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Even when it is late at night and the air should be still, life buzzes through the filaments of neon lights that paint Nicholas’s hotel room in cooled shades of purple and blue. The city is awake down below, advertisement screens plastered to the sides of buildings playing evening ambience of fish in galaxy swimming pools, still bright enough to hail a spaceship from the sky. Nicholas misses the feeling of silence, the peace of darkness. He misses home and the people who have been left behind there.
But it’s still beautiful here in this strange place where things glow and refuse to die, resilience humming like a song beneath concrete streets. It can’t be helped that Nicholas wonders what this planet might have looked like thousands of years ago, if they experienced ancient rock and paleolithic religion the same way that earth had. Or maybe it sprouted forth with copper wire and pixelated streams, so very different from the mundane greenery that hid his childhood home from the worst of a midday sun. Nicholas thinks of rotting floorboards and wildflowers that tried to break through the porch, and his heart aches to be overheated and dirty. Everything is so cold here.
“I hear you reminiscing.”
A gentle voice, strange in its cadence but familiar all the same, pulls Nicholas from the depths of his mind. He turns from the window to see Fuma standing in the center of the room, his silver-toned skin reflecting back blue light. The lowly engineer suit he wore has been swapped for loose black pants and a tank top, all grime of the day washed away and leaving him smelling of the earthy-sweet herb they use as shampoo on this planet.
Over the last few weeks, Nicholas has become accustomed to Fuma's presence—and him being both human and very much not. He’s not a creature, but there are differences that can’t be ignored if someone is looking close enough, and Nicholas looks at him far too closely.
Jet black, overgrown hair falls down into his eyes, droplets of water staining the gray tank top as he steps closer, his skin barely refracting the light as he does. The silver tone of his body isn’t quite glittery, or even shimmery, just… smooth. Almost pearlescent. As if he’s been rubbed down with oil and now attracts all the warmth in the room. Perhaps most damning are his cloudy gray eyes that take up more space in his head, inhumanly round to contrast his inhumanly sharp canine teeth. Nicholas meets his gaze as he draws closer, and can see that Fuma has watched every one of his memories, his face painted with that sadness he always gets when Nicholas thinks too deeply of home.
“And what am I reminiscing about?” Nicholas asks anyway, grateful that Fuma cannot read his thoughts as they are spilling out.
“About home,” Fuma says, reaching a hand out to cross the space between them and tucking a strand of hair behind Nicholas’s ear. Nicholas forces down a shiver at the touch, a strange reaction to Fuma's unusual warmth that ghosts his skin. “Your home. You play scenes of the green mountains surrounding your childhood like a movie whenever you get lost, even the scent of fresh rain on warm earth still so deeply present in your mind.”
The way Fuma speaks when he relays a memory he’s observed is like listening to a wildlife documentary narrator, equally peaceful as it is clinical and technical. Fuma says that he does not peek where he’s not wanted, but Nicholas thinks that he’s always reaching out to him on his own. Nicholas’s subconscious wants Fuma to listen, for whatever nameless reasons he has.
“I miss my mother, and the way she fussed over me, and the smell of her shampoo,” Nicholas mutters as he watches another droplet of water fall from Fuma’s hair, the strands only now starting to dry out. “Do you miss your home?”
“I do. Always,” Fuma says without thought, his breath coming in slow, delayed movements of his chest.
“Tell me about it.”
Nicholas has known Fuma for several weeks now, but their first few days entailed being held up in a safe house beneath floor panels with nothing to drink but bagged water. Nicholas learned about Fuma's people, and his ability to read memories, and how it differs from Maki and Jo's ability to read conscious, active thought. Their first interactions involved escaping slavers and dealing with the loss of Jo being taken amongst the chaos, soon followed by Yudai's intricate scheme to get him back.
It’s strange, Nicholas thinks, that his life has changed so much over the span of a few months by earth time. Being taken from his bed in the middle of the night, a classic alien abduction that would have people tinfoil-hatting for decades to follow, has led him to such a mundane, trivial moment of sharing secrets. There are unimaginable feats of technology floating outside his room, giant kites of pixelated dragonflies and koi fish that swim by the hotel window behind him. But Nicholas is focused on the beating of his heart in his ears, his human cheeks heating up to a warm shade of pink as he listens to Fuma begin to speak.
“It was… cold, but so beautiful. The ice would build up during the harshest of the weather and create these gorgeous structures that glittered pink and blue in the sun,” Fuma explains with an air of heavy wistfulness, his gray eyes glistening in the shifting light. “I miss the taste of frozen fish and the feeling of an icy breeze on my face. But it's not so bad being here, either.”
Despite how hard it was when Nicholas first arrived on this planet, scared and hungry and beat up, he agrees that there are worse places he could be. This is the nicest hotel room that Nicholas has ever been in in his life, far nicer than he will probably ever get again and it's all thanks to a stolen identity and dumb luck. It feels odd to be here due to bad things happening, but they're ultimately beyond anyone's control, and Nicholas can't mourn a life that was never truly promised to him.
“Do you think we’ll ever get to go back?” Nicholas presses further, unsure if he knows the answer himself.
Fuma is kind enough to smile at him, humoring him for a small moment without ever outright saying no. His cheeks have little indents where the skin pinches, and Nicholas wonders what he feels like, or if his skin smells different with Nicholas's nose pressed against it.
“I think… we should rest. We have to meet the others early in the morning," Fuma says for lack of an answer, gesturing to the open sliding doors that separate the bedroom from the living space in their hotel suite.
When they were assigned to share this room, Nicholas had swore up and down that he didn't mind taking the couch. Fuma agreed without much of a fight, but ended up "accidentally" falling asleep on the couch for two nights in a row anyway. Not wanting to disrupt the peace, Nicholas has let him, but they're about to do something beyond his understanding and it's… scary. Vulnerability seeps into the cracks of Nicholas's sanity, drowning out his ability to appear more composed than he is.
“Will you stay with me?" He asks, the words slipping off the tip of his tongue as if they want nothing more than to escape. "I don’t like being alone in such a big room.”
There's a small pause as the confession lingers, Nicholas's palms sweating where they hang at his sides. He's not one to be nervous, even in the worst of situations, but Fuma is an assault to his system, every haywire emotion and irrational thought bubbling to the surface when he's around. Nicholas still isn't sure if they're even friends, or if Fuma even likes him at all.
“Of course.”
Fuma says it as if it's the most easy thing in the world, turning on his heels before Nicholas can ask him a million and one questions about whether or not he's really okay with it. Even in their short time together, Nicholas gets the impression that Fuma does not do things he doesn't want to do, so that leaves Nicholas with nothing to do but concede. He's rather good at it, anyway.
The bed is large enough for four people, with silky black sheets that smell like sterilizer and perfume. Nicholas has slept well enough in it since they arrived here, perhaps a little unsettled by the fact that he could curl up in the middle and not touch a single edge. Fuma's addition to that equation makes the bed feel somehow ten times bigger and simultaneously half the size, Nicholas's skin prickling with an awareness that he has never really laid down to sleep with anyone before. Back on earth—back home—Nicholas hardly had time to do much more than sleep around or go on a few dates. Even if he did have the time, he always worried about hurting people, that he'd only end up disappointing them if he let them get too close.
Something about Fuma's presence makes those worries feel small, as if the strong flex of his exposed arms as he easily slides under the covers is indicative of the state of his heart. Maybe Fuma is someone that can't be hurt easily, and maybe he won't be disappointed by Nicholas. Maybe.
Nicholas settles his breathing as he makes his way around to the other side of the bed, slipping beneath the covers that feel colder than the rest of the room. There's what feels like an ocean of space between them once his head rests against thr pillow, forcing Nicholas to roll onto his stomach and look just to be sure that Fuma is still there. The blankets dip in the space that their bodies don't meet, reminding Nicholas even further that Fuma feels too far away.
Damp strands of black hair fan out against the pillow that Fuma is using, his right arm tucked under his head and his left resting at his side, pointed out at just enough of an angle for Nicholas to reach out and touch if he wanted to. And Nicholas does want to. More than anything, Nicholas wants to shrink this distance that has separated them, scorned by cold and empty sheets that not even his body can warm. Would Fuma allow it? Do their small brushes of skin and friendly hair tucks give Nicholas the freedom to touch him back?
