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“Yamaguchi, are you watching?”
“Mm? Yeah, Tsukki!”
“No, you’re playing with a stick.”
“Playing? Rude, Tsukki, I’m whittling.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
Yamaguchi snaps his gaze up from the sorry excuse for a wood carving clasped between his determined, freckled fingers. Thick brows furrow to form an adorable crease through his forehead, feigning the sort of irritation Kei knows Yamaguchi has never felt towards him in the entirety of the years they’ve known each other. Which, now, has been more than Kei can count on two hands; so long it makes his chest feel as warm as the tips of his fingers while practicing elven magic.
A gentle breeze, fragrant of spring, whispers through the meadow they sit in, tousling Yamaguchi’s shaggy bangs so they form a loose, mossy-green curtain over his eyes.
The unkempt nature of his hair has always been the bane of Kei’s existence, up until very recently, when he finally succumbed to the urge to run his pale fingers through it just to see the stark contrast in colour. Tucking the downy, earth-matted strands around his proud horns had inevitably led to closing the decade-long distance between their mouths with nothing but a simple, purposeful tug, but such distractions can be saved for after Kei has successfully dazzled his oldest friend with the spell he’d been working on.
Yamaguchi shakes his head to clear his view, his floppy, velvet-soft ears bobbing with the momentum, and scooches closer to Kei in their patch of flattened grass. He sets the carving, now somewhat resembling the amorphous form of a man (or elf?) down by his hoofed feet, and blinks up at Kei.
“Attention’s all yours,” he lilts, ever-so coy, doe-eyes shining.
Kei scoffs. As if he’d even have to try to whip Kei into a frenzy these days. He’d started practicing this spell just to keep his hands off Yamaguchi for more than a few minutes, for Gods’ sake. And though the enchantment is simplistic in nature, he suspects Yamaguchi will be pleased; and in more ways than the baseline level of contentedness Kei’s mere presence seems to provide him. Fair’s fair, he supposes—the feeling is far more than mutual.
“Eyes on my hands,” he chastises, as stern as his palms are rough.
(A life of highborn nobility has been kind to his hands, fostering yet another contrast when he clasps Yamaguchi’s forest-worn palms between his own.)
Yamaguchi leans closer, his bare torso pressing its tempting warmth into Kei’s side. Kei resolves to teach Yamaguchi something about teasing, but first—magic. In his cupped palms he holds a clover, a standard three-leafed one that Yamaguchi spends hours sifting through on lazy afternoons in their meadow, until finally plucking his lucky four-leafed prize from the earth with a triumphant shout and a grin that rivals the sun. Kei breathes a focused exhale, feeling his magic trickle from his palms and into the tiny green sprout, then watches as a fourth leaf unfurls itself from the stem in a cloud of iridescent shimmer.
He inspects his handiwork. The new leaf is just a smidge too green and symmetrical to blend in with the plant. It seems to float alongside the rest of the clover, not exactly part of the set; too beautiful to appear natural. Kei’s always struggled with matching the inconsistent, messy features of nature, with damning the rules and cutting loose. Yamaguchi helps with this.
Regardless, he plucks the clover between two careful fingers and twines it around a wayward strand of Yamaguchi’s hair; a perfect addition to his flora-laden bird’s nest of a head. Yamaguchi reaches up and brushes the tiny plant with his fingers, his mouth forming a small, impressed ‘o’.
“Thank you, Tsukki,” he whispers, plump cheeks filling with colour. “It’s beautiful.”
Kei glances down at his hands. His fingers still tingle with the remnants of the spell. And he’s still yet to master an appropriate response to Yamaguchi’s earnestness. “It’s fine,” he mumbles.
Yamaguchi dips down to catch his gaze, bringing their faces a few inches from being nose-to-nose. Kei sucks in a quiet breath. Yamaguchi’s lack of regard for personal space is habitual for his kind, and took quite some time for Kei to adapt to, but eventually, he found himself craving the proximity.
Having sensed Kei’s bodily reaction, Yamaguchi doesn’t hesitate to lay it on thick.
