Once Upon A Yaoi Porn Manga

by Kubaru Suki (少年好き 配る)
illustrated by eisenkleid

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/15297.html)

It was impossible.

It was absolutely impossible.

Rokuta Ayato floated in the vastness of space, completely unable to breathe, and stared.

Kijima.

Usho.

He hadn’t wanted Ittousei. Usho had said so many times that he wanted to keep his feet onthe ground and his head out of the clouds. There were, he said (he always said) plenty of goodschools on the planet with no need to launch yourself into space after the world’s first orbitalacademy.

He would probably also say that there was no need to launch yourself after a former friendwho had unexpectedly turned up at your school, wearing the uniform.

Usho’s lips had been coated with the tang of hops and alcohol, so warm and inviting that Ayato had simply sunk into them. He remembered with sharp, silver-edged clarity how he’d let himself drown in Usho’s mouth the way he had always wanted to drown in the clear light of the moon. His hands had been rough and impatient; the illusive stars had made him greedy for what he could have.

Even now, standing among the stars, he could only remember that night on Earth. How he’d bit at Usho’s chest, smelling the night wind, the dirty green of the field, and the beer-and-soap scent of the boy underneath him. He hadn’t mind the smell of the wind or Usho, but he hadn’t wanted earth. So he’d stripped Usho’s pants off roughly and rolled so that Usho was above him.

And Usho…Usho had been beautiful.

“You’re wearing a halo of stars,” he’d breathed, mesmerized by the sight—and it was an image that stopped him even now, even with the stars surrounding him night and day so that he almost forgot what it was like to want them so badly. But Kijima Usho, with his crown of stars, was an unfaded glory. He’d clutched the muscles of Usho’s thighs that night, leaving clusters of bruises to be linked together like constellations.

Above him, Usho had smiled. “Soon, I’ll be the only star that you see,” he had answered, one warm hand slip-sliding down his own chest, past his flushed and glistening erection, to press firmly over the bulge that Ayato’s cock had made in his jeans.

He had seen the stars go out that night. Driving himself up, over and over and over again, into Usho’s tight, young body, listening to the whimpers and cries that Usho had released to the sky, he’d seen…

“GAAAH! This is so impossible!” Hajime crumpled the offending page into a wad and lobbed it down the hall, as far away from him as he could get it, before grabbing his cell phone off the counter. Speed dial one was his sister’s office. “Gorohata Kiiko, please,” he requested, ignoring the howls of laughter that the secretary didn’t even bother to try hiding.

“Oh, little brother,” his sister’s voice sighed at him a moment later. “What now?”

Hajime swung his feet, his toes barely skimming the floor as he swivled the seat of the high stool on which he was sitting. Back and forth, one way and then the other. “The secretary laughed at me.”

“That’s because this is the eighth time you’ve called this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately, feeling horrible. More horrible. His sister worked hard to support them and he was keeping her from getting her job done. And on today of all days, when she had a date later.

He could hear his sister’s smile over the phone. “Don’t be. If nothing else, you and Chojamori-kun are providing excellent grist for the mill.”

“Nrrgh. That’s what I called about. This time. The mill thing,” he clarified. He frowned. “Or the grist. I don’t know. It’s not working. Again. Still.”

“I told you to write down your feelings about today—and Chojamori-kun—if you couldn’t tell him face to face. I didn’t tell you to write a story. That takes patience.”

“I don’t have any.”

On the other end of the line, his sister very obviously choked back a giggle. “Of course not. If you did, you wouldn’t be calling me at work all the time.”

“Kii,” Hajime groaned. “Don’t laugh. I just can’t talk to him. What would I say? ‘I’m sorry that I climbed you like a tree and kissed you, please love me anyhow’?”

“At least you didn’t ask him to bend over?” Kiiko spluttered, losing her battle with laughter.

Hajime hung up on her and put his head on the counter. Hard. “I didn’t have to ask him to bend over,” he told the countertop what he hadn’t dared tell his sister. “Once he fell down, that wasn’t a problem.”

