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It’s almost a little cute, the way Hiori looks like something of a lost little duckling in Karasu’s room. Head ducked, shoulders a little tense, curled up into somewhat of a ball as far on the edge of Karasu’s bed as is possible, leaning against the wall with frankly offensive posture. Staring at his feet with those big, empty eyes.
It’s cute. Almost. A little bit.
There’s nobody else home. Outside, summer rain is pitter-pattering against Karasu’s bedroom window, and inside here, there’s nobody but them. Karasu’s parents are out for a small trip. His sister’s sleeping over at a friend’s.
And Hiori, well, Hiori wasn’t supposed to be here at all, actually. Has never been here before, which means he either stalked Karasu home again (this time successfully) or looked up his address in some register in the Bambi Osaka office or some bullshit like that. Karasu thinks this should probably bother him more, but, well, look at the guy. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that one. He’s just a bit odd, is all.
Karasu can deal with odd; after all, it tends to come hand in hand with extraordinary.
Still, this won’t do.
“Y’okay over there?” Karasu asks, a joking edge to his tone. Hiori’s shoulders don’t relax, but they don’t tense any more, either. “I don’t got much in terms of games, but I got Mario Kart, if ya want.”
Hiori’s head drops into the cradle of his arms on his raised knees. Yeah. Not that easy.
Thing is, Karasu doesn’t know much at all about Hiori’s home situation. They don’t really talk about it—don’t really talk much at all, really, however much they do hang out; it’s real comfortable, Karasu has to admit, to be able to just exist with someone, as comfortable as a guy like him can be, he supposes—and unlike other people, Karasu’s neither a stalker nor particularly interested in prying. And yeah, sure, he does his fair bit of people watching, so he has quite the few assumptions to make, but he’d only ever use Hiori’s weak points on the pitch, so.
So.
Karasu isn’t sure how to approach this at all.
“I’m okay,” Hiori says, finally, saving Karasu’s ass in the process. Doesn’t lift his head, though. Hmmm.
It can’t be helped. It is what it is. For a long while, Karasu just stares at Hiori, at that figure of a boy who fled from home and came here instead curled up on his bed, and thinks perhaps it is his responsibility to ask, after all. To make him talk. To reassure him, maybe. He’s his senpai, after all; it’s important, isn’t it? Fits the image, too. It’s not like it would be egregiously out of character, or even at all.
Karasu stares. Swallows.
“I’m gonna read,” he announces. Hiori doesn’t move at all.
So reading it is. Karasu reaches over Hiori to grab his book from off the floor—up close like this, he can see how Hiori’s shoulders move subtly with his breathing, which relieves him much more than it should, because, duh, Hiori’s breathing, duh—and opens it where his bookmark is stuffed into it. Leans back into the wall. Reading it is, then.
Reading.
It turns out it’s quite hard to focus on the words on the page with Hiori in the room with him. And, well, okay, they hang out often enough that it’s comfortable, and that silence—Hiori doesn’t say much in general, after all—is fine, too, but…
Karasu flips back a page twice after realizing he didn’t actually pay attention to the words in front of him until he finally gives up. Barely any time has passed, of course. And Hiori is still curled up into a ball, unmoving and all tragic, desaturated in Karasu’s room slowly turning dark. Karasu clicks on the bedside lamp; it seems more appropriate. Softer. Not that Hiori can even see it, what with his face buried like this and all, but, well.
“Do ya want dinner?” he asks, though it’s a rather rhetorical question, so he continues without waiting for an answer. “I’ll make us instant noodles.”
Hiori surprises him by answering. “I can’t eat that.”
Karasu blinks. “What?” Nothing. “Are ya, like, allergic to somethin’, or…?”
With the lamp on, Hiori’s hair is in color again, baby blue, shimmering. Karasu thinks it’s likely awfully soft to the touch. It moves like it is, when Hiori shakes his head.
“Too much sodium. And fat.”
Which, Jesus. “It’s instant noodles,” says Karasu. “And yer only eatin’ ‘em once, not every day. It’s fine, yanno?”
