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For the first time in a long time, Kokugoku Fortress is getting some new faces. Uruha wishes it had come in better circumstances, but ever since the end of the war any news seemed to be ill news in his mind. He is physically present for the changing of the guards, standing under the awning of the temple entrance and peering out over the edge of his cloak collar. Mentally, he is wandering an old battlefield, stumbling through corpses and mud and making his way towards a column of lightning erupting unnaturally. Was that really the last time he had seen Ibuki alive? He can’t remember any more. As soon as he had to give up Kumeyuri and go into protection, life felt like it had ended for him.
To be nineteen and jailed in a gilded bird cage – Uruha almost wishes he died in battle than face a lifetime of this. The first weeks at the fortress he was catatonic, recovering from the crash of perpetual adrenaline of the war. He almost enjoyed the next few months. Finally a chance to sleep a full night, take a shower whenever he wished, eat full meals fresh from a kitchen. The nightmares were easily dulled by the bottom of a sake bottle.
By the end of his first year, he was on the cusp of mania.
The Kamunabi of the fortress treated him with an air of reverence that made him something otherworldly in their eyes. Something untouchable. All he wanted was to be touched – it was getting to the point where he didn’t care if it was from desire or disgust. Training and mock fights weren’t enough to satiate the hunger. The occasional fling with a junior officer barely made a dent in the yearning of his heart. Especially when they were quickly shuffled out of the Kokugoku ranks whenever they inevitably let slip their secret engagements.
The first year of chafing at the boundaries of his internment turned into five, and five turned into ten. He lost count sometime in the leadup to twenty years. His fire had dimmed, on the verge of flickering out. His agitation had been smoothed at the edges like a rock slowly tumbled downstream until it lost all semblance of its original form. How much longer did he have to wait until he was fully eroded away into nothing?
So he did not truly expect anything significant to occur with something as simple as the changing of his guards. Even the news of Ibuki’s demise did little to jostle him back to life, and the thought of his restrictions being tightened was making the days seem even more hopeless. The new recruits to his personal squadron dutifully line up in front of him, shuffling nervously in the presence of the war hero. They all bow and he half-heartedly returns the favor, eyes glazed over as he slides his vision over their faces one by one. The last one in line bears a faint resemblance to the Misaka brothers, and Uruha can't help but remember the news that started this whole uproar within the Kamunabi.
Uruha’s mind aimlessly wanders again as the introductions begin down the line of new guards. Why should he care? They might not last a year at this dull assignment - at least they could leave.
I wonder how Natsuki is taking the news. The one on the end kinda looks like him at this angle...
How would he look with piercings like Nat's along his lip? For a soldier his lips look really soft.
What kind of chapstick works that well? I wonder if he has a flavor he prefers…
What if I could get a taste-
“-uha…? uh, Uruha-san? Were you listening?”
“Of course, carry on.” Fuck. He missed his name, actually he missed most of their names, because of a stupid train of thought he couldn’t control. But he only cared about that one. Surely someone else would address him eventually and Uruha could pluck it out of the air, pretending he knew all along. The one on the end, in the bandana, quirks the corner of his mouth up in a quickly subdued laugh. He definitely knew Uruha was caught off-guard, and Uruha was grateful for the cover of his collar to keep his frown out of sight.
“All right… well, thank you for joining us on assignment here, Captain Fushimi. Please make yourselves at home, you’ll find the fortress a hospitable base as far as stations go. We’ll discuss shifts and expectations tomorrow, feel free to explore and get familiar with your new accommodations.”
Fushimi. Fushimi. I hope I can remember it.
The guards all bow once more, and splinter off to mingle with the existing soldiers who were part of the welcome ceremony to get tours or introductions. But Fushimi, he stays put staring at the commander of the fortress and Uruha, trying to meet his gaze. If he was going to devote his life to the man, he’d like to get to know him a little more. He gives a personal thanks to the commander, and then steps over to better get a look at Uruha who is currently trying his best to hide like a turtle in the folds of his cloak.
Fushimi has to summon all his training to keep a straight face, coughing under his breath to hide the laugh that almost comes out. He opts for a courteous bow to give him a moment to collect his composure once more.
Is he serious? I didn’t think he could get embarrassed.
The history books never described him like this, its almost a relief he's still just a guy.
Wow the photos never did his face justice either. I always wondered if that's makeup or a tattoo...
Oh shit am I staring-
“Hi, Uruha-san, I’m your new captain. I was thinking… maybe that we could spend the afternoon getting on the same page? You’re my first bodyguard assignment, and well, I was hoping you might have some suggestions for how you want this to work?”
Uruha finally meets his eyes, and Fushimi is taken aback by the gloom clouding over them. Even the enchanted blade bearers were mere mortals worn by the passage of war and time, and Fushimi's idolization of them is tempered by this realization. Uruha is knocked down a step in Fushimi’s mind, not in respect but in reach – maybe Fushimi can keep him on just a slightly lower pedestal. A less lonely one.
"I prefer to keep to myself, Captain. But you'll find the fortress a boring assignment soon enough." He doesn't offer more conversation than that.
It's not worth getting attached I'm no hero.
You'll be gone before the next spring and I'll still be here…
They stand in silence for a moment longer before Uruha sighs and turns, motioning for Fushimi to follow him into the fortress. Despite the captain’s enthusiasm, Uruha has learned this lesson long ago. He will be cordial, but he won’t dare let his heart dream of something better than these dark days. Even if the summer wind has brought someone so bright to the bars of his cage.
The Kamunabi were slow to reveal the details about the night of Ibuki’s assassination, and how he wasn’t the only victim of the attack. Fushimi had the unenviable task of breaking the news to Uruha about Kunishige’s death, about the theft of Kumeyuri, and had to watch this already broken man in front of him sink further into his despair. He thought back to the first day when Uruha aimlessly wandered through the fortress, pointing at various rooms and people with an air of dissociation about it all. Fushimi hadn’t really understood what would drive Uruha to this, but after a few days with him it was slowly coming together.
This fortress was no better than a zoo enclosure for him; a dangerous beast to keep away from the public, an endangered creature too precious to go extinct, always gawked at from afar and never truly at home in this place. The other guards would bow their heads and scurry out of the way whenever they approached, as if it was blasphemous to get too close. Rooms would go silent the moment they stepped foot inside. A hundred or more soldiers stationed here and it may as well have been solitary confinement. It was enough to drive anyone mad.
Fushimi vows to be different, to prove to Uruha that just because they are his guards does not mean they cannot be friends. He knows there will be a limit to how close he can get, but what is a squad if not comrades in arms? He and his team will be the ones to bring light to those dark eyes, he’s sure of it.
Staring at the present Uruha, face down on the table next to an upturned sake cup, Fushimi isn’t so sure any more.
Is he upset about their deaths, or is this something else? No one can use Kumeyuri so he can’t be guilty…
does he wish it was him who died that night instead? I don’t know, how do I help...
“Hey, don’t worry. You’ve got us to protect you, nothing is going to happen again. They’ll get the blades back, and maybe after they return to Kamunabi custody we can all get outta this stuffy fortress for a break?” he tries to appeal to Uruha’s craving for freedom, to give him something to hold onto for the time being. He knows it's not much, and barely a promise he doesn’t even know if he can keep, but he has to try something.
