cadereagratia | PSL/Meme Continuation

[Fucking. Fireworks.

[It's amazing how awe-inspiring an outsourced orgasm can be when enough time has passed since the last one. After about two or three, Whelk is feeling not unlike an absolute God of a man. He manages to play it cool even so, sitting up in bed and lighting a cigarette. Before he takes a full drag though, he holds it up to Kunimi's lips, carefully withholding a smile without making it too obvious that he's doing so. The two men are still doing the same dance that started at the speed-dating table, and at this point, Whelk is quite positive that he doesn't want it to end any time soon.

[His troubles at this moment seem very, very far away.]

Finis coronat opus. [The withheld smile becomes a withheld smirk.] "The end crowns the work."

[The sheer tectonic force of Whelk's first orgasm, the way it ripped through him and made him shake until Kunimi thought he'd crumble to pieces, was Kunimi's first clue that Whelk might have some shit going on. Then he bounced back alarmingly fast, not just once but twice, and Kunimi was effectively left far too exhausted - and sated - to wonder about said shit.

Maybe he's superhuman, who knows? Kunimi's fine with uncovering the secret of superpowers if it means he'll get fucked like this.

Sprawled on his back, unfocussed eyes pointed at the ceiling, he draws on the cigarette that's pressed to his lips and lets out the lungful of smoke as a blissful sigh. Then he turns his gaze to Whelk, who's more gorgeous than ever in the afterglow - that fact seems unfair when Kunimi couldn't get it up even once more to save his life, but he still makes for a better view than the ceiling.]

I never knew Latin was so sexy. [Ah yes, indirect praise with languages in the place of names. Kunimi's getting the hang of this deflection tactic.]

[“Might have some shit going on” is probably the biggest understatement of Whelk’s understatement of a life. He’d have half a mind to be embarrassed about the earth-shattering climax if it hadn’t been followed up by two subsequently milder but no less pleasing ones. It’s almost enough to make him forget that he “might have some shit going on”, if only for a few minutes.

[He’s in a good mood. Bless the thought. This kid might be a godsend.]

Latin...[He takes a drag on his cigarette, then let’s it up straight toward the ceiling. He doesn’t usually smoke in his apartment, but then again, it’s been a long time since he’s had the opportunity for a post-sex cigarette.]...is very sexy.

[God, he sounds like he’s seventeen again. It’s a very small taste of the memory of what happiness feels like.

[He glances sideways down at Kunimi, still sitting up in bed. Whelk certainly isn’t bad looking. Despite his miserable life, he’s still too vain to let himself go completely, and so his body is lean but toned. He’s never been a big guy, but he is a handsome one, and less scrawny then when he was a kid.]

I’m beginning to think I might like to learn Japanese though.

[Kunimi had, in fact, made good on his murmured promise. God, that was really something.]

[Likewise, Kunimi no longer has the build of an athlete but his youth has allowed him to maintain his strong, slim silhouette, and as for the rest? Well, even on a team led by Oikawa Tooru and then Yahaba Shigeru, Kunimi's delicate features stood out as uniquely pretty. Now that he's developed some sense of style, he's a bona fide knockout - though he mostly rolls his eyes at the idea of being any kind of heartthrob. Too much effort, too little interest in standing out.

I might like to learn Japanese... oh, that has another layer of meaning, huh. Whelk wants to see him again, possibly even get to know him better. That should be Kunimi's cue to get dressed and hit the road... if only he wasn't still too exhausted to do anything but roll onto his side and face Whelk's body.

He can disengage later, right? Sure he can.]

Kimochi ii... [Kunimi lifts a hand to draw idle patterns on Whelk's abdomen while he talks.] ... that's basically saying you feel good, or like - something feels good. Irete hoshii means you wanna do it right away, no more foreplay. What else did I say, it's kind of a blur...

