[log] akaya and zaizen

[knuckling]

Who: Kirihara Akaya & Zaizen Hikaru
What: Sappy home time.
When: uhhh a while back - when Akaya got back from France.
Where: The airport, a taxi, and Akaya's apartment
Rating: PG for innocent nakedness.



Akaya was not usually uncomfortable on flights, but spending thirteen hours in the cabin still took its toll. Stepping off the plane felt almost surreal when the doors were finally opened. Carry-on in one hand and travel pillow in the other, he rubbed his eyes and ambled blearily through customs. His shoulders ached from extended stillness after the hard work of the tournament, and he was tired despite being able to get pretty decent sleep.

The rest of his luggage was waiting down on the carousels, including his personal tennis gear and suitcases which hopefully wouldn't get stolen before he made it down. The crush of people exiting the gates compelled him to hang back, unwilling to fight through families and businesspeople. Eventually, though, the crowd thinned enough for Akaya to make it through.

Although the trek to Narita from his school in Ueno was easy enough, it wasn’t short. Zaizen would have liked to spend that time studying, but he couldn’t focus. For whatever reason he couldn’t read more than one or two paragraphs, or concentrate on the intricacies of a piece. So he just let his mind flow with one favorite song into the other and tried not to think about his stupidly good mood.

Feelings were ridiculous.

He arrived at the airport and waited at international arrivals, the single, prettily wrapped matcha cream burning a hole in the pocket of his ankle pants. Akaya emerged much as Zaizen expected to see him, laden with bags and looking beyond exhausted but.

Somehow still good.

Zaizen raised one hand and brought each finger down one by one for a single wave. “Hey.”

Still flight-dazed and definitely not expecting the greeting, it took Akaya a few moments and a slow blink to recognise that Zaizen was actually right there waiting for him. Then another blink to fully register that fact. His heart fluttered for a second, mouth opening to say something and then closing again as he approached closer with surprised, wide eyes.

Silent for another moment, Akaya shifted from foot to foot, glancing around at the dissipating crowd to ineffectually try and calm his expression. The trip here couldn't have been cheap or easy for the usually frugal Zaizen, and even though they'd joked about airport meetings online, Akaya definitely hadn't expected him to actually show up.

Unable to stop himself as his heart did another flip, he dropped his carry-on and wrapped his arms around Zaizen to pull him close. “Hey,” he muttered, an echo into the other boy’s hair.

The mingled shock and happiness on Akaya’s face warmed him for the few moments it took for the tennis player to crush them together. Zaizen hid his smirk-turned-smile against Akaya’s neck and rested his own hands on Akaya’s trim waist, which was, by his standards, hug reciprocation.

“Welcome back,” he said simply and let Akaya hold him as long as he pleased.

Akaya didn't cling for as long as he was tempted to, still mildly aware of their surroundings. Zaizen's reciprocal touch anchored him, though, however subdued it was. It was so tempting to lean back and kiss him, but here was not the right place or time - instead, when Akaya finally let go, one hand slid carefully over shoulder and upward to touch his fingertips very briefly to Zaizen's cheek. Quick enough to almost look like an accident but firm enough to show intent.

“I didn't know you were actually gonna come,” he said, voice scratchy from pressurised air and hours of disuse. Still standing very close, Akaya held himself back from reaching to link their hands. The three weeks of absence left him itching for contact. “I-- I'm real tired,” he stammered. The thanks was implied rather than voiced.

“Well, I’m here.”

His dark lashes fluttered downward at the subtle brush of tennis-worn knuckles against his cheek. “I know,” Zaizen said, opening his eyes more fully again. “So give me this,” he tugged at a strap of Akaya’s backpack and managed to obtain it from the exhausted man before he could protest at all. He also ferreted away the tennis bag, leaving Akaya with two rolling suitcases.

Protesting the sneaky obtaining of his luggage did cross Akaya’s mind for a moment, but his shoulders would appreciate the relief, and Zaizen wouldn't be offering if he didn't mean it. “'Kay,” he said instead. Rubbing his eyes, he made to start moving his remaining cases but was held up momentarily by a yawn.

“One of these is the macaron bag,” he added afterward, rolling them both forward to start walking away from the gate. “You can't run off with 'em.”

The tennis bag and backpack weren’t all that much heavier than some of the books and instruments he lugged around. Not really sure where they were headed, he paused to wait for Sleepy Kakuna.

“Damn,” Zaizen said flatly. “I chose wrong.” But he made no motion to change bags, or to do anything but walk at Akaya’s side. “How do you want to get home?”

Akaya snickered, sliding the cases half-protectively in front of him anyway despite Zaizen's lack of pursuit. “I'm stickin’ to our deal anyway,” he said. “So you'll get to 'em soon enough.”

Walking vaguely in the direction of the transport area, he cocked his head and considered. Train was cheap and probably fastest, but… “This many bags? Taxi,” he decided. Plus, the relative privacy sounded great after hours on the plane.

“Taxi,” Zaizen agreed, because Akaya could afford and certainly deserved the best option after the ordeal of a flight.

He eyed up the suitcase as they made their slow, burdened way to the line at the taxi stand. “Speaking of our deal…”

Zaizen reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain, elegant box. “I guess we discussed this too,” he extended his palm between them, the item sitting in the middle of it for Akaya to take or not.

The line was thankfully short, most passengers opting for the train, but a few other laden-down solos and groups had taken place in front of them. Akaya leant on his tallest suitcase as they arrived, watching the taxis rolling up and departing until Zaizen's prompting made him turn to him.

Akaya blinked at the little box. The other deal they'd struck took a moment to be remembered. When it finally hit him, Akaya shot bolt upright, almost toppling his suitcase over. “Huh? You got something for it?” He asked eloquently, staring at Zaizen as he took the box.

Opening it carefully, a smile overtook his shock.The little matcha cream chocolate sat there innocently. “So this is…”

Since that much was evident, Zaizen just stood there, amused and hand extended until Akaya plucked up the misleading box.

“Probably your only chance to eat a full one,” Zaizen finished the sentence with a smirk. “You’re welcome.”

Plucking the chocolate out of the box, Akaya bit it in half without any hesitation. It really was impeccably delicious, melting over his tongue with a perfectly gentle flavour - he could understand why Zaizen was so possessive over this particular treat. He had intended to save the other half for home, but ended up eating it right then anyway. “So good,” he muttered under his breath.

A taxi pulled away just in front of them. The next one had not come forward yet, but they were next in line. “Does ex-ex-husband work, then?” He said with a smirk, pulling his backpack around to tuck the empty box away for safekeeping.

It was tempting to swipe that second half, but the joy spiriting away the lines of weary from Akaya’s face kept him at bay. Barely. He waited for Akaya to stow the little box away before he began to help the cabbie load bags into the back.

“Not yet,” Zaizen picked up the bag supposedly containing macarons. “It’s not officially official until I get one of these, obviously.”

The last suitcase Akaya lifted himself, squeezing it into the last empty space in the boot of the taxi. Yeah, definitely too much for the train. “Mm,” he conceded, nodding. “Macarons were the original point, huh.”

He tapped Zaizen lightly on the shoulder before he reached up to close the back. His stiff shoulders protested the movement, feeling creaky and uncooperative. The driver had returned to the front seat, so Akaya slid into the back, gave his address and sighed as his head hit the headrest. “Home. I love home. Home is the best.” Traveling was fun, but by the end of long, busy trips he just wanted to relax back in his apartment.

