Ship: Kuga Kyousuke/Hasekura Heath (implied past Kuga Kyousuke/Yagami Tomoe, open for interpretation) Fandom: Prince of Stride Major Tags: None Other Tags: None Square:Sarah Dessen Word Count: 461
apparently i just really wanted to write heath and kyousuke making out because my fingers moved on their own
***
In the end, it’s Heath who gives in first.
Kyousuke knows, of course (how, how could he not); they’ve never needed more than split seconds and glances like shadowed lightning, all of the sparks he’s buried in the palm of his hand, over the years. They burn now, a bonfire flaring as he steps backward into the wall of the dressing room, cups the back of Heath’s neck and laces his fingers through the beads of sweat in his hair.
He does not need this for the balance, for he is sure on his feet even in such a tiny space, the slivers of spotlights from the doorway more than enough for him. What he needs is Heath’s hungry eyes and his breath warm on his cheek. What he needs—
It isn’t anything that Heath won’t give (he knows, he knows). But asking for it, that’s different. And Kyousuke is bold, in his way; he’s a silent demon on the roads and the sultry wind is his for the taking, reins like ribbons worn bright round his wrists, but there are things he has not dared to deserve, things that, in his heart, he knows are too good for him.
Has Heath always been one of those things? He cannot say in this moment, cannot put his finger on when always starts and ends. The only answer he can give, now, is a low sigh ripped from some secret place, and then Heath is saying his name like an earthly devotion, a mistake he aches to make right. Kyousuke. Kyousuke.
Heath laughs, runs his callused fingertips down Kyousuke’s chin, the fine curve of his exposed clavicle. His knuckles brush against the silken fabric of the oversized robe. Inch by inch, he teases the collar off Kyousuke’s shoulder.
Diane knows what she’s doing, he says.
Kyousuke smiles. Of course she does. He had been foolish to doubt. There is much, perhaps, that he has been foolish about.
Heath kisses like he has been waiting forever for this. It’s no first kiss, for either of them; there was a time when Tomoe kissed Kyousuke by the lockers in the club room, and as for Heath, Kyousuke’s seen a revolving door of girls come and go with their chocolate and their lipstick and all of Heath’s gentlemanly worries trailing in their wake.
I’m the worst, Heath would say, watching them go, and Kyousuke would keep his silence, let Heath ride pillion on a jaunt to nowhere, taking the scenic route to both their homes.
Heath does not kiss like Tomoe. They are like day and night, summer and winter, and Kyousuke, who’s been in the dark too long, gives himself over to the melting heat at last.
FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, B1, T
Fandom: Prince of Stride
Major Tags: None
Other Tags: None
Square: Sarah Dessen
Word Count: 461
apparently i just really wanted to write heath and kyousuke making out because my fingers moved on their own
***
In the end, it’s Heath who gives in first.
Kyousuke knows, of course (how, how could he not); they’ve never needed more than split seconds and glances like shadowed lightning, all of the sparks he’s buried in the palm of his hand, over the years. They burn now, a bonfire flaring as he steps backward into the wall of the dressing room, cups the back of Heath’s neck and laces his fingers through the beads of sweat in his hair.
He does not need this for the balance, for he is sure on his feet even in such a tiny space, the slivers of spotlights from the doorway more than enough for him. What he needs is Heath’s hungry eyes and his breath warm on his cheek. What he needs—
It isn’t anything that Heath won’t give (he knows, he knows). But asking for it, that’s different. And Kyousuke is bold, in his way; he’s a silent demon on the roads and the sultry wind is his for the taking, reins like ribbons worn bright round his wrists, but there are things he has not dared to deserve, things that, in his heart, he knows are too good for him.
Has Heath always been one of those things? He cannot say in this moment, cannot put his finger on when always starts and ends. The only answer he can give, now, is a low sigh ripped from some secret place, and then Heath is saying his name like an earthly devotion, a mistake he aches to make right. Kyousuke. Kyousuke.
Careful, Kyousuke murmurs, you’ll damage Diane’s clothes.
Heath laughs, runs his callused fingertips down Kyousuke’s chin, the fine curve of his exposed clavicle. His knuckles brush against the silken fabric of the oversized robe. Inch by inch, he teases the collar off Kyousuke’s shoulder.
Diane knows what she’s doing, he says.
Kyousuke smiles. Of course she does. He had been foolish to doubt. There is much, perhaps, that he has been foolish about.
Heath kisses like he has been waiting forever for this. It’s no first kiss, for either of them; there was a time when Tomoe kissed Kyousuke by the lockers in the club room, and as for Heath, Kyousuke’s seen a revolving door of girls come and go with their chocolate and their lipstick and all of Heath’s gentlemanly worries trailing in their wake.
I’m the worst, Heath would say, watching them go, and Kyousuke would keep his silence, let Heath ride pillion on a jaunt to nowhere, taking the scenic route to both their homes.
Heath does not kiss like Tomoe. They are like day and night, summer and winter, and Kyousuke, who’s been in the dark too long, gives himself over to the melting heat at last.