The phone rang and Hajime answered it without lifting his head. “Yes?”

“Jii,” his sister said seriously, “Chojamori Jin has been your best friend since you were six. You should call him and ask him what he thinks you should do. But if you’re really set on telling him your feelings as a story, then write what you feel first and don’t worry about the rest. Write what you have inside you now.”

“Thanks,” he said, feeling grateful and loved. “Kii? If you want to stay over night with Fuji-san tonight, that’s okay. I’ll be all right.”

“Ecchi bastard,” Kiiko blew him a kiss down the phone line and hung up.

He set his phone down and grabbed his pencil with renewed determination. He pulled another sheet of loose-leaf paper out of his math binder and stared at the empty lined blanks.

“Write what you feel,” he coached himself after a minute of blank staring. “Write what you feel right now,” he ordered after another few minutes of staring and some pencil tapping.

Akira looked at his best friend and felt his heart squish uncomfortably in his chest. He’d always loved Hiroshi. He’d idolized Hiroshi when he was a kid and had dreamed about being his brother. Well, he still dreamed about Hiroshi but it wasn’t exactly about being his brother anymore.

He didn’t quite know when he’d stopped thinking that Hiroshi was fun to laugh with and started thinking that he wanted to be the one making Hiroshi laugh…he sort of figured that puberty had something to do with that. Puberty explained a lot of things, like why Hiroshi was suddenly tall and had way more muscles than he’d used to have. And why they could suddenly shoot lasers out of their eyes. And fly. And blow things up by thinking about them.

Maybe, Akira thought, maybe being Super Heroes with somebody, all that saving the world together, made you feel like curling up next to them and just listening to them breathe. Maybe it made you think that, even if that other person wasn’t a Super Hero, they could save the world anyhow. But that could have been the puberty thing again.

“Akira, you ready to jump off a building with me?” Hiroshi asked, pointing to a bank heist starting in the street below the building they were perched on.

Swallowing, Akira nodded. “Of course I am,” he said. But he thought ‘With you, I can do anything…’

“Bleargh,” Hajime shuddered. “Akira is such a girl.” He wadded up the story and launched it behind him to join all the other discards. Blowing out a hard breath to pump himself up he pulled out another sheet of paper. “Manly,” he said loudly. “If he’s going to take this seriously, it has to be manlier.”

He tapped himself on the temple with the eraser end of the pencil, hoping that he was either drumming an idea up or knocking one out. “Manly, manly, manly,” he muttered. Then, “Oh, I know!”

Pari looked out over the rugged Hokkaido landscape and the ranch under his care. Turning in his saddle he looked at his partner, Josei. “I don’t know what changed out here,” he told him, edging his horse down the trail. “I don’t know, but if we could just be like this…”

“Then we could be like this.” Josei said quietly, looking away. “But it’s not like this.”

“It could be.” Pari said, as his mount–

“Oh, my god.” Hajime twisted the paper into the smallest ball he could make it and threw it into the kitchen sink. He shuddered. “I don’t know how Ang Lee made that seem manly.” He got out more paper and sighed, “Okay.” He stared at the paper and then at the pencil. “Okay,” he muttered again. “Write what you’ve got inside. Write your feelings.”

The problem was, Hajime figured as he stared at the paper before him, that his feelings were pretty messed up. On the one hand, he was in love with Jin. Jin was beautiful to look at; tall and lean with a quirky smile and blue-purple eyes and hair as dark as a moonless night. Even more, Jin was smart and funny and kind and silly and warm. Being around Jin could make his insides twist and his palms sweat and his pants too tight. In that regard (except for the pants thing), he was a lot like all the girls in school who thought that being editor of the school’s manga club was cool—because the editor of the school manga club was really, really cool.