The thought makes a lump lodge itself in Nicholas's throat, those same nerves from before returning with a sardonic vengeance. It's a terrible feeling, one that Nicholas hopes to learn how to control, otherwise being near Fuma will start to become unbearable. Nicholas assumes its not an alien thing, but what else provides ample enough explanation for the cold sweat on his brow, or the rapid beating of his heart?
"Nicholas," Fuma mutters, sounding half asleep as his outstretched arm reaches for Nicholas's own clammy hand.
With one tug of his wrist, Nicholas is dragged across the space between them, easily tucked into Fuma's side. Nicholas swallows down a yelp with the action, his hand gently placed atop Fuma's chest and held there, effectively giving Nicholas nowhere to put his head but in the crook of Fuma's shoulder. He is more warm to the touch than the average person, and heat fills Nicholas from the soles of his feet all the way to the fuzziness growing in his brain. Like this, Nicholas's nerves die away despite his heart still beating on his tongue. It's a good kind of buzz, the kind that lulls him to sleep with Fuma's arm keeping him from slipping away.
🌃
Nicholas considers himself lucky as far as alien abduction victims go.
There aren't many instances for him to compare his situation to beyond the strange group of people he has found himself with, but most of their circumstances are far worse than his own. Nicholas is lucky because Yudai found him before he could be sold by the ones who abducted him, even more lucky because he has an unsightly scar on his arm that makes him less desirable to buyers according to Taki. Humans aren't much of a novelty compared to Glacilies like Maki and Jo who can read minds and are painted white from head to toe. Nor does Nicholas have more to offer than a servel-like alien species like Harua who can run at impossible speeds, or a fish-like race that can breathe underwater like Euijoo. Even Yuma, who looks like a human with dragon scales and a tail, is worth more than Nicholas's sorry human ass, and the thought continuously makes his stomach churn with discomfort on behalf of his new friends.
The luck began when he was taken while he was asleep and he happened to go to bed in proper pajamas that night, and continued when his humanness made him less important than his fellow victims on the ship. Luck has followed Nicholas in strange ways since waking up on that trader ship, but it might be running out now.
"So what exactly is the plan?" Nicholas half-whispers to Fuma as everyone makes their final checks for the evening.
Yudai and Maki are dressed in formal suits with metal accents, strange hardware decorating the sleeves and down the pant legs as is customary for this planet. It's a sign of wealth to have metals on their clothes due to it being such a vital resource, and Nicholas glances at his own clothing bag that's hanging on a rack in the middle of Yudai's hotel room, moving bodies making Nicholas feel uncomfortably restless.
“You and I are the distraction," Fuma replies while carefully putting a few silver hoops into his ears, shiny metal catching the overhead light and drawing Nicholas's attention to where Fuma is adjusting them.
Nicholas shakes his head, freeing himself from the imagery of Fuma's lithe fingers touching his own silvery skin. “What are we supposed to do?”
A signature Fuma smile tugs at the corners of his lips, the playful kind that lets Nicholas know that he has a secret he's yet to share with him. It's something that would have probably irritated earth Nicholas, but as it stands, Nicholas can't help but smile back like a mirror of Fuma's nonchalance, warmth fluttering in the pit of his stomach as if there aren't six other people in the room. The smile feels as if it's only for him.
“You’re my owner."
It takes every ounce of Nicholas's self control not to choke on his own spit, only mildly succeeding with a thick swallow that he's sure Fuma can hear. Maki passes by him to grab another accessory from the table that Fuma is using, bumping Nicholas in the process, but he hardly notices. All Nicholas can think about is the gray-toned bicep staring at him as Fuma fixes his hair in the mirror that takes up most of the opposite wall, his half-finished outfit only reminding Nicholas that he isn't prepared for this at all—in more ways than one.
“Excuse me?”
It's all Nicholas can force past his slack jaw, something uncomfortable replacing the warmth that he felt only seconds ago. To make matters worse, Fuma looks unbothered where he's turning to face him, another smile pulling at his cheeks until they catch the light. Nicholas wants to shove at him like a child, if only to vindicate the sour feeling that bubbles in his chest.
“If they see me and Maki out by ourselves we’ll be vulnerable, but they won’t question us if we’re already owned by someone," Fuma explains while snatching his perfectly pressed shirt from next to where Nicholas is sitting, slipping it on over his black tank top. "And it will give us an in. They’ll want to bond over their shared new toy with you.”
The shirt is a simple base that Fuma buttons without thought, eyeing the random adornments on the table that he could attach. There's a metal choker necklace and a forearm brace with a swirling stamped pattern that looks like something a fantasy knight would wear. Nicholas's hands itch to reach out and hold each piece up next to Fuma to decide for himself what would look best, but Fuma is already reaching for the brace, using the small chains to clip it tight over his silky black sleeve.
“I don’t think I can pretend to own you," Nicholas mutters, his mouth feeling dryer than when he woke up on a spaceship after being taken from his bed. "Wouldn’t Yudai be more equipped for this?”
A small huff of breath that Nicholas assumes is a laugh escapes Fuma, his eyes casting sideways glances in Nicholas's direction as he finishes getting ready in the mirror. Aside from the metal arm cuff, Fuma clips on a few bracelets and the small chain necklace that sits just above his collarbones. The silver accessories compliment his skin so well, as if they're pretty extensions of him, and Nicholas almost forgets that he's supposed to be defending his discomfort.
“He’ll be with Maki," Fuma says with that same ease, his lips still pulled to the side in a smirk. He thinks this is funny.“Harua and Euijoo will sneak into the suite upstairs and get Jo. Yuma and Taki will disable the security and watch over us.”
“Fuma—”
Fuma turns to face him properly, stopping whatever thoughts may have been trying to surface in Nicholas's mind. It shouldn't be so easy for Fuma to steal his rationality as simply as a child snatching a toy, but Nicholas is entirely weak for him. Any other complaints he had die on his tongue with the feeling of strong hands gripping his arms and helping him to stand from the couch.
“I promise it will be alright," Fuma says with a small pinch of Nicholas's chin, something endearing and almost mindless. It makes Nicholas's face flush from the transfer of unnatural warmth. “I’ll be by your side the entire time. Once we have Jo, we’ll transport-jump to the next city and we’ll be safe there.”
It sounds so cut and dry when Fuma says it, the very specific cadence of his voice doing more to assuage Nicholas's worries than an easily abused substance. Nicholas has half the mind to asks Fuma to tell him things will be alright six more times, but that would also be an abuse of Fuma's power. The fact that he can read peoples memories is almost the least captivating thing about him.
“These people are sick."
Nicholas has nothing else to say on the matter, the sour feeling in his stomach twisting into something a little more painful when Fuma guides him over to the clothing rack. Fuma grabs the clothing bag labeled for Nicholas, handing it to him with extra care so that it doesn't end up on the floor. Their hands brush again in the process, innocent but teeming with an energy that Nicholas practically tastes, making him tense against his will.
“I know, but you’re going to be free of them once and for all," Fuma reassures gently, one of his hands finding home on Nicholas's shoulder to guide them away from the others, closing them in behind the hotel rooms bedroom doors. “You’re the one I trust to be out there with me. I chose to do this with you, Yixiang.”
Such a nice sentiment, one that Nicholas replays in his mind like a skipping record as he gracelessly tries to focus on the clothing bag in his hand. The hanger misses the hook about three times before Nicholas successfully hangs it up beside the closet, hyper-aware of Fuma's hand slipping from his shoulder and retreating further into the room.
I chose to do this with you, Yixiang.
Nicholas's own name sounds so foreign when it brushes against his ears, a name he had chosen to hide from once his mother could no longer call out for it. Even within the confines of his own head, Nicholas only calls himself Yixiang when he's either completely dejected or exceptionally happy, big emotions wearing the name that feels like home more deservingly than his constant state of indifference. Nicholas is a contingent other, a vessel that interacts safely with the rest of the world and can't be broken. Yixiang is the intimate existence that hides within, something that can be hurt if he exposes it too carelessly. And here Fuma is, reaching down Nicholas's throat and touching his incorporeal self, the feeling so warm that Nicholas burns from the inside out.
“I… what?” Nicholas asks while turning to look at Fuma, unsure what else he could possibly say.
“That’s your name, isn’t it? I hear your mother calling for you in your memories," Fuma says from where he's chosen to sit on the edge of the bed only a few feet away, his accessories strangely silent despite the movement. “It’s a beautiful name.”