“They won’t do that… even when they had the blades they sent me to waste away here. I can’t fight, I can’t leave, what’s the point, Fushimi?”
I want to die... I want to die… I want to die... I want to die...
please just let me go…. why does it matter so much to you?
Fushimi averts his eyes from Uruha’s distressed form laying over the table, turning to look out the window to the peaceful scenery of the fortress. It really was a serene place, despite being a base full of painful memories from the war long ago.
“The point is to survive, Uruha-san. If not for yourself, or duty, then for your memories of the comrades we've lost. Who will remember them if you’re gone? The textbooks? The museums? That’s no way to remember a man while his friends still draw breath. Tell me about Rokuhira, and I will help you survive this loss.” Uruha turns his head to look up at Fushimi, and is met with a small sincere smile; it cuts through the despair like the first peek of sunlight through the thunderstorm before it clears.
Uruha’s vision starts to swim, but he coughs it away and sits up, fixing the sake cups and grabbing the flask to pour two of them out.
"Rokuhira-san was the one who chose me to wield Kumeyuri… or maybe he made Kumeyuri just for me. It was the happiest day of my life.”
Fushimi raises his sake in remembrance, and lets Uruha reminisce the rest of the afternoon. It isn’t much, but every now and again Fushimi sees a flash of life return to his eyes when he recalls an especially fond memory. Eventually he lets Fushimi get a few words in, and they find that the war has a terrible way of linking them all to that dark time.
"Care for 'nother drink, Fushee?" Uruha pours another glass without waiting for a response.
Please don't leave me alone. Please stay. Stay a little longer…
Fushimi is already a few cups in but he can't refuse such an earnest plea. He laughs brightly as he accepts the cup, spilling a little on the table as their fingers brush together sharing the drink. Maybe Uruha’s heart can flutter a little in its guarded cage at the thought of a friend after all this time.
That dismal afternoon planted the seeds of something that Uruha was too afraid to dare hope they would grow; but between his tears and Fushimi’s warm grin, he was certain they could blossom eventually. Into what that would be exactly, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know what he wanted that something to be just yet so he had to content himself with letting Fushimi try and make his days worth living for. It was endearing to have this junior officer care so much for his wellbeing as a person, not a hero, and at times he was almost cute with how enthusiastic he was about making sure Uruha was enjoying his imprisonment; because despite everything, imprisoned he still remained.
At least this jailbird had a companion these days, Uruha idly thinks to himself in bed, alone in the quiet dark like always.
Fushimi had enjoyed seeing Uruha relive his happier memories, small as those glimmers had been, and he was determined to find ways to bring that same lively Uruha back to the present. He had told his team to try and treat Uruha like one of them, and though confused they promised to try their best. But almost as soon as he had suggested it Fushimi felt something twist up inside, like he wished he had kept Uruha’s friendship for himself. Was it the selfishness of wanting to be the closest friend of such a decorated hero, or something else? Fushimi wasn’t quite sure how to name this feeling, so he had to just try and be the brightest light in Uruha’s dark eyes in hopes of keeping his attention on him at all times.
This meant meals together in the mess hall to make sure Uruha was never subjected to a silent room again. And if Uruha wanted drinks then he would do it with friends to make it a celebratory evening in place of a night of sorrowful rumination. Fushimi remembered the way other soldiers in the halls would give Uruha a wide berth, not daring to come within arms’ reach – so he made it a point to casually invade Uruha’s space whenever he reasonably could justify it. A slap to the back when jogging to catch up to him in the halls; a friendly kick under the table after a particular heinous joke over sake. A pinched cheek when Uruha let himself sink especially low into his memories of the war in random moments of quiet calm.
Uruha is reminded of his days at the dojo, being the annoying junior to Samura and others, and wonders if this is divine retribution for all the headaches he caused them in his mischievous youth. It was startling how quickly Fushimi was able to fit naturally into his daily life, and Uruha struggles to remember what his time at the fortress was like before he arrived. He knows he can’t let it get too far, for Fushimi’s sake and for his own.
In spite of it all, Uruha finds himself enjoying the attention. It’s the first he’s had in a long time, and his heart flips every time Fushimi's touch finds its way to his lonely existence.
His arms seem like they’d be nice around my shoulders. I wonder if I could ask for a hug, or would that make it weird.
Don’t be greedy, stupid, be happy he’s doing this much… I wish I could be brave enough to hold his hand at least- Oh stop it! We can’t!
It’s almost surprising to Fushimi how quickly his plan appeared to be working, but he could not be fooled by the act Uruha was putting on to appease him. Uruha laughed loudly and easily at the team’s antics during breaks, though his laughter died down quickly as soon as he thought no one would notice. He never shied away from Fushimi’s hands whenever they made their way to his vicinity, but as soon as Fushimi’s attention was turned Uruha would pull away to break the contact. Despite the wide smile over drinks, his eyes remained distant and empty. He played the part well, an old war dog given a new leash on life with his younger squad forcing him out of the gloom.
All the more reason Fushimi’s hands twitched any time they were close enough to touch, to hope this would be the one to finally make Uruha lower his guard.
How far will he let me go? He’s put up with it so far… an embrace does wonders for the spirit would that be allowed?
I really want to hold him- NO oh my god keep it professional that is your superior officer we’re gonna get court martialed.
This standoff continues week after week, Uruha keeping the distance between them despite Fushimi’s attempts at bridging it casually. Slowly Fushimi begins to understand the madness of this base – the routines become stale no matter how much variety they try to add and the beauty becomes suffocating when it's the only view day after day. He can’t imagine this for a decade, and he comes to understand Uruha’s reluctance to give in to a new whim when it might disappear tomorrow. He hopes he isn’t a passing fancy in Uruha’s eyes, a fleeting bird hopping around an unmoving statue bound to this place.
He isn’t really sure what he hopes he is in Uruha’s mind, when he stops to think about it.
Today’s routine is interrupted by a request for a training drill for a visiting officer, to demonstrate the team’s proficiency for the job and their continued effort to remain battle ready at a moment’s notice. Fushimi’s team starts with their solo drills, each one unleashing a barrage of sorcery for scrutiny and a little showing off. When it comes time for Fushimi’s performance, he finds himself scanning the audience to see if there’s a familiar pop of green poking out among the crowd to watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Uruha near the back trying to not look too interested but still watching his every move.
Uruha is watching idly from across the training pavilion, curious to see how Fushimi’s sorcery worked. He can’t remember the sensation of calling forth his own sorcery, and only the faintest memory of Kumeyuri still pulses in the back of his mind as though he could still sense it if he really tried. So he’s fascinated by these new elite fighters and the tricks they can pull in a fight. He notices Fushimi looking around until he locks eyes with Uruha, and with a grin he begins his demonstration that feels like its for Uruha’s attention alone.
Fushimi’s hands are precise and controlled, summoning trails of smoke into weapons and Uruha finds himself staring a little too hungrily.
Oh those hands… I wonder if they are rough like mine, he doesn’t handle real weapons… feeling soft as they run up my shirt or even trailing down-
NO! STOP! No more flings with handsome juniors. Even if you want his fingers to- FUCK STOP IT!!!!
