Categories > Anime/Manga > Wild Adapter
Disclaimer: Minekura Kazuya-sensei owns Wild Adapter and the pretty boys, I don't. Suing me will not earn you my WA mangas and artbooks.
Last warning: Minor yaoi hints and small spoilers from the manga books 1 and 5. Don't like, don't read. You are warned.
Credits: Thanks to my beta, Phoenix, for enduring the yaoiness and also to my friend, KY, for spot-checking OOCness.
This fic was done in March for all born on 23rd March- like me!- especially Minekura-sensei.
Italics are actual phrases/conversations from the manga
Novelty
It all began when he picked up a cat.
"Don't like women?"
"... No. Just not interested."
"Men?"
"Not interested..."
"People?"
Pause.
"Not interested."
So what made him pick up that slumped body in the alley back then? Maybe it was the pointed edges of his animalistic eyes. Maybe it was the furry and clawed right hand.
All Kubota knew was that this was quite a large cat.
Before he knew it, he had given the cat a name. /Tokito/.
Of course, there were interjected moments of awkwardness and problems with "Tokito". His issues of insecurity and lack of trust, namely, for this weird person who allowed him a place to stay and food to eat.
Although, there was only so much noodle-based food one could eat before bitching about their next meal.
The crisp sound of bones cracking was still clear in Kubota's memory. As was the feeling of broken bones under smooth tanned skin, held tight in Tokito's abnormally strengthen hand; an unforgettable thorn pushing against his mind ever so often with its sharpened guilt.
How Kubota could talk about his broken wrist with the same laid back tone one would use as if speaking about the weather, Tokito would never understand.
He only knew that he would hurt more people with his deformed hand, so foreign even to himself.
"If you don't like others to touch you, then I won't touch you again."
How ironic.
Now that Kubota kept his distance, Tokito grew to be more unsettled.
"I don't want to run away anymore."
If only Kubota would do the same. But after almost reaching out to Tokito, the bespectacled man withdrew his hand and smoked his cigarette to the filter as he watched the other clutch his pained alien hand to himself, a tiny writhing form against his wood paneled floor.
Touching Tokito would break his promise not to, and the familiar stranger would have to leave like he said when apologising about Kubota's arm.
And yet, he did not want to be treated like a fragile piece of glass. He was still alive, damn it! He would decide who could hurt him, and he knew Kubota would not.
Kubota Makoto. A novelty fanatic. No interest in humans. Had nothing, from the start.
So how did that come to this?
Tokito arched against the taut flesh above him, hands grabbing hold of the angular shoulders. His leather glove already thrown somewhere in the living room. On the game console, perhaps.
He flexed his right hand, trying to stop it from reflexively holding on too tight as a reply to the calloused fingers running over his bony body.
Lack of experience left shallow scratches on Kubota's shoulder, unnoticed until the metallic odour of blood informed the two of its presence.
Tokito pulled back the offending appendage to glare at the tiny droplets collecting underneath his claws.
Kubota raised his head from where it was on the opposite collarbone to quirk an eyebrow and peer hazily- glasses having been knocked under the bed in their frenzy- at the almost black liquid in the absence of the room's usual bright fluorescent light.
How did it all come to this? The wariness, fear, uncertainty... The need- yes... The need. It must have been the need.
"I'm right here! Say... Say you want- Say you want me!"
Calculating looks passed between the two men before he took the outstretched, mutation-free hand.
"Un- I... I want you."
The rest was a blur; the way home, how they made it to a bed without any injuries. It was like a faraway memory, a dream fast becoming forgotten the moment one wakes up. One second, they were at the alley, Kubota's hand held tightly in Tokito's smaller one, and the next they were on the narrow mattress. Breaths on gasps, skin on fur, blood under long claws.
Kubota tilted his head momentarily before disregarding the hand altogether. He nuzzled his nose against the other's eyelid almost affectionately, forcing both to close against the sight of dark red lines forming slowly on the skin, while his hands did a devil's number seemingly everywhere on the shorter man's tightly stretched planes.
He was all over. White hot and warm, hands and silky strands of hair, lips and tongue and other parts Tokito's short-circuited brain was not coherent enough to pick out. Here and there, front, back, sides, there and- /HISS/- yes, there!
"Kubo-chan..."
The half-gasp, half-growl drew Kubota impossibly closer and deeper into Tokito's slightly opened yet unyielding predator eyes while humming a response against sharp cheekbones. New scratches and blood trails were ignored while its culprit slowly became subdued.
Tokito shuddered lightly as another hum from above brought the deep voice rumbling into his ears, and Kubota allowed himself to fall- just a bit- into the abyss that he had long ago stuck a foot in from the moment he took in the large "cat" from the alley.
Only seconds had passed but Tokito was already in deep sleep, with his right hand thrown possessively over Kubota as if he was a favourite pillow.
Still awake, the other man picked up the furry hand that lay across his chest.
Novelty to familiarity, a familiarity that was going to be quite a novelty, a person as opposed to an animal. /I will die first this time/, Kubota thought to himself as he brought a single claw from Tokito's hand to his own lips.
The heady scent of iron filled his nostrils before a tangy, sweet macabre taste of the barely-liquid blood drops spread through the tip of his tongue.
Definitely dying first.
