fromslumber

[fromslumber]

Some doodles/concepts for an upcoming collab project with @fromslumber. A mix of 2022-2023 stuff so actually not 278378 years old. (◕‿◕)

If interested, we'll sometimes mention it here and there over on our twitters @pomekiss @secchanthighs ....

[fromslumber]

all of your flaws (ao3) izumi's feet are scarred. ritsu hardly minds. an old piece, revisited. written for the prompt: kiss on a scar ♡

There are faded scars spotting Izumi's feet. At his heel and where his toes begin, the marks lurk like persistent purple ghosts. Izumi is fairly good at hiding them, of course, as he is with most things. His feet are hardly bare in the presence of others, but now — slippers and socks peeled away, foot literally in Ritsu's hands — Izumi has no way to cover them from Ritsu's perceptive gaze.

The pad of Ritsu's thumb caresses one such scar, smoothing over it as he studies the blemished skin. His expression is unreadable, dark eyes roaming over every inch of Izumi's foot and not a single sound slipping from his lips. Part of Izumi wonders if he plans on saying anything at all. Even without asking, Ritsu always seems to see and know too much. 

(That's often a blessing, for both of them. In this moment, it only makes Izumi all the more self-conscious.)

When Ritsu next blinks, he finally looks up to Izumi's face. "Do they hurt?"

"No," Izumi says, without a moment's hesitation. He can't remember the last time they did. Still, his face scrunches as he adds, "But my soles do. Wasn't that the whole point of this? I'm starting to think you don't know how to give a half-decent massage, after all."

An amused smile teases Ritsu's lips. His thumb presses down a little firmer, a clear mockery of Izumi's complaint. At the following incriminating noise Izumi makes (the spot Ritsu presses is shockingly sensitive), that amused smile spreads a tad wider. "These things take time, Secchan," Ritsu chides. His gaze drops back down to Izumi's foot, and his voice drops to something lower, graver. "It's not like you to let scars form, though."

Izumi's mouth opens, just barely, before tightly pressing shut. He isn't quite sure what to say to that. Ritsu is right, of course. Izumi, as he is now, does anything he can to preserve every spot of unmarked skin. He works tirelessly to avoid breaking out, and he's lost count of how often he's had to push Ritsu away to prevent lasting bruises or bite marks.

But, the scars on his feet — they're from a different time. When Izumi couldn't bring himself to tend to them properly, when he needed to see physical proof of his efforts. Back then, Izumi had needed to feel the prickling pain that accompanied them. He's never tried to articulate this, however, and the mere thought has an annoying lump building in his throat. 

"They're pretty easy to cover up," he says instead. "And I'm hardly offered jobs where my feet have to be exposed, anyway."

"That's a shame," Ritsu replies, just a bit too thoughtful for him to be simply teasing. He leans down, and Izumi fights the urge to yank his foot back when Ritsu's breath fans over it. Said urge only intensifies as Ritsu presses a featherlight kiss to the scarred skin. "Secchan's feet are pretty, scars and a~ll."

In an instant, Izumi's neck and cheeks feel as though they are on fire. "Y-You're weird." Ritsu hums, moving to kiss another purple spot. Izumi's heart skips several beats. "Do... Do you even know what a massage is?"

"Sure," Ritsu says. "This seems more important, though."

Again, Izumi can't find the words to say in response. He huffs a breath through his nose. Closes his eyes, cheeks still burning. He also can't find the energy to really try to deter Ritsu any further.

These scars are not the first ugly part Ritsu has seen of him. God, if Izumi kept track of shit like that �� he would never have any time to think about anything else. And, if he's being totally honest with himself, they're not even the worst. 

Ritsu's response to Izumi's post-flight bitching about his sore feet had been to oh-so-casually offer a massage. Now, he sits before Izumi, lips pressed to scarred skin, holding him as though he is something delicate. Something worth reverence. 

The Izumi from all those years ago is still inside of him, somewhere. The one that needed physical proof of his efforts, but even then, knew such proof was not a pretty thing — the Izumi that went as far as to keep his battered feet hidden from his own parents because who fucking knows what they would have said about them, given the chance. Maybe that Izumi...

Ritsu always seems to see and know too much. When Izumi opens his eyes, he finds Ritsu's own, peering up through dark lashes as he kisses another dark bruise. Izumi's chest tightens, almost painful. 

Maybe that Izumi — and this Izumi, for that matter — needed someone to see. (And maybe Ritsu knew that all along.)

[fromslumber]

40 min warm up draw // super cute animal crossing/harvest moon AU where Ritsu is a lopped ear rabbit who owns a bakery... (❤ω❤)

( Harvest Crossing AU with @fromslumber )

[fromslumber]

the love that lies (ao3) companion piece to this. mizuki offers ena protection... sort of. written for the prompt: one character swearing to always keep the other safe (fantasy au) ♡

"Don't worry," Mizuki says, and it's all cheek and sly cheer. They knock their shoulder against Ena's, their smile a playful curl upon their lips. "I'll protect you!"

It is a nice sentiment. On paper, it almost makes a perfect rehearsal of how a knight and noble girl should be. The pose isn't quite right (a proper knight should kneel with such a vow, Mizuki supposes), but otherwise, there is little room for complaint. Mizuki's sword swings at their side. Ena's dress and jewels are lovely; Ena even more so.

The scripted reply should be as follows: Mizuki's chivalry repaid with a docile smile, a token of Ena's favour. Perhaps if Ena were especially daring — or especially fond — Mizuki could expect a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Of course, none of that ever comes. And it isn't about that, not for Mizuki — instead, it is the way Ena's face scrunches at their obvious teasing, the indignant flicker in her eyes. The knock of Mizuki's shoulder has her ducking away, her own lips pursing.

"Cut that out," she says. "It's not funny."

Mizuki's smile widens. They can't help but disagree; Ena's reaction is plenty charming. Aloud, they only chime, "Right, right."

(Funnier still — what a crude parody the two of them make.)

[fromslumber]

you, my greatest weakness (ao3) dorothea challenges her weakness in flying. written for the prompt: hold. happy femslash february ♡

Swallowing hard around the lump in her throat and smoothing down the legs of her borrowed breeches, Dorothea tries to will herself into a sense of comfort. The strength of Dorothea's will is not to be taken lightly, and she has donned far more difficult masks than this — but her nerves must be apparent nonetheless. Ingrid has twisted around to face her, concern clearly spelled across her always-honest face.

"You can hold onto me, if it helps," Ingrid says. Dorothea manages nothing more than a slight, strained giggle before Ingrid's hands find hers, pulling them to rest upon Ingrid's thin waist. "I swear I won't let you fall."

They haven't even left the ground. The pegasus shifts beneath them. Dorothea is acutely aware of its heavy exhale — both the sound, and the way its body heaves with the motion. Perhaps it is impatient to get a move on; she doubts Ingrid has ever taken so long to take off once mounted. Frankly, it makes Dorothea feel all the more pathetic.

Ingrid is still looking at her, though. Waiting for a response, Dorothea realizes, or some sort of assurance that she isn't going to pass out and go catapulting to the ground as soon as Ingrid leads the pegasus into flight. Belatedly, Dorothea also realizes her strained smile has slipped. She forces it back onto her face, hopes it seems more convincing than before.

"Of course you won't." Dorothea gives Ingrid's waist a small squeeze. Ingrid's eyes flick down to her hands, the cutest little blush blooming upon her pale cheeks, before lifting back to meet Dorothea's own. Swallowing again, Dorothea continues, "I'm simply..."

