[honesty, Minato doesn't have to tug that much. Akira is already moving, dipping forward to meet his companion halfway, catching that subtly sweet mouth with his own in an eager, but still gentle, kiss]
[. . . it's almost a little silly, falling together like this in the middle of a sparsely decorated trailer, dressed in costumes that stick to their skin as though affixed with glue, removed only by the tender touch of another person. but then again, this whole resort is silly, isn't it? and while Akira rebels against its very premise, pushes back against doing anything the house may want him to do that he personally doesn't. . .]
[it's okay, isn't it? to indulge in something the house has given them. to take it and turn it into something of their own. something warm and precious and fun and exciting]
[. . . Minato is warm. the flavor that dances on the tip of his tongue is the same gentle sweetness that Akira had devoured the last time they were together. he could never forget. he already thinks he could never get enough]
[most of Akira's focus is on the kiss, eyes fluttered shut, mouth moving chastely across Minato's as he reacquaints himself with the shape of the other Wild Card's lips. but the rest of it? is on the way his hands come to rest at Minato's thighs. over his dress at first, though. . . fingers eventually sneak down towards the hem of that garment, before dipping underneath, pressing against skin clad only in the fabric of those thigh-high socks]
[there, he lingers, that thin fabric pinched between thumb and forefinger]
no subject
[. . . it's almost a little silly, falling together like this in the middle of a sparsely decorated trailer, dressed in costumes that stick to their skin as though affixed with glue, removed only by the tender touch of another person. but then again, this whole resort is silly, isn't it? and while Akira rebels against its very premise, pushes back against doing anything the house may want him to do that he personally doesn't. . .]
[it's okay, isn't it? to indulge in something the house has given them. to take it and turn it into something of their own. something warm and precious and fun and exciting]
[. . . Minato is warm. the flavor that dances on the tip of his tongue is the same gentle sweetness that Akira had devoured the last time they were together. he could never forget. he already thinks he could never get enough]
[most of Akira's focus is on the kiss, eyes fluttered shut, mouth moving chastely across Minato's as he reacquaints himself with the shape of the other Wild Card's lips. but the rest of it? is on the way his hands come to rest at Minato's thighs. over his dress at first, though. . . fingers eventually sneak down towards the hem of that garment, before dipping underneath, pressing against skin clad only in the fabric of those thigh-high socks]
[there, he lingers, that thin fabric pinched between thumb and forefinger]