Voice Hero: Present Mic

I've always found it hard to vibe with people who are really good at tuning me out right off the bat. If they ain't listening to what you have to say, they ain't with you for you, they're either after your cash, your clout, or your ... I'll have to censor that one in post.

Shouta managed to pull one arm free of his jumpsuit when the dark mist expanded. His single eye widened as the tendrils reached out, sliding their dampness over his skin. Though shocking at first, he couldn’t deny the pleasure as they lapped over his chest, twined around his limbs, then…

He trusts me … do I trust myself?

I trust his judgement.

If nothing else, he had to believe his love for Shouta would keep the man safe, or at the very least, not mortally wounded. It was the fog, the mild disconnect, which prevented his worries from being completely soothed. He had a feeling he'd always had a powerful sex drive, but what he was feeling now was a little overwhelming. Like a beast who hadn't eaten in fifteen years, presented with its favorite feast.

Worry disappeared into the fog when the man under him lightly tugged at his grasp, the dick in his tendrils throbbing along with it, his focus suddenly pinpointed. Had he been of clearer mind, he may have likened it to a cat's instincts kicking in when its prey writhed under its paw. Suddenly, the clothes Shouta wore were the sole thing which still stood between them, prevented them from being one. Waiting for its removal didn't once seem like an option.

It seemed Mame wasn’t as comfortable with their new roommate as Sushi was. His usually sleek tail poofed to twice its size as he zipped out the door. Poor guy… Once he got to know Bo, he’d warm up to him; everyone always adored Shirakumo.

Not as much as Shouta did, of course.

The skin of Kuroboro’s bare shoulder chilled his cheek as he rested against it. The dip in temperature helped him keep control of himself. If the nomu matched the fire blazing through his skin, Shouta would have lost control. But, it didn’t put him off.

Lips and teeth grazed the nape offered to him, his scruff scraping along with them. His insides squirmed in anticipation, despite his intent to move slowly. He didn’t think he could wait much longer to have something filling him. The state of his throbbing erection told him they might have to forego the foreplay. He didn’t care if it hurt, he needed Shirakumo to be part of him.

Dark tangles fanned out around his head as the nomu lowered him onto the mattress. Arms cased him in as Bo got on top. Immediately, Shouta’s hands began to roam, tracing every part not hidden by cloth. Everything felt so familiar, yet different. Perhaps with enough exertion and friction they could bring heat back into him? The hero was more than willing to try.

However, he stopped himself from venturing below Kuroboro’s belt. He should leave that choice to the nomu. Instead, his hands went to his own clothes, slowly unzipping his bodysuit. Hopefully, the stark changes his body went through in the length of time they were separated didn’t ruin the view Bo claimed to be a fan of. He wasn’t nearly as filled out or hairy back then.

Dark curls peeked out of the gap in the zipper as it slid smoothly down. Subconsciously, Shouta must have hoped for this intimate outcome when he left to retrieve him because he forwent an undershirt today. All he wore beneath his costume was his jockstrap and prosthetic leg. “Are you sure this is okay?”

Kurogiri had spent the past several years in a state of calm but laser-focused numbness. He'd been manhandled plenty, friendly handshakes every now and again, the occasional rough pat on the back. But the hands roaming his upper body now held a different sort of implication, a sensation which elicited both warmth, and a different set of memories.

The very same memories he'd come in here to chase, in fact.

He wasn't even sure he still had a heart in his chest, and if he did, he wasn't sure it still beat. Logically, any sort of emotion he felt should have happened entirely within his brain. But the sight which unfolded as the zipper descended brought back that same feeling he felt every time Shouta held his hand. An emotion which seemed to emanate directly from his chest cavity. His heart may have been long dead, but evidently, the love he had for this man wasn't.

They fit so perfectly together. Yes, Shouta grew quite a bit since their messy kisses in the privacy of that graffitied bathroom stall in the park, but they still slotted together just right. He finally found the puzzle piece to complete the picture, one he thought lost forever. Now, all they needed was their loudmouth bird.

Even so, he never expected to get a response so eager… and forceful. While Hizashi was protective to a fault, almost always treating Shouta gently, Bo was never the timid one when it came to getting physical. Apparently that hadn’t changed. Happy tears leaked from the corner of his eye as their mouths sparred.

It was supposed to be a simple loving gesture, really it was, but… his body had other ideas. He could chalk it up to a physiological reaction all he wanted, but Shouta knew it was more than that. It was because of Bo; he stirred feelings and hormones in Shouta that not even his raw leg stump could combat. He’d gladly suffocate if it meant he could keep kissing him, but the nomu eventually parted from him.

Dazed and flushed, he barely had a moment to breathe before being lifted. Fingers sunk into the meaty globes of his ass, his baggy clothing did nothing to hide his assets when their bodies pressed together like that. A soft, pleased sound escaped with a huff of air through his nose, but he managed to keep himself from moaning outright, thankfully. The possibility of frightening the nomu off with his arousal hovered on the edge of his mind, reminding him to not push too much.