“I’m not going to disagree with you,” Zaizen said, settling into the seat next to Akaya. Macarons were good but he had to admit that he was glad to get back into the little routine they had enjoyed before France.

They took off into Tokyo and, aside from his lack of disagreement, Zaizen said nothing at all. He looked at Akaya and then tilted his head slightly to the opposite side, eying his own shoulder to give him something of a hint.

As the taxi started to move, Akaya sighed again and settled back. His body was calling out for the couch and Bed. Quiet settled around them and he closed his eyes for a moment - but with Zaizen right next to him the ache for contact remained. A side-eye glance let him see the suggestion and Akaya wasted no time in shifting over to rest his head on Zaizen's shoulder.

This method of getting home was very expensive and a little bumpy, but worth it just for the time alone. Akaya fidgeted, hand seeking a companion, sliding together with Zaizen's when it found it. Their fingers latticed together, Akaya said quietly; “I'm really glad you came.”

Dropping his head atop Akaya’s, Zaizen relaxed his features into a calmer, more serene expression now that they were, for the most part, locked away from the world. Their hands knit together and he smoothed his thumb back and forth over Akaya’s absently.

“Isn’t that what ex-ex-husbands are for?” he said at a murmur.

"Thought that wasn't official yet," Akaya teased back immediately, nudging his head against Zaizen's jaw gently with a snicker. Despite his reaction, the comment made him feel warm and comfortable, eyes slipping closed again. His fingers drummed softly over Zaizen's knuckles. "Still true, though."

Sleepiness threatened to encroach, urged forward by the hum of the taxi's engine and the now-familiar feeling of Zaizen's body close to his. "Can I rest a bit?" He asked, adjusting his position on the other's shoulder to find the most comforting place to use as a pillow.

Since he couldn’t shrug, Zaizen hummed noncommittally. “Just this once, I guess I’ll count my macarons before I eat them.”

But only because Akaya’s laugh was teasing down his neck. And because his eyelashes looked especially stupid from this angle.

“Yeah,” he said, sneaking an arm between Akaya and the seat to feel the familiar shape of his side. “Rest. I’ll wake you when we’re close.”

Smiling vaguely, though Zaizen likely couldn’t see it due to the fact his face wasn't completely in view, Akaya couldn't resist shuffling up as close as possible when that arm went around him. “Good,” he said, voice blurring a little with tiredness. Unaware of the effect his eyelashes were having on his partner, they fluttered open for just a moment to check the surroundings before falling closed again. About an hour until home. “Thanks.”

Just this once. Just this once Zaizen would let that sleepy thanks wash over him, soft as it was meant to be. It didn’t matter that they were in a somewhat smelly cab with terrible music. It didn’t even matter that Akaya smelled like the inside of a plane. Those factors should have significantly impeded his comfort, but instead he watched Tokyo pass through some of the wilder strands of Akaya’s hair and smiled.

Only when they pulled into Shinjuku and then a street down from Akaya’s, did he tilt his chin down to murmur at his companion. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Akaya didn't fall deeply asleep. The environment they were currently in plus the thought that he was almost home kept him from that state. He did doze, though, eyes closed and breathing even, vaguely aware of heavier bumps in the road and the shift from countryside to city.

So when Zaizen's voice tickled at his half-conscious brain, his eyes flicked open almost instantly. Stretching his arms and legs slightly out but not yet lifting his head, he replied, “I wanna know, yeah.”

Lips curling into a smirk as Akaya shifted, Zaizen whispered into his ear, “Your hair needs to be washed.”

Maybe he could get Akaya to sit still for a hair mask.

To that response, Akaya shuddered and groaned. “Yeah, yeah,” he huffed, voice still groggy. “All of me does.” He’d showered before the plane trip, but thirteen hours was thirteen hours among all those other people in a confined space.

Finally lifting his head to peer out the window, he saw how close they were to home. Breathing a relieved sigh, he leaned away from Zaizen just long enough to take his wallet from his pocket. “First thing when we get inside,” he added, though privately thought it maybe wouldn't be the very first thing.

“You’re not wrong,” Zaizen agreed, but made no moves to get away from the athlete until they stopped entirely. While Akaya paid, he slinked out of the car to get all of the bags from the trunk. Luckily for Akaya, he was still standing there when the cab departed; he hadn’t taken off with the macarons.

Flashing his credit card (and wincing slightly at the price), Akaya thanked the driver and shuffled out of the cab too. Instinctively heading around the back to help with the bags, he blinked confusedly when he saw Zaizen had taken care of that already. He smiled, then, and slid the larger cases toward himself.

Trunk closed and taxi waved off, Akaya opened the sketchy side gate and held it open for Zaizen to follow. “Careful with the stairs,” he warned, dragging the wheeled luggage gingerly up the single flight to his apartment.

“Really,” Zaizen said flatly as he followed, working the remaining bags and cases up the stairs. “I intended to roll up them. You’ve foiled all of my plans. I’ll have to fall down them on the way out and it will be entirely your fault.”

Akaya remained silent until they were both through the door, a smirk playing on his face at Zaizen's ridiculous claims anyway. Exhaling heavily as he stepped into the familiar air of his apartment, he dropped his bags, turned to step deliberately toward Zaizen and crowded him against the door.

Hovering just a few millimetres away, Akaya’s hands came up to tilt the other’s chin upward gently. There was slight hesitation in his movements, though. “Okay?” He murmured, brushing the tip of his nose against Zaizen's cheek.

Zaizen continued his sarcastic diatribe until Akaya’s advance had him back against the door. His lips quirked with his chin when Akaya tipped it up to his liking and stepped more intimately into his space. And he was welcome to. Zaizen made as much known with possessive hands sliding around his waist and the caress of his own cheek on the way to Akaya’s lips. Their noses rubbed together with the refamiliarization exercise but, unlike their first time, it was an amusing, close moment to soak in.

Like now that they were alone, every breath was too good to rush.

“Yeah, now,” he breathed, then kissed Akaya to forget that he said something so damn cheesy.

The kiss was kept slow, chaste and sweet, notes of the matcha cream still lingering in Akaya’s mouth (though he wondered if that was just a flavour he had come to associate with Zaizen?). His partner's hands at his waist had him smiling against his mouth. When they pulled away, Akaya's arms moved to mirror, holding Zaizen against him and nuzzling at his jaw. “I missed kissing your dumb face,” he said with a snicker.

This was extremely sappy, he realised. Ridiculously so. Yet he lingered for a few moments more before regretfully moving away to actually start to bring his luggage in. There would be plenty of time for more sappiness later. “But I really need a shower,” he added. Better for both of them that he did that sooner rather than later.

“Your face is dumber,” Zaizen accused, head tilting to the side to make that cheek to cheek contact last just that few seconds longer. Only when Akaya pulled away did he lick his lips and agree, “You do.”

He followed after to get the remainder of the bags. “Just go, I can take care of this stuff. Is any of it dirty clothes?” It wouldn’t be much effort to throw some in the wash before it started to stink even more.

“But you missed kissin’ it too,” Akaya teased as he moved away with the suitcases. Held up by Zaizen's offer, though, he frowned for a moment in surprise before shrugging and conceding. The quicker they could get all the essential stuff done, the better.