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he tries to return his focus back to watching the demonstration until it's complete. Fushimi is sweating from the exertion, beaming with satisfaction as the first thing he does is turn to see if Uruha had seen it all. Despite having done nothing but watch, Uruha is feeling rather warm under his cloak when he offers the smallest smile back to see Fushimi’s reaction. The cage holding his heart rattles with how fast its beating, and he has to try and pull himself together to prepare for his own bored demonstration.
Once the sorcery skirmishes have been thoroughly evaluated, taking up nearly the entire morning, the officers move on to the melee fighters. Fushimi slowly makes his way through the ranks to return to Uruha’s side, standing silently as they watch the demonstrations slowly go up through the ranks of the stationed soldiers.
“What did you think, Uruha-san?” Fushimi asks, leaning over to whisper it into Uruha’s ear. He can hear the unspoken question between the words, under the smile he doesn’t have to see to know it's there like it always is. Did you like what you saw? Like a puppy looking for approval that it did good and wants a treat; all new captains are the same wanting to prove themselves – if only they knew the effect some of them had on their seniors. The proximity sends a shudder down Uruha’s spine, and he has to gather his composure before whispering back without turning his head.
“You’re…. very adept with your hands. It was thrilling to witness.”
Fushimi stands back up to attention, shifting his weight imperceptibly on his feet. Adept. Your hands. Thrilling. Was that what Uruha had focused on for his entire demonstration? On the surface, it was as Uruha always acts – professional and distant to play the role as was expected of him when around the soldiers. But the underlying insinuation was intimate, and this was a game Fushimi was slowly learning to play with Uruha. Everything had a double meaning, to avoid drawing attention or being caught in the open. He’s glad his routine was first, the exercise would be an easy excuse to wave off the tint of pink that he can feel across his cheeks.
“I’ll be watching, Uruha-san.” It’s a quick whisper, for Uruha’s ears only, as he gets ready to make his way to the sparring ring to demonstrate his famous Iai draw style. It earns Fushimi a quick glance from the corner of Uruha’s eyes through the green fringe of his bangs, before turning to continue forward without another word. Fushimi certainly thinks he’s clever, but the kid is not subtle, and Uruha allows himself a small hidden smile inside his cloak. He figures he’ll actually try this time, to make it interesting for his apparently rapt audience of one.
Uruha assumes the stance across from a sparring mannequin – no one at the fortress could parry the full force of his attack. He glances to the side to see if he still has Fushimi’s undivided attention. Good. The viewing arena grows still, waiting with bated breath knowing the speed of the Iai style will mean it's over if they dare to blink. Uruha’s hands clench tightly over the scabbard and hilt, the creak of the wrapping under his fingers audible in the silence. He draws in a calm breath, and he’s past the mannequin having cut it in half with his sword that’s in the air before the majority of the audience can even register that he’s moved.
Fushimi’s eyes are transfixed by the mastery of Uruha’s hands flipping the blade effortlessly in the reversed draw, curling and caressing around the hilt to move with no wasted effort.
His hands are so different here than around a sake cup. Each finger is so strong.
I bet he could pin my wrists with a single hand and I couldn’t-
WAIT what am I thinking? Do I want his hands like that? What is this feeling he’s-
Uruha bows to the crowd and returns to his spot at Fushimi’s side, distracting him from the tumultuous thoughts crashing around in Fushimi’s mind. Uruha can practically see the wheels turning and grinding behind Fushimi’s eyes after his demonstration, and it almost makes him burst out laughing. Oh he appears to have broken his poor junior. He slips a hand out of his cloak and subtly waggles the fingers in eyesight of Fushimi. The blonde’s attention is immediately pulled to the movement, and his face goes a shade pinker as more thoughts begin to churn and multiply in his mind.
“What did you think, Fushimi-kun?” All of Fushimi’s braincells coalesce into a single thought in response.
Oh fuck. That’s the feeling I was afraid of. This is bad.
Fushimi has been suspiciously absent from Uruha’s days in the time since their flashy demonstrations for each other. Before his arrival, Uruha would never have noticed one of his guards disappearing for any amount of time. Now… Fushimi had made such an effort to impose himself upon Uruha that even a few hours was enough feel the lingering gap he left behind. The rest of the squad continued their less intense proximity to Uruha as Fushimi had first ordered, but they offered no helpful suggestions as their captain wasn’t missing in their eyes. Which confirmed Uruha’s suspicions that he specifically was being avoided.
Out of the corner of his eye he can sometimes catch a glimpse of Fushimi, blonde hair bright in the sun as he passes a room and walks faster when he realizes Uruha is already inside. Or he's talking to his squad in the distance but by the time Uruha joins them the captain has already disappeared like the smoke he commands. He's surprisingly elusive in such a small base, but Uruha figures his time ingratiating himself into the daily habits of his charge has made Fushimi uniquely equipped to avoid him entirely.
He tries not to think too hard about how the moments they shared made it easier for Fushimi to disappear so effortlessly from his life.
Uruha knows he shouldn't let this bother him, that it was better for the both of them if Fushimi took himself out of the complicated feelings before it escalated to something worse. Someone had to be the responsible one, and his career was still young so of course he'd be the one with some sense left in his head for rules and regulations. It was Uruha's childish optimism that had hoped this time would be different, that he'd be allowed to enjoy something for once, rules be damned. Hadn't he sacrificed enough of himself, for the Kamunabi, for the nation - was he so guilty for selfishly wanting something for the man left behind when the grime and glory of war was wiped away?
The confusion of the first few days slowly makes way to anger, not at Fushimi but the unfairness of it all. Uruha finds himself starting to disrupt his own habits to turn the tables and make Fushimi look at him again. He just wants to be seen. He can't fade back to the dark fortress background after Fushimi dragged him into the spotlight and reminded him what it felt like to be among friends again. It's desperate, and pathetic, but Uruha doesn't care. It doesn't take long for Uruha's erratic actions to successfully catch Fushimi off guard, coming face to face suddenly in the hall or in the barracks. Every time his captain looks startled, as if afraid of his sudden appearance, and Uruha's heart withers a little more behind its bars. The anger cools into the familiar melancholy that has kept Uruha company all this time in his lonely banishment.
So he decides it is time for one last surprise, sliding into the dining hall seat across from Fushimi at the oddest hour possible. He had just sat down with a full tray so there'd be no good excuse to scurry off and after a day of sparring Uruha gambled on him being too hungry to abandon his dinner so easily. Judging by how Fushimi freezes suddenly rather than immediately making his way for the exit, Uruha's gamble seems to have paid off if only for the moment.
Wide eyes slowly trail up Uruha's arms where they poke out of his cape, Fushimi's cheeks growing pink before the braincells catch up and remind him why he was going to such lengths to avoid Uruha.
Don't look don't look oh god… I've missed those eyes…
NO you can't let your personal feelings complicate the assignment…
I wonder if he feels the same about me NOPE don't go wishing for what you can't have, idiot.
Panic drains the color from his face and his eyes dart to the side to judge how alone they are in the dining hall. He isn't sure whether he should be relieved or worried when he realizes there can't be more than a handful of night guards in a far off corner. Before he can bolt, Uruha's hand reaches to rest on Fushimi's forearm and try to hold him in place for only a moment.
"If you want to leave, I won't stop you. I just wanted the chance to say sorry for what I may have done to cause you so much trouble. It's been so long since I've had a squad I let myself get careless…" Glancing down where their arms lay tense on the table, Uruha sighs and avoids meeting Fushimi's eyes as he pulls his hand back into the isolating layers of his cloak.
