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Like this, up close—with Ness’ face framed between both of Kaiser’s hands, his eyes wide and so, so calm despite the malice in form of a creature in form of a boy in form of Michael Kaiser right in front of him—the air around them still humid from their their rather extensive everything shower, there’s moisture beading in the pores of Ness’ nose. Oil, because they just washed their faces with that stupid nice smelling cleanser Ness brought home one day. He has an oily nose, Kaiser thinks, brushing his thumbs along Ness’ cheekbones. Ness’ breath hitches a little, but he doesn’t shiver, doesn’t waver. Kaiser never noticed that about him, the nose, he thinks. The beads of oil in his clean pores look like little constellations of stars in the shimmering bathroom light like this.
Giving in to an impulse—in the end, impulse is all Kaiser has ever been, and all he is now stripped down to, as well, with his facade well and truly gone—he leans in. Nudges his nose alongside Ness’. Listens to Ness’ gasp and feels it shiver down his spine, feels it tremble in his hands still cupping Ness’ face, feels it prickle everywhere.
“Kaiser,” says Ness, almost careful, almost stern, entirely patronizing. His voice is so soft it’s barely there; brushes against Kaiser’s lips with his breath. Kaiser feels it more then he hears it. “Michael. Can you let go of me?”
Kaiser, for some reason, whines. Feels it heavy and tight in his throat, like his larynx grew several sizes in the span of a few seconds. Swallowing does not make it go away.
Can you let go of me?
It’s not even an actual request, god forbid a command. Even now, Kaiser isn’t quite sure if Ness has it in him. No, instead, it’s simply that: a question. Patronizing, strangely aloof, like Ness is noting and observing, even though he’s so warm against Kaiser in this big, shiny bathroom. Even though his breath ghosts over Kaiser’s skin.
The answer to said question, is, of course: No. He can’t. And isn’t that just embarrassing?
Instead of answering, he leans into the side of Ness’ face, behind his ear. Ness’ curly hair itches his nose like this, brushes his face, leaves him tingling. He smells… like the conditioner they both use; floral but not overwhelmingly so. Somewhat earthy instead of artificial sweet, but perhaps that’s from the cleanser. He smells like aloe, too.
Beneath it, lingering just at the very edges—he sweats a lot, too, Kaiser thinks; and some part of him wants to be haughty about that, but he doesn’t really manage to, stripped down like this—is musk. Salty. Kaiser presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth and thinks he can taste it.
Ness hums. Doesn’t touch Kaiser, not at all, not ever, even when Kaiser noses along his jawline, pants against his skin. When Kaiser tilts his head, leans his forehead against Ness’ shoulder, glancing down his body—tanlines a little faded from their time locked inside during Blue Lock, lingering though the before feels foggy in Kaiser’s brain, keeps slipping from his grasp, and he doesn’t know how to handle Ness now, doesn’t know if he ever truly did—he has an erection. Kaiser presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth and thinks he can taste it.
“Do you think I’m a girl?” spills out of him, for some reason.
It’s not what he actually cares about. It’s never been what he actually cares about. It’s just a fact.
Right now, Kaiser is bare, skin raw all over. Physically, yes—they took a shower and Kaiser scrubbed his skin as hard as he could manage until Ness took the loofah from him—but mostly… everywhere. It’s ridiculous. It itches all over. It feels hollow inside of him, almost mellow; like all of the malevolence was scooped out of him and nothing was put inside of him in place of it.
He wonders what Ness would put inside of him if he could, if Kaiser gave him the opportunity to, if he just took it. Hates himself for wondering.
“What?” says Ness, clearly surprised. “No. Of course not.”
It sounds sincere. So sincere in fact that Kaiser digs his fingertips into Ness’ skin where his hands have slipped down his sides. Deep, deep, deep.
“Michael,” says Ness, in the steady tone of someone talking to a cat spilling milk. Kaiser swallows. Squeezes his eyes shut. Wants to scream and tear at his hair and shove Ness away and punch him bloody, but instead, the only thing he manages is to flex his hands. To keep them hovering over Ness’ sides.
What do you want from me? Kaiser thinks he would like to ask. Why are you still here? What do you hope to get from this? From me? What is it you see? There’s nothing there. What the fuck are you seeing?
Desperate. Seeking out validation. Trying to wallow in it, to burrow himself into it. Kaiser thinks about Ness’ steady gaze in the hallway of Blue Lock—the fear cutting down to his very bones at what Ness was saying, the way all of him squirmed under it—about his big eyes, about his broad shoulders. Kaiser thinks about Ness following him around, everywhere, like a shadow. Kaiser thinks about the ducked obeisance. Kaiser thinks about the look of steel in Ness’ eyes.
