Work Text:
With one eye fixed on the black clouds hanging menacingly above his head and his thigh muscles burning with the effort of pedalling, Hira turned the last corner into his street. As he did, a strong gust of wind caught him from behind and he let it push him the last few metres to his gate.
He was just unfastening the latch when the rain that had been threatening the whole journey home, finally began to fall. Large, heavy droplets soaked everything in seconds.
Pulling the hood of his coat up over his head, Hira rushed to secure his bicycle and then headed indoors. Fortunately the yellow oilskin protected him from the worst of the deluge, and once he was safely through his front door, he shrugged off the coat and hung it on a hook to drip dry. His sensible brown brogues were left neatly on the mat.
The house had a quiet stillness to it as he padded through, his sock-clad feet making no noise on the hardwood floor. For the third and final time, Kiyoi was going to be out all night, filming scenes for his latest drama. So Hira was home alone, and he had plans. He was going to eat his evening meal, then watch Kiyoi's scenes from all his other dramas and commercials.
It was going to be a blissfully self-indulgent evening.
Hira's first priority though was to change out of his work clothes and into something comfy. In the bedroom he shared with Kiyoi, Hira found that in his usual style, his king had left the bed an unmade mess. On top of the rumpled covers was Kiyoi's sleepwear—an old hoodie he'd appropriated from Hira years ago, and a set of plaid pyjama pants. They were in a pile on Kiyoi's side of the bed.
Once he'd straightened the sheets, Hira picked the pyjamas up and buried his nose in them, breathing deeply before laying them out on top of the duvet. To finish off, he placed a photo of Kiyoi's face on the pillow as if Kiyoi was lying on the bed waiting for him. His king would probably complain and call Hira all sorts of names if he knew what he'd done, but as Kiyoi wasn't expected home before dawn, he'd never know.
Dinner was simple, and Hira ate quickly. He knew from experience what would happen if he turned the TV on too soon. He’d get so absorbed in his king’s performance that he’d forget to eat. Still, feasting on the sight of Kiyoi’s beautiful features always felt like enough, so maybe it didn’t matter.
Kiyoi had been in several dramas, and Hira decided to watch the action one first. He settled cross-legged on the floor, close to the TV. The plot wasn't nearly as good as his historical drama, but his king had more screen time in it. Not that it really mattered; Hira would only watch the scenes Kiyoi was in and fast forward through the rest.
In the film, Kiyoi played a gangster, black-suited and carrying an automatic rifle. His hair was slicked back from his forehead, all except for one rogue lock that fell artfully into his eye like a paid extra, and Hira found himself brushing the screen as if he could smooth it back.
He mimed along with the dialogue as he watched. He knew every line, every inflection. The sound of his king's voice washed over him, making Hira's head spin. Kiyoi's voice was a little raspy as he said his lines. He sounded unreal. Sexy. It was like heaven to Hira's ears, or maybe hell, or maybe a mixture of both. But it made Hira's heart race, made him hot all over, made him want. He wanted Kiyoi so badly, it was like a physical ache in his gut.
Once the film was over—one hundred and fourteen minutes condensed into just thirty-eight—Hira set the historical drama playing. In this one, Kiyoi played a lover, and as Hira listened to Kiyoi speak, he felt a shivering sort of chill creep down his spine the moment the words left Kiyoi's mouth. There was so much emotion, so perfectly pitched, that Hira felt his palms begin to sweat as he stared at the screen in awe. The affirmations of love sounded so beautiful spilling from Kiyoi's perfect lips; he truly was a king amongst actors.
✧˖°
When Hira finally switched off the television and stood to stretch, time had ceased to have meaning. It had grown dark since he began his descent down the rabbit hole of watching Kiyoi on screen, and the orange of sodium lights was filtering in through the blinds. The noise of the rain hitting the roof swelled, sounding loud and angry, but Hira paid it no mind.
Once he'd finished getting ready for be, Hira dived headfirst onto the mattress and pressed his face into the hoodie. It smelled like Kiyoi—the whole room did. He sighed happily. As he lay there, enveloped in Kiyoi's intoxicating scent, Hira felt the heat making a comeback through his body. He closed his eyes, trying to cool himself down, but his brain was overactive. He could picture it perfectly—Kiyoi beneath him, letting Hira touch him like he owned him—hear the beautiful sounds of pleasure he coaxed from his lips. His blood pooled low in his crotch.