"You're a great captain, Fushimi. I'd hate for my behavior to be the reason you get demoted from this assignment. You deserve better than guarding a broken war relic. I can put in a good word for your transfer if it helps…"
Please say no. Please stay. Tell me I'm wrong, that I'm not alone in these feelings.
I know it's selfish, but I'm tired of losing everything close to me.
Please stay.
Uruha stands to leave Fushimi alone, not wanting to prolong the agony for either of them, when he feels a tug at the edge of his shirt. It was Fushimi's turn to avoid eye contact despite holding on to keep Uruha from disappearing too quickly; he chews on his lip trying to come up with the right words to play their game. If only he was any good at it.
"I don't want to leave, Uruha-san. I want…"
Well he certainly can't just blurt it out, alone or not. He knows how much hurt Uruha has suffered in these walls, and doesn't want to add to the heartache. A confession now would jeopardize the assignment entirely, and then how could he live with himself leaving Uruha all alone again? If Fushimi had realized his reaction to his own inability to keep a level head had been causing Uruha this much anguish, his resolve would have crumbled days ago. He remembers his promise to himself when he first arrived - that despite everything, they could be friends. They are friends. And Fushimi has been a pretty terrible friend acting like a child who can't behave around an immature crush.
Uruha hasn't moved, and Fushimi swears he's been holding his breath waiting for Fushimi to finish his thought.
"I want to say I'm sorry too. You aren't the only one who let himself get carried away. What kind of captain would I be if I couldn't handle an assignment like this? I want to stay, if you'll have me, even after my poor performance."
Say that you want me, that you need me.
That I'm not alone in these thoughts.
I won't leave again. I'll stay here forever if you let me.
He finally looks up, forcing a bright smile to show Uruha he meant it even if the guilt was sitting heavy in his gut. He knows its selfish, wanting to stay close even if he can't act on those feelings. Knowing he's keeping Uruha's hopes up for friendship when Fushimi is greedy for something more. Uruha's eyebrows raise a little in surprise, the only thing about his reaction Fushimi can make out over the collar, and the corners of his eyes crinkle the red petals painted over them in what Fushimi hopes is a smile.
"Of course, Captain. My guard wouldn't be the same without you."
His guard. He liked the sound that.
Fushimi sighs in relief, a small laugh as he feels the tension in his chest melt suddenly. Uruha ducks his face even deeper into his collar to hide his expression at hearing Fushimi's laugh again after so long.
"Well, it's late so I won't keep you from your dinner any longer."
"How about keeping me company? It's awfully lonely this time of night."
Uruha's eyes dim a little at the invitation, but he sits down without question. Oh he knows how lonely these nights can be; his cage is a cold one and has been for longer than he can remember. But he can't resist the temptation of companionship even if it's kept tantalizingly out of his reach. They stay and talk well into the night, feeling like they have to make up for lost time even if it had been no time lost at all.
Their days resume the appropriately casual cadence with which they danced around each other before, but the restraint only makes the proximity more agonizing. Pesky thoughts bubble up at every meeting, every meal, and Fushimi isn't sure how long he can keep them to himself before he goes mad. Uruha stops drinking so deeply for fear of letting them slip out. It's a tense peace but the alternative was too unbearable to imagine, and so they swallow the discomfort with a strained smile to save the other a pain they think is theirs alone to bear.
The only distractions available in the base aren't of much help for these particular spiraling thoughts. The proximity is too intimate and yet the intimacy remains too liminal to grasp. Fushimi seems to have overcorrected his behavior from before; now instead of disappearing at every possible opportunity he remains no more than a breath away from Uruha while they are surrounded on all sides by the rest of the squad. Though Uruha notes that those skilled hands no longer invade his personal space, and he has to quell the thoughts that miss their warmth.
Uruha is brighter than ever before, and Fushimi's heart skips a beat with every wide smile flashed his way and all he thinks about is how to make it happen again. He tries to not notice the sinking sensation that inevitably follows in his stomach when the cold reality sets in that he can't ever get more than this from his commander, and he tells himself that should be more than enough to fulfill his greed. Fushimi's mission has succeeded, his career is secure, his friendship salvaged from his poor behavior. And yet his every night lasts too long with him awake too late and thoughts too scattered to feel satisfied with his days.
Desperate to work off the physcial frustrations they cannot act upon, the two of them find themselves in the gym far more frequently than the rest of the team who have no interest in keeping up with the seemingly manic fervor that has suddenly captivated their captain and commander. And so they are dangerously alone with their thoughts and no one to catch them staring hungrily nearly every day.
Uruha always opted for speed in his fighting style, and the fluidity of his body was a point of pride that he meticulously maintained while stretching in the open space of the gym. Fushimi can feel his mouth go dry staring at how far Uruha can bend every joint, every limb, in every direction.
Oh my god how far can that leg go it's practically above his head.
Uruha-san shaking as I press those knees to his shoulders, I can lean in to kiss him as we-
FUCK. NO. STOP THINKING. WEIGHTS LIFT WEIGHTS.
He is grateful that this gym is not covered with incriminating mirrors - he's not sure he'd be able to explain the slackjawed stare he casts towards Uruha's back every time they work out. Fushimi tears himself away to get started on his own routine, hoping the exertion proves tiring enough to stop these thoughts from multiplying beyond control.
Uruha is none the wiser of the effect he has on his captain in these poses, flexing and stretching in the most exposed clothes he owns. Despite still being covered nearly head to toe just the removal of his cloak and outer tunic feels scandalous to see his actual body shape, faint outlines of muscle peeking through when the fabric is pulled taut. Satisfied with the warmup, Uruha sits up to glance over his shoulder where Fushimi is grunting at the squatting rack and ignoring him.
The noises spilling out of Fushimi's mouth are deep, ragged, as he strains against what looks like too much weight to handle until he's upright every time with a groan that snakes into Uruha's ear and turns the heat up in his already flushed face.
Holy shit how many plates are on that bar his thighs are going to burst out of those shorts he can lift so much
I bet I could sit on them as he lifts up with those same noises in my eAR OH NO
NO NO STOP GET OUT OF HERE.
He goes for the water station and towels, burying his face in one to try and calm his thoughts before returning to the floor for the rest of his usual circuit through the gym. He avoids looking at Fushimi who is pouring sweat to the floor beneath him, and Fushimi tries to not notice where Uruha is going next in the gym so he doesn't stare for too long. The gym is full of lewd noises that the two of them struggle to ignore while desperately wanting to hear more as the closest they'll ever get to what they actually want from the other.
Fushimi is stretching on the floor to cool down and Uruha wanders over with a fresh towel to flop tiredly on the mat next to him. The exhaustion is a welcome distraction, another day survived so far with the thoughts they can't escape. His hair is in a mess clinging to his sweaty forehead, and Fushimi tries to not choke on the swallow of water he was sipping when he made the mistake of looking over. As he sputters around the water bottle Uruha cracks an eye open to see Fushimi finally took off that cap to try and restrain his sweaty hair up off his flushed skin, and the nape of his neck looks so inviting Uruha has to roll over and wipe away a streak of drool he didn't realize he let out.
The base is full of amusing distractions for the soldiers. If only they were more compelling than the biggest distraction sitting next to them in the gym right now.
