Hongherbac

　　Steaks were sizzling in the pan, hot oil bubbling and crackling in a fine, pleasant hiss. In the oven, a tray of vegetables was roasting—sliced potatoes, zucchini, bell peppers, and a few baby corns, all Minegishi’s favorites. They both had the day off, so Shimazaki decided to make them a nice dinner.

　　While he waited, Shimazaki casually started peeling some fruit for dessert. They did have a peeler, but he was used to peeling apples with a knife, and he was good with his hands. In one smooth motion, he could strip an entire apple without once breaking the peel.

　　Minegishi was sitting in the living room, reading. His breathing was calm and steady, with the quiet solidity of wood.

　　Lately, Shimazaki had noticed something about Minegishi’s gaze.

　　A look he could hardly describe. It didn’t appear that often, but it surfaced from time to time. Like, when Shimazaki had his back turned; when he stepped out of the shower bare‑chested; and, of course, when they were having sex, lost in the intensity of it. That gaze—was it piercing? No, it felt more like an unwavering focus.

　　A deep, almost obsessive focus.

　　It reminded him of a snake. The way a snake watches. Expressionless, with only those glass‑clear eyes. Its body was motionless; without so much as a blink, it just stared straight at its target. Reptiles have that peculiar indifference, untouched by desire or affection, and untouched by hatred as well. They just watch. Waiting. Lying in ambush, as though lifeless. Maybe, in the end, the snake would give up. Or maybe, like a spring uncoiling, it would strike, sinking sharp fangs in and flooding its prey with venom.

　　Even the strongest, swiftest leopard would die under a neurotoxin.

　　Yesterday, he had gone to the government office to see Hatori. His former colleague didn’t even manage a hello, just stared at him in shock—more precisely, at his neck. Only then did Shimazaki realize he was wearing a deep V‑neck shirt, openly displaying the line of bruised kiss marks, and that conspicuous square of white gauze covering the deep bite wound.

　　Hatori had pulled him aside, lowered his voice, and asked if Minegishi was abusing him. Shimazaki couldn’t remember what he’d said in response, probably just smiled and thrown back something like, “You tell me,” or, “Jealous?” acting all mysterious. As if he had everything under control and was just playing coy. But in truth, he didn’t know the answer himself.

　　He didn’t know. Lately, there were many things he didn’t know. The reason he’d gone to see Hatori was to have his former colleague read the label on a bottle for him. It was a small glass bottle, about the size of his palm, still unopened. Earlier that day, Minegishi had asked him to grab his phone, and he found it while rummaging through Minegishi’s bag. Hatori had told him it was a bottle of sleeping pills, then, visibly worried, asked what was going on. Once again, Shimazaki dodged with a smile. By the time he left, the questions in his mind had only doubled.

　　He had never heard Minegishi mention any sleep problems. From what he’d seen, Minegishi always slept quite deeply, unlike himself, who often woke from dreams. So why did Minegishi have sleeping pills?

　　When Shimazaki had brought the phone to his boyfriend, he hadn’t asked about the bottle. Did Minegishi remember leaving the pills in his bag? Had he simply forgotten to mention them, or had he deliberately chosen not to?

　　What did that mean?

　　If Minegishi did remember, had he sent Shimazaki to look through his bag on purpose?

　　Suddenly, the knife slipped and sliced open his finger. For a split second, the cut was pale, and then blood began to well up. The sharp sting snapped him back to himself. He quickly grabbed the spatula—damn, the steak was going to be overdone. Shimazaki lifted the steak onto a plate. The kitchen was filled with the rich, savory smell of hot fat and searing beef. At the same time, blood kept dripping from the cut on his left finger, running down his hand and staining his palm.

　　Pressing the wound, he called toward the living room. “Hey, Minegishi. Do we have any band‑aids?”

　　“Probably. What happened?”

　　“I cut my finger.”

　　There was some rummaging, then Minegishi walked into the kitchen. “We’re out of antiseptic,” he said, coming over and gesturing for his hand. “Let me see.”

　　Shimazaki showed him. A clean cut marked his left index finger; the bleeding had slowed, as drops of blood fell steadily into the sink. Minegishi studied it closely—that look again, that gaze, flickering like a snake’s tongue—then brought the finger into his mouth.

