words enough for two [Loveless | Ritsuka/Soubi | NC-17]

[reversedhymnal.livejournal.com]

Title: words enough for two
Fandom: Loveless
Pairing: Ritsuka/Soubi
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ritsuka is learning.
Notes: Written for an old springkink prompt, Loveless, Ritsuka/Soubi: happy endings - "Promise that you'll never go away." Even after so long, Loveless still writes the same way for me: with something to say, and no quick way to go about it. ♥ 4,010 words. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as it was a joy to write it, ♥



The click of his camera was the only crisp sound; the rest of the morning was still dreaming, soft and quiet. A bird sang thin notes like a distant memory, and shadows were smudged gray in the crevasses of the world around them, untouched. Ritsuka looked at it through his camera, found a new angle, and pressed down the button to capture the image.

Behind him, Soubi leaned over Ritsuka’s shoulder to look, and Ritsuka’s ears twitched a minute warning, which Soubi answered by pressing solidly against his back. Sighing, Ritsuka took another picture.

“Why are you taking landscapes?” Soubi breathed out warmly against his temple. With practiced ease, Ritsuka turned in the circle of his Fighter’s arms, and snapped a random picture over his shoulder; it was a little blurred, and at a sideway angle, smudging lavender sky with gray shadows, and lights from a slumbering city like darkness on fire. It was nice, Ritsuka thought, deciding he liked it.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked back in challenge.

It made Soubi shrug, smiling, and Ritsuka pretended not to notice that Soubi was slowly working his fingers beneath Ritsuka’s jumper, like maybe if he moved stealthily enough Ritsuka wouldn’t notice until it was too late, and he suddenly had icy hands spread out like a frozen tattoo on his body and leeching at his warmth.

Ritsuka pursed his lips at him, and explained, “So I can remember.”

He broke out of Soubi’s hold, walked over the park grass, and flopped back onto it. The fall leaves smelled like wet earth, cushioning his landing, and Ritsuka took another picture before he’d quite settled, leaves drifting on the edges of the frame. Motion lost within stillness, caught in a single moment.

“Ritsuka.” Soubi’s deep voice made a warm curl of amusement in the chill morning air. “The morning comes every day.”

“But it’s never quite the same, is it?” Ritsuka sighed, and tried not to blink; took more pictures by stretching his arms as high above him as he could. If he leaned over a little, he could catch Soubi in a long dark stretch of coat, long hair beading gold in the morning light. He thought to himself: that’s life, nothing ever stays.

He snapped another picture.

“And today you just decided to remember this one?”

Soubi’s shadow fell across Ritsuka, and he blinked. Click: Soubi in view, eyes like the sky behind his glasses, mouth soft and long in a wry half smile. Ritsuka smiled back at his camera, closing his eyes and still seeing Soubi’s smile.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I did.”

There was a tiny click, and Ritsuka opened his eyes, startled. Soubi smiled at his phone, and Ritsuka wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, or amused at the way they smiled at the memory of each other. “Hey,” Ritsuka snapped after a hesitating second, “what are you doing, stupid?”

In obvious answer, Soubi wriggled his camera phone with a grin, and then snapped another picture with it, laughing when Ritsuka made a face.

“Whatever,” Ritsuka huffed, eyes narrowed. Pushing against the ground, he stood, Soubi leaning down to meet him half way for a stolen kiss. “Heeey,” Ritsuka growled in protest, while Soubi looked pleased with himself; and Ritsuka almost took a picture of that face, except that such behavior should not be encouraged.

“If you want a kiss,” he said instead, “just ask.”

Instead of asking, though, Soubi smiled, slow and beautiful. “I like kisses. They’re never quite the same. It’s always something familiar and new to look forward to.” He held out his hand, and Ritsuka stared at his long fingers, his thin wrist, the patient way he waited; Soubi’s fingers were cold in his, and Ritsuka wrapped his smaller hand firmly around them.

“Let’s go home,” Ritsuka said.

By the time they got back to Soubi’s apartment, the sun had fully risen, and the morning had sharpened and changed. Ritsuka wondered what kind of morning tomorrow would bring, and if he’d drag Soubi back out to witness it.

*

Soubi had a show downtown the first night it snowed, early winter. Ritsuka didn’t go with him, but arrived later, with Yuiko at his side. Ritsuka had seen all of the paintings, and Yuiko had seen several of them already, and Ritsuka was very careful to walk across the wood paneled floor in circles that kept him away from where Soubi spoke with guests.