“Couple things, but most was washed so it shouldn't be too bad. Just needs putting away, but like, don't worry too much.” He took a moment to absorb the feeling of Home before slinking off to the bathroom, taking his shirt off on the way. “This one is, though,” he said with a smirk, throwing it so it landed on the suitcase with mostly clothes. Lingering in the doorway for a moment, Akaya opened his mouth as if to ask something but closed it again, considering his wording. “My hair needs washing, right,” he stated finally, barely a question, an unsubtle offer.

Zaizen didn’t confirm that statement verbally; the pink tinge gracing his ears articulated that perfectly well. He focused on the bags and, as instructed, ignored the potential for a dirty clothes stinkbomb. Akaya’s shirt hit the floor and raised Zaizen’s brow, arched and poised for a sarcastic, you’re hilarious.

For all of his dry humor, he didn’t let Akaya soak in his uncertainty longer than a few seconds. “A thorough washing,” Zaizen agreed, stepping closer to poke the center of Akaya’s bare chest. “I better make sure you don’t cut corners.”

Satisfied with the colour rising to Zaizen's ears, Akaya gave a false "oof" to the jab at his middle and failed miserably at not looking extremely pleased. Checking the status of clean towels (present) and hair care (also present), he retaliated with a gentle poke of his own to Zaizen's side. "I'll get the rest of me clean first," he said, nodding toward the suitcases. "Can you put those in my room? The macarons're in the silver one." And with that admission, he swung the bathroom door almost closed behind him. "Knock when you're ready!"

“Yeah, yeah,” Zaizen batted at Akaya’s arm, scowled, (attempted to scowl), and commandeered the silver suitcase first and foremost. “Bring the hair mask in there, too.”

He might need ten minutes of Akaya-less time anyway, just to drop kick his stupid Emotion Sickness.

Akaya called a vague affirmative as the door closed, picking up the requested item and stripping down for the shower. The hot water was like liquid relief for his skin, kneading some of the tension from his shoulders and working out the smell of plane cabin and taxi with the assistance of body wash.

The whole time, a small smile lingered, recollections of positive France memories and the giddy feeling of being so kindly looked after by Zaizen causing it to remain. Eventually feeling appropriately clean, he kicked over the little shower chair and dampened his hair in waiting.

Left to his own devices, Zaizen took a breath and put on a playlist. The notes hooked into his arms and legs, puppeting him around the suitcases for productivity. He didn’t wash anything, but managed to open them all, sort a few things around, and spend the rest of the time staring at macarons.

He knew that Akaya would probably be ready for him soon. Still, he surreptitiously opened a package and stole a green one.

Delicious.

Licking his lips, Zaizen closed up the package and the suitcase again, fully intended to pretend that he had some semblance of self control. After stashing it with the other suitcases, he knocked on the bathroom door and peeked in, “Ready for hair and makeup?”

"Yeah," Akaya called in reply, squinting through the steam and waving a hand through the shower door. "Makeup's off the table, though."

He held on to the shower head, turning the water to a more gentle spray as he sat down on the little plastic chair. It was... a little odd having someone else in his own bathroom, but he was looking forward to the feeling of Zaizen's meticulous hands in his hair. "You can bring the other chair in," he added, gesturing vaguely to the low varnished chair that usually ended up covered in damp towels.

“Oh no, but I brought your colors and everything,” Zaizen drawled on his way into the steamed up room. The sarcasm distracted him somewhat from Akaya’s exposed back, all pinked skin and wiry tennis muscle. He occupied himself further with procuring the chair and a perfect amount of shampoo. Thankfully, his sleeves were rolled up when he started working up the soap to a rich, mint-smelling lather.

In departure from his teasing before, Zaizen’s, “Tilt your head back,” came out quiet and intimate, blanketed by the sound of the spray.

Smiling, Akaya turned the shower head idly from setting to setting, the water still pouring from it pooling by his feet before draining away. “Maybe later,” he joked back as he heard Zaizen pull the chair to the shower door.

Giving a hum of compliance as the smell of shampoo hit his senses, Akaya followed instruction, blinking amusedly before closing his eyes.

“For instagram?”

Ignoring the shower hose for now, Zaizen dug his sudsy fingers into thick, sodden curls. He took his time and hummed the random something he had been listening to just a few minutes ago. His thorough touch smoothed behind the delicate curl of Akaya’s ear, and then moved in slow, relaxing circles down to his nape. Fortunately for the nude Akaya, his massage moved back up along his scalp on reaching the border of his danger zone.

"Yeah, for my Insta. Safe at home, check out this..." Akaya trailed off, trying to think of a makeup term. "Contour?" Pretty sure that was right.

A tiny shiver snuck its way down his spine as Zaizen's hands threaded into his hair with a satisfied sigh accompanying it. This was definitely something he could really get used to. "Temples," he requested vaguely.

Zaizen huffed his muted laugh behind Akaya. “Sure. You contour, I film.”

He was pretty sure that Akaya would end up looking like some kind of carnival attraction.

“Yes, your majesty,” he drawled, his sarcasm lined with enough affection to remove any bite. His rolling fingers climbed to the spot requested and circled his temples with the side of his finger, so the entire length of his digit favored Akaya with a light massage. “Harder, or good?”

Unable to resist the ridiculous grin that resulted from their banter, Akaya echoed Zaizen's huffed laugh. "Thought the point of hair 'n makeup was you did both," he replied. "You'd be better at it than me."

Then the requested pressure on his temples released some sort of mental valve, clearing the remaining travel-fuzz from his head. Making a low noise in the back of his throat, Akaya tilted his head a little further back to encourage those little movements. "Good. Little harder, but good," he said, words a little slurred.

“True,” Zaizen said, teasing tension from Akaya with each targeted swirl of his fingertips. If he was smiling, it was Akaya’s fault for having a completely stupid expression and making stupid noises. Leaning forward, he whispered to damp strands, “I can do hair, but I’ve never used makeup. Believe it or not I wake up like this.”

At that, Akaya's grin slipped to a smirk, his eyes cracking open as he shifted away slightly to affix Zaizen with a Look. He could do that right back. “Yeah, I know,” he replied with an amused, low tone. “I've seen it, remember?” His head pressed to the left, blinking low-lidded. “Think you'd still be better anyway, somehow.”

Fighting down his happy expression with an eye roll, Zaizen said, “Then we’ll try it sometime, just to prove your hypothesis.”

Given that Zaizen had such steady hands, the hypothesis was a sound one; however, he had never seen any of Zaizen’s art projects.

He offered another fond caress before nudging Akaya gently back to center. “Close your eyes, I’m going to rinse you. We can massage again when you have the mask in.”

Wordlessly, Akaya passed up the shower head, eyes closed again as he allowed Zaizen to manouvre his neck back into position. Humming a vague affirmative, he rolled his shoulders and straightened his spine to make himself a little more solid for the rinsing.

"Feels a lot better," he murmured. "Did all that kazoo playin' help out your hands?"

Zaizen took up the shower head and moved with Akaya, shifting and stroking his hair back from his forehead as he rinsed the suds from dark locks.

“Is this you asking for a kazoo serenade?” he dragged his fingers through to Akaya’s neck, making sure that no shampoo dared linger without his say so. Only once he was sure of that cleanliness did Zaizen start coating Akaya’s ends in thick conditioner.

"A serenade?" Akaya echoed, shoulders twitching to dissipate the tiny shivers that came from the soft touches and careful attention. "Maybe. If a kazoo anything can be considered a serenade."