Shamefaced for having such sinful thoughts about his king, Hira snuggled further into the bed like he was hibernating for winter. But the drag of fabric over his already swelling dick only added to his problem. He let out a long groan as the friction sent ripples of pleasure through every limb. Mindlessly, Hira began rocking his hips, gently grinding the hardness growing between his legs into the mattress beneath him. The movement triggered fresh surges of sensation that danced along his nerve endings.
As he rutted into the mattress, Hira imagined that he could hear Kiyoi's moans. Pressing his face even harder into the worn cotton, he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, building his fantasy. Kiyoi would be above him, sitting on his face, his thighs gripping Hira's head. The skin of his hips would feel smooth and silky beneath Hira's palms as he held them firmly, keeping Kiyoi close while he worshipped him with his tongue. Kiyoi would squirm and try to close his legs, tightening his thighs around Hira's face as his pleasure neared its peak. But Hira wouldn't let him. He wouldn't stop until Kiyoi fell apart.
Surrounded by Kiyoi's smell and lost in his fantasy, Hira didn’t notice he had stopped breathing until a sudden pain in his chest reminded him it wasn’t optional. He lifted his face away from the hoodie and opened his eyes, dragging in ragged breaths. His eyes found the photo of Kiyoi, and as he looked at his king, a fire raged in his stomach. Kiyoi's lips were pink and parted, and Hira knew how divinely hot and wet his mouth would be.
As the ache in his crotch became unbearable, Hira shoved his pyjama pants low enough to release his cock from its fabric prison, then lifted his palm to his mouth and licked it. It wouldn't take much from there.
But before Hira's pleasure could reach its zenith, a voice rang out in the room, as clear as a bell, "What the hell? Are you seriously jerking off to my photo?"
Letting out a shriek of horror at being caught, Hira whipped his head around to see his beloved Kiyoi, his king, standing in the doorway. His hands were on his hips, a look of shock was etched on his face as he stared at Hira.
Frozen, Hira stared back.
Kiyoi shook his head. "That's gross. Do you know that?" he asked, then let out a resigned sigh. "Whatever." He turned away and disappeared back into the hallway, out of view.
"K-Kiyoi, wait," Hira screeched, letting go of his rapidly deflating cock and scrambling off the bed. As he chased after Kiyoi, his pants slid down his thighs. He caught them, fisting the material so he wouldn’t trip, but didn’t waste a second hauling them back into place. His focus stayed fixed on Kiyoi.
Hira caught up with him at the bathroom sink and stood behind him, staring over his shoulder at their reflections in the mirror. He wasn't sure what to say, how to explain the shameful act Kiyoi had just caught him in.
Kiyoi was soaked to the skin. His hair clung to his forehead in dark waves, and the charcoal grey of his sweatshirt and sweatpants had deepened to near black where the rain had saturated them. Despite that, he looked lovely. When his eyes met Hira's in the mirror, something glinted in their depths, alluring and mysterious.
"S-s-sorry, Kiyoi," Hira blurted out, wringing his hands together. Immediately he could feel the inevitable slide of his pants down his legs as they obeyed gravity, but he couldn't worry about that now. "I-I didn't expect you to get back until morning."
"So you thought you'd rub one out onto my pyjamas rather than wait until I came home?" Kiyoi demanded, his voice shaking a little.
"N-no, that's n-not it," Hira forced out, his tongue tripping over the words in his haste to speak. "I-I." He tried again, "I-I."
"Take a deep breath and then talk. I can wait," Kiyoi murmured more gently, and a flush of heat rose up Hira's cheeks. Even when Kiyoi was mad at him, he was still patient. Hira knew that a worthless pebble like himself didn't deserve such compassion, but his king was always gracious.
So Hira took a deep breath in, then exhaled and began speaking. "I didn't mean to. It's just I've been watching your shows and when I went to bed, your pyjamas were there and…and t-they smelled of y-you…I just couldn't help myself." Hira grabbed his hair, twisting his fingers into it. "Argh," he wailed, tugging on the strands so hard that it made his scalp burn. "I'm sorry. I hate myself. I'm disgu—"
"Stop," Kiyoi barked, startling Hira into silence. Their eyes met in the reflection again, and Hira could see that Kiyoi looked more unimpressed than angry. "I was just surprised, that's all. I mean, it's not like it's the first time, is it? Or even the second." He shrugged, then turned his attention back to the sink, ignoring Hira, who was shifting from one foot to the other behind him. With his pants around his ankles and his hoodie barely covering his limp dick, Hira felt every bit as pathetic as he knew he looked.
"I-is Kiyoi hungry?" Hira finally asked, hoping to salvage something of the situation by deflecting the conversation to another topic.