[Is Whelk even fully aware that he’s put that single string in place, the expectation of another meeting? It’s hard to say. Normally, he wouldn’t even dream of going there - hell, normally he wouldn’t dream of bringing someone home to his shitty town house either way. But he feels high right now, with a taste of the same invincibility he used to feel as a teen that’s entirely addicting. If he were in his right mind, maybe he would be kicking this kid out right now, but Whelk is so rarely in his right mind, and this version of delusional is far more preferable than the usual.

[It is really quite something to feel not so miserable as you have in almost seven years, to check out of the constant pounding of your brain in your ears. He doesn’t even notice that he can’t hear any whispers - he doesn’t even think of them at all.

[Also, that tracing of fingers on his stomach feels divine. The corner of his mouth let’s just a bit more of his smirking slip through.]

My name, and quite a bit. But I can’t make it sound the way you do.

[He wonders idly if Kunimi enjoys the sound of his own name in Whelk’s Old Virginia accent as much as Whelk enjoys hearing his in Kunimi’s Japanese one.]

[Another interesting wrinkle to this rendezvous is the fact that Whelk's soaring, manic high spirits have effectively formed Kunimi's first impression of the young man. Sure, he was surly and standoffish at the dating event, but Kunimi really meant it when he said he understood. Anyone with any skill at making people warm to them wouldn't need speed dating to find potential partners.

Now, though... charisma has been rolling off Whelk in dazzling waves ever since they met outside the event. Kunimi feels less like he managed to turn a lemon into lemonade and more like he plucked a diamond out of the rough, which is also influencing him to stay a bit longer, share a bit more of himself. How differently would things have gone if Whelk hadn't met him outside? Even if they'd been connected by the organizers of the event, would they have been able to rekindle their initial spark? There's something a bit eerie about how well the pieces have fit together.

Then again, this might just be how it feels when two compatible people find each other. Kunimi certainly wouldn't know from experience.]

Well, I'm not teaching you that. I need to keep some of my novelty. [Despite the self-deprecating edge in his words, Kunimi's tone stays light.] You hardly say mine at all, by the way, it's not a very fair exchange. Kunimi Akira.

[He makes a small "now your turn" gesture.]

[Come to think of it, it has been only a precious few times that Whelk has uttered the young man’s name (none in the throes of passion, as he was far too distracted by feeling and listening to make any sounds other than guttural with the occasional “oh fuck” thrown in). As Whelk considers why this might be, he comes dangerously close to actually using his brain and considering the strange and precarious situation that he has managed to place himself in.

[No time for that now. His eyes narrow in subtle teasing rather than any actual thought when he says:] Kunimi Akira.

How does that sound?

[Quite pleasant. The atmosphere around him suddenly feels tense and dangerous. He very consciously ignores that.

[What are you doing?]

I like your voice.

[If that seems like a sudden hard veer into open affection, especially from someone who's guarded himself pretty carefully until now, Whelk may want to take notice of Kunimi's sinking eyelids and slow, muzzy delivery of the words. His sharp wit has finally started to blunt from sheer exhaustion; he's got one foot hovering over the chasm of sleep and about to drop.

His hand stills and drops limp on Whelk's stomach as if in confirmation that yes, he's out cold. Not just that, he's wound up slightly curled against Whelk's side with an arm half around him.

How does the atmosphere feel now?]

[Well, shit. Up until now, these two have been engaged in an active exchange of sorts - "quid pro quo", as it were. Something for something. Even the two hour break between their first meeting and their fateful smoke break was filled with electric anticipation that even Whelk couldn't deny - after all, he had met up with him after the event, part of him having decided to do so the very moment Kunimi left his table. That had been Kunimi's half of the exchange, an offer met with a counter offer, met with another. Whelk has never cared terribly for chess, but this had been an exciting game of it. Now with Kunimi asleep (Whelk glances down to check, and shit, he really is asleep, isn't he?), the dynamic has shifted into a one-sided dead end, a game with no winner. And it's at that realization that Whelk's brain starts to function again.

[How does the atmosphere feel now? Dreadful - not like an old English woman dismissing a pair of cheap slacks dreadful, but the feeling of dread.