He drapes a hand over Kei’s chest, his calloused palm featherlight over Kei’s thin tunic.
“So, are you suggesting I might get lucky today?”
Kei groans, reaching up to lightly shove at Yamaguchi’s shoulder. He keeps the force behind his touch careful and controlled; the understanding of their difference in strength and size at the forefront of his mind. Yamaguchi allows himself to be pushed back onto the grass, but not before tightening his grip on Kei’s tunic so he comes tumbling down with him.
Quickly correcting for the fumble, Kei settles his forearms into the lush greenery to bracket Yamaguchi’s head, and hovers his body inches above the little faun below him. His unruly hair fans out in the grass, blending into the earth as if it belongs there, a natural part of it.
“Terrible, just terrible,” Kei chastises with a notable lack of heat. Yamaguchi’s nose twitches with the tickle of his breath. He grins, reaching up to softly trace along the length of Kei’s pointed ear, all the way to the tip. The touch sends a flash of arousal down his spine. If his arms quiver, neither of them say.
“If only there was a way to shut me up,” Yamaguchi murmurs, large, mischievous eyes settling on the curve of Kei’s lips. His pink tongue flicks out to wet his own.
“If only,” Kei agrees. And though he had intended on keeping Yamaguchi waiting at least a few moments longer, until he was really hungry for it, he finds himself bridging the gap between their mouths without a second thought.
Immediately, Yamaguchi melts for him, going slack under his lips and letting Kei set the pace of the kiss. Kei latches onto his lower lip, pushing into the heat of his mouth, sucking and licking at him the way he knows Yamaguchi likes based on the needy whimpers that collect at the back of his throat and turn Kei’s brain to fizz.
Under him, Yamaguchi arches, bringing the soft fur covering the lower half of his body up to tickle the exposed skin of Kei’s waist. He shimmies his hips so Kei nestles between his thighs, furry knees bracketing Kei’s hips, and he shivers despite the heady warmth radiating from Yamaguchi’s core. It’s an intentional move—signalling to Kei that he’s ready, that he wants it, whatever Kei has to give. And today, he sees no reason to hesitate.
Kei reaches down and wraps his long fingers around Yamaguchi’s plush, furry thigh, hiking it up and around his waist, as his other hand fastens around his jaw to tip his head back and deepen their kiss. Yamaguchi responds at once, rolling his hips upwards and parting their connected lips to coax Kei’s tongue into his eager mouth, and Kei cannot help but concede.
Any resolve to draw this out, to take his sweet time with him, dissolved the moment Yamaguchi drew him into a kiss. Standing at six-foot-five, a highborn elf taught in the ways of hand-to-hand combat since he was able to walk, Kei is notably strong—but for Yamaguchi, he is weak.
He slides his tongue along the bottom row of Yamaguchi’s teeth, then down to the fleshy space behind them where his saliva pools. He lets Kei stroke him there, the wet back and forth slide of their tongues moving in tandem with the soft undulation of Yamaguchi’s body beneath him. With every slow roll of Yamaguchi’s hips, Kei allows more of his weight fall into him, pushing deeper into the warm space between his legs, and he feels himself hardening in his trousers.
The sound of Yamaguchi suckling wetly on his tongue does things to him, it always does, and he can’t control the helpless moans that push from his throat and into Yamaguchi’s slick mouth. As if spurred on by his pleasured noises, Yamaguchi moves more intentionally now; shifting so Kei’s erection is cradled by the soft fur of his crotch, rubbing himself shamelessly on it. Kei’s head feels thick, his thoughts like molasses. He feels his cock twitch in his pants. Yamaguchi’s legs start to shake, his stomach clenching, and their kisses lose any remnant of finesse, becoming sloppy, desperate licks and presses.
“Wait,” Kei pants, stilling Yamaguchi’s hips with clenched fingers. His cock pulses through the fabric concealing it, against the warm, wet , space between Yamaguchi’s legs. “This is going too fast,” he explains, head swimming.
Yamaguchi’s eyes, dewy and glazed over, slowly blink up at him. His swollen lips glisten with their combined saliva.