“I like paintings,” Yuiko said thoughtfully after the complimentary champagne in their glasses stopped fizzing and went instead a little warm, and they could finally feel their toes again. Ritsuka, trying to duck down behind his collar because it was obvious that he was the boy in most of these paintings, felt awkward, and said nothing.

So Yuiko continued, of course. “It’s ‘cause they aren’t flat, I think. I watched a painting show once, on TV, and it- you have to build the picture. There are so many layers, so much paint and color and meaning that get painted over, and hidden, but is still there. It’s like- like- It’s like the painting is alive, growing into what it’s meant to be.”

Ritsuka stopped them when they came to the last painting on that particular panel: a pale boy with dark lashes and darker hair in a bed of leaves, small smile and a butterfly held tenderly in his arms, wings dripping pale lavender like the color of a morning sky.

“Are we like paintings?” he asked, distracted from his awkwardness, busy, instead, trying to understand.

Yuiko wasn’t looking at the paintings anymore. Now she was busy observing Ritsuka, and smiling; Ritsuka could feel her smile warm against the side of his face. He didn’t have to look at her to know; she didn’t have her ears anymore, but she didn’t need them, always so emotional, like a physical force. “I think so,” she told him happily, “except that I know I’d rather be Ritsuka’s friend in real life than be friends with a painting of Ritsuka.”

Ritsuka blushed, and downed the rest of his champagne.

*

School became more enjoyable with each new year; some teachers better than others, but new things to learn, to worry at until they were comprehended. Ritsuka kept his books in good condition, and did his homework, and was first in most of his classes. Sometimes he studied in groups, with Yuiko and other friends, but usually he did his homework in Soubi’s presence, just for the silent company. One afternoon Ritsuka came home from his high school, and the first thing Soubi said as soon as he was in the door took him by surprise: "Ritsuka, would you still love me if I'd had a sex change?"

Jerking to an abrupt and sudden stop with one shoe still on and his mouth slightly open, Ritsuka stared. "Whaaat?"

Soubi just kept looking intently at him, curled comfortably with his arms around his knees on the couch, his toes curled over the seat cushion charmingly. His eyes were wide and laughing behind his glasses, and he pressed mute on the television remote, so he could better repeat: "If I'd been born a woman, would you still love me?"

"Graawh," Ritsuka said, as he realized: "You've been watching that trashy drama on TV again, haven't you?"

"Poor Susumu," Soubi agreed mournfully, the corners of his mouth twitching at the way Ritsuka’s tail was lashing about wildly.

Ritsuka puffed out his cheeks, and glared at Soubi, hopping as he finished taking off his shoes and toeing them neatly against the wall before coming in, and dumping his school bag by the table. “I hate spring dramas,” he muttered, throwing himself sullenly beside Soubi on the couch. Immediately, Soubi moved, melted against him, curving his body effortless around Ritsuka’s shape like there was no other way for them to be aligned, except together; Soubi sighed wistfully in pleasure, like he’d been starving before this touch.

Ritsuka reached over in response, tangled his fingers in Soubi’s hair, and exacted a kiss from him that left his Fighter sighing in a different kind of pleasure.

“Stupid,” Ritsuka muttered when he was done, and eyeing the way that Soubi’s eyes were half-lidded and dreaming; he licked his lips, and cleared his throat, tugging on Soubi’s hair one last time before letting go gently. “You already look like a girl. It wouldn’t matter.”

“Oh?” Soubi asked. “And what if I cut my hair, hm?”

“Now you’re just being contrary,” Ritsuka frowned. “And I’m telling you, it wouldn’t matter, so stop being stupid.”

Soubi stared at him in glittering patience, and said with precise pleasure, “Yes, sir.”

Ritsuka thought rather petulantly about how stupid Soubi’s beautiful stupid face was, and wound up kissing him again. Then he got up, off the couch, twisting out of Soubi’s long arms, which held but did not cage, because he had homework to do, and dinner to cook, and the sunlight fell through the windows too strongly for them to waste it making out like teenagers on the couch. Ritsuka tried not to blush, and ignored the fact that a teenager with raging hormones was exactly what he was.

Stiffly, Ritsuka said, “You’ll miss your show.” Soubi moved slow and reluctantly behind him, taking his time putting the television’s sound back on like maybe Ritsuka would change his mind and get back to kissing. Ritsuka shook his head to clear it of heated thoughts, and grabbed his homework across the room instead, sitting down in his chair.

