mudeating blog

.

It’s on the third day of it that Haruka finally pulls Mamoru aside.

“Mamoru-kun, have you ever – ” And here he breaks off, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he searches for the right words. “Have you ever felt… strange? Like your body is hot all over, and your skin won’t stop prickling?”

Mamoru tilts his head to the side, eyes wide and confused, and Haruka hurries to elaborate.

“I think it might be an Amazons thing? Since it seems to get worse when I transform. I mean, I always feel different when I transform, but this is – it’s weird. It’s like… when something touches me, I feel it more than I should.” He shifts in place, and the pull of his uniform’s fabric against his skin is enough to send a shiver through him. “Has something like that ever happened to you?”

Mamoru seems to ponder this for a moment before shaking his head. “No,” he says slowly. “I don’t think so? But you’re a special kind of Amazon, right Mizusawa-kun? So there might be lots of things that are different for you.” A thought seems to occur to him, then, his expression turning stricken. “You don’t think you’re really sick, do you? You can’t die, Mizusawa-kun! You can’t!”

“No, no,” Haruka says quickly, with a coaxing smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing bad. It’s probably like… the Amazons version of a cold, or something. Don’t worry, okay?”

If Mamoru doesn’t know, then he’s left with only one other option.

.

.

Jin laughs softly as he opens the door, leaning against the wall and leveling him with one of those calm, inscrutable looks. Haruka meets his eyes and it’s a like a punch to the gut, somehow, pulse suddenly pounding overloud in his ears, his persistent full-body flush getting hotter and deeper still until his veins are practically singing with it. He glances away hurriedly. What is this? he thinks, fingernails digging into his palm hard enough to hurt. Why would it feel so much stronger here and now?

“You know,” Jin says, “for someone who doesn’t like me very much, you wind up here pretty often.”

Haruka scowls down at the floor. “Not that often,” he mutters. “Can I come in or not?”

“Fine, fine,” Jin says with a wave of his hand, and steps aside so that Haruka can slip through the door.

He listens in surprisingly courteous silence as Haruka describes his symptoms, slouched across the coffee table, fingertip tapping against its surface thoughtfully. Haruka keeps stumbling over his words for some reason – a heady sort of haze lying over his thoughts – but Jin doesn’t comment on that, either. Merely watches him from beneath half-lidded eyes.

“Nah,” he says, as Haruka’s words taper off into nothing. “Can’t say I’ve ever felt that before. But,” and here he moves closer, leaning in so that his face is very close to Haruka’s own, “you definitely seem a little out of sorts, kid.”

Haruka takes a sharp breath, trying not to make eye contact, but in doing so his gaze wanders down, tracing the line of Jin’s neck, his collarbone, the beginnings of a scar that disappears beneath the low cut of his shirt. He wonders why the air in this room feels so thick, languid with something he can’t put a name to, like swimming through a sea of smoke.

He feels like he’s burning up.

“Can you – ” He swallows hard, mouth gone dry. “Can you help me?”

Jin’s hand reaches out to grab him by the chin, fingers digging sharp into his too-sensitive skin, and Haruka whimpers despites himself. When he’s finally forced to meet Jin’s eyes again he finds them unbearably dark, reflective with a glassy sheen, the kind of look he’s only ever seen in Amazons about to lose control.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘help.’”

“I don’t know,” Haruka whispers. “I don’t – ”

“I think you do.”

Maybe he does. Ever since this first started there’s been this instinct, this almost magnetic pull nagging at him, telling him to go to Jin. He’d tried his best to ignore it. He’d pushed it aside. But now, here with Jin’s fingers hot against his skin, it’s too overwhelming to deny: the desperate need to roll over on his back and submit.

Jin moves faster than Haruka’s addled mind can process, pushing him down and pinning him to the floor in one fluid motion, his grip like a vice around Haruka’s bicep. His mouth is hot against his neck in an instant – teeth grazing the delicate skin right above Haruka’s pulse before placing his lips on that same spot, licking and sucking blood to the surface with bruising intensity. Haruka claps his free hand over his mouth to stifle a moan, at the same time tilting his head to allow him better access. He’s hard, he realizes. He has been for minutes now, probably, his thoughts too muddled and hazy to properly notice. Jin, too – Haruka can feel his cock where it’s pressed against his thigh, and receives a noise not unlike a growl when he arches up into him. Jin’s hands are hiking his shirt up, then, fingers curling into his belt loops to tug his pants lower on his hips, and –

“Jin!”

They both freeze in place, Jin’s hand splayed on Haruka’s bare midriff, and turn their heads in unison.

Even through the dizzying want overwhelming his mind, rendering him mostly incapable of astute observations, Haruka can’t help but wonder why Nanaha doesn’t look angrier. She’s standing there in the entranceway with her arms crossed, mouth twisted into a frown, but her expression is more exasperated than anything. Weary and vaguely irritated. As if this were just another domestic annoyance.

“I don’t remember you asking me about this,” she says, narrowing her eyes at Jin, whose air of aggression is gone as quick as it came, replaced by something more like petulance.

“But Nanaha-san,” he whines. “It’s not my fault. He smells so good.”

“Haa?” She walks into the room and kneels down next to them, grabbing Haruka by the back of the neck and pulling him in close, lips all but brushing against his hair. She lets him go a moment later, but not before he makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat, eager for more than just a hint of contact.

“Doesn’t smell any different to me,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

Jin nods thoughtfully, trailing a thumb along his jawline. “Some kind of Amazons pheromones, maybe?” He grins, then, lazy and crooked. “Can’t say I remember engineering that in development.”

All this waiting is getting to be more than Haruka can take. “Please,” he breathes, grinding back into Jin’s lap and receiving a hiss in return. He feels like he should be embarrassed by Nanaha seeing him like this, her face unreadable as she studies him, but in this moment he’s too far gone to care.

“C’mon, Nanaha-san,” Jin pleads. “I have to fuck him. It’s like an instinct, y’know? You think he’s here ‘cause he wants to be? He can’t stand me.”

(Haruka wonders, distantly, if that’s really true. Most of the time he doesn’t know what he feels towards Jin. There’s confusion there. Frustration and maybe a bit of jealousy, towards this person whose goal is so clear and simple, this person who never falters. But hatred? That, he’s not so sure of.

And maybe there is some small part of him that wanted this, long before the compulsion took hold.)

“Fine,” Nanaha sighs. “On one condition. I get to watch.”