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It isn’t love.
No. Reiko didn’t do love. Reiko has too much to do, and he has no time for such frivolous emotions as love. The mere idea of love could be enough to distract him from his duties, and with so many things to do for his emperor, Reiko simply can’t have any distractions. He already has far too much on his plate to deal with, and he needs to focus fully.
So, it isn’t love. Maybe something similar, he thinks as his hands roam down Kabal’s bare skin with a sense of reverence that can only be described to the tune of a religious hymn. His breath is hot in the air, sweat already forming on his brow as he leans in, watching the way his fingers traverse over the scars and ridges on Kabal’s skin.
If it’s only something similar, then Reiko is allowed to do this, to feel this way, to touch the other man in such a manner. If it’s only something similar, then he can justify it. He can tell anyone who dares to ask what he was doing in a dark, dim hallway with Kabal that he’s simply figuring out their enemy. Or ally. Or whatever it is Kabal is to Outworld, and what Kabal is to Reiko.
Reiko’s hands trace down from where Kabal’s heart beats twice as fast as any man to the scars that run across his torso just under his nipples. Reiko’s hands pause, and he feels the ragged breathing from the man underneath him falter to a stop. The burns he’s familiar with, but this is new territory. They have never been this close, this bared, this slow and sweet.
It’s normally just a long, dull or angry talk behind where nobody would think to look, just looking to pass the time while their superiors discussed matters too important to have them lingering around to hear but important enough to have been brought close to it to keep on hand if things got nasty. They just… talked. Talked about everything and nothing, about each other or the stars. Reiko can swear that the lights that hang in Earthrealm’s skies and Kabal are one and the same.
And oh, by the gods, is Kabal’s body one of the most gorgeous things Reiko has ever seen. More dazzling than the stars, than the sun, than anything he could ever possibly conjure up in the back of his mind. He can’t keep his eyes and hands off of him as his hands explore every single part of him. Reiko’s thumbs brush over the scars on Kabal’s chest, ignoring the barely disguised stutter in the other man’s voice.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to…” Kabal begins, and Reiko’s fingers run over the edges of every scar he can see - and thankfully he has many. His eyes shine brighter in concentration as he maps out the dips and contours of Kabal’s body, his fingertips burning with his own pulse.
“Your scars are magnificent,” Reiko murmurs as his hands run over every raised edge. His thumbs run over the scars under Kabal’s chest once again before he looks up and meets his gaze, silently asking a question he knows he probably shouldn’t - but Reiko doesn’t care. He carries all of his scars with pride, like a badge of honour to carry around in order to show the world around him that he survived what’s been thrown at him.
Kabal, clearly, sees his differently. There is a rare moment of hesitation, of caution, from the other man that causes Reiko to pause his movements. He straightens up, standing just a few inches over Kabal as he pulls his hands away from Kabal’s chest.
“They’re from surgery, you know, to make my chest smaller.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know, ‘cause I had to. Couldn’t live with it.”
Kabal’s bravado slips in a moment of vulnerability that is the equivalent to a million wars waged, the force of his frown more deadly now than any previous scowl Reiko had ever seen on him. Reiko leans down, taking in the face behind the mask, wondering vaguely how long it will be before he needs the respirators once more.
“With what?”
“Reiko, just shut up, alright?”
And Reiko frowns. Not because he was told to shut up - no, that was par for the course of being around Kabal. But because this man, this beautiful, battle-worn man, didn’t want to acknowledge the lengths of survival that he’s been through. He’s come out the other end, and maybe he’s changed, but Reiko doesn’t see the need to be upset about that. He tilts his head as he leans in even closer.
Close enough to begin to press his lips against every scar he can see, from burn marks to surgical scars to any other possible scuff that Kabal had amassed. His hands run up and down his body before landing on the waistband of his trousers, his lips feverish and sloppy. There is not a part of the other man that Reiko doesn’t try to kiss, kneeling down so that he can run his lips along the soft pouch of stomach littered with more burns, more bruises, more jagged skin.
When Kabal’s hands card through his hair, and Reiko’s heart beats so fast that it might just burst from his chest, both men have to pause to take a deep, shaky breath. Reiko is about to go further, about to pull Kabal’s trousers to his ankles when he’s pushed away. Immediately, instinctively, he looks up with a frown. But it softens too much to stick when he sees Kabal’s face.
“I’m not a real man,” Kabal mutters. Reiko shakes his head. “I’m not. I mean, I wasn’t born with the right stuff. That’s why…”
He gestures to the scars Reiko was just enquiring about. Reiko just huffs noncommittally as he presses another kiss to Kabal’s stomach.
“And?”
“What d’you mean ‘and’?”
But Kabal’s face softens, and Reiko has no choice but to stand up. As much as he would love to continue, sometimes a warrior needs to know when to retreat.
Reiko holds his arms out to Kabal, in a rare show of tenderness from both men, and wraps Kabal up in them the second he finishes hesitating. Kabal presses his head against Reiko’s chest, murmuring some apologies that Reiko doesn’t want to hear. He just squeezes him tightly, his muscles flexing as he pulls the other man close to him.
Reiko’s breathing disrupts a tuft of hair on Kabal’s head, and he just sighs as they stand there together, neither used to this sort of intimacy and care. Perhaps this makes it love, if he’s willing to do this. Perhaps it’ll always be something just close enough that Reiko will have the ability to run away from when necessary.
He clutches Kabal tighter, his hands burying into his hair as he tries to convince himself that he can’t love anybody, has no time or enough room for weakness to love somebody. Kabal snorts slightly, maybe at how clingy he is, maybe just because the moment is sweet and awkward. Reiko rests his head on the other man’s shoulder.
“You smell like shit, dude, don’t get so close,” Kabal says with a harsh laugh, but as he pushes Reiko away, he keeps him just close enough so that he can look up at the other man with that same soft expression. His eyes are half lidded, and his nose scrunched slightly.
Then when he coughs, splutters, Reiko quickly steps aside so that Kabal can reach for his mask, adjusting the respirators until he can take a well deserved, deep breath. He strides around, still shirtless as he fiddles with his wires and oxygen. Reiko can’t help but stare as his quick hands make deft work of the mechanism, something that he would never be able to understand.
Kabal catches him staring, turning around while he adjusts his mask one last time. He runs a hand through his hair, puts a hand on his hip, and juts his body out in such a dramatic way that Reiko cannot help but laugh.
“What? Am I even sexier like this?”
“It is the best I have ever seen you, Kabal.”
Kabal laughs, properly this time, his voice muffled by the mask, and Reiko’s heart stops entirely. Not because he doesn’t think Kabal actually looks good like this - no, damnit, the man could look good in anything. His heart stops because he feels his whole body light up with something unfamiliar, something so otherworldly that his head spins and he almost feels sick.
Reiko’s heart stops because yes, it very much is love.