[This is objectively and factually a bad situation. Whelk is not a sociable person. Whelk is not a happy person. Whelk is not the type of person that anyone should want to be curled up against at night, none the wiser to who he is or what he's done or what he's capable of. Aside from that - and more prevalent in Whelk's mind - Whelk does not like people and is not accustomed to having guests in his apartment of any kind, much less those that spend the night. He didn't used to be that way. He used to be a social butterfly that could scarcely be found not surrounded by hordes of fine friends with fine cars and fine clothes - never alone.

[But those days are far behind him, and for the past seven years, Whelk has been very much alone, and he's preferred it that way.

[Or, at least, that's what he's told himself. And therein lies turmoil of this moment. Try as he might to deny it, to vehemently push away any thought that this contact can possibly be misconstrued as anything but negative, Whelk finds, however begrudgingly, that he enjoys the feeling of not being alone - and desperately so.

[And that is a terribly troubling thought. This has become a dangerous situation.

[This is Whelk's home - rented, run down, under-furnished, and messy, but even so. He makes the rules here. He has all the control. It wouldn't be difficult to wake the sleeping college student and demand he leave. Whelk could be stiffly polite about it, or viciously rude and it wouldn't matter. He's not concerned about whether or not he hurts a stranger's feelings. He could kick Kunimi out on his ass without another thought and reasonably never have to see him again. But that's the thing. There is a second thought, and unlike before, Whelk can't turn his brain off and ignore it. Why is that?

[Kunimi's warm breath against his side leaves his arms prickling uncomfortably. He finishes his cigarette, and grinds it out on his bedside table before lying it on its side. He should throw it away, but he doesn't want to move yet and risk waking the young man up. And it's at that moment that he realizes Kunimi Akira will, in fact, be spending the night.

[God. Dammit.

[The next hour or so feels like Whelk is watching it on his television screen - strange, surreal, detached, fictional. He's quite used to telling himself that things that are happening aren't, and so that's what his brain does. Simultaneously, he fixates on the reality that there is a warm body sleeping next to him, shifting occasionally, moving closer, moving away again, living, breathing.

[When is the last time he felt this sort of contact? And that's where his brain shuts down again, and whispers fill his ears, and the cycle repeats itself. This goes on for quite a while, until eventually Whelk settles back against the wall that serves as a headboard for his bed, connects his shitty phone to his shitty earbuds, and watches Youtube videos about anything and everything and nothing. The sound does well enough keeping the whispers muffled, and that makes them easier to ignore. Kunimi rests next to him.

[It's around 3am that he realizes he needs to piss, which reminds him that he hasn't had a drink in a while, which gets him to cautiously slip out of the bed to take care of those two needs (equal in weight - he's been sober all night, he realizes).

[The rest of the night is spent on his leather couch, the one fine thing that he still has, that the government didn't seize when his father went to prison. He wonders idly if turning on Netflix will wake the sleeping boy, then decides to do it anyway and hopes that maybe it will. It doesn't. He watches an entire season of Hoarders that he's already seen three times.

[By 9am he's half-sober, sitting on his couch in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, drinking coffee out of a Tervis he picked up at last year's faculty Christmas party, and grading papers. He doesn't have a table, so he does this on his knees, which are bent up against his chest. His back is turned to Kunimi because he's trying to pretend that he doesn't exist. He wonders if he'll wake up soon, a blue pen cap dangling out of his mouth, the pen which it belongs to scribbling corrections on a grubby piece of paper. He never grades in red. He wonders if he might accidentally choke on the cap pen when he forgets to take it out as he sips his coffee. He hasn't slept. Thunder rumbles so far off in the distance that it sounds like someone moving a piece of furniture in the apartment next to his - maybe that's it, actually, but he thinks it's probably thunder.

[For the first time in roughly five hours, he glances over his shoulder to see if Kunimi Akira is awake yet, or maybe to see if he's disappeared. He hasn't disappeared.]

