“Arrgh! The sun’s going down and I still haven’t caught any!” Watanuki complained.
“You make too much noise. You scare them away.”
When this drew no outraged reply, Doumeki discreetly shifted his gaze from the sinuous, glittering surface of the river. His suspicion was confirmed.
(He’s asleep again.)
Doumeki sighed and turned his head to stare, unimpeded, at Watanuki. His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth stretched into a tight line.
(And dreaming.)
Watanuki’s face had gone completely slack, chin bent to his chest, shoulders rounded forward, fishing pole clasped loosely in his relaxed hands. The only motion to be detected was the slight ripple gliding back and forth over each eyelid and the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest.
Doumeki hesitated. Should he let him sleep like this, or wake him up and make him go home? The idiot would yell at him no matter what he did.
(Send him back to me soon, Ojii-san. I don’t like this. Something isn’t right.)
Doumeki’s thoughts were interrupted by Watanuki’s sharp intake of breath. A flush had risen in his cheeks and the unbuttoned collar of his shirt was gaping open and closed as his ribcage expanded and contracted at an increased rate.
(Something is frightening him.)
Doumeki dropped his fishing pole. He moved closer and reached a hand out, intending to grasp Watanuki’s shoulder and shake him awake.
“Doumeki.”
Doumeki froze. It was spoken softly and muffled by sleep. But. The tone of Watanuki’s voice: it was not accusing, not indifferent, not scared, but…wanting? He swallowed, hand hovering just above Watanuki’s shoulder, and waited crouched next to him.
(I’m in his dream?)
Watanuki’s lips moved, but if he spoke, it was too soft for Doumeki to hear. The color in his cheeks spread down his face, while a separate flush crept up past his collar, the two merging beneath Watanuki’s chin. Goosebumps were appearing on the exposed flesh of his arms. A shudder passed through his body, but still he did not open his eyes.
“Do-Do-u-me-ki,” the syllables stretched out on a low, stuttering moan, raising the hairs on the back of Doumeki’s neck.
Doumeki rested his hand on Watanuki’s shoulder, the other cupped the side of his face, absorbing some of the feverish heat radiating there. Watanuki responded by leaning into his palm and sighing.
(What am I doing?)
Doumeki gently shook him. “Oi! Watanuki.”
TWHACK! Something solid smacked into the side of Doumeki’s head and he shut his eyes briefly against the pain.
(Ah. Watanuki’s fishing pole.)
He opened his eyes to find Watanuki staring at him; eyes huge behind glass lenses, mouth open, panting. The fishing pole lay on the ground beside them.
“Doumeki?”
Though it was slightly thickened by lust, the uncertainty in Watanuki’s voice pierced Doumeki. Fingers curling into the seam along Watanuki’s shoulder, he leaned forward, expecting the flailing and shouting to begin at any moment. His nose was almost touching Watanuki’s when Doumeki spoke.
“You’re awake now, idiot. Care to continue?”
And now Watanuki did pull away, but only by inches, not breaking the contact between Doumeki’s fingers and his face, and for that Doumeki was grateful. For a long moment, the only sound was the ceaseless murmur of the river. Doumeki stared steadily into Watanuki’s eyes, willing him to understand. Wishing not to have to explain. Needing for this to be less painful.
“Fishing?” Watanuki tried, offering a weak laugh.
Doumeki took a deep steadying breath and willed himself to refrain from throttling the moron.
“Don’t be stupid. You were dreaming about me, weren’t you?”
The pink flush grew darker as Watanuki finally found his indignant voice, “WHA-WHAT?!” he hollered. “WHY WOULD I DREAM ABOUT YOU?! THE NERVE! YOU ARE SO FULL OF YOURSELF,” Watanuki fumed. “WHAT FOOL WOULD DREAM ABOUT BEING KISSED BY YOU, DOUMEKI?!”
“Kissing?” Doumeki could not hold back a small grin. “That was just kissing?”
Watanuki gasped. If it was possible, his blush grew darker. In the setting sun, it was becoming harder to tell. “DON’T YOU SMIRK AT ME! THAT’S NOT…” he sputtered.