Nothing again. Karasu’s trying to think of anything else they might have in the house to eat. Just rice…? Maybe with a bit of soy sauce…? They probably still have seaweed, too… It’d take longer, of course, but he supposes that’s fine. Doesn’t sound all that delicious either, but whatever.
“Okay,” Hiori says, then, though. And, more importantly: he’s actually looking at Karasu again. Somewhere in the meantime he’s lifted his head, just the tiniest bit, glancing at Karasu from under his bangs, and from under those impressive lashes, too.
Karasu swallows. It’s a bit hot, suddenly. The rain is still prattling against the window. He should have left the lamp off, actually, he thinks.
Nods, belatedly. “Okay,” he echoes. “I’ll—I’ll go, uh, make ‘em. Be—be right back. Okay?”
Hiori nods, too. His eyes look awfully blank.
Karasu’s head is rushing with it until he’s out of the room, until he sucks in a breath, suddenly disoriented in the dark hallway of his own fucking house. He knows his way around here blind—does even now—and still, it manages to feel strangely alien as he climbs down the stairs to get to the kitchen, and it only gets a little better when he turns the light on there and rummages around the cupboards for two cup noodles. For a moment, he considers boiling two eggs, as well. Protein, right?
And what the fuck was all that about, anyway?
It sits in his throat, refusing to be swallowed down. But, well, Hiori clearly doesn’t want to talk, so Karasu truly isn’t sure what the hell he’s supposed to do about any of this. But that was weird, wasn’t it? That was just… weird.
And the way he changed his mind so quickly, too!
It’s late. Karasu’s eyes are throbbing in his skull, which is likely another reason why he wasn’t really able to read earlier. God, whatever, let this be tomorrow-Karasu’s problem. That guy is awesome at solving problems, after all.
He forgets about the eggs until both cups are done steaming already and he’s halfway up the stairs. Pauses for a moment, considering going back, but the steam is hot against his hands and he’s balancing the chopsticks weirdly on the cups, so he gives up on that for now.
Back in his room, Hiori looks like he hasn’t moved an inch in the meantime. There’s a joke stuck at the back of Karasu’s throat, about how Hiori better not have rummaged and poked around his stuff like the little stalker he is, but that seems hardly appropriate right now. Karasu swallows against it, pinned to place when Hiori glances up from the cradle of his arms again.
“I can make an egg, if ya want,” slips out of Karasu, face burning immediately. Yeah, just blurt that out with no context whatsoever. Good fucking job.
With the distance to the bed it’s hard to tell, but Karasu thinks there’s the ghost of a smile on Hiori’s face. Karasu’s heart stutters in his chest, falls flat on its face, and it’s so fucking ridiculous, actually. What the hell is going on with him? This is his fucking room, and Hiori’s all depressed, there ain’t no fucking reason to be so… flustered.
“Nah,” Hiori says, slowly, voice a little scratchy. And that voice, indeed; rakes over Karasu’s skin. Usually, it’s so smooth. “S’okay. Um, thank ya.”
Karasu nods. Alright. Sure. Okay.
He doesn’t usually allow food on his bed, but he’ll make an exception for today. Hiori has the decency to scoot forwards until he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding his hands out all polite-like when Karasu passes him his cup. Karasu hesitates for a moment, then sits down on his desk chair. Easier that way.
The steam smells nice and rich when Karasu flips open the lid again, when he lowers his face into it. His stomach growls, but he’s not so sure it’s audible for anyone but him; Hiori doesn’t react, for one. Doesn’t move, either, when Karasu is already two slurps in.
Around the noodles, he says, “Eat.”
Which seems to do the trick. Hiori blinks, lashes fluttering, then he takes the chopsticks and peels the lid off the cup the rest of the way, hovering with it in his grip before Karasu holds out his hand and takes it, placing it on his desk. Sniffs his cup, and Karasu grins into his own, just a little bit.
“Ain’t poisoned. I can eat a bit fer ya if ya don’t believe me, though.”