On the other hand, Hajime loved Jin. He’d loved Jin since the day he’d met him; the first day in the new, cheaper apartment that he and Kiiko had had to move into when their parents died. Jin had been a tall, skinny eight-year old who hadn’t laughed when he’d heard that Hajime was an orphan with a sister for a mother. Jin had protected him from the bullies who made fun of his family and his blond hair and his short size. Jin had coached him through his high school entrance exams. He insisted on doing their homework together so that if Hajime had questions about something he could ask and Jin would be right there to help him. They walked to school together even though Jin was a senior…because Jin didn’t care what anybody thought about him walking to school with a first year. Hajime couldn’t imagine his life without Jin in it. Which made him rather unlike those girls at school.

Maybe he didn’t need to change what was between himself and Jin now, Hajime mused. He didn’t need to kiss Jin. And he could live with the sweaty palms. Maybe what he really needed to do was find a way around what had happened that afternoon, to convince Jin that they were still friends. He couldn’t rewind time and change what had happened that afternoon…but maybe he could rewrite it.

Hagane was the shortest kid in his high school. He was best friends with the tallest kid in school, Bin, even though he was a senior and Hagane was only a freshman. Because he was so short and Bin was so tall, it was Hagane’s job to find Bin when classes were over.

Today he was lucky; he could clearly see Bin outside in the emptying Quad, apparently on his way to club. “Bin!” he called, throwing on his backpack and darting outside. Since his friend’s back was to him, he decided to do something he often did—throw himself on Bin’s back and get a ride to club. Bin never minded. In fact, Bin always laughed and said that he didn’t mind saving Hagane’s short legs the trouble of keeping up.

Hagane loved Bin like crazy for doing crazy stuff like that.

“No stupid stuff, idiot,” Hajime muttered to himself, scribbling out the last line. “Say the stuff in your heart that doesn’t make it seem like you want to make it with him.”

“Oi, Bin!” Hagane shouted again as he began his run-and-jump like he always did.

But unlike always Bin turned around and Hagane didn’t land against Bin’s back like usual. Instead, he landed against Bin’s front, which couldn’t bow under his weight the way that his back did. Trying not to get dropped onto his butt, Hagane began scrabbling for purchase against his best friend and

Hajime paused, staring. “And what?” he asked himself.

Because what had actually ‘and’ed was that after leaping, he’d managed to hang on and had grinned up at Jin, ready to playfully scold him for almost dropping him. Then he’d noticed how close he was to Jin’s smile and how Jin’s hands were curved around his bottom to hold him and how his legs were wrapped around Jin’s waist. And Hajime had been so overcome that he’d used his hold on Jin’s upper arms to surge up and kiss him as hard as he could, all breathlessly quick and fantastically hungry. The real ‘and’ was what he had to redo.

and as he did so, his head accidentally knocked against Bin’s, their jaws hitting and their lips touching very briefly and entirely by accident. Knocking heads must have made Bin dizzy or pushed him off balance

“It certainly wasn’t shock at having your best friend’s tongue crammed halfway down your throat,” muttered Hajime, doodling a blobby figure that was mostly head with a huge tongue dangling out of its mouth.

because he took a step back and he, with Hagane still clinging on, tumbled down the small hill at the edge of which they had been standing.

Hagane tried to scramble to his feet once they’d reached the bottom but he’d become so entangled with Bin during the fall that it took several tries, and many embarrassingly misplaced hand-holds, to regain his feet.

“And certainly your hand ending up on your friend’s ass, inside of your friend’s pants, was just one of those misplacements,” Hajime scowled. He gave his blobby doodle a blobby doodle friend with gigantic hands.

Hagane, finally freed, leapt to his feet. “I’m so sorry!” he said. “Are you all right, Bin?”

Bin laughed and got to his feet. “I’m fine.” He dusted himself off and grinned. “You’re not getting a ride to club now, though!”

Hagane laughed too. “Not even if I promise not to take you down?” he teased as the two friends set off to their club meeting.