"We don't have to do this."

Dorothea quickly shakes her head. Sweet, sweet Ingrid, looking to give her a way out. But — "No, I still want to." 

Her grip on Ingrid tightens, less teasing, more purposeful. She closes her eyes and thinks: of glancing skyward from the monastery gardens, taking in the glorious spread of a pegasus's wings against the sun; of a long, blonde braid whipping in the wind, so much like a knight's banner; of Ingrid when she returns from her assigned group tasks, hair windswept and eyes bright. She thinks, not for the first time, of what Ingrid must look like in flight, up close, and wants that image for herself. Desperately.

"I still want to," she says again. 

She opens her eyes to find Ingrid's brow furrowed further still. Both concern and disbelief are spelled across her face in equal measure. Dorothea inches closer, slipping her hands from beneath Ingrid's to loop her arms around her waist proper, hooking her chin over Ingrid's shoulder. In most circumstances, Ingrid would go a little rigid in her grasp. Perhaps, through all the places they are touching, Dorothea would be able to feel the quickened pitter patter of Ingrid's heart. 

Here, Ingrid just continues to look down at her from the corner of her eye. Perhaps she can feel Dorothea's own rabbit heartbeat. The pegasus heaves another giant sigh, and Ingrid brings her hands back to the reins rather than keeping them hovering uselessly about Dorothea's arms.

"I won't let you fall," she repeats, voice firm. "But if I think you can't take anymore, I'm bringing us right back down."

No matter what you say, goes unspoken. Dorothea makes a small, assenting hum.

Dorothea is no expert in horses or pegasi or flying, and her head is too clouded by her lingering anxiety to pay much attention to the details of their takeoff, besides. What she does notice is this: the great lurch of their movement (and with it, a lurch in her stomach), and the first, fierce beat of the pegasus's wings. Her arms lock tighter around Ingrid's waist. She likely shrieks, too, but it is drowned out by the rush of wind in her ears, cut off by wind in her mouth. 

If either of these things trouble Ingrid, Dorothea has no way of knowing. She is steel in Dorothea's grasp, firm and steady, moving only to lean into the pegasus's own movement. No, not steel, Dorothea realizes a beat later, the ease of Ingrid's shift striking her; Ingrid is an extension of the pegasus itself. She belongs in the wind and sky as much as the beast they ride on. 

This realization grows ever clearer as their steed banks, then smooths into a glide. Dorothea's stomach is still a roiling pit of nerves, the lack of ground beneath her feet still unsettling her, but — this is better than the adrenaline of soaring upwards.

Dorothea eases her eyes open. (She hardly even realized that she had snapped them closed.)

"Oh, Ingrid," she breathes.

She can't find the words to say anything else.

Beneath them is a beautiful, sprawling plethora of vivid greens. Unlike dear Hubie, it isn't a fear of heights Dorothea struggles with — so she drinks in the view, commits it to memory. The trees, the rivers. The birds, flitting by below. Dorothea is not sure she will ever see them this way again.

When her gaze lifts, though — no scenery can compare to Ingrid.

There is a glow about her. Bits of feathers are caught in her hair. The wind whips a ruddy flush upon her cheeks. She is... Oh, she is Ingrid.

Ingrid, the knight that hoisted Dorothea onto her steed. Ingrid, a part of the sky itself. Ingrid, Dorothea's friend. Gallant, adorable, and oh so so painfully charming Ingrid.

Ingrid's head turns, and for the first time since they've taken flight, Dorothea's gaze meets hers. Dorothea has straightened enough that this causes their noses to brush; the Ingrid she rides with does not jerk back at the contact the way the ordinary Ingrid might. Over the wind, Ingrid asks, "Are you doing alright?"

Better than alright. Dorothea can make out every darker fleck in Ingrid's bright eyes. Her tongue is too heavy to express the way her heart soars.

Instead, simply, she says, "Yes."

[fromslumber]

adore you (with your hands around my neck) (ao3) lumine breaks childe’s nose. the status quo changes. set during the initial golden house fight. warning: blood and violence.

Childe moves in too fast, too close. One moment, he seems to be measuring Lumine up from the opposite side of the room — the next, electro crackles around him, and then around her, close enough for the static to have her hair standing on end. She dodges his polearm when it swipes up near her cheek, her ear. He comes back at her, over the head, and she catches his weapon with her blade. A beat too late, she realizes that the polearm's path wasn't telling of his real aim at all.

He's trying to disarm her. He's trying to disarm her.

Lumine panics. She topples backward, trying to restore even a fraction of space between them. And when he's at her side again, coming up from one of her few blind spots, she twists. Lumine pulls her sword back, hard, so the pommel digs into Childe's face.

A sickening crunch follows.

Blood is already dripping down his face when she draws away. It spots the hilt of her weapon, her own gloved hand. Against his pale skin, hers, the red of it is jarring. And she knows, clearly: his nose is broken. 

Her head snaps up. Her surprise caught her off-guard, but it seems Childe is rendered much the same — he staggers backward, and Lumine can easily identify at least four different openings in his stance.

But her legs feel like lead, her feet sewn to the floor. Lumine cannot possibly imagine why; she's broken hundreds of noses in the past, and this is not the first either of them have drawn blood. Childe nicked her hip and one of her arms pretty bad. Before this, her blade caught his shoulder, cutting through cloth and skin alike.

And still. And still.

She does not move. Instead, she watches, wary, as Childe gathers his bearings. Watches as he sets his nose back almost instantly, as if it is as easy to him as breathing — with the confidence of a soldier, having done it a million times before.

In her watching, she also catches the smaller, harder to notice details: a slight tremble in his hand, something crooked about his smile. 

Lumine's eyes lift, meet his. The depths of their blue are lightless as always, but — his pupils are dilated, dark and dangerous. Something flutters in Lumine's stomach, unbidden.

Childe coughs. Fresh blood spots his lips.

"More," he breathes.

That thing in her stomach curls. 

There is no dwelling on that, though. Not when that single word is Lumine's last warning before Childe is rushing towards her again, Paimon's alarmed cry and Lumine's own adrenaline kicking her back into action. Her feet remember how to move at last. Her mind clears. She is fighting for Liyue. For the gnosis. To make sure what happened in Mondstadt never, ever happens again.

Once she's moving, Lumine does not falter. Her focus is sharper; the call of geo comes easier. She stops Childe in place with stone. He will not manage to close the distance between them again. She will maintain the upper hand his broken nose should have granted her.

Childe, though — the way he looks at her has changed. The smile on his lips does not fade. Lumine cannot possibly try to figure out what that means. 

[fromslumber]

earl grey, silver needle (ao3) izumi burns his tongue. ritsu sates his curiosity.  ritsu is a bit of a little shit in this one. there is also some slightly gross kissing. please read with caution, and happy valentine’s ♡

"Ow," Izumi hisses, jolting back against the bench to glower accusingly at his still-steaming drink. His tongue darts out, red and irritated at the tip, and Ritsu's eyes zero in and follow it even as Izumi draws it back in. Peeling the cup's lid back, Izumi blows on his tea with slow, careful breaths. "What the hell is this so hot for?"

"It's not too hot," Ritsu chides as he places his own drink down beside him. He inches a little closer to Izumi's side, leans forward to better study the angry twist of Izumi's lips. "Secchan's just too impatient." 

Izumi scoffs, but seems too preoccupied with his steaming cup to give Ritsu's teasing a proper reply. 