The conditioner smelled divine and he couldn't help but take a deep breath despite the steam. The weight it added to his hair was counteracted by the general lightheadedness he now felt. "Are kazoo serenades part of your study?" He joked, reaching up to tug at his bangs and moving them away from his eyes.

As he watched the movement of Akaya’s back, he was strangely tempted to kiss between the muscles and along his spine. He could blame the color rising to his face on the hot steam. When Akaya’s bangs were in reach, then received the same treatment.

Zaizen didn’t care if he got wet. He rested his chin on Akaya and murmured, “Do you want to find out?”

Once the conditioner was in, there was barely any time for Akaya to miss the contact before he felt Zaizen's bony chin on his bare skin. Instinctively he turned his neck and leaned back, about half an inch away from pressing his (conditioned hair-covered) temple to Zaizen's forehead. "Sure," he replied, neck turned oddly. He felt strange in this situation, wanting to find ways to touch but not sure if he should. "You can catch me up on all the study you've been doing."

Zaizen huffed a barely there laugh against Akaya’s back. “Wetting my hair, idiot.” Dragging his knuckles slowly down in parallel with Akaya’s spine, he bragged at a whisper, “I did learn another kazoo song.”

He hadn’t -- but there was no time like the present. “I can go get it, you have to keep the conditioner in your hair for another five minutes anyway.”

“Can't help it when you're right there,” Akaya muttered back, arching at the push along his backbone. Every manipulation of Zaizen's hands felt like they were unravelling another layer of tension that had built up during his time away. Want you to stay right there, was what he almost followed up with, but that was sappy and terrible. Instead he chuckled lowly and said, “'kay, I'm ready to be wooed by your amazing skills.”

“Wetting my shirt, too,” Zaizen added, even though that part was entirely his fault for leaning forward. His hands idled for a lingering caress before unwillingly parting from Akaya’s skin. In vengeance for that annoyance (Akaya could have asked him to stay), he blew a spot of cold air onto his shoulder.

His so-called amazing skills beckoned; Zaizen stood and, as he walked out the door to fetch his kazoo, stripped out of his wet shirt and tossed it in the sink. “I deserve an award for not quoting Atobe, here,” he called from the other room.

Akaya made a contented sound that turned into a short yelp as Zaizen's breath cooled his heat-sensitive skin. Rubbing the prickly spot as Zaizen left, he economically made sure the water was shut off and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist for the short wait.

“We both know it'd be way more painful for you to actually quote him,” he called back. Impatiently, he stuck his damp head out the doorway to make sure his partner was returning, a billow of steam following. “C’mon, get back here.”

There was only a plainly annoyed kazoo sound to reply to Akaya; clearly, Zaizen had found what he was looking for. Still with the kazoo in his mouth, he met Akaya’s pink and peeking face with a choice finger.

So far this serenade was not terribly romantic.

He stepped out of his damp pants and changed his tune, something lazy and reflective of his wandering thoughts. If Akaya had any requests, he would certainly complain.

"Classy," Akaya muttered under his breath, as if he wasn't naked and whining while waiting for a plastic instrument concerto. He tapped the doorframe, raising his eyebrows when Zaizen discarded his pants as well as missing his shirt.

"Didn't know this was gonna be a strip kazoo performance," he said with a laugh, ducking back into the bathroom.

Zaizen rolled his eyes and accentuated the gesture with a low toot. When Akaya returned to his seat, he laid out his pants to dry over a chair and sauntered back into the room.

As he pushed out a hand for the shower head, he hummed out the first few lines of Au Clair de Lune.

Handing over the shower head with no extra prompting, the kazoo notes only sounded vaguely familiar to Akaya. Keeping quiet to listen, he leaned back to wait for the rinse and try to identify the song. The fact that there was even an identifiable melody played through the cheap plastic was impressive.

Even so... "Never should've bought those things," Akaya hummed, not sounding particularly honest. "S'gonna be like learning another language if you keep that up."

Akaya didn’t regret it. Not really. But just to emphasize that he was wrong, Zaizen blew the next few notes with more intensity and directly against the inky curls at Akaya’s nape. Au Clair de Lune returned to the most peaceful one could accomplish on a kazoo when Zaizen received the shower head.

Because the conditioner seemed to need a few more minutes with the ends of Akaya’s hair, Zaizen directed the spray to warm and massage the tennis player’s back at close quarters. The fresh scent invaded his senses and tempted his fingertips to follow the stream, fingertips teasing pink skin lower and lower down Akaya’s spine.

The puffs of kazoo-delivered breath at his neck had Akaya jolting upright, reaching back to rub at the tingling spot and throw Zaizen a scandalised look a second later. Pouting but not saying anything more (lest he trigger further retaliation), he resigned himself to slight tenseness while listening to the raspy tones echo against the tile.

...or, that would have been the plan, if wandering hands weren't suddenly skating smoothly along his vertebrae. Squirming at the feeling, a combination of pleasant sensitivity and awkward confusion, Akaya's face began to burn. He bit his lip, unsure if he should say anything - eventually deciding to keep his mouth shut and let Zaizen do what he wanted.

Zaizen didn’t need his phone to memorialize that helpless annoyance. It was weird; having Akaya like this with him -- huffy, reactive, so very present -- filled the places in his chest that he hadn’t realized were empty. Or maybe it wasn’t weird at all.

His wandering fingers and notes didn’t stop. Zaizen trailed Akaya’s spine to the little dimples above his rear, where he daringly skated over the curve of one bare, seated buttock.

The steam rising again around him had Akaya’s breath running thinner, or at least that's what it felt like. The delicately curious sensation of Zaizen's explorative fingertips along skin so generally untouched certainly wasn't helping either.

He thought that he should feel more uncomfortable, or something, with this intimate contact. But discomfort wasn't the right word for the gnawing feeling in his chest. It was a little bit of concern, that this would be too much for them both - but Zaizen's touch ventured lower still and Akaya bit back a surprised, honest sound. He was probably red to his chest at this point, but decided if his partner was fine with this, so was he.

His breathy exhale sounded through the instrument. He wanted to ask if this was okay. But even though Akaya was flushed beyond the results of the steam, he wasn’t done being fascinated.

Not with the cute dimples over Akaya’s rear when he traced them. Not with Akaya’s hip when his fingertips played the curve of bone and traced up his side, along his ribs, and over his chest. Akaya’s heartbeat overpowered the kazoo and, at some point, Zaizen wondered if he had started to play it. For one brief, insane moment he thought about following up that cheesiness with Bad Touch, but instead let the kazoo fall from his lips and onto Akaya’s nude lap.

“Should rinse your hair now,” he mumbled to his shoulder.

Through all that physical attention Akaya had managed to stay silent, aside from hitches of breath and small, formless noises as fingertips flowed over more sensitive spots - above his hip, under his arm, the middle of his sternum. His eyes closed, mind following only touch, wondering when it would stop but not certain that it wanted it to.

And then something hollow fell onto a thigh and stuck, the tackiness of damp skin holding it in place. Akaya opened his eyes, the bright plastic staring offensively up at him. Zaizen's words were almost lost as Akaya wondered if he could melt the kazoo by staring at it. But he sighed shakily, plucked the instrument from his leg and reached back to tap Zaizen on the forehead with it. “You've got the shower, remember?”

Sighs and breathy pulls kept his interest captive; the sweet pour of sound from Akaya’s lips were more musical than the kazoo. But that didn’t mean he wanted said instrument imprinted into his forehead. Zaizen frowned flatly at Akaya and turned on the hose in his possession to give his chest a spray of protest.