As if he's been shocked, Nicholas abruptly turns back around, hiding from Fuma's too-open gaze. There's something unsettling about the weight of his stare, but only because Nicholas is choosing to feel it on every exposed point of his body. Even with his back turned, Nicholas fumbles around with the clothing bag, clumsily unzipping it to try and free the suit he doesn't even want to wear. This is all so ridiculous and unfair, and Nicholas feels far too out of his depth to take it seriously. Jo doesn't deserve this, none of them do, and it doesn't make any sense that some random guy from middle of nowhere earth is being asked to parade around a party as a rich asshole's son that traffics people. Nicholas thinks he's going to be sick.
“I’m going to get you killed," Nicholas says as he drops his hands, giving up on the suit with a sag of his shoulders. He feels like a dejected and deflating party balloon, pathetic in all the ways he has no right to be.
In contrast to the iciness consuming him, warmth suddenly presses against Nicholas's back, a silver-clad arm coming into view as Fuma grabs the suit from the hanger. It looks so easy when Fuma does it, only vindicating Nicholas further that everything he's done up to this point has proven how useless he is.
“No,” Fuma says with his free hand resting on Nicholas's shoulder, turning him so that they face each other once more. “You’re helping me.”
This feels like a trap. Even though Nicholas knows that Fuma can’t hear his thoughts, it’s almost as if he is reaffirming something that Nicholas hasn’t said out loud yet, and shutting down any room for frivolous argument.
"I—"
"Get dressed, Yixiang. I'll be right outside."
Fuma flashes his pointed canines in a gentle smile before handing the outfit to Nicholas and leaving out the way they came, keeping the door cracked as if to remind Nicholas that he hasn't gone far. The suit feels heavy in his hands, but Nicholas can worry about whatever the hell he's feeing later. He'll probably explode if he tries.
🌃
Cael Liu. Nepo slave trader that gets away with eating daddy's money. Doesn't have any sense but likes parties and usually gets what he wants because people are too afraid of bumping heads with his father. It's his first visit to this system so nobody should know him or recognize you. If they approach, it's because they know a Glacielis is coming. Only mingle enough to show interest but never express a willingness to change location. Listen for the signal once they get Jo.
Nicholas repeats the instruction card to himself like a prayer, clutching the sleeve of Fuma's jacket as they lurk around the edge of the bustling room. There are more of those floating lights in the center of the dance floor, impossibly tall ceilings glittering with illuminated bunnies and fluttering dragonflies. They move along to the delicate music, haunting violin and tinny piano whispering against Nicholas's ears. It's overstimulating and uncomfortable, but Nicholas feels better knowing that Fuma is here with him, even if people's unwelcome stares are drawn to him like a circus act.
Fuma has explained more than once that Jo and Maki are in far more danger than he is, that reading memories is an unreliable gift as people's memories are not always true. For people who wish to harm or cheat or steal from others, the ability to read conscious thought is considered far more lucrative of a talent. It makes Nicholas marginally more at ease knowing that Maki is safe with Yudai, the youngest of the group never knowing when to stand down in the face of dangers he has no business in. But Nicholas wishes he didn't have to pretend to be the one with the power, because Fuma is much stronger than him on all fronts, and he's terrified that he'll be the one to mess this all up.
"Yixiang," Fuma mutters over his shoulder in a gentle reprimand, stopping to nestle the both of them by a pillar away from prying eyes. "Take a deep breath. I can't read Yudai's instruction card another time."
Nicholas groans, wringing his fingers in front of him as if they'll start dripping sweat. "I'm sorry. I told you this was a bad idea."
This makes Fuma almost-laugh again, amused without any added layer of cruelty. Nicholas would appreciate it if he wasn't feeling so fragile, the bustling noise of the room making him hyper aware of the fact that Fuma is depending on him to be present, to be the cocky asshole that can steer all the undesirables in the right direction. He's never been put in a situation where he had to pretend to be so… evil.
"No, you're doing well. But maybe look a little more interested in me?" Fuma offers while adjusting Nicholas's collar, the various metal cuffs and dangling jewelry that litter his jacket adding an unnecessary amount of weight to every movement. "Nobody is going to believe I'm your expensive pet if you're the one trailing behind me like a puppy."
Nauseating choice in words aside, Nicholas can’t deny that Fuma is only being helpful. He droops on an exhale before he replies, "Maybe I'm one of those weirdo rich people that lacks social skills.” It’s not so far from the truth.
"C'mon, Yixiang," Fuma whispers as he leans in too close, close enough for Nicholas to smell the sweet mint of his toothpaste. "Show everyone in this room how lucky I am to be with you. You're easily the most beautiful, rich asshole here."
This pulls a scoff from Nicholas’s throat, his cheeks flaming red from more than his many layers of clothes. It's so warm inside that he's sweating, an oppressive amount of moving bodies generating friction that Nicholas feels like static against the back of his neck. Fuma is smiling at him despite the lump building in his throat, and Nicholas tries to laugh it off too, forcing out an awkward sound that isn't very amused.
"Do you get off on people acting like spoiled losers?" He asks as his eyes draw away, looking at the metal fixtures on the banister and the fluttering lights floating above them. It is beautiful to admire, but it doesn't ease the constant ache in Nicholas's belly like he's doing something wrong.
What feels like two small brands push up underneath Nicholas's chin as he thinks about it much longer than he should, Fuma's fingers gently turning him so that they're facing each other once more. His gray eyes are so soft this close, rounded cheeks making Nicholas feels strangely jealous of the silver gems that stick just beneath his eyes. For a brief moment, Nicholas wonders what he would look like if he were human, or if he were some other strange alien entirely. Is he beautiful because he's relatively the same as any person that Nicholas knows, or is it a distinctly Fuma trait to be this captivating? Nicholas can't remember feeling so in awe of Maki or Jo, but Fuma makes his chest squeeze like gravity is crueler to him than everybody else.
"No, not people," Fuma says with his lips pursing as if in an attempt to tamper down his smile. He's making fun of Nicholas, but it doesn't feel malicious. If anything, it feels far too sweet. "Only you."
Pressed this close together, Nicholas worries that Fuma can hear the uncomfortable beating of his heart. He feels it all around him, like a thudding base that rattles his organs and displaces his bones. Fuma looks at him as if he can feel it too, so calm compared to the insistent urge Nicholas feels to melt into a puddle at his feet. Nothing has ever been that easy.
"Mr. Liu," a voice calls from beside them, startling Nicholas enough to make him jump.
His instinct is to push Fuma away, but Fuma's other hand has him trapped against the pillar they've been using for cover, forearm caged against his side. The man who has found them is grinning at Nicholas as if he caught him doing something expected and encouraged, only souring the small fragment of peace Nicholas was finding in this situation.
"I see you brought a special guest," he continues, smiling to reveal silver caps on his bottom teeth. They're probably decorative, and they match the intricately designed pieces of metal that are stuck to his suit. Nicholas has no idea who he is, but he smiles anyway, swallowing down his own anxiety in favor of surviving.
"Indeed," Nicholas says with a small nod, peeling himself off of the pillar and letting Fuma's hand fall to his lower back. They're still standing too close, but Nicholas appreciates it now, using Fuma as support now that his legs feel like useless goo. "Contrary to what some might believe, I think he's the most special prize one could have on their arm," he adds for good measure, gesturing towards the man with a polite bow of his head. "And you are?"
Their intruder grins wider, revealing more silver teeth and wrinkles on his forehead. He looks a bit older, maybe forty or fifty, and Nicholas wonders if he's meant to be controversially young in this scene. The other people in the room are hard to read, mostly because Nicholas has refused to look at them, but he feels like they'll know he's lying with just one glance in his direction.
"I'm Ibis, no last name," the stranger says, offering a bow of his own in return. "Is this your Glaciellis?" Ibis's eyes practically sparkle when they finally land on Fuma, as if he's been pointedly ignoring him just to be polite to Nicholas—or Cael. "I hear the Mountain clans are known more for their strength than their mind abilities. Is he your first of his kind? I have a Carandoran myself. Poor thing has a fractured wing, otherwise he'd be here now.”