As if reaching to stroke a testy cat — not too far from the truth, really — Ritsu warily sets his fingers atop Izumi's wrist. Izumi continues to squint at his drink. "Secchan," he tries, pressing a bit firmer, hard enough to force Izumi to lower his hand. The drink sloshes dangerously, almost tipping over the cup's edge, and panic flashes across Izumi's features as he rushes to cover it. 

"Hey, what the hell?!" says Izumi. The lid makes a satisfying click as Izumi manages to press it into place. Finally, finally, his gaze shifts to Ritsu. In that same motion, the panic stressing Izumi's features shifts to annoyance. "Do you want me to spill?"

Ritsu strategically ignores the question. "Secchan," he says again, softer this time than the last. His thumb smooths over the back of Izumi's hand, smoothes down the tension there. He leans even closer. "Let me see."

"See what?" 

"Your tongue," Ritsu replies, simply, as if Secchan is silly for asking. He is unable to stop the smile that tempts his lips when Izumi's eyes narrow further. "It looks like it really hurts... Let me kiss it better, 'kay?"

And so, he does.

Admittedly, he doesn't give Izumi much chance to respond. There is the slightest, pretty little part of his lips, and then Ritsu is closing the remaining distance. Any attempted protest is caught, sealed, by Ritsu's mouth against his.

Izumi starts, jerks back. A distant splosh sounds against the sides of his cup. But, whether from surprise or something else, he does not push Ritsu away. 

The tip of Izumi's tongue had been so red, like a ball of sweet candy; Ritsu quests after it as though it will taste the same. He brings a hand to Izumi's jaw, idly coaxing him wider with a careful stroke of his thumb. Some incoherent sound bubbles up Izumi's throat. Greedily, Ritsu swallows that, too. 

He kisses him deep, perhaps deeper than they would usually opt for in public. But the park they sit in is desolate, and Secchan is sweet. Ritsu thinks, just once, this much can be forgiven.

At last, Izumi summons the strength to break the kiss. The thinnest thread of saliva stretches between them, catching the late evening sun before it snaps. There is still a telling gloss upon Izumi's lips.

His chest heaves. Perhaps aware of where Ritsu's gaze lingers, Izumi tugs his hand out from beneath his, using the back of it to wipe his lips clean. Ritsu is treated to an adorably half-hearted side eye as he does so.

"Was that," Izumi says, and Ritsu's ego is stroked by the obvious way he tries to keep his voice level, "really necessary?"

Ritsu inclines his head a little, lets his eyes wander. Secchan's ears are flushed aaall the way red, the same candy shade his tongue had been. 

Smiling, Ritsu leans to get a taste of them, too. The remainder of his tea sits forgotten.

[fromslumber]

starve without you on my lips (ao3) ritsu has a toy. izumi wants something different. warning: 18+ exclusive, pwp. please see ao3 tags for more details.

Izumi doesn't think he's ever been this pent-up in his whole freaking life.

Well — okay, that's probably an exaggeration. While he'll never admit it, Izumi spends most of his time stewing in a perpetual pent-up rage. And even if he didn't, it's not like this is the first time Ritsu's toyed with him like this. The little brat gets off on seeing him riled up and desperate, gets a kick out of bringing Izumi right to the edge before cruelly tugging him back from it.

Izumi knows this. He doesn't even necessarily hate it (again, something he never plans on admitting). That doesn't lessen the sheer frustration that comes with it, though.

This time around, Ritsu's weapon of choice is a toy. Some kind of dildo, specifically: black, slightly ribbed, and straight with two curved outcropping pieces that Izumi finds distantly reminiscent of a sword's hilt. It's nice, objectively speaking. The toy itself isn't really the issue — even if Izumi did just come back from Italy with the stupid, slightly sappy anticipation that it'd be Ritsu's dick pounding him into the mattress. 

The problem stems from, of course, how Ritsu is using it.

He is fucking into Izumi with it, thank God, but for too long now, he's been keeping to teasing and torturous movements, grinding the toy up into him all slow and never going quite as far as Izumi would like. And there is something to come from that — Izumi's nails still dig into Ritsu's skin through his thin T-shirt, and he still can't help moaning into his neck. It just isn't enough for how he currently burns; it absolutely isn't enough when he can feel Ritsu's own cock straining hard and heavy against the curve of his ass already.

Of course Ritsu must realize this, Izumi thinks, with as much spite as he can summon in his current haze. Ritsu always realizes.

Izumi squirms a little in Ritsu's lap, trying to get a better angle. He even reaches back behind him, blindly trying to take hold of Ritsu's wrist to maybe force the toy deeper that way. It gets him nowhere, as Ritsu's other hand grabs Izumi's wrist instead, then pulls it with him as the same arm is wound around Izumi's waist to tug him closer and stiller. Izumi's next moan is closer to a groan of aggravation.

"Asshole," he hisses.

But before he can voice his complaints any further — or even try to find the words to do so — the dildo is pushed and twisted deeper, just like he wants it to be. All of a sudden, Izumi feels the press of it, right against the spot that makes his eyes nearly cross and sends a rush of proper white-hot pleasure through his every vein. Whatever words he might have come up with, he chokes on. His toes curl, and his nails dig deeper into Ritsu's shoulders with a broken gasp.

"Fuck," he manages, rocking back onto the damn toy as much as he's able. The toy is moved again, falling just the slightest bit backward before being quickly thrust back into place. There. There. A hiccup-y gasp falls past Izumi's lips. "K-Kuma-kun, that's... Fuck."

Ritsu's chuckle, soft, breathy, comes right next to Izumi's ear. "Better?" he teases. Another quick thrust of the toy, then Ritsu's holding and twisting it deep again. "Right there's best, mm?"

"Y-Yeah." Izumi lets out a shuddering breath. "But, ugh, it's still..."

It's still not what he wants. 

"Not enough?" Ritsu asks. 

The toy is drawn back to the same shallow level as before — cruel, cruel, especially after Ritsu asking almost fools Izumi into thinking he'll finally be less of an asshole — though on the way there Ritsu seems to brush it against every tantalizingly sensitive spot possible. An embarrassing keening sound escapes Izumi's throat, and he tries again to work against Ritsu's hold enough to chase that too-brief electric touch. 

It might be shallow, and might not be what he wants, but — ah. Ah. When the toy catches there, when Izumi is already so so wound up and wanting... It can still be enough. Despite Ritsu's teasing. Despite what Izumi himself hopes for. Another choked gasp falls from Izumi's lips. His entire body tenses, tenses —

And then —

Nothing.

Ritsu brings the dildo to a stop at his very rim, its only movement an idle little twist; enough to remind Izumi it is still there, to still tease the stretch of his hole, but now truly and utterly devoid of any proper contact or friction. His hold on Izumi tightens again, too, keeping him from moving back toward the toy as before. Izumi almost sobs. 

"Kuma-kun," he tries to hiss instead. It probably comes out more like a whine. 

"Secchan," Ritsu sing-songs, pressing a kiss into Izumi's hair, "is sooo desperate."

"Yes," says Izumi. His patience already ran thin like, yesterday, and being so close to the edge has worn down his filter, besides. "Yes, yes, whatever, I'm desperate, I want it —"

I want you, Izumi thinks, fiercely enough for his head to spin with the force of it. Ritsu making a small, surprised noise is the only indication he manages to say the words aloud. 