“Oh,” he pants, doing his best to conceal the disappointment lacing his tone, undoubtedly for Kei’s sake, but Kei knows him all too well. “That’s okay, Tsukki,” he corrects, brightening. “We can stop!”
“No!” Kei nearly shouts, then does all he can to compose himself with half the blood in his body careening to his lower half. “I just want—I want to touch you properly. Yamaguchi, can I?”
“Oh.” Yamaguchi breathes a shaky exhale. “Yeah, touch me, Kei. I want you to.”
The consent hits him square in the chest, knocking him breathless. He’s touched Yamaguchi before, of course he has—his tawny, freckled face, the rough ridges of his horns, the velvety-soft fur of his ears, that wild, wild hair of his, his sinewy arms, pudgy stomach, even the smooth bone of his hooves—but never, ever anything below his waist and above his thighs. Gods, what would he find? Yamaguchi’s is the only body he’s ever touched, only ever wanted to touch, and it is so very different from his.
Under his trousers, Kei’s long, slender legs are pale and nearly bare, dusted with fine gold hairs even lighter than the ones on his head. The lower half of Yamaguchi’s body, on the other hand, is covered in a thick, plush fur, layered as to conceal the genitalia between his legs, the specifics of which Kei has only ever imagined in the dirtiest of his fantasies, late at night with his hand down his pants and the door of his sleeping quarters firmly locked.
The content of Kei’s between-the-legs situation is blatantly evident, sitting heavy and leaking through his trousers onto Yamaguchi’s furry thigh. To uncover Yamaguchi’s, he’ll need to get closer.
“Okay, yeah. Okay,” Kei mutters, steeling himself. With much effort, he peels their bodies apart. Yamaguchi shudders at the loss of contact, eyelids fluttering. Kei’s cock strains behind layers of cloth. Ignoring his own arousal, he situates himself between Yamaguchi’s spread thighs, kneeling into the earth and soiling the expensive fabric covering his legs. Yamaguchi props himself up on his elbows, watching Kei watch him.
His half-lidded gaze flips Kei’s stomach over itself. Nerves chew at his insides. Desire blends messily with apprehension. His fingers, usually confident and composed, tremble while he traces along the line of fur bordering Yamaguchi’s waist.
“Hey,” Yamaguchi whispers, snapping Kei out of his reverie. He sits up and brings their faces close, rubbing their noses together in a quick reassurance of affection. “I trust you,” he says. “But if you don’t touch me soon, I think I might die.”
Kei puffs a laugh against his lips, which he then captures in a chaste kiss. “So dramatic,” he murmurs. Yamaguchi’s airy giggle tinkles pleasantly in his ears, settling his stomach. He drags his lips across Yamaguchi’s fuzzy jaw, down the pliant skin of his neck, leaving a trail of damp kisses and quick nips while his fingers grope around the thick fur south of his waist. He rolls it between his knuckles, taking his time searching, feeling out the soft skin underlying it.
“Tsu-kki…” Yamaguchi whines, shuddering. “Don’t tease so much…”
“Not teasing, appreciating,” Kei mumbles between kisses, mouth migrating down the centre of his chest, the sparse patches of coarse hairs tickling his lips. Yamaguchi puffs a frustrated exhale. Kei grins into his stomach, pressing his teeth against his soft, adorable pudge. Having had enough, Yamaguchi curls his fingers around Kei’s slender wrist, and guides his hand lower, down his groin and between his spread thighs, pushing a direct path through the layers of fur to what lies underneath.
Now this gets Kei’s attention. Hurriedly, he shuffles down Yamaguchi’s body, so his face is mere inches from where Yamaguchi leads his hand. Kei can feel the damp heat radiating from between his spread legs on his already-flushed cheeks. His heart pounds his ears, in the base of his throat. Yamaguchi releases his hold on his wrist, trusting Kei to finish the job.
Trembling, he pushes a ruffle of fur aside, and his breath hitches in his throat.
