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So Hot

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As far as yummies go, a moth crossed with a disco ball is definitely not the strangest thing Gotou's had to deal with.

A yummy that then proceeds to dump a truckload of glitter on them is a new one, though.

Date doesn't even get the chance to get his driver on before he gets coated in a fine layer of iridescent powder, and the burst that Gotou aims at the yummy's chest area goes wide when he's blinded by the gust of glitter that settles on his face. He hears the birth driver make an unwilling grinding noise, and takes it to mean that Date's subsequent attempt at transforming hasn't gone well, either.

Gotou rakes the powder away from his eyes and tries to take aim, but he just has enough time to see the little disco balls hanging from the moth's antennae whirl around cheerfully before the yummy blinks out of sight, presumably to go dump glitter on some other unsuspecting passers-by.

Gotou coughs and wipes his face with the back of his hand. It tastes faintly sweet. It's not gritty, though—instead, it's soft and light, like very fine scales.

“Gotou-san,” Hino says, looking off anxiously in the direction that the yummy bounced off in. He's mostly unscathed, with only a light dusting over the shoulders of his armor. “I'm going to go after the yummy, okay? You guys hang back.”

Gotou nods at him. “Right,” he says. Both he and Date are potentially compromised, so they should retreat for now.

“Be careful, huh?” Hino says, swinging a leg over his motorcycle.

“Don't worry, we'll catch up!” Date says. He blinks away glitter and gives Hino a thumbs-up.

Hino nods and flings a candroid into the air, and kicks off to follow the chirping of the octopus can.

Date coughs and wipes his mouth. He examines the back of his hand, tilting it back and forth. “Huh, sparkly. That butterfly got us good, huh?” He unbuckles the birth driver and gives it a few whacks, sending a small shower of glitter onto the sidewalk.

“It's a moth,” Gotou says. He wipes the powder away from his eyes, and tries to focus on covering their retreat, so that the yummy won't ambush them again. They're in a neighbourhood not far from his apartment, and there should be an alley nearby that they can find cover in while they get themselves sorted again. Hino shouldn't be too far ahead by the time Gotou can check their equipment. He hopes that the glitter hasn't jammed the driver too badly.

Gotou shivers. It's odd. It's chilly out, but he suddenly feels too warm, and he can feel everywhere his clothing touches his skin. He scrubs his hand over his face, trying to focus.

He almost fires a burst right into a parked car when he feels Date's hand on his cheek.

“You have some glitter on you, too,” Date says. “Hold still, I'll get it.” He strokes his thumb over Gotou's cheek, and Gotou turns his head into his touch without thinking, his mouth open against Date's skin.

Date's hand stills, and Gotou realizes what he's doing. He wrenches himself away from Date's hand.

“Date-san. We should probably find a shower to, to decontaminate ourselves,” he says. His skin is still prickling everywhere, uncomfortably hot.

“Ah, a shower does sound good,” Date says cheerfully. “You've got some in your eyelashes too, you know.” His voice sounds normal, but his hand comes to rest on Gotou's shoulder, and that simple, warm pressure is suddenly overwhelming.

He must have made a noise, because Date says, “Hey, did the yummy hit you?” Date frowns and quickly presses his hand to Gotou's chest, to his sides, and Gotou knows that it's the perfunctory touch of a doctor checking for injuries, but he leans into the touch, and he doesn't know why.

He licks his lips, trying to gather himself. “I. No, I'm not hurt.”

Date is still frowning. His hand lingers on Gotou's chest, fingers spread, and Gotou can feel his heart beating fast under his palm. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Gotou says, swallowing down any other noise. His breath keeps on coming up short.

“Okay. You better tell me if there's something, right?” Date says, waggling his finger at Gotou.

He takes his hands away, and Gotou wants to yank them back to him.

Date turns and starts down the alley, and also starts taking off his shirt. Which. Really doesn't help the situation.

“Please don't take off your shirt, Date-san,” Gotou says.

Date keeps on taking off his shirt. “Hot out, isn't it?” Date says.

“It's the middle of November, Date-san,” Gotou says.

“Right, right,” Date says, but his shirt's off, and he's stroking his hand over his chest distractedly, smearing a line of sparkles down his stomach.

Gotou tries to put together a response to that, but his words feel muddled in his mouth, and he can't quite fit them together right, as if he wants to be doing a lot of other things with his mouth, rather than talking. Like fitting it to the hollow of Date's throat.

He scrubs his hand over his face again. “We should—” he starts, and then stops, because what had previously been just a low humming under his skin crashes over him, fever-hot, and all he can think of is that he's not touching anyone, and that he needs someone's hands on him right now.

He wants to take Date's hands, to press them to his bare skin and to touch Date in turn, and these aren't new thoughts, but they've never come with such urgency, such immediate thirst, like he needs his touch more than air. He gasps, his knees going loose.