The way he talks is fluttery and disjointed, and Nicholas glances over at Fuma for encouragment and validation that he's not the only one wishing to disintegrate into nothing. Fuma is already looking at him though, that same gentle smile pulling at the silver corners of his mouth. Nicholas decides that looking at him is actually worse.
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. I know how stressful it can be to be separated." Nicholas tries to smile too, the expression feeling tight and inadequate on his face. “But yes, he’s my first. I’m very lucky to have found him,” he continues despite the anxiety thrumming beneath his skin, the more seconds that pass somehow easing his discomfort. Ibit being more interested in Fuma is a blessing and a curse, because Nicholas doesn't have to try so hard, but he also doesn't like the way Ibis is looking at him.
"Have you taken him for a spin?" Ibis asks with a spinning gesture of his hand, bleached eyebrows lifting up into his fading hairline.
Nicholas experiences what its like to die in the time between one second and the next. "Excuse me?" He scoffs, tensing when Fuma's hand on his lower back reaches around for his waist, probably to keep him from falling over.
"No need to be shy. We all are shameless in our experimentation." Ibis winks, looking between Nicholas and Fuma like he's waiting for them to act out this non-existent spin that Nicholas is supposed to have taken Fuma on. "Tell me, does his strength make the experience more pleasurable?"
Another rush of heat burns Nicholas from the inside out, shame and embarrassment making his forehead and cheeks tacky with sweat. Fuma is unwavering against him, still calm and quiet, and Nicholas doesn't know if that makes him feel better or worse. He's so sick to his stomach that no rational thought can surface.
"I—" Nicholas swallows around nothing, inhaling a slow breath as he leans into Fuma's chest. Fuma lets him, their bodies naturally fitting together with Fuma slotting in slightly behind him. It's too hot. Nicholas forces out a timid laugh anyway, watching as Ibis's features curl in satisfaction. "Yes, you could say that it does. Every part of him makes for… interesting fantasies."
The words feel like they're being pulled out of his throat with string, incoherent lies that Nicholas would never say otherwise. But Fuma's hand squeezes his waist, a silent reassurance, and Nicholas forces himself to breathe, watching as Ibis melts like he's just watched them get married. Nicholas will never be able to look at Fuma after this—not that he was very good at it before.
"You're both so young. I'm sure it will only get better," Ibis says with what Nicholas can only describe as a dreamy sigh, and he can't decide if that means Ibis is really desperate to feel something or they're really good at acting. "You'll have to catch me up the next time we see each other," he continues as his attention is just as easily drawn away by a woman with purple skin and scales on her back that walks by. "Vaia! You're here!"
Ibis trails after her, bumbling like a drunken bird. The moment he's out of earshot, Nicholas peels out of Fuma's hold, turning with his hands resting on the warmth of Fuma's chest instead. Everything is gratingly loud, and Nicholas blinks his eyes against the dizziness in his head, looking up to see Fuma at least marginally as frazzled as him.
"I feel sick."
"Deep breaths," Fuma says, his heated palm resting on Nicholas's hand that's pressed to his heart. The metal on his clothes is just as warm as him. "We're almost out of this."
"You have that look on your face. Like you've seen something you didn't want to see."
Fuma's nose scrunches like he's smelled something unpleasant, an action that would be cute if it didn't add to Nicholas's own swirling anxiety. "Let's just say that man wasn't lying about his experimentation," he says, making Nicholas shudder in another wave of nausea. "You're not actually one of them, Yixiang. Don't wear their guilt."
As much as Nicholas would like to believe that, he is plagued by the idea of Fuma being subject to something like this. A life where he is kept as a trophy, or an accessory, forced to please his owner and not bite the hand that takes advantage of him. Fuma is so overbearing in the best way, his presence like a weighted blanket or the heaviness in the air before it storms. He's comforting and safe, but severe. Even when Nicholas thinks that Fuma will disappear into smoke like some ephemeral dream, he's a solid presence, corporeal in all the ways that matter.
"But I am one of them. They're all human," Nicholas mutters while tugging at his collar, trying not to panic when they've made it this far.
Fuma’s grip is strong where he takes Nicholas by the arms, fingers circling around his biceps that ache from being so tense. Nicholas looks at him, watching in delayed fascination at the way his gaze so easily morphs from one emotion to the next.
"They're not you," he says with a tone of indignance, as if frustrated by the mere suggestion otherwise. "Yudai has them well enough entertained, lets get some fresh air."
Without giving an answer, Nicholas allows himself to be pulled away, Fuma's hand never leaving his arm as they calmly make their way through the crowd. There are large glass doors that lead out onto various balconies, some already open to allow people to freely move in and out. Fuma goes to the very end of the ballroom where a curtain the size of the wall is tucked away to hide the last set of doors, and Nicholas doesn't have time to ask if they should be doing this before he's being tugged behind the curtain and out onto the balcony.
The first thing Nicholas notices is the quiet, but they're not alone. A few balconies over, Nicholas watches as another human with their alien trophy make out in a lounger, the backdrop of the city casting strange lights as low-flying ships pass them by. Nicholas turns his back to it all, loosening the collar of his shirt with a groan. He's way too hot.
"Yixiang, talk to me," Fuma says with a tone of worry in his voice, the space between them suddenly feeling like an ocean. "You replay your last conversations in your head when you think you did something wrong. I think you did just fine."
Nicholas grips the metal edge of the balcony, the shape odd and intricate just like the rest of the home. They're so high up that Nicholas can't bring himself to look down at the city below, so he looks up instead, filling his lungs with much needed air as he watches a display of dragons made up of hundreds of little lights dance through the sky. This place is unbelievable. Nicholas doesn't know why he's here.
"How can you stand it?" Nicholas asks with his sickness finally catching up to him, forcing deep breaths in through his nose and out through his dry, parted lips to keep from throwing up.
"Stand what?"
Fuma isn't touching him anymore, but he's closer now, standing beside Nicholas with his hip leaning against the railing. Nicholas wishes he could read Fuma's mind too, if only to ease his worry that only his isn't a jumbled mess of nonsense. He wishes that he didn't feel so vulnerable, and that Fuma was a little less patient with him, so that maybe he could find the courage to fucking deal.
"To be treated like you're nothing, like your worth is attached to whoever owns you." Nicholas says the word as if it tastes terrible, forcing himself to turn and face Fuma like whatever he’s feeling will make more sense if he does. "Humans made even a place that looks like this so fucking miserable. Earth was beautiful too, you know. But it's being destroyed. Maybe we're getting what we deserve when we're taken from our beds in the middle of the night."
"Yixiang," Fuma interrupts before Nicholas can throw himself into an unhelpful tangent, the feeling of a warm hand on his cheek making him wince from the overbearing heat. It's cooler out here, but not enough to keep him from burning into a fine ash. "This is only one planet out of so many others. Yes, humans are part of a terrible system here, but it is not the only system, and they are not the only ones." As if to make sure he’s listening, Fuma's other hand pushes Nicholas's hair from his tacky forehead, soft and careful in everything he does. "Greed and power does terrible things to whatever heart or mind it touches, but that doesn't mean it belongs to one species more than another. I can stand it because I know it's not true. I'm worth far more than their perceptions of me."
Tired and wrung out, Nicholas melts into the hand cupping his cheek, intaking a slow breath to quiet his beating heart. There's no use in panicking over things he can't control, but Nicholas feels the need to control something. Since being taken from his bed, every little thing in his life has been chosen for him, and he's unsure what will be left of him if he keeps allowing things to pass him by without any say in the matter.
"I wish I could rationalize it that way," Nicholas all but whispers, shuffling close enough to breathe in every one of Fuma's exhales. Maybe he can swallow some of his calm.
"Your heart is too big for your body, Yixiang. But that's not a bad thing," Fuma murmurs with a smile in his voice, both hands sliding down to hold Nicholas by his jaw. They're too close again, but Nicholas doesn't feel like he's going to burst into flames anymore, Fuma's hands comforting the ache in his throat. "I happen to like your heart."
Nicholas shudders through an exhale, blinking against the glowing lights framing Fuma’s black hair like a halo. "I—"
"Everyone, clear the area. We have Jo. I repeat, we have Jo. Don't draw attention to yourselves and get out."
Taki's voice buzzes like an alarm in Nicholas's ear, but he doesn't startle, stuck in the gentle hold that Fuma refuses to release him from. They're still looking at each other, stormy gray eyes regarding Nicholas in what can only be described as a silent apology. Nicholas doesn't quite know what he's sorry for, but he nods anyway, breaking the spell that kept them hostage.