Hajime drew a blob that was mostly a blur with shoes. “And you didn’t jump up, yelp out a garbled sentence that may—or may not—have been ‘Oh, my god, I can’t believe I did that!’ and run away to call your big sister, the pervert mangaka, for advice.” He studied what he’d written with a critical eye, rereading it several times, and then snorted. “Yeah, right, he’ll believe that this is what went on inside my head.”

“Actually,” said Jin from behind him, strolling into the room and riffling through a handful of rumpled papers, “considering what you had those robots doing? There’s a whole bunch of stuff I’d believe went through your head.”

“Jin,” Hajime squeaked. “I can explain!” He thought frantically. Jin smiled at him and raised both eyebrows, obviously waiting. “Okay, I can’t explain the robots,” he admitted. “But the rest of it…see, I called Kiiko and I told her what, um, what happened…”

“You asked your sister what to do about this afternoon?”

“It was a good idea.” Hajime folded his arms. Then shrugged, trying for an aloof air and hoping that he didn’t look like he was hunching in on himself in defeat. “It was! My sister knows everything about relationships!” he defended. “She writes all those books!”

“Your sister writes manga. Yaoi porn manga,” Jin responded.

“I know that!”

“And apparently,” Jin spoke over him, sauntering over to smooth out a few wadded up stories; there were stick figures in compromising positions decorating the margins. “Apparently, so do you.” He coaxed a few more wrinkled balls of paper into giving up their secrets. “Not bad, but you could use an editor. May I ask about the Kabuki actors, or shouldn’t I?”

“Shouldn’t,” Hajime muttered, turning around to face his shoddy re-write of the afternoon. “I was trying stuff out, because Kiiko said it might be easier to write stuff down and she writes manga and you’re in the manga club, and you two talk about that stuff all the time, so I thought a story would…” He flushed, shrugging uncomfortably. “So. Here.” He slid the paper over for Jin to read.

Jin shifted to read over his shoulder, his chest resting warm and solid all along Hajime’s back. After a moment, Jin made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “You really need an editor.”

Rather stupidly stung, Hajime looked up at his friend. “What’s wrong with it?” he demanded. He lost his breath as he realized just how close his face was to Jin’s. The angle, the closeness, it was too much like it had been back at school, when he’d kissed him without meaning to.

“Well,” Jin drew out the word and Hajime barely managed to follow his gesture as he pointed at the paper. “It’s not believable.”

Hajime felt his heart skitter uncomfortably in his chest. “What do you mean? Isn’t it realistic? What’s wrong with it?”

“Do you want to work on this together, then, and fix it?” Jin asked.

This. Their friendship possibly rested on Hajime making right the mess he’d made of the afternoon. “Yes,” he said, nodding fervently. “I want this to be right.”

“Okay. The first thing to know about yaoi manga—”

What?” Hajime startled so badly that he almost tipped off his chair; only Jin at his back kept him in place.

“The first thing to know about yaoi manga,” Jin said again, stressing the words carefully, putting one arm around Hajime’s shoulders, “is—”

Hajime batted him off. “I know about that stuff!” He might not have read his sister’s books—on the principle of that was his sister and would be completely gross—but he’d been party to enough conversations between Jin and Kiiko to know everything there was to know about yaoi and manga and yaoi porn manga. “I meant, ‘what does that have to do with this’!”

“You said you wanted to work on the story,” Jin told him. “And that’s where we have to start because this story,” he slid the paper back under Hajime’s hand, “goes wrong at the basics. The others need help, this one needs work.”

“But it’s not like that,” Hajime protested. “It’s not…one of those stories.”

He felt Jin’s breath ruffle the hair by his ear. “The rest were.”

Hajime started at the paper version of the day until the words blurred together with the paper into a black and white jumble. “Those were…” he trailed off. He really didn’t want to explain those. “This one is this afternoon. It’s about this afternoon,” he said quietly, rolling his pencil under his fingers just to have something to do with his hands. “Because of what happened. Because of what I did.” He took a gulp of air that hurt in his lungs, “I didn’t…I couldn’t talk about it so when Kiiko said to write it down, I…tried. To make things right.”