"God I feel gross, but too tired to move. Drag me to the springs and toss me in, Fushiiimi," Uruha groans from the mat when Fushimi stands to leave the gym. He pretends to not notice the sing-song lilt in the way Uruha teases out his name.
"Uruha-san you have to shower first, and I'm only going to drag you once so choose shower or springs. Get up, I know this is a breeze compared to your dojo days." Uruha's heart stutters at the thought of Fushimi dragging him to the shower, but he sits up with a grumble and bounces to his feet to walk himself to the lockers.
The showers are quick, the glances furtive, and the towels are wrapped tight as they make their way to the springs. Their skin feels fresh and wiped clean of their dirty exertions; if only they could do the same with their thoughts. At least the springs aren't alone as the squad agrees to join for this part of the day, and they sit across from each other in the pool to make room for the rest of the team.
Uruha sits with his eyes just above the water line, staring at Fushimi through the steam as his heart feels like it's throwing itself against the bars of its cage. His captain's eyes are closed, his chest pink where it meets the warm spring water, making small ripples with every deep breath.
Soft, so soft, it looks so squeezeable I bet it would bounce ever so nicely above me,
trembling when he's gasping as he gets close and bending down to kiss me…
a nice dream, but an impossible one…
He knows it's not fair to keep Fushimi bottled up at this base for his own selfish reasons, let alone forced to stay so close by. Uruha never should have given him the choice, he obviously felt like he couldn't say no to his commander. But he knows he doesn't have the nerve to confront Fushimi a second time, or the strength to force him to leave, and so Uruha just stares in silent longing while hoping that some external force will end this suffering.
Uruha dips below the water to try and steam his thoughts out of his head before sitting up and heading for the rocky stairs to get out of the pool.
The distant splashing draws Fushimi's attention as he opens his eyes to watch Uruha walk away, the momentary concern is immediately overcome by thoughts that spring forth at the sight of Uruha's flexing back. His shoulders cut a sharp line in the skin and the muscles are accentuated by a myriad of scattered old war scars.
His back is so broad, the shoulders of a swordsman are incredible.
I want to kiss every one of those marks, I want run my fingers down that spine, I want see those muscles twitching under my hands…
God this is bad, I can't keep doing this…
And in a moment Uruha has disappeared inside without a word. Fushimi debates how soon he should follow after him. Nothing has changed today, but he can't help feeling like his commander is slipping into a morose mood that will make him spiral without intervention. Not to mention he didn't want to give the impression that he was too attached to be apart for long, definitely not in front of the squad.
So he waits. Fushimi waits and he fidgets in the water and chats with his team and mentally counts every tally on the clock that passes until it reaches the imaginary safe threshold he set. Excusing himself from the rest of the crowd, he quickly dresses to try and find where Uruha skulked off to. He wasn't in the dining hall, or the library, or the gardens. Fushimi's stomach falls with each visit, knowing he's getting closer to the worst options he doesn't want to face.
He finds Uruha alone in his dark room, slumped over at the table where they shared drinks all those weeks ago on the worst day of Uruha's life.
"Uruha-san…" Fushimi's voice is low as he enters, slowly sitting down and reaching out to take the cup from his friend's hand. The sake bottle feels close to empty when he takes it next, and the other one equally so. Sighing, he extends a nervous hand to try and shake Uruha awake to get his attention. He should put the older man to bed to sleep this off, but he isn't sure if he can do it alone.
Without warning Uruha's hand moves to grab at the wrist hovering over him, and he lifts his head to meet Fushimi's gaze. His eyes are red, cheeks wet, and Fushimi looks away as his chest tightens in guilt.
"F'shiiimi?" Despite the overwhelming heartache and the excessive drink, Uruha still can't help Fushimi's name coming out in singsong from his lips as his eyes light up ever so slightly at the sight of his captain. He struggles to sit upright with a groan, hand still clinging tight to Fushimi's arm.
"Don't leave me…stay here…" he mumbles, glancing around for the cups Fushimi had cleaned up.
"I think you need to go to bed, Uruha-san," Fushimi moves around the table to try and grab him by the shoulders to steer him away. "I can't stay here."
Big tears start to well up again in Uruha's glassy eyes, and he clings tighter to Fushimi's shirt.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't help it… but I can b'have, you'll forgive thee thoughts… I won' say't again, I love y-"
Fushimi presses a hand to his senior's mouth to keep the confession from flying out like an unfettered bird finally free from its cage. His heart is racing so loud he's surprised the whole base can't hear it. Uruha's eyebrows pinch together in confusion, mouth trying to continue speaking behind the hand holding his words back. Fushimi brings a finger to his own mouth to signal for silence, and Uruha's shoulders droop as he stops struggling to speak.
"Uruha-san… I only meant I cannot stay in your room for the night. I have no intention of ever leaving this assignment, or your side… but we cannot go further than this."
His words seem to bring Uruha a moment of relief, because he leans into Fushimi's shoulder with a deep shuddering sigh. What little spike of adrenaline had propelled him earlier finally ran out, and he sat heavy against his captain half-asleep. With a groan Fushimi sets him against the table and moves to roll the futon out before picking up the sleeping drunk.
Getting him settled into the sheets to sleep and hopefully wake up without the world's worst headache, Fushimi can't help himself brushing a hand across Uruha's brow to smooth his bangs away from those pinched sleeping eyes. Realizing Uruha will have no memory of this by dawn, he's emboldened to take the one chance he thinks he'll ever get — before he can talk himself out of it Fushimi is bending down to press his shaky lips to the corner of Uruha's eye, kissing against the marks that had fascinated him since the first day they met.
"I love you too, Uruha-san."
It's been several weeks since that secretive night of unheard confessions, and it seems to have brought a blanket of peace to their hearts. Even if the other did not hear it from their lips, the act of admitting their desire out loud was enough to relieve the tension they had been carrying all this time. Their days breathe easier, the cage a little less constrictive, and the thoughts are less intrusive.
But they are still there.
When Uruha's hands hold Fushimi's still while refilling his drink to not spill over. When Fushimi straightens Uruha's collar before a meeting with the base commander. The subtle glances in the bath and not-so-subtle stares everywhere else. The involuntary outbursts they wake up to with an embarrassed groan every other morning despite their best efforts to keep exhausted.
They should have known better than to give in to temptation when they agreed to an impromptu sparring tournament with the team. It's another attempt to keep the days interesting, and maybe a little friendly exchange of skills to keep them sharp by learning some tricks from the other soldiers. Uruha agrees eagerly - as a swordsman without sorcery and no grand blade he's curious to see what he can improve in his hand to hand combat. Fushimi is apprehensive at first but doesn't want to disappoint his senior and so tentatively agrees to go along.
In fairness to Uruha they agree no sorcery, and so on a cool fall morning they are all assembled out on the sparring pitch stretching and warming up, and Fushimi only has eyes for his eager commander. For the first time in a long time, Uruha's enthusiasm does not dim when he thinks no one is looking. If anything his smile gets wider when he catches his captain staring, and Fushimi has to duck his head down to try and calm his thoughts he never quite figured out how to manage.
The pairings are randomly counted out and Fushimi is grateful that he and Uruha are on opposite ends of the bracket - it just means he can openly ogle as the older man repeatedly grapples and locks his opponents with acrobatic ease without worrying that it was his turn next. Except he wishes he was next. He feels that faint twinge of jealousy as soldier after soldier gets to be headlocked by his commander and he has to content himself with no more than a handshake allowed in all this time together.