“You can touch me as much as you want.” Though he agreed, the way Kuroboro didn’t ask for his consent sent a thrill through his body. Carefully, his organic leg wrapped around him, followed by his prosthetic after so the hard material wouldn’t rub against the stylish dress pants Kuroboro still sported– not only would it be uncomfortable, but the joint might catch and rip the fabric.

While Shouta may have been fretting over keeping himself in check, the sounds and involuntary body language which did slip through did wonders in helping the nomu place just what this primal need for closeness partly was. An instinct which would have been so very obvious fifteen years ago had become an enigma. His function as a nomu did not require him to think about sex, and therefor he had not.

But he had broken free of that programming, could think and feel on his own, and while there was a brief concern over whether or not he could even still preform such an act, it was immediately drowned out by the certainty that it wouldn't prove an issue. Shouta had never failed to getting Oboro's body to react, whether he meant to or not. And, speaking of bodies …

"I think your butt got even better..."

And it wasn't just his butt, either. Shouta had never been out of shape by any means, but the Shouta he was beginning to remember had always seemed so small. Legs wrapped around his waist brought flashes of a lean musculature under pale, soft skin. But the body he felt pressed up against him now felt strong. Heavy, solid. How much was this man hiding in that baggy uniform?

While his hands enjoyed being full of ass, his attention had shifted over to the bedroom door. While he could take Shouta right then and there, there was something alluring about taking the panther inside his own den.

"One more room to check out on this tour!" Keeping up the friendly, lighthearted chatter felt like a struggle under this new sensation, a feeling of desperate need wrestling with  carnal desire. They were at the bedroom door in an instant, the door swinging the rest of the way open with a shove of a raised foot. He only vaguely noted the black and white cat staring at him wildly from its place on the bed, before jumping to the floor and zipping past him through the open door behind them.

It took some time, but with Kuroboro’s arms wrapped around Shouta’s waist, eventually his rough grip relaxed enough for his own arms to loop the other man’s neck. Lifting his face slightly, breaching the mist, he mumbled, “You’re so cheesy.”

That said, the verbal affirmation of love made his heart sing. Its tempo bumped up a notch as if happy dancing in his chest.

One of the ooze-like tears slinking down the nomu’s cheek caught his eye, and without thinking he leaned in to kiss it away. He didn’t care what it was: oil, poison, decomposition fluids. It didn’t matter. If it was part of his Bo, he would accept it. A dark sheen stained his pale lips after, like some cosmetic that Kayama might wear.

“They’re not,” he chided softly. Was this how Hizashi and Oboro felt when he spoke critically of himself? That must have been so frustrating for teens to deal with; it made him look back at himself poorly, even if his view hadn’t changed. “Different, but not disgusting.” He thumbed away the inky smear on Kuroboro’s cheek. The digit trailing to the corner of the nomu’s lips…

He wanted to kiss him. It was okay, wasn’t it? If he still returned Shouta’s feelings, then he wasn’t taking advantage, was he? Deep inside, he knew if there was any indecision he probably shouldn’t. Still… His lips brushed the corner of the nomu’s mouth, feather-light, testing the waters. As soon as he did it, though, it dawned on him that it looked like he avoided the more misty side of his lips. That wouldn’t work. Pulling back only slightly, he readjusted, lining up his mouth to brush fully against Kuroboro’s.

There was nothing but truth behind Shouta's words. The man's darkly stained lips were proof enough of that. Not simply words of comfort, lies poorly hidden behind eyes that wouldn't even look into his, like at the hospital. Shouta, his Shouta, still loved him, for real, not an ounce of disgust or discomfort in his … one remaining eye.

Their love really had transcended death itself. Wasn't that romantic? It must have been, because Kurogiri had remained silent, undetectable. As if he'd purposely turned around to give them privacy, to shield himself from these awkward emotions he still didn't quite understand.

It was the warmth of lips against his own which pulled him out of these silent musings, but not immediately back into reality. Kuroboro's eyes widened as the sensation brought back memories of the past, in fast, short bursts, there and then gone before he could grasp them. Memories that left behind a bittersweetness in their fleeting wake he felt the need to chase. And chase them he did, in the only way he could, pressing into the kiss with a hungry fervor. Misty fingers entangled themselves in messy locks, his other arm holding Shouta's body tightly against his own.

Are we kissing him, or attempting to eat him? I've lost track of the plot at this point, I'm afraid.

Oh. Oh! Was he hurting Shouta? Shit. He let up on the kiss, but didn't pull away, resting his forehead against Shouta's. "I remember-- I feel alive when I'm touching you. I don't want to let go, I-- I don't have to!" In that moment, letting go of this man felt akin to leaping back into that dark, numbing sea of frigid nothingness, and nothing frightened him more. In a gesture much more lewd than intended, both hands shot down to grasp Shouta's behind, hoisting him up off the ground as he continued to hold him against himself.

