flicker 02///
Deshio's greatest secret, the one that could make his heart stutter on a dime, was that he wanted to be pretty. Or maybe more accurately, to be perceived as pretty.
He grew up the way many boys do; his tears quickly (but not uncaringly) hushed, prided when muscle angled the frame of his body, useful to cart around growing toddlers - but the compliments so distinctively different from the ones his primas received when babysitting. Being a boy was a very physical thing. Some days his ideas of material landed so far away from where the "should" be that he quickly learned to keep his mouth and opinions shut. Toxicity pipeline. Softness, the kind that had nothing to do respect and everything to do with trust, was something for people afforded beauty. Read, women. Or until he grasped the concept of femininity in high school.
That hadn't broken the mold though. The wires were still crossed, associating what was feminine with traits that could be seen. Maddy had long lashes and slender fingers and that made it okay when he wanted to slink under Izzy's hold around his shoulders. Later he met Iori and learned they couldn't grow facial hair and their waist snatched tighter than some girls he'd taken to bed. That made it all okay. Their queerness was a challenge to argue when you could see it fifty feet away. So much unlike his own.
He'd known, deep down, he was barely performing heteronormative. It was just that it was so confusing. He couldn't help wanting to curl up to his crew mates the same way he allowed Maddy to do with him. But there was no way to convey it, not without directly asking for it. Words weren't enough. They were things he could voluntarily squash down. Izzy didn't look good with long hair, he never felt a burning urge to try on a dress. There was nothing outward to convey his tenderness. He was mix-matched. Wrong. What other option was there but to bury the shame of being nothing more than a bit of a pansy? If he was meant to be treasured, to be held, to be vulnerable, nature would have made a calling card for him. Genetics didn't and that formed the cornerstones of his self image.
(There were loopholes to take the edge off.)
He'd allowed himself the right to argue to cook and care for his loved ones on their tough days when he grew into adulthood. It was masculine to fight, to impose yourself as the leader in a dilemma.
It was fine when his hips swung a bit too far to the right, unlike the rigid dance movements of most guys, because it was cultural.
When a friend noticed his back starting to slump out of a soft brace and offered somewhere to lean on, that he could accept.
(He was grateful to these exceptions, he truly was, but it never quite itched that scratch.)
He'd inched closer with Tsu, not protesting when she threw her arm around his middle and pulled him into her chest at night, despite how high up his calves her feet aligned. He'd allow her, and then Iori, to slip their fingers deeper than anyone else before when they asked permission. Loosening his grip remained a struggle. No matter how much he longed to be pushed into the front door and kissed like he was precious, he couldn't condone his own passivity. He moved faster. Old voices told him to. Jii-san, boys in school, men on TV - that's what they told him to do. Proper guys, whatever the fuck that meant, act first. Even when that finish line drew closer, when he had finally, finally kissed Maddy, and his wishes more possible, Deshio couldn't toe that final step.
Nené shoved him closer, closer, closer each day. His shoes squeaked on the tarmac, scuffed. Putting up a modicum of resistance for show. His hands reached out for encouragement, he nodded his head slightly. "Yes. Keep going. ¡Dios mío!" The man was stronger than he looked. He had a fierceness that also floated below the surface. When he hefted all of Izzy's bulk up into his arms to carry to bed, there was nothing to stop it. At best, he could duck his face into the crook of Maddy's neck, knowing he could feel how warm his cheeks grew and silently pray he'd undress him when they reached the room. One evening, he'd whisper to Deshio how sweet he was and he'd fall hard with scraped elbows and a wicked grin on the other side of the line.
