Oh! [ The mention of chocolate has Clark perking up considerably, made even more potent at the thought of being treated to it. It’s a gentlemanly move that Iroha’s just pulled, and Clark feels stupidly special all over again. ] Yes, please?
I’d love a hot chocolate. [ Not even coffee, it seems, but he’s got enough energy just being in Iroha’s presence. ] Thank you so much.
[ Clark tucks some stray hair over his ear, locks gone grey with proof of his age. His posture’s still… not the greatest, and he sits with his knees pointed towards each other and his toes against the floor so his heels point up. Hands settling gently on his inner thighs, close to being on his lap, he watches Iroha go over to get their orders in. He looks away once he gets to the register, then waits patiently for him to be at the table again before speaking up once more. ]
I’m sorry I replied so late. [ To the text message, he means. ] The first thing I did when I woke up was go out to get a snack. [ He laughs sheepishly at that, hand moving to push his glasses up his nose before it lands on his thigh again. ] I didn’t think to check my phone until I was already at the store…
But, um, what did you wanna talk about? [ Clark’s sure it must be a big deal. Oh, maybe he is underdressed, but at least pyjamas are infinitely more comfortable than his suit trousers and therefore easier to deal with news in, so hopefully the gods of fashion forgive him. ]
[The drinks are almost identical large hot chocolates. Not the kind made from a powder served to kids but the real deal, thick melted chocolate with fattening cream. Iroha's is different in that he opted for the spiced version. He might mention that at some point if he doesn't drink it all first, simply to share an indirect kiss. Which is silly. The thought of asking Clark if he wants to try this minor variant just to have those lips on his cup? Lovesick. He is so fucking lovesick.
Anyway, he returns and listens to Clark's explanation. Watching the way he pushes his glasses up his nose, marveling at how Clark understood that he had intended this conversation to take place hours ago and did not slide it under the rug as something which couldn't be helped, didn't matter, was unworthy of apology in being so small an unintentional slight.
Clark carries on and Iroha's brow knits a little when it becomes clear he's done an unintentional misstep of his own. He holds the cup between both hands - it's very hot, but Iroha's body soaked it in without complaint.]
I'm sorry too... There is nothing wrong. I had no intention of worrying you, Clark.
[His voice hits every note of sincerity perfectly. Complete honesty is a difficult thing for Iroha so it comes as a surprise even to him that when he spoke to Clark he didn't reach instinctively for a protective persona.]
To spare further delay I will say this plainly. When you offered to -
[He's not going to repeat 'going steady' but that is the memory that hadn't left his mind since Clark had said it.]
- date exclusively, I...
[Now it is difficult to say exactly what he wants to say. Countless times, he had witnessed friends fail in their dreams. It seemed as if the truest desires were best left unsaid but if he said nothing, what would ever come of this blessing he doubted he deserved?]
[ Clark’s face goes through entire journeys as Iroha speaks.
There is relief, at first, when he finds out there isn’t a problem. That’s good that there isn’t—he can work with that—he can deal with that and not have some kind of embarrassing freak out because of his own incompetence. After that, though, there’s a slight sheepishness at the memory of what he’d said days ago—the memory that’s still clear, at any rate, because how can Clark forget the closeness of Iroha’s body, and the comfort of having him in a hug?
He wonders if he should open his mouth, but it looks like Iroha’s determined. And the reason for which isn’t something he really, honestly understands until he says he accepts, and all at once Clark feels air suddenly fill his lungs as he gasps in a way that’s slow, long, and elongated.
All the while his posture’s straightened and his shoulders have lifted, and he’s left his hot chocolate on the table because both his hands are over his mouth.
His face is red, but it’s a pleasured sort of shyness, one that’s punctuated by the twinkle in his eye and the dimples that show in his cheeks. ]
Really? [ His voice is so soft, and it’s still muffled behind his fingers. ] G-Golly, really?
[ And it is… so different, from when he was with Lois, who only liked him for someone he sometimes became, at first. Clark Kent is a nobody, a total nothing, and even if he’d asked what he’d asked on blind hope (something he has in spades), Iroha’s here saying ‘yes’ anyway. Iroha’s saying yes, and he wants to go steady (or be exclusive, the term doesn’t matter!), and Clark grins so wide there’s no point to covering his mouth any more. ]
That’s—
[ It’s marvellous, is what it is, and Clark wants to stretch over the table and take Iroha’s face in both his hands so he can kiss him. He sees, though, the shift in Iroha’s body language; he hears the difference in his tone, the softness in his voice. Clark has to be delicate. And he tries, his hands slipping off his lips and one of them reaching out over the table with the palm up in offer. ] Iroha…
Oh, Iroha, you make me so happy. I only hope I can do the same for you.
I want to do the same for you.
I, um… [ He bites his lip against the stupid expression on his face, smiling all crooked instead. ] I’m honoured you want me to be y-yours.
[Taking a leap into the unknown was unlike Iroha. He planned, observed carefully and weighed potential outcomes. Ever since he realized how excited and childish he felt whenever Clark was around, when he was outside Kikuya's walls or its responsibilities, Iroha imagined something different for himself. That alone was worth all the world's treasures.
In the previous hours, listening to boisterous people drink and make bets on films around him, Iroha had thought about how Clark might react. Surely there was always room for him to say he'd come up with the offer on the spur of the moment. That it was not in accordance with his true wishes, that it was sweet nothings, empty pleasantries. Every bone in Clark's body was anathema to that mindset, though.
The noise Clark made at first was jolting and for a split second Iroha worried he had seen Clark wrongly after all. But no, it was what he had hoped for. What his heart leaped towards. Watching him cover his mouth as if he wanted to yell in joy for everyone to see. Iroha didn't know what to do with himself - he made hundreds of clients happy but not like this. He laughed, that terribly old-fashioned way Clark spoke sometimes. Golly. That summed it up.]
Ha ha...
[He's going to die. Clark's exuberance is outlandish, but he can see him reigning it in although he doesn't precisely realize it's for his own sake. He's right, though. Delicacy is the right approach when Iroha felt terrified of abandonment but couldn't fight his desire to be in Clark's orbit every single day any longer.]
You already have. [Made him happy. It's embarrassing. Clark's hand will have to put up with how hot Iroha's has become - it's probably the least significant thing happening at the moment. He wears no rings or other adornments so it's simplicity itself. Holding his hand in public, which Iroha had not been willing to do at that party. Not until now, until he didn't have to let go of it for someone else's ever again.]
Honoured... Aah, Clark, you are beyond belief.
[Iroha had to look away from this beautiful, kind man. Glamorous deception and intimacy for sale had made Iroha predictably jaded to a degree. Clark was everything Iroha wasn't, something beyond special. He bowed his head, this time it being his turn to cover part of his face. Not his mouth like Clark had done (which was still funny and brilliant in Iroha's opinion) but to mask his eyes.]
You've done me in, you know. Yours.
[It might appear that Iroha was trying to hide the fact that he was crying. He wasn't, and it felt awful to deceive him in this moment. It was sobering - which was exactly what he needed to stop the oncoming rise turning his irises red.]
[ Iroha dips his head and Clark wants to ask what’s wrong, but his hand is still a firm weight in his own—a welcome warmth—and for that reason, all Clark does is squeeze it a bit more in comfort. He’s got him, is what he means by it, and he’s got no intention of letting go any time soon (you know, unless he’s really got to, which isn’t the case now). ]
It’s what I am, isn’t it? [ And he knows it’s what’s gotten Iroha dipping his head in the first place, but Clark grins and lowers his own, lifting Iroha’s hand up just enough that he can brush a soft kiss over his knuckles. ] Yours.
But I’ll keep that to myself from now on, if you'd like, promise. [ If only so he doesn’t make Iroha all teary-eyed again. He hadn’t expected it at all! Still, the sight of it makes Clark’s chest all tight with a mix of warmth and genuine affection—to have that much impact on somebody is a surreal thing, and a power he’s not in any hurry to try and abuse any time soon.
If it’s any consolation, Clark feels the same way, except his reaction is more grinning like a doofus for an unspecified amount of time. That his hair is a touch wavier and he’s in his stupid pyjama pants probably complete the picture. ]
Is it… is it okay to kiss you? I’m a little worried I won’t stop, but I like to think the h-hot chocolate might make it more likely I’ll have some reason to pull away.
I just—well. I’ve been wanting to since I came in.
[The hand-squeeze is everything Iroha needed in that moment. The guilt at keeping a secret from the most honest man on the planet gnawed at his insides a little less. Blinking away the dangerous sensation that he was more emotional than he could contain, Iroha just returned the gift Clark unknowingly gave him, gratefully.