That wasn't even fair! Mic was just fine sulking in his bad mood. He had a right to be moody after what the fans were saying about his tight pants.

But the dark clouds cleared immediately following the sneaky smooch attack, and the smile came just as unbidden. Who cared if the rest of the world thought he wasn't enough? He was dating Japan's sexiest ninja. Who also happened to be his best friend.

Shouta stood suddenly as if ready to attack. His smile dried up, even if his tears remained. If anything, they fell in larger quantities. The cuff rubbed his stump, every raw nerve ending screamed, twisting his expression even more.

“I don’t know which of you said that…” Callused fingers locked onto cold shoulders, digging into the ashen flesh beneath mist until his knuckles turned a corpse-like shade of their own. “But don’t you dare say my best friend isn’t human!” He trembled, a cocktail of pain, anxiety, and indignation too much for him as he yelled, voice cracking.

“I’ve lived all these years wishing you were still here, begging whatever drives fate to let me see one more time…” His head tipped forward. The swirling blackness covering the other man engulfed him as his forehead came to rest on his clavicle. Would it hurt his eye if he opened it? No. It felt like Shirakumo’s quirk, a little more cold but still cloud-like. If anything it was probably made up of condensation too.

There was truth to what Kuroboro said though. This would take some getting used to… for all three of them. They all still needed to heal. “I still love you.”

A reaction so powerful, so sudden, it was almost frightening. There was so much emotion in that tired face … more than the nomu felt he could take. It was almost a relief when it disappeared against his chest, the man's raven hair becoming almost indistinguishable from his own wisps.

He wouldn't mind that so much, Oboro decided. He'd much rather share a body with Shouta than with Kurigiri.

The confirmation of love hit him like a punch to the gut, and his arms closed around Shouta and held him tightly. A hand rubbed his back in an attempt to soothe. "I know... I never stopped loving you, either." He'd slept for awhile, but his feelings, his true self, had never really changed at all. "And it must be true, because I'm still here! Brought back with your love like in some fairytale."

They both knew that wasn't true, not at all. But it was nice to pretend. He'd be fine to stand there forever with Shouta in his arms, without anyone to pull them apart this time. Even the fingertips dug painfully into his shoulders felt kind of nice. It made the situation feel more real, more tangible, more solid. Something that couldn't so easily be ripped away from them.

Shouta always thought of himself as open-minded. Perhaps long ago, he could be perceived as the opposite, but that was before he worked out his sexuality– And before he landed himself in a polyamorous relationship. However, he hadn’t expected his whole being to resist the idea of changing Shirakumo’s name so fervently. It was true that things changed but… 

The cold of the nomu’s skin penetrated his clothes. Surprisingly, the chill soothed some of dull pain radiating his leg. Reaching into the mist, fingers buried in wispy hair, still soft as cotton. Yet, the small familiarity offered little comfort. Shouta was being confronted by something he feared on a deep psychological level: That Shirakumo was actually gone…

The cold dipping under the cloth spread up his leg, wrapping around him and settling in his chest, freezing him to the core. How many parts could be removed, replaced, until it was no longer the same person anymore? Mic’s logic presented itself once more. Worst or all, he was being confronted with admitting that this wasn’t Shirakumo anymore, something he’d  denied for so long now.

Moisture rolled down his cheek, but the grizzled hero didn’t even notice it as he studied the nomu, his one good eye filled with pain. “I…” More tears clouded his vision. The cold squeezed his lungs so hard, even shallow breaths hurt. “I’m g-glad your time on that side wasn’t entirely bad…” But, did he want to go back to them? To whomever he was a father to? If  Shouta were in his place, he’d wouldn’t be able to turn his back on his child… Suddenly, the tiniest twinge of guilt mixed in with everything else.

“I’ll call you whatever you want,” he choked out, gently petting the nomu. Despite the emotional suffering, his gaze still fell on Kuroboro with a soft affection. 

Shouta was crying again. But he was smiling. Was that a happy tear? Or was this all too much? Was he getting too familiar too quickly? Was looking at the nomu and what he'd become really that painful?

Or was it his touch that caused him pain? Was he cold? Shouta's warmth burned him a little … maybe he really was deathly cold. Being caressed by the corpse of your lost … friend … really was a little messed up. He stared, caught between wanting to hold the man until the tears stopped, and wanting to watch him like an intriguing bug under a microscope. In the end he did neither of those things, bowing his head and standing.

"Sorry, this is probably all a little weird, huh? I think I keep forgetting I'm …" He raised his hands to stare at them. "not a person anymore." Oh! Ouch! Stabbed by his own words! That hurt! But it was the truth, and so he would face it, accept it. He smiled through the stab. It helped. "Guess we'll both need to get used to it all. But hey! Are we staying in for tonight? I'm a little tired."