“Ah,” Jin murmured. Hajime froze as Jin’s hand moved from the back of his chair to the small of his back and then ran up his spine until Jin’s clever, slender fingers were stroking at the nape of his neck. “I forgot that sometimes a writer can’t appreciate their work until the editor tells them it’s okay. So listen to your editor, Hajime, and take it easy. The story of this afternoon was fine until you ran away and I had to go to club.”

“It was okay?” asked Hajime, dumbstruck.

“It definitely was,” Jin said softly, smiling easily at him. “Now,” he went on, “the first thing to know about this type of story is that in yaoi manga, there is one of two roles a main character can have.”

“The seme or the uke,” Hajime recited automatically. He stared at his story, the one that was all wrong about being all wrong, and clutched his pencil tightly.

When he didn’t look up again Jin’s his hand slid around to touch Hajime’s throat, making him shiver. “That’s right. So think of us that way.”

Hajime wasn’t sure if he actually meant to ask, “Why?”

Jin’s fingers stroked up his throat and ran over the line of his jaw. “Because it helps if you put your whole self into your work. The uke and the seme are sort of like a writer and an editor in a way. You even fit the profile of the uke, Hajime. You’re tiny, blonde, cute, and as the writer, you have to let me guide you.” Hajime shivered again, harder, as he thought about Jin over him, pressing inside of him, making him take it the way an uke did in those kinds of stories. “And since you’re the uke,” Jin continued quietly, “that makes me the big, bad seme.”

Hajime let Jin tip his chin up, let Jin force their eyes to meet. “What are you doing, Jin?” he asked desperately unsure of everything because things like this didn’t happen to him. Things like this happened in books. Not in real life.

“What any good editor would do,” Jin said. “Making sure that seme and the uke both get what they need. And to do that, I need you to tell me the story that’s inside of you.” Hajime felt like his heart was going to stop or explode or fall out or something because it surely couldn’t keep up such a frantic pace for long. He managed a slight nod and was rewarded by a long, slow smile. “Start at the beginning, then. Start when,” Jin flicked a glance at the story on the table, “when Hagane first goes to Bin. Why does he do what he does? Write it down.”

Swallowing rapidly, Hajime picked up his pencil. “He, um, he likes it when Bin carries him. He’s…Hagane is the only one Bin lets do that. It feels special to be that close. So he, he jumps, like always, only Bin turns around at the wrong time.”

Jin made a dissident sound. “No,” he said, stopping Hajime’s hand with his own and pushing so that the tip of the lead swept over the last line, crossing it out. “Bin turned around at the exactly right time,” Jin said, his hand guiding Hajime’s over the new lines. “He’s been trying to get the timing right for months. Too slow, too fast, finally just right to catch cute, little Hagane just how he wants.”

“Bin!” Hagane shouted as he began his run-and-jump like he always did. Hagane was the only person allowed to do this, the only one that Bin let get so close to him. And because it felt so special, because it was so special, Hagane liked to do it as often as possible.

But this time, Bin turned around at the wrong time.

He didn’t know it, but Bin had been trying for months to turn around at just the right time to catch cute, little Hagane. If he turned too early, Hagane skidded to a stop and if he didn’t turn soon enough, Hagane landed on his back like always. Today, however, Bin’s timing was finally perfect and he caught Hagane against his chest, just the way he’d wanted.

“He wants..?” Hajime said, staring dizzily at the words on the paper.

“Mm-hm,” Jin murmured, his fingers tightening and relaxing, coaxing more words into being. “He wants to hold his cute, little Hagane in his arms, against his body. Just once, for a memory if he can’t have him.”

“Oh.” Hajime struggled to breathe, to swallow, to think.