Clark kissing his hand, however. Why is that a tipping point! He makes a faintly pathetic noise of surprise and he looks over at him, despite the risk. Maybe the bookstore/cafe/hipsterzone is poorly-lit enough that Clark won't see anything. There's no stopping the urge to look at him - Clark is saying words that have him wondering if this is make-believe, if he's delirious, if a cloud-dwelling god has singled him out for a ruthless prank by giving him everything he's ever wanted. Been afraid to want. Everything he's pushed away for years.
He had thought he was prepared. That Clark, if he had meant what he'd said, would be pleased. They could plan for another, proper date. The joy and sincerity Clark expressed in every inch of his body and the dumbstruck, giddy happiness was off the scale, making Iroha's glad he couldn't see his own face because of how unnatural it would appear to see himself so happy in return.]
Am I in competition with hot chocolate....
[There's a very wisp-like, pillowy quality to Iroha's tone as he answers in an utterly nonsensical way. It fits, he may as well be Alice in Wonderland for all the logic of what's gone on in only a few minutes. How can his entire life have contained exactly one measure of happiness at its height only for Clark to make it burst by doing, saying, all the right things? In that rabbit-fur voice of his that makes Iroha want to bury his face against his chest for days.
He stands up, and really any excuse that Clark uses so they don't end up fucking (romantically!!) on the table is a good one. Although it were a wish of Clark's, Iroha was the one to execute it: he gently grasps Clark's blushing, shy-boy face and all it's unfathomable, unbreachable joy and kisses him as if he were life itself.]
Huh? [ Clark looks confused for all of a moment before he laughs with understanding. ] Iroha, [ it's a fond little sigh that his name comes out as ] you know that's not what I meant, by the choc--
[ Whatever words Clark might have tried to say, though, are stopped entirely as Iroha comes around and touches his face. His lips are still parted, still ready to speak, but then Iroha's mouth crashes on his own-- crashes, the literal meaning of it implied, and Clark shuts his eyes because he wants to feel it.
Not that he doesn't always. Not that he's ever too distracted to be able to appreciate Iroha's kisses, and the pressure and taste of his mouth. But it's been a few days, and Clark likes to touch and be touched, and when he feels things he feels them acutely, just like how he's missed Iroha while they were apart.
He laughs into the kiss, though, even after the touch of their tongues. Even after he feels Iroha's lips sucking in a way that makes his thighs slide closer while he's seated. And it's when he hears himself start to moan that he has to break it, silent and unbreathing for half a beat before he inhales deeply and tries to catch his breath. ]
Oh... [ Face warm and lips pink, Clark's other hand has found a place on Iroha's chest, cupping over it like he's trying to keep his heart safe. He's panting, but the smile on his face is undeniable, and he looks up at Iroha once more and ends up kissing him again. It's chaste, though-- a little tamer like a chaser after a harsh shot of alcohol. Clark's teeth scrape lightly over Iroha's bottom lip as he pulls back, but he does pull back, hand cupping his cheek. ]
[Countless people had kissed Iroha. Of course he remembered the better ones, the most intense instances, the arousing ones best of all. Not a single one could hope to compare. The irreplaceable fondness in the sound of his name cleared his mind and it were as if he and Clark were the only two people in the world.
The dazed indecision on his part over the last few days had not been an intentional attempt to make touch sweeter in its absence but it was a powerful presence. He wanted this more than he'd wanted anything, and tasted Clark's mouth over and over, soaking in his existence. Everything about him, his laugh mid-way impossibly endearing. Iroha had never imagined he could sacrifice anything significant for another person but this man made him want to lay everything he possessed at his feet in reverence. It was that sort of kiss. One in a million.
The rapid beating of the muscle of his chest could surely be felt under Clark's hand. He heard that faint pleasured sound from Clark and it killed him inside, knowing it was just for him alone; Clark was so quiet no one could have possibly noticed except the person causing it.
If he's taken Clark's breath away, it's mutual. Both his hands have slid down onto Clark's shoulders - kneading and gripping tighter when he stops to look at him. What does he see? A reflection in crimson? The helplessness Iroha feels in the wake of a consuming kiss, a fire-lighting kiss that left him trembling?]
I -
[Already a few seconds have passed since Clark spoke. Since he left Iroha's bottom lip scorched despite having barely touched it. Was there anything left of him that wasn't melted?! Binding. Iroha had forgotten how to believe a romantic swearing-to. It had been so long since he's known anything resembling faith. He turns his head and quickly grasp's Clark's, position himself over the other man's shoulder and keeping him from looking up. He can't be seen anymore. There is no more self-restraint to draw on, it's over. Iroha cradles him and hasn't an ounce of charm or seduction left when he begs him not to look at his face, but says:]
Wait, wait-- here. Please!
[He embraces Clark's upper body but doesn't give him time to return it; he's sure innumerable people have had Clark do this to them. It's only karma. Disappearing mid-conversation. Running out at the most inappropriate times. Iroha stutters, completing the reversal.
There had been plenty of times he couldn't stop the fuller transformation but those instances were usually in anger. There was nowhere to hide except...the bathroom?? This was embarrassing beyond belief! His entire body was already hot to the tips of his fingers from Clark kissing him just as passionately as he could give, and then, what he'd said --
He didn't have clear enough head to see if anyone else in the cafe had watched the blurry rush inside but surely the door slamming and Iroha putting his back to it was as loud an elephant. It was very brightly lit in here compared to the public area. Thank goodness it was a single-stall or he might have given some other patron a heart attack. Iroha pushed his fringe out of his face and took exactly five full minutes to move again, standing there needing the door to hold him upright with one hand between his horns, breathing heavily with the release of effort in holding the change back for so long.
When he looked up he could see that the small bathroom window had fogged up. Ridiculous... Of course his body produced a lot of heat in this condition but the most well-known association of fogged up windows between couples made this all the more absurd. How had he done everything so wrong?! Weren't they simply supposed to make an arrangement to GO STEADY?? A few dates! That was all! He was behaving like a, a...bride!
Could he fit out of that window? Actually, did it unlock at all? Maybe he could crawl out of it and not come back into town for a week. Maybe he would calm down by then. Ah, now he understood why his ancestors were strong enough to destroy a mountain with a single swing of a wooden club. They weren't angry - that was just what happened when an oni was kissed by Clark Kent.]
[ The abrupt hug isn’t one that Clark argues against, though he does find himself watching in confusion as Iroha quite literally runs away. There are a handful of the already small amount of patrons in the store that look confused as well, but when Clark’s gaze lands on them they look away as if embarrassed. Clark, subsequently, starts to blush with embarrassment too, when he realises that maybe they’d seen Iroha kiss the living daylights out of him.
That’s when he starts to sip at his hot chocolate, both hands wrapped around the mug as if keeping it safe. The liquid’s more warm now than hot, and it’s smooth and sweet on his tongue and down his throat.
Iroha told him to wait, and so Clark waits. Never really one to assume the worst, and after a kiss like that, he can imagine that it makes sense to feel a bit overwhelmed. Clark feels overwhelmed, too, and as he looks down at the chocolate in his mug he’s still smiling with the happiness that fills him wholly. It’s been so, so long since he’s belonged to someone—or, rather, since someone has wanted him enough for such a thing. Clark doesn’t necessarily feel afraid or in danger often, but it doesn’t change the sentiment in having someone to feel safe with in the way that Iroha makes him feel.
His thumb strokes the side of his mug, and though he’ll chance a few glances the bathroom’s way, he also doesn’t want to interrupt. It’s none of his business if Iroha doesn’t want to share it with him, and that’s fine by Clark.
Trust—that’s an important thing to have in a relationship, whether platonic or romantic, and Clark is a good boy, so it’s what he makes sure to wield with him, especially now that Iroha’s opened himself up to him the way that he has. It’s an honour, well and truly; Clark still can’t believe it, still thinks maybe he doesn’t deserve it, but his lack of faith in himself hardly translates into a lack of faith in Iroha.
Clark finishes the last of his drink, his arms folding over the table as he watches Iroha’s cool on the other side of the table. He worries a little bit, but that’s only because he cares. Hopefully… hopefully Iroha is okay. ]
[With effort, Iroha forces a sense of inner calm. There are still a number of regrets on his mind: hoping that the morning won't see rumours of a silver-haired cryptid who'd made a desperate run for the bathroom, and the more pressing wish to have predicted the infectiousness of Clark's happiness. He had walked in with an awareness of all the rough incompatibilities between them but in the moment not a single one had mattered.
When he returned to the table a few heads briefly turned his way, but Iroha had no mind for them. He was relieved to see Clark right where he had left him and without even his phone in hand. Truly the goodest boy. Was he thinking about the future or nothing at all?
Once he is close enough Iroha traces his fingers over Clark's arm as a way of letting him know he has come back, since he has to walk up behind him before adjusting his chair to sit down. It was still well-back away from the table where he'd left it, having jumped up without thinking to get his mouth on Clark...]