“I was saving that for later,” Zaizen muttered.

The sudden splash of water against his flushed skin made Akaya squawk oddly, batting the shower head away with a few taps of the kazoo still in his hand. That wasn't his hair. Zaizen's flat look was met with one of equal measure very briefly, because the comment made Akaya's face perform a transformation from annoyed to confused to bright red as every possible implication of that probably-innocent phrase ran through his brain.

He stared at the kazoo for a moment as if considering his options before sticking it back where it had fallen. "You gonna rinse this stuff out, or what?" He followed up lightly, straightening his shoulders purposefully.

Akaya’s flush pulled on his heartstrings, sending more blood to his own face. But really wasn’t sexy, the way Zaizen’s pink cheeks ended up puffing out to capture a giggle before it could fill the room.

The kazoo on his fucking thigh; Zaizen’s amused gaze flicked from it to Akaya’s eyes, and then his firm back when he turned around. “Or what,” he answered smartly. Despite the contrary answer, he brought the warm spray up to inky strands and started to tease the conditioner from the ends by Akaya’s neck first.

That expression of Zaizen's may not have been sexy but it was, in fact, very cute. Akaya felt a fond quirk of the mouth flicker across his expression as their gazes met, having it linger even as water began to flow through his hair. His nails tapped the kazoo absently in time with Zaizen's movements, quiet now and content to enjoy the tactile (and less intense) attention. "I missed this," he murmured finally. The I missed you was implied. "Hotel bath was nice though."

I missed you, too, Zaizen’s fingers said as they spoiled Akaya’s locks with their caress. An almost smile on his face, he combed through jet strands and took his sweet time. “...Tell me about it,” he murmured. “France. Everything.”

Partly because he wanted to know and partly because he just wanted to listen to Akaya’s voice.

It took only a slight, touched pause to collate his thoughts before Akaya launched into rapid detail, skipping broad context since Zaizen would already know so much of it. The matches - his loss to Kite still stung ("I ain't mad about it - well, I'm not now, but man, seriously, fuck that. It was a good game but fuck that."), but Yukimura's semifinal placement had brought his mood back up ("He came back like that and it was incredible, right, so cool..."). The environment - shopping ("Macarons are weird because some are expensive but some are totally normal?") and the language barrier ("I had to rely on buchou a lot, but I was starting to get some words. I think.")

The hotel room he had shared with the other Rikkai members came up with a bit of a falter. "It was a pretty nice hotel, and staying with them was great," he said, then sighed. "Though since they were mostly supporting buchou is was sometimes a little... y'know." A shrug. "Definitely beat being alone though."

Akaya’s stories were like fairy lights for his ears. Good and bad, he listened and rinsed Akaya with affectionate thoroughness, only ever making enough commentary to cushion Akaya between topics (“Your special move still looked great” -- “He can be his own wrecking ball meme” -- “Should I guess how much each one cost?” -- “Say something in french that isn’t oh my god”).

Only when the creamy conditioner was gone did he drop his chin onto Akaya’s shoulder and whisper French in his ear, “Allez monsieur Kirihara, le terrifiant joueur de tennis japonais.”

Because even if everyone else was rooting for Yukimura, he really only cared about one Japanese tennis player. “Le terrifiant kakuna.”

Zaizen's conversation-buoying replies spurred Akaya's stories and reassured him somewhere deep in his subconscious. It felt good to have a conversation like this, even if it was mostly him talking - this whole routine felt like a detox, washing away the remaining grits of clay in his mind (but not under his nails yet, and - “you probably shouldn't guess some of the macaron prices, but they're better than the ones I didn't buy.”).

The little bit of French that was breathed so close had him shiver slightly, the sensation overpowering any meaning for a good few seconds before Akaya frowned, then grinned. He knew basically what all that meant, having heard pretty much the same phrase for a week… And as for that addition, he leaned his head back as far as it would go to whisper back, “Kakuna in French is Coconfort.”

French whispers bubbled into impossibly soft giggles. His hand clutching at Akaya’s side, Zaizen muffled a hiccup against a bare shoulder and said, “That’s useless.” Hiccup. “You’re useless. I hate you.”

Mumble mumble -- and he muttered breathlessly, “I’m giving up on you. Let’s just go to bed.” A few fortifying breaths later, Zaizen added, “With those macarons.”

Grinning at the rather adorable reaction he’d managed to draw forth, Akaya laid his own hand over the one at his waist and let Zaizen work his giggles out. “It ain't useless,” he replied fondly. “‘Cause it made you laugh.”

Running his free hand through his now very silky curls, a deep breath to echo his partner's oxygen intake was broken by a barking laugh at the contrary comment. “So are you giving up on me or are we going to bed, huh?” He carefully eased into a backward lean, mindfully considering the kazoo on his leg. “Either way, I gotta get dry and dressed first.” But no movement was made to do so just yet.

“That’s corny,” Zaizen accused gruffly after that laugh was done bouncing around the bathroom acoustics. Although he was able and willing to support Akaya’s recline, he would be much more pleased to do so in bed.

Even if that meant Akaya had to get dressed. Kind of a pity. He could get used to smooth skin against his and the visual treat of pale, toned flesh in contrast to dark hair. And because of that, he took his time sliding a hand down Akaya’s belly and thighs, musical fingertips bound for the kazoo-for-later. “I can give up on you and go to bed at the same time,” he hummed. “Multitasking.”

It was corny, so Akaya didn't protest. With a self-satisfied little smile, he followed the motion of the still-sneaking hand that had him inhaling slowly and left pinpricks on his drying skin. The muscles of his upper leg tensed instinctively as the ridiculous little plastic instrument finally returned to its owner's possession.

"You ain't doing the giving up part very well," he teased, shoving back against Zaizen lightly.

His hands were almost reluctant to part from firm muscle to grasp the kazoo. “As my...person, maybe you should help me with that.”

That was close.

When Akaya leaned back, Zaizen responded with a low toot and seesawed back against him, not that his weight was enough to do more than nudge the pro forward. He supplemented the attack with a sneaky arm around Akaya’s hip, which wasted no time in giving the tensed thigh a nice pinch.

The returning sound of the kazoo was a sacrifice he had been willing to make. Akaya's heart thumped once, hard, at the mention of being Zaizen's person, a kind of proud smirk settling onto his face… only for it to vanish as a tiny shock of pain spiked up his leg.

“Hey!” He whined, trapping the offending hand with his own. He huffed and reached his other for his towel. “Even now, maybe I don't want you to give up,” he muttered. The grip he had guided the smaller hand upward to splay on his stomach instead. “I can help you with the second part, though.” So he extricated himself from their lean-to embrace, letting go to stand and tuck the towel around his waist.

Because he couldn’t give up even if he wanted to, Zaizen hummed into the kazoo and simply enjoyed the fruits of his three-pronged attack. He had missed Akaya’s smirk and his complaining. With one tap on his new location and then another, and another until Akaya moved, Zaizen said as much -- not that Akaya would be able to interpret it.

“We’ll see how good of a job you do with the second part,” Zaizen stood as well, wearing a smirk of his own as he departed to give Akaya a little privacy. From the other room, he called, “You need something to eat before that?”

