#theintellectualweeb

Gonna try 21 (changing who gives and receives) and Geskel for this one - please forgive if it’s not that good ^^; I’m still shaky on Geralt and have no experience with Eskel yet at all. But! Can’t succeed if ya don’t try! and mediocrity isn’t a sin anyway.

(thank you so much for including a Witcher option T^T)

(I headcanon Eskel as ace in this :3 boi has a libido but no sexual attraction)

---

He was halfway into getting pounded rather beautifully into the dingy mattress when Eskel noticed there was something off. Not ‘off’ as in ‘bad’ but something was tickling the back of his mind, managing to worm its way towards the front just enough for him to notice it past the sounds of insect songs coming in from the open window, the way Geralt’s heartbeat raced behind him, the sound of his own breaths echoing so loud they were near deafening.

Something was just a touch off.

Eskel shifted his weight onto just one of his forearms, pushing himself up enough to look over his shoulder. The sight that greeted him was as beautiful as it had been the first time he’d seen it, and the second, and even into the dozens: Geralt was simply a sight to behold. Silver-white hair shinning in the moonlight like some work of poetry, the muscles in his stomach contracting as he rolled his hips in a steady rhythm, his lips parted and eyes half mast.

But the rhythm was slower than usual, and his expression was different.

He had been accused before of reading too far into things, but there was something...curious about the way Geralt was looking at him then. Geralt was usually very present when they fucked but right now his eyes were almost glazed over, focused entirely on where they were connected, his cheeks splashed with color that was a bit too pink to be just from exertion. 

And that blush was honestly too much for him to ignore.

Eskel wiggled just enough to get Geralt’s attention, watching those bright eyes snap up to look at him and sharpen as they did. With a little effort (and a groan), he pulled himself away from Geralt, rolling onto his back and reaching out to tug the other wolf into his arms.

“Is something on your mind?”

He earned a sharp nip to his shoulder that he really felt like he didn’t deserve, Geralt immediately slumping into him, their cocks trapped between them and for now left rather painfully hard and forgotten. Eskel chuckled fondly as he held Geralt close, soothing one hand down his back and the fingers of the other through his hair as the younger man pouted against him.

If he’d learned anything through their years, both growing up together and off-and-on travels and finally their years together, it was that Geralt would open up when he was ready. No sooner and no later. Trying to pry it out of him would just ruin the mood, and if Eskel were honest, despite how his skin singed from stimulation and how his cock leaked, he didn’t really care if Geralt didn’t stop pouting anytime soon.

Sex had never really meant ‘reaching an end’ to him anyway. If he got to hold Geralt tight and kiss the top of his head until Geralt melted into him and fell asleep, well, he wasn’t missing out on anything if he got to have that.

But the way Geralt was unable to keep his hips still, ever so slightly rutting against him, seeking out some sort of friction - it told Eskel that Geralt wouldn’t be keeping quiet for long. Either he would open up, or he’d kiss it firmly from Eskel’s mind.

Geralt huffed, the breath sussing out against Eskel’s skin. He squirmed a little in his arms, sticking his nose as far into the crook of Eskel’s neck as it would go, and then huffed again. And when he finally peeled his face away from where it was firmly pressed into Eskel his face had turned even redder, a frown pulling his lips down but not an upset one. No, it looked much like the kind he donned when he was thinking.

He slid his hand down from his hair to cup Geralt’s cheek, then to caress his chin, the rough pad of his thumb running gently over Geralt’s bottom lip. It made the younger wolf’s eyes flutter shut in a way that had Eskel’s heart skipping - how vulnerable they could be with each other, how gentle and how soft despite the way the world had worn on the both of them.

This, he would trade for nothing.

“What’s it like?”

Eskel blinked at him, not really certain what he meant. While he waited for Geralt to continue, Geralt shifted enough to bring his own hand up in a mirror of Eskel’s, running the back of his fingers against Eskel’s scarred cheek and lips.

“What’s it like to...be in your position? When we have sex?”

Geralt’s brow furrowed in such genuine curiosity and Eskel had to take a steading breath - this man would be the death of him someday. No one person should hold so much of his heart so fully, and yet he knew it was far far too late to change that.

So vulnerable and trusting, and only with him. What did he ever do to deserve this?

“We can switch, if you’d like?” He pushed some of Geralt’s bangs away from his face, then caught his hand to kiss. “Might take a while, I won’t do it without prepping you proper first.”

