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necessarian) wrote2015-07-11 11:25 pm
necessarian) wrote2015-07-11 11:25 pm
Entry tags:
early mornings
an experiment—written between the hours of 00:00 and 01:42 on june the 7th, set in the early hours of some other morning. an experiment—written to push myself, to Attempt to write something intimate, familiar, domestic.
Sunrise is a grey light in the distance when Chikara wakes up and dimly notices it coming in through the blinds. It’s accompanied by the quiet sound of rain on the windowsill, gentle enough to pass as relaxing. He shuts his eyes again, turning on his side and away from the window.
Kenji is still asleep—of course, for all his talk he’ll never quite be a morning person. He sleeps on his back and with his mouth open, his arms sticking out at odd angles. One of them is wedged uncomfortably between him and Chikara. If he’s not on his back, he’s on his side, one arm draped over Chikara and one arm, as always, wedged uncomfortably between them. Chikara is used to it. It’s Kenji’s left arm, it’s not like he needs it to spike.
Lifting himself up, Chikara anchors himself to the bed with an elbow as he checks the clock on the other side of the bed. It’s almost seven. That’s perfectly reasonable.
“Kenji.”
Kenji rolls in the other direction, muffling his face in the pillow. He groans.
“Kenji, come on,” Chikara says, “wake up.”
“No,” Kenji says.
“You’re awake,” Chikara says. “Please just accept it. It’ll make things easier for both of us.”
Kenji curls his knees up to his chest. “You’re evil and I dislike you intensely.”
“That’s more like it,” Chikara says. He lets himself fall back down onto the bed and winds an arm around Kenji’s waist, drawing him closer. Gradually, he shifts so that his cold toes align with the soles of Kenji’s feet.
“Evil,” Kenji says, pulling himself even closer together. “The worst person I know.”
“I can live with that,” Chikara says, “if it means waking up like this every morning.”
“Gross,” Kenji says.
“Maybe I’ll put that one in a screenplay,” Chikara says.
Kenji doesn’t say anything, but he does relax a bit, so Chikara moves closer and buries his head in the crook of Kenji’s neck.
“You know,” Kenji begins. Chikara doesn’t let him finish, kissing the back of Kenji’s neck, running his other hand down Kenji’s back.
“I guess it’s one of these mornings,” Kenji says, shaking Chikara off and turning so they’re facing each other. Kenji is still half-asleep, eyes half-closed, but there’s just a bit of light from between the blinds hitting his face, and Chikara has never seen a scene so perfect.
Chikara knocks their knees together, and Kenji responds by slipping Chikara’s legs between his own, tangling the two of them together. “It’s raining,” Chikara says. “Of course it’s one of these mornings.”
“Put that in a screenplay,” Kenji says.
Chikara doesn’t really have a good response for that. He presses his mouth to Kenji’s, and Kenji’s lips part right away. It’s a slow, lazy kiss, because they’ve got enough time just to languish, to take the morning at their own pace. Chikara brings a hand up to the back of Kenji’s head, running fingers through his hair. Kenji’s hands are busy elsewhere, slipping under Chikara’s shirt and insistently pushing it upwards. It’s cold, though, so Chikara resists, deepening the kiss as a distraction, pulling Kenji closer towards him.
It backfires—Chikara slides onto his back and Kenji follows above him, hands on either side. Kenji has never had very good manners, so it comes as no surprise to Chikara that he has the gall to laugh. Chikara has terrible manners too. He would probably be laughing if this was the other way around. As it is, though, Kenji’s got the upper hand, quite literally, and he slides one upper hand beneath Chikara’s shirt, nudging it towards freedom.
“It’s cold,” Chikara huffs. “Have you no decency?”
“None,” Kenji says proudly.
Chikara’s shirt is off in the space of seconds, flung to the other end of the bed, and Kenji’s bending down, kissing his way from Chikara’s jaw, along his neck, to his collarbone. Chikara can feel himself sinking deeper into the bed. He can also tell he’s starting to lose control of his awareness—he’s always aware of when that happens. It’s like the last bit of his own agency he can cling onto before he becomes a being of pure experience. He always forgets what he wants to write down. Before he says goodbye to his impulse control entirely, he clings onto Kenji’s waist like he’s drowning—which he sort of feels like he is.
The words leave his mouth quietly and without his permission—“Kenji, marry me”—but by some small act of mercy, Kenji doesn’t notice. He keeps going, pulling Chikara up so that they’re sitting, the blankets falling around them and leaving a rush of cold air in their place.
Kenji brings his head back up and their mouths collide again, and Chikara vaguely registers that he’s kissing with a sense of urgency now, trying to wash his mouth out and pretend he didn’t just blurt out something embarrassing. He pushes forward with distraction tactics, pulling Kenji’s shirt up and over his head. Kenji, to his credit, doesn’t even shiver with the cold, just laughs.
“Okay,” Kenji says.
Outside, the rain gets heavier.
“Okay what?” Chikara asks.
“Okay, I’ll marry you, idiot,” Kenji says, pressing a palm to Chikara’s chest. His hands are surprisingly warm. Chikara’s heart starts beating faster.
“I thought you didn’t hear,” Chikara says. “I didn’t mean to—”
“—to blurt it out like that?” Kenji asks. “Or to ask at all? I mean, not that you really framed it as a question.”
Chikara looks away, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. “Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” Kenji says. “You make breakfast and I’ll call the registry office.”
Chikara pushes him off the bed.
Sunrise is a grey light in the distance when Chikara wakes up and dimly notices it coming in through the blinds. It’s accompanied by the quiet sound of rain on the windowsill, gentle enough to pass as relaxing. He shuts his eyes again, turning on his side and away from the window.
