and besides, what would they do, anyway? Would they kiss? Touch? More? He knew the logistics of it, but trying to turn the mechanics into something real was like trying to grasp smoke.

With that thought in mind, he lit up. He felt pretty proud of his handiwork. The first toke came through smooth and fragrant and green-tasting, like he was burning young leaves, and he closed his eyes in satisfaction as he exhaled through his nose.

And then something nudged his door open by an inch.

Die froze. He was praying that he was just seeing things, but no; he could definitely hear the sound of somebody outside the door, although their footfalls seemed very light and they were breathing in an odd, snuffly kind of way. Whoever they were, they seemed to be tapping gently against the door every so often, almost as if they were bumping into it over and over again. They must have been carrying keys: there was a light jingling sound.

Die wasted no time in mourning his unsmoked joint: he ground it out in his ashtray and opened the window, flapping his arms wildly to get the scent of cannabis out of the air. When he was satisfied, he sat down on the edge of his bed again and groped wildly for a book, trying to look innocent.

The door nudged itself open another inch. The snuffling sound grew slightly louder, as did the jingling, and Die frowned.

“Who is it?” he called nervously, and almost fell back with relief when he heard a tiny, muffled bark. “Miyu!”

Shinya's little dog padded into the room when she heard her name, her triangular ears pointed up inquisitively. She was really an odd-looking creature, Die thought to himself with amusement as he scooped her up, but Shinya seemed to love her whole-heartedly. That was the one thing about Shinya that he could be sure of: everything else about the other man just seemed to lead down blind alleys.

What he was doing in the house; why he didn't like to talk: these were Die's questions.

And then there was the kiss. That wonderful, surprising kiss.

That was the biggest question.

Where Miyu went, Shinya was sure to follow, and soon there was a quick, quiet rapping at Die's door.

“Come in,” Die called, settling Miyu on his lap. He was starting to enjoy himself.

Shinya looked uncomfortable as he slipped through the door, only opening it about a foot; he nodded awkwardly and gestured towards his dog.

Sorry, he signed. Die could read that one.

“That's okay. I wasn't asleep or anything,” he said reassuringly, but Shinya still looked strangely agitated. He seemed in no hurry to open his mouth and speak, or even sign more; he just stared down at his hands miserably.

He still felt it, he noted bleakly. He didn't want it, but it was there like it had always been there: whenever he looked at Die, that fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach; that feeling like everything was suddenly so much sharper and clearer and closer. Like falling, slowly.

“Hey,” the redhead asked awkwardly, “Do you want...do you want to sit down?”

Shinya sat quietly. He felt utterly lost, mired deep in his own muddled mind and struggling with the impossibility of wanting things but not knowing them, being scared of them and not understanding. Affection was something he had never been given freely, and now he found he had no idea how to express what he felt outside of the most basic statements: I like you, I'd be sad if you left, it's good when you're around.

There were words inside him, but they felt thick and sludgy as molasses.

“I put the bell on her collar to scare the birds,” he blurted instead. There was a terrible tightness in his throat, as if every time he said something wrong the pressure rose higher.

It was on the tip of Die's tongue to say that she would have scared the shit out of him with or without the bell, but he stifled it. There was a strange, prickling feeling in his skin, like he was bleeding heavily just beneath: in the smouldering remains of his joint he smelled—

Tent canvas. Campfire smoke. Greenery, early summer, dry twigs and mossy stones and birthday candles.

Die said, “I want you.”

The words had their own quiet buzz in the room, and carefully he picked up his joint and relit it. His hand was shaking slightly, and he had to chase the tip of it around with his lighter for a few moments before he was successful.

He felt oddly light. It was as if those three words had been sitting inside him for years, ever since those first heady years when he'd caught glimpses of his friends' bodies and felt undone, like he was unravelling; ever since that night with Ryuichi and those tentative fingers grazing over the front of his jeans; ever since meeting Shinya and looking at him and seeing beautiful, secret things inside him. He had tried to ignore them, but they had only grown bigger and heavier.

After a hundred miserable, failed relationships with girls; a hundred guilty fantasies – he felt free. Like he had been standing on the edge of some great precipice for all his life, just waiting to be pushed, and now finally he had just jumped.

Falling. But free.

He took another deep toke and let it out slowly. Whatever happened now, he thought lazily, it was completely out of his control.

There was a kind of luxury in that.

Next to Die, Shinya felt as if he had suddenly been thrown into an ice cold lake. His quick mind had frozen, his fingers were stuck stiff and crooked; his words were suspended, stranded in his throat and he dug his fingernails into the skin over his temples desperately.

Say something! Do it!

He pulled hard on a lock of his own hair, agitated tears springing to his eyes. It wasn't fair: he had never so consciously wanted anything; had never felt such an immense physical and mental and emotional reaction to another person before – and now he was going to lose all of it, just because he couldn't get a single word out.

Idiot he's going to walk away just say something SAY SOMETHING

He was hoping for a miracle that he knew in his heart was not going to come. He felt himself turning in, withdrawing, slinking back inside himself – what could he do? Beg a few minutes to be on his own, cover his eyes and pretend he lived in lonely darkness? Take an hour calming down just to face Die and get tongue-tied all over again?

There had been a time when he had been insistent that he'd wanted to spend his whole life like he was suspended, safe and alone in his own private place with nobody to speak with, nobody to touch – but he wanted Die to touch him. He did. And in making that confession, he had broken down something inside himself: he wanted it so badly he shook with it.

So he did the only thing he thought he could do, and took Die's hand. And the two sat quietly on the bed, Die smoking thoughtfully and Shinya hunched, curling into himself ashamedly.

“I don't know all about it,” Die said at last. “What to do, and stuff. But I wanna know. I think – I want to know. I want to learn about it with you.”

His serious expression broke and he smiled suddenly. “You're so smart,” he said simply.

With that, he twisted slightly on the bed and set his slowly-burning joint down in the ashtray. He felt gently stoned and it made the pot smell very powerful and rich, and he had the impression of parting a little curtain of smoke before he could touch Shinya's hair. He smoothed it carefully around his face and let it slip through his fingers, enjoying the feel of it. He could feel how hot the other man's skin was, and the tenseness in his jaw, and very cautiously he leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

That was it – just a light, chaste kiss, but it left a timid smile in its wake. It left a good feeling, like a buzz between them – alright, Die was stoned. But when Shinya's smile nudged his cheek in return, he could have sworn he was flying on something stronger; when they each performed the subtle shift that would bring their lips together, he could have sworn he was on crack, on ecstasy; could have sworn his veins were pumping pure heroin. Shinya's lips were so warm and pliant under his own, so shy and yet so steady. It was the easiest thing in the world to touch him; to take his arms and run his hands up that smooth skin, nudging back the stupidly long sleeves of the oversized T-shirt he was wearing; once he had started, it seemed impossible to stop.

I don't know how either.

Those words were on the tip of Shinya's tongue, skittering tentatively over Die's lower lip. They were on the tips of his fingers, pressing hesitantly at the hem of Die's shirt.

But those words could wait, Shinya thought, grinning into the kiss despite himself; suddenly, he felt like he wanted to be kissed for his whole life, beginning to end, just sweet and still like he was.

The words could wait. They had time.

A/N: PLEASE NOTE that odd chapters of this fic are now friends-only. A full explanation of why is given here. If you plan to carry on reading this fic then please be sure to check it out, because the next chapter will absolutely definitely be friends-locked.