"Really," hums Ritsu, as if he didn't already fucking know. He shifts, and in that same movement brings the dildo back in. Izumi chokes again. Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit. "But you like this too, don't you?"

He isn't given a real chance to reply. If Izumi thought the press of the dildo stole his words before, well — this is all that and more. Ritsu drives it in deep, enough for that stupid outcropping hilt to come perfectly flush against Izumi's hole, enough that his every teased nerve feels electrified by it. 

And when Ritsu pulls it back, brings it home — it is with a brutal pace, with all the intensity and friction Izumi has needed. As if even Ritsu can't quite be bothered with teasing anymore.

There is a rumbling purr from Ritsu's chest, a shift of his hips. A reminder of Ritsu's own neglected hard-on; proof of the fact that Ritsu is drawing pleasure from this, too. A moment sooner, that might have only added to Izumi's annoyance. He likely would have seen it as just another reason to be pissed off that it isn't Ritsu inside him yet. 

But. Of course, Ritsu works his body so well, so skillfully, that he can't really mind. No, it is easy not to — easy to just sink into the satisfaction of it, canting back against the toy and Ritsu's warmth beneath him.

(The toy itself was never really the issue, after all.)

Another shuddering breath. Something cresting, cresting — Ritsu's hand freeing Izumi's wrist at last, slipping to grope indulgently at Izumi's ass instead. A hitch in Izumi's breathing. Ritsu's voice, again right at his ear, "You can touch, Secchan."

Izumi hardly registers the words before he obeys them.

Ritsu leans back as Izumi reaches down, sitting against the bed's headboard as if it is his throne. Provided with the space to look, Izumi's gaze catches on Ritsu's shirt, on the darker spot smeared by where Izumi's dick had been drooling between them. Ritsu's own eyes roam over Izumi in full, dark, appreciative. His tongue wets his smiling lips. The fire burning hot in Izumi's abdomen flares higher under his gaze. 

"That's it," Ritsu murmurs. Izumi's ass is given a firmer squeeze. "So pretty, Secchan... My perfect, pretty slut."

It doesn't take long, after that. Izumi's hand is trembling as it comes around his cock. His following strokes are sloppy and lack any real finesse. At this point, finesse isn't exactly something he needs, anyway. His entire body already feels wound so tight, keening for release between Ritsu's touch and the way the toy fucks into him and the way he's been aching for this since the moment his stupid plane landed. His hand is little more than the final push.

And push, it does. At that final messy stroke, at that final sinfully deliberate thrust of the toy, finally, finally — 

Izumi bites down around a cry. A curse, or Ritsu's name — even Izumi doesn't know. Pleasure rolls through him, coursing like a wave, and crashing, spilling, just the same. 

His chest heaves in the aftermath. There is static behind his eyes, in his veins. His grip on Ritsu's shoulder loosens; only in this does Izumi realize how tightly he had been holding him, just how deep his nails must have dug into him with his climax. 

Then, the world spins around him. His nails dig back into Ritsu anew.

"Kuma —" is all Izumi manages before his back is against the bed, breath stolen from his lungs. He tries to blink his vision into focus. Tries, in vain, to gather himself.

What Izumi does grasp: Ritsu drawing the toy out and away, setting it somewhere he can't see. Ritsu leaning overtop him, maneuvering him so Izumi's boneless leg is hooked around Ritsu's waist, tugging Izumi into place for his still-hard cock to slip over Izumi's well-stretched hole. The sly slant of Ritsu's lips. Ritsu's dark bangs falling into his eyes; the hungry glimmer they do nothing to hide.

A mystified, chiming laugh. Ritsu's absolutely perverted tease: "You're winking at me, Secchan." His thumb pressing against Izumi's asscheek, pulling it to spread him wider — supposedly to better show how Izumi's hole clenches around nothing. "Still not enough?"

What he doesn't:

Everything that comes after.

Ritsu sinks into him. Easy, thanks to the toy. Slick, thanks to a coating of lube that Izumi must have missed. Izumi's mouth parts, but nothing coherent can make it past the tight squeeze of his throat. No thought can be formed past the piercing presence of Ritsu's cock. His every sense is narrowed in on it, his entire being defined by how it fits into him — hot, hard, and demanding, all in ways that the toy could not be.

Ritsu grinds in slow, lazy and indulgent, taking his time in this as he has with everything else. Perhaps he savours the way Izumi feels around him, how he shudders beneath him. But with Izumi coming down from his orgasm and from God knows how long of teasing —

"That's," Izumi chokes. He jerks. This only has Ritsu holding him tighter, angling in more deliberately. Oh. Oh. "Kuma-kun, I... Fuck. Fuck."

"I know," Ritsu soothes. "I know. Just, mm... Stay with me a lil' longer, 'kay?"

A harder thrust, now. Distantly, despite himself, Izumi is aware of how his leg clasps tighter around Ritsu's waist in response. While it still borders on painful, even that is quick to melt into pleasure with how Ritsu plays him. Suddenly, it's not an awful thing: being unable to think of or feel anything beyond Ritsu's cock.

A hand smoothes over Izumi's jaw. Izumi leans into its touch.

"Besides," Ritsu says. Izumi's eyes are squeezed shut, incapable of anything else, but he still hears the smile in Ritsu's voice. "This is what you wanted, mm?"

Izumi can manage nothing more than a low noise of agreement.

The lazy roll of Ritsu's hips grows firmer, more precise. Sharper, then; Izumi turns his face further into Ritsu's palm, allows his increasingly debauched gasps to be swallowed by Ritsu's soft skin. Under every thrust, he feels rawer. Overstimulated. But there. There —

He bows up into Ritsu, trembling with every too pleasurable pulse. His hands grapple for purchase along Ritsu's back, at his sweat-damp shirt; no matter how hard he clutches at him, it doesn't feel like enough. 

Izumi doesn't know if he comes once or twice or a thousand times. All he knows is Ritsu. Ritsu, gripping him in turn. Ritsu, holding him down for each calculated snap of his hips. Ritsu, rearranging the world around him, rearranging the Izumi that exists within the world. Ritsu, and Ritsu, and Ritsu —

He thrusts a final time; Izumi's near-limp body is dragged onto his cock to take him. And there, he stays.

Some amount of time must pass. A beat, or maybe an eternity — Izumi can't say. He keeps his eyes closed, half his face pressed into Ritsu's hand. Ritsu shifts above him. The next thing Izumi feels is his tongue, of all fucking things, laving its way up Izumi's cheek and catching remnants of tears Izumi didn't even know he had shed.

He eases one eye open. Squints up at the content curl of Ritsu's lips.

"Gross," Izumi grumbles at him. Ritsu's smile quirks a little wider; they both know he doesn't fully mean it. 

"Sure," is all Ritsu says. His grip eases, touching as opposed to holding, sinking to fit against Izumi more naturally. His head dips, nudging Izumi's face towards his so their noses brush. "Missed you, too."

It is an easy admission. One that, another night, might be difficult for Izumi nonetheless — but now, his filter has long since been fucked away. So, as boneless as he feels, Izumi summons the strength to lift his chin. He catches Ritsu's fondly smiling lips with his own.

"Yeah," he murmurs, quiet, only for Ritsu to hear. "Missed you, too."

[fromslumber]

beyond the ladder (ao3) a companion piece to this. ena offers mizuki protection of her own. written for the prompt: one character swearing to always keep the other safe (fantasy au) ♡

"I'll protect you," Ena says, and every part of her spells firm, no-nonsense determination. Her fingers squeeze tight around Mizuki's own, grip as steely as everything else about her, but her hands themselves are soft. A noble's hands. A painter's hands. The hands of a girl who has kept herself locked away from the world for far, far too long. 