Kiyoi's gaze met his in the mirror again, his eyes piercing through Hira's soul. He shook his head. "They had a food truck at the location. I ate before the rain halted filming, and we were all sent home."
"Mm."
While Hira watched, Kiyoi removed his wet sweatshirt and T-shirt, and hung them on a peg out of the way. Then he roughly dried his hair and began his skincare routine. The expensive moisturiser he applied at the end gave his skin a dewy glow. Hira found the whole sequence mesmerising; he could watch him for hours.
Bare-chested like this, nipples tightened into hard buds by the cold, Kiyoi looked like a marble statue on display in a museum. Roped off and untouchable, so Hira could only gaze at him from a distance. "Y-you're pretty," he blurted out.
"And you're disgusting," Kiyoi replied, rolling his eyes, but there was no bite to his words.
Automatically Hira nodded in agreement. He was worse than disgusting. If Kiyoi knew the myriad of ways Hira had taken him apart piece by piece in his fantasies, he might be a little less forgiving. He stepped closer and lifted his hands, skating them up the outside of Kiyoi's thighs. His touch was so light, it was hardly there.
Kiyoi tilted his head, watching in the mirror as Hira’s palms came to rest on his hips. “What are you doing?”
"T-touching you," Hira replied, digging his fingers into the hard muscle along the curve of Kiyoi's pelvis. "Making sure you're real."
"Whatever," Kiyoi grunted, but when he didn't push him away, Hira knew he had permission to continue.
Hira's fingers slowly slid above the waistband of Kiyoi's sweatpants to rub circles on his skin; it was cold and a little damp. Could this be considered graffiti? Desecrating priceless art with his self-expression? Hira didn't care. He might be unworthy of his king, but Kiyoi was letting him admire, letting him touch, and now that he had, he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold back.
"B-beautiful," Hira whispered, his breath breaking over Kiyoi's neck, drawing goosebumps and a shudder.
"You're delusional," Kiyoi muttered, eyes downcast. But the corners of his mouth lifted shyly, and his cheeks warmed to a rosy pink.
Hira reached around and gripped Kiyoi's chin, lifting it up so he met his gaze again in the reflection. It felt like a fever dream—Kiyoi Sou in front of him like this, so vulnerable and breathtaking. Hira didn't want to wake up.
"Look," he exhaled, his mouth centimetres from Kiyoi's cheek. "S-so perfect."
While Kiyoi stared at him, his pupils blown wide, Hira lowered his lips to Kiyoi's neck and licked down the line of his carotid artery. Kiyoi shivered but didn't pull away. Instead, he tilted his head further, giving Hira tacit consent.
Hira knew that he could take Kiyoi here, in front of the mirror. Kiyoi wouldn't stop him. He could make Kiyoi watch as he defiled his body with his hands and his mouth and his cock. It wouldn't be the first time.
"Hira," Kiyoi moaned softly when Hira's fingernails found his nipples, scraping teasingly over the tips. He squirmed, hips shifting as Hira hardened against him. In response, Hira pinched the tightened buds sharply, making Kiyoi gasp and wriggle even more. "Please," he begged.
Hira spun Kiyoi around, pressing him against the vanity unit, and crushed their lips together. Kiyoi's mouth was soft, and his tongue dipped into Hira's, stroking gently. He gripped Hira's bare hips tightly, his fingers digging harshly into the skin as if he was trying to anchor himself while he held Hira in their kiss. A hardness was growing within Kiyoi's sweatpants, Hira felt it when Kiyoi ground forward against him, bringing more friction with it.
Desire built in Hira's gut, swirling hot and heavy. His lungs began to burn, and he pulled back with a breathy, "Kiyoi."
"Touch me," Kiyoi growled, his breath falling hot against Hira's lips.
Hira pushed his fingers into the back of Kiyoi's hair and pulled him close, tightening his grip so he could tilt Kiyoi's head back and bite into his neck. It was hard enough to make Kiyoi gasp again and arch into the touch, but not enough to leave a lasting mark. Hira soothed the bite with his tongue.
"Y-you're so beautiful."
Kiyoi moaned, his hands frantically pulling at Hira's hoodie. "Off. Take it off."
Hira peeled off his hoodie and stepped out of his pyjama pants, then pulled Kiyoi away from the sink and walked him backward. Their lips collided as they stumbled towards the bedroom, leaving the last of their clothes scattered in their wake.