[It's about 9:15 am when Kunimi announces his return to the land of the living with a loud, snuffling breath, followed by the sort of groan that always accompanies one's first stretch of the morning. He twists this way and that under the covers, noting a few deep muscle aches that'll probably necessitate a bath to be rid of, then scrubs his hands over his face and -

- oh. Oh shit, that's right. He never made it home, did he?

Whelk seems to have gotten up already, which only redoubles the embarrassment gnawing at Kunimi's gut as he eases himself up onto his elbows, then sits up properly. Jesus, he didn't even put any clothes on. He's mid-reach for his nearby boxer-briefs when a rustling of paper alerts him to Whelk's location in the little home and confirms that he won't just be able to sneak away.]

Heh, uh. Hi. [He rakes a hand through his hair self-consciously.] I... didn't mean to still be here.

[Whelk knows that Kunimi is awake the moment he hears the stirring groan. He doesn't turn around, half of him hoping that it might just be a hallucination or, at the very least, the sound of someone about to turn around and fall back asleep. The other half of him is too focused on the sudden and obnoxiously quick racing of his own pulse. Where the night before had been a game he hadn't wanted to end, the last nine hours or so have been an illusion that he hadn't wanted to shatter. Now he'll have to face the fact that he didn't kick this kid out last night, which will more so be a matter of facing himself than Kunimi - therein lies the trouble, of course.

[For a moment he is stricken with the highly uncomfortable sensation of having absolutely no idea what to do or how to react, but he forces himself to push that down quickly, because he is determined not to embarrass himself by acting like a total moron. He already feels like one.

[He turns his head lazily over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. He tries to look somewhere between cool and cold, but realizes - not without some chagrin - that he probably just looks very, very tired. He can practically feel the bags under his eyes. Fantastic. He "casually" sips his coffee which is really just a cover for trying to figure out what the hell to say. "I don't mind?" That would be a lie, and one that he doesn't want Kunimi to even consider is true.

[When in doubt, speak Latin.]

Volo mori.

Do you want a cigarette?

[If asked, Kunimi would never be able to explain what makes the scene in front of him feel so intimate. It's a combination of every single factor - Whelk's messy hair, his boxers and undershirt, the odd posture he's taken up on the couch, the assignments scattered around him and propped up on his legs, everything. He looks utterly at home and the effect is... sweet? No, beyond sweet. It's adorable.

It's a shame that lingering any longer just isn't an option. Part of Kunimi, some deeply buried part he's not sure he ever knew existed, would like to shuffle over and plant a kiss right on top of Whelk's head.

(Domesticity, that's what it is. He's woken up to an adorably domestic scene in which he damn well knows he doesn't belong.)]

I should probably just go... [Kunimi avoids eye contact as he gathers up his clothes and gets dressed, kind of wishing the floor would open up under him and swallow him whole. However embarrassed Whelk may feel, Kunimi's plainly suffering just as much.]

[Kunimi's embarrassment is clear, and Whelk is surprised to find that it is also grandly comforting. This presents an opportunity, the potential to shift the power back in Whelk's direction. Once again he remembers that this is his home, his belongings, his territory. Never before has the shoddy town home felt like such a domain. It doesn't escape Whelk's perception that this realization is dangerously reminiscent of the night before's addictive energy, but mostly, he's just glad that he's not the only idiot in the room.

[He delicately removes the stack of papers from his legs and sets them on the unoccupied leather cushion beside him, then moves to stand.]

I've been smoking since I was fifteen years old. [He reaches down to begin pulling a pair of sweatpants up over his boxer shorts.] Never in my life have I met a smoker who didn't want a morning cigarette.

[He levies a weighted stare in Kunimi's direction.]

Not inside though. The smell becomes unbearable if you don't show restraint between special occasions.

[Then he straightens and casually crosses the room to pluck his pack from off the bedside table. He doesn't look at Kunimi as he places a cigarette loosely between his lips.

[Then he slips on a pair of shoes, grabs Kunimi's pack off the table, and heads out the back door onto the patio.]

[... wow.