I am so sorry.
[His hair is noticeably damp around the fringes and bottom tips, where he had used cold water, as cold as could be coaxed from the sink, to lower his temperature. A dewy glow on his face conveyed the same thing, along with the undone top button of his shirt.]
[ Clark's shoulders jump slightly when he's touched, but the sight of Iroha makes him calm again. He's a little surprised at the apology-- ] No, it's okay. [ --because it makes sense, he thinks, having to take time to process this sort of thing. It makes sense to him because it's a lot for his own teeny mind to process. ]
I just... are you okay? [ Oh, goodness, Iroha is wet, and Clark reaches into the pocket of his hoodie to take out a handkerchief in the stupid traditions of the older days. Pa had always taken one around for when Clark got himself all messy outdoors and it'd become habit; Clark is glad that he can offer it now, just in case Iroha needs or wants it.
A hand comes up to rub lightly at the side of his neck, and Clark's mouth tilts slightly in a sheepish, definitely crooked smile. ] I'm sorry if I, um, came off too strong.
[Is that an honest-to-god old timey handkerchief in the year of our lord 2020? In a hoodie.........
If he weren't emotionally exhausted he might have laughed enough to sprain something but as it is, Iroha just takes it gratefully. Those modern environmentally-friendly dryers that blow nothing but tepid air for 15 seconds are completely useless. He starts dabbing at the near-drips on his black ends, but he keeps his gaze on Clark.]
Mm, uncomfortable is not the word I would use.
[He pauses in the grooming and mindfully takes the conversation at a slower pace. For a second he happens to spy that his drink is stone cold. Alas. He hadn't had a single sip.]
Overwhelmed... Yes, that. But please don't misunderstand. That is not something for which you deserve to sit in a cloud of guilt!
[He laughs a little. This all could have been averted if he were an honest man.]
Honesty in one's emotions is an unnatural state for a nightwalker.
[His voice takes on that vulnerable tone, and even if he's saying something that's probably abundantly clear by what had just occurred, he needs to say it and take responsibility.]
[ Clark's head tilts as he listens, his lips parted all throughout. But he hears what Iroha means, deep down-- hears that this isn't something he's used to, and thus feels all his earlier hypotheses suitably proven right. Iroha isn't used to talking about his feelings, and that makes the fact he chose to do so with Clark that much more incredible.
His expression is soft, sweet in affection. Clark bites the edge of his lower lip very lightly, then shakes his head from side to side. ] That's all right. [ He knows how it goes, and Clark's always been the understanding type to begin with. There isn't much Iroha could do to anger or upset him on purpose, much more in an accidental capacity. ]
You don't have to rush that kind of thing with me. [ This is its own kind of promise. ] But, um... if I'm ever too affectionate, [ because he knows he's prone to it, an awkward chuckle following this ] or too, uh, mushy, you know, you can t-tell me.
I'll go as slow as you want. [ Never mind the fact he's had Iroha's cock in his mouth-- this is an entirely different pace he's talking about, and the one that (in Clark's opinion) matters most. ]
[Some might say Clark was understanding to a fault, or that the selflessness and genuineness of his heart made him weak. Iroha knows plenty of people who would mock him as a herbivore or a doormat. But every word he said was a rich, golden balm for Iroha. His body had been wracked with tension before but now he's been wrapped in a peaceful blanket thanks to Clark's promise.]
I don't doubt that you will. Thank you.
[Everything felt...fine. Calm waters where a storm had raged. It's true - dicks were the easy part. Sexual compatibility was it's own conversation for another day. Iroha finally looked away, contemplating the unusual trigger to his oni side. How would this have gone differently without it? Or if his life were one of doting parents instead of solitary survival?
Each reassurance was appreciated to the depths of his soul. He hoped Clark knew what it meant to him.]
We have much to discuss...and I look forward to it all. Overwhelming or no.
[He tucks the handkerchief away in his own pocket (#sorrynotsorry about the possessiveness, you signed up for this) and puts his hands over top of Clark's.]
Ah… [ He finds himself laughing, but it’s a giddy sort of sound—spurred on by Iroha speaking of the future and the meaning that comes with that. Iroha’s thinking about a future they can share, and the reality of that makes Clark feel warm inside in ways he isn’t entirely certain how to express.
He’s happy, though. Endlessly so. And he nods his head in agreement, caring very little that Iroha’s keeping his kerchief in the end.
Though the first instinct he has upon Iroha’s question is to ask ‘do you really want that?’, he swallows the urge down. Of course Iroha wants it, otherwise he wouldn’t be asking, but the request is a surprising one, and for a man who’d needed more than a few minutes to calm himself down from… well, whatever it was that Iroha was overwhelmed by (Clark isn’t going to assume anything, because that wouldn’t be fair), Clark spends a moment wondering if that’s a good idea.
But then, he surmises, it’s going to be his place Iroha will be in, and whereas Iroha may not be used to this level of intimacy, Clark is more than ready to share whatever bits of his world anyone wants to partake in. Maybe his own openness would be good for Iroha to experience; Clark doesn’t know.
In any case, Clark Kent doesn’t have very many secrets to hide, and so he smiles and says, ] Sure, Iroha.
It’s a really boring house, though.
[ And yet if he were truly bothered by it, he wouldn’t be rising from his seat and moving to take one of those hands in his own. ]
Are you sure you don’t want to try your drink? [ Clark just wants to be certain before they leave. It seems an awful waste. ]
[There are a hundred reasons for Clark to hesitate. Maybe his house is very messy. Laundry on the floor. Toothpaste in the sink. Maybe he is embarrassed by his vintage Betty Boop figurine collection. Or he has a rambunctious dog?
Still slowed, Iroha is comfortable waiting for a decision even as he speculates. For once, none of the increasingly outlandish possibilities (incomprehensible balloon-animal art??) are based on suspicions. He had been so accustomed to his professional connections lying to him or omitting simple truths that it was second nature. Still, he couldn't see Clark in the light of hiding a heterosexual, primary relationship.
He doesn't push and could have accepted the satiation of his curiosity until another time. But Clark does agree, and Iroha smiles in a quietly pleased way.]
Hm?
[He looks back at the sadly attention-bereft drink. 'A boring house', he'd said. Kikuya had its moment of flamboyance but also a long tradition of social arts. He loved it with all his heart but even so, his small, exclusive bedroom where he could actually retire and get some sleep was also boring. Clark's description was nowhere near as off-putting as he thought.]
One moment, please.
[Picking up the mug, Iroha returns to the counter and asks if it can be reheated, which is doable, because even if the flavours won't be the same as fresh it is less trying for staff to make a new one. It's nearly closing time anyway, after all. Equipment has to be cleaned. So Iroha does, in the end, get to enjoy his spicy hot chocolate - after bringing it back to their table and standing near Clark, returning to the subject between sips.]
I don't mind boring, you know.
[He picks up Clark's hand again while he talks. This time his demeanor is far more natural, as if slipping into an old t-shirt.]
If constant excitement were that attractive I would have married the flamenco dancer from Argentina.
[ Clark feels a little bit like an idiot, having his heart flutter every time Iroha holds his hand. It’s such a simple gesture, but he likes the feel of it—the security of it, the knowledge that it means they’re connected in quite a literal way. It makes him duck his head just to smile where their fingers are linked together, and when his free hand comes up to ruffle the locks at the back of his own head in something like shyness, all that accomplishes is making the locks there stick up more than normal.
He smoothes it down some, clearing his throat. ] Was there a flamenco dancer in Argentina you liked? [ It’s a stupid thing to ask, but Clark takes everything for what they are. Call it naivete, but there isn’t any reason for Iroha to lie to him about it, and on a more sentimental note, it’s nice to hear about him, even if it’s in stupid ways like this. ]
Honestly, I wouldn’t even know how to, uh, flamenco. [ He laughs, hand curled into a fist and the side of it pressed to his mouth to muffle the sound a little. ] So this is probably for the best.
[ Once Iroha’s done with his drink, Clark’s going to ask again if he’s ready to go. And when he gets an affirmative he’ll lead him outside, where the sky’s still fairly dark and they’ve yet to see the sunrise.
Clark loves the sunrise. Absolutely lives for it. Growing up, he’d watched it everyday without fail, because it was these simple things in life that he appreciated more than anything. At this rate, they’ll probably see it while Clark drives back home; the thought of being able to have Iroha at his side as his car rumbles beneath them both, witnessing his most favourite part of the day, is a nice idea to carry along with him.