Ness really changed. Ness plays better than he ever has before. Ness, on the pitch, during practice, makes Kaiser claw for his passes, makes Kaiser feel turned inside out with adrenaline-fear.
Did Kaiser? Did he change? Is there anything good he could ever be?
It’s so embarrassing. All of it. It’s so embarrassing. Why does Kaiser still need it? Why has he always needed it?
“I will touch you,” says Ness, tone steady, just like in the hallway. “Is that okay?”
And there’s not really any way to say no to that, is there? There’s nothing left inside of him, but it prickles over every centimeter of Kaiser’s skin, anyway, making his hairs stand on end. He burrows closer, closer, closer. A wounded noise slips out of him. His face burns. The bathroom is so warm.
Ness takes that as a yes, it seems. But he doesn’t touch Kaiser quite like he expected: there’s still Ness’ erection, heavy between the two of them—not brushing Kaiser at all because Ness stands unmoving and steady and Kaiser curls in on himself to be able to reach Ness’ shoulder—but Ness doesn’t grab, doesn’t turn his head to mouth at Kaiser, doesn’t press closer, closer, closer. Instead, he threads his fingers into Kaiser’s still damp hair, all slow, all soft, and starts brushing through it. Working out the knots, Kaiser thinks after a little while. Ness’ fingers snag on to them every once in a while, and Kaiser gasps, but there’s Ness’ warm skin against his palms, everything warm, nearly febrile, and he does not twitch even once.
Instead, he feels like melting caramel. Slumping against Ness, letting Ness patiently finger brush his hair. It feels… something. Intense. Mellow, at the same time. Not really good, and not really bad. Kaiser thinks, at the very back of his mind, that he doesn’t think he’s ever been touched for this long without being hurt. He can’t quite help but wonder when Ness is going to hit him.
(Can’t quite help wanting it, maybe.)
Kaiser is oozing shame thickly all over the bathroom floor like Ness’ pores are oozing oil. Ness is taking his sweet time with it, too. Some part of Kaiser wants to bark at him to be done with it already. Will they ever be done with it? With any of it? Kaiser tried to be, but look how that turned out. Now he’s still here, in their shared apartment—when returning, he’d announced, only half as steady as he’d actually felt, that he’d be moving out and getting a place for his own, because they weren’t like that anymore, no matter what Ness said, and now he’s still here—in their big bathroom with all those products Ness has picked out and all those memories of Ness’ fingers on his face rubbing in some lotion or cleanser or another or strands of blond hair on the floor or dye tinting the tips of Ness’ fingers blue, blue, blue. How come Kaiser never realized before? That every centimeter of his life is infected by Ness, and has been for years?
“I’ll dry your hair,” Ness says, at last. His tone is soft, but it’s not a question. When Kaiser glances up, up, up, a smile bleeds over Ness’ face belatedly, but it can’t hide the intense look in his eyes even if it did reach them.
How come Kaiser never realized before?
(And he doesn’t think—doesn’t think Ness just let him, all these years, and is only now taking what he’s always been holding; it’s not like that, it wasn’t like that, but there’s a Ness inside of Ness that Kaiser never noticed and there’s a Kaiser inside of Kaiser that this Ness grabs by the neck and keeps right there in place with surprising strength. The Ness Kaiser knew would be crying and begging instead of telling Kaiser No. And the Kaiser Kaiser knew—
Who is that, again?)
He doesn’t manage any resistance. Sits down on the stool Ness carries over to the sink, watches how Ness flits to the other end of the bathroom again to open the window, let some of the steam out. In front of Kaiser, the mirror is still misted over. His reflection is blurry. There’s nothing staring back at him.
Ness takes damp hair in his hands and brushes it back over Kaiser’s shoulders to drape over Kaiser’s back. It’s cold there; Kaiser shivers under it. A drop of water rolls down the groove of his spine and disappears in his ass crack.
“Your eyes are all swollen,” says Ness. Kaiser grits his teeth, tries to grit his teeth, keeps sitting right there. It’s too warm in this room, the open window notwithstanding, and it pools inside of him somewhere. Somewhere right next to him, maybe. There’s too much empty space inside of him when he swallows, after all. “Do you want to wear a cooling eye mask?”
