Work Text:
“Shit,” Gaku whined, hand clamping down hard on his thigh in an attempt to lessen the involuntary trembling, like he was trying to staunch the bleeding of a wound. Maybe he still was, some subconscious part of him that hadn’t caught up yet. If he was even still the same him at all, which was the kind of philosophical debate he’d never had time to bother with when he was juggling way too many jobs and way too many kids. “Shit, I can’t believe I really died. I died today. Am I even the same me anymore?”
He’d seen his fellow SDU members resurrected by the Revive-O-Matic plenty of times before. It was sheer dumb luck that he himself hadn’t been loaded into the pod before the most recent battle. He’d seen the way they all sprang back into action good as new, acting exactly the same as their prior selves. Most of them hadn’t even seemed shaken the way he felt, unless they were just a hell of a lot better at hiding it. It seemed suspicious, but then, all of the people fighting by his side were total weirdos. It didn’t mean they were copies.
But still… the idea had wormed its way into his head and was fueling a full-on spiral, one he couldn’t figure out how to stop. Especially not all on his own, alone in the cafeteria. Everyone else had scarfed down a quick post-battle meal and then gone their own ways once again, nobody sparing an extra glance for Gaku. He supposed they were all used to it. Completely desensitized to temporary death.
The hand not gripping his own thigh curled into a fist against the table, leaving a damp, sweaty imprint of his palm in its wake. He needed to do something to distract himself. He needed to work. There were dishes that could be washed, a pantry that could be reorganized, probably even more chores than that if he put his mind to it. There were always things to be done. Most of the SDU members weren’t exactly the sort to concern themselves with domestic labor.
Why weren’t his stupid, wobbly legs letting him stand up?
It was then, with agonized thoughts swirling around his mind and a whimper poised at his lips, that Gaku heard footsteps approaching from behind him. He tensed on instinct. The quiet footsteps drew closer, but his apprehension was met only with warm breath against the back of his neck and a hushed voice addressing him.
“What’s got you all worked up, hmm? I came down here for a snack, but you look good enough to eat yourself,” purred Omokage. Great. Just great.
“It’s nothing you’d have any interest in. I’m having a hard enough time here without being mocked for being unable to skip happily into the embrace of death like some of you, okay?” Gaku groaned, dropping his head into his hand. That motion only better exposed the back of his neck to whatever nefarious things Omokage might want to do, but to his surprise, no weird sensations followed.
“All nervous and jerky about death? Even after getting firsthand experience of how it’s impossible for us to truly die in this place? Oh, that’s adorable,” he crooned. He was circling Gaku like a jungle cat sizing up its prey. Gaku, body still stubbornly defying him, didn’t dare to stand up from his chair and try to escape his assessment. It would be way too mortifying if he collapsed at Omokage’s feet and opened himself up to even more patronizing tutting about how weak and pathetic he was. If only the SDU saw how hard he worked at all his jobs, how indispensable in the workplace he was, maybe they wouldn’t have such an easy time looking down on him.
“Adorable? Don’t make me laugh. Not only are my personal existential concerns none of your business at all, man, but I can’t be tricked that easily! You think I’ll fall down in tears of gratitude to you for a couple of patronizing comments calling me cute? No fucking way!” He crossed his arms firmly over his chest, glaring up at Omokage from his seated position, and allowed himself a moment of gratitude that their height difference wasn’t even larger. He’d have had a rough time acting like he still had any dignity if it was someone like Yakushiji he was looking at.
“Whyever would it be a trick? Do you think you’re not cute?” Omokage tilted his head consideringly, one hand cupping his chin. “Some would say that kind of self-doubt makes you even cuter. Gap moe.”
“What the fuck,” Gaku droned, arms uncrossing solely so that he could drop his head into his hands. The suddenly enormous exhaustion weighing on him was such that he couldn’t even make it sound like a question. “You’ve been talking too much to Magadori and Amemiya if you’re throwing terms like that around. I don’t have any gap moe. Sure as hell not to you! Isn’t your whole thing about wanting someone who’s passionate about wanting to fight you to the death or whatever? That’s not me. Not even close. Never gonna happen.”
“I do dream of that.” Omokage sighed then, taking a step closer. Way up in Gaku’s personal space. He pushed his chair farther away from him, causing it to bump into the next one. “You could consider it a romantic ideal of sorts. But that doesn’t mean others can’t pique my interest, even if they’re not flawless. Haven’t you ever had a fling with someone knowing that they might not be the one?”
Omokage’s voice had gone distant and dreamy. His one visible eye was barely even looking at Gaku, instead seeming to stare through him and see something else altogether. What, Gaku was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. A pervert as shameless as Omokage probably had some truly fucked up shit in his past. Gaku felt his face heat. He averted his eyes from Omokage in turn, staring off in the direction of the kitchen.
“Oh, I see. So that’s how it is, huh?”
“What’s how it is? Don’t get all cryptic with me now. I don’t know what you mean!” The still-increasing temperature of his face said otherwise. Gaku wasn’t going to admit it without a fight though. Just let Omokage challenge him on it directly and prove how heartless he was. Heartless and a pervert, for being so interested in why another guy was flustered.