Wow, what just happened? Did Whelk just... take his cigarettes hostage? To ensure that he stays longer? Does his hookup, his slightly odd but charming and sexually voracious hookup, want him to linger here for awhile?

Exactly what has Kunimi found here, with Whelk? Because it already feels like more than he could've imagined in ways he's never experienced before - good ways.

Kunimi steps onto the back porch once he's fully dressed, still trying to finger-comb his hair into place despite not having checked his reflection yet. He pulls up a chair beside Whelk and holds out his hand for his cigarettes, a grin playing on his lips as he looks Whelk over in the daylight - ah, he really is cute as hell. He looks just as good mussed up and messy as he did immaculately groomed the night before.]

You could've just said it's cool for me to stay awhile.

You’ve already stayed a while.

[An artful way of affirming that it’s cool while not actually admitting that it’s cool. Whelk considers staying standing. It feels comforting to be able to lord over someone who is normally the same height as him. It would be more comfortable though to sit down, as his lack of sleep this morning paired with the atypical amount of physical exertion undergone last night is making his legs feel like rubber. On Saturdays he’d usually start drinking again by now and try to pass out.

[He takes a seat in the folding chair on the other side of the porch (the set was cheap, but it had come with two, and a shitty folding table that sits between them now). He pulls out a cigarette from his pack and hands it to Kunimi.]

Try a camel. [Then he pulls a Marlboro out of Kunimi’s pack and flashes the boy a look with no real smile behind it, but a teasing air behind his eyes even so. He sets both packs on the table between them and lights up.

[He then hands Kunimi the lighter. No need to play the lighting card too many times. It will lose its sheen that way, he thinks.]

[There's something a bit bratty about Whelk's style of teasing that suits Kunimi to an absolute tee. He doesn't take cheap potshots or force Kunimi way beyond his usual comfort zone like a lot of people do in the name of "teasing" - he just skews the situation or dynamic very slightly, nothing that'll shake the earth beneath them, and then silently dares Kunimi to react.

Hopefully his lack of reaction doesn't disappoint Whelk too much, Kunimi thinks with a lopsided grin to himself. He's got a whole lifetime's practice in not reacting to way more than this.

He lights the Camel and takes a shallow drag, just to test the flavour - oh, it's actually quite nice. Smoother than his Marlboros. After a longer drag he sets down the lighter and sits back comfortably, then bolts upright when his phone vibrates in his jeans pocket. Jesus, he's completely forgotten there's a world outside this strange little house and his strange friday night.]

Shit. Give me a minute - [Wow that's a lot of missed messages. Does he really have such a pathetic social life that one night away causes this much alarm? He answers the phone in Japanese and takes a step or two away even though Whelk wouldn't be able to understand what he's saying anyway, mostly out of politeness. Even his tone doesn't offer any hints as, if anything, he's more deadpan in Japanese than English.

Well, a bit of irritation does sneak through as the conversation clearly stretches on longer than Kunimi would like it to. He rolls his eyes at Whelk and makes a "blah blah blah" gesture with one hand.]

[Whelk’s mood sours at the interrupting phone call for a few reasons.

[1. Every time Whelk gets a phone call, it’s from a debt collector or a telemarketer, with the exception of once a year when his mother calls him a few days after his birthday because she can’t seem to remember the day her only child was born.

[2. One of his first thoughts is how much a long distance call from Japan affects one’s American phone bill, which makes him feel pathetic in the way that only having to think about money can.

[3. For the first time since last night at the speed dating table, Kunimi’s waking attention is not on him, which he finds very aggravating considering that he doesn’t usually want anyone’s attention on him (unless of course he is in class and his students are whispering during his lecture - bastards).

[4. He’s afraid he might fall asleep if this takes too long, and falling asleep on your back porch makes you look not unlike a 70-year-old man. Whelk idly wishes he never grows to be that old. Even thirty seems like a stretch.

[It is a long conversation, but Kunimi’s hand gesture and associated hints at irritation are enough to rejuvenate him a little. He realizes he left his coffee inside, then gets a little annoyed again.