Jin laughed against his ear. “Oh, yes. Keep going. Tell me about Hagane in Bin’s arms.”

Hagane felt himself pulled close against Bin’s body and it was just like it was in his dreams. And because it felt just like that, Hagane—

“It’s like his dreams,” he said immediately, writing hard and fast. “The way Bin is holding him, it’s like those dreams Hagane’s been having at night and—”

“Tell me about the dreams,” Jin interrupted him. “In a story, in a manga, you have to show those types of things.”

With his whole body feeling flushed and tingling it was neither embarrassing nor hard to talk about those dreams. “You know those kinds of dreams,” he said. “The kinds where you wake up tangled up in the sheets, twisting up against the air and gasping and wanting and…Jin!” He gasped out as Jin bit at the side of his neck.

Hagane hadn’t told a soul about the dreams he’d been having every night, dreams of soft darkness and even softer touches that made him so hard that it was painful. The wonderful dreams of a voice in his ear and a warm, wet mouth that went…oh…it went everywhere. The awful dreams he had that tangled him in his sheets and left him arching up hard against nothing but empty air that he couldn’t even breathe in properly.
“More,” said Jin, his voice soft-rough in his ear. “Keep going.”

Hajime consciously loosened his grip on the pencil so that he wouldn’t snap it in two. “And he kisses Bin like he wants to do when he wakes up from those dreams. Because he’s wanted to for so long.”

It was so much like his dreams that Hagane couldn’t help himself kissing Bin with everything he has inside himself. He didn’t know what Bin was feeling and he couldn’t figure it out because his whole being was trying to memorize the feel and taste of Bin’s mouth. He’d wanted it so long that he had to take every bit of it inside himself to remember over and over again.

“How long?” Jin asked, his mouth closing gently around the lobe of Hajime’s ear, making Hajime shudder when he nibbled at it.

“I don’t know,” Hajime shook his head, staring unseeingly at the paper in front of him. “He…I don’t know. A long time.”

“Forever, forever, forever,” Jin read what he’d written. “That’s a lovely answer,” he murmured.

“Ah! Jin!” Hajime cried out as Jin’s hands slid up under his shirt, the fingers plucking at his nipples, teasing at them. He strained up, trying to get to his feet, but Jin’s arms tightened and held him in place.

Jin moaned against his shoulder. “Keep writing,” he told him, biting him through his shirt. “He’s kissing him. They’re kissing…then what?”

Hajime rocked in his seat, trying to push himself back into the cradle of Jin’s pelvis. “I can’t…” he stuttered, “can’t think, Jin, I…” he licked his lips as Jin’s hands clutched his hips and held him still. The pencil moved without thought. “They fell. Bin was surprised and they fell.”

“Too unbelievable,” Jin said breathlessly and his hands jerked sharply, pulling Hajime firmly against him. Jin’s body was hot and there was a hardness in his pants that was pressing intimately against Hajime’s hip, making him whimper. “They laid down,” Jin corrected, one hand grasping the pencil so that the words bloomed sloppily on the page. Hajime continued to write as that hand left his to travel back under his shirt, skating along the edge of his waistband. “Bin laid them down in the grass. He laid cute, little Hagane under him and kissed him like kissing was breathing.”

Without thinking, caught between the remembered feel of being winded beneath Jin at the hill and the imagined feel of being laid carefully beneath him in the grass, and the all-too-real eroticism of being pressed too hard against the edge of the counter with his chair half blocking him from Jin, Hajime continued to write. “He arched up against him, as hard as he could. As much as he could. He wanted…it didn’t matter if there was skin,” he moaned, trying to move against Jin’s hold. “Nothing mattered he just wanted…”

Hagane writhed on the ground, pinned firmly in place by Bin’s much larger, heavier body. He was glad of it because he felt that if Bin weren’t there he’d fall apart into a million pieces. He squirmed and rubbed himself against any part of Bin that he could reach. Hagane didn’t have any experience aside from his dreams and he didn’t know what he was doing, but it didn’t matter. Everything inside him was racing towards some bright, wonderful place that Bin’s body held.