Yamaguchi glistens. Kei’s mouth fills with saliva at the sight: two dusky folds dripping with slick, a leaking entrance, the tiniest pink cock, swollen with arousal and peeking out from under a hood of delicate skin. Kei feels as if someone tipped him upside down and shook every thought from his brain. In something of a trance, he uses two fingers to trace a light path from his cock to his entrance, mesmerized by the sheer size of his fingers against Yamaguchi’s pussy.
Yamaguchi’s leg bucks, hoofed foot slapping against the mossy ground, and the sound that escapes his throat can only be described as a bleat. Kei blinks. He just made him bleat . His focus snaps up, quickly scanning Yamaguchi’s expression to make sure the noise was one of pleasure and not…whatever else a bleat could mean. And he prays to the Gods that his own expression isn’t giving away just how ridiculously attractive he found it.
Before he has a chance to speak up, Yamaguchi claps his palms to his splotchy cheeks, hiding his expression behind the cage of his fingers.
“I’m sorry! Ugh, that was so weird! You just caught me off guard! Sorry!” he babbles, voice muffled behind his hands.
Kei’s cognition is significantly slowed at the moment, but he manages to choke out, “N-no, it’s okay, Tadashi, I—” before stopping himself. He rakes his free hand down his face. He swallows dryly. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”
Yamaguchi peeks a wide eye out between splayed fingers. “Hurt me?” he squeaks.
Kei just blinks at him, heart battering against his ribcage.
Yamaguchi lowers his hands. He takes a deep, slow breath in, before his face splits into an amused grin. “Tsukki, of course not! You didn’t hurt me just by touching me!” He shoulders himself up onto his bony elbows again. “Touch me more,” he says, voice dropping by a few octaves. “Harder next time, with more pressure.”
The bossy, teasing tone he’s taken on brings a semblance of normalcy to the situation and does wonders to soothe Kei’s nerves. He bites back a fond smile. “Okay, Tadashi.”
This time, Kei keeps his touch controlled, focused. He uses two fingers to spread his lips, massaging his folds and collecting fluid, then carefully presses the pad of his thumb to Yamaguchi’s clit. Yamaguchi keens into his touch, circling his hips restlessly. Breathless pants turn into needy whimpers as Kei starts rubbing in tight, slow circles.
“Feel good?” Kei wants to know.
Yamaguchi mumbles something incoherent between pants, nodding enthusiastically. His chin is tipped back in pleasure, mouth slackened and facing the sky. The smooth muscles of his stomach clench and relax with each rock of his hips. His ears quiver rapidly like the delicate wings of a hummingbird. His fingernails dig into the dirt and tear at the grass underneath their bodies. Kei takes these as signs to forge onwards. He increases the pressure awarded by his thumb onto Yamaguchi’s clit, rubbing more insistently now, and Yamaguchi wails .
“Ah, Tsukki—Kei, ngh,” he moans.
“Good, good,” Kei mutters, mostly to himself.
It’s never been so easy to ignore his own arousal. His head is empty of thought, filled with nothing but the innate need to pleasure his best friend, writhing below him in the meadow they’ve called their own since they were children, enthralled by how responsive his small body is to the simple motion of Kei’s finger. He barely feels the dull ache in his forearm from the repetitive motion; his thumb practically engulfing half of his sex, providing a wide area of stimulation that Yamaguchi does not hesitate to rub himself against with each wild throw of his hips. Fascinated, Kei uses his middle finger to trace the slick space below his thumb, testing the pliance of his entrance, and Yamaguchi jerks against the touch.
“Tsukki!” he gasps.
Kei freezes in place. What was he thinking? The sheer size of his digits against him should have been indication enough.
“I—” he stammers, “I’m so—”
Yamaguchi groans loudly, interrupting Kei’s fumbled apology, and reluctantly lifts himself from the ground to bring a finger to Kei’s lips, effectively shutting him up.
“Keep going,” he instructs.
Kei’s heart leaps into his throat. “Are you sure? Have you done this to yourself before?” he blurts before he can stop himself.