This is not a question, either, it seems. Ness reaches over Kaiser’s shoulder and opens the cabinet behind the mirror to grab the masks. Tilts Kaiser’s head back, back, back, with his free hand ghosting against Kaiser’s chin, until Kaiser’s nape is cradled by the chair, until he can stare up at Ness. Ness, upside down, smiles as he applies the masks under Kaiser’s eyes, one and then the other. He coos from the back of his throat, a soothing noise like Kaiser is a child, and Kaiser shivers anyhow. Something nudges at his throat but nothing comes out, no words, nothing. Ness tilts his head back down, and Kaiser lets him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says. Kaiser stares at his blurry reflection, enveloped by what looks like a pink halo from Ness’ hair behind him.
“Just…” he manages. Wets his lips with his tongue. “Just get to it.”
Ness hums. Kaiser closes his eyes. Adds: “Please.”
Ness presses a kiss to the crown of Kaiser’s still damp head and plugs the dryer in with a click.
It doesn’t quite feel real, any of this, especially with Ness hovering behind him instead of within reach. Feels like some sort of detached dream, floating and crushing at the same time. A weight on his ribcage. Please, Kaiser thinks, and hates himself for this, too. Please, please, please. Ness’ hand brushes into his hair and the whir of the hairdryer being turned on covers Kaiser’s gasp, his sigh. Everything narrows in on the point of contact. Goosebumps spread over his body where the hot air touches his skin.
He squeezes his eyes shut, and Ness pats his head like he can see him do it in the blurry mirror. He says something, Kaiser thinks, but his ears are ringing and the hairdryer is too loud. He wants to dig fingernails into Ness’ arms and don’t let go, no matter how much Ness might reproach him.
Instead, he sits there. Obedient, good. Ness hums something under his breath, a melody Kaiser doesn’t recognize. What a fucking joke. What a fucking joke all of this is.
(He’s not quite sure if there’s even another shoe to drop, and still he keeps waiting and waiting and waiting and he’s never known how to stop waiting and he doesn’t think he ever will. Everything is a waiting game. Everything is a game. So what fucking game is Ness playing here?)
Ness shuts off the hairdryer and parts Kaiser’s hair carefully with a comb and plugs in a straightening iron to shape his bangs and his rat-tails nice and uniform. When Kaiser blinks, the mirror is unfogged, and he’s right there: sharp, pale face, the blue eye masks, the freshly redyed ends of his hair. Ness wore gloves, but the tips of his fingers are still a little blue the day after. Kaiser didn’t ask him for this. Kaiser has never asked him for any of this.
(Except that one time, with the extended hand. And the one time, with the scissors and the dye and everything else left to Ness. Always left to Ness.)
“There we go,” says Ness, softly, hands brushing down to dig fingers into Kaiser’s shoulders in something resembling a massage. “Look at you.”
Instead, Kaiser looks at Ness. Through the mirror, Ness is the wrong way around; his hair curling into the wrong direction in the humidity. He blinks big eyes and smiles his smile Kaiser knows so well, the wrong way around, as well, the one that hides his teeth. Kaiser wants them, he thinks. He wants them—wants anything—so much he’s ill with it. So much he swallows and swallows and swallows and it’s still there. I won’t leave, Ness’d said the day before, even when Kaiser was the one who wanted to leave. This is what you need. I’ll show you.
Maybe it is. Maybe it could be. Maybe—
Ness leans in and presses another kiss to Kaiser’s head, and like this, closer, Kaiser can see his pores in the mirror again. Can see his smile lines, the hairs on his eyebrows where they’re just a little bit unruly (he’d plucked Kaiser’s earlier). Ness is human. Ness’ hands are warm on Kaiser’s shoulders, digging into Kaiser’s flesh and blood and Ness is human, and—
“Ness,” Kaiser finds himself say, like it’s a foreign word, like he’s a child just learning to speak. He furrows his brows. Ness tilts his head. His breath sends some of Kaiser’s hairs, otherwise styled to perfection, flying. “Alexis. Alex.”
Ness nods. “Very good.”
It manages to make Kaiser flush. It’s condescending and frankly insulting—some flavor of which he has seen from Ness before, obviously, aimed at others during trash talk; but there’s something so cloying when it’s like this, when it’s directed at him—and still, it makes Kaiser’s face go red, makes heat boil on his skin and in his chest. He grits his teeth. Snarls. Ness smiles, smiles, smiles.
“Move,” Kaiser spits. Ness purses his lips but lets Kaiser get up, anyway.
(And when the fuck did he start thinking of it like this? Lets? He fucking lets Kaiser?)
It’s disorienting, to turn around and to have Ness hovering like this. Close, close, closer than he ever dared. Prickles at the back of his neck: to have Ness like this, with his hands not folded behind his back, with his head tilted, with his eyes crinkled, with his nose sparkling like stars. It’s another impulse—and they’re all alone, and it’s just Ness, and it’s never been just Ness, but it’s just Ness, and—that makes Kaiser lean in and lick it.