Unsurprisingly Uruha makes it to the top of his chain. All these sorcerers had become lax in their mastery of magical combat at the expense of their physical prowess, and they all eagerly began crowding him for suggestions and compliments after being so easily countered. Fushimi just grinds his teeth and moves to the field to begin his own matches. He knows it's petty, and unbecoming of a captain, but he wants Uruha's eyes only on him.
And he gets it before the match even begins - Uruha is motioning for everyone to clear a path so he can get a clear view of the easy work his captain is making of the competition. Those same hands that captivated him with their sorcery now move quickly and efficiently, disarming punches and grabbing legs to flip opponents in record time. Fushimi moves like a man possessed, climbing his own bracket until he too stands at the top.
The morning has given way to warmer temperatures, and they both sweat under the last dregs of summer sun refusing to admit that fall had come. Fushimi's hair sticks to his forehead and his shirt is tossed aside to get a breath of relief before what he is sure will be his toughest match of the day. He's distracted by Uruha lifting his own to wipe the sweat from his face, cheeks red from exertion as he attempts looking anywhere but directly at Fushimi. The rest of the squad sits exhausted around the edge of the field, muttering among themselves and snickering over some inside joke as they wait for the match to start.
The two men stand across from each other, Uruha flashing a competitive grin and Fushimi's lips curling in a confident smirk as they bow while their eyes stay locked on each other. Fushimi tries to take a steadying breath but the whistle indicating the start of the match has hardly finished ringing out before Uruha has closed the gap between them, his hands missing Fushimi by a hair as he stumbles back to dodge.
Oh fuck he's a terrifying opponent.
Fushimi dodges another rapid grab and deflects the next one, feeling the thrill of the match start to take over his caution. Uruha spins to sweep a leg and Fushimi catches sight of a bright smile despite the sweat and dirt. He lets out a shaky laugh, pushing himself harder to keep up with this playful demon.
This is fun. This is so fun. It's like we're dancing. I want to do this forever.
Uruha is excited to see Fushimi going all out. Able to match Uruha blow for blow. That's his captain, and he feels a surge of mine mine mine light up his brain as he ducks a hand and offers a retaliatory blow to Fushimi's leg. The world outside the match dims and they only have eyes for each other as the adrenaline starts to flood their judgment.
Fushimi knows he has no hope matching speed and so he opts for overwhelming Uruha with his size, not that it has much difference between them. Absorbing a hit with a grunt he gets close enough to throw his arms around Uruha's chest, pressing his hands down as Fushimi tries to bring him to the ground for a pin.
Uruha's legs wrap around the closest thigh he can reach, and he yanks himself down to slip free of Fushimi's grip. He blindly gropes around for an arm, and finding one, ducks to spin around to pin it against Fushimi's back as the momentum propels them both forward into the ground. Moving quickly, Uruha grabs the other flailing arm to pin down alongside the first and sits his whole weight on Fushimi's thighs to keep all his limbs trapped. Leaning down he huffs a breathless taunt into Fushimi's ear.
"Gotcha."
MINE. MINE. MINE. MINE. MINE. MINE. MINE.
They sit there panting hard trying to calm their racing hearts, and as the dust settles around them so does the reality of their current predicament. Uruha is settled in nicely against Fushimi's ass, grinding the two of them into the ground, and every attempt Fushimi makes to free himself just underscores the proximity they find themselves in.
Immediately Uruha is jumping to his feet and backing away to give Fushimi room to pick himself up. They dust their pants off and sheepishly avoid meeting each other's eyes as their audience loudly cheers mixed with what sounds like some suggestive wooing by Fushimi's direct reports. He just responds with an annoyed grimace and a quick bow to Uruha to concede victory before running to hide among the crowd, gratefully accepting water and a towel to cover his face.
The cage is cracked, and Fushimi doesn't know if he can resist for much longer after getting a taste.
He bides his time - he doesn't want to appear too desperate when he asks for a rematch, despite the not-so-subtle teasing from his squad mates who have been putting the pieces together and all but confirmed their suspicions that the captain was in love. The last headache either of them needed was to get dragged to the front of command and interrogated about their nothing maybe something not really anything. Fushimi's fear of dismissal made it easier to suffer in silence after all this time; he could wait a few more days before asking Uruha to spar again.
It wasn't all the unexpected when he asks, and Uruha had been hoping every day since that match would be the day Fushimi suggested a second dance. He agrees, probably too quickly, and they opt for an indoor match this time. It definitely isn't influenced by the presence of a locking door to hope for a moment of privacy in a base where too many prying eyes might ask the wrong questions.
On the surface, it starts normally enough. Uruha genuinely enjoys teaching and for his part Fushimi is willing to learn from this decorated hero. They move slowly through stances, pausing too long on the forms that have too much body contact to ignore, and pull away when they recognize the line they are crossing. The first match doesn't last long, enough for a few practice hits before Uruha calls for an early concession and leaves Fushimi alone, confused in the middle of the floor.
The next match, Fushimi realizes they are flirting with fire when he has to sheepishly excuse himself from his own requested match.
But they keep agreeing to a session when the other asks. They might be driving themselves insane with stolen touches that light up their nerves and can never be more than a glancing blow hidden in their fighting, but they can't live without them either. They found the perfect cover for their hunger, and it was addicting to consume the other in scandalous bites.
Uruha rarely got a true pin on Fushimi, often having to resort to unorthodox grapples or uncomfortable contortions that bent Fushimi at odd angles. Today he unexpectedly finds himself sitting on top as Fushimi struggles to get his arms out from underneath him.
His hips fit mine so well, I could sit here forever and ride these thighs.
Ohhh he feels like he'd fill me so full, he looks so cute flushed at this angle
I want to make him moan fuck fuck fuck keep cool fuck
"Ah sorry, are you alright? I hope nothing sprained," Uruha frets as he tries to ignore the rising heat in his gut.
Fushimi stops wiggling as his chest starts pounding, head and more throbbing as he can't listen to what Uruha is asking above him. He needs to get out of here.
I WANT HIM I WANT HIM
HIS ASS HIS MOUTH HE'S SO HEAVY ON MY DICK
FUCK HIM OH NO
"I'mfinejustalittleexhaustedineedtoGO."
Fushimi shoves Uruha off his hips unceremoniously as he rushes out his words and scrambles to his feet to practically sprint out of the room without looking back. If he had any blood left to think with he might have noticed the same effect he was leaving his commander with. Uruha could only laugh sadly to himself as he stood awkwardly to sneak back to his own room without startling an unsuspecting soldier in the halls.
They really were driving themselves to an early grave like this, but mutual misery was better than lonely misery at least.
It's the anniversary of the war's victory, and the base is in full celebration of the holiday. For the civilians it represents the relief of peace; for the soldiers it's a bittersweet memory. Those old enough to remember their days on the frontlines are especially restrained in their celebrations, and Fushimi worries the most for the one soldier who saw the worst of it all. He sways through the crowd and free flowing alcohol until he finds his familiar pop of green among the loudest circle of soldiers.
"-and jus' when we thought the Meekbeeoshi were gettin' the upper hand, BWKSHHHH in comes Ibuki!!! My hair was shtanding on end f'r a week!"