And still, her hands — soft and pretty as they are — hold Mizuki tight enough that they can't shake her off. They can't quite run.

Mizuki has to laugh. They have to, because the only other option — the wrong, wrong, wrong option — would be to lean in and kiss her. 

Some of the certainty in Ena's expression flickers. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," Mizuki says, head tipped downward, laughter still tickling their lips. Their hair is a curtain around their face, a mask to hide the too-vulnerable expression they're likely making. "It's just..." No one has offered to do that for me before. They risk a peek from beneath their lashes. Indignance furrows Ena's brow, has her own lips pressed into a thin line. Another shaky laugh bubbles up Mizuki's throat. "Just, how are you gonna do that?"

"Wh — however I can, obviously." She sounds defensive. It is very, very cute. Her hands give Mizuki's a tighter squeeze. "Look, I'm serious. I'll do it. However you'll let me."

Ah. That's what it all comes down to, isn't it?

It isn't something Mizuki has the words for. Not to let Ena in, not to push her further away. They settle for a wry smile, one they lower to brush against Ena's knuckles, one that sets Ena's shoulders rigid and cheeks ablush — for an outcast knight and shut-in noble brat, this much, maybe, can be allowed.

(And when embarrassment has Ena's grip loosening, Mizuki takes the opportunity to slip away.)

[fromslumber]

wouldn’t you know (that drives me wild) (ao3) ritsu pulls izumi's tail. izumi enjoys it more than one might expect. written for this event’s prompt: kemonomimis ♡ warning: 18+ exclusive, pwp, cat/human hybrids. please see ao3 tags for more details.

Here are a number of truths about Sena Izumi:

One) As far as cats go, he marks nearly all the stereotypes. Ritsu does, too, in his own ways, but not quite like Izumi. Izumi's got the pride, the prettiness, the hiss, the bite. The violent heats and accompanying mood swings, too — things Ritsu himself is more often spared from.

Two) Even outside of his heats, he falls easily to the right touches. It's all a matter of knowing how and where to press; sometimes a matter of discovering new sensitive places for him. Ritsu, of course, has uncovered and taken note of many. A tantalizing brush along the underside of his chin, a loving stroke up his side, a good scratch at the base of his tail — all motions that often lead to Izumi’s aforementioned pride and hiss being shed. (At least, for a little while. Secchan is always Secchan at the end of the day.)

Three) In general, despite his stereotypical cat-like haughtiness, Izumi is easy to drive into submission. Just a bit of the right nudging and teasing, and he'll be on his hands and knees, like this, putty in Ritsu's knowing hands. He might put up a fight at first, might summon the last remaining scrap of his pride, but they both know what he wants — and where it will lead — perfectly well. 

And so, these facts are all part of what has led them here: Izumi's pants pulled down and out of the way, Ritsu's hands ghosting back up his thighs. One stops there, lazily curving against the swell of Izumi's muscles. The other crawls up, up, up — over his hip and to the base of his tail. Ritsu strokes over it, kind, indulgent, enjoying the way Izumi sighs and stutter-purrs at his touch.

Then, assured that Izumi has truly melted for him, Ritsu wraps his fingers around his tail and experimentally pulls.

A shocked, open gasp falls from Izumi's lips. In Ritsu's grasp, his tail stiffens, almost jolting rimrod straight. He curls further in on himself, face pressing into his arms similarly to how his ears press down flat against his head. The hunch of his shoulders does little to hide the red flush creeping over his neck.

And his ass — as Izumi's spine curves down further, his ass is raised higher. Ritsu watches, eyes attentive and dark, as he shifts. It's small, just the sublest shake and upward cant of his hips, but it says plenty. 

What says more still is the following movement of Izumi's tail: after it relaxes somewhat, it curls over Ritsu's forearm, almost as though to hold him there. Into his own arms, Izumi makes some low, indecipherable noise.

"Secchan likes that, hmm...?" Ritsu muses. 

"It's — ..." Izumi manages, before swallowing thickly. "Don't..."

He trails off. A rumbling purr bubbles up from Ritsu's chest, and he knows Izumi can feel the vibrations of it as he leans over his back. In the same movement, his hand slinks up from where it rests against Izumi's thigh and to his leaking cock. He takes a gentle hold of it, smoothes his thumb over its side in a teasing, stark contrast to his next tight yank of Izumi's tail. 

Izumi chokes. His tail winds itself tighter around Ritsu's arm. He squirms back, more purposefully than before, seeming to deliberately seek friction from where Ritsu's own cock throbs against him. Satisfied, Ritsu's ears flick. 

"'Don't' what?" Ritsu can't help but tease. He rocks his hips, also, indulging in the perfect fit of Izumi curving before him. "Does it really feel so good you can't even finish your sentences for me...?"

This is punctuated with another, smaller yank, and somehow Izumi crumples even further. His head turns, exposing his profile: his cheeks are flushed as red as his neck, brows furrowed and tears budding at the corners of Izumi's tightly closed eyes. Sweat mats his silvery curls to his forehead. His lips hang parted, allowing the escape of every shapeless moan and pant.

Ritsu sighs, a little mystified, and noses the curve of Izumi's neck. All of Izumi's bite is really, truly gone — lost to the pain and love Ritsu so generously gives him. He is hardly different from a whore keening to be spanked. 

"Such a slut," he hums, both cruel and affectionate, before digging his teeth into Izumi's red neck.

Izumi whines, wanton, and pushes back even more desperately, melting even further under Ritsu's bite. This only proves Ritsu's point, of course. "K-Kuma-kun — ... Ah..."

Ritsu pulls again. Rather than making it a quick tug, he keeps Izumi's tail pulled back, similar to how he might have pulled his hair in the past. Ritsu holds him firm, almost like he's holding Izumi in place for the hard way he ruts against him. 

His teeth dig deeper, too, keeping Izumi where he is just as much as his hand does. The blood that beads onto his tongue as a result is sweet, rich, invigorating. It makes the jerk of his hips rougher, which in turn makes Izumi's next mewl louder.

In his other hand, Izumi's cock dribbles. Ritsu smooths his thumb over the leaking tip, delights in the other’s following cry. Izumi's voice will likely be hoarse tomorrow. Ritsu imagines that he might give him the cold shoulder for that — try to, at least, but he'll be quick to come around. A catnap together might do the trick.

That, or Ritsu will press the right buttons and drive him to this point all over again.

In this moment, though, he finally takes proper hold of Izumi's dick. This shift is followed by another broken attempt of Izumi calling his name. His teary eyes blink open to reveal the glassy blue of his irises, gaze weakly trying to meet Ritsu's own. Ritsu rewards him — rewards them both, really — with a full jerk of his cock, then falls into and matches the rhythm of his hips.

"Mmm," Izumi whines again, eyes already pressing back shut. "Kuma-kun, that's — ah — it's too... I'm..."

Drawing his teeth from Izumi's neck, Ritsu presses his lips against the fresh wound and smiles. He grips Izumi's tail a bit tighter.

"You can let go, Secchan." Not that he hasn’t already, but Ritsu knows — just like he knows Izumi's most sensitive places and what will get him talking to him again — that sometimes having permission does the most for him. The hand on Izumi's cock does not slow, but Ritsu's own grind does. Just for now; just to drag his own stamina out a little longer. "It's, ahh.. Pointless holding back now when you're already acting so slutty."