"Almost done." Fuma takes Nicholas by the hand, inhaling a slow breath that Nicholas mimics like Fuma is his own reflection. It helps, even if only to get his legs to move. "Lets get out of here."
There's a part of Nicholas that feels like a teenager when Fuma leads him back out into the ballroom, his heart racing with the notion of escape. It's forbidden and freeing, all of his nerves of the evening tightening up into one matted ball in the deepest pit of his belly, reminding him that this isn't over just yet. He clings to Fuma as they make their way through the crowd, easily ignoring any prying eyes that may turn their way. It's well into evening now, and even though Fuma is the only interesting thing in the room, everyone's attention is elsewhere. None of them care about the gift that Nicholas has been given, wrapped up in silver skin and sure steps that lead him further and further away from this terrible place. Nicholas can't help the ironic surge of annoyance at realizing it.
🌃
Nicholas rode the train a lot on earth, but it only traveled so fast and so far. Earth trains couldn't cross oceans or hover mid-air, and they definitely didn't have entire rooms with beds and a bar cart. This room was meant for Cael Liu and his Glacielis, but Taki swore that by the time they crossed the planet that all evidence of Cael ever being at that party would disappear, along with any evidence that any of them exists at all. Yudai had explained that they were in a lucky spot to be "lost cargo", because there are intergalactic laws against living slave trading, so slavers often have to give up and try again.
It doesn't really make Nicholas feel any better, but the sky flits by in a blur of colors to distract him from the fact that he is alone with Fuma once more. The metal from their suits has already been removed, and the air is cool enough in the large cabin to keep Nicholas from panicking all over again. He feels a bit like he failed, like he should have tried harder, but those feelings aren't necessarily new. Nicholas undoes the first few buttons of his shirt, turning away from the large window to see Fuma standing in the middle of the room, hair ruffled free from the gel that had held it back.
"It’s about six hours to get to the other side of the planet," Fuma says while gesturing to the bed, his eyes flitting from Nicholas's hands tugging open his collar and the floor. "You should rest."
Nicholas hums, pretending to contemplate it before muttering, "I don't think I could even if I wanted to." He clears his throat, crossing the distance between them that feels almost suffocating, watching Fuma's gaze finally find him as he nears. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Anything."
"Do you want to go home?" Nicholas tucks his hands into his pockets, unsure what to do with himself. Adrenaline and nerves still flutter beneath his agitated skin, a constant reminder that he can't relax just yet. "I just mean… it never felt like you were too worried about it, and the longer I'm here the longer I see that maybe I have no choice. And it should be scary, right? I should be terrified that I could never see earth again."
Fuma makes a small humming sound in his throat, soft and velvety, contemplative. Nicholas watches every shift of his expression, the slight pinch between his eyebrows and tongue darting out to wet his lips. Strands of gelled hair frame his face, and Nicholas is struck once more by how fucking beautiful he is, dark blue light from the night sky painting pretty shadows across his silver skin. Nicholas feels another twinge of something strange in his chest, almost painful in how it contrasts the weight of anxiety. This is a different emotion altogether, a different kind of fear that he doesn't know what to do with.
"Where is this coming from?" Fuma asks rather than provide an answer of his own, his stare perfectly neutral as Nicholas tries to climb inside of his brain through his eye sockets.
"I just need to know if I'm losing my mind." Nicholas huffs, reaching up with both hands to grip into his own hair. He pulls at the strands, taking a slow breath before letting them go. "Do you want to go back home?"
As if to keep him from doing it again, Fuma takes Nicholas's hands into his own, warm fingers threading together and dropping at their sides. It feels almost juvenile, like Fuma is going to start swinging their joined hands as he speaks. But Nicholas likes being held, if only to help keep his slowly cracking pieces together. Fuma has never let him fall apart.
“I have nowhere to go back to, Yixiang. My home is all but destroyed by people like this," Fuma says with a jut of his chin to the room around them, evidence of opulence and greed in the shiny metal fixtures and silk bedsheets just like the ones from the hotel. It's cold and uninviting, and Nicholas shivers for the first time that night, his attention drawing back to Fuma like a magnet. “Maki, Jo and I were lucky to escape when we did.”
Nicholas's stomach drops, a weighted sadness tugging at his aching bones. For the first time since they've met, Fuma's eyes look so sad, as if every bad feeling he's kept buried is bleeding out now. Nicholas unclasps their hands in favor of holding Fuma's shoulders, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to be sad for me. I wanted you to be sad for you, and to miss your home with all your heart," Fuma replies as if it makes total sense. As if he isn't breaking Nicholas's heart into a million, inconsequential pieces. “I feel your pain in your memories, but I also feel your happiness and your gratitude and your relief. I refused to sour those feelings with my own troubles.”
In some strange way, Nicholas was holding out hope that they would have to part ways so that they could both go back home. If Fuma could go back to his planet and be happy, then Nicholas would survive having to go back to earth. The constant, nagging, painful itch that Nicholas can't seem to scratch has been begging him to find a way to be okay with all of this, even if the thought of leaving Fuma—the thought of leaving these people he's grown to trust—makes him want to double over and be sick. Nicholas has nothing left for him on Earth, doomed to live a cyclical life where he works, grows old, and dies. He has no family, nobody that will miss him for too long. But he would miss Fuma. If he left, he would miss them all.
“Where will you go?” Nicholas asks despite the tightness in his throat like he wants to cry. Fuma's hands are on him now too, holding his waist as if determined to keep him from letting go.
“I think what Yudai is doing is admirable, so maybe I’ll follow him. I’d like to help people.” A muscle in Fuma's cheek jumps when Nicholas feels himself sag in on himself, all the fight slowly leaving his body. “You know I would follow you anywhere, Yixiang. But you haven’t told me that’s what you want.”
Nicholas humors the idea for less than a second, images of Fuma in a world that wouldn't understand him, where he'd have to hide for the rest of their lives. And there's no guarantee of life on earth, not anymore. Before Nicholas can finish imagining it, he knows it would never work. He accepted his fate a long time ago, but he still doesn't know what that means for them—if there is a them at all.
“I couldn’t bring you back to earth. I wouldn’t want to,” Nicholas mutters under his breath, clinging to Fuma as his words crawl their way up his throat. “My mother passed away two years ago, so I'm all alone. The memories I’ve been missing are from a life that isn’t mine anymore.”
A small smile pulls at the corners of Fuma's mouth, but there's a sadness to it that Nicholas can't ignore. Maybe this was all in vain, and Fuma will tell Nicholas he should go back to earth if given the chance. Nicholas doesn't have to listen to him, but he wants to be wanted. More than anything, Nicholas aches for Fuma to want him back, every pinch and pain and uncomfortable feeling painting Nicholas in Fuma-shaped bruises. Lifetimes have passed since Nicholas has found himself here, and he can't let it slip through his fingers now, not when Fuma is right here for him to take.
“So what are you telling me, my Yixiang?” Fuma asks as his smile grows, so blinding that Nicholas feels the need to look away.
His eyes cast down, down to where Fuma's collarbone is exposed from his open shirt, and swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth. Nicholas doesn't know if this is the right thing to do, but for the first time in weeks, a weight slips off of his tired shoulders. Every bit of uncertainty that has kept him unstable and wavering disintegrates into a fine powder, leaving nothing behind but the comforting beat of his heart. Fuma is warm against him, no longer oppressive or suffocating, and Nicholas melts into his chest, stifling a gasp as Fuma's forehead bumps against his own.
“I’m saying that… I’ll follow you," Nicholas murmurs with hardly any sound, so quiet that he worries Fuma didn't hear him.
It doesn't matter much anyway, because Nicholas feels Fuma's breath on his lips, the space between them filling with static that only draws them closer. Nicholas can't say who moves in first, perhaps they both do, all thought abandoning him when Fuma's lips press against his own. He's warm here too, soft to the touch and sweet with remnants of lip balm. They kiss once, twice, slow as they meet again and again until Fuma's hands on his waist turn bruising. Nicholas gasps with the feeling, but Fuma presses in harder, deepening their kiss to steal what remains of the air in Nicholas's lungs.