Yamaguchi snickers. “Yes, I have, and now I want you to.” He twines his fingers around Kei’s free wrist, then lifts their conjoined hands to bring them to eye level. “Just take it slow, because, you know,” he explains softly, flattening his tanned palm against Kei’s. His slender fingers barely reach past Kei’s second knuckle. His palm sits neatly in the centre of Kei’s, completely and totally dwarfed by his own. The visual is more than enough for Kei to get the message.
“Gods, okay, if you’re sure,” he murmurs.
Yamaguchi nods. “Please, Kei,” he murmurs back.
As if Kei could resist that. He slides his palm from Yamaguchi’s, using the hand to anchor across the jut of his hip and around the small of his back, keeping Yamaguchi upright. He wants him close. Yamaguchi, ever in tune with Kei’s emotions in such a way he’s never been himself, drops their foreheads together and whispers praises and encouragements sweet in Kei’s ears.
Kei circles his entrance a few times, still in awe of just how wet he is, before pushing in, biting the sides of his tongue to keep going despite the stretch. So close, he can hear every gasp and whine Yamaguchi breathes against his lips as Kei sinks into him, centimetre by aching centimetre, until he meets fleshy resistance and Yamaguchi utters a tiny squeak.
They stay stock still for a moment, stuck on an inhale, jaws slack and useless. Their simultaneous shuddering exhale snaps the band of tension pulled taught between their bodies. Yamaguchi pants and grips at Kei’s arms, trembling as he adjusts to the stretch. Kei is utterly overwhelmed by the tight, wet heat pressing down on all sides of his finger and sucking him in, and by the staggering understanding that he’s touching the most intimate part of Yamaguchi, somewhere none other has touched before and hopefully never will.
No, Kei corrects himself, not hopefully. Never. Yamaguchi is his, forever.
Posessively, Kei glances down to where his digit disappears into Yamaguchi, all the way to the second knuckle. A part of him is inside Yamaguchi. He swears. His head feels fuzzy, like he’s had too much to drink or took a hard fall during a sparring match. He corrals his focus as it attempts to drift off, the edges of his already-poor vision blurring. Yamaguchi collects Kei’s face between his hands and breathes his name against his lips. Realizing just how hungry he is for him, Kei captures his mouth with his own and kisses him, and kisses him, until he feels Yamaguchi start to squirm and loosen around him.
“Oh, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi murmurs, breathless from their kissing. He tips his head back and rolls his hips, sliding Kei’s finger just the tiniest fraction deeper. “You can move now.”
Kei never was one to deny him, so, wordlessly, he does just that. He slides out until just the tip remains inside, then slips back in, in one fluid motion, surer this time than the first. The stretch is still tight, but pleasurable, given the way Yamaguchi’s eyes roll back into his skull and his tail beats against the grassy floor as Kei repeats the motion again, and again, until all he can focus on is the mesmerizing in and out of his finger and the soft squelching sounds produced as he fucks into him.
“Faster, Tsu-kki, you can do mo-ore,” Yamaguchi whines, voice breaking. Kei considers this, feeling out how wholly and completely full Yamaguchi is with just one of his fingers. He exhales slowly. Sometimes, Yamaguchi has a tendency to bite off more than he can chew, and more often than not, Kei’s role is to reel him back in and set him gently onto realistic ground.
He shuffles forward, leaning down to bring his lips to the side of Yamaguchi’s face, all the while ensuring to maintain a slow, steady pace with his finger. The downy fur atop Yamaguchi’s ear caresses Kei’s chin as he murmurs, “I have an idea. I’m gonna move you, okay?”
Too far gone to respond with words, Yamaguchi just moans and grinds down harder, unwilling to lose the sensation of being filled to the brim.
Kei sighs. It’s not often he likes to remind Yamaguchi of their physical differences, of how easily he can manipulate his comparatively tiny body. In this specific situation, though, Kei supposes it’s for his own good. He’ll forgive him. So he carefully slides his finger out, shuddering at the abrupt lack of wet heat surrounding the digit, trying and failing to pay no mind to the choked moan Yamaguchi fires off as he’s suddenly, startlingly empty.
