[ One by one, his own gloves are peeled off his hands. The air from the trailer is cool against bare skin. But before Minato can return them to his sides, there are hands against his own, fingers interlocking with fingers, palms lying against palms. Minato blinks, dazed by the sudden sensation of skin against skin, the first true instance of mutual contact between them.
Carefully, his own fingers curl over the backs of Akira's hands. They're an anchor as Akira leans in, a tether to stop himself from being swept away by the terrifying warmth blooming within his chest.
"Look at me?" Akira asks, and isn't that the least that he deserved?
Slowly, Minato's gaze lifts from the ground. He swallows as he rests it on Akira, at first on the other's lips, then the expanse of skin just above his cheekbones. It hovers there for a moment as he blinks, slate-blue finally meeting the other wild card's dark irises.
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Carefully, his own fingers curl over the backs of Akira's hands. They're an anchor as Akira leans in, a tether to stop himself from being swept away by the terrifying warmth blooming within his chest.
"Look at me?" Akira asks, and isn't that the least that he deserved?
Slowly, Minato's gaze lifts from the ground. He swallows as he rests it on Akira, at first on the other's lips, then the expanse of skin just above his cheekbones. It hovers there for a moment as he blinks, slate-blue finally meeting the other wild card's dark irises.
He speaks again, soft: ]
...like this, right?