The paper bag of convenience store loot is still there at the back. Clark keeps his car remarkably clean, though there are some dinosaur stickers on the windshield that Jason had put on fairly recently from the inside (and the kid is in college—but that’s just proof nobody ever really grows up, isn’t it?). When the engine is on and the radio plays, it’s the Killers that play from the speakers, albeit not very loudly at all. ]
Okay? [ He’ll ask, making sure Iroha is belted in before he starts moving, one hand on the wheel and the other (predictably) finding Iroha’s again. ]
Unintentionally sensual hair-mussing gives Iroha some nice fantasy fodder for later but at the moment he is far too content to let the low-level physical interest develop into anything more. Nothing stops him from staring, though. Sometimes it's nice to just let things be nice. A memorable close to their first visit to that particular cafe, and even among the stunning promises exchanged, those silly comments were heartwarming as long as Clark held his hand with such immense affection while he said them.
Especially when the sky was so beautiful. On the cusp of dawn, the showcase of colours not yet begun. Iroha isn't as focused on that, though. Instead, he takes a look at Clark's car and has one tick on his list of curious blanks in his knowledge about him checked off. He didn't spend much time in cars and maybe seemed a bit on the odd side with how he looked around at the interior.
Especially the touchscreen radio panel, which he looked at with a pinched expression for a few seconds like a turtle considering whether the climb over a steep rock was worth the effort. Technology. Too many dials, buttons and knobs. Bleh.
He ignored it in the end. The Killers were an acceptable choice. And he does triumph over the seatbelt even if it feels foreign.]
Mhhm. If it were practical I would prefer to walk...but thank you.
[Another instance of simply expressing something about himself which wasn't a big deal to anyone. But if Iroha were curious enough that the interior of Clark's vehicle, his choice of radio station and youthful expression of playfulness via dinosaur stickers was noteworthy, maybe Clark wanted to hear inane information about Iroha too. Actually, he was sure of it.]
I must warn you my intentions in making this request are entirely selfish. Sunrise -
[He gestures with the hand not full of Clark's towards the windows and the wide sky seen through them. The music is low enough that he doesn't need to raise his voice over it to be heard.]
- is when my kind sleep. My eyes will hardly be open soon.
Edited (editing a 3am sleppy tag before work) 2020-02-11 16:45 (UTC)
Your kind? [ Clark echoes, but then he remembers the term used and lets out a soft laugh. ] Right… nightwalkers.
[ Meanwhile, Clark has to start getting ready for work in a handful of hours to make it to the Planet before eight. The differences aren’t bad at all, but he finds himself fairly amused by them all the same. ]
It’s okay if you want to sleep. [ If anything, something about Iroha sleeping in his space makes Clark’s knees go weak, and he’s never been more glad that he’s seated now instead of standing. Seeing Iroha comfortable, and happy, and resting? Knowing Iroha could have gone to his fancy room and chose instead to go to Clark’s? It’s an honour to the highest degree. ] You can take my bed, if you don’t want the guest room.
Not that—it’s a bad g-guest room, [ and he chuckles at that ] but, you know… you’re my [ Lord, how old is he, to be using this term now and to feel kind of silly for it? ] boyfriend.
[ Anyway, shyness or not, Clark likes to think his point stands. ]
[He'd spoken truthfully about having no problem with boring things. Like a routine, a predictable schedule that meant his body was soothed into a half-dazed state by the engine's white noise. The most peaceful part of it all was knowing without asking that Clark was willing to share not only his body, but his bed. There was an absolute distinction, a wall Iroha had encountered before where affection for a whore abruptly ended.
He could have gone back to Kikuya and the post-party cleanup which always needed an extra pair of hands. Home slipped lower on his mind compared to how he imagined the day would progress: Clark would eventually be done with work, and Iroha would be there with fresh energy to help Clark relax. A temporary, single-issue solution to the problem of their day and night natures.
Just like the entire preceding conversation at the cafe, things didn't go quite like Iroha expected. It was a strange feeling to continue to try to read Clark and have his measure exceeded. Every time. Where others could easily disappoint.
He hadn't known Clark had a guest room and considered a friendly couch acceptable. Imposing on his domain was unthinkable to Iroha when the owner was absent. Yet, to Clark it was the most natural thing in the world to offer more than Iroha could need. The shirt off my back. That was the phrase to describe that type of person, wasn't it?
Iroha watched him and wondered if there were a limit to his generosity while simultaneously knowing only a bastard would test it for the sake of finding out.
The route home was familiar to Clark. The hour ensured there was very little in the way of traffic. Iroha had thought Clark was done squeezing his soul with affection but there he goes again with that blinding brightness. It's only fair if Iroha blinds him in return. Turning his body towards the driver's seat, Iroha's unoccupied hand reaches across the divide to delicately force his chin at an angle.
They might careen off into a ditch or wreck a tree for this kiss but Iroha can't possibly hear his tender, perpetually shy Clark use that giddy word without lavishing his mouth with all the bubbling feelings he can't say. Passion comes as easily as breathing, his tongue sliding between Clark's lips. Whatever else Iroha has to say can wait, far back in line behind the need to give him the heat of his mouth.]
[ The feel of a hand on his face makes Clark start to murmur out a 'yes'?, except Iroha's leaning forward and kissing him, and it's the most potent form of self-control that has his foot slowly pressing onto the brakes instead of slamming into it.
It's muscle memory that has him able to drag the shift over to 'park', and in truth the car is significantly crooked on its side of the road, looking like it'd been on the way to going off it before giving up halfway. But it's late-early enough on a road less travelled that Clark doesn't feel too concerned about causing any traffic; the sun hasn't even started to rise yet, even though he knows it's a few minutes away.
It'd been difficult earlier, where Clark knew he had to hold back. But his car is its own form of private, and when Iroha's tongue brushes against his own Clark doesn't mind at all that there's a quiet moan coming out of him. The seatbelt is cutting into his chest; his hoodie crinkles under its pressure, crumpled and soft. ]
Ah... [ Even the noise he makes as their mouths part is a pleasured one, a happy one. Clark kisses him again, sucks gently at his top lip, and then releases as he spares himself a glance and notices the belt so tightly on him. ] Was wondering why it was-- g-getting hard to breathe.
[ He doesn't mind, though. He smiles when he looks at Iroha again, giving his hand a small squeeze where it's joined to Clark's own. ]
[Driving instructors and mechanics everywhere cheer. Iroha pays no attention to the slow state of rest the car is brought to, which is a shame for how impressive a move it is. At this point, he's begun to stop comparing Clark to anyone else. They may as well already be in slow motion with the way the world falls away from consciousness while he has the perfect warmth of Clark's mouth rolling over his thoughts, clouding anything from view except how incredible it feels to be with him.
Clark makes that same sensual noise, and he's glad for its lack of company. No muffled conversation or potential prying onlookers. Iroha stays close and Clark kisses him again, best of all, although every next one, and the next after, feel like the best it's ever been.
It does seem a bit harder to breathe, actually. Nevermind Clark's tendency to hold his breath when he's kissed, Iroha's aware of the confined space too. The ceiling's a lot lower than in a bedroom. He reaches for his own seatbelt and disengages it without looking away from Clark. He can't.
They're both lit from the Prius' internal options and streetlights only - it's still dark out. Maybe Iroha being in his element makes him bolder or makes it harder to resist when nothing's stopping him except common decency and sensibility.]
What worth is there in taking to your bed without you in it?
[It's not a valid question; Iroha's only letting him know he won't go for that privilege yet. He pushes the belt off himself but leaves Clark's right where it is, regretfully letting go of his hand. He misses its comfort and security instantly.
Twisting his torso out of the proper seated position, Iroha takes both Clark's farmboy cheeks in his palms and kisses the side of his mouth. Quickly planting another on his chin, and lower still to the side of his throat.]
I want you so much it hurts...
[Sharp, defining sucks over the surface of Clark's skin should leave a mark. He's already getting more aroused just being so close to him, alone at last, blindly groping for the zipper of Clark's hoodie.]
[ Clark’s breath hitches, his lashes fluttering as Iroha’s mouth touches his neck, as he sucks on it. It feels good, soft skin turned pink under the pressure, but it doesn’t quite outweigh the honesty of Iroha’s words, the truth that he wants him.
And that’s a hell of a big pill to swallow on its own; Clark can’t answer in much more than a soft whimper at first, even though towards the end it turns into a shy, breathy, ] I want you, too. [ But he always wants him, in just about every way, and he longs for Iroha’s touch and for his words and for his presence, and for the warmth that he gives him from the inside out.
The hoodie comes apart easily, and Clark’s stomach quivers to match the shaky quality of his breaths. His tank top doesn’t leave much to the imagination, its white brought out by the lighting in the car and the dim glow from outside, and Clark’s build is (loathe as he is to admit it, shy as he is to think about it) surprisingly good beneath. His stomach is tight, his chest defined, and Clark gulps because he feels stupidly hot all over. ]
But, ah—h-here? [ He’s squeaking, a bit, his own hands brushing over Iroha’s shoulders, down over his chest. Clark loves his chest, incidentally; he’d love to bury his face in it, wrap his arms around Iroha and stay close to him.