Kenji is still asleep—of course, for all his talk he’ll never quite be a morning person. He sleeps on his back and with his mouth open, his arms sticking out at odd angles. One of them is wedged uncomfortably between him and Chikara. If he’s not on his back, he’s on his side, one arm draped over Chikara and one arm, as always, wedged uncomfortably between them. Chikara is used to it. It’s Kenji’s left arm, it’s not like he needs it to spike.
Lifting himself up, Chikara anchors himself to the bed with an elbow as he checks the clock on the other side of the bed. It’s almost seven. That’s perfectly reasonable.
“Kenji.”
Kenji rolls in the other direction, muffling his face in the pillow. He groans.
“Kenji, come on,” Chikara says, “wake up.”
“No,” Kenji says.
“You’re awake,” Chikara says. “Please just accept it. It’ll make things easier for both of us.”
Kenji curls his knees up to his chest. “You’re evil and I dislike you intensely.”
“That’s more like it,” Chikara says. He lets himself fall back down onto the bed and winds an arm around Kenji’s waist, drawing him closer. Gradually, he shifts so that his cold toes align with the soles of Kenji’s feet.
“Evil,” Kenji says, pulling himself even closer together. “The worst person I know.”
“I can live with that,” Chikara says, “if it means waking up like this every morning.”
“Gross,” Kenji says.
“Maybe I’ll put that one in a screenplay,” Chikara says.
Kenji doesn’t say anything, but he does relax a bit, so Chikara moves closer and buries his head in the crook of Kenji’s neck.
“You know,” Kenji begins. Chikara doesn’t let him finish, kissing the back of Kenji’s neck, running his other hand down Kenji’s back.
“I guess it’s one of these mornings,” Kenji says, shaking Chikara off and turning so they’re facing each other. Kenji is still half-asleep, eyes half-closed, but there’s just a bit of light from between the blinds hitting his face, and Chikara has never seen a scene so perfect.
Chikara knocks their knees together, and Kenji responds by slipping Chikara’s legs between his own, tangling the two of them together. “It’s raining,” Chikara says. “Of course it’s one of these mornings.”
“Put that in a screenplay,” Kenji says.
Chikara doesn’t really have a good response for that. He presses his mouth to Kenji’s, and Kenji’s lips part right away. It’s a slow, lazy kiss, because they’ve got enough time just to languish, to take the morning at their own pace. Chikara brings a hand up to the back of Kenji’s head, running fingers through his hair. Kenji’s hands are busy elsewhere, slipping under Chikara’s shirt and insistently pushing it upwards. It’s cold, though, so Chikara resists, deepening the kiss as a distraction, pulling Kenji closer towards him.
It backfires—Chikara slides onto his back and Kenji follows above him, hands on either side. Kenji has never had very good manners, so it comes as no surprise to Chikara that he has the gall to laugh. Chikara has terrible manners too. He would probably be laughing if this was the other way around. As it is, though, Kenji’s got the upper hand, quite literally, and he slides one upper hand beneath Chikara’s shirt, nudging it towards freedom.
“It’s cold,” Chikara huffs. “Have you no decency?”
“None,” Kenji says proudly.
Chikara’s shirt is off in the space of seconds, flung to the other end of the bed, and Kenji’s bending down, kissing his way from Chikara’s jaw, along his neck, to his collarbone. Chikara can feel himself sinking deeper into the bed. He can also tell he’s starting to lose control of his awareness—he’s always aware of when that happens. It’s like the last bit of his own agency he can cling onto before he becomes a being of pure experience. He always forgets what he wants to write down. Before he says goodbye to his impulse control entirely, he clings onto Kenji’s waist like he’s drowning—which he sort of feels like he is.
The words leave his mouth quietly and without his permission—“Kenji, marry me”—but by some small act of mercy, Kenji doesn’t notice. He keeps going, pulling Chikara up so that they’re sitting, the blankets falling around them and leaving a rush of cold air in their place.
Kenji brings his head back up and their mouths collide again, and Chikara vaguely registers that he’s kissing with a sense of urgency now, trying to wash his mouth out and pretend he didn’t just blurt out something embarrassing. He pushes forward with distraction tactics, pulling Kenji’s shirt up and over his head. Kenji, to his credit, doesn’t even shiver with the cold, just laughs.
“Okay,” Kenji says.
Outside, the rain gets heavier.
“Okay what?” Chikara asks.
“Okay, I’ll marry you, idiot,” Kenji says, pressing a palm to Chikara’s chest. His hands are surprisingly warm. Chikara’s heart starts beating faster.
“I thought you didn’t hear,” Chikara says. “I didn’t mean to—”
“—to blurt it out like that?” Kenji asks. “Or to ask at all? I mean, not that you really framed it as a question.”
Chikara looks away, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. “Okay,” he says.
“Okay,” Kenji says. “You make breakfast and I’ll call the registry office.”
Chikara pushes him off the bed.
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THIS IS OFFENSIVELY CUTE
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i love this so much, I, too, want to marry both of them.
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i like how this piece of work uses ennoshita's POV! the whole description (especially the opening: "Sunrise is a grey light in the distance"), thought process ("clinging to the last bit of his self-control" etc), and the way he sees futakuchi (i can't do examples; affection is spilling from my laptop) are all so in character. in other words, cinematic, visual, and also as if ennoshita'd like to capture the moment between himself and futakuchi with scenes. the best part is how futakuchi goes along with it like they're already married.
also i'm weak in the knees bc of the proposal. nobody's immune to that.
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