A foreign swooping sensation swirls in Nicholas's belly, the best kind of nerves buzzing beneath his skin as they find a seamless rhythm. Fuma kisses him as if they've done this a million times before, every movement mapped out to meet Nicholas exactly where he needs it. Fuma's tongue is soft as it drags along Nicholas's bottom lip, wet and searing when it dips into his mouth. The unnatural heat of his body makes Nicholas feel like he's just sat in a car on a hot day, the comforting, billowing warmth enveloping him like a hug. Fuma feels so fucking good against him, turning Nicholas's brain to useless goo as he tries to kiss him back with all the desperation he feels.
Days of uncertainty, long nights of no sleep. Through it all, Fuma has been a constant for Nicholas, something solid and safe that he can rely on even when everything else feels like it's falling apart. Even in this, Fuma is stronger than him, one hand cupping Nicholas's jaw to tilt his head back. Nicholas feels Fuma's thumb tug on his chin, opening his mouth even further until has no choice but to pant into the humid and sticky air around them. Soft pecks on his cheeks and over his fluttering eyelids pull a whimper from Nicholas's throat, all of the tension in his body keeping him strung up like a live wire waiting to be cut down.
"Yixiang," Fuma mutters against Nicholas's cheek, his grip so tight that he feels frozen in place, perfectly trapped. "Is this alright?"
Nicholas feels himself nodding before he can even think about the question, any thought of stopping whatever this is making him consider becoming petulant. The strange man from before wasn't lying about Fuma's strength, and Nicholas wants nothing more than to feel the firm press of his hands all over his body, materializing the metaphorical bruises that already litter his skin. Nicholas goes limp against Fuma, his grip losing all constitution as Fuma's arm circles his waist to keep him upright.
"Lets get you out of these clothes, hm?"
The words are red-hot against Nicholas's skin, just like every brush of Fuma's fingers over his clothes. Wherever they touch is molten and sticky, but Nicholas is growing to love the feeling of being burned, relenting to another mind-numbing kiss that rips him apart at the seams. Fuma is still careful, but his intentions feel soaked through with desperation as he steps Nicholas back towards the bed. Buttons pop and fall to the floor with one tug to the front of his shirt, making Nicholas hum in surprise from the cool air touching his exposed chest. Fuma slips it off of his shoulders and lets it fall to floor, gentle palms running up the length of his arms before the backs of Nicholas's knees hit the mattress.
Nicholas prepares to fall back onto the bed, but Fuma gently guides him down, one arm slung underneath him to place him in the center of the mattress. Nicholas's legs hang off the edge at the knees, giving him enough leverage to pull himself up onto his elbows to see Fuma standing before him. He looks… intense, perfect. A flush blooms beneath Nicholas's skin as he watches Fuma pull open his own shirt, no regard for the silver buttons that join the others on the floor. Despite their time together, Nicholas has never seen Fuma completely shirtless, and the miles of silver skin that pulls taught over muscle makes him feel dizzy. Fuma is fucking unreal, and he's looking down at Nicholas as if he feels the same way.
"Look at you," Fuma says with a small grin, his hands making quick work of the belt threaded through his pants.
It slips through the loops and falls to the floor with a clatter, making Nicholas want to jump out of skin from too much sensation. It's eerily quiet in the room, but Nicholas feels his heart like a thudding base in his throat, giving rhythm to his unsteady breaths.
"You're so beautiful, nei silstar," Fuma murmurs as he slowly drops to the floor, tucking himself between Nicholas's parted legs with both hands on his knees. Curious palms smooth up the length of his thighs, making Nicholas shudder against his will.
"W-what?" He asks even as his arms threaten to give out on him, the sensation of Fuma's thumbs digging into his inner thighs making every bit of his capacity for thought drip out of his ears.
"It means my solstice," Fuma explains as his fingers find Nicholas's belt, looking up at him through his pretty eyelashes. Nicholas wonders if this is going to kill him. "It's a term used on my planet for someone who we hold close to our heart. The solstice is a time of reset and change, intimately affecting everything about daily life. We say it when someone has changed our lives for the better."
Every word from Fuma feels like another overstimulating touch, his voice dipping despite the boyish smile he's still wearing. If Nicholas didn't know any better, he'd say he looks giddy—as if this is the most exciting thing in the world. Nicholas wishes he could be so casual about it, but his heart is crawling up his throat and begging to fight its way out, his arms finally giving in as he covers his face with his hands. His head hits the mattress with a soft thud, and Nicholas groans for lack of knowing what else to do.
"You can't say that to me," Nicholas mumbles beneath his palms, twitching at the metallic sound of his belt being undone. "Oh my god."
"Why not?" Fuma asks, sounding almost amused. Nicholas has half the mind to kick him. "You saved me, Nicholas. In so many ways, I've survived this terrifying unknown because you've been beside me."
A warm press of lips against Nicholas's hip bone draws a shudder all the way down his spine, Nicholas's foot planting itself against Fuma's thigh to keep from actually kicking out. He wants to look, but he's afraid of what he'll see, tension coiling itself in the deepest parts of his chest as he lets Fuma tug at his pants, the fabric easily falling away with one raise of his hips. It's much cooler in here than Nicholas realized, probably to accommodate a Glacielis on board, but it's raising goosebumps on his tender skin that almost hurt. Fuma's warm palms smooth them down as his hands find Nicholas's thighs once more, another embarrassed groan buzzing from his throat.
"You're giving me way too much credit." Nicholas huffs, pulling one hand away to peek at Fuma still kneeling between his legs. Nicholas is mortified to see that he's bulging his boxer-briefs, the tight black fabric leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. "I was only able to do it because of you."
A soft laugh vibrates from Fuma's chest, his chin resting on Nicholas's left thigh like a puppy waiting for pets. The imagery is enough to make Nicholas's stomach tighten, nerves slowly liquifying into a strange sort of pleasure. It's easy to be with Fuma, even if this all feels foreign and strange, it's only because Nicholas wants it to be good. He wants Fuma to feel good with him, and Nicholas reaches down with one trembling hand to thread through the dark strands of Fuma's hair, caressing his head with a sheepish smile that hurts his cheeks.
"Then we helped each other," Fuma acquiesces, leaning into the touch with another soft kiss to the fluttering pulse point in Nicholas's wrist. "Tell me, Yixiang, how would you like me?"
It takes every ounce of willpower in Nicholas's body not to curl into himself and die at the question. One of Fuma's hands is caressing his thigh, the other circled tightly around his calf. Everywhere they touch creates a static that Nicholas feels like electricity in his veins, cliche and perfect in all the ways that liking Fuma has been since the moment they met. Fuma brings out the strangest emotions in Nicholas, ones that resemble sickness and dying and the need to peel himself free of his own skin, but they're not as violent as they sound. If anything, Nicholas finds peace in feeling like he could be ground into a fine paste beneath Fuma's touch, melted and seared until he's unrecognizable as a person. He knows exactly what he wants, but asking for it…
"I can tell you what I'm thinking, if that would help," Fuma offers to save Nicholas from his own uncertainty once more, somehow so deeply aware of what Nicholas is thinking even if he can't hear it. Maybe Fuma doesn't need to read his thoughts to understand him, and Nicholas doesn't know whether to be flattered or frightened by that.
So Nicholas nods rather than deciding either way, his grip in Fuma's hair tightening when the hand on his thigh slides up to the waistband of his briefs. Fuma kisses his wrist again, then his knee, dragging his lips higher and higher until he's mouthing at the flat expanse of skin that stretches over his lower stomach. Nicholas's body tenses with the feeling, a surprised sound dying in his throat when his briefs are tugged at without warning, forcing Nicholas to raise his hips once more to help them along.
Being completely exposed in front of Fuma should probably feel more embarrassing, but Nicholas is so tightly wound that he thinks he could burst into stupid, heart-shaped confetti at any moment. It's more than just attraction, but a gnawing ache to be peeled apart by Fuma until there's nothing left for anybody else.
"You never—you never told me what you're thinking," Nicholas forces out between uneven breaths, fingers finding purchase in the silky sheets as Fuma slowly strokes up and down his thighs like he's calming a ragged animal.
"You're right, how silly of me." Fuma leaves one last pack to the inside of Nicholas's right knee before standing from the floor. His silver skin reflects the neon lights of a passing city as he moves to the side of the bed, Nicholas watching with his heart in his throat to see Fuma reaching into the bedside drawer. "I want you just like this, laid out on the bed for me to do as I please."
