[ Nishikiyama meets Mine halfway, putting the orange burn of his cigarette out in the same beat. It's easy to slip across the bed because the sheets are silky. The dips and curves of his muscles are accentuated by neighboring lamplight, and Nishikiyama angles himself closer, in towards Mine, with a hand moving to cradle his sharp and square jawline. There's a strange grace to it. When they kiss next, it's as if the moment's being painted deep in, a memory unlikely to ever be forgotten.

One of Nishikiyama's thighs moves over Mine's legs. He tastes Mine's breath and feels his skin under his fingers. His now, right— that's what Mine had said to him in the car. That he'd wanted to give himself to him. Nishikiyama breaks the kiss to look down at their bodies. His touch wanders to settle each hand on Mine's chest; he mutters the next part: ]

Not all the way, because I don't know what the hell I'm doing.

[ But he can figure something out. It's easy enough to guess when they're composed of all the same parts. Just to try, Nishikiyama lifts himself a little higher on his knees and slides himself against Mine's cock. He drifts his touch down the grooves of Mine's abs. ]

This is fine though, for now. You could help me take care of it.

[ He idly strokes their dicks together in his hand. ]