Hiori’s mouth pinches again, into another of those maybe-smiles, but this seems to do the trick, too, because he does dig in, now. They eat in silence, save for the slurping of the noodles and the splashing of the broth. It’s nice. Karasu hasn’t had instant noodles for a bit, now that he thinks about it. It’s nice, every once in a while, isn’t it?
“I’ve never had any before,” Hiori says, once they’re done. Karasu’s just throwing the trash away into his trash can; he’ll bring it down to the kitchen tomorrow. “They’re delicious.”
“Never?”
“No.”
Hm. “Well, now ya did,” Karasu says, pushing the cups deep into the trash can to stop it from overflowing. Yeah, he definitely needs to bring that down tomorrow. “I’ll steal one of my sister’s spare toothbrushes, c’mon.”
Hiori doesn’t argue. Together, they make their way to the upstairs bathroom, and there are indeed still a few packaged toothbrushes in the cabinet; the ultra-soft kind, which Karasu’s sister prefers. He gives one to Hiori then moves to brush his own teeth. It feels weird, to be this tired, like he’s not actually there. Feels weird, to pretend like none of this is a big deal and he isn’t worried, either, but that would help neither of them. Not Hiori’s home situation, and not Karasu’s ego, either.
It’s only once they’re back in his room that Karasu realizes the obvious: he does, in fact, only have one bed. In his bedroom, that is. His sister’s is unoccupied, so maybe…
“Karasu-kun,” Hiori says, voice low and a little rough with whatever is going on inside that noggin of his, uncharacteristically polite, “I don’t wanna be alone.”
And damn. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Karasu puts a grin on his face, then turns to look at Hiori, who’s glancing at him all shyly. “What,” he drawls, “hittin’ on me? Cheeky kouhai you are.”
Hiori bats his lashes, slowly, like he’s not doing it on purpose. Chews on his bottom lip.
“I’m jokin’,” Karasu adds, turning back around to ruffle at his blanket for no reason in particular. He can barely feel anything with his hands. “Tough crowd…”
His ears are rushing so much that he’s not sure if Hiori’s saying anything back. It’s stupid in general: of course they’re way too grown to be sharing a bed without it being weird, but it’s even more mediocre to get all weird about it. What the hell does it matter, anyway?
“I can sleep on the floor,” Hiori offers, which is really just the final nail in the coffin.
“Dude,” says Karasu, without turning around. “I’m not makin’ ya sleep on the damn floor.”
Hiori hums. Karasu’s ears rush and rush and rush with blood. Damn. Damn it. Damn it. Whatever, it’s fine. It’s just Hiori. He doesn’t even talk much with any of the other guys from Bambi Osaka, and it’s just Hiori. It’s fine.
Taking the plunge—though not like that, but whatever—to get it over with is the only way out, so Karasu shuffles out of his pants and his socks. “D’ya need a shirt ta sleep in?” he asks.
Silence. Then, “No, I’m good.”
Makes Karasu crack a smile. “Didja just shake yer head forgettin’ I ain’t lookin’?”
No response, which means bullseye. Karasu does finally turn to crack another joke, tease Hiori so it won’t feel all that weird—though it’d probably make it even weirder, actually, now that he thinks about it—but he’s promptly shut up by the sight, which is, well, Hiori in only his underwear.
“Ah,” slips out of Karasu. Hiori lets his shirt puddle on the floor, arms and abdomen flexing with the movement. The rushing returns in Karasu’s head, and he tries to save it with a: “Ya sleep without a shirt on?”
Hiori shrugs. Right. Yeah. Totally normal, isn’t it. It’s really very normal. Karasu does it all the time, too.
It’s just…
Well, it’s just…
Whatever. Whatever, whatever, whatever, it’s just for the night, and Hiori doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and he doesn’t want to be alone. It’s whatever.
Taking the plunge is the only way out, so Karasu climbs on the bed. Shifts to push under the blanket, then crowds into the wall as far as he can go. Glances at Hiori, who’s still just standing there with his shirt off. He’s sort of skinny, but lithe, because he’s an athlete, naturally. A little slimmer than Karasu all around, even when they’re the same height.
