[no stranger to touch after two years on a space station that did everything in its power to encourage it, Guanshan regards it mostly as a necessity that sometimes felt amazing — that he's felt with the boy in his arms before, but never quite like this. it's warm, simmers at the points of contact: Keigo's chest against his own, the press of their bellies, beneath his fingertips, where the high curve of his cheek rests against Keigo's own. it's inviting in a way he's only felt with another aid, some drug or mood-altering ambiance pumped into him by the very creative elite of Lagunbiru Station.]
[but this isn't that, and if it isn't — then what is it? he hums contemplatively, stroking his palm up Keigo's spine, observing the way the feeling follows like a trail of stardust in a comet's tail.]
Yeah, I remember 'em. [both. Abarai, well, he came and he went, but Ousaka he recalls a little more... vividly, that masochist.] So? S'this place better or worse than our last shithole?
[he should let go but doesn't, an almost involuntary sigh pulled out of him as the warmth spreads, radiating all the way down. just two guys, huggin' it out in the streets, no big deal......]
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[but this isn't that, and if it isn't — then what is it? he hums contemplatively, stroking his palm up Keigo's spine, observing the way the feeling follows like a trail of stardust in a comet's tail.]
Yeah, I remember 'em. [both. Abarai, well, he came and he went, but Ousaka he recalls a little more... vividly, that masochist.] So? S'this place better or worse than our last shithole?
[he should let go but doesn't, an almost involuntary sigh pulled out of him as the warmth spreads, radiating all the way down. just two guys, huggin' it out in the streets, no big deal......]