“Gotou? Shit, what—”

The rub of his pants against his cock is almost too much, just by itself, and he falls back against the wall of the alley. Date's hands are there to catch him, strong and steady, and Gotou arches into that touch, every inch of his skin singing with it.

"Date-san," he gasps.

It might have taken a little longer to hit Date, because he's larger, Gotou thinks hazily, but he can see the moment it does, the way his eyes go wide and dark. His hands curl against Gotou's sides, and Gotou clutches at his arms, feeling the smooth stretch of Date's muscles under his skin.

He leans up and catches Date's mouth with his own, and Date's mouth is tender and hot and wet, and it doesn't seem to slake the wanting, but to make it stronger.

He pulls Date closer against himself. Date accepts the manhandling easily, his wide hands sliding down Gotou's back and around his ass. Gotou can feel Date through his clothes, hard against his belly, and he's hard too, his hips hitching against Date's thigh, and it feels so good, so fucking good. Date's hand is spread wide against his back, warm and solid, and Gotou pushes his hand up Date's back, splaying against his skin.

Gotou gasps into Date's mouth, and Date apparently decides that this could be even better if he didn't have to lean down to kiss Gotou, because he wraps his hands around Gotou's thighs and hitches him up against the wall.

The remaining brain cells that Gotou might have called semi-functioning don't have a chance. He moans and grinds down against Date, clinging to his shoulders. It does nothing to clear the heady, feverish haziness, but it feels so right.

“Date-san,” he says thickly. “Please, I—” But he doesn't know how to finish that sentence, because there are too many things that he wants, and it also seems so simple, so desperately simple.

“Yeah,” Date says, his voice low, vibrating against Gotou's neck when he sucks a kiss under his jawline. “Yeah, me too.”

From there, Gotou pretty much gives up on thinking straight.

The next morning, Gotou wakes up feeling fairly sure that he was run over by a really attractive eighteen-wheeler.

Despite this, he manages to ascertain a few things:

1) There's an arm slung around his waist and someone warm pressed full-length along his back.
2) Presumably Date.
3) Hopefully Date.
4) They're both very naked.
5) They're in his apartment. He's not really sure at what point they made it back to his apartment, or how they got up the stairs and unlocked the door without scandalizing all of his neighbours, but they seem to have managed it in either an impressive feat of teamwork or pure blind luck.
6) He has a line of hickeys down his chest, and they probably continue elsewhere.

Gotou groans and fumbles around for his cellphone. There's five concerned texts from Hino (from Ankh's phone, presumably) and two from Satonaka that just say “took care of it,” and “incriminating photos included. claiming overtime for that, jsyk.”

He drops his phone back onto the floor and groans again, trying to decide what to do next.

There's a soft exhale on the back of his neck, a quiet, contented sound, and then the dry press of lips against the top of his spine.

There's definitely no manual for this situation.

“Good morning,” Gotou says, after a second. It feels like taking a dive and not knowing the depth of the water.

Date's arm slung over his waist stiffens slightly, and then consciously relaxes, muscle by muscle. “Hi,” he says, his voice sleep-thick and gravelly. “Er. I'm sorry about yesterday.” He pauses and shifts his arm, as if to move it off. “Are you... Are we okay?”

Gotou takes a breath, rolls over in Date's loose grasp and fits his hands to Date's jaw, stubble prickling against his palms. Date looks at him, his blunt fingertips coming to rest on the back of Gotou's hand. Something shivers in Gotou's belly, not all-consuming like before, but something clear-eyed and still wanting.

He kisses Date, and Date kisses back at once, slow and focused, and for once, Gotou isn't the one worried about doing things right. Date's mouth is as broad and perfect as he remembers it being, only it's even better now, without the desperate urgency and the haziness—only the sun filtering in through the blinds, tender and new.

“Good morning,” Date says cheerfully when Gotou pulls away for breath. “Really, really good morning. You've got glitter all over your nipples, you know.”

Gotou doesn't flush, and doesn't think of all the other places in his apartment that must be covered in sparkles, and definitely, definitely doesn't think of the fact that Date's mouth must have been on his nipples at some point. And a few other places.

“I think it's inert now,” he says. It almost doesn't sound strangled.

“Should I ask Dr. Maki about it? It would be totally hypothetical. Like, so, Dr. Maki, hypothetically speaking, if there was a hypothetical butterfly yummy with a hypothetical sparkly sex powder thing, what—”

“No. It was a moth, anyway.”

“Right, right,” Date agrees easily. He kisses Gotou again and rolls over, slinging Gotou's arm over himself. “Let's go back to sleep, okay? Phew, you tire a guy out, Gotou-chan.”

Gotou thinks about protesting any number of things about that sentence, but decides that it really isn't worth it. Date's back is broad and warm and only a little glittery, and Gotou presses closer to him, his knees slotting in behind his.

He closes his eyes again. They can worry about the rest later.