And, well, like this, it feels like he’s towering over Karasu. Like this, Karasu can’t make out the look on his face.
“I’ll turn off the light,” Hiori says. Karasu nods, even though Hiori is already turning away. His mouth is strangely dry.
Darkness bursts forth in the room after the click of the lamp, and all of a sudden, Karasu is floating in an empty, desolate void. It’s so weird, to feel so unfamiliar in his own room, in this space he knows blind. The bed dips under Hiori’s weight, and there’s the sound of Hiori’s breath, and the rustle of the blanket. Karasu’s eyes haven’t gotten used to the dark yet. He wonders if Hiori’s are. Wonders if Hiori can see him.
“Hiori,” slips out of him, for some reason, sounding almost startled in the dark. His face burns, burns, burns, but there’s no way that’s visible.
Hiori hums. “I’m here,” he says. “It’s jus’ me.”
Which is almost funny coming from the guy who’s been moping this whole time, really. Karasu wants to laugh, wants to tease right back—though Hiori does always sound much too sincere for his own good—but his mouth is too dry, and his tongue won’t work right. In the silence, Hiori shifts under the blanket proper, limbs brushing Karasu’s with how narrow the bed is. They’re both rather tall. It’s no good like this.
For a long while, that’s it, though. Hiori just shifts a little bit more to get comfortable, Karasu supposes, and then it’s just the silence of Karasu’s bedroom and Hiori’s faint breathing that makes Karasu ever so aware of his own. Slowly but surely, his eyes get used to the dark, too.
For a long while, that’s it. Karasu almost thinks he’s succeeded in falling asleep, actually; his whole body has gone lax despite himself, his breathing evening out, and his brain is floating somewhere else entirely, lost in a molasses-slow and sticky void. It’s not that easy, it’s never that easy, but his brain has shut down to the base level of awareness, and…
He shifts, turns to his side to get into a more comfortable position. It takes quite a while, and for Hiori to start squirming a little, for Karasu’s brain to come online enough to realize—
Well. His hand’s on Hiori’s dick, is the thing. Hiori’s hard dick.
Maybe hard is an overstatement. It’s, like, half-hard at most, probably. And why is Hiori lying on his back, anyway? Who the fuck sleeps like that? What is he, fucking Dracula?
Karasu’s face heats up. Hm. Oh. Hm. Right. Hm.
He’s parting his lips to make a joke to lighten the mood, or something, just anything, when he realizes that he still hasn’t moved his hand, and that it’s Hiori who’s speaking, voice low and soft in the darkness.
“Um,” Hiori says. “Sorry. I just—Um, it’s muscle memory, I guess.”
Karasu breathes. Everything is so slow. He’s so tired. They don’t have school tomorrow, which is probably their saving grace here. Yay to the weekend, and all that. His hand is still on Hiori’s boner. Outside, the rain prattles on undeterred.
“What, do ya usually jack it right before goin’ ta sleep?”
Hiori squirms. Bullseye. Karasu’s hand is still on Hiori’s boner. Slowly, Karasu swallows, blinks, but everything is all floaty and weird. Maybe he did fall asleep, and is disoriented now because of that. Maybe he did fall asleep, and he’s dreaming now. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
“Hiori,” Karasu finds himself saying. “Want help with that?”
Hiori stops breathing, and it takes Karasu a second or two to realize the absence of the noise. He’s still not moving, either.
But this is good, isn’t it? Like this, it’s…
Well. He can help Hiori out. And being straightforward like this, too, he’ll look…
“Karasu,” Hiori breathes, voice reedy and so rough every hair on Karasu’s body starts standing on end. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Christ. He’s really in it now, ain’t he?
“I’m kiddin’,” Karasu says, finally moving his hand off Hiori’s boxers—not too fast, hopefully, not too startled—thankful for the cover of the dark, and how it veils his burning face. “Sorry, I wasn’t payin’ attention, I was almost asleep.” And then, because he can’t help himself, and because it truly does feel like an alien space in here: “Yer a virgin, aren’t’cha?”
