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They sit on the edge of the door. The sun is high, and the ice cream that Yoshiki holds is melting faster, than he could eat it. Sticky, cold substance slowly run down his fingers, but he just keeps staring at Hikaru, the boy licking his fingers in such a nasty manner, that it almost made Yoshiki sick.
But he stares anyway. Hikaru sticks out his tongue, runs it against his finger, and then puts the whole thing inside, closing his mouth. Their eyes meet, and without pulling it out, Hikaru says: “What?”
“That’s nasty,” Yoshiki says.
His own ice cream is now running down his hand, and begins to trickle down his arm slowly and slowly.
“You’re nasty,” Hikaru answers him and sticks out his tongue, licking his palm. “I’m not wasting ice creams.”
Yoshiki tilts his head. Somehow, it felt scandalous to stare at Hikaru now; Yoshiki preferred not to think about it too deeply, but there was no denying, that he probably shouldn’t. And he still does, his eyes following the way Hikaru’s tongue swirls around his palm, licking all the sticky, sweet substance off.
“What was it, then?”
Hikaru looks at him, his eyebrows slightly frowned.
“In the class,” Yoshiki explains quietly. “You did something.”
Hikaru grows pale.
“I’m sorry,” he says once more, and puts his hand down. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry—”
“I’m just curious,” Yoshiki stops him, and his voice seems strange, like it’s not even his. “I—it was new. Weird. I’m just curious, what was it.”
Hikaru presses his lips together. With a slightly tilted head, his eyes gaze up and down Yoshiki, before he asks:
“How did it feel?”
“Nasty, at first,” Yoshiki says. “Then, different. Like something, that I had never felt before.”
Possessive. Aggressive. Like a parasite making his way inside Yoshiki’s skin, wiggling and trashing all around, until it gets to his brain and softly creeps inside his gray matter, residing somewhere.
Hikaru still looks at him. Yoshiki can’t quite decide what is going on inside him – and for a moment, he wants to back off, and stop this conversation. Maybe it’s too early to talk to this Hikaru like this. Perhaps, actually, he should never again talk like this again.
Every conversation with Hikaru seemed just a bit strange after that. Yoshiki tried to understand, he really did; but how? How could he, truly, understand all that? There were no forums he could go on and read about it. There was no one to ask about it.
No one, but Hikaru, that is.
“I don’t know what was it,” Hikaru says finally. “Oh,” he mutters, as the ice cream starts running down his hand and arm. “Dunno, Yoshiki,” he says, pressing lips to his arm.
“Okay,” Yoshiki answers, and looks away. Hikaru looks stupid like this. “Did it felt good?”
Hikaru stops, and stares at him, lips still around his own arm.
“Yoshiki—”
“Just answer,” Yoshiki mumbles.
Only a few seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity. There was not a good way to ask this question. But Yoshiki needs to know – what was it for this Hikaru? An animalistic hunger? An act of violence? An act of pleasure? Whatever it was, Yoshiki would prefer to hear it than go about another day, just never mentioning it again.
“Oi, the ice cream,” Hikaru suddenly says.
Yoshiki just blinks, surprised, as Hikaru comes closer, and grabs Yoshiki’s hand and presses his mouth to the sticky, melted ice cream, running down Yoshiki’s hand.
“Stop,” Yoshiki says weakly, and Hikaru stops moving, but doesn’t take his mouth off Yoshiki’s skin. “What are you doing?”
“I dunno,” Hikaru answers, his fingertips ever so slightly brushing over the skin of Yoshiki’s legs. “But you gonna get dirty.”
“You gonna make me dirty,” Yoshiki answers, and he pulls his hand away.
The ice cream lands on the floor, as the boy catches his balance with his hand, and he stares at Hikaru.
“I brush my teeth,” Hikaru answers back, like that’s the thing to focus here on.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
Yoshiki softly pushes Hikaru’s head, hoping that will get the other boy to back off.
“Someone can see us,” Yoshiki says softly. He can’t bring himself to explain full it, not here, not like this, not now. “Your mom can come home any time.”
“So what?” Hikaru asks, and even with Yoshiki’s hand on his own forehead, he still tries to come closer. “We are just playing.”
“We are,” Yoshiki agrees against his better judgment. “But people will assume.”
“Assume what ?”
There are things you don’t do. Not at their age. Sleeping together was first thing; another, was Hikaru climbing onto Yoshiki’s hips, grabbing onto him, doing whatever he wanted. This Hikaru doesn’t understand, and it’s not like Hikaru was better at it anyway; there were, simply, just some things you should never do with certain types of people.
Don’t mix with them. Don’t allow them inside your life, or they will end up destroying it all for good. Nothing good will ever come from it. It’s sick, it’s dangerous.
Yoshiki doesn’t want to answer. Truly, he wants to allow Hikaru to get onto him again, and it may once again feel very scary, nasty, and then, strangely good.
“What was it?” Yoshiki says quietly. “In the classroom. How did it feel for you?”
Hikaru stops struggling, and just stares at Yoshiki, hand still firmly pressed to his forehead, stopping him from getting to his friend.
“Good,” Hikaru answers breathlessly, “like I was all over you.”
Yoshiki swallows hard, and his hands fall down, both boys falling onto the floor now; Hikaru on top, Yoshiki underneath him. They breathe against each other, until Hikaru pulls himself up on his hands, and stares down at Yoshiki.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Yoshiki says again, his heart beating so loud it echoes inside his ears. “I just wanted to know.”
“I won’t do that again.”
You could , Yoshiki thinks to himself and presses his eyes close. You could.
“Okay,” he answers weakly. “Please get off me.”
“Oh,” Hikaru mumbles, and he scrambles back, sitting on the floor beside Yoshiki. “Our ice creams are ruined,” he notices, and Yoshiki only hums in the agreement, his eyes still closed.
“Mm.”