[Akira sucks in a sharp breath, holding it reverently in his lungs as he watches Minato slowly, methodically, unhook the buttons of his jacket. he watches with such intense focus that he doesn't dare breathe, likely out of some misplaced fear that one simple exhale would distract his companion from his mission. irises dark, bottom lip snagged between his teeth, entire body stiff with anticipation. there are currently two layers of fabric between them-- soon to be one-- and he still thinks the brush of Minato's fingers is sending sparks bursting to life across his nerves]
[he only dares expel the air from his lungs when Minato begins to push the jacket down his arm, shoulders rolling back so the garment can fall haphazardly to the ground at his waist. the cool air of the trailer nips against the exposed skin from his elbow to his upper arm, but. . . most of him is still covered! either by the short sleeves of his undershirt, or the elbow-length gloves still clad across his fingers]
[neither of them are anywhere near finished. there's still so much to build upon, to make what lies at the end of this simple dance even more amazing than it might be otherwise. but the foundation established thus far is. . . well]
[it's thrilling]
[at least, it is until Minato suddenly draws away, startling Akira out of absentminded staring. he moves instantaneously, hand grasping at Minato's, fingers curling around the other Wild Card's wrist in a loose grip]
Yes.
[it's not a mistake to want something. Akira wants something. and if Minato wants it too, then. . . he won't be ashamed]
. . . I do. Want to find out.
[. . .]
[he draws that captured hand back towards his body, lifting it until he can press it firmly against his chest, right over his rapidly beating heart]
no subject
[Akira sucks in a sharp breath, holding it reverently in his lungs as he watches Minato slowly, methodically, unhook the buttons of his jacket. he watches with such intense focus that he doesn't dare breathe, likely out of some misplaced fear that one simple exhale would distract his companion from his mission. irises dark, bottom lip snagged between his teeth, entire body stiff with anticipation. there are currently two layers of fabric between them-- soon to be one-- and he still thinks the brush of Minato's fingers is sending sparks bursting to life across his nerves]
[he only dares expel the air from his lungs when Minato begins to push the jacket down his arm, shoulders rolling back so the garment can fall haphazardly to the ground at his waist. the cool air of the trailer nips against the exposed skin from his elbow to his upper arm, but. . . most of him is still covered! either by the short sleeves of his undershirt, or the elbow-length gloves still clad across his fingers]
[neither of them are anywhere near finished. there's still so much to build upon, to make what lies at the end of this simple dance even more amazing than it might be otherwise. but the foundation established thus far is. . . well]
[it's thrilling]
[at least, it is until Minato suddenly draws away, startling Akira out of absentminded staring. he moves instantaneously, hand grasping at Minato's, fingers curling around the other Wild Card's wrist in a loose grip]
Yes.
[it's not a mistake to want something. Akira wants something. and if Minato wants it too, then. . . he won't be ashamed]
. . . I do. Want to find out.
[. . .]
[he draws that captured hand back towards his body, lifting it until he can press it firmly against his chest, right over his rapidly beating heart]
Don't you?