He stared at his math equations for a long time, pencil held loosely between his fingers, swinging slowly back and forth like a pendulum. Sunlight fell through the room, and the drama continued in Technicolor behind him, and Ritsuka didn’t actually do any work, thinking, distant and distracted. Ritsuka wondered: if Soubi were a girl, would he be as tall? Then he realized, with a snort: it wouldn’t matter; Soubi is Soubi, and he’d still want to kneel down at my feet whatever his shape.

It didn’t have to be spoken, Ritsuka thought, though sometimes it was nice to hear it. Loveless was almost used to the warm feeling of love that tightened his chest, and the contentment that came from feeling Soubi watch him, like he couldn’t help himself; wouldn’t want to help himself.

Ritsuka scrunched his face ruefully as he felt his face heat up regardless, and started his calculations.

*

His mother’s grave was high at the top of a hill, and it was hot in that part of the cemetery, not many trees to break up the precise walkways and the solemn markers. The sun bore down white overhead, and Ritsuka was glad for it as he finished caring for his mother’s resting place. He wiped his brow, and finished tossing the weeds he’d cleared out behind him before settling down before the grave, and sharing his lunch with her.

This was the second summer since she died, and Ritsuka still wouldn’t let anyone come here with him, silent and scowling and determined beneath worried requests to make it a less solitary event. But nobody else understood her like he had, and Ritsuka finally realized that how much he still loved her hurt his friends. So alone he went, and alone he spent the day in the presence of ghosts, and alone he returned home. He looked at her name carved down the pillar of her grave, and he sent out a thought to her memory: Don’t feel bad about leaving me alone here, mother; even though I remember you, you’re still just dead. You can’t help it.

A bird sang and the shadow of it passed overhead, and the rice tasted like ash in his mouth; he swallowed anyway.

He spent a lot of time thinking here, kneeling quietly where his mother could no longer reach him. The first time, he cried, and felt lost, but that was a different Ritsuka from the one that kneeled there the next year. Like his tears had watered him and he bloomed, a little, even if the petals were dark and the scent sharp. Once, shortly after it happened, Ritsuka’s therapist had asked him a question: What is death?

Ritsuka looked now at his mother’s grave, and thought that he was beginning to understand, had started when the tears fell cleanly and no blows followed.

Mother will never change from the person in my memory, Ritsuka thought to himself. Just like Seimei. That, Ritsuka thought, was what it meant to be dead: unchanging. Just a memory, trapped in silence.

At the end of the day, Ritsuka packed up his things, and brushed dirt from his slacks. Bowed with respect, and left his mother’s still white grave behind. Ritsuka went home, to Soubi, who was still living, still breathing, who chose to align the pace of his heart to Ritsuka’s beat, and move with him. Ritsuka leaned close to Soubi in the semi-dark of their bed room, and pressed his fingertips to still fading scars; Soubi arched his neck pliantly with a soft breath, and Ritsuka brushed his mouth against another dead memory.

Then Ritsuka decided to let the dead rest, and pressed his mouth against Soubi’s. Soubi opened up for him readily, so that Ritsuka could trace words against Soubi’s tongue, like a language so forgotten it was practically new.

*

Yuiko and Ritsuka were at the mall, window shopping, and drinking cold juice to battle the heat of high summer. Ritsuka was giving Soubi a long afternoon alone in his studio, because he’d been driving himself to a frenzy over a new concept he couldn’t seem to pin down with Ritsuka lying around the house sweating and looking ravishable, apparently. When Soubi told him that, Ritsuka had blushed, and opened his mouth to protest, but Soubi had eaten the words out of his mouth with a slow curl of his tongue, and that had been that.

Yuiko was telling him about a cute nightgown she’d bought that she thought Yayoi would appreciate, pulling Ritsuka by the hand to see if they could find the store so she could show it off to him. Ritsuka followed, flustered, and asked, without thinking about it: “How did you know?”

“Uhm?” Yuiko looked over her shoulder at him, her long pink hair in a bouncing ponytail with bright yellow clips. “How did I know what?”

Ritsuka huffed an awkward breath, scowling but only at himself. He said, “How did you know when you were ready to- to have, uh, sex.”

“Oh,” Yuiko said, her blue eyes widening, and her cheeks blushing prettily around her smile. “That. Uhm. Well, I don’t know if it’s quite so much knowing when you’re ready?”

Ritsuka stared. “What does that even mean.”

It made Yuiko laugh, and she pulled them to a stop in the middle of the busy mall hallway, with light coming through skylights and people chattering and laughing everywhere, a mixture of adults and twitching kid ears. Yuiko squeezed his hand, and leaned in; dropped her voice not to a whisper like she was ashamed, but like she wanted him to understand: “I just wanted.”