He moves fast, securing a firm hold around Yamaguchi’s waist with one arm, the other snaking around the backs of his spread knees, and flips him so his back is flush with Kei’s chest and he sits comfortably in the V of his legs. Instinctually, Yamaguchi melts against him, letting his legs fall open so his furry knees rest on the insides of Kei’s thighs.
From this angle, Kei can easily glance down his body and see everything; the rosy blush that flourishes down his freckled shoulders to the centre of his heaving chest, the tempting rolls of tummy fat that blend into the forest of dark fur concealing his lower half, and lower still; his swollen clit, the soft folds of skin rubbed pink, his dripping hole fluttering around nothing. He’s perfect; far beyond anything Kei could have ever conjured in his most intricate of fantasies. Selfishly, he’s almost tempted to drag this out, to turn Yamaguchi into a useless puddle of sweat and tears below him, but those indulgent thoughts become a distant fantasy when Yamaguchi whimpers his name.
“Mmh, Kei, please,” Yamaguchi babbles, lifting his hips.
“Impatient,” Kei chastises weakly, already bringing his still-slick digit back to his entrance.
They both heave a relieved sigh as Kei pushes in. With this new angle, he has the dexterity to feel around; to explore Yamaguchi’s inner walls with the pad of his curious finger. He probes deeper, curling his finger up, and Yamaguchi jerks so hard the tips of his horns poke lightly into Kei’s chest, but Kei pays it no mind. This new discovery is far worth any superficial wounding. He thrusts shallowly inside him, crooking his finger to graze that spot as he goes, and Yamaguchi’s rapid breaths border on hyperventilation as he picks up the pace.
Yamaguchi claws at his biceps, swaying his hips restlessly, desperate for more. “Tsukki,” he whines, “please, hah, you can use another, you can, it won’t hurt, please,” he begs, and it bears repeating—for Yamaguchi, Kei is a weak elf.
“Shh, okay, just tell me to stop if it does,” Kei soothes.
“Yes, yes, I will,” Yamaguchi pants, impatient as he’s always been.
He just manages to slide his ring finger alongside his middle, slowly pushing through the slippery resistance, ready to pull out on a moment’s notice. But, incredibly, Yamaguchi opens for him. So soft and relaxed from Kei’s careful treatment, his tiny body accommodates. Kei is floored, impressed, and more turned on than he’s ever been in his entire life. He nuzzles into the top of Yamaguchi’s head, taking in his earthy scent, while drawing slow circles inside him to acclimate him to the new stretch. Yamaguchi practically purrs . Satiated, he slides down his chest, unintentionally rubbing his back against Kei’s erection and Kei jolts at the reminder of his forgotten arousal. Suddenly yearning for friction, he secures his free arm around Yamaguchi’s stomach, holding him tight to feel every responsive jerk of his body against his.
“You okay?” Kei breathlessly checks in.
“S-sukki, ah, mhm,” Yamaguchi garbles, lips barely able to form coherent words. “Y’can move.”
Kei nods against his head, then carefully tests his pliance with a few controlled thrusts. Slick and stretched open, Yamaguchi’s body accepts him with ease. Kei quickens his pace. He alternates between slow grinds, rubbing at the rough spot inside him that makes Yamaguchi’s head roll uselessly against his chest and high-pitched, helpless mewls spill from his lips, and harsh thrusts, pulling his fingers out to the very tip only to push in harder and faster each time, ensuring the heel of his palm comes into firm contact with his clit with each downswing of his wrist.
Yamaguchi writhes in his arms, moaning garbled strings of Tsukki and Kei that blend together so that Kei can barely tell where one ends and the next begins. Kei presses his fingers deeper into his stomach. Seeing Yamaguchi like this is overwhelming; usually, his boyish charms and roguish grins have Kei reluctantly bending to every his whim, but this—this is something else entirely, and he can do little else but bury his nose in Yamaguchi’s sweaty neck and inhale like a man starved. His eyes nearly roll back in his skull. He can smell him, his thick, syrupy arousal. He’s close, Kei can tell; something in the rapid, inconsistent pace of his breathing, the clenching of his fingers that dig divots into the skin of Kei’s arm, the way his entrance flutters and twitches in that short second right as he pulls out and before he shoves back in. And Kei is too—every time Yamaguchi humps back onto his fingers, he rubs against Kei’s aching cock, and the minimal friction is more than enough to send Kei tumbling rapidly towards the edge.
