A Beautiful Thing

Kantarou kissed Haruka first.

He hadn’t meant to, but Haruka was cute when he actually got flustered, scowling and wild-eyed and exasperated, you stupid human, what the hell is wrong with you? and there was just something very cute about Haruka’s flustered anger and exasperation, and in the way he bent himself — he, strongest of all youkai, fiercest of all tengu! — in order to yell straighnt in Kantarou’s face. It was cute, how Haruka sputtered and swore and threatened things, but his arms were always careful carrying Kantarou, and even if he flew off into the sunset, he always came back.

So Kantarou kissed him and got a cut on his lower lip for his effort: Haruka’s teeth were very sharp, even when he hid everything else about his youkai heritage.

Kantarou kissed Haruka first and Haruka was so shocked that he let himself be pushed backwards till his back was against the wall and Kantarou pressed his advantage, wrapping his arms around Haruka’s neck and tangling his fingers in Haruka’s hair (which felt less like down feathers and more like the slick, smooth edge of wing pinions) and kissing him again and again until Haruka finally put his hands on Kantarou’s own hips and held there, loose. And he’d said something as well, something along the lines of what are you doing and it’s not a good idea and humans and youkai shouldn’t and Kantarou just kissed him again.

Haruka, he said, so close his lips brushed skin with each syllable, if Haruka doesn’t say no, does that mean yes? and reached down. He was not terribly familiar with the fastenings for western-style trousers, but he knew the basics and it was enough to get them open, enough that he could get his palm flat against warm bare skin. Against him, Haruka went shaking and still, and Kantarou kept his hand on Haruka’s belly and looked up, and he said, Haruka, Haruka should say first whether it’s yes or no.

And then Haruka kissed him, biting at his mouth without bothering to be gentle with his teeth, and the hands at Kantarou’s hips clenched, and Kantarou though that he’d have bruises later. The thought pleased him, so he stretched onto his toes and let Haruka keep kissing his mouth as he slid his hand down. Haruka said his name, and then again, and again, voice shaking and hardly more than a growl, and Kantarou smiled before he knelt; for a moment Haruka continued to clutch at him, then let go.

Most youkai, when they have a human-shaped form, could usually identified by one thing that cannot be hidden by magic — that was how heroes and folklorists can recognize them. In Haruka’s case, his cock was surrounded by a nest of pale-black down feathers rather than hair, which smelled like dust and wind and musk. Kantarou rubbed his cheek against Haruka’s thigh for a moment, waiting till Haruka growled and slid fingers into his hair before he moved, before he fit his mouth around Haruka’s cock and swallowed it down.

The sound Haruka made in response was beautiful.

Kantarou put his hands on Haruka’s hips, fingers bunching in the loosened fabric of Haruka’s trousers; somehow the sound of cloth over skin was more obscene than the wet noises of his mouth on Haruka, and he focused on that. Compared to the cheaper material of Kantarou’s gi and hakama, the suit felt luxurious.

Claws prickled at Kantarou’s scalp. He looked up and found Haruka staring back at him, eyes bright and pale, fangs heavy against his lower lip. For a moment Kantarou thought that, if Haruka’s back were not to the wall, perhaps his wings would appear — and then he thought, perhaps next time, he would try harder and see if he could win that loss of control. Kantarou closed his eyes and moved faster.

Too soon, Haruka made a startled noise; his fingers yanked in Kantarou’s hair hard enough to hurt — though not hard enough to actually leave his scalp bleeding, and Kantarou was rather pleased with that. He leaned back and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, smirking up at Haruka’s stunned expression. He didn’t think he could stand just yet, and he would need to make excuses so he could take care of himself, but for now he wanted to take the few seconds to bask, because really: how often could a mere human best the Oni-Eating Tengu?

Haruka’s lips moved. I don’t understand, he said, hardly more than a whisper. Why would you want to?

Kantarou stroked Haruka’s hip, carefully tucking Haruka’s cock back into his pants and refastening them. He considered, then stretched up to kiss the sharp rise of hipbone still just barely visible.

Because I wanted to, he said. Because you’re beautiful.

He didn’t really think he’d get an answer; he’d kissed Haruka first and so the responsibility was on him — but something in Haruka’s face changed, and he slid down the wall, slowly, so that Kantarou was kneeling between Haruka’s splayed knees. And those rough hands settled on his shoulders, not roughly, but with enough strength that Kantarou didn’t think he’d be able to escape. Haruka’s face was suddenly very close to his, and Kantarou resisted the urge to pull back. He’d seen that face before, when Haruka turned women down, accepting their presents without the sentiments behind them, and the thought of that made Kantarou sick to his stomach, because Haruka never reciprocated–

I see, Haruka said, and kissed him.

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