"Yeah, yeah," Akaya replied. He was sure his going-to-bed skills would be perfectly acceptable, given how much he'd missed his own Bed (and his Bed with Zaizen in it). A short time drying off before leaving the bathroom to seek clean clothes, he considered the proposal of real food. "If you've got somethin' in mind, yeah, I'm kinda hungry," he decided, calling out from the bedroom.

He fished out the untravelled clothes he needed from his drawers, half-considering going sans a shirt but ultimately deciding it was better manners to just wear one. In record time, he was dressed and skating out to drape himself over the couch. "Home. Clean. The best."

Comparatively, Zaizen, who was going through the fridge while in his underwear, reached for new heights of rudeness.

“Omurice?” Zaizen suggested. It wasn’t like he had that in mind yesterday and made all the preparations for inside the omelette yesterday, no. The ingredients just happened to be there, already prepared.

With an approving groan and a thumbs up, Akaya slithered into a more normal sitting position, albeit one where he could stare at the kitchenette. “If you burn yourself I ain't taking any responsibility,” he warned, half-joking. “Another secret menu item, huh.”

How exciting. Zaizen's bare chest around the frying pan did make him slightly actually concerned, though. Silently Akaya got up to look in his room - unsure he should go picking through Zaizen's things, he grabbed one of his own shirts that was occasionally slept in by the other, coming back to the kitchenette with it in his hands. “Arms up for a sec,” he instructed.

Zaizen tossed a bland glare over his shoulder at the retreating Akaya and turned his attention back to heating oil on the stove. “The list of things you’ll take responsibility for is getting dangerously short.”

He set the spatula down to face Akaya and lifted his hands in a gesture that was close to surrender, even if his gaze was anything but. “Everything on my menu is secret. You only get what I want to give you.”

“It was already dangerously short,” Akaya replied quickly, pulling the shirt over Zaizen's head and finishing with a pat to his chest. “I just gotta warn you about it. It's like, courtesy or whatever.” As if getting a protective(?) garment for him wasn't sort of taking responsibility anyway.

Returning to his spot on the couch and magically summoning his phone into his hands, Akaya tilted his head. “Sure, but the stuff you've cooked before is no longer secret, so. This is learning. Maybe one day I'll know enough to make an actual Hikaru Menu.”

“Soon there will be nothing left,” Zaizen drawled and tossed the cooked ingredients into the hot pan for a little warming. “You’ll shave your head. Become a yankee. Get a girlfriend with a long skirt and disappear into Tottori.”

He rambled partly to distract from the whole cooking in Akaya’s shirt aesthetic. However, Zaizen could admit that the comfortable shirt swishing around his upper thighs made him feel a bit less vulnerable at the stovetop. Awfully rude of Akaya to be right.

“You could make a Hikaru Menu if you no longer wanted anything on it,” he decided.

Akaya laughed, peering over the top of his phone and definitely not sneaking a photo of this domestic-appeal Zaizen. “I like that you went with yankee and not hikikomori. You do have a little faith in my base coolness.” Aside from the shaved head thing. He self-consciously tugged at a curl.

“Awww, what? That's just unfair,” he whined, only made worse by the delicious smell filling the room. He really was hungry, after all. “No menu is fine, I guess, but I don't wanna have to label everything a secret menu item forever.”

Zaizen wasn’t sure why, but the word forever made him blush.

Well. Actually, he knew why. He couldn’t see a future without Akaya either.

“I can just see you wanting to walk around in some flashy outfit with your jaw pushed out,” Zaizen said, shuffling the heated chicken and veggies from the pan to get started on the omelette part of the party.

“But it is technically still a secret menu item if you’re the only one who knows about it. Are you going to give away my secrets?”

The telltale tint of pink over Zaizen's cheeks had Akaya smiling to himself behind his phone (where he continued to definitely not take photos). "I'd look awesome in yankee gear," he claimed, sounding a little too proud about this hypothetical. "But I'm already signed on to tennis life."

Eventually the smell become overwhelmingly attractive to the senses and Akaya couldn't keep still about it, returning to the kitchen to peer over Zaizen's shoulder and maybe rest a hand on his waist. "Nah. These are my secrets to learn."

Akaya’s words were warm. The whipped egg sizzled in the pan, firming and bubbling as Zaizen leaned into Akaya and peered up at eyes so similar and so different from his own.

“Delete those pictures,” he whispered. “Or the yankee tennis memes will get you.”

Akaya pouted, holding his phone away from any potential tampering. “I'm not gonna post them anywhere,” he whined. “They're just... memories. Like what if I hit my head during training and forget all about this? That’d be terrible.”

And honestly, there were worse punishments than memes only they would understand. He blinked back down at Zaizen with a tilt to his head. “You kept those foot shirt pictures, so I can keep these.”

Zaizen held the close stare even as his eyebrows rose into his bangs.

“Do you think about amnesia a lot?” he asked, dumping the warm rice and veggie combination. The food started to sizzle, and he turned just enough to put a hand on Akaya’s chest, nowhere near his phone (yet). “Maybe those pictures could go in an amnesia specific capsule for when your coach decides to go for your skull.”

“I wouldn't say a lot,” Akaya started slowly, very much aware of the hand on his chest but unwilling to pay it any attention at this time. This was apparently turning into a battle of wills. “Jus’ when I really don't wanna forget stuff.”

He raised an eyebrow in return and felt a grin sneak in to his face at his sudden brilliant idea. “Go for my skull? What, like this?” He said before leaning down and planting a tiny kiss on Zaizen's forehead.

Zaizen Hikaru wasn’t often speechless; if he had no ready quip or complaint, he almost always offered a glare somewhere on the bland-to-highly-annoyed spectrum. Akaya’s sweet words dusted pink over his pierced ears, and the tender emotions that his gaze couldn’t hold back made him frown.

You’re cheesy and embarrassing.

I’ll go for your skull right now.

“Unfair.” His fingers knitted into Akaya’s shirt and tugged, beckoning him nearer to hear his pouty demand. “Kiss me properly, if you’re going to be like that.”

What a fantastic reaction. Akaya didn't need to be told twice. With a victorious little smirk, he slipped his phone into a pocket and brought his hands back to Zaizen's hips. Cute, he couldn't help but think at that gesture and expression.

So he leaned down to kiss him, nudging their noses together before their lips met, sweet but full of intent. One hand quickly strayed upward to cup the back of Zaizen's neck, grin still lingering against the other's mouth.

Zaizen didn’t meet Akaya halfway, but the way he drew Akaya down articulated just a little of how much he had been missing his embrace. Fitting together like this satisfied his cravings and gave life to more than a few new ones. As he brushed his lips against Akaya’s grin, Zaizen rather thought he should explore them.

After they’d both had some proper sleep.

And. After Zaizen finished the omurice. The sizzling sound and well-done scent wouldn’t let him forget. He softened his hand to give Akaya a light push as his contrary mouth nibbled a smiling lower lip, not wanting to part.

“...Okay, maybe less properly, or you’ll be eating char,” he murmured.

It was easy to become a little obsessed with kisses, especially in moments like this where it was just the two of them for the forseeable future - hours to spend together catching up. Akaya's grin eventually dissipated to allow for a better point of contact, hands solid against Zaizen's body.

But he allowed his partner to pull back, potential disappointment quashed by the reminder that he actually did want to eat sometime, and preferably still have the result of the cooking recogniseable as food. Backing away just enough to give Zaizen room to move, he let his smile slip back into place. "Good entree, though," he said slyly.

