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I wasn’t aware I had had fallen asleep on the couch until I hear someone come in the room and am groggily waking. Osomatsu sets the tray on the floor and sits down next to it, looking up at me. “Did you fall asleep? I was only gone for twenty minutes.”
I make a noncommittal noise and accept the cup of tea he passes up to me. “I guess I’m tired. Jyushimatsu kept me up last night. I think he kept bumping into me.”
“Well, sleep if you want, I guess. Just as long as you don’t get sick.” He rubs his finger under his nose and grins at me. My throat has been scratchy since this morning and everyone else left in a likely futile attempt at avoiding catching whatever plague I’m carrying. Osomatsu, for some reason, stuck around, and seems to be under the impression that he can bolster my immune system enough to fight off any kind of malady with things like tea. I remain unconvinced, but it feels nice on my throat. Water hasn’t been cutting it. I sip down about half of it and pass it back to him, and he sets it on the floor and pushes the tray a little further away. He draws something bulky and rectangular out of his hoodie pocket. “I borrowed Dad’s tablet. Thought it would be more interesting than whatever that is you’re reading. Scooch up.”
I sluggishly move forward, parts of the blanket I’ve stolen from the linen closet bunching up over my legs and pinching under my hands. This is really very troublesome, but I find I don’t regret it when he slides in behind me, a leg on either side of my body and his warm chest pressed up against my back. He passes the tablet to me and leans his chin on my shoulder as his arms curl around my stomach so I’m completely surrounded by him. I begin to wonder if he had an agenda in mind when he stayed behind to try to help me fight off what is surely an inevitable illness, but he’s got a kind heart when it counts, and this soft intimacy is nice. I still don’t know how to not sabotage myself and this thing I would enjoy. I have the undeniable urge to be reasonable. “You’re gonna get sick too if you’re this close to me.”
He squeezes around me and leans his cheek against my ear. “It would happen anyway. It always does. Or did you forget?”
Maybe I did. It’s hard to say with him distracting me like this. “What do you want to do on this thing?” Dad hardly has any interesting apps. He doesn’t play games, but mostly just uses it to read articles.
“Didn’t you want to see Nyaa-chan’s new performance?”
My face heats, and not due to illness. “I can do that some other time.”
“Why wait? We’ve got it now.”
I make a grumbly noise that falls short of a real answer.
“What? You think I’m gonna make fun of you?”
That’s exactly what I think. “You have before, Osomatsu-niisan.”
“It’s my job as your big brother. I won’t now, though. Promise.” He turns his head and pecks my cheek, and I find I can’t deny him when he’s being this overtly saccharine. I thumb over to the internet app and pull up the recording of the concert, feeling a thrill in my chest that may be equal parts due to my love for Nyaa-chan and the fact that Osomatsu is snuggled up nicely against my body. I lean back into him, somehow imagining he dwarfs me given how I feel completely enveloped by him, even though we are very nearly the same size.
The video starts and as soon as she prances onto the stage to a loud riot of cheering fans, and I feel the balance of the cause of my intense palpitations leaning towards Nyaa-chan, no offense to Osomatsu, who’s been very nice today. I drop one of my hands under the blanket and grope for his, wrapping my palm around the back of his hand and lacing my fingers through his. I squeeze it tightly so I won’t have to shout or sing along because that would be embarrassing. I can feel the quiet laughter in him more than hear it when he shakes against me, but he dutifully squeezes my hand back and true to his word does not taunt me.
“Oh my god, that’s so cute,” he says with an obvious smile in his voice when all the kittens are released onto the stage. She does it at a lot of her bigger concerts. Nyaa-chan is of course careful not to step on them, and scoops up a mellow orange tabby in the middle of her song that paws at the ribbon around her neck. I think my heart is going to explode.
“Those are all her cats,” I can’t help saying. “She rescues whole litters from shelters. It’s not just kittens either; she has cats of all ages. She has a whole charity for taking care of abandoned cats.” I’m motoring on about her but I can’t stop myself. His hand is in my vice and the tablet shakes in my grasp. I want to gesture, but that would make it worse, and Osomatsu’s hand is grounding me. I ramble on and on about Nyaa-chan and her cats and her songs and her publicity and her perfection, unable to stem the flow now that it’s started. I think I knew this was inevitable if we watched this together. I never have anyone to talk to about her (I’ve tried tempting Ichimatsu, due to his love for all things feline, but he doesn’t like the music), and Osomatsu’s presence and promise not to mock me (though I’m still wary of that) are enabling me to gush at length about my obsession. It doesn’t stop when the set ends and the cats are collected by the staff, either, because a new one starts, and suddenly I’m bursting with facts about what inspired Nyaa-chan to write each song, and personal moments from my life that remind me of them. The video ends many minutes later and I find myself panting slightly from the sheer volume of words I’ve just spilled. My throat hurts again. “I love her so much,” I wheeze.