If it weren’t for the simple fact that Ryouji knew he wasn’t slipping, he’d be worried about his mental state. He shifted the lot of his groceries into one hand as he fished around for his keys with the other, entering his apartment complex through the back so he didn’t have to make a special trip to check his mailbox later. Getting his combination right the first time made him scowl further at the growing predicament he found himself in, and the junk mail that had been crammed into his mail box over the last two weeks (he had better things to do than check his mail every single day, thank you very much) got the brunt force of his displeased scowling.

The mind, they said, was the first thing to go. But considering the only thing he kept misplacing (in mass numbers) were dish sponges, it couldn’t have honestly gone. Right?

Besides, as his brother loved to tease him over, his hair was the first thing to go. Go grey, anyway, though the world wouldn’t be knowing that so long as he had access to a sink and enough money to blow on some dye every few weeks.

Grumbling under his breath at the thought of his brother, he shut his mail box a bit harder than necessary, not honestly caring that there was someone else in the small room to witness his frustration. But witnessing their movement in his periphery still drew his attention, and since his parents had taught him manners he waited for them to leave the mail room first, occupying his vision away from them just to be sure he wouldn’t have to participate in any small talk or other conversation.

He didn’t make too much of a habit of keeping up with the apartment billboard. The colorful and sometimes gaudy papers tacked on there were mostly advertising things he either had no interest in or no use for. Babysitters, dog walking services, AA meetings and shuttle information and updates on some sort of pranking war between some of the residents here (apparently it was hilarious to them to post fake ads concerning their friends). But the billboard drew his attention then and was a convincing enough distraction to ward of social interaction - and something there caught his eye almost immediately.

Over the past several weeks, Ryouji had gone through no less than five packs of sponges. The kind he bought were nothing special - just the cheapest he could find that still had scrubbing power - but they used to last him a good while each, considering it was just him by his lonesome in his apartment, cooking meals for himself and reusing his coffee cup most mornings after just a quick rinse (the blessings of drinking it black). Yet over the past little while they just kept disappearing, and no amount of head scratching or searching throughout his not-very-big apartment ever revealed where on earth they kept running off to.

If his mind wasn’t so sharp concerning everything else, he would’ve been concerned. Early onset memory issues were not something to be scoffed at, and even Ryouji would not have been so stubborn as to ignore them. But he knew it wasn’t just forgetfulness plaguing him, and as his eyes found a printed off picture of a rather small and fluffy animal tacked on to the board he found the oddest answer to the great mystery that was his missing sponges.

The small and fluffy creature was apparently named “Princess Flufferbutt”, a name that had him cringing even as he blinked at what the primly groomed cat held proudly in her mouth. A sponge. Held as if showing off a trophy hunt, with her front paws together and her tail ever so delicately wrapped around her short short legs.

Standing out against the munchkin’s light white and tan fur were rather bold and colorful letters, the largest of which read “Dear neighbors”. And honestly, any normal day of the week would see Ryouji ignoring the rest, but that damned sponge held so proudly in the cat’s mouth hand him bending down closer and squinting his eyes, wishing he’d went with his glasses instead of his out-of-date prescription contacts this morning, taking the rest of it in:

Dear Neighbors,

I, Princess Flufferbutt, have a problem. A problem that my owner Shokashi has just recently been made aware of whenever he discovered my hidden stash of prized sponges I’ve been hoarding under the sofa (as well as my secondary stash under his bed, which he was most startled by). Considering these were apparently not mine by law, a law which I do not agree with nor had no say in, he has informed me that I must return them to their rightful owners.

I disagreed, but, alas, he is the one who brings home the cat food I would starve without in mere minutes. 

If anyone’s prized sponges have gone missing within the last while, please feel free to stop by and shame me. As well as have them back.

Sincerely,Princess Flufferbutt, Apartment 423

Ryouji stared at the rather long letter, perplexed beyond reason. He stared long enough that the person he’d been avoiding talking to by staring at it had left plenty long ago, and yet he couldn’t stopped being baffled and almost amused by what he was seeing.

Someone was trying to return lost sponges. They were certainly having fun while doing it, but still. The two packs in one of the bags dangling from his left hand cost less than $3 combined, and yet this person was going out of their way to not only notify everyone that their- his cat was a thief, but that they were welcome to have their sponges back.

Well. Ryouji’s sponges, because he was 99% certain that’s exactly who they belong to. Not that he was going to bother stopping by over some sponges. He straightened himself back up and reflexively tried to push up the glasses that weren’t on his nose, heading into the main apartment building and taking the staircase up to the fourth floor.

Nope. There was no need to go speak with someone over a silly cat poster and what couldn’t have been less than $10 worth of stolen cleaning supplies. None at all. Absolutely no need to dawdle in front of his own front door, eyes peeking over where two doors down he could see the bright silver numbers 423 embossed over the door frame.