“Yeah,” says Hiori. Who’s not turning away like one might expect, he just stays exactly where he is, still lying on his back. Breathing softly, a little shallow. Karasu’s blood is rushing. How is he supposed to fall asleep like this, anyway? “Are you?”
“Nah,” Karasu says, even though it’s a lie. Hey, it’s not like Hiori can fact check this, or anything.
“Have ya ever gotten a blowjob?”
Huh. “Nah,” Karasu repeats.
“Me neither.”
Which, duh. He’s a virgin, they’ve been over this; though Karasu supposes he could have gotten his dick sucked without getting it wet otherwise. Hiori’s just not the type though, is he? Karasu’s never even seen him talk to a girl, which, to be fair, most of their time together is in fact spent at Bambi Osaka since they don’t go to the same school, so there ain’t any girls to begin with, but…
Well, Karasu can’t imagine it, is the thing.
“Karasu-kun,” Hiori murmurs. “What do I do?”
Karasu swallows, and swallows, and swallows. For a moment, he considers offering to leave the room so Hiori can jack off, or something. Or maybe direct Hiori to the bathroom to go jack off in there. Something like that. Just anything.
“Want me to help?” he asks instead, once more.
“Wouldja?”
Jesus Christ. This feels like a dream. It really does feel like a dream. Why the fuck is he lying in a bed with Hiori Yo, discussing the matter of his boner? Why the fuck is he offering this? And why is Hiori accepting?
Hiori shifts, and it takes Karasu until he’s kicking a little to realize that he’s taking off his underwear, and kicking off the blanket in the process. That he’s now in his bed completely nude. “Karasu-kun…” he says—breathes—with that soft voice of his. Karasu is buzzing everywhere. His face, his chest, the nape of his neck is burning so much he’s overheating with it, so much he’s sure Hiori must be able to feel it. Radiating off him, until they’re both going to burn up in the dark.
It’s… They’re sleepy. They’re way too sleepy and Hiori was way too sad, and you get all loopy from that, it’s true. Karasu knows a thing or two about that, what with his constant battles with insomnia, and all. He does.
Mindless, Karasu scoots down, down, down. In the dark, he can’t see much at all. There’s the shape of Hiori, and the softness of his skin whenever Karasu brushes him. There’s the vague outline of ribs, and a hip bone, and long, muscular legs. There’s—
Well.
“Y’don’t have to, um, blow me,” Hiori says, voice all shy. When Karasu flicks his gaze up his body to look at him, he’s pretty sure Hiori’s face is a deeper grey than the rest of him. Flushed. Red, red, red. “No one’s ever blown me before.”
Which they’ve been over literally just right now. Karasu knows that already.
Karasu can’t help it, he thinks he’s got him. For some reason, that’s what he feels, for some reason, it swells and swells and swells in his chest in something like triumph. He’s got him. There’s Hiori: squirming on Karasu’s bed, entirely naked, dick hard. There’s Hiori: all flustered, because of how close Karasu’s face is to said dick.
“S’okay,” Karasu says, brushing a hand up Hiori’s thigh, trying for soothing (and teasing). Hiori makes a noise like it’s punched out of him, and there’s a bob of what’s likely his dick. Throbbing. Karasu’s palm is prickling. “I’ll take care a’ ya.”
Karasu’s never gotten a blowjob, but he’s never given a blowjob, either. Now, Hiori’s probably aware of that, but Karasu doesn’t want to make him too aware of it. Ideally, he won’t be thinking anything at all, and certainly won’t be thinking about Karasu, scrutinizing and picking him apart. Ideally.
His lashes feel very heavy when he blinks, but his blood is so warm, so warm that he feels like he’s floating, that he’s nearly dizzy off it. He leans in and misses the mark a little—bony, so it’s Hiori’s hip—but makes his way over there by touch.
The first thing that he thinks when his lips and his chin brush against Hiori’s cock is That’s all of it? Which is mean, maybe. It’s not bad at all. He really doesn’t mind.