*

Soubi was sleeping soundly in their bed when Ritsuka padded on silent feet to the bathroom. He turned on the light, dim orange glow reflecting off the surfaces of their shared domesticity. He looked at himself in the mirror, and studied his eyes, the smudges of sleepiness on his pale skin. He was sharp bones, now, no longer cute; he was growing, aging, stepping forward through time.

He reached up, watching his reflection move like a graceful twin in the flat surface of the mirror; he stroked his ears, soft and warm, felt them twitch beneath his fingertips, the slight scrape of his nails. He didn’t think they looked childish, but perhaps that was because he’d learned what growing up meant.

He told himself: “Promise that you’ll never go away.”

He pressed his fingertips to the mirrored reflection of his face, smudged the glass and distorted the image. He smiled, and his heart beat a quick and steady tempo in his chest. He thought back to himself: I won’t disappear so easily.

And then he thought: The mornings may change, but they’re still morning. And: Life is like that: Nothing ever stays, so you change with it. It’s like a painting that’s always being repainted, but the brushstrokes can’t be erased, just built upon.

He clicked the light off, and went back to bed. Soubi was solid and warm sleeping in his arms.

*

It was fall again. Ritsuka woke up with the morning, and the sky was glorious. Behind him, Soubi made sleepy sounds, and groped a hand through the sheets to curl it over the silken fur of Ritsuka’s tail. “Another photo shoot?” Soubi asked in a sleepy burr, willing if not eager to leave the soft confines of their bed.

Ritsuka smiled, and said, “No, I don’t think so.” He turned to Soubi, pressed down against him and stole a kiss. Soubi blinked up at him, and smiled, a look in his eyes pure and shining, and Ritsuka’s chest was tight, the feeling perfect.

“Ritsuka?” Soubi murmured, sliding his fingers along Ritsuka’s back, rubbing his thumb slow against Ritsuka’s nape.

“I think we’ll make new memories this time,” Ritsuka said lowly. “And we’re not capturing these on camera.”

Soubi’s eyes widened, clear without his glasses. Then he laughed, delighted and breathless, and Ritsuka had to kiss him again. He didn’t know if there was ever a right time for this, for laying Soubi out beneath him and sliding away clothing, tracing wet paths along the curves and lines of Soubi’s body, like he was tracing constellations with his tongue, lingering on bright points like he could swallow down Soubi’s brilliance.

But Ritsuka wanted more than what he had; he wanted everything; he didn’t want to stay where he was. He wanted Soubi’s voice to break on ragged gasps, wanted to make Soubi feel so good he begged for Ritsuka to touch him, make him come, to mark him so the memory lingered long after it was past. Morning light flooded through the windows, warm against their heated flesh.

Ritsuka was burning, inside, outside, he felt like he was flying and like he’d never been so grounded and certain at the same time, despite how fast his heart raced, despite how his fingers trembled, just slightly. But Soubi followed him all the same, listened, obeyed, wanted it so badly that he was shaking with it, panting in sharp needing gasps, eyes wide on Ritsuka.

“I want to see your face when I’m inside you,” Ritsuka blurted.

“Yes,” Soubi hissed, hips jerking like what Ritsuka had said was a physical touch. He spread his legs, his body arching, drawing Ritsuka closer to him. Ritsuka kissed him, pressed his palms to Soubi’s thighs, stroked the soft skin there, massaged Soubi’s balls curiously and teased a wondering caress down the length of his erection.

Soubi held still, let him touch his feel, fingers twisting in the sheets. “Ritsuka, Ritsuka,” he said, breathlessly. “Master, please- I.”

“When I’m ready,” Ritsuka told him firmly, and Soubi shuddered, going lax and pliant, so much perfection in long scarred limbs, in such absolute trust. Ritsuka smiled at him, felt it fit a little awkward but decided that was okay. He leaned down, pressed a kiss to the tip of Soubi’s length, and was wildly delighted at the ragged cry it elicited.

“Master,” Soubi said slowly, like it took him great effort to remember how to shape the words and force sound that wasn’t raw need from his throat. Ritsuka slid his fingers back past Soubi’s balls, across smooth skin to touch his hole, and Soubi’s throat worked in agonized swallows. “Master, there’s- lube in-“

Ritsuka snorted, and nipped Soubi’s hip with his teeth, blushing despite everything. “I know where the lube is, stupid,” he muttered. Soubi laughed, and moaned, and Ritsuka licked his bite mark tenderly, before reaching over the bed, for the lube Soubi kept in the dresser.

