Erich sets aside his empty bowl and lifts his water glass to take a drink, listening absently to the banter between Kisuke and Tsukabishi; he’d known the two were long-time friends, and that Tsukabishi had followed Kisuke out of Seireitei when Kisuke was exiled, but knowing it and hearing stories about their time growing up is… different.
(Humanizing.)
He can barely imagine Tsukabishi getting lost in research the same way that he and Kisuke have a tendency to, but from the sounds of it, the man’s only better about it because his interests aren’t as varied or common as their own.
He takes another drink and rolls his right shoulder again, still trying to work the stiffness out of it; it’s nothing critical, it really isn’t, but it’s still annoying after so long with his body mostly behaving itself. He just hadn’t expected to be standing in one place for so long doing the same action again and again without a break.
(He’s never been good at remembering his limits.)
(Ah well…)
“Erich-san…?” Kisuke asks, breaking away from his banter with Tsukabishi in favor of giving him a concerned look.
“Just stiff,” he reminds Kisuke pointedly, then sets his glass down and nods to Tsukabishi, saying, “Thank you for the meal. I think I’m going to go lay down and try to sleep.”
Tsukabishi nods back. “Sleep well, Rerugen-san.”
“Thank you.” Erich climbs to his feet and starts to move away, then pauses when Kisuke scrambles up and darts after him. “Kisuke…?”
Kisuke hesitates, uncertainty-nervousness-want rippling through his reiatsu before he blurts out, “I know you prefer that I don’t use kido on you, but… could I give you a massage instead?”
“Kido won’t do anything about this,” he reminds his… friend…? as firmly as he can, then bites back a wince at the touch of dejection that creeps into Kisuke’s reiatsu. “But I suppose a massage might help,” he adds before he can help himself, unable to resist giving in.
He’s… still not certain how Kisuke truly feels about him, but… but their conversation before dinner was… interesting.
(Watching him is more interesting than sorting, is it?)
(If that isn’t an oblique confession, he’s not sure what is.)
(Kisuke, more interested in him than in unknown relics?)
Erich wipes his palms dry on his pants, trying to ignore the certainty growing in his chest; he still doesn’t know for sure, not without asking, and he… he doesn’t know how to ask.
But maybe he can use this.
He casts a sidelong glance at Kisuke as they step out of the main room and back into the hallway, doing everything he can to set aside his preconceptions and just observe.
Kisuke seems… almost as nervous as he is, gaze flickering to Erich, away, and then back, as if unwilling to let Erich out of his sight for long; the man even has his fan out, spinning it between his fingers in a show of restless energy that’s meant to look idle but instead just looks nervous. Even Kisuke’s reiatsu hums with nerves, in a show of openness that Erich’s never seen in his friend before.
(How strange…)
(Usually Kisuke is like a closed book, but all today…)
Erich turns the idea over in his mind, his earlier suspicions roaring back to the fore; there’s something odd going on between them, something