Ninomiya wakes to the sensation of Mikoto polishing his blade, the oil smooth over the steel, and he manifests easily enough. The reforging must have gone well, but there's a weight in his chest, like maybe the balance of his blade has changed. He kneels down beside Mikoto and watches him work.
"Good to have you back," Mikoto says, not entirely facetiously.
"Yes." He feels stronger, much stronger than he did when his steel was split, thin with providing physical support to both himself and Nanaki.
Mikoto hums a classless little tune popular in Heian-kyo around the time of his forging, and keeps polishing.
"Nanaki's still sleeping," Mikoto remarks. "I'll sharpen him up tomorrow."
"I see." Ninomiya leaves him to it, returning to his blade to sleep.
He wakes and remanifests late the next morning, and as soon as he's corporeal he can feel exactly where Nanaki is, knees to his chest watching Mikoto hone the second blade.
Ninomiya manages not to fly to him, if only because it's only one room and Mikoto would never let him live it down, but he kneels down behind Nanaki and wraps him in a hug nonetheless, burying his face in Nanaki's hair.
It's like lighting himself on fire. The weight in his chest goes hot, molten, straight between his legs, and Nanaki gasps, back arching.
"I missed you," Ninomiya says through his arousal. He can feel their energies blending, now, in a way that he couldn't before, even when they shared the same blade-metal. Like being swallowed up at the same time as he drinks in Nanaki's essence.
Nanaki hums agreement and reaches up to bury his hand in Ninomiya's hair, head tilting, and Ninomiya buries his face in Nanaki's neck, reveling in the heat of his skin and the smell of him, like good sword oil and cumin and electricity, and the noise Nanaki makes when Ninomiya licks his neck is gorgeous, perfect,
Someone shoves him away from Nanaki. Oh. Mikoto.
"Get a fucking room," Mikoto says, meeting his eyes. "I'm as happy as anyone that you're both alive, but nobody needs you to have sex where we can all see."
"I was gonna film it and post it online," Itsuki says, mashing a few buttons on his DS but not looking up. "Everyone'd just think it was cosplayers."
He can still feel Nanaki, surprised and still-close, and aches to touch his hand.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Nanaki murmurs, flowing to standing. "If you'll excuse us."
He turns, leaves the room, leaving Ninomiya scrambling after him. Probably the others are laughing about it, how Ninomiya's following him like a dog, but this is different, this instant heat, the sense of Nanaki's closeness. It wasn't like this when they were paired tachi.
Nanaki's waiting for him in the hall, his hair a little disarranged and a shiny streak on the side of his neck, above the collar of his shirt. His eyes are wide, wild.
"What's gotten into us?" Nanaki says.
"Mikoto melted down both blades and reforged them," Ninomiya says. "After he got snapped in the w- after he got snapped, he and Shiou were like this."
Nanaki lays a hand on his cheek, touch warm. "Did they stop?"
Ninomiya swallows. "Shiou died." He uses Nanaki's hand to pull him in close, to curl Nanaki into his body. "Don't you fucking dare do that."
"No," Nanaki says, leaning up to kiss him. He devours Ninomiya's mouth, pressing his whole body to Ninomiya's, and all Ninomiya can do is hold him tight and close, take what he's given and give back everything he's taken.
Ninomiya's room is on the other side of the hallway, so Ninomiya opens the door and presses Nanaki inside, closing the door behind them while Nanaki sheds his coat and pushes Ninomiya's off his shoulders, taking both their glasses off and setting them on the nightstand. Ninomiya lets the coat drop to the floor and presses Nanaki onto the Western-style bed, lying on top of him and kissing him, threading his fingers through Nanaki's hair. Nanaki untucks the back of Ninomiya's shirt and runs his hands up his back, along his spine; it draws threads of heat through him and he grinds down, feeling Nanaki's hardness through all their layers of clothing.
Nanaki moans, turning his head and exposing his throat, and Ninomiya kisses him, licks the perfect smoothness of his skin, the rise of his tendons underneath, even as Nanaki reaches down, takes hold of Ninomiya to pull them closer together.
It's almost never like this, too eager to undress, drowning in each other. Ninomiya is taller and stronger, but he feels unmade, cradled by Nanaki's hips and hands and the curve of his neck.
Nanaki's pulse flutters in his neck as he gasps, knees coming up as Ninomiya thrusts down against him, pressure and sweetness, the sensation blunted by clothing but the weight in his chest hot and bright to make up for it.
Nanaki curls his legs around Ninomiya's thighs, sock-clad heels scraping along the cloth of his pants legs, unable to get purchase they rock together, and Ninomiya gasps out, "Gonna come soon," too far gone for embarrassment.
"Me too," Nanaki moans, pulling him in tighter with his hands, the knot of his necktie digging into Ninomiya's collarbone through his shirt, and then he laughs, breathlessly, "Next time I'm going to hold your sword while..."
Ninomiya doesn't let him finish the thought, fingers carding through Nanaki's hair and smearing his mouth up against Nanaki's, not so much kissing as trying to swallow his breath, thinking about the sweet slide of Nanaki's fingers over the steel of his blade, oil and stone and skin and maybe maybe a faint cut, sipping a taste of Nanaki's blood, becoming one inside and out –
Ninomiya gasps, throat tightening as he comes, and the heat in his chest goes white-hot, surging through him as he presses down once more against Nanaki and comes with him.
Nanaki is still breathing hard, chest half-heaving under Ninomiya's weight, and Ninomiya feels exposed when Nanaki's legs uncurl from around him, dropping back to the bed.
His chest feels light. He rolls off Nanaki and adjusts his pants, which are rumpled, and feels like a teenager for coming while still completely dressed.
Nanaki curls into his side, hair ruffled every which way, and Ninomiya runs a thumb along his cheekbone, feeling the warmth of him. Knowing that they're both parts of each other now.