There wasn’t a single reason in the world for him to consider going over there. Hanging his few grocery bags on his doorknob and keeping an eye on the halls to make sure no one was around to witness his curiosity, to walk over and stop right in front of Apartment 423 and stare at the door as if it might give him the answers as to what he was doing.

His motives were an enigma even unto himself, and they remained as such even as he knocked briskly on the door in front of him, arm going back stiff to his side before he decided to cross them instead.

The man who opened the door was exactly the type he’d expect to own a spoiled munchkin cat. Short himself, well groomed, hair very stylish and tidy, for some reason not at all perturbed by someone knocking on his door out of the blue, greeting Ryouji with a friendly and warm smile that had him shifting uncomfortably.

This, if anything, was a mistake. Ryouji did not do people. He didn’t know why he was here. But here he was anyway, with this small stranger taking his grunted out and awkward explanation of “cat poster” in good stride, inviting him in for tea - and Ryouji had been taught manners and knew better than to not accept despite himself.

-suspicious squint- How do you know my two weaknesses? WHO TOLD YOU???

(it was me, wasn’t it?)

—

Out of all of the people in Konoha who he could’ve suspected to be a hoarder of  cute things, Tobirama would have never been on that list. The man was quite vehement about his dislike for small animals, going out of his way to avoid them at all costs, getting a pinched expression every time they happened to walk past a tiny puppy or a stumbling kitten following its mother about.

It came as a rather shocking surprise, then, when Itachi came home to find their living room had been turned into a kitten play den. At least a dozen of the little critters tumbling over each other, a few much smaller than the rest sitting in a padded and cozy box while they mewled away, their stubby tails stuck straight up and their legs hardly able to support what little weight they had to them.

He side stepped a few of the larger ones carefully, though one managed to attach itself to his leg and claw up to his shoulder as he made his way to find his partner. When he did manage to find Tobirama, he was swaying on the spot in the kitchen, his fur pelt wrapped up in his arms like he was swaddling a baby as he hummed away some tune Itachi could swear he’d heard the man’s brother sing to his children.

“Tobirama-san?”

At his name, the man froze. He turned his head ever so slowly after a moment, pink dusting his cheeks as he stared pointedly away from Itachi. “I’ve asked you not to call me that…”

“Our house isn’t being turned into a cattery, is it?”

“Catteries are awful inventions - no animal deserves to be kept in such small cages!” Tobirama clenched the bundle closer to his chest, still not turning to face Itachi fully. “…and. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“There must be at least thirty kittens in the living room, Tobirama-san.” Another cat came meandering past him then, one that looked to have recently given birth if her size and belly were anything to go by. She jumped up on the counter and started cleaning her face, looking exhausted but still proud in that way all cats were.

“…they must have snuck in while I wasn’t looking.”

Ignoring the fact that the living room had clearly been set up for the little ones, Itachi let that one go, stepping forward to try and peer around Tobirama. “What are you holding?”

“Nothing.”

His little bundle gave a rather small noise, and Tobirama instantly cooed at it. Now that Itachi could see the front of him, he saw that there was a bottle in one of his hands - and the tiniest paw he’d ever seen found its way out of the fur and into sight for a split second.

“What a predicament, then.” Itachi reached out and gave the mother cat some love scritches, smiling softly as the kitten on his shoulder rubbed against his head. “I suppose if they went through all that trouble to sneak in, we can’t exactly get rid of them.”

“Of course we can’t get rid of them.”

“Of course.” He slid right up to Tobirama’s side, leaning against him. “I did spend a lot of time with Nekobaa when I was younger, and helped her raise several litters. Maybe I could help more abandoned little ones in the future.”

“…if I ever see any, I’ll bring them home. For you.”

For his partner’s benefit, Itachi didn’t protest that statement. Instead, he just leaned on him further, petting the little paw still stuck out from the fur bundle with one finger, wondering how on earth Tobirama had hidden all of these cats from him for so long.

—

>:| don’t come at me with this grossness

...

jk you’re a good friend too I guess >:|

You’re an amazing fraand with so many ideas and skills and knowledge, am very very glad to have met you! You encourage the best in people and are one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and all sorts of other gross things.

Okay I’ll stop being nice now.

The prologue of Red-Eyed is up! You all can also read it under the cut if you prefer:)

Test me again. I dare.

25. What color socks are you wearing?

I AM A HEATHEN MY FEET ARE NAKIES AT HOME ALWAYS

37. Favorite swear word?