Fuma's hand emerges from the drawer with something silver, a small vial with a screw-top that Nicholas has never seen before that he carries back over to the bed. He discards it on the mattress before standing between Nicholas's parted thighs once more, reminding him all over again that he's fucking naked and Fuma is still half dressed.
"I… I'm okay with that." Nicholas swallows down his own pooling saliva, trying not to hyperventilate despite the flush creeping up his body. "But—your clothes—"
"I know, baby. I know."
Nicholas watches in rapt fascination as Fuma unbuttons his own pants, easily pulling them down with his briefs that he kicks off to the side. Despite how embarrassing it was to be the only one naked, Nicholas wonders if this is somehow exponentially worse. Fuma is all silver tinted muscle, strong thighs and roaming veins that lead from his cock between his legs up the flat expanse of his lower stomach. Nicholas has no idea what to do with himself, resisting the urge to pull Fuma down on top of him just to be able to hide. He's too exposed, too open, but Fuma is dropping between his legs once more, snatching the metal vial with a small hum.
"It's kind of fucked up that Mr. Liu's people had lube left in the nighstand," Fuma says with a small laugh, unscrewing the top and pouring some into the palm of his hand. It's viscous and slightly shimmery, not like the lube Nicholas is used to seeing on earth. "It's even cooling so I don't burn your insides."
Nicholas's head pops up at that, getting a better look at Fuma setting the vial down and rubbing his fingers together to spread the substance around. He's still smiling, but Nicholas can see the strange burgundy color high on his cheeks that must be a blush, his only sign of weakness that Nicholas clings to like a last rite prayer.
"You're not kidding?" Nicholas asks, wondering if he even cares either way. Fuma could ask to fuck him with snail slime as lube and Nicholas would probably say yes.
"No, but it's not necessary. It just helps if couples want to, you know, go extra rounds. Our sperm also has a heating effect that can cause sensitivity if it's left too long."
As Fuma explains it, he takes one of Nicholas's legs and hooks it over his shoulder, opening him up even more than he already was. Nicholas yelps with the position, letting Fuma tug him further down the bed until his ass is nearly hanging off the edge. Like this, Fuma is only a few inches away from where his cock is laying hard and useless against his stomach, and Nicholas brings his hand down to cover himself, dropping his head back against the mattress with a groan.
"Okay," Nicholas says on an exhale, biting back a whine when sticky fingers peel his hands away. "Fuma—"
"I'll make you feel good. I promise, my Yixiang."
There isn't a bone in Nicholas's body that doesn't believe him, but he's scared nonetheless; scared to be the one who can't uphold his half of the promise. Fuma is everything in a person that Nicholas has always wanted for himself, so strong and sure and gentle all at once. A few days ago, Nicholas was content just knowing that he was lucky enough to be near Fuma, his presence enough to keep the worst of the chill out that comes with change, keeping Nicholas from ever freezing over completely. To have him like this, so unapologetically open and giving in ways that Nicholas would have never asked him to be, makes him feel equal parts reassured and worried.
But Fuma doesn't give him much time to dwell on it, soft kisses pressed against the inside of Nicholas's thighs distracting him from his own spiral. Fuma traces nonsensical patterns with his lips, spit-slick and delicate in all the ways that drive Nicholas fucking crazy. Warm and slick fingers wrap around the base of Nicholas's cock, making him jerk with the sudden pleasure that shocks out to the rest of his limbs, but Fuma holds him open, steady as he slowly strokes him to full hardness.
Nicholas bites back the pathetic sounds that want to escape him, labored breathing expanding his ribs until they ache. Fuma's other hand is sliding up between his thighs, leaving a trail of lube that makes Nicholas shiver, the cooling sensation only adding to his onslaught of feeling. A gentle prod of fingers at his entrance pulls a groan from Nicholas's throat, his thighs parting on their own to give Fuma the room that he needs to do as he pleases. Nicholas is still so tense, so high strung and waiting to be unraveled. He shudders against the mattress as Fuma rubs the strange substance over his rim, choking down a gasp when one slim finger presses against the tight ring of muscle.
"Relax, baby," Fuma mutters with an evident smirk in his voice, the deep cadence it carries slithering pleasantly down his spine.
"I'm trying," Nicholas says, panting like a dog as Fuma's finger slowly slips into him. The lube makes it an easy stretch, but Nicholas still feels it, each slow pump of his cock serving as ample distraction to keep him from bordering on discomfort. Fuma's hands are usually too hot on his body, but the lube evens them out, a cooling sensation making Nicholas even more sensitive to the open air.
Fuma chuckles, the sound muted against the inside of Nicholas's thighs. "You're cute, you know that?"
His words vibrate into Nicholas's skin, another layer of too much that slowly chips away at his mind. Everything feels so good, so pleasantly unreal that Nicholas forgets what he was so worried about. The sterile silver of the room melts into blurs of color and passing city lights, Nicholas resigning to the pleasure slowly building in his body as Fuma fucks him open. One finger easily turns to two, then three, the burn radiating out to his thighs where they tremble over Fuma's shoulders.
With each drag of Fuma's fingers inside of his body, Nicholas feels completely taken apart, rough presses against his prostate pulling a moan from his chest that buzzes his aching throat. Nicholas breathes through it, trying to not to come just from Fuma's hands on him. But it wouldn't be so bad if he did. Fuma would forgive him.
"You still with me?" Fuma asks as he gently releases Nicholas's cock, prying his thighs apart instead.
The pads of his fingers are gentle against Nicholas's walls, the burn having long since melted away into a constant thrum of pleasure that bleeds into the mattress below him. Nicholas hardly even knows which way is up or down, the disorienting movement outside their window making him feel like he's floating in space, lost to the fullness of Fuma inside of him.
"No," Nicholas replies with a dazed giggle, blinking down to see Fuma's head resting against his knee, pupils blown wide like he's just emerged from the darkness. "You killed me."
Fuma’s smile blooms like a midnight flower, painting him in colors that Nicholas has never seen before. “I’ve barely done anything,” he says, his strangely sharp canines scraping against Nicholas’s inner thigh, drawing a shameless whimper from his throat. “But I think you’ve been patient enough.”
A harsh suck of his sensitive skin has Nicholas squirming, pleasantly distracted by the lewd squelch of Fuma’s fingers slipping out of him. Nicholas huffs, his hands blindly reaching out for Fuma’s hair to tug him out from between his legs. He’s tired of feeling so high strung and worn out, trembling right out of his skin to be kneaded like warm and risen dough.
“Fuck me,” Nicholas begs as he pulls Fuma down on top of him, crashing their lips together in a desperate plea for more.
Fuma goes willingly, his hands settling beneath Nicholas’s ass to lift him up before he can slide off the edge of the mattress, carefully shuffling them both up the bed until they collapse together into the silky sheets. It’s a welcome weight, Fuma’s hands that bracket Nicholas’s waist pressing him down into the bed. Nicholas struggles against the feeling, but Fuma only presses harder, reminding Nicholas that he is supposedly showing excellent restraint.
“Is what he said true?” Nicholas asks between kisses, wrapping his arms and legs around Fuma with a pleased hum when their cocks glide together. Fuma is burning up against him, distinctly not sweaty despite the faint, shimmering glow that has coated Nicholas from head to toe. “About your strength.”
Ignoring his question, Fuma trails his lips down Nicholas’s jaw, kissing at his throat with slow drags of his tongue. It’s fucking agonizing, the slick friction of Nicholas’s lubed cock against Fuma’s toned stomach pulling broken moans from his chest. Fuma’s fingers tighten around his hips, hard enough to bruise, and Nicholas tries to resist the urge to fight against him out of sheer curiosity.
“Why?” Fuma asks, the imprint of his teasing smile branding itself into the side of Nicholas’s neck. “Worried I’ll break you in half?”
Fuma’s hips pull back, rutting forward just enough to prod at Nicholas’s slicked entrance, the tip catching on his rim and stealing all the air from his lungs. Nicholas tugs his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle the moan that wants to escape him, his arms shaking where they’re trying, and failing, to cling to Fuma for a few seconds more.
“N-not worried,” Nicholas pants, squirming as much as he can in a silent request for Fuma to do something. But he’s too strong, too solid, easily grabbing Nicholas by the backs of his thighs and spreading him open like he seems to love doing. “Fuck—Fuma, just get inside me or I’m going to die.”