　　Shimazaki’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t pull away.

　　Minegishi held his wrist, his tongue lapping at the blood‑stained skin, lips sliding slowly, taking him deeper into his mouth… then drawing back out… then taking him in again, over and over, as if Shimazaki’s finger were thrusting back and forth between his lips. Shimazaki could feel the wet heat of his boyfriend’s mouth. The soft inner flesh… the yielding warmth of his lips… the rough, thick surface of his tongue… wrapping around his finger with a lingering tenderness, a reluctance to let go, sending little jolts of electricity through him. It shot from his fingertip into the depths of his body, stirring a restless, feverish current that raced beneath his skin. Especially in his lower abdomen. His pants were growing uncomfortably tight.

　　His face burned. He hoped Minegishi wouldn’t notice. He was so nervous he barely registered that Minegishi finally let his finger go and put a band‑aid on it.

　　Minegishi seemed to be blushing too, averting his eyes with something like shyness or embarrassment. It was strange. They had been together for years, and yet here they were, like two teenagers tasting forbidden fruit for the first time, both of them so flustered they didn’t know what to do.

　　That night’s dinner turned out surprisingly perfect. The steak was cooked just right, a beautiful shade of pink, paired with butter, roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, tomato soup, and, unusually for them, a bottle of wine. They were both in high spirits. The air between them carried a vague, unspoken charge that made conversation easy and warm. Afterward, they cleaned up together. When Minegishi rolled up his sleeves to wash the dishes, Shimazaki just grabbed him and kissed him hard. Minegishi laughed, saying his mouth still tasted of food, but Shimazaki didn’t care. He pressed up against him like a cat, nuzzling, his hands roaming everywhere.

　　The sink was still full of dirty dishes, and their clothes were already scattered across the floor.

　　Shimazaki pinned Minegishi’s naked body down and drove into him with almost brutal force. His large hands clamped tight around his waist, fingers biting into pale skin. He thrust like a beast, slamming deep with every stroke. Something inside him—some searing impulse—rose like a wave and drowned out his reason. Minegishi clutched at the sheets, his body rocking beneath the force, hoarse cries torn from his throat. Shimazaki couldn’t tell if they were from pleasure or pain.

　　Nothing short of raw passion could account for the way they made love that night. He ravaged Minegishi without restraint. Minegishi locked his legs tightly around his waist, as if trying to drive Shimazaki’s cock even deeper into his body. They were both so lost in it that they barely remembered to breathe.

　　…

　　Minegishi was still in the shower, so Shimazaki just washed the dishes in the sink. Ever since they’d started having sex without condoms, Minegishi had been taking a long time in the bathroom afterward. When he finally came out, he was wearing a T‑shirt and lounge pants, his gait a little awkward. Shimazaki handed him a glass of water. He took a few quiet sips, looking exhausted.

　　They both had work the next day. Minegishi went to bed first, while Shimazaki stacked the dishes on the rack to drip dry. He slowly brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth, and scrubbed his face before finally heading into their bedroom. There was a dim lamp casting a low pool of light. A faint, lewd scent still lingered in the air. Minegishi was already under the covers, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath. Shimazaki thought he was asleep. But as he shut the door, Minegishi spoke.

　　“Do you know about praying mantises?”

　　“Uh, yeah?”

　　“When mantises mate, the female eats the male. I saw it once. She held the male’s head in her forelegs and ate it. Even without its head, the male’s body just kept mating with her.”

　　“Huh.”

　　“Male mantises have nerve ganglia in their bodies, so even without a head they can keep going. It offers its head to the female first, and by the time she’s finished eating it, the fertilization is done. Then she eats the rest of him for nourishment before going off to lay her eggs.”

　　“Does the male know he’s going to be eaten?”

　　Minegishi stared up at the ceiling, his expression drowsy and unfocused, blinking heavily. Shimazaki sat down on the edge of the mattress, the springs giving a soft creak. He scratched at the bruises on his neck and peeled off the gauze to let the wound breathe. The bite had already scabbed over and itched now and then. He tossed the gauze aside, planning to clean it up in the morning.

　　“If he knows he’ll be eaten, would he still go to the female?” Minegishi asked.

　　“Just sleep. Don’t think about it.”