Then, the last fraying thread for Izumi snaps before Ritsu's very eyes. He watches as his tension and pleasure mounts, as Izumi thrusts into Ritsu's hand and as his curved body curls even further. He listens to the new chorus of sounds to escape him, the unique mix of his desperate whines and deeper, throatier moans. 

And Ritsu also feels Izumi come as much as he sees and hears it. He feels it all: the full body tremble, his cum being milked onto Ritsu's fingers, Izumi's tail winding so tight around his arm it nearly hurts. It doesn't matter how many times Ritsu has borne witness to this; he still marvels at the way Izumi's body was wound so tight, so taut, and how it then laxes against Ritsu after his release.

A full beat of silence passes. Or, at least, something closer to silence, with the most noise from Izumi being heavier pants as he clearly tries to catch his breath. Ritsu lets it fade into two beats, then three. He takes the buffer period to draw the hand at Izumi's cock away, straightening as he brings it to his mouth and lazily licks the cum from his fingers. His eyes remain fixed on Izumi's crumbled figure all the while.

On the fourth beat, Izumi seems to regain his senses enough to prop himself up onto his elbows, at least. His legs are shaking, Ritsu notices, slight as it may be. Shaking and moving to crawl forward — as though he thinks they're done here, or something equally self-absorbed.

Again, Ritsu harshly tugs at Izumi's tail. As a reminder — and as there's no more reason to hold out anymore — he also rocks against him with another firm buck of his hips. 

"Fuck," Izumi hisses.

"Secchan," Ritsu says, his own voice breathy, his ears now flicking from impatience. His gaze drops from where Izumi's head has once again sunk into his arms, instead looking to where his own cock throbs desperately against the curve of Izumi's ass. "Don't be selfish~... You have to take care of me, too."

"Y-yeah," comes Izumi's quieter, tenser reply. He's past spent; Ritsu takes pride in having caused a climax that rattled him to this degree, but... "Whatever, just..."

"Yeah," Ritsu hums, understanding in this as he is in everything else. "Just stay still for me, 'kay~...?"

And Izumi, overstimulated but oh-so-cooperative, does.

[fromslumber]

under the skin, breathing even (ao3) izumi and ritsu rest. written for the prompt: cuddling somewhere ♡

Ritsu's bed is a fortress of high quality, ridiculously soft blankets and ginormous feather-filled pillows. The first time Izumi had been shown Ritsu's dorm room, his brows had risen at the sheer volume of them (even though, sure, he shouldn't have really expected any different), but now he finds himself grateful for the plush material he sinks into. It allows a certain bonelessness, a full body release, that his own bed — both here and in Italy — do not. In the strangest of ways, it feels like coming home.

He's only distantly aware of how Ritsu positions and puppets him to accommodate them lying together, and how he, in turn, naturally shifts to comply. His hands at Ritsu's back, at the base of his neck. Ritsu's arms around his waist. Ritsu's leg slotted between his. His own leg, stretched to drape over Ritsu's thigh. And, finally, finally: Ritsu gently nosing his way into the crook of Izumi's neck, his dark strands tickling Izumi's nose. 

Izumi angles his head, just enough to bury his face in Ritsu's hair proper, and breathes.

A contented purr rumbles along his collarbone. It tickles, as it always does, but this is another thing Izumi is only dimly aware of. His eyelids feel impossibly heavy. "Secchan's feeling sweet tonight, mm?"

"Mmm..." His fingers curl at Ritsu's neck, absent-mindedly and instinctively catching the spot he knows Ritsu likes. Another, softer purr sounds as his reward. "Mostly just tired."

Truthfully, Izumi doesn't think he registers just how tired he has been until now. His brain feels muddled, his thoughts fuzzy around the edges; when he tries to think of what might have driven him to this point, he can't quite remember any of what he's done over the last few weeks at all. He hardly remembers what he's done in the last couple of hours, even. And that is an almost alarming realization, something his mind catches on, like a pucker in a stitch — but the gentle press of lips against his collarbone has any sense of concern smoothed over and drifting away, same as everything else.

"If you're so tired," Ritsu says, the slightest teasing edge rising above the overall drowsiness of his tone. Izumi imagines that a soft, lazy smile must grace his features. "Don't hurt your head thinking 'bout stuff. It's okay to just sleep."

If Izumi were more alert, or simply less used to Ritsu, he might wonder how he knew Izumi was getting tangled up in his thoughts in the first place. As is, he knows and trusts Ritsu's ability to pick up what he (perhaps wrongly) considers even his most discreet tells, and — hm. 

While Izumi may not have realized how exhausted he was until now, wrapped in the bed's soft sheets and Ritsu's embrace, Ritsu is another matter. Perhaps he has known all along. Perhaps, Ritsu inviting him to spend the night here was neither as spontaneous nor as selfish as Izumi might have initially believed. He knows similar things have happened before: Ritsu taking note of the ways Izumi is running himself ragged, and gently, gently taking matters into his own hands. So, so gently, that sometimes Izumi himself does not notice that Ritsu has done so at all.

His fingers curl into the fabric of Ritsu's shirt. Thank you, he thinks, but his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He settles for burying his face further into Ritsu's dark hair, letting his lips linger against Ritsu's crown — a subtle, near purposeless kiss of his own. One he knows Ritsu will understand.

Again, Ritsu shifts, angling his own head to press a second, chaste kiss to the column of Izumi's neck. This time, Izumi can feel the shape of his smile against him. "Thinking too hard," he chides, soft in even this. "Just sleep with me, Secchan."

And the rest — 

The rest simply drifts away.

[fromslumber]

tired eyes refuse to close (ao3) shortly after leo's suspension, ritsu finds himself alone with izumi. they both stay. a love letter to ritsu, and appreciation for izumi bringing him into knights’ orbit ♡

Despite Izumi's general attitude and supposed distaste towards being "up close and personal" with others, Ritsu has never seen him alone. When they first met, just before the school gates and beneath the blinding sun, that "shitty four-eyes" stood with him. When they first took the stage together, Knights' spritely composer catapulted towards him. And then that same composer stayed. And he stayed. And he stayed. When Knights practiced, when Knights performed, when Ritsu glimpsed Izumi in passing — Leo always remained.

When there was shrieking in the hall and Izumi was struck by accusations so cruel that Ritsu was left shivering... there was still Leo.

(As painful as those screams were, it was obvious that Leo thought the world of Izumi. Leo had turned to two total strangers, assured grin splitting across his face, and said that they would also come to love him. All they needed to do — all Ritsu needed to do — was stay by Izumi's side.)

Weeks have passed since that fight. Weeks have passed since Leo was suspended, and Knights have not met since. Ritsu's life has, in most meanings of the word, returned to normal. He no longer wakes to Leo nestled too close beside him (even Ritsu is surprised that he allowed that to happen so often), or finds himself being dragged to last-minute practices or duels. The days are back to bleeding together with no consequence.

And, just as he did before some ex-model went and stepped on him, Ritsu is back to hiding in quiet, secluded corners of the school. Since lunch break, he's been resting in some dingy studio no one wishes to rent out, knees drawn to his chest and head awkwardly propped against the wall. It's not the most comfortable arrangement, but Ritsu's never been too picky in that particular regard. Furthermore, it's one of the few spots he can tuck himself away into without his stupid brother's stupid lackeys hovering about. That makes it much more valuable than the more comfortable places Yumenosaki has to offer.