When they got to the bedroom, Hira pushed Kiyoi onto the bed so he lay on his back, stretched out bare beneath him. Hira's breath caught in his chest. Kiyoi's body was perfect, sculpted by masterful hands, all soft ridges and deep muscle. His cock jutted between his thighs, a liquid pearl beading at the tip. As Hira looked him up and down, Kiyoi threw a hand over his face, a blush rising from his chest to his neck.
"D-don't hide. Want to see you." Hira crawled up the bed on his hands and knees until he could pull Kiyoi's arm away from his face. He pressed another kiss to his lips. Kiyoi was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Hira could spend a lifetime staring at him and never get bored.
Kiyoi kissed back, his mouth open and needy, pulling Hira down on top of him. His hands were in Hira's hair, on his back, over his ass—like a frantic, unending search for something he’d already found. Hira felt Kiyoi's want wash over him in a breathy chorus as he pulled him even closer.
After one last lick across Kiyoi's bottom lip, Hira tore himself away from his mouth. It took effort, but he managed it, moving his lips down Kiyoi's neck to his chest, giving attention to every sensitive spot. He sucked on a nipple, pressing harder with his teeth until Kiyoi's back arched off the bed.
Then he slid lower, scattering open-mouthed kisses over Kiyoi's inner thighs.
"Hira," Kiyoi whimpered, his hands finding Hira's hair again and tangling his fingers in it.
"Mm," Hira replied, pushing Kiyoi's legs apart and wrapping a hand around his weeping cock. He was rewarded when Kiyoi groaned, tilting his head back as Hira's thumb pressed against his slit, slowly squeezing him.
"P-pretty," Hira purred, working his hand a bit faster. He let go for just long enough to grab a bottle of lube from a nearby drawer and dribble some onto the fingers of his other hand. Then he reached between Kiyoi's legs and rubbed the slick pads against his hole. "So pretty." He pushed a finger past Kiyoi's tight ring of muscle.
Kiyoi grabbed his own knees and pulled them up, spreading himself wide. He let out a shaky exhale. "Yeah?"
"Mm," Hira agreed, pulling his finger out only to push it back in, setting a slow, steady pace as he tugged on Kiyoi's cock. "The prettiest."
Kiyoi whined when one finger became two and Hira began scissoring him open. "S'good," he panted, and Hira felt his chest swell with pride. All he wanted was to make Kiyoi feel good. He curled his fingers, and Kiyoi's body arched off the bed in a spasm.
The next time Hira drew his hand back, he added a third finger, his other hand moving faster over the length of Kiyoi's shaft. The sounds spilling from Kiyoi's mouth were breathless, and Hira could tell he was getting close. He moved his fingers even faster.
"No," Kiyoi moaned. "Inside, please, inside." Releasing his knees, he reached out, blindly pushing against Hira's shoulder. "Want you inside. Please." It was barely a whisper.
"Mm." Hira obediently withdrew his hands. Since the moment he met Kiyoi, Hira's life had been pledged in the service of his king. He'd gladly give Kiyoi whatever he wanted.
Hira applied a generous amount of lube to his cock, then positioned Kiyoi on his side, with one knee raised. He settled behind him, grazing his lips over Kiyoi's smooth shoulder, and began the slow slide into his tight heat. As warmth enveloped him, Hira closed his eyes, breath breaking in a voiceless moan.
Kiyoi made a noise that could either be of pleasure or pain. Hira wasn't sure. "K-Kiyoi?" he asked, keeping still when he bottomed out.
"'m fine," Kiyoi murmured breathlessly.
Hira swallowed, then pulled his hips back and slowly pushed in again, creating a lazy pace between them. The position was more suited to languid, tranquil mornings, but right now it meant he could hold Kiyoi to him. He could tug on Kiyoi's cock and play with his nipples as he pressed kisses reverently to the back of his neck, drowning a little in the breathy, broken noises that slipped past Kiyoi's lips.
As Hira slid in and out, the drag of Kiyoi's walls sent a rising heat curlling through him. "Kiyoi," he groaned.
"Hira. Come on," Kiyoi urged, pushing back against every rolling thrust. "Harder. Faster." So Hira complied, reaching down to enclose Kiyoi's cock tightly in his fist, jerking it in time with his thrusts.
When Kiyoi came, it was with a cry, clenching tightly around Hira and spilling wet heat into his fist. Hira pressed his forehead to Kiyoi's shoulder, holding him close and feeling his body tremble. He continued to glide in and out, drawing him through the aftershocks of his orgasm until Kiyoi sagged back into Hira's chest and heaved out a sigh.