He gasped and clawed at Bin, sinking his fingers hard into Bin’s shoulders and sobbed out Bin’s name, over and over again. He didn’t know what to do; he only knew what he wanted. Only knew that he wanted. He wanted…

Jin’s fingers cupped him through his pants. “Wanted what, Hajime?” he whispered, the words warm and humid beneath his ear. “Tell me what he wanted. What you wanted.”

“Please,” Hajime whimpered, dropping the pencil, hearing it roll and fall to the floor. “Jin, let me go. Let me move. I want you,” he panted. “Jin, I want…” He clutched at Jin’s strong forearms as his zipper parted with a sharp tug. “Please, Jin, please I want…” He broke off, biting his lips hard to hold back a shout as Jin drew his cock out of his pants with a long, slow stroke.

“To come?” he asked.

As though he had been waiting for permission, as though Jin’s words had been all he needed, he did. Hajime shuddered, thrusting once into the tight grip that Jin had on him, and threw back his head as lightening gathered inside his veins. His cry of completion was smothered as Jin lunged forward and kissed him, their tongues tangling wetly as the shattering waves of pleasure rose up and receded, leaving Hajime sprawled and trembling with repletion.

“Jin,” he mumbled as he became aware that Jin was watching him. He smiled, a little embarrassed about being brought to climax with so little effort.

Jin smiled back at him, “Hajime.” He made an abortive move and then made a face, looking away. Hajime followed his gaze to the hand that was holding his still-softening member. Jin let go of him and rubbed his fingers together. “Huh,” he said softly.

Hajime licked his lips. “You know,” he said softly, unable to look away from the milky-white fluid that coated Jin’s hand, “you know, if this was a yaoi manga, you know what you’d do with that?” He knew what was done with it, in those types of books. He’d tried it once, too. Touching himself there after he’d woken, sweating and panting and soaked from a dream about Jin laying over him. The reaching had been awkward and uncomfortable and he’d only dared to touch that place lightly, just once, because the thought of doing it, of wanting it, was too scary. It was still scary. But it had felt good.

And this was Jin.

Jin, who was smiling at him and twisting the top of the stool so that he could easily kiss him, his wet hand held well away from them both. “I know,” he said, the words cool against Hajime’s wet lips.

Then he pulled away and went to the sink. Hajime blinked at him in confusion as he washed his hands. “Um…?” he said, almost wishing that the bulge in Jin’s uniform pants wasn’t so distracting.

As if he knew what Hajime was thinking, Jin laughed. “We’re not going to do that. That’s manga and this is real life.”

“But…” he wondered if he’d done something wrong or misunderstood something. Jin was a kind person; the type of person to not say anything if Hajime had done something stupid so as to spare him the pain of embarrassment. “Don’t you want to…” he couldn’t say it. Jin wiped his hands comfortably on the seat of his pants and watched him. Hajime hastily tucked himself back into his pants and pulled up his zipper before slipping off the stool and going to Jin’s side. “I could…”

When he reached for Jin’s pants, Jin wrapped both arms around him, pulling him into a close hug. “It can wait, Hajime,” he said tenderly stroking his hair. “One day I want to do everything with you, but until you’re absolutely ready, everything can wait. I don’t mind.” Jin drew back a little and cupped his face. “We have our whole lives to work on our manga together. So we can work on this part later.”

Hajime blinked at him. Things like this couldn’t happen in real life. Those sorts of things could only happened in stories, like fairytales and yaoi porn manga. It was impossible. Wasn’t it? “Our whole lives?”

Jin kissed his forehead. “Isn’t that right?”

If Jin said it were so, then it must have been so. Hajime flung his arms around Jin’s waist and held on tight, burying his face against the familiar feel of Jin’s jacket. Of Jin himself. “Yeah,” he agreed, “that’s right.”

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