Shit, who the hell was he kidding? When had Omokage ever cared about coming off like a pervert?
“There’s really no need to try even harder to seduce me, Maruko-kun. Didn’t I already say you’re cute?” He chuckled, low in his throat, and leaned down so that he was right in Gaku’s seated eye line. Gaku, in turn, angled his head so that the brim of his hat partially blocked Omokage’s gaze. He felt a little safer that way. Less exposed. In his lap, he twisted his hands together, pulling at the fraying ends of his sleeves. Omokage wasn’t deterred by any of it; he just kept talking.
“It figures that you wouldn’t know when you’re going too far. No experience will do that to you. Can’t even blame you for it, really. Luckily for you, I like some extra intensity.” Omokage’s voice lilted steadily upward as he spoke. He was having a hard time controlling his own intensity. Gaku noticed with mounting nervousness that Omokage’s face was getting just as pink as his own felt.
“I’m not overdoing anything,” Gaku insisted. He wasn’t whining, and there was no one else around the cafeteria who could prove otherwise. “That would require me to be trying to do something other than get you to stop being a total weirdo and leave me to my serious existential worries.” Perhaps that was what convinced Omokage that he wasn’t going to cooperate in admitting a damn thing. But instead of responding by backing off, he went on full speed ahead.
“You’ve never had a fling with anyone, have you? You’re a virgin. Maybe never even been kissed.” Omokage leaned even closer to deliver his assessment. Their faces were inches apart. Omokage’s breath smelled minty, like mouthwash. Gaku had a sudden, hysterical thought of him preparing in his room for just such an occasion, like some sort of incubus. Seeking kisses from anyone he happened to come across, or just from Gaku?
“So what? Yeah, my life has pretty much sucked until now! How am I supposed to get any experience when I was so busy working all the time? And the total babes wouldn’t even give me the time of day! They only like tall, rich guys, y’know?”
“Hmm.” Omokage stayed leaning down in front of him, palms flat against his own thighs. “That’s not my experience. Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.”
“Whatever. As if it even matters here. I’m gonna die without ever getting to do any of that stuff, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” It was abundantly clear to him by then—by just a day or two in, if he was really being honest with himself—that none of the girls of the SDU were ever going to fall head over heels for him. Most of them were involved with each other, and there was no way he could get in the middle of yuri, even if he had the looks and the attitude to pull it off.
“Nothing?”
“Uh, yeah? Are you suggesting I go out and find some invader chicks? Not gonna happen, dude. Only an idiot would go out wandering alone in the hopes of finding a date.” Come on now, Gaku thought. He wasn’t that dumb. For some reason, though, it only made Omokage chuckle.
“No, that’s not what I was suggesting at all. There’s a much simpler option than that. I’m surprised you haven’t thought of it already. I’m right here. Get your experience with me. I don’t bite,” he teased gently. “Not the first time.”
Gaku recoiled against the back of his chair. Those words alit something inside him, and he wasn’t so sure it was revulsion, however much he wanted it to be. He parted his lips. I don’t swing that way was what he wanted—intended—to say. What came out instead was, “You’d better not bite me. I’ll slap you if you do.”
Omokage smiled. “You’d be more than welcome to. Rough me up with all you’ve got.” He didn’t offer any renewed assurances that he wouldn’t bite. He didn’t even ask for confirmation that Gaku was saying yes. Awfully blase, if you asked him, but the lack of questions meant he had no chance to back out. Only a moment or two to watch Omokage’s face get closer and closer. Then he slammed his eyes shut tight, not wanting to blurrily see the moment of contact.
The lips that brushed his own were softer than expected. Gaku puckered up, mouth clamped firmly shut and applying ginger, uneven pressure. His hands stayed balled in his lap. It felt wrong to touch Omokage more than necessary, to make it seem like more than crossing an item off a bucket list. Meant he nearly jumped right out of his chair when Omokage didn’t keep to the pact that existed only in Gaku’s mind—one hand cradled the back of his head, fingers weaving through his hair and guiding him to a more intimate angle.
A mint-flavored tongue pressed past his lips. Gaku loosened his jaw, letting it past his teeth and into his mouth. From there, Omokage took full control of the show. His tongue teased and stroked over Gaku’s, coaxing pathetic whimpers from his throat that he didn’t know he could create. The hand in his hair had gone from a gentle guiding touch to a tight fist tugging at his hair, just hard enough to sting.
It went on like that for what felt like an age. Gaku was only able to clumsily imitate what Omokage was doing and try to keep as quiet as he could.
He was still trying to mouth at the air for a second after Omokage pulled away.
“That good, huh? I’m flattered. It’s not every day that I get to be someone’s first kiss.” Omokage chuckled then, and mortification aside, Gaku decided that he ought to open his eyes. “Looks like I should give you a chance to process all this. But hey, if you want another try, you know where to find me.”
Omokage flashed him a grin, gave his body a crude up and down look, then turned to go, all before Gaku could trust himself to get a single word out. Yeah, no kidding, he needed time to process. Why Omokage was hitting on him, why kissing him had felt kind of good, why he didn’t immediately want to scrub every trace of that kiss from his mouth.
It was nothing. Had to be nothing. Just the jitters of looking death in the face earlier that day. It would pass.