The second thing is that it’s really very warm. Hiori is warm all over, but here he’s hot, and he smells, well, like dick. Karasu’s lips brush the tip—it’s soft, almost plush to the touch, and very slippery, too—and Hiori moans, and it smells like dick, but not exactly like Karasu’s own would. It’s hard to describe, and would be even if Karasu weren’t half asleep.
Experimentally, he gives it a lick, feels it throb against him; feels the throb inside of him, then, too. In his boxers where he’s actually also very hard. He hadn’t even noticed that.
“Fuck—” Hiori gasps, making Karasu’s ears tingle. It’s weird, to hear a sweet voice curse like that.
And he’s got him. Karasu got him. Hiori is twitching and whining and dripping precum all over his belly, underneath where Karasu is mouthing and nosing, and Karasu’s got him. Fuck, this feels good. He thought it might, but this is…
Well, fuck. Maybe he is dreaming.
“Kara—su,” Hiori gasps. Karasu lifts his head a little, grins at the vague silhouette of Hiori’s (slightly lifted, too) head, lips parting to—
Well, tease. Say something like Patience, or That bad already? or Shhh, I’m already on it, ain’t I? or Can’t a guy have a bit of fun? but he doesn’t get to say any of that. No, instead, there’s suddenly something in his mouth, and it takes the salty taste of skin to arrive in Karasu’s head for him to realize that it’s Hiori’s thumb. Hooking open Karasu’s jaw, creeping inside and inside and inside along Karasu’s molars.
“Quit teasin’.”
Karasu thinks again, quite vividly, that he must be dreaming. Hiori’s propping his dick up with his free hand, that much he can make out, and he’s pulling Karasu closer, closer, closer, and Karasu goes down with him, because what else is there to do? He must be dreaming. Hiori bumps the head of his dick against Karasu’s teeth, against Karasu’s tongue, hisses from the back of his throat, and then simply pushes inside.
It’s not much, but Karasu’s first instinct is still to gag. Hiori moans, slips his finger free to grab into Karasu’s hair, pulling him down further until he does bump the back of Karasu’s throat, making him gag again. Everything is fizzing around the edges.
“Karasu.”
Jesus. Fuck. Holy shit.
Hiori doesn’t move, which is a blessing. He’s—he must be all the way inside, or at least close to it, right? Karasu struggles, blinks, tries to keep his jaw slack to keep his teeth away. Tries to stop gagging, too, but it lingers right there, in spasms. He’s drooling so fucking much, holy shit. He’s drooling so much.
Okay. Okay. Okay.
What the fuck did he get himself into?
Karasu’s head spins. He tries to swallow, but it doesn’t really work, so he chokes a little, sputtering. Something drips out of his nostril. Hiori moans again, tapering off into a whiny noise, fingers twitching in Karasu’s hair. Oh, fuck. Perhaps Karasu bit off more than he can chew. Perhaps—
“Please,” Hiori says, perfectly breathy and lovely. Karasu’s eyes are burning, and so are his nostrils and the back of his throat. “Please, Karasu-kun, ah…”
Okay. Okay. Okay.
He can do this. Okay. He’s horrifically out of his depth, but he can do this. It’s okay. Hiori’s never gotten a fucking blowjob before, how is he supposed to tell the difference? By it either feeling good or fucking awful? Ludicrous. Ridiculous, frankly.
Okay. Okay. Okay.
Experimentally, once again, he bobs his head a little. Pulls back, presses his lips around Hiori’s cock as well as he can, then leans in to take it deeper into his mouth again. He’s not quite sure what the fuck to do with his tongue, though. Press it against Hiori’s cock? Like this? Or…
Well, he doesn’t get any further. Or, depending how you look at it, he does.
Hiori gasps a loud, wounded noise and pushes Karasu’s head down on him all the way. It’s blinding, the throb that wracks through Karasu’s whole body; the way his throat protests, convulses, so much so that it takes him a bit to notice that he cannot breathe, and that Hiori’s cock is in fact throbbing in his mouth, twitching, flooding him with something very salty and very bitter.