Even through the shirt, Akaya’s palms left residual warmth. Zaizen licked his lips and let his eyes linger on Akaya for a few suspended moments before the omelette forced him to turn around.

“Just for that pun, I should let this overcook a bit more,” Zaizen threatened while Akaya couldn’t see his little smile. His spatula nudged up the omelette at the edges, wrapping the rice more tightly. “Go get a plate.”

With a little amused cackle, Akaya turned around to do just that, getting two plates just in case Zaizen wanted to share his hard work.

“Yeah, yeah,” Akaya replied eventually, waving the plates in a nonchalant motion before setting them on the counter by the stove. “Maybe I shouldn't ask about dessert, then?”

By some miracle of delicate, intentional prods here and there, Zaizen’s spatula coaxed a full and perfect pocket of omurice onto one of the plates. He could draw some food to his plate later, after giving Akaya the satisfaction of cutting right into it.

“There’s nothing to ask about, I remember which suitcase the macarons were in,” he pointed out shrewdly, taking a few steps to retrieve the ketchup and give it a shake. “Any funny business with my grand prize and I’ll draw your face on that.”

Anyone who knew anything about Zaizen’s artistic skills could interpret that as a punishment.

Akaya's expression flattened momentarily to a pout, “Play along,” muttered under his breath. But he shook that away with a shrug, selecting a pair of clean spoons from the nearby drawer and knocking their shoulders together gently. “No tampering with the sweets, I know. I ain't that stupid.”

He eyed the ketchup bottle for a second, close to taking it from Zaizen's hand before any artistic disasters could occur - but curiosity won over caution. “What are you gonna draw instead?” He prompted, gesturing with a spoon.

There was no playing along when it came to macarons straight from France. For expecting him to do so, Zaizen had half a mind to make Akaya feed them to him by hand.

That picture was slightly too embarrassing to realize. He wasn’t wearing pink earrings, but his ears were somehow determined to be that color.

Zaizen let the light push edge him one way, then he oscillated right back and with quiet eyes, watched Akaya fetch utensils. “You’ll see….” he muttered, frowning as he concentrated on the ketchup bottle and omelette.

The steadiness, or lack thereof, of Zaizen's handiwork with the ketchup bottle was not quite enough to distract Akaya from the tips of colour at the other's ears. Smirking privately to himself, he decided to pry about that a bit later - because for now, he glanced back down and promptly broke into laughter.

The ketchup had formed some kind of mutant zombie face, almost melting off the surface of the omelette like a vengeful spirit. A lopsided smile(?) took over the lower section. Akaya guessed it was supposed to be a normal smile, but all of Zaizen's talents were clearly channeled into another of the arts.

“I see that you’re moved by my skills,” Zaizen said, all straight-faced sarcasm. “French cuisine has nothing on me.”

He handed Akaya the plate without much ceremony. “The restaurant doesn’t let me write on the desserts anymore.” Akaya probably didn’t need to ask to understand that one.

Taking the offered omurice with his snickers slowly abating, Akaya prodded at the ketchup with his spoon as if unsure whether destroying this... artwork was really the right course of action. “Do your ‘happy birthdays’ read more like ‘hail Satan’s?” He asked, flashing a grin as he scooted back out to the couch with food in hand.

Taking his usual spot, he pat the cushion next to him to beckon Zaizen over. The first spoonful of omurice would wait no longer, however, and Akaya mindfully took only part of one ketchup eye. Despite the artistic failings, the culinary side was a rousing success. “So good,” he murmured through the mouthful.

Zaizen followed Akaya to the couch and sat beside him. “I know. It’s Kei’s favorite.” Knowing didn’t keep the satisfied cast from his face. “Wait until September to find out, Devil Akaya.”

Right now, however, there wasn’t a single demonic characteristic to observe in Kirihara Akaya enjoying a homemade meal in his own country. Naturally, he took out his phone to take a picture.

If it was possible to look starry-eyed with a mouth full of rice and a nickname like “Devil”, Akaya was achieving it now. This was definitely a special secret menu item, then, if it was the doted-on nephew's favourite specifically. The picture Zaizen took would show that truly amazed and slightly humbled expression.

“Thanks,” he mumbled low enough for Zaizen to ignore it if he wanted. With the spoon, he sliced off the opposite end of the omelette, making sure there was a decent amount of rice still in the pocket of egg. “Want some?” He offered, prodding the piece over to transfer it to another plate.

Cute. It was too cute and entirely unfair; Zaizen couldn’t even glare because his every fiber was too busy being completely pleased with having made Akaya look that satisfied.

Kirihara Akaya could bottle and weaponize that expression for good or evil. For now that picture would suffice.

“Sure,” he said while ignoring the thanks because he was flushed enough thank-you-very-much. Taking up the spoon, he asked, “How was the food in France? Did your coach keep you away from the baguettes?”

So maybe he almost missed the plate while handing over that portion. But who could blame Akaya for finding Zaizen's cute pink face a little distracting? (They were both sappy idiots, really.) But he didn't miss the plate and that's what mattered. Omelette successfully transferred, he returned to his own.

“Basically, yeah,” he answered with a shrug. “Same old tournament diet. The restaurant nights were a little more interesting, but buchou mostly picked the food.” Yukimura knew the local cuisine better, after all. “And maybe I snuck a few macarons in. Who’s counting?”

Unlike Akaya, Zaizen wasn’t surprised by the taste. The flavor could have been better -- after all, he had made the rice mixture earlier and simply reheated -- but he was more focused on ushering Akaya into bed than cooking.

That sounds perverted, he thought to himself and ate another bite. Cuddling is dangerous.

“I’ll be counting the macarons,” Zaizen pointed out. “I wonder if Yukimura-san would have ordered escargot.”

The omurice was disappearing faster than Akaya would have liked. But he was hungry. He considered slowing down to savour it a little more, but found himself unable to. “Well,” he replied instead. “Buchou doesn't eat much meat, but I think he and Yanagi-senpai tried them.” He had meant to as well, but forgotten. Ah well, there would be other opportunities.

“How did you survive without takeout night?” Akaya asked back jokingly. It was something he had really missed while he was away, though, both the food and company.

Zaizen ate at his usual slow pace and listened, entertained to imagine a high class dinner among Yanagi, Yukimura, Sanada, and Akaya. He could ask Akaya later if Sanada had tried to Tarundoru any french.

Shaking his head, Zaizen put down his spoon to hold a limp wrist up by Akaya’s squeaky clean bangs. “You assume too much,” he said flatly. “I died three days ago, just waiting for gyudon to show up.”

The hand hanging right in front of his eyes had Akaya leaning back slightly to focus. But the skin tone was just usual Zaizen-pale, not the pallor of someone few-days dead. A flash of a pointy-toothed grin broke over the spoon in his mouth before he swallowed the rice and darted upward to bite gently at one of Zaizen's fingers.

“Still tastes fresh to me,” he remarked casually with a shrug.

Sharp green eyes smiled. The finger that had been captive to that little nip favored Akaya’s lower lip with a lazy caress. “Now who’s the one with the vore jokes?” Zaizen said tenderly, the same way someone might say I’m crazy about you.

His hand dropped to let Akaya continue eating, but he draped his calves over Akaya’s and leaned back against the couch.

Akaya shrugged, his lips quirking up at the attention being given. As Zaizen's fingertip retreated, his tongue flicked out reptile-quick to see it off with a tiny lick. “Just seemed like the right time for one,” he said, already with one of the last bites of omurice halfway to his mouth. “You make it really easy.”