Ness startles a little. Laughs, brushing his hand back into Kaiser’s hair to pet him. It’s stupid and condescending and insulting and demeaning, but Kaiser slips off Ness’ face and burrows back into the crook of his neck, anyhow.
Glancing down, Ness isn’t as hard anymore, but it’s still lingering. When Kaiser nips at the skin of his throat, his half-erection twitches. It’s stupid.
“See, now you’re all clean and dry,” Ness says. He doesn’t mention the eye mask. It feels indulgent more than it does obeisant. It hadn’t always, but there’s a Ness inside of Ness Kaiser didn’t know, never saw, and maybe he never knew anything at all. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”
It does, is the thing. It does feel nice.
It still itches. There’s a Kaiser inside of Kaiser he never knew before, and right now, Ness is petting that Kaiser’s hair, allowing that Kaiser to burrow into the side of his neck, to curl around him. Touches him nice and gentle, careful but firm, and he’s half-hard in the interstice between them, but he doesn’t seem much inclined to do anything about that. Kaiser doesn’t understand, but he supposes he never has.
It still itches, but like this, it’s…
“I really don’t understand you,” Kaiser murmurs into Ness’ warm skin like it’s a confession. He can’t—can’t—see Ness’ expression like this, but he knows he’d likely falter underneath it. “I don’t—”
“Why do you have to?”
Kaiser blinks. Swallows. Burrows deeper. The bathroom around them disappears, and all that’s left is their bodies next to each other, bare. He’s never been nervous about it before; Kaiser’s body is Kaiser’s body and Ness has always been the only one who knew, and his dog besides. He’s not exactly nervous right now, either. That’s not it.
Why do you have to, Ness asks, and Kaiser doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know why he wants to, why it burns at the back of his throat. Doesn’t know if he even actually wants to.
It frustrates him, he understands. Like this, there’s only Ness’ warm skin and his warm hand in Kaiser’s hair and his warm breath on Kaiser’s skin, in turn, and Kaiser thinks maybe he could be something else. Maybe he could be that Kaiser. Maybe he could be a boy. Maybe he could be—
“Micha,” Ness says, sighs, softly, fondly. Turns his head until his mouth—hungry, always hungry, and Kaiser shivers under it like he never has before, and Ness nudges and nudges and nudges and doesn’t stop, inexorable, constant—brushes Kaiser’s temple, Kaiser’s ear, in barely there kisses, more intense than they’d be if he pressed. “Isn’t it enough that I want to?”
Kaiser doesn’t know how to make anything be enough. How to let it, maybe. Whatever this was, he thinks. You’re flesh and blood, like any other human, he thinks. Maybe Ness loves him, he thinks, and it’s not the first time this thought has crossed his mind—he used to revel in it, in this control he had over this puppy, directing him right into the trap laid out for him, bound to Kaiser’s side and to do Kaiser’s bidding for as long as he thought necessary—but it’s the first time it feels something resembling real. It’s the first time he thinks Ness might be able to see him.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs. He’s so tired these days. Maybe he always has been. “I don’t know—anything, anymore.”
Ness hums. Kaiser wishes he would say something. Something, anything more. More, more, more. But he doesn’t; nudges Kaiser away, instead—and Kaiser bites, blindly into flesh to hang on and on and on, but Ness gives his hair one pull and Kaiser lets go, head spinning, a thread of saliva connecting his mouth to Ness’ shoulder—and lets his hands fall off Kaiser, smiling.
Kaiser can’t help it, he cups Ness’ face in his hands again. Ness’ smile twists, and like this, it glares in his eyes like delight.
“I’ll put on a movie and order food,” he says, and Kaiser nods. He doesn’t want to think about what movie and what food, but it seems like that’s not something that’s expected from him, anyhow. Seems like there’s nothing that’s really expected from him, right now, except perhaps to be good. Kaiser has never been good a single day of his life, he thinks. He doesn’t know where to start. Doesn’t know if he wants to, but Ness is looking at him like this and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
He kisses Ness instead of biting. Ness hums, indulgent, even though Kaiser is clumsy and his palms are probably sweating on his face. He doesn’t exactly kiss Kaiser back, but he doesn’t exactly not kiss Kaiser back, either.