Huh. Fushimi didn't expect tales of grandeur recounting the war from Uruha, who always looked hollow at any mention of it. Then he counts the number of empty bottles and cups in front of his excitable commander and realizes this is his problem now. It's fun for a time but he knows the moment the mood loses momentum for even a second, it could crash. Mentally noting to reprimand his squad later who is gathered around and encouraging this, he slides in to sit alongside Uruha and keep an eye on the temporary mania. And maybe enjoy a side of his commander he's never had a chance to see shine.
Uruha really is a performer at heart - if not for the war Fushimi could see him commanding a stage easily. He preens under the attention, eager for the applause of his crowd. And yet his sharp green eyes keep turning to Fushimi, as if looking for approval from the only audience that matters. His captain is all too willing to provide it, his greed ignited by the realization that Uruha only wants his attention. The crowd keeps pushing drinks into both of their hands now, wanting to keep the show going for as long as the night will allow. Fushimi is glad the alcohol is the thing turning his cheeks pink to hide the rush that heats up his ears every time Uruha leans in too close or his lips get too wet, his eyes getting hungrier with every sideways glance at his increasingly flushed captain.
The night wears on and the party quiets down as the less practiced drinkers among them succumb to the intoxicated aftermath of their revelry. The older crowd has retired to the empty corners to commiserate over the less thrilling memories of war, and Fushimi is left alone at the table with a barely conscious Uruha who still reaches for another half-drank bottle abandoned by its previous owner. Fushimi deftly inserts a cup of water to his hand instead, sipping at his own as he feels the ghost of hangovers future threatening his life. Uruha frowns at the cup, and looks up at Fushimi with a gleam in his eyes as he smiles so sweetly.
"I've wanted to taste your lips since the day we met… and now I kinda want you to fuck mine. I want to make you blush harder than any drink tonight…"
You're lookin' a lil pink there, after all this time practicing with me you still can't hold your drink?
Careful or someone might think of sweeping you away before the party is over…
Fushimi blinks in shock, glancing down to make sure he didn't accidentally drink window cleaner or something stronger to hallucinate what he thought he just heard.
"Sorry? Uruha-san I didn't quite catch that?"
Those big green eyes just blink at him in confusion, trying to understand what Fushimi was asking; it's clear that Uruha also doesn't realize what he just admitted out loud. It doesn't matter Fushimi is already moving to grab Uruha by the elbow and drag him to his feet and head out of the big party hall to somewhere more intimate. The nearest janitor's closet is perfect.
"What did you want, Uruha-san?"
They are close, way too close and the air is getting hot with their heavy breathing as Uruha looks between Fushimi's desperate eyes and shaking lips.
"I wanna taste your mouth, I think."
Fushimi is already bearing down on him before he's done speaking, hands grabbing at his face to hold Uruha in place as he leans in too hard, crushing their lips together painfully until Uruha is gasping and Fushimi takes full advantage to kiss deeper, his tongue chasing the aftertaste of too many different drinks in Uruha's mouth. The muffled noises are more intoxicating than any drink he's had tonight, and he wants to swallow every single one of them as they pour out of Uruha's lips.
Uruha is melting in his arms, clinging to his shirt to stay upright as those big green eyes flutter shut in the overwhelming sensation of finally getting the kiss he had been chasing since the first day he saw Fushimi. His hands move to clutch Fushimi's hips and pull him close, trying to press the length of their bodies together as he grinds needily against those rough pants. He's moaning into Fushimi's mouth and the blonde feels himself getting hard at just the sound of it in his ears. Pulling away with a gasp for air, he stares at the sloppy handiwork left behind. Uruha's eyes are unfocused, blown out, and hungry. His hands won't stop groping everywhere trting to find something tk grab and hold himself close to Fushimi. His cheeks are almost as red as his eye paint, and his lips are so glossy with saliva it just goes straight to Fushimi's head.
"You wanted me to fuck these, right Uruha-san?" He wipes a finger across those lips, and Uruha nods dumbly as his tongue chases the fleeting touch. Without even asking Uruha is on his knees, staring up at Fushimi as though praying at the feet of his salvation.
"Fushimi-kun I want to taste you in every way…"
Drunk fingers are fumbling with belts and buttons and zippers, and Fushimi's heart starts beating so fast he thinks it's going to fly out of his chest, breaking free from its cold cage. The moment his cock is exposed to the air he feels a shiver run up his spine and the instant Uruha's lips are pressing against his skin he can't help the shudder as all the built up frustrations and touches and cravings pour out in an instant. He's groaning so loudly he's sure they are going to get caught, and in a desperate move he yanks the cap from his hair to bite into as Uruha ignores his struggle to swallow everything effortlessly.
It doesn't matter to him that Fushimi already came, it's not enough. After all this time it will never be enough. He stares up at Fushimi's red face through his scattered bangs, getting louder with every suck as he bobs faster chasing the noises that Fushimi keeps trying to muffle with his covered fist. He wants Fushimi inside him from every direction, under his every inch of skin, to crawl inside the cage Uruha has kept his heart locked away in and to finally hold him at his most vulnerable. He wants to do this forever. He swallows greedily every spurt offered as Fushimi shakes with the force of his next orgasm, tears spilling over his cheeks.
Uruha pulls back with a wet noise as he lets the still half-hard erection fall from his mouth, and Fushimi's legs shake so much he slides to the ground to be eye level with Uruha. His eyes are blurry with tears and he can barely make out Uruha's expression, but he reaches out to grab a fistful of fabric and drags in the other man for a messy kiss covered in spit and cum and the last dregs of liquor.
His lips are so shiny and swollen they are so good
he's so hot oh my god I want to feel them so bad
he started it how could I refuse I could do this all night.
Breaking the kiss to gasp for air, Uruha appears to be deep in thought before locking eyes with Fushimi with a wide smile.
"I've wanted to do this for so long."
Fushimi just laughs and nods in agreement. "Me too, Uruha-san. Me too…" He uses his bandana to wipe the sweat and spit off his face down his chin. Vision a little clearer, he reaches out to do the same for Uruha who leans into the touch.
"And what if I said I wanted a little more, Fushiiiimi-kun?"
He doesn't have to ask twice - Uruha is dragged to his feet as Fushimi shakily gets up, barely buttoning up his pants before peeking out the door and grabbing Uruha's hand to drag him through the halls with barely contained giddy laughter. They make their way to Uruha's private room and the door isn't done shutting when Fushimi is pulling Uruha in for another deep kiss. His hands struggle to undo the clasps on Uruha's outermost layers and Uruha's fingers fumble between both of their pants that they stumble out of, refusing to break the kiss until absolutely necessary.
Uruha is pushing Fushimi down to the futon and crawling over him and kissing at the skin as Fushimi is running his hands up Uruha's sensitive sides and down to knead at his ass where it hovers tantalzingly over his hips.
"Uruha-san…"
"Still calling me -san after all this?"
Fushimi's eyes get wide and his cheeks get hot as he struggles to get his voice out.
"Um…Yoji… I… uh"
"Yes, my lovely captain?"
Flustered, Fushimi rolls the two of them over to cage Uruha in his arms as he looms over the older man, dipping in to kiss lightly as he finds the courage to finally say out loud what he confessed all those weeks ago.
"I love you. I've loved you for so long. I want to love you to the very end."