With the warm weight of limbs over his, Akaya finished his remaining meal in silence. With a satisfied sigh, he placed the plate on the table and tipped sideways, tucking his head somewhere between Zaizen's side and the back of the couch. “‘Kay, I'm full.”

“I should kinkshame you for that,” Zaizen muttered without much feeling, content to let Akaya finish up his fully earned meal. And then teasing finger licks were all well and good, but Akaya’s warm, satiated weight falling over him like this right here wouldn’t do at all.

“No,” Zaizen said, squirming sideways against Akaya to let the tennis player know that he for sure meant business. “We’re not sleeping here. Bed.”

A discontented noise rose muffled from Akaya's prone form as Zaizen moved away, an arm coming around to try to cling to the other's waist. Despite that complaint, Bed did sound like a perfectly reasonable plan.

After a few moments of motionless contemplation, Akaya slid sideways off the couch while still keeping hold of Zaizen's waist, kneeling and grinning up at him. In a single motion with no real prior warning aside from a casual "All right, let's go," he lifted the shorter man over his shoulder with... some effort. "Bed, right?"

Zaizen had every intention of prodding Akaya until he moved his jetlagged bottom in the right direction. Although Zaizen got what he wanted, he also got a little more than that. The sound he let out wasn’t quite a yelp -- he bit his lip before that could happen -- but it came close.

Once it became clear that he wouldn’t fall, Zaizen stopped clinging and hung limp and surprisingly cooperative over Akaya’s shoulder, Zaizen drawled, “Kakuna is confused. Kakuna has mistaken its trainer for a sack of potatoes.”

Zaizen's weight was a little bit odd to be carrying. It wasn't uncomfortable to have him there, but there was an edge of concern about dropping him. Despite that nagging thought, Akaya laughed lowly at the cute noise his partner made, and smiled at the feeling of him accepting his fate.

"Kakunas can't lift anything," Akaya replied lightly, taking off at a measured pace toward the bedroom. "They don't have arms, y'know. Therefore, not a Kakuna. And potatoes don’t belong in my bed."

The trip was short with no detours and Akaya deposited Zaizen right into the middle of the bed with little ceremony. "Teeth, then I'll join ya."

“Kakuna don’t have legs either, but somehow they can move,” Zaizen pointed out, peering up from where he had been carefully deposited. Staring in the way that used to make Akaya flush and look away, Zaizen lifted his arms up again, “I want to brush my teeth, too.”

He didn’t move, just watched and waited for Akaya to pick him up again.

Akaya crossed his arms, staring back down at Zaizen with what he hoped at least resembled resistance - but with his defenses already lowered there wasn't really much left in him. He bit his lip, glancing away for a second before leaning down and scooping Zaizen back into his arms and onto his shoulder.

"Coulda jus' walked," he muttered. "S'like, five metres." And indeed the bathroom was just around the corner, but Akaya stood in front of the sink contemplating whether to put Zaizen down or have him attempt to brush his teeth from shoulder-perch.

Zaizen exhaled over Akaya’s shoulders and neither helped nor offered resistance. It definitely wasn’t normal to feel so relaxed under another person’s power -- but he had never really subscribed to normal anyway.

“I could have,” Zaizen agreed, squirming against Akaya’s hand as a cue to put him down for the tooth brushing. “I didn’t want to.”

And if Akaya truly didn’t want to, he would’ve put up more than a few seconds of fake resistance. Instead of explaining what they both knew perfectly well, he reached for his toothbrush and tried not to wonder at the fact that he simply kept one here now.

Well, this was going to be a thing now, he could tell. But Akaya found himself not actually minding at all. There was something appealing behind carrying Zaizen around, even if it was functionally pointless and potentially dangerous.

He brushed his teeth in silence while contemplating this, watching Zaizen vaguely in their reflections in the over-sink mirror. Then, when they were done, another pause. “Do you need me to carry you back, too?”

Zaizen stared back at Akaya in the mirror; Akaya was really the only thing to look at in the room, nevermind that Akaya was basically one of his top five favorite eye candies. Even while brushing his teeth.

He stopped his staring long enough to rinse out and gargle, then peer over his shoulder at Akaya’s question. “If you can,” Zaizen said with an arch of his pierced brow. At first it sounded like he was being courteous, but really, he was issuing a challenge.

The raised eyebrow was mirrored on Akaya's face. He could recognise a challenge when it was raised - responding to this one would be a simple task. If Zaizen was going to play that game…

He leaned down to sweep Zaizen's legs into one arm, looping the other around his upper back in what was very suspiciously close to a bridal carry. Before any protest could be waged, he elbowed the door open wide enough to let them through and practically rolled his human payload out on top of the sheets with a wordless smirk.

Zaizen blinked as his legs suddenly stopped supporting him, but he was plopped back onto the bed before he could do so much as wrap his arms around Akaya’s neck. So from his place flat-backed on the bed, he craned his head back to peer upside-down at his very handsome beast of burden.

“Eight out of ten,” he decided at a purr. “More comfortable than fireman carry, but the landing could be improved.”

"Pretty good for a first go," Akaya said lightly, a hint of pride seeping into his voice. He clicked the lights off and sat down heavily at the end of the mattress, stretching his legs out in front of him before scooting backward and pulling the covers up to his waist. "I can work on the landing."

So that was basically signing himself up for short-distance taxi duty, but. Oh well, he thought, with a one-shouldered shrug to himself. The hem of his shirt was plucked at a few times as if deciding whether to keep it on or not. 'Not' seemed to be the final decision and the top was pulled off and slingshotted somewhere across the room.

There had been mild concern that Bed Together might be a bit awkward to settle back into after the long absence, but Akaya felt nothing of the sort. Just relief. "C'mere," he murmured, rolling onto his side to face Zaizen.

Zaizen had subjected Akaya to much sass, kazooing, and abuse since returning, but this? This he could only answer by pressing play on some soothing acoustic and rolling up against his person. Warmth to warmth, he squirmed and settled one arm between them and the other draped over Akaya; legs were made to be impossibly tangled. He rather approved of resting his cheek on bare, smooth skin and would have to remember this nice tidbit for their next cuddle.

“I don’t think you went to France for tennis,” Zaizen commented, having stopped staring at Akaya long enough to close his eyes. His hand between them traced little circles over Akaya’s chest.

Having Zaizen curl up to him brought a content, silly grin to Akaya's face. He was glad that their current position wouldn't allow Zaizen to see it - he was sure the expression would be made good fun of. He nudged his cheek against the other's temple and placed a loose hand on his waist.

“Mm, pretty sure I did?” he responded with a little confusion. “What’re you hintin’ at here…”

Snuggled up against Akaya, Zaizen sighed. For a minute it seemed that the music had taken him away and he wouldn’t respond at all. Then, he mumbled, “Top secret space heater training.”

He wasn’t wrong. For figuring it out, Zaizen fully intended to reward himself with a macaron breakfast. After sleep.

While Zaizen seemed to have been hit with an instant drowsy spell, Akaya still felt bright-eyed for the moment. Laughing, he craned his neck down to brush his lips over his partner’s forehead. “Nah, I've always been this good,” he whispered.

Shifting into prime comfort position, cheek pressed into dark hair, Akaya decided he was fine just lying awake until whatever time sleep decided to take him. “Didn't even go right for the sweets,” he said quietly once Zaizen's breathing had evened out.