Osomatsu speaks for the first time. “You’re such a nerd, Choromatsu,” he says.
I let the tablet drop onto my lap and turn my head, though I don’t have the energy to disrupt my position enough to face him head-on. “You said you weren’t going to tease me, Osomatsu-niisan.” My self-consciousness had been creeping to higher and higher levels in my subconscious throughout my whole rant, but now I’m anxious at the forefront.
“I’m not teasing you, it’s an objective fact.” He pauses, pressing his head more insistently against the side of my neck. “Maybe I’m lashing out because I’m jealous.”
I’m struck flat by his unexpected honesty, which I know for what it is because of how his hand has gone a little clammy in my grasp and he seems to be waiting with bated breath for my response. “You don’t have to be jealous,” I say softly. “She’s just a thing I like. I mean, I know stuff about her but I don’t know her.” It feels relevant to add a bit more. “I know you.” My face is almost assuredly red now. Stupid Osomatsu. Either he’s embarrassing me or he’s making me embarrass myself. There’s no way out of it.
He leans his forehead against my shoulder for a minute, and the thought occurs to me that he’s just as embarrassed as I am. I rub my thumb over his, nudge his foot with mine, and sink down into him. His free hand comes up to my collar and tugs at it until my neck is exposed to his mouth. He kisses softly, open-mouthed, quietly. Sometimes I think this kind of thing sends stronger thrills through me than when we do manage to get enough alone time (and both of us are healthy) to actually have sex. I like that too, very much, but… He’s got enough awareness of others’ feelings to know when kindness is required. As my brother, of course he will sometimes push too far past that—we all do—but as my lover, he’s got surprising depth of gentile when the mood strikes him.
I lean forward slightly and tilt my head to give him better access. I’ve still got chills running through me, or maybe it’s just one ever-present chill. It’s not necessarily erotic, but then again, maybe it is. It’s definitely something that has me craving more, mentally begging him not to stop despite the fact that he’s made no move to do so. “Osomatsu-niisan…” I offer a small word of encouragement that comes out as very whimper-y, knowing he likes it when I say his name, and I kind of like saying it, too. I’m caught between the whim of turning around and kissing him and the rationality of wanting to keep him from catching my maybe-illness. Even still, I’m trying to convince myself by saying if he hasn’t already caught it from being in close proximity to me, he will before much longer.
Osomatsu’s mouth is pressed to the topmost knob of my spine and his arms curl around me tightly. Who am I kidding? I can’t deny myself. I break free and he reluctantly relinquishes his hold on me. I turn and sink into his lap, my hands coming to either of his shoulders and his resting on my hips. “I-Is this okay?” My voice is a little scratchy and I’d like to think it’s because of my throat and not because I’m nervous, even now when we’ve been together like this for as long as we have. But there is the potential for rejection here, and after all the smooth and careful exchanges we’ve shared in the last hour, I don’t think I’d be happy to let it end on a note like that. I’m cursing the circumstances that brought me here and am thankful for them all at once.
“I’ll risk it,” he says, leaning into me with a good-natured smile on his face, and I let out a breath. His lips are soft and warm when they meet with mine. He’s been borrowing Todomatsu’s chapstick since we became this bittersweet secret of a thing, and he thinks I haven’t noticed, but he tastes like cherries and the sensation of his mouth is silky, enough to dream about. He doesn’t make me ask for his tongue, but provides it readily, and this is even warmer, wetter, lovelier the way it curls against mine. I sigh into him and curl my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his a little wanton, but with mostly pure intentions. This is all I need right now. This is more than enough.
I mean to murmur his name but it only comes out as soft moans until I surrender completely to the mood of this encounter. We nip at each other with the gentlest of motions, holding lips and tongues between our teeth with no fire, but rather soft embers. And yet still I press into him firmly, but not aggressively, and reach around the corners of his mouth with my tongue. He moves back against me in equal measure, insistently, letting the subtle wet noises of his mouth be the only sound that escapes him.
Our kiss lasts a long while. By the end of it, my lips somehow feel like they’ve passed wet and come full circle back to dry, rubbed pleasantly raw from the activity. I find myself a little exhausted from the overwhelming tenacity of our tender encounters today, on top of my body weakening traitorously in preparation for my oncoming fatigue. I lean into his neck for a bit, breathing into him, savoring the tone of our afternoon shared together. Osomatsu holds me unquestioningly, unfalteringly. I eventually sink down and wiggle my legs deeper under the blanket, curling my arms around his hips and resting my cheek on his thigh. His hands go to my hair and disturb it with soft caresses. Neither of us speak, and I fall asleep on the couch again, far more comfortable with him here this time around.