Right now, though, all he does is curl his fingers in his shirt to hold on against the flush that’s spreading all along his skin. ]
[Looking at Clark's chest and sculpted abs is a memorable, mouthwatering experience. Behold comes to mind, as one does in a museum facing scrupulously ideal human forms at the pinnacle of Olympian beauty. Although he'd known for some time that Clark kept a treat hidden under those off-center suits, the definition is something else. There are degrees of perfection one hopes to encounter. He's elated, as if he'd won the lottery. He won big and nobody can compare.
It takes a few blinks for Iroha to become aware he hasn't done anything but stare. He huffs like bull and considers slamming the driver's seat back with his hand instead of messing around looking for the mechanism to do it properly. He restrains himself at the last second.]
Mmh. Unless you want me to stop~?
[Iroha smirks; with Clark's curled fingers clinging to his clothing there is no possibility that's going to happen. As soon as he can get the driver's seat pushed back Iroha climbs onto Clark's lap. The steering wheel threatens to press into his back but all it really means is that Iroha forced to position himself very close to avoid it. What a tragedy, heh. Being slimmer in build has its advantages.
He's quick to plant both hands on Clark's chest like a mountaineer's flag. The expression he wears is of delight and long-seeded hungers fulfilled, delving into a mindless massage over the flimsy barrier the tanktop presents. It's half as much to exploit Clark's sensitivity as it is for Iroha; arousal doesn't have much left to pour through his veins before its overflowing.]
[ He lets out the most undignified squeak when his chair sinks, eyes wide in surprise and his glasses the slightest bit askew. It hasn't done much to diffuse the warmth on his face, but he looks at Iroha with clear eyes and exhales slowly at how gorgeous he is from above. It's different from when he'd been on his knees for him; this is, of course, not an ideal place to be canoodling in the first place, but it doesn't change the fact that Iroha above him in this way makes his gaze soften with the kindest notes of wanting to look at him as he touches him.
Despite himself, Clark laughs, as breathy as he'd been earlier in his embarrassing huffs of arousal. ] That isn't fair. [ Because Iroha's so close now, and how on Earth is he supposed to want to stop him then? He squirms underneath the touch of Iroha's hands, his thighs shifting just a bit in his seat, but with his gaze refusing to break from Iroha's face he draws his hand over to take one of Iroha's in it. He doesn't make him stop touching him-- on the contrary, and with his Adam's apple bobbing in his chest from nerves, he guides that hand lower, down over his stomach, down until slim fingers are brushing the hem of his tank top and it's not much work for Clark to guide them to slip beneath the cloth.
The touch of skin on skin is electrifying; his stomach quivers as if he hadn't been the one to insist Iroha touch him there. Though it takes him a few tries to say it, his throat dry and syllables stumbling on their way out of his mouth, he finally manages a: ] You can-- y-you can look at. At me, if you want.
[ No. That's not it. ]
I want... I want you to see. To, um, touch. So don't--
[ The look in his eyes is earnest, soft. ] Don't stop. [ Then, like the cherry topping the sundae: ] Please.
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I’d love a hot chocolate. [ Not even coffee, it seems, but he’s got enough energy just being in Iroha’s presence. ] Thank you so much.
[ Clark tucks some stray hair over his ear, locks gone grey with proof of his age. His posture’s still… not the greatest, and he sits with his knees pointed towards each other and his toes against the floor so his heels point up. Hands settling gently on his inner thighs, close to being on his lap, he watches Iroha go over to get their orders in. He looks away once he gets to the register, then waits patiently for him to be at the table again before speaking up once more. ]
I’m sorry I replied so late. [ To the text message, he means. ] The first thing I did when I woke up was go out to get a snack. [ He laughs sheepishly at that, hand moving to push his glasses up his nose before it lands on his thigh again. ] I didn’t think to check my phone until I was already at the store…
But, um, what did you wanna talk about? [ Clark’s sure it must be a big deal. Oh, maybe he is underdressed, but at least pyjamas are infinitely more comfortable than his suit trousers and therefore easier to deal with news in, so hopefully the gods of fashion forgive him. ]
Did something happen?
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Anyway, he returns and listens to Clark's explanation. Watching the way he pushes his glasses up his nose, marveling at how Clark understood that he had intended this conversation to take place hours ago and did not slide it under the rug as something which couldn't be helped, didn't matter, was unworthy of apology in being so small an unintentional slight.
Clark carries on and Iroha's brow knits a little when it becomes clear he's done an unintentional misstep of his own. He holds the cup between both hands - it's very hot, but Iroha's body soaked it in without complaint.]
I'm sorry too... There is nothing wrong. I had no intention of worrying you, Clark.
[His voice hits every note of sincerity perfectly. Complete honesty is a difficult thing for Iroha so it comes as a surprise even to him that when he spoke to Clark he didn't reach instinctively for a protective persona.]
To spare further delay I will say this plainly. When you offered to -
[He's not going to repeat 'going steady' but that is the memory that hadn't left his mind since Clark had said it.]
- date exclusively, I...
[Now it is difficult to say exactly what he wants to say. Countless times, he had witnessed friends fail in their dreams. It seemed as if the truest desires were best left unsaid but if he said nothing, what would ever come of this blessing he doubted he deserved?]
...accept. I accept your offer.
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There is relief, at first, when he finds out there isn’t a problem. That’s good that there isn’t—he can work with that—he can deal with that and not have some kind of embarrassing freak out because of his own incompetence. After that, though, there’s a slight sheepishness at the memory of what he’d said days ago—the memory that’s still clear, at any rate, because how can Clark forget the closeness of Iroha’s body, and the comfort of having him in a hug?
He wonders if he should open his mouth, but it looks like Iroha’s determined. And the reason for which isn’t something he really, honestly understands until he says he accepts, and all at once Clark feels air suddenly fill his lungs as he gasps in a way that’s slow, long, and elongated.
All the while his posture’s straightened and his shoulders have lifted, and he’s left his hot chocolate on the table because both his hands are over his mouth.
His face is red, but it’s a pleasured sort of shyness, one that’s punctuated by the twinkle in his eye and the dimples that show in his cheeks. ]
Really? [ His voice is so soft, and it’s still muffled behind his fingers. ] G-Golly, really?
[ And it is… so different, from when he was with Lois, who only liked him for someone he sometimes became, at first. Clark Kent is a nobody, a total nothing, and even if he’d asked what he’d asked on blind hope (something he has in spades), Iroha’s here saying ‘yes’ anyway. Iroha’s saying yes, and he wants to go steady (or be exclusive, the term doesn’t matter!), and Clark grins so wide there’s no point to covering his mouth any more. ]
That’s—
[ It’s marvellous, is what it is, and Clark wants to stretch over the table and take Iroha’s face in both his hands so he can kiss him. He sees, though, the shift in Iroha’s body language; he hears the difference in his tone, the softness in his voice. Clark has to be delicate. And he tries, his hands slipping off his lips and one of them reaching out over the table with the palm up in offer. ] Iroha…
Oh, Iroha, you make me so happy. I only hope I can do the same for you.
I want to do the same for you.
I, um… [ He bites his lip against the stupid expression on his face, smiling all crooked instead. ] I’m honoured you want me to be y-yours.
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In the previous hours, listening to boisterous people drink and make bets on films around him, Iroha had thought about how Clark might react. Surely there was always room for him to say he'd come up with the offer on the spur of the moment. That it was not in accordance with his true wishes, that it was sweet nothings, empty pleasantries. Every bone in Clark's body was anathema to that mindset, though.
The noise Clark made at first was jolting and for a split second Iroha worried he had seen Clark wrongly after all. But no, it was what he had hoped for. What his heart leaped towards. Watching him cover his mouth as if he wanted to yell in joy for everyone to see. Iroha didn't know what to do with himself - he made hundreds of clients happy but not like this. He laughed, that terribly old-fashioned way Clark spoke sometimes. Golly. That summed it up.]
Ha ha...
[He's going to die. Clark's exuberance is outlandish, but he can see him reigning it in although he doesn't precisely realize it's for his own sake. He's right, though. Delicacy is the right approach when Iroha felt terrified of abandonment but couldn't fight his desire to be in Clark's orbit every single day any longer.]
You already have. [Made him happy. It's embarrassing. Clark's hand will have to put up with how hot Iroha's has become - it's probably the least significant thing happening at the moment. He wears no rings or other adornments so it's simplicity itself. Holding his hand in public, which Iroha had not been willing to do at that party. Not until now, until he didn't have to let go of it for someone else's ever again.]