Hira slipped out of him, giving Kiyoi space to roll onto his back, and while he caught his breath, Hira used his tongue to clean the come from his hand.
"You didn't finish," Kiyoi said when he finally opened his eyes and his gaze swept down Hira's body, catching on his still-hard cock.
"Mm." Hira shook his head.
"Let me do something about that." Kiyoi pushed Hira flat on his back and lifted his head. His mouth closed over Hira's tip only seconds later. He swirled his tongue over the crown, drawing a hiss from Hira at the unexpected sensation.
Kiyoi slid his lips down Hira's aching shaft and back up, taking more of him into his mouth with each dip of his head.
"Kiyoi," Hira breathed, his thighs trembling from the effort of holding still as Kiyoi drew back occasionally to dig his tongue into the slit.
Kiyoi's mouth glided over Hira leisurely with only a hint of suction. It wasn't meant to make Hira come. It was meant to make him want. And it did. He wanted more—much, much more. The sight of Kiyoi's mouth stretched around him, the soft moans he let out as he dragged his lips up and down, sent toe-curling vibrations from Hira's cock through every nerve ending. Everything inside Hira was burning.
"Y-you don't n-need to do that," he stuttered, stroking Kiyoi's head, brushing his hair back from his damp forehead.
"Whuh?" Kiyoi asked, pulling off. His pink lips were spit-slick and shiny. Hira had to fight the urge to shove his cock back between them. "Why not? Don't you want me to?"
"I-I-I—" Hira stuttered. How could he explain, in his broken way, that now that Kiyoi had come, his own satisfaction was irrelevant? Hira lived to serve at the altar of Kiyoi's body without expecting anything in return. He shrugged helplessly. "I-I do. Kiyoi is so sexy. But—"
"But what?" Kiyoi's brows met in a frown.
"B-but Kiyoi is a king and I-I—"
"Not this again," Kiyoi groaned, pushing himself upright.
Before Hira had time to react, Kiyoi threw a knee over his thighs and straddled him. Hira's hands shot out automatically, finding Kiyoi's hips and guiding him into place across his lap. He felt the heat of Kiyoi's skin as his cock nestled into his groove of his body. Hira was so hard it hurt.
"Why won't you accept that I'm just a regular guy?" Kiyoi asked, bending over and pressing a kiss to Hira's mouth. Hira's lips fell open, welcoming Kiyoi's tongue.
Despite Kiyoi's protestations to the contrary, Hira knew that Kiyoi wasn't just a regular guy. He was a king. But he was so kind and generous towards his lowly devotee that Hira couldn't bring himself to contradict him.
"I have wants, just like anyone else," Kiyoi continued punctuating his words with kisses that stole the breath from Hira's lungs.
Hira nodded, his hands sliding up to grip Kiyoi's toned waist and squeezing gently. Whatever Kiyoi wanted, Hira would give him. "Mm," he agreed.
"I want you to come inside me."
Hira's heart stuttered and then began to race. His king was always charitable towards his humble servant, even when he did something that lowered the mood. He nodded, unable to contain the smile splitting his face.
Kiyoi gave Hira's cock a few rough strokes, then rose onto his knees and lined the head up with his entrance. His body didn’t need time to adjust; it was already accustomed to Hira being inside him, and it offered no resistance as he lowered himself smoothly, all the way to the hilt.
"Hira," he groaned.
Hira sucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down, needing a distraction from the sudden heat enveloping him. He ran his hands along Kiyoi's thighs and then up to his waist, gripping and kneading the warm skin beneath his touch as he basked in the tight sheath of Kiyoi's heat. It was a feeling that he could never get enough of.
Above him, Kiyoi was a vision. He arched his back sensuously, his alabaster skin flushed pink from the heat of his recent orgasm. Hira couldn't take his eyes off him. He was more radiant than the sun, and the image would be burnt into Hira's retinas forever.
"I think you'd rather have some imaginary version of me than the real thing," Kiyoi said as he slowly lifted himself up, his breath catching in his throat.
Hira shook his head furiously, his hips rising to meet Kiyoi as he lowered himself again. "N-no," he denied.
“Then prove it,” Kiyoi gasped as his hips began to undulate. Slowly at first and then faster, settling into a steady rhythm that Hira found easy to follow. “Show me you want me, not some made-up, make-believe version of me.”
"W-want you. Only you," Hira mumbled, concentrating on delivering a series of deep thrusts that drew a matching set of moans from Kiyoi's throat. The sounds spilled across the room, unrestrained.
