Work Text:
kanata shinkai is selfish.
he likes it too, being selfish. selfishness. taking what he wants is that same feeling as dunking your head under water - cool and refreshing and like you're seeing the world in a new way. gods aren't selfish. kanata wasn't selfish. every part of him was like purified salt. take a pinch. ward off rogues. humans are selfish. humans want. humans crave. kanata becomes selfish, kanata learns to want, kanata learns to crave. it suits him.
kanata shinkai has a wish.
he can't grant it himself, can't make it come true. humans, he's learned, are fickle. they are a constant changing tide, crashing into rocks, spreading in thin waves. he's no moon. but still. he wants. craves. desires.
wishes.
he wishes madara mikejima were selfish too.
(because if kanata could, he might bottle him up. he might hold his hand so tight their bones cracked under the pressure. he might open his chest and tuck madara inside, just under his lungs, sitting on his diaphragm, sitting beside his heart. so no one could find him. so no one could take him. so kanata might hold him so tight nothing can pull them apart. he might he might he might.)
he's curled up in a shared bed when the want-wish strikes him again. madara always seems to slink in the dark, just at the cusp of sleep, always like a dream. feather light touches trail down the nape of his neck, to where his spine meets his neck. a single finger traces over his night shirt to where a patch of skin meets the night's cold air. it hovers there, a barely-there touch. kanata makes a sleepy noise, his voice caught in his throat. madara laughs, a soft barely-there breath. "ahhhhh, did mama wake you up? this villain is sorry," he says.
the hand retracts. kanata's skin feels covered in goosebumps. kanata feels the night’s chill.
his voice still hasn't caught up, not as madara presses his lips to his forehead, tugs a blanket over. "sorry, sorry," he placates again as kanata tries to form sleepy thoughts into words. he steals a kiss, gentle and chaste. kanata aches. he rises, pushing himself up to crash into madara, all high-tide, as the brunette tries to resituate themselves to be comfortable. madara is so, so gentle for him. kanata doesn't want him to be violent, really. he likes his softness, the delicate way his thumb brushes his cheek before he steals another freely given kiss, the way his eyelashes flutter against kanata's skin.
but he wants him to be selfish too. selfish in the way kanata is, kissing a little too roughly. pressing a little too hard. leaving a mark. he wants to be held not like glass, but like flesh and blood and bone. to bruise. it's his unspoken wish, swapped between kisses and fingertips.
madara mikejima is not selfish... yet. kanata hopes he will be.