Honoured... Aah, Clark, you are beyond belief.
[Iroha had to look away from this beautiful, kind man. Glamorous deception and intimacy for sale had made Iroha predictably jaded to a degree. Clark was everything Iroha wasn't, something beyond special. He bowed his head, this time it being his turn to cover part of his face. Not his mouth like Clark had done (which was still funny and brilliant in Iroha's opinion) but to mask his eyes.]
You've done me in, you know. Yours.
[It might appear that Iroha was trying to hide the fact that he was crying. He wasn't, and it felt awful to deceive him in this moment. It was sobering - which was exactly what he needed to stop the oncoming rise turning his irises red.]
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It’s what I am, isn’t it? [ And he knows it’s what’s gotten Iroha dipping his head in the first place, but Clark grins and lowers his own, lifting Iroha’s hand up just enough that he can brush a soft kiss over his knuckles. ] Yours.
But I’ll keep that to myself from now on, if you'd like, promise. [ If only so he doesn’t make Iroha all teary-eyed again. He hadn’t expected it at all! Still, the sight of it makes Clark’s chest all tight with a mix of warmth and genuine affection—to have that much impact on somebody is a surreal thing, and a power he’s not in any hurry to try and abuse any time soon.
If it’s any consolation, Clark feels the same way, except his reaction is more grinning like a doofus for an unspecified amount of time. That his hair is a touch wavier and he’s in his stupid pyjama pants probably complete the picture. ]
Is it… is it okay to kiss you? I’m a little worried I won’t stop, but I like to think the h-hot chocolate might make it more likely I’ll have some reason to pull away.
I just—well. I’ve been wanting to since I came in.
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Clark kissing his hand, however. Why is that a tipping point! He makes a faintly pathetic noise of surprise and he looks over at him, despite the risk. Maybe the bookstore/cafe/hipsterzone is poorly-lit enough that Clark won't see anything. There's no stopping the urge to look at him - Clark is saying words that have him wondering if this is make-believe, if he's delirious, if a cloud-dwelling god has singled him out for a ruthless prank by giving him everything he's ever wanted. Been afraid to want. Everything he's pushed away for years.
He had thought he was prepared. That Clark, if he had meant what he'd said, would be pleased. They could plan for another, proper date. The joy and sincerity Clark expressed in every inch of his body and the dumbstruck, giddy happiness was off the scale, making Iroha's glad he couldn't see his own face because of how unnatural it would appear to see himself so happy in return.]
Am I in competition with hot chocolate....
[There's a very wisp-like, pillowy quality to Iroha's tone as he answers in an utterly nonsensical way. It fits, he may as well be Alice in Wonderland for all the logic of what's gone on in only a few minutes. How can his entire life have contained exactly one measure of happiness at its height only for Clark to make it burst by doing, saying, all the right things? In that rabbit-fur voice of his that makes Iroha want to bury his face against his chest for days.
He stands up, and really any excuse that Clark uses so they don't end up fucking (romantically!!) on the table is a good one. Although it were a wish of Clark's, Iroha was the one to execute it: he gently grasps Clark's blushing, shy-boy face and all it's unfathomable, unbreachable joy and kisses him as if he were life itself.]
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[ Whatever words Clark might have tried to say, though, are stopped entirely as Iroha comes around and touches his face. His lips are still parted, still ready to speak, but then Iroha's mouth crashes on his own-- crashes, the literal meaning of it implied, and Clark shuts his eyes because he wants to feel it.
Not that he doesn't always. Not that he's ever too distracted to be able to appreciate Iroha's kisses, and the pressure and taste of his mouth. But it's been a few days, and Clark likes to touch and be touched, and when he feels things he feels them acutely, just like how he's missed Iroha while they were apart.
He laughs into the kiss, though, even after the touch of their tongues. Even after he feels Iroha's lips sucking in a way that makes his thighs slide closer while he's seated. And it's when he hears himself start to moan that he has to break it, silent and unbreathing for half a beat before he inhales deeply and tries to catch his breath. ]
Oh... [ Face warm and lips pink, Clark's other hand has found a place on Iroha's chest, cupping over it like he's trying to keep his heart safe. He's panting, but the smile on his face is undeniable, and he looks up at Iroha once more and ends up kissing him again. It's chaste, though-- a little tamer like a chaser after a harsh shot of alcohol. Clark's teeth scrape lightly over Iroha's bottom lip as he pulls back, but he does pull back, hand cupping his cheek. ]
See, [ he murmurs ] now that's binding.
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The dazed indecision on his part over the last few days had not been an intentional attempt to make touch sweeter in its absence but it was a powerful presence. He wanted this more than he'd wanted anything, and tasted Clark's mouth over and over, soaking in his existence. Everything about him, his laugh mid-way impossibly endearing. Iroha had never imagined he could sacrifice anything significant for another person but this man made him want to lay everything he possessed at his feet in reverence. It was that sort of kiss. One in a million.
The rapid beating of the muscle of his chest could surely be felt under Clark's hand. He heard that faint pleasured sound from Clark and it killed him inside, knowing it was just for him alone; Clark was so quiet no one could have possibly noticed except the person causing it.
If he's taken Clark's breath away, it's mutual. Both his hands have slid down onto Clark's shoulders - kneading and gripping tighter when he stops to look at him. What does he see? A reflection in crimson? The helplessness Iroha feels in the wake of a consuming kiss, a fire-lighting kiss that left him trembling?]
I -
[Already a few seconds have passed since Clark spoke. Since he left Iroha's bottom lip scorched despite having barely touched it. Was there anything left of him that wasn't melted?! Binding. Iroha had forgotten how to believe a romantic swearing-to. It had been so long since he's known anything resembling faith. He turns his head and quickly grasp's Clark's, position himself over the other man's shoulder and keeping him from looking up. He can't be seen anymore. There is no more self-restraint to draw on, it's over. Iroha cradles him and hasn't an ounce of charm or seduction left when he begs him not to look at his face, but says:]
Wait, wait-- here. Please!
[He embraces Clark's upper body but doesn't give him time to return it; he's sure innumerable people have had Clark do this to them. It's only karma. Disappearing mid-conversation. Running out at the most inappropriate times. Iroha stutters, completing the reversal.
There had been plenty of times he couldn't stop the fuller transformation but those instances were usually in anger. There was nowhere to hide except...the bathroom?? This was embarrassing beyond belief! His entire body was already hot to the tips of his fingers from Clark kissing him just as passionately as he could give, and then, what he'd said --
He didn't have clear enough head to see if anyone else in the cafe had watched the blurry rush inside but surely the door slamming and Iroha putting his back to it was as loud an elephant. It was very brightly lit in here compared to the public area. Thank goodness it was a single-stall or he might have given some other patron a heart attack. Iroha pushed his fringe out of his face and took exactly five full minutes to move again, standing there needing the door to hold him upright with one hand between his horns, breathing heavily with the release of effort in holding the change back for so long.
When he looked up he could see that the small bathroom window had fogged up. Ridiculous... Of course his body produced a lot of heat in this condition but the most well-known association of fogged up windows between couples made this all the more absurd. How had he done everything so wrong?! Weren't they simply supposed to make an arrangement to GO STEADY?? A few dates! That was all! He was behaving like a, a...bride!
Could he fit out of that window? Actually, did it unlock at all? Maybe he could crawl out of it and not come back into town for a week. Maybe he would calm down by then. Ah, now he understood why his ancestors were strong enough to destroy a mountain with a single swing of a wooden club. They weren't angry - that was just what happened when an oni was kissed by Clark Kent.]
whoops sorry for this whole load of nothing
That’s when he starts to sip at his hot chocolate, both hands wrapped around the mug as if keeping it safe. The liquid’s more warm now than hot, and it’s smooth and sweet on his tongue and down his throat.
Iroha told him to wait, and so Clark waits. Never really one to assume the worst, and after a kiss like that, he can imagine that it makes sense to feel a bit overwhelmed. Clark feels overwhelmed, too, and as he looks down at the chocolate in his mug he’s still smiling with the happiness that fills him wholly. It’s been so, so long since he’s belonged to someone—or, rather, since someone has wanted him enough for such a thing. Clark doesn’t necessarily feel afraid or in danger often, but it doesn’t change the sentiment in having someone to feel safe with in the way that Iroha makes him feel.
His thumb strokes the side of his mug, and though he’ll chance a few glances the bathroom’s way, he also doesn’t want to interrupt. It’s none of his business if Iroha doesn’t want to share it with him, and that’s fine by Clark.
Trust—that’s an important thing to have in a relationship, whether platonic or romantic, and Clark is a good boy, so it’s what he makes sure to wield with him, especially now that Iroha’s opened himself up to him the way that he has. It’s an honour, well and truly; Clark still can’t believe it, still thinks maybe he doesn’t deserve it, but his lack of faith in himself hardly translates into a lack of faith in Iroha.