“You want this,” Ritsuka panted, acknowledgement and question all in one, after slicking his aching erection, feeling Soubi’s eyes follow the slide of his fingers hungrily.

“I’m yours,” Soubi answered simply, digging his heels in and lifting his hips so that Ritsuka could slide his knees beneath Soubi’s thighs. Ritsuka squeezed out more lube, warmed it between his fingers, and pressed into Soubi with cautious care.

“Ah- ahhhn,” Soubi breathed. He bit his lip, and his eyelids fluttered.

Ritsuka said, words off-kilter, ragged: “Pay attention.”

Soubi’s eyes were the color of a perfect morning, pale and lavender gray when the shadows were soft and the world was dreaming of a new day. “Yes, sir,” he said, and it sounded like I love you, and Ritsuka breathed in sharply, felt tears sting his eyes, and was so scared he’d mess this up.

But he wanted.

“Stay with me,” Ritsuka said, “Keep moving with me.”

Soubi did, pressing down on Ritsuka’s fingers, small luxurious rolls that opened him wide around Ritsuka’s fingers. “Ritsuka,” he whispered.

“Do you want more?” Ritsuka pulled his fingers out with a slick pop. Felt around for the foil of a condom. Hesitated, so nervous.

“Yes, please.”

Ritsuka snorted, with laughter, relief crashing over him. His tail was curling in constant anticipation, his ears flickering in an overload of sensation; he barely noticed, it wasn’t important. What was important: Soubi and Ritsuka moving together.

“Okay,” Ritsuka said, “Okay. I. Okay.”

He hissed as he rolled on the condom awkwardly, panting by the time he was done. Soubi watched with appreciative, glittering eyes, a wicked slant to his dreamy smile, and Ritsuka narrowed his eyes at him. Growled, blushed, a slew of emotions ricocheting and tightening along his spine, curling in his stomach like liquid heat.

And then he slid into a heat that was even hotter than the pleasure that had been steadily building inside him, and tightness, such tightness; had to strangle a cry by biting his lip hard and focusing on not coming too early. He moved forward slow, Soubi making soft whining cries and not moving, holding still and welcoming, until Ritsuka was flush with him, pressed tight, inside.

“Is this- Am I doing this- all right?”

Soubi sighed, reached up and traced his thumbs along Ritsuka’s cheekbones. “It feels. Hahh ah…so good,” he told his Master. Ritsuka kissed his fingertips, and started to move.

*

After, afternoon lazy and dizzy with light, Soubi pressed wandering fingers across Ritsuka’s body in meandering walks. He smiled, that stupid pervert smile, and said, “Ah, Ritsuka has made a real man of me now.”

Ritsuka snorted, and gave him a flat look, but found he was far too content to move a muscle. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around, stupid?”

Soubi laughed, and tickled against Ritsuka’s sides until Ritsuka snorted with laughter as well, and swatted at the offending fingers lazily. Then Soubi’s hands were in his hair, soothing and petting, though there were no longer any cat ears to fondle.

“My Ritsuka has always been man enough to handle me,” Soubi said in deep amusement.

Ritsuka narrowed his eyes, and huffed. He watched the graceful curve of Soubi’s features, the pleased dark look in his eyes. Then Ritsuka said, quiet and a little shy, “We have forever, now. Right?”

Soubi looked up at him, and smiled, and Ritsuka couldn’t help but notice how relieved he looked, how happy. Ritsuka’s heart was tight, and he had to bite his tongue before he interrupted Soubi’s answer. Soubi said, “We have all the mornings in the world, Master.”

Ritsuka smiled at his Fighter, who never stopped fighting for him, and told him, “I love you.”

“I have always loved you,” Soubi whispered back, voice ringing with truth, with old fact. Ritsuka blushed, and decided that was enough talking; he pressed Soubi over, and licked inside his mouth, while his fingers found new and familiar pathways to follow across Soubi’s skin.

Comments

[pixie-blade.livejournal.com]

Oh, yummy, very nice my dear, very nice.

[sarisia.livejournal.com]

mmmm, happy endings. I'm happy with them. ^^ ♥ Mem'd.

[(Anonymous)]

it is really great! Thank you very much for writing it!

Would you mind terribly, if I translate this fic into Russian language and publish it? I will state everywhere that I am just a translator and you are the author of the fic. Also, all the additional information (like your email or website) can be published, if you wish.

Thank you once again for your wonderful work!

Mellu (mellu at mail.ru)

[orvida.livejournal.com]

Ok i agree with pixie_blade

[mona-may56.livejournal.com]

This is gorgeous!