Kaiser squeezes at Ness’ cheeks. They are soft and round, even when the line of his jaw is kind of sharp underneath. His skin is warm, warm, warm. Underneath it, when Kaiser digs fingertips in, he can feel flesh moving; the muscle of his jaw flexing. It’s the strongest muscle of the human body. Kaiser thinks about it squeezing and kisses Ness with his mouth closed, with his lips pressed to his, warm everywhere. His own lips are wet from something. Maybe he’s drooling.
(Maybe they’ve always been a boy and a dog and a dog and a boy and he’s never known which is which.)
Ness hums, and Kaiser is hungry, too, and maybe he always has been. He presses his tongue to Ness’ teeth, another whiny, wounded, reedy noise spilling out of him, and it’s embarrassing, but Ness doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t pull back any at all. Opens his mouth, nudging his tongue against Kaiser’s, electric-hot to the touch. Kaiser moans. If he had a dick—an actual dick—he thinks it would be hard now, too. Feels it throbbing between them next to Ness’.
Ness tastes like toothpaste and mouthwash and hot, human flesh. Ness tastes slick and smooth, and it drips down Kaiser’s chin, and it’s disgusting, kind of, all of it is revolting, but still Kaiser presses closer. Ness licks the back of Kaiser’s teeth, his molars, and it’s weird, but Kaiser shivers, anyhow.
“You’re so cute,” Ness pants, pulling back just a little. Kaiser presses closer, closer, closer. “I’m so—I’m so happy, Micha. You’re so cute.”
I’m not cute, Kaiser thinks. Shut the fuck up, Kaiser thinks. Who the fuck do you think you are? Kaiser thinks. Stop it, stop it, stop it, Kaiser thinks. What the fuck are you doing to me? Kaiser thinks. I’m not your toy, Kaiser thinks. Don’t talk about me like I’m a dog, puppy, Kaiser thinks. You’re the fucking dog, Kaiser thinks. Don’t you fucking get it? You’ve always been the fucking dog, Kaiser thinks. Don’t you get it? I always destroy everything I touch. It’s just in my nature.
But he doesn’t say any of that. Can’t, won’t, doesn’t, doesn’t want to, can’t.
Nudges closer instead, and closer yet. Licks at the corner of Ness’ mouth, Ness’ laugh, through his nose, fanning over Kaiser’s cheek. Bites at the apple of Ness’ cheek, just a little, doesn’t dig his teeth in even though he wants to.
(Does he want to? It’s impulse. Does that mean he wants to?)
He gets pulled off Ness by the scruff of his neck. “Living room,” Ness says. “Okay?”
It’s not a command. It shouldn’t be a command. Who does Ness think he is? Who does Ness think Kaiser is? He’s stripped bare at the moment, yes, turned upside down by Blue Lock and Yoichi Isagi, but that doesn’t mean—
It’s not a command. Ness looks at him straight on, and he’s smiling and not smiling simultaneously, soft and sharp-edged, indulgent and stern, malleable and hard like steel. Kaiser doesn’t know what to do with that. It’s not a command, and Kaiser bristles against it, snarls, but relents, anyhow. Lets himself be ushered out of the bathroom, watches how Ness goes into the bedroom to get Kaiser’s bathrobe that they forgot there. Lifts his arms to let Ness dress him in it, too, swallows at the satisfied hum at the back of Ness’ throat when he ties the knot of the robe’s belt.
Patronizing. Condescending. Kaiser thinks he wants to drown in it if there is really no way out, anyway.
He curls up in the blanket Ness puts over him when he’s on the couch, taking all of it for himself. Watches Ness order their food and double back into the bedroom to put on boxers and a shirt and come back to put on the kettle to make tea. Kaiser never had the time or patience necessary for tea. What’s the point when he can just drink water? What’s the point of any of this?
It smells nice.
The blanket smells like this apartment and Kaiser’s hair smells like the conditioner Ness bought and Kaiser’s arms smell like the body lotion Ness bought, too. Ness puts on some movie—a cartoon, from what Kaiser cares to see—and Kaiser closes his eyes. Flops onto Ness’ lap when he finally comes to sit down. It’s impulse.
“I’ll have to get up to grab the food in a bit,” Ness says over the sounds of the movie. Kaiser shakes his head.
Can you let go of me? he thinks, but Ness doesn’t say anything at all, focused on the movie instead, idly petting Kaiser’s hair back down.
The answer, of course, is: I already did. I tried to, at least. I don’t know if it was me who failed or you who prevailed or both. Either way, it doesn’t matter, does it? You won’t let me, anyway. So what’s the fucking point in asking when you already know the goddamn answer, Alex?
The answer, of course, is: No.
Ness peels himself off the couch and out from underneath Kaiser to go grab their food, anyway. But he comes back, is the thing.