"Cigarette smell stinks," Tokito mumbled in his sleep as he snuggled to press his body flush against Kubota's side.
Owari.
Last warning: Minor yaoi hints and small spoilers from the manga books 1 and 5. Don't like, don't read. You are warned.
Credits: Thanks to my beta, Phoenix, for enduring the yaoiness and also to my friend, KY, for spot-checking OOCness.
This fic was done in March for all born on 23rd March- like me!- especially Minekura-sensei.
Italics are actual phrases/conversations from the manga
Novelty
It all began when he picked up a cat.
"Don't like women?"
"... No. Just not interested."
"Men?"
"Not interested..."
"People?"
Pause.
"Not interested."
So what made him pick up that slumped body in the alley back then? Maybe it was the pointed edges of his animalistic eyes. Maybe it was the furry and clawed right hand.
All Kubota knew was that this was quite a large cat.
Before he knew it, he had given the cat a name. /Tokito/.
Of course, there were interjected moments of awkwardness and problems with "Tokito". His issues of insecurity and lack of trust, namely, for this weird person who allowed him a place to stay and food to eat.
Although, there was only so much noodle-based food one could eat before bitching about their next meal.
The crisp sound of bones cracking was still clear in Kubota's memory. As was the feeling of broken bones under smooth tanned skin, held tight in Tokito's abnormally strengthen hand; an unforgettable thorn pushing against his mind ever so often with its sharpened guilt.
How Kubota could talk about his broken wrist with the same laid back tone one would use as if speaking about the weather, Tokito would never understand.
He only knew that he would hurt more people with his deformed hand, so foreign even to himself.
"If you don't like others to touch you, then I won't touch you again."
How ironic.
Now that Kubota kept his distance, Tokito grew to be more unsettled.
"I don't want to run away anymore."
If only Kubota would do the same. But after almost reaching out to Tokito, the bespectacled man withdrew his hand and smoked his cigarette to the filter as he watched the other clutch his pained alien hand to himself, a tiny writhing form against his wood paneled floor.
Touching Tokito would break his promise not to, and the familiar stranger would have to leave like he said when apologising about Kubota's arm.
And yet, he did not want to be treated like a fragile piece of glass. He was still alive, damn it! He would decide who could hurt him, and he knew Kubota would not.
Kubota Makoto. A novelty fanatic. No interest in humans. Had nothing, from the start.
So how did that come to this?
Tokito arched against the taut flesh above him, hands grabbing hold of the angular shoulders. His leather glove already thrown somewhere in the living room. On the game console, perhaps.
He flexed his right hand, trying to stop it from reflexively holding on too tight as a reply to the calloused fingers running over his bony body.
Lack of experience left shallow scratches on Kubota's shoulder, unnoticed until the metallic odour of blood informed the two of its presence.
Tokito pulled back the offending appendage to glare at the tiny droplets collecting underneath his claws.
Kubota raised his head from where it was on the opposite collarbone to quirk an eyebrow and peer hazily- glasses having been knocked under the bed in their frenzy- at the almost black liquid in the absence of the room's usual bright fluorescent light.
How did it all come to this? The wariness, fear, uncertainty... The need- yes... The need. It must have been the need.
"I'm right here! Say... Say you want- Say you want me!"
Calculating looks passed between the two men before he took the outstretched, mutation-free hand.
"Un- I... I want you."
The rest was a blur; the way home, how they made it to a bed without any injuries. It was like a faraway memory, a dream fast becoming forgotten the moment one wakes up. One second, they were at the alley, Kubota's hand held tightly in Tokito's smaller one, and the next they were on the narrow mattress. Breaths on gasps, skin on fur, blood under long claws.
Kubota tilted his head momentarily before disregarding the hand altogether. He nuzzled his nose against the other's eyelid almost affectionately, forcing both to close against the sight of dark red lines forming slowly on the skin, while his hands did a devil's number seemingly everywhere on the shorter man's tightly stretched planes.
He was all over. White hot and warm, hands and silky strands of hair, lips and tongue and other parts Tokito's short-circuited brain was not coherent enough to pick out. Here and there, front, back, sides, there and- /HISS/- yes, there!
"Kubo-chan..."
The half-gasp, half-growl drew Kubota impossibly closer and deeper into Tokito's slightly opened yet unyielding predator eyes while humming a response against sharp cheekbones. New scratches and blood trails were ignored while its culprit slowly became subdued.
Tokito shuddered lightly as another hum from above brought the deep voice rumbling into his ears, and Kubota allowed himself to fall- just a bit- into the abyss that he had long ago stuck a foot in from the moment he took in the large "cat" from the alley.
Only seconds had passed but Tokito was already in deep sleep, with his right hand thrown possessively over Kubota as if he was a favourite pillow.
Still awake, the other man picked up the furry hand that lay across his chest.
Novelty to familiarity, a familiarity that was going to be quite a novelty, a person as opposed to an animal. /I will die first this time/, Kubota thought to himself as he brought a single claw from Tokito's hand to his own lips.
The heady scent of iron filled his nostrils before a tangy, sweet macabre taste of the barely-liquid blood drops spread through the tip of his tongue.
Definitely dying first.
"Cigarette smell stinks," Tokito mumbled in his sleep as he snuggled to press his body flush against Kubota's side.
Owari.
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