Uruha's eyes get glassy as new tears well up.
"I hope we never see the end. I hope you stay by my side forever. Promise me that much, at least."
"I promise."
A single night isn't enough to make up for all the touches they've longed for till now, but it doesn't stop them from trying until the exhaustion overtakes them as the dawn signals a new day.
It hasn't been long since they took the leap and finally allowed themselves to indulge in each other's companionship, and Fushimi doesn't think he will ever be satisfied. At every inopportune moment he is plagued with thoughts he cannot act upon. He settles for scandalous teasing like today as he rubs his foot under the desk against Uruha's thigh while they sit through a dull meeting.
How cute would he look trying to stay calm as I suck him off under this desk?
I just want another taste, I want to unravel him again. I want him to shudder as he tries to keep quiet.
Oh his eyes are so hungry, can we wrap this meeting up, we have somewhere to be…
.
.
Uruha is embarrassed to realize that ever since that night when they finally gave in to everything they had been holding back, he had begun to associate alcohol with Fushimi's mouth every time it touched his tongue. It doesn't help that his captain gets so beautifully flushed after only a cup or two, lips swollen where he keeps licking them after every drink.
If only we were alone, I could just bend him over the table.
He'd be so soft and willing, skin so hot under my hands, squirming so cutely from the buzz and my touch.
Oh he's coming to my room tonight, I can't not fuck him like this…
.
.
Some of the only entertainment in the base is the movie nights that a few of the soldiers organize when someone from home sends them a copy of a film to play on the operations room projector. It's the closest thing the two of them have to a date night without anyone getting suspicious, and tonight's romcom feature has Fushimi wishing he could take Uruha on something more romantic.
Making out in a car would be so hot if we could ever leave.
Oh man what about if we get a chauffeur to HQ, I could raise the divider and put him on my lap.
Every bump in the road making him sink a little deeper… maybe one day when we can be free of this place.
.
.
The air is especially cold today, and the steam is thick throughout the hot springs as Uruha slowly makes his way into the pool and sneaks up on Fushimi. Its impossible to make out more than distant shadows of the others in the springs, and Uruha wants to steal more than the quick kiss he manages to the nape of Fushimi's neck.
It would be so easy to reach around and stroke him so slowly under the cover of this fog.
I wonder if he could keep quiet long enough to finish without anyone noticing.
I want to hear him whimper. Let's see how close I can get him…
.
.
Uruha is the sloppiest grown man Fushimi has ever had the misfortune of loving. Even stone cold sober the corners of his mouth always seem to have something left behind, and it takes every ounce of Fushimi's self control to not wipe away the sweet smear of chocolate from today's dessert.
Kissing him isn't enough I need to lick him
I need to pour beer down his chest and clean it off
his bellybutton would be the perfect cup I want to drink him up.
.
.
Fushimi spars with his squadron to keep their sorcery sharp. They complement each other well, abilities setting each other up for the others to take the opponent out. Today Uruha watches with an ulterior fascination as Fushimi finds himself grappled by a chain, arms bound behind his back and knocked to his knees.
He looks so good bound and wiggling,
I wonder if he'd let me do something like that,
unable to stop me from having my way with him…
The base is being assaulted, and for the first time in his three years assigned to this detail, Fushimi feels a pang of fear as he races through the halls to find Uruha. He's ready to give his life to defend his commander but it means nothing if he can't reach him first. Explosions rock the base and he stumbles his way forward until he makes his way to rear of the fortress to the hidden room where they had planned to meet in case of an emergency.
The relief in his heart when he sees that stupid hat almost makes him laugh. He'd never tease Uruha over it again. Fushimi barely slows down as he grabs Uruha by the shoulder and drags him along to sprint for the gate. Reaching it as the sounds of fighting behind them grow louder, they pause to stare at each other breathlessly trying to find the right words to say in the moments they have.
"Honestly we have no hope of beating them, but we can buy you some time!"
Uruha's eyes are nervous, darting to the smoke beginning to rise from the other side of the fortress before focusing on Fushimi's face. He can't think of what could possibly be said to convey everything he wants to in so brief a time. So he settles for a quick brush of his hand along Fushimi's jaw as he steps back towards the road.
We were just in the covers a few hours ago.
I kissed him awake. How has it changed so quickly.
If only we'd lingered a little more this morning.
Fushimi leans into the touch with a shaky sigh before pulling back to the gate and getting ready to lock Uruha out.
"Run! We can't let them take your life! We'll give our lives to hold them off for as long as we can. You'd better survive, or we'll curse you!"
He stands for a moment as Uruha wavers before turning to sprint up the road, watching for as long as he can until he can't see him any more. Shutting the gate and turning to face the carnage wrecking the rest of the base, Fushimi leans against the door to suck in a steadying breath and raises a hand to touch where Uruha's fingers had just held him.
I should have kissed him like last night.
Held him tighter. It's too late. No, I can't think like this.
He'll get to the station, and we'll meet him there. I'll kiss him then.
He sprints back to the fortress to rejoin his squad and meet the enemy head on. He knows this is nothing compared to what Uruha has faced in the past, and he isn't about to let his commander down. Fushimi feels a grin crack his face, confidence rising in his chest at the thought of victory and Uruha running back to his arms.
The first thing Uruha asks when he wakes up is if anyone from Kokugoku survived. The doctors don't have any answers for him, or if they do they didn't want to tell him just yet. He's trapped in this bed, thoughts racing and heart breaking as he fears the worst. Because if they had lived, they would have been more willing to say so, right?
You said you were never going to leave my side again.
I kept my promise to stay alive, against all odds.
What happened to keeping yours? Why couldn't my miracle include you?
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Headquarters is being invaded. It's those bastards that attacked his base, and his men. Uruha's blood is boiling at the sight of them and he can't help the swell of revenge rising from deep in his heart. He has no regard for his own well being, throwing himself into the fight and not even noticing as he's chipped away piece by piece.
GIVE HIM BACK YOU FUCKING MONSTERS.
GIVE HIM BACK TO ME. I'LL KILL YOU.
I'LL KILL YOU. I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU.
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It's raining outside the safe house where Uruha is recovering. He can barely move, just enough to stare out the window and listen to the gentle pattering against the glass. The memories begin welling up faster than he can choke them back down, and he can't stop the tears from silently running down his face.
You called me beautiful that day. I should have made you say it a hundred more times.
I should have told you I love you for every drop of rain that fell.
How were we supposed to know…
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Today they are sneaking through a town, disguised to reach the next safehouse and meet the other escaped Kamunabi officers for a chance to plan the next move. The streets are covered in abandoned festival decorations - Uruha stares at a vendor stand covered in masks rotting in the winter snow. There's a fox mask that sends a pang through his chest and he reaches out a shaky hand to brush away the dirt that has settled on it.
We should have lived more, loved more.
It felt like forever was ahead of us, like it was never going to end.
We had all the time in the world. Why didn't we use more of it?
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It's been so little time since he left the hot springs in a blur. It feels like only days or maybe a few weeks, he can't remember any more. They finally have a moment to sit still, and register everything that has happened. Uruha is alone in the corner of his room, clutching a stolen bottle he knows will never be enough to dull the ache in his heart.
I should have kissed you goodbye….
But if I had known it was goodbye, I never would have left your side….
I should have kissed you one last time.