Things have gotten to the point where Watanuki doesn’t have to be tipsy, tired, or otherwise substantially uninhibited to let Shizuka touch him. It’s a comforting, proud feeling—like finishing the rough draft of an assignment and only having cosmetic edits left to go, like being allowed to take a little extra time on keeping the strokes in the right order and the punctuation properly spaced. One of the advantages to touching Watanuki when he’s conscious (or mostly) is figuring out how the sounds he makes actually connect to the things he does. Like now; Watanuki is kind of rumbling, like he wants to purr but his throat’s too sore so it’s coming out all husky, and that’s somehow connected to what Shizuka’s nails are doing behind his knees. Or to what Watanuki’s doing to Shizuka’s hips with his own.
Either way, it’s probably a good sound. It’s a hot one for Shizuka, anyway.
Shizuka presses his ear to the side of Watanuki’s neck, listens closer. He slips because of the sweat on his chin, the rocking motions Watanuki’s making, uneven but not as spastic as they’d be if he was trying to get away. The sounds, too—those aren’t go away, moron sounds, they’re keep me close sounds, don’t know what I want but I like what you give me sounds. They’re easier to understand, close like this. Watanuki must be a gestural language like Noh and English.
Tightening his fists a little, Shizuka draws them up Watanuki’s thighs to his behind, up under his school jacket, then hooks them into the waist of his pants. The breathy not-quite-purring stammers into something else, but his body doesn’t stop doing what it’s doing (for which Shizuka’s somewhat thankful because it feels really good). He palms Watanuki’s wet skin, spreads his fingers over his spine, the cleft of his ass, and pushes him closer. Closer is better. Sounds better too, deeper, harder, Shizuka really needs to undo his hakama right now but stopping this whole grinding and listening thing just seems unappealing. Especially when—oh. Oh.
Watanuki opens his eyes (Shizuka knows because he sees through one of them for just long enough) and all the motion stops. The sound doesn’t quite, takes one heavy second—and then it’s back to scrambling and flailing and the part of learning to speak Watanuki that really sucks, sometimes.
“M-moron,” he kind of stammers once he’s untangled from Shizuka (but hasn’t rebuttoned his jacket or his pants just yet, and that’s really kind of funny-looking), “the corpse in the other room is watching us!”
Shizuka sighs. “So?” It’s not like it can actually get close enough to bother them, anyway.
“I’m not doing this with you so you can put me on display like some kind of—of—of—” the still-not-purring-voice is starting to creep back in once the words start to go away. The elbow-noodling falls flat, the shoulders fall forward. And then Watanuki’s pants actually fall down. “He’s laughing at me. There’s a dead man on the other side of that shoji and he’s laughing at me.”
Well, that doesn’t matter, because Shizuka’s not laughing at him. But Watanuki hasn’t made as much progress speaking Shizuka’s language just yet, so he might not know that that’s what Shizuka means by getting up and coming closer—
“And you’re not laughing but you might as well be, you might—aaaaaaahyoumoron—”
—and stamping down on Watanuki’s pants to keep them on the floor where Shizuka’s hakama will be joining them in a second. After all, Shizuka’s is a gestural language too.