[He sits there for quite a while, not being subtle about watching the interaction. And then when Kunimi turns his back, he decides he wants the power and attention back, and thereby decides to end the phone call. This is precipitated by Whelk casually and quietly crossing the porch into the small, grubby yard and sneaking up behind Kunimi to put a hand on his hip and a breath in his unoccupied ear. He whispers quietly enough that he’s sure he can’t be heard on the other end of the phone, but makes sure it’s a low sound.]

Long conversation.

[To Kunimi's credit, he doesn't make any suspicious noises when Whelk suddenly invades his space and oozes suggestive energy all over him, but he sure does jump a good foot in the air and nearly out of his own skin. An incredulous look flashes across his face - really, dude? Really? - before he decides that Whelk actually has the right idea.]

Look, I'll ca - I'll call you la - later, okay? 'Bye. Goodbye. I will CALL you LATER!

[All spoken in Japanese and yet anyone with a phone and a nosy person in their life would have no problem translating. Kunimi pockets his phone again, then turns to face Whelk and mirrors his hold with both hands on Whelk's hips.]

What are you, a cat?

[Whelk’s not entirely sure how to respond to that. He’s a touch bit empathy bankrupt and has never much cared for animals. But he does have a stray cat that sometimes jumps into his yard and he has fed him part of a lasagna noodle at least once. No Garfield references implied, he just eats a lot of lasagna.

[It’s tempting to risk a kiss, but Whelk decides that that’s out of the question, perhaps still pretending that he has grown no attachment to this strange and prolonged fling. He could do with more fucking though. He’s in the process of coming up with a smooth way to convey that when he hears his neighbor’s back door open and feels a sudden and incredibly strong impulse to go inside immediately and avoid a, “mornin’ Barry!”. So he grabs Kunimi’s hand and pulls him along.]

[When Kunimi finally gets away from the sex maniac who brought him home the night before, it's only because Whelk finished off their fourth round by passing out cold. Once he was sure Whelk had just fallen asleep and there were no apparent health concerns, he once again pulled on all his clothes after a quick sink bath, pocketed his phone and cigarettes, and made his way toward the door.

Oh, but there was one more thing he wanted to do. Using one of Whelk's grading pens, he jotted his name (in kanji) and phone number on a blank piece of paper and left it on the nightstand. Whelk's the kind of guy who'll have to look up the characters for his own curiosity, he thinks, and it'll be a nice gotcha of the sort he enjoys so much when all he turns up is Kunimi's name.

People seem much friendlier toward him the whole way back to the university, and even when he reaches the international dorms he finds himself being invited into conversations left and right. Not until he sees himself in his dorm room mirror does he realize he's smiling brightly and probably has been the whole time.]

[When Whelk wakes up, it’s a highly generous 2:30pm. But he doesn’t notice that right away. He wakes up as he usually does, sitting bolt upright in bed with sweat on his brow and his back, a strangled gasp filling his ears over the whispering. It’s a highly discomfiting feeling to wake up this way, the worst part of it being that he never quite gets used to it. This episode has left him particularly disoriented though, as it is paired with the very real sensation that there is a body sleeping next to him.

[This morning feels fictional and far away, and his cloudy mind causes his head to whip around, searching for a companion that his brain can’t place.

[Czerny. Where is Czerny? Whelk’s mind can’t process whether he’s looking for a ghost or for his roommate, and his chest continues to heave with quick but labored breaths. His hands are shaking when he goes to slap his cheeks, eyes squeezing shut tight.

[Where is he right now? What year is it? What is this whispering? He covers his ears and curls in on himself, muttering something that he himself can’t understand - even his own words won’t process.

[It takes a long time for the vague edges of the night before to creep back into his consciousness. He took someone home. He’s twenty-four, he’s in his town house, Czerny is dead, and Whelk isn’t supposed to mind that.

[His heart seizes painfully, and he forces himself to straighten in bed and open his eyes. There’s a note on his night stand in Japanese kanji.]

PSL/Meme Continuation

for @kunimeh

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