“Tadashi,” Kei growls possessively, rolling his hips against his back, “Tadashi.”
“S’close, Tsu—Kei, m’gonna—” Yamaguchi cries out, clamping down around Kei’s fingers as he comes. Kei pushes deep inside him as he rides it out, and it’s the tender pulses of Yamaguchi’s slick walls around him that tips him over. A dense jolt wracks through Kei’s body as he follows seconds after, spilling messily into his trousers and the tight space between his cock and Yamaguchi’s furry back.
Together, they lose all mass and slump forwards; two boneless piles of spent, sticky limbs. Their heartbeats pulse in tandem. Yamaguchi’s legs twitch. Kei’s head swims, his thoughts lost at sea with no sight of shoreline, his only anchor to the world Yamaguchi’s pleasant weight against his chest and snug heat around his fingers.
Yamaguchi’s breathing eventually finds rhythm again, and with it, so does Kei’s. The dull ring of deflating arousal in his ears begins to fade and the world slowly, slowly melts back into focus. Grass rustles in the late-afternoon breeze. Birds chirp merrily in the surrounding woods, ignorant to the lewd acts just committed in the sunny clearing Kei and Yamaguchi have long claimed as their own. Kei’s vision stops its spinning as his focus lands on the tiny green sprout that started this all: the enchanted four leaf clover hanging askew in Yamaguchi’s tousled hair. Amused, he smooths Yamaguchi’s stringy bangs from his forehead, then prods at his cheeks to assess his lucidity.
Kei feels Yamaguchi’s cheeks expand against the pad of his finger. “Tsukki, wow,” he breathes, tipping his chin back to offer Kei a dopey, upside-down grin.
“That good, huh?” Kei prompts, tamping down the swell of pride rising in his chest.
Yamaguchi just nods dazedly, then a flash of concern washes over his features. Wincing, he slides himself from Kei’s fingers, then twists back around to face him, hands flying to rest lightly on his crotch.
“Let me take… um. Oh.” Just as quick as it came, his concern dissolves into blushing realization. “You… did you?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Just from—”
“Yes, Yamaguchi.”
“Tsukki!” he squeals happily, lunging to hug Kei’s centre and squeeze any remnant of mortification out of him with his iron grip. Kei tuts anyways. He can’t imagine a response that would please Yamaguchi more, though.
Yamaguchi pushes his smile into his stomach, kissing around his belly, hands groping around the waistband of his trousers. “I still could…” he trails off, muffled by Kei’s overheated skin.
“Absolutely not,” Kei groans, tugging at his hair. The stain will begin to set in soon. He shudders at the idea of returning home in soiled clothing.
“C’mon. Let's go to the river; get cleaned up.”
Yamaguchi just chuckles in response, then pushes off Kei’s knees to stand up on wobbly legs. Kei doesn’t try to hide his worried stare.
Rolling his eyes, Yamaguchi holds out his palm. “I’m fine,” he reassures. “Get your ass up.”
Now standing at his full height, Kei has to drop his neck to glower at the top of Yamaguchi’s messy head. He plucks out the four-leafed clover still holding fast to a wild strand.
“Here,” Kei says, placing it in the centre of his palm. “A token to remember this by,” he lilts, mostly sarcastic, but the thought of Yamaguchi adding the clover he enchanted for him to the collection of trinkets he keeps tucked away in his nightstand drawers does, admittedly, make his chest feel just the tiniest bit warmer.
Yamaguchi’s grin is boyish and ridiculous. “I wouldn’t attribute what just happened entirely to luck, Tsukki,” he says, lightly stroking the length of Kei’s fingers with his own.
Before Kei has a chance to utter a witty response, Yamaguchi is bounding off into the forest, and Kei has no choice but to follow him in.
Or anywhere, for that matter.