Clark finishes the last of his drink, his arms folding over the table as he watches Iroha’s cool on the other side of the table. He worries a little bit, but that’s only because he cares. Hopefully… hopefully Iroha is okay. ]
sometimes it be like that
When he returned to the table a few heads briefly turned his way, but Iroha had no mind for them. He was relieved to see Clark right where he had left him and without even his phone in hand. Truly the goodest boy. Was he thinking about the future or nothing at all?
Once he is close enough Iroha traces his fingers over Clark's arm as a way of letting him know he has come back, since he has to walk up behind him before adjusting his chair to sit down. It was still well-back away from the table where he'd left it, having jumped up without thinking to get his mouth on Clark...]
I am so sorry.
[His hair is noticeably damp around the fringes and bottom tips, where he had used cold water, as cold as could be coaxed from the sink, to lower his temperature. A dewy glow on his face conveyed the same thing, along with the undone top button of his shirt.]
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I just... are you okay? [ Oh, goodness, Iroha is wet, and Clark reaches into the pocket of his hoodie to take out a handkerchief in the stupid traditions of the older days. Pa had always taken one around for when Clark got himself all messy outdoors and it'd become habit; Clark is glad that he can offer it now, just in case Iroha needs or wants it.
A hand comes up to rub lightly at the side of his neck, and Clark's mouth tilts slightly in a sheepish, definitely crooked smile. ] I'm sorry if I, um, came off too strong.
I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.
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If he weren't emotionally exhausted he might have laughed enough to sprain something but as it is, Iroha just takes it gratefully. Those modern environmentally-friendly dryers that blow nothing but tepid air for 15 seconds are completely useless. He starts dabbing at the near-drips on his black ends, but he keeps his gaze on Clark.]
Mm, uncomfortable is not the word I would use.
[He pauses in the grooming and mindfully takes the conversation at a slower pace. For a second he happens to spy that his drink is stone cold. Alas. He hadn't had a single sip.]
Overwhelmed... Yes, that. But please don't misunderstand. That is not something for which you deserve to sit in a cloud of guilt!
[He laughs a little. This all could have been averted if he were an honest man.]
Honesty in one's emotions is an unnatural state for a nightwalker.
[His voice takes on that vulnerable tone, and even if he's saying something that's probably abundantly clear by what had just occurred, he needs to say it and take responsibility.]
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His expression is soft, sweet in affection. Clark bites the edge of his lower lip very lightly, then shakes his head from side to side. ] That's all right. [ He knows how it goes, and Clark's always been the understanding type to begin with. There isn't much Iroha could do to anger or upset him on purpose, much more in an accidental capacity. ]
You don't have to rush that kind of thing with me. [ This is its own kind of promise. ] But, um... if I'm ever too affectionate, [ because he knows he's prone to it, an awkward chuckle following this ] or too, uh, mushy, you know, you can t-tell me.
I'll go as slow as you want. [ Never mind the fact he's had Iroha's cock in his mouth-- this is an entirely different pace he's talking about, and the one that (in Clark's opinion) matters most. ]
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I don't doubt that you will. Thank you.
[Everything felt...fine. Calm waters where a storm had raged. It's true - dicks were the easy part. Sexual compatibility was it's own conversation for another day. Iroha finally looked away, contemplating the unusual trigger to his oni side. How would this have gone differently without it? Or if his life were one of doting parents instead of solitary survival?
Each reassurance was appreciated to the depths of his soul. He hoped Clark knew what it meant to him.]
We have much to discuss...and I look forward to it all. Overwhelming or no.
[He tucks the handkerchief away in his own pocket (#sorrynotsorry about the possessiveness, you signed up for this) and puts his hands over top of Clark's.]
Will you take me home with you?
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He’s happy, though. Endlessly so. And he nods his head in agreement, caring very little that Iroha’s keeping his kerchief in the end.
Though the first instinct he has upon Iroha’s question is to ask ‘do you really want that?’, he swallows the urge down. Of course Iroha wants it, otherwise he wouldn’t be asking, but the request is a surprising one, and for a man who’d needed more than a few minutes to calm himself down from… well, whatever it was that Iroha was overwhelmed by (Clark isn’t going to assume anything, because that wouldn’t be fair), Clark spends a moment wondering if that’s a good idea.
But then, he surmises, it’s going to be his place Iroha will be in, and whereas Iroha may not be used to this level of intimacy, Clark is more than ready to share whatever bits of his world anyone wants to partake in. Maybe his own openness would be good for Iroha to experience; Clark doesn’t know.
In any case, Clark Kent doesn’t have very many secrets to hide, and so he smiles and says, ] Sure, Iroha.
It’s a really boring house, though.
[ And yet if he were truly bothered by it, he wouldn’t be rising from his seat and moving to take one of those hands in his own. ]
Are you sure you don’t want to try your drink? [ Clark just wants to be certain before they leave. It seems an awful waste. ]
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Still slowed, Iroha is comfortable waiting for a decision even as he speculates. For once, none of the increasingly outlandish possibilities (incomprehensible balloon-animal art??) are based on suspicions. He had been so accustomed to his professional connections lying to him or omitting simple truths that it was second nature. Still, he couldn't see Clark in the light of hiding a heterosexual, primary relationship.
He doesn't push and could have accepted the satiation of his curiosity until another time. But Clark does agree, and Iroha smiles in a quietly pleased way.]
Hm?
[He looks back at the sadly attention-bereft drink. 'A boring house', he'd said. Kikuya had its moment of flamboyance but also a long tradition of social arts. He loved it with all his heart but even so, his small, exclusive bedroom where he could actually retire and get some sleep was also boring. Clark's description was nowhere near as off-putting as he thought.]
One moment, please.
[Picking up the mug, Iroha returns to the counter and asks if it can be reheated, which is doable, because even if the flavours won't be the same as fresh it is less trying for staff to make a new one. It's nearly closing time anyway, after all. Equipment has to be cleaned. So Iroha does, in the end, get to enjoy his spicy hot chocolate - after bringing it back to their table and standing near Clark, returning to the subject between sips.]
I don't mind boring, you know.
[He picks up Clark's hand again while he talks. This time his demeanor is far more natural, as if slipping into an old t-shirt.]
If constant excitement were that attractive I would have married the flamenco dancer from Argentina.
[j/k]
hope the slight timeskip is ok!
He smoothes it down some, clearing his throat. ] Was there a flamenco dancer in Argentina you liked? [ It’s a stupid thing to ask, but Clark takes everything for what they are. Call it naivete, but there isn’t any reason for Iroha to lie to him about it, and on a more sentimental note, it’s nice to hear about him, even if it’s in stupid ways like this. ]
Honestly, I wouldn’t even know how to, uh, flamenco. [ He laughs, hand curled into a fist and the side of it pressed to his mouth to muffle the sound a little. ] So this is probably for the best.
[ Once Iroha’s done with his drink, Clark’s going to ask again if he’s ready to go. And when he gets an affirmative he’ll lead him outside, where the sky’s still fairly dark and they’ve yet to see the sunrise.
Clark loves the sunrise. Absolutely lives for it. Growing up, he’d watched it everyday without fail, because it was these simple things in life that he appreciated more than anything. At this rate, they’ll probably see it while Clark drives back home; the thought of being able to have Iroha at his side as his car rumbles beneath them both, witnessing his most favourite part of the day, is a nice idea to carry along with him.
The paper bag of convenience store loot is still there at the back. Clark keeps his car remarkably clean, though there are some dinosaur stickers on the windshield that Jason had put on fairly recently from the inside (and the kid is in college—but that’s just proof nobody ever really grows up, isn’t it?). When the engine is on and the radio plays, it’s the Killers that play from the speakers, albeit not very loudly at all. ]
Okay? [ He’ll ask, making sure Iroha is belted in before he starts moving, one hand on the wheel and the other (predictably) finding Iroha’s again. ]
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Unintentionally sensual hair-mussing gives Iroha some nice fantasy fodder for later but at the moment he is far too content to let the low-level physical interest develop into anything more. Nothing stops him from staring, though. Sometimes it's nice to just let things be nice. A memorable close to their first visit to that particular cafe, and even among the stunning promises exchanged, those silly comments were heartwarming as long as Clark held his hand with such immense affection while he said them.
Especially when the sky was so beautiful. On the cusp of dawn, the showcase of colours not yet begun. Iroha isn't as focused on that, though. Instead, he takes a look at Clark's car and has one tick on his list of curious blanks in his knowledge about him checked off. He didn't spend much time in cars and maybe seemed a bit on the odd side with how he looked around at the interior.