Kiyoi leaned forward, bracing his hands on Hira's chest as their hips rolled in sync. "Show me," he demanded, his eyes flashing.
"Mm." The command hit Hira like a spell. His body responded before he truly fathomed the meaning of the words. Gripping Kiyoi's hips tightly to anchor him, he bent his knees and braced his feet against the mattress for leverage. His hips picked up speed as he drove upward into Kiyoi, fingers digging bruises into soft flesh.
Static shocks fired across Hira's skin as he found a new rhythm that matched the coiling heat in his abdomen and the blissful throb of his cock inside his king.
Kiyoi’s head fell back, tears leaking from the corners of his half-lidded eyes. Moans tumbled out of his open mouth. He looked so pretty. “Harder,” he demanded, his cock bobbing between them, slapping up against his stomach.
The noises spilling from Kiyoi's mouth wrapped around Hira, and he wanted to fuck him like this forever, wanted to never stop hearing sounds that haunted him day and night. He wanted to drown in Kiyoi. In his body, in his voice.
"I'm sorry, Kiyoi." Hira dragged him down to slot their mouths briefly back together, feeling the slickness of his heated skin, then rolled them over.
Kiyoi had to be exhausted and sensitive. He'd only recently come. But he took Hira without complaint. Once Hira had him on his back, yanking him higher onto his lap, Kiyoi immediately wrapped his legs around Hira's waist, accepting him even deeper inside. His mouth was on Hira's, feeding him delicious whimpers Hira coaxed from his throat.
Hira lifted himself up onto his elbows and settled into a new tempo as he slid in and out, giving himself over to the friction and sound and breath. But he couldn’t go on forever. His hips finally began to stutter, losing their rhythm, and a broken moan escaped from the deepest part of him.
“Hira,” Kiyoi gasped, and Hira’s own moan grew louder as Kiyoi tightened around him. His hips bucked one last time as he came deep inside, sensations crashing through him in waves. He felt infinite, pulled in every direction, vast enough to have the whole universe poured into him.
Sweaty and exhausted, Hira collapsed when his arms finally gave way. He pressed Kiyoi into the mattress beneath him. Kiyoi ran his hands lightly up and down his back, lips resting against Hira's neck. His legs stayed wrapped around Hira, holding him close. They remained like that until Hira's breathing steadied and his heart no longer hammered against his ribs.
When he began to soften, Hira pulled back and out of Kiyoi, who let out a tiny wince. As he moved to lie at his side, Hira caught sight of the mess between his thighs before Kiyoi lowered his legs and hid it from view. Satisfaction surged through him—he'd given Kiyoi what he wanted.
Kiyoi leaned up, lips brushing Hira's ear. "Now tell me which version of me is the best." His breath was hot against Hira's skin, drawing a shudder.
There was no uncertainty about the answer. "T-this one," Hira whispered, turning his face to Kiyoi and kissing him slowly—gently.
"That's what I thought."
Hira smoothed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen over Kiyoi's forehead, feeling damp strands and fevered skin instead of the cold TV screen. Kiyoi leaned into the touch.
“I-I love you," Hira said quietly. They weren't words he said often, but he didn't want Kiyoi to ever doubt his feelings. He just got caught up in his own lack of self-worth at times.
Kiyoi smiled softly. “I know. Every time you take my photo, or make me dinner, or help me learn my lines, you're telling me you love me. I love you too.” He sighed and pushed himself off the bed, standing up.
Upon hearing Kiyoi's words, it was Hira's turn to blush—and he did, deeply. Kiyoi didn't say the words often either.
"Mm," Hira hummed.
“Come take a bath with me. I want you to wash me properly.” Kiyoi held out his hand and Hira took it, letting him lead him into the bathroom.
✧˖°
When Hira arrived home, the house was once again empty. Kiyoi was spending another night on location to make up for the time rain had halted filming. To his surprise, he found the bed neatly made.
On top of it, Kiyoi had left his pyjamas spread out on his side of the covers. He'd stuffed a pillow inside his hoodie and a rolled-up towel down each leg, making a sort of life-sized Kiyoi plushie that Hira could cuddle in his absence. He'd even put a picture of his face on the pillow. It was different from the one Hira used before, but no less stunning.
Balanced on the chest of the hoodie was an SD card and a note addressed 'To my #1 fan'. Hira picked it up, and when he read it, his heart thudded warmly in his chest.
Exclusive BTS film footage of me from this week.
Jerk off to it, if you want :|
I'll be home by 7.30 a.m.