Karasu chokes. Gags, coughs, sputtering around Hiori’s dick, drool and spunk and whatever-the-fuck spilling out of his mouth and his nose and down Hiori’s cock. God, this is gross. God, this is so gross. His whole bed’s gonna be gross. This is so—
Karasu throbs, and throbs, and throbs. Hiori’s breathing is so fast. Karasu can’t really hear anything else. He gags again, and this time, it makes his head spin.
“Sorry,” Hiori whines, “sorry, sorry, sorry—” but he still doesn’t fucking let go of him.
When he finally does, Karasu all but rolls off him. Grasps his hand around his throat, coughing, feeling the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he finally, finally, finally swallows, then swallows again. Gulps in big breaths of air, everything still fizzing around him. Jesus Christ. Holy shit.
“Sorry,” Hiori repeats, very quietly, and perhaps it’s the dark, but he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “Um, are you okay? I’m—I’m sorry.”
“Jesus,” wheezes Karasu. “Fuck’s—fuck’s yer problem, eh? Can’t jus’—fuck—yank a guy ‘round like that, ya hear me?”
“Sorry.”
Karasu massages his throat, blinks against bleary eyes. Fuck, he needs to get tissues; he only swallowed a bit and the rest went all over Hiori, plus he needs to blow his nose. His face is seriously fucking wet.
Cursing, he climbs over Hiori to get up. Stumbles a little in the dark, and with how everything inside of him is still jittering, nose and throat and eyes burning. He can barely see anything, anyway, but now he also has to keep fucking blinking with how his eyes smart.
“S’okay,” he says, once he’s all the way over by his desk. It’s dark, dark, dark, and still he feels like Hiori’s watching him, feels it flush him all over. He wonders what he’s thinking about; but that’s stupid, because Hiori’s… well, Hiori fled here, he hardly has time to consider Karasu being bad at sucking dick, does he? “I guess virgins are just rather eager, eh?”
Hiori doesn’t say anything, but that doesn’t matter.
It’s different, Karasu realizes. Right now, the silence is different from how it was earlier; much less heavy, much more comfortable, almost. Almost like how they usually are. Who knew he’d only need to suck Hiori’s dick for that?
God, the taste is still sticking in his mouth. He might have to go rinse it again. Would that be rude? He clears his throat, blows his nose and wipes at his stinging eyes. Tongues at his teeth, one after the other, finding them still tasting like jizz. Yuck. Whatever.
Turns back around with the tissue box, and holds it out to Hiori, who takes it.
“Clean up,” he says. In the darkness, Hiori’s head bobs in a nod.
Whatever. Hiori wipes at himself, and Karasu, feet strangely numb, makes do with grabbing his water bottle from the floor, taking a swig and swishing it around his mouth a bit before swallowing. Hm. Not good, but better.
“Want some?” he asks. Hiori shakes his head.
“Thank you,” he says, and Karasu isn’t entirely sure whether he means the blowjob, the tissues, or the fucking water. His head is all blurry and swirly. God, fuck, yeah, he needs to sleep. He thinks his hands are shaking.
“S’okay,” he says again. What else is there to say?
They settle back into bed. Karasu collects the tissues and throws them on his desk, then picks up the blanket, and they shift around until it’s halfway comfortable with two overgrown teenage athletes in Karasu’s narrow bed. Every brush of Hiori’s skin makes Karasu’s erupt in sparks.
It’s probably a dream. Or, rather: it’s very much not, but they can both pretend it was in the morning. Easy-peasy.
“D’ya need me to…” Hiori offers, hand gesturing vaguely down, then back up to Karasu’s face.
“Nope,” Karasu says, firmly, popping the p, and then he most definitely does not lie awake for torturously long, thinking about the faint taste in his mouth and the weird feeling in his jaw and his lips and the noises Hiori’d made, unable to banish any of it from spinning around and around and around in his head, while Hiori’s breathing has already evened out into faint snoring right next to him. Because that would just be fucking embarrassing.