Especially the touchscreen radio panel, which he looked at with a pinched expression for a few seconds like a turtle considering whether the climb over a steep rock was worth the effort. Technology. Too many dials, buttons and knobs. Bleh.
He ignored it in the end. The Killers were an acceptable choice. And he does triumph over the seatbelt even if it feels foreign.]
Mhhm. If it were practical I would prefer to walk...but thank you.
[Another instance of simply expressing something about himself which wasn't a big deal to anyone. But if Iroha were curious enough that the interior of Clark's vehicle, his choice of radio station and youthful expression of playfulness via dinosaur stickers was noteworthy, maybe Clark wanted to hear inane information about Iroha too. Actually, he was sure of it.]
I must warn you my intentions in making this request are entirely selfish. Sunrise -
[He gestures with the hand not full of Clark's towards the windows and the wide sky seen through them. The music is low enough that he doesn't need to raise his voice over it to be heard.]
- is when my kind sleep. My eyes will hardly be open soon.
that link........
[ Meanwhile, Clark has to start getting ready for work in a handful of hours to make it to the Planet before eight. The differences aren’t bad at all, but he finds himself fairly amused by them all the same. ]
It’s okay if you want to sleep. [ If anything, something about Iroha sleeping in his space makes Clark’s knees go weak, and he’s never been more glad that he’s seated now instead of standing. Seeing Iroha comfortable, and happy, and resting? Knowing Iroha could have gone to his fancy room and chose instead to go to Clark’s? It’s an honour to the highest degree. ] You can take my bed, if you don’t want the guest room.
Not that—it’s a bad g-guest room, [ and he chuckles at that ] but, you know… you’re my [ Lord, how old is he, to be using this term now and to feel kind of silly for it? ] boyfriend.
[ Anyway, shyness or not, Clark likes to think his point stands. ]
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He could have gone back to Kikuya and the post-party cleanup which always needed an extra pair of hands. Home slipped lower on his mind compared to how he imagined the day would progress: Clark would eventually be done with work, and Iroha would be there with fresh energy to help Clark relax. A temporary, single-issue solution to the problem of their day and night natures.
Just like the entire preceding conversation at the cafe, things didn't go quite like Iroha expected. It was a strange feeling to continue to try to read Clark and have his measure exceeded. Every time. Where others could easily disappoint.
He hadn't known Clark had a guest room and considered a friendly couch acceptable. Imposing on his domain was unthinkable to Iroha when the owner was absent. Yet, to Clark it was the most natural thing in the world to offer more than Iroha could need. The shirt off my back. That was the phrase to describe that type of person, wasn't it?
Iroha watched him and wondered if there were a limit to his generosity while simultaneously knowing only a bastard would test it for the sake of finding out.
The route home was familiar to Clark. The hour ensured there was very little in the way of traffic. Iroha had thought Clark was done squeezing his soul with affection but there he goes again with that blinding brightness. It's only fair if Iroha blinds him in return. Turning his body towards the driver's seat, Iroha's unoccupied hand reaches across the divide to delicately force his chin at an angle.
They might careen off into a ditch or wreck a tree for this kiss but Iroha can't possibly hear his tender, perpetually shy Clark use that giddy word without lavishing his mouth with all the bubbling feelings he can't say. Passion comes as easily as breathing, his tongue sliding between Clark's lips. Whatever else Iroha has to say can wait, far back in line behind the need to give him the heat of his mouth.]
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It's muscle memory that has him able to drag the shift over to 'park', and in truth the car is significantly crooked on its side of the road, looking like it'd been on the way to going off it before giving up halfway. But it's late-early enough on a road less travelled that Clark doesn't feel too concerned about causing any traffic; the sun hasn't even started to rise yet, even though he knows it's a few minutes away.
It'd been difficult earlier, where Clark knew he had to hold back. But his car is its own form of private, and when Iroha's tongue brushes against his own Clark doesn't mind at all that there's a quiet moan coming out of him. The seatbelt is cutting into his chest; his hoodie crinkles under its pressure, crumpled and soft. ]
Ah... [ Even the noise he makes as their mouths part is a pleasured one, a happy one. Clark kisses him again, sucks gently at his top lip, and then releases as he spares himself a glance and notices the belt so tightly on him. ] Was wondering why it was-- g-getting hard to breathe.
[ He doesn't mind, though. He smiles when he looks at Iroha again, giving his hand a small squeeze where it's joined to Clark's own. ]
What was that, mm?
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Clark makes that same sensual noise, and he's glad for its lack of company. No muffled conversation or potential prying onlookers. Iroha stays close and Clark kisses him again, best of all, although every next one, and the next after, feel like the best it's ever been.
It does seem a bit harder to breathe, actually. Nevermind Clark's tendency to hold his breath when he's kissed, Iroha's aware of the confined space too. The ceiling's a lot lower than in a bedroom. He reaches for his own seatbelt and disengages it without looking away from Clark. He can't.
They're both lit from the Prius' internal options and streetlights only - it's still dark out. Maybe Iroha being in his element makes him bolder or makes it harder to resist when nothing's stopping him except common decency and sensibility.]
What worth is there in taking to your bed without you in it?
[It's not a valid question; Iroha's only letting him know he won't go for that privilege yet. He pushes the belt off himself but leaves Clark's right where it is, regretfully letting go of his hand. He misses its comfort and security instantly.
Twisting his torso out of the proper seated position, Iroha takes both Clark's farmboy cheeks in his palms and kisses the side of his mouth. Quickly planting another on his chin, and lower still to the side of his throat.]
I want you so much it hurts...
[Sharp, defining sucks over the surface of Clark's skin should leave a mark. He's already getting more aroused just being so close to him, alone at last, blindly groping for the zipper of Clark's hoodie.]
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And that’s a hell of a big pill to swallow on its own; Clark can’t answer in much more than a soft whimper at first, even though towards the end it turns into a shy, breathy, ] I want you, too. [ But he always wants him, in just about every way, and he longs for Iroha’s touch and for his words and for his presence, and for the warmth that he gives him from the inside out.
The hoodie comes apart easily, and Clark’s stomach quivers to match the shaky quality of his breaths. His tank top doesn’t leave much to the imagination, its white brought out by the lighting in the car and the dim glow from outside, and Clark’s build is (loathe as he is to admit it, shy as he is to think about it) surprisingly good beneath. His stomach is tight, his chest defined, and Clark gulps because he feels stupidly hot all over. ]
But, ah—h-here? [ He’s squeaking, a bit, his own hands brushing over Iroha’s shoulders, down over his chest. Clark loves his chest, incidentally; he’d love to bury his face in it, wrap his arms around Iroha and stay close to him.
Right now, though, all he does is curl his fingers in his shirt to hold on against the flush that’s spreading all along his skin. ]
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It takes a few blinks for Iroha to become aware he hasn't done anything but stare. He huffs like bull and considers slamming the driver's seat back with his hand instead of messing around looking for the mechanism to do it properly. He restrains himself at the last second.]
Mmh. Unless you want me to stop~?
[Iroha smirks; with Clark's curled fingers clinging to his clothing there is no possibility that's going to happen. As soon as he can get the driver's seat pushed back Iroha climbs onto Clark's lap. The steering wheel threatens to press into his back but all it really means is that Iroha forced to position himself very close to avoid it. What a tragedy, heh. Being slimmer in build has its advantages.
He's quick to plant both hands on Clark's chest like a mountaineer's flag. The expression he wears is of delight and long-seeded hungers fulfilled, delving into a mindless massage over the flimsy barrier the tanktop presents. It's half as much to exploit Clark's sensitivity as it is for Iroha; arousal doesn't have much left to pour through his veins before its overflowing.]
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Despite himself, Clark laughs, as breathy as he'd been earlier in his embarrassing huffs of arousal. ] That isn't fair. [ Because Iroha's so close now, and how on Earth is he supposed to want to stop him then? He squirms underneath the touch of Iroha's hands, his thighs shifting just a bit in his seat, but with his gaze refusing to break from Iroha's face he draws his hand over to take one of Iroha's in it. He doesn't make him stop touching him-- on the contrary, and with his Adam's apple bobbing in his chest from nerves, he guides that hand lower, down over his stomach, down until slim fingers are brushing the hem of his tank top and it's not much work for Clark to guide them to slip beneath the cloth.
The touch of skin on skin is electrifying; his stomach quivers as if he hadn't been the one to insist Iroha touch him there. Though it takes him a few tries to say it, his throat dry and syllables stumbling on their way out of his mouth, he finally manages a: ] You can-- y-you can look at. At me, if you want.
[ No. That's not it. ]
I want... I want you to see. To, um, touch. So don't--
[ The look in his eyes is earnest, soft. ] Don't stop. [ Then, like the cherry topping the sundae: ] Please.
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