　　Minegishi heard a cry of pain. A hand seized his shoulder and pushed him back.

　　He relaxed his jaw and let his body yield to the hand pushing him back, his arms remained wrapped around his naked partner. Shimazaki was kneeling between his legs, completely nude, his shoulders marked with several oval, dark bruises left by heated kisses. Near the base of his neck, there was a deep bite mark, the bruise darkening almost to black, with tiny gleaming beads of blood welling up. No wonder Shimazaki had cried out in pain.

　　“Sorry,” Minegishi said.

　　“Mmh, it’s fine. Just—go a little easier,” Shimazaki’s breathing was a bit ragged, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, but he gave his usual easy smile.

　　“Do you need to…”

　　Shimazaki let go of his shoulder and reached down between their joined bodies. The erection inside Minegishi had softened a little, no longer as rigidly hot as before. His boyfriend pulled back, and the shaft slipped out of his hole, leaving an empty ache in his unsatisfied body.

　　“The condom’s loose. I’ll change it,” Shimazaki said.

　　He pulled away from Minegishi’s arms, removed the condom from his cock, tied it off, and placed it on the nightstand to avoid staining the sheets. Leaning over, Shimazaki rummaged through the messy drawer—they had just finished a box, so he had to open a new one.

　　Minegishi lay half‑reclined on the bed, gazing at his boyfriend’s naked body. Stripped of clothing, his figure looked even more slender, toned, and full of coiled strength and agility. Like a leopard. Supple and alert, yet capable of turning savage toward its prey at any moment. Minegishi stared at those arms, that solid chest, the shoulders, the neck… He imagined the red muscles beneath the skin, the warm blood coursing steadily between them. Deeper in were the firm ribs, the soft, pliant lungs, and a heart pounding restlessly, thudding away without end.

　　Like a forest.

　　A certain desire rose up in him again. To get closer. Closer. To go past the boundary of skin, to touch that bare, raw flesh directly. He didn’t just want the cock inside his body. He wanted all of it, the whole thing. His entire body, his whole heart, his soul, entering him, letting him hold him so tight and never again touch any other man, woman, or the rest of the world. This wasn’t about sexual pleasure; no, this desire lay buried deeper than lust. It was as if there were another organ inside him, empty and hungry, aching with a hollow, gnawing hunger, like a starving stomach. So every time they made love, he clung to Shimazaki’s body, licking and biting with his tongue and teeth, barely easing the thirst inside him. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Even though he had just accidentally bitten Shimazaki hard enough to injure him, he already wanted more.

　　More. More. More. More.

　　“Forget the condom. Just come inside,” Minegishi said.

　　“Huh, you sure?”

　　He heard himself say yes. He was the one who had insisted on using protection in the first place. Shimazaki hadn’t cared much, arguing he didn’t have any STDs, and they’d gone back and forth over it for a while.

　　Minegishi brushed his calf along his boyfriend’s groin, stroking his inner thigh, his perineum, giving his balls a gentle nudge, as if urging his cock to get hard again. Shimazaki applied more lube, nudging the head against his entrance a few times before slowly pushing into his body. The swelling fullness, the stretching pressure made Minegishi briefly hold his breath.

　　He didn’t know if it felt better without a condom—Shimazaki always claimed it did—but the erection inside him seemed warmer than ever. The thought of his boyfriend’s cock pressed bare against his fragile intestinal wall, his fluid trickling directly into his body…

　　His heartbeat quickened.

　　Shimazaki started with a few slow thrusts, then gradually picked up the pace, each stroke brushing over his sensitive spot. Minegishi moaned low, clinging to his boyfriend’s body and releasing broken, suppressed whimpers from his throat. Shimazaki rocked against him, and Minegishi could smell the sharp, masculine scent. The shoulders before his eyes were mottled with bruises. As their body heat rose and the movements grew fiercer, the deep bite mark began to bleed again.

　　Minegishi shut his eyes, forcing himself not to look. He cupped the back of his boyfriend’s head, fingers buried in the messy hair, and kissed his soft, warm lips. Shimazaki’s hot breaths spilled over him, and he drew them all into his lungs. His tongue slipped into Shimazaki’s mouth, licked along his teeth, and tangled with his boyfriend’s tongue.