Fuma laughs, the sound breathy and warm against Nicholas’s skin. “Demanding.”
“Fuma—”
The first press of Fuma’s cock has Nicholas tensing, the slight sting and strange mix of artificial cold and burning heat pulling at all of his muscles. It feels so good that Nicholas almost forgets to breathe, the pressure in his head reminding him to gasp for air as Fuma slides into him with ease, the sticky lube making it far too easy.
It’s hard to describe the sensation of getting everything you want. Nicholas tries to bask in it, to bathe in the heady, syrupy warmth of Fuma’s body as he slowly fucks in and out of him. But all Nicholas can do is tremble in Fuma’s arms, the taut hold of his muscles threatening to rip him into pieces. Fuma holds him close, one hand on his thigh to keep him spread and the other planted in the mattress by his head, smothering him with every languid thrust. Whatever strings Fuma was pulling at before to drive Nicholas past the point of insanity have all been cut loose, leaving Nicholas with no choice but to melt into nothing.
“Better?” Fuma teases, another scrape of sharp teeth against Nicholas’s jaw making him jolt. “So pretty, my Yixiang. You feel so good.”
A dazed laugh buzzes from Nicholas’s chest, his fingers threading tightly in Fuma’s hair to keep him close. The pressure of fingertips in the soft flesh of his thigh has him shifting from the small bit of pain, but Nicholas loves it, thinking of all the times he’s wanted Fuma to crack him open and peel away his shell. For days it’s been nothing but worry, stress and uncertainty clinging to him like the scent of smoke. Nicholas wants to be free of it, to have every harsh edge and unsightly wrinkle smoothed over and patched up. Fuma fucks him as if he understands, the steady rhythm only adding to the pleasant numbness in Nicholas’s brain.
No other part of him is experiencing such mercy, every inch of exposed skin getting rubbed raw and splotched with red. Nicholas has never felt everything so intensely before, like the strange tingling sensation that happens when you emerge from a hot tub into freezing cold air. Fuma is a furnace above him, rocking their bodies up and down with every drag of his hips. At this angle, Fuma just barely grazes his prostate, but it feels so fucking good. Everything is perfect, soft moans rattling Nicholas’s ribcage with each tortuously passing second.
“Fuma,” Nicholas pants, mouth open to the sky. “Touch me.”
Another blinding smile burns into the column of Nicholas’s throat, the shape of Fuma’s teeth imprinting itself in a permanent reminder that he has been here. Nicholas wants him to press his cute canines into his flesh, to break skin and show the rest of the world that Nicholas belongs so wholly to someone he might not deserve. Fuma is a force against him, soft where their bodies touch, and firm in all the right ways.
The hand by Nicholas’s head pulls away, Fuma disintangling just enough from Nicholas’s arms for them to fall away onto the mattress. His hips never stop, his rhythm brutal even as he hooks Nicholas’s leg over his shoulder once more. Like this, Nicholas can watch the flex and ripple of Fuma's muscles, silver skin finally reflecting the light from a faint sheen of sweat. Nicholas blinks against the blinding imagery of Fuma kneeling before him like a God, fingers wrapping around his red and aching cock to stroke him in time with his thrusts.
A sharp cry scratches at Nicholas’s throat, his back arching off the bed as pleasure floods him in unrelenting waves. Fuma’s hand on his hip is the only thing keeping him from flying away completely, steady and grounding despite the tremble of his limbs. Static crawls beneath Nicholas’s skin, every tightly wound coil begging to unravel inside of him. Heat pools beneath his navel, the sound of skin slapping against skin creating a symphony with their mirrored groans of desperation. It’s too much, but Fuma doesn’t stop, squeezing Nicholas’s sensitive cock as he fucks him.
“C’mon, Yixiang,” Fuma taunts, but he sounds breathless. Even from here, with his eyelids weighed down and his vision blurring with overwhelmed tears, Nicholas can see how split open Fuma is too. He’s not the only one falling apart. “Come for me.”
It’s not a demand, but Nicholas obeys anyway, his hips twitching in overstimulation with every thrust against his prostate. Fuma thumbs at the head of his cock, pleasure pulling tight until it begins to fray under the pressure. Nicholas’s eyes slip shut, head tossed back into the pillows. Too much. Too much.
“Fuck—oh, fuck—"
Nicholas comes with stars streaking across his vision, thick ropes of white spilling over Fuma’s hand and down onto his chest, adding to his already sticky mess. It racks through him so intensely that it’s painful, a broken moan echoing off the walls as Nicholas twitches through the aftershocks, biting back a mewl when Fuma doesn’t stop fucking him.
“I know, baby,” Fuma mutters in silent apology, giving Nicholas’s cock one last tug before dropping down on top of him once more. “I’m here.”
Their lips press together, warm and perfect. Nicholas licks into Fuma’s mouth, against his sharp teeth and the plush of tongue. He tastes like skin and the faintest remnants of mint, and Nicholas goes entirely boneless beneath him, whimpering against his lips as he feels Fuma’s rhythm stutter. A soft groan buzzes from Fuma’s chest right into Nicholas’s ribcage, and Fuma stills with his last deep thrust, his back rippling as he comes.
Silence is a welcome friend to carry their heavy breathing. Fuma is careful not to crush him, but he clings to Nicholas, nuzzling his neck like a kitten. They’re damp with sweat and Nicholas is starting to feel the effects of his “heated sperm” that Fuma was talking about. But it’s perfect. There’s nowhere else that Nicholas would rather be, even if he gives a petulant groan when Fuma slowly slips out of him.
“Hey—”
“Burning, remember?” Fuma shushes, kissing Nicholas’s forehead while rolling them onto their sides.
Like this, Nicholas can relax his legs, and fuck, every single one of his muscles is like jelly. He’s entirely limp against Fuma, a ragdoll that Fuma has to maneuver so as not to suffocate him in his arms.
“I thought you said it was technically fine,” Nicholas grumbles, even if the burn is a bit much. Not painful, just weird. He can’t even imagine what it would be like if they hadn’t used the cooling lube.
“It is,” Fuma agrees, his hands distractedly touching whatever part of Nicholas’s naked body he can reach. “You’ll grow a tolerance too. But we do have somewhere we need to be soon.”
Nicholas scoffs. “Yeah. In like… four hours.”
A sweet laugh rings in Nicholas’s ears, and he looks up from where he’s been buried against Fuma’s chest to see him smiling. Images of the first time he met Fuma flicker in the back of Nicholas’s mind, his dirty skin and messy hair making Nicholas want to reach out and hold him even then. Having Fuma like this now, the promise of freedom waiting for them at the other end of all of this, it feels far too good to be true.
“You’re thinking about me,” Fuma murmurs as if he can’t believe it, his smile melting into something so devastating that Nicholas almost can’t stand to look at him. “You imagine me so…”
“Perfectly?”
“Soft.”
Nicholas has never really thought of it that way, but that is kind of how he sees Fuma. Despite his muscles and his mind-numbing displays of strength, Fuma has always been gentle. When things were scary and uncertain, Fuma was like a buffer to all the insanity. Nicholas was never afraid of him, never worried that he could do anything to hurt him.
“You are to me,” Nicholas says, smiling up at Fuma before leaning in for a chaste kiss.
Fuma chases after him for another, and another, nipping at Nicholas’s nose to make him squirm.
“I’m serious.” Nicholas pushes at Fuma’s chest, hoping that the flush on his cheeks isn’t so incriminating. “You’re just… gentle with me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had to go through this without you.”
Fuma’s head dips as he smiles, almost as if he’s shy. It makes Nicholas want to explode into a million pieces, but he opts for burying his face against Fuma instead, the slightly sweet scent of his sweat making Nicholas dizzy.
“It’s quite easy to be gentle with you, my Yixiang,” Fuma mutters into his hair, strong arms enveloping him in a hug that he has no desire to ever be free from.
As they lay together, entangled and exhausted, Nicholas thinks of home.
He remembers sprawling green grass and towering hillsides; wildflowers growing through the floorboards. There’s sunshine and rain and a flash of silver skin. Sidled up next to his memories of the life he left behind are all the new memories he’s made with Fuma, and home doesn’t feel like such a faraway place anymore.