That train of thought is interrupted by the quiet drawl of the door being opened. Ritsu swallows a groan. So much for that, he thinks, casting a wary side-glance towards the door — but the person standing there is no one he expects. 

Better yet, it's one of the few who never thought of Ritsu as "Rei Sakuma's little brother" at all.

In all his pristine glory, there is Izumi Sena, hair just as carefully tousled and practice uniform just as perfectly pressed as they had been the last time Ritsu had seen him. Ritsu half-expects Leo to pop up from behind him, taking this coincidental meeting in stride and insisting Ritsu make space for him to nap, too, but of course it never comes. Izumi stands alone, stares at Ritsu alone, and looks down at the key in his hand alone.

A huff of laughter, too quiet for Izumi to hear, falls past Ritsu's lips. "That lock's long busted," he calls, without moving from his spot against the wall. "Properly renting this room out is pointless."

Izumi clicks his tongue. "Of course," he mutters, but Ritsu notices that he still takes care in closing the door gently and tucking the key away properly.

Through half-lidded eyes, Ritsu watches as Izumi leaves the door to set his things in the opposite corner. Besides the distinct lack of Leo at his side, everything about Izumi is just as he remembers. He walks with the same confident swagger. His chin is held high with that same infallible pride. As recent as it was, there is nothing to suggest Izumi still carries the burden of he and Leo's fight. Ritsu himself has been visibly upset over far less.

After drawing his phone from his bag and scrolling through what Ritsu assumes is a playlist, Izumi's eyes catch his. "You do know that I'm here to practice, right? If you're going to complain about the noise or whatever, you might as well leave now."

Ritsu considers it. From the depths of his memory, Leo tells him and Arashi to always stay friends with Izumi. A quieter voice reminds him that nagging aside, he doesn't particularly mind Izumi's company anyway. "It's fine. I won't complain."

"Heeh, really?" says Izumi. Ritsu shrugs. A pause, and then: "When was the last time you practiced, anyway?"

"The last time you made me," Ritsu mumbles, already sinking further into the wall, eyelids already drooping. "Don't push your luck, Secchan."

Izumi scoffs, but he really doesn't push it any further than that. Ritsu's eyelids fall closed, and some time later, one of Leo's compositions begins to ring through the studio. It's an older piece, Ritsu notes, presumably one that Izumi finds less miserable than Leo's recent works. The song is soon punctuated by the squeak of Izumi's shoes against the studio's worn floors. In his mind's eye, Ritsu can visualize the footwork and the sharp movements of the dance that accompany it. Izumi always dances with a precision that most Yumenosaki students could not even dream of.

The song loops four times before Ritsu gives up on sleeping altogether. He straightens, just enough to be simply leaning against the wall rather than trying to melt into it. "What are you practicing for?"

Feet scuttling to a stop, Izumi looks back at Ritsu over his shoulder. A pretty flush sits upon his cheeks, and his shoulders heave with every breath. His shirt is so sweaty that it clings. Ritsu registers these details with a sort of passive curiosity, and, in a way that is similarly passive, he wonders if Izumi's taken a break for water since coming here. 

"Why wouldn't I be practicing?" Ritsu's gaze flicks up and away from Izumi's sweat-soaked torso to meet a challenging set of ice-blue eyes. "Just because Knights is on hiatus, doesn't mean that I'm about to start slacking off."

"Hiatus, hm...?"

"Yeah, hiatus. It's not like Ou-sama's gonna be gone forever."

That's what Ritsu thought about Rei, too. He wonders if Leo will come back the same: a cheap imitation of the person Izumi once knew. 

He can't say that aloud, though. He doesn't think he wants to. Instead, a melancholy, pensive silence threads the space between them. Neither of them make an attempt to break it. Perhaps Izumi also indulges in it to turn over his thoughts, both considering Leo and the ways he had already seemed to be breaking — until, again, Izumi clicks his tongue, gaze dropping from Ritsu's own.

"Whatever," he says, and it's only now that Izumi crosses the room, snatching his water from where it sits beside his phone. For whatever reason, he still allows Leo's song to play. He takes a long drink, and then, after lowering the bottle from his lips: "I'd be practicing even if Knights had to disband. I still want to be an idol. Why would I be here otherwise?"

It seems like it should be a rhetorical question, but Izumi's eyes are on Ritsu again, looking at him a bit too expectantly for that to be the case. Ritsu merely blinks back at him, long and slow. Thinks of — but doesn't mention — the irony of it, considering the nature of Yumenosaki.

And, considering the nature of Yumenosaki — "Mm... Sounds hard."

Izumi squints over the top of his water bottle. "What part?"

All of it, really.

Too much to go into, even worse than whatever Ritsu was thinking of before — so he just makes a small shake of his head. Izumi purses his lips.

Don't push it, Secchan, Ritsu thinks, though this time, he finds there's no need for him to say so. Izumi lets it drop. Instead of pushing, he brings his water bottle back to his pursed lips, parts them, and drinks.

With the way Izumi tips his head back, a bead of sweat catches the light, catches Ritsu's eye. It runs down the column of his neck before disappearing into his shirt's neckline — and, for whatever reason, draws an almost insignificant memory from the recesses of Ritsu's mind. He is brought back to one of many scattered, last minute practices, only two or three months ago. The air had already been tense then, Izumi and Leo both wound up in ways that Ritsu had pretended to overlook, but —

Izumi's eyes had softened when he looked at Leo. When it turned out Leo had brought no water bottle with him, Izumi revealed he had brought two, just in case. When he had held it out to Leo, a bead of sweat identical to the one Ritsu sees now had run down his outstretched arm and over his elbow. Concern and fondness and something more had graced his features, just for Leo, despite how tense Izumi was becoming and how he scolded him.

Again, Ritsu wonders how Izumi seems to have sprung back as easily as he has. He also thinks that he's seen it already: little glimpses of what might make Izumi lovable, of why Leo encouraged him and Arashi to stay.

"It's not going to be easy," Izumi admits, startling Ritsu to the present. It doesn't hit him how far he's sunken into the memory until he's yanked out of it; he blinks at Izumi as if emerging from a dream, and finds himself internally scrambling to find the last thread of their conversation. Izumi carries on, either oblivious or uncaring, "With the Dreamfes system, and Knights..." He stumbles a bit on the words, and this time, Ritsu is again taken back to that fight, to yelling in the hall, to one of the few flickers of light he had seen in Yumenosaki being snuffed out. "But this isn't over."

"You're smarter than you look, right? Your strategies... helped, back when our efforts honestly mattered." Izumi clears his throat, glancing back down to briefly meet Ritsu's gaze. Ritsu still blinks back at him, a little owlish. "So help me come up with something that'll make Knights worth people's respect again."

There really is nothing Ritsu can do but stare back at him.

What the hell is he being so bossy for, grumbles one part of him, but another is transfixed by the way Izumi has lowered his water bottle and drums it lightly against his thigh, by the fact that his eyes still aren't quite meeting his. A lone voice at the back of Ritsu's mind cries: You're smarter than you look. You're smarter than you look. This is the first person since Maa~kun to look at you and not care about your stupid connection to your stupid brother at all.

His mouth feels dry; he can't find the words to say anything at all.

Yet another sharp click of Izumi's tongue resounds through the studio. "Not that I can force you. Think about it if you feel like it, or whatever," he says. Without another word, he turns from Ritsu and sets his water back with the rest of his things. 

