The window is open, and sunlight is creeping slowly, slowly across the floor. Ginji can hear the rumble of passing cars, and the jumble of strange voices, and Ban-chan's heart, beneath his ear. Ban-chan's muscles are loose, his eyes half-slitted, lips parted: he looks lazy, sunning himself in this patch of light in this room they get to call their own.
Ginji has been good: he has been still, and quiet--but the heat presses against his skin, and he can feel the coming storm crawling down his spine. Ginji doesn't want to be still anymore, can't be still, and tugs hopefully at the top button of Ban-chan's shirt. Ban-chan slants a look at him, lips curling. His hands are behind his head, fingers interlaced, and he doesn't move. Ginji pulls at the button, tugs and twists, and feels sun-damp skin beneath his fingertips.
Ban-chan, Ginji thinks, Ban-chan, and presses a kiss against the curve of Ban-chan's shoulder, against the worn material of his shirt. Ban-chan huffs, but he's not even pretending to be annoyed--his body shifts, and Ban-chan's hand is free only long enough to move to the nape of Ginji's neck. He has to crane his head back--it's a bit awkward, a bit uncomfortable--but he's kissing Ban-chan, and he can't possibly not move, has to move now--and he's straddling Ban-chan, his face cupped between Ginji's palms.
Ban-chan's fingertips drag down the length of his spine, and Ginji's shudders. Ginji is sure that this must be the best feeling ever, anywhere.
Written for ranalore, on livejournal.
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