The song is finally taken off repeat in favour of another. The one that begins to play in its place is just as familiar, if not more-so; it is one of the first of Leo's Ritsu ever remembers hearing. Izumi starts to dance again, and Ritsu draws his knees closer to his chest.

There's still a place to stay. It reeks of desperation and stubbornness, but — there is something here. Not a home, but something.

So Ritsu closes his eyes, and might think for the sake of Knights' future. He might stay.

[fromslumber]

tastes like strawberries (ao3) leo joins tsukasa for a little stress relief. a gift for a friend ♡

This, Tsukasa decides, without the slightest scrap of exaggeration, is the highlight of his whole week.

Maybe his whole month, even. It's been an especially long and toiling one. More-so than ever, both his duties to Knights and his duties to his family have kept him impossibly busy. While Tsukasa prides himself in doing what he can to balance everything thrust upon his plate, and in doing a good job doing so, he is only human. A month or so of constant responsibility deserves proper respite.

And Tsukasa thinks, truly, what better respite is there than this? Finally, finally, he can cast aside all that weighed upon him in this last week, month, whichever (in this moment, Tsukasa can afford to think less of the details), and lose himself here. Here, where Tsukasa's eyes fall closed in bliss as his lips draw similarly closed around his long parfait spoon, readily surrendering to the sweet weight of the treat on his tongue. He savours that weight, same as he savours the first wondrous bite of strawberry, and then the soft floaty cream sandwiched between.

This — sweets after all sorts of running around and a variety of different stressors — is its own sort of heaven. Tsukasa can't help himself; he lets out a contented little sigh.

There is a laugh across from him. Tsukasa's eyes blink open, of course, finding his companion — er, rather, his date — on the other side of their small café table. Leo smiles back at him.

In his eyes there is a certain sort of fondness, just for Tsukasa. In the curve of his lips is a certain sort of impishness — also, both fortunately and unfortunately, often just for Tsukasa.

Tsukasa swallows. What is left of the parfait on his spoon goes down with it.

"What are you laughing at, exactly?" Tsukasa asks. It's not like he'd forgotten he wasn't alone, or anything. It's not even like this would be the first time Leo's seen him acting like he has. Tsukasa pouts a little, digging his spoon back into his parfait before bringing it back to his lips. He keeps his eyes open, this time. Leo does a poor job of concealing another giggle. A bit sulkier, Tsukasa adds: "The face I'm making isn't that funny, I'm sure."

"Not really," Leo chimes. "Well, it sorta is, but that isn't it. You're cute, Suo!"

Tsukasa feels his cheeks warm. "Oh."

Leo hums, content. Mischievous, too, but enough for Tsukasa to overlook as he draws the spoon from his mouth again, letting it rest on his bottom lip. Then, his eyes widen, head jerking up to meet Leo's gaze properly.

"Wait, 'that isn't it?' What is it, then?"

"Ah, ah, but that's no fun! Let's play the game, 'What about cute lil' Suo is making me laugh!'"

"I don't want to right now," Tsukasa says, pouting again. He's not so much self-conscious, anymore. He's mostly just curious, wanting to know what's caught Leo's eye, and also wanting him to take it a little easy on him. And, also, "I want to eat my dessert."

As he moves to look back to said dessert, he catches Leo's smile curling wider from the corner of his eye. When his line of sight drifts closer to its target, it catches on Leo's dessert, as well: untouched, right down to even the cutlery still sitting in its pre-set place.

Tsukasa's brows furrow. "You haven't even started yours."

Leo laughs. Brighter, fuller, without any attempt at stifling it. "It's not gonna run away! Unless you're planning on snatching it, I guess."

"I would not, unless you gave me explicit permission — …"

"Never mind, never mind! My point is, I'm not in any rush."

Leo's head tilts to the side, the golden flecks in his electric green eyes striking when they're caught by the café's low lights. He's regarding Tsukasa openingly, fond and impish and content and mischievous, and, though curiosity burns at him, this time Tsukasa simply lets him. Leo's just entertained by his attempts to understand, it seems, so he will leave it be and enjoy his parfait. It's not like he minds having the other's attention — even if it is a little embarrassing knowing it's at the cost of Leo neglecting his own sweet of choice.

And —

Alright, no. Never mind. He's too curious, after all. He can't exactly lose himself in his dessert-induced heaven like this.

"Leo-san," he starts, after carefully clearing his throat. "Please, let me know — …"

"Aaaarrghh, seriously, I can't take this anymore!" Leo cries, all of a sudden, interrupting Tsukasa a second time. He stands up, too, so abruptly his stool makes a skrrk noise as it's shoved back behind him. "Suo, you really have no idea!"

"S-sorry?" Tsukasa says. "I… That's right, I have no idea…?"

But Leo doesn't deem that with a real response. He's swept up in something beyond words, craning over the table in a way that, at the back of his mind, has Tsukasa realizing he's balanced himself on the tips of his toes. The pad of Leo's calloused thumb comes to Tsukasa's cheek, pressing as the rest of his hand cups him. Tsukasa's lips part — partially because of the light pressure, but also to try and form a question — only to be sealed closed by Leo's being pressed atop of them.

Tsukasa's heart stills, breath catching in his throat. He should be used to Leo's abrupt affection by now, but the force of this still catches him by surprise — fleeting as it might be. The kiss is broken before Tsukasa has really had the chance to process it, and when Leo pulls back, it's with a slyer smirk than before. The thumb pressed against Tsukasa's cheek is pulled away and to Leo's mouth; Tsukasa has just enough time to catch sight of a spot of cream smeared across it before Leo pops it between his smiling lips. The entire sequence of events and this image both have Tsukasa's face burning.

"That's been on your face since you first started!" Leo says, by way of explanation. With his brain short-circuiting, it takes Tsukasa a moment to realize he means the cream that ended up on his thumb. And then in his mouth. And, ah, now that Tsukasa's looking, is now also caught at the corner of his lips? "I'm not in any rush, but you're sure eating like you are!"

"Ah, y-yes, of course," Tsukasa manages, a tinge embarrassed. He's also distracted by how Leo's tongue darts to try and catch that last spot of cream. Try as he might, Leo still misses, and the spot remains. "My apologies… I must have gotten ahead of myself."

"Wahaha! No need for apologies!" Leo's smile softens. "It made me laugh, but you're also cute, Suo."

Tsukasa nods, then smiles himself as he also starts to rise from his chair. "Though, if I may say so… I don't think you have much room to get on my case for eating messily."

"Hm?" Leo's eyes drop to his still-neglected plate, then lift back to meet Tsukasa's. His expression turns a bit sheepish. "I still haven't even started, though."

"No, you haven't," Tsukasa agrees. "But in general, and also…"

He punctuates the thought by leaning in, pressing his own chaste, fleeting kiss to the area where the cream still sits. Leo makes a small, surprised, but pleased chirp at the contact before he swings his arms around Tsukasa's neck. This brings that little kiss into an awkward mess of a hug, and laughter, and more ticklish little kisses over their cramped café table.

If Izumi catches wind of this P.D.A. whirlwind, much less discreet and careful than Tsukasa and Leo's typical stolen kisses and moments, Tsukasa will hear no end of it. Without a doubt, that will be its own stressor, and might lead to another long month of more.

But for now, Tsukasa casts all thoughts of that aside. He allows himself to surrender to this, just as he had to his parfait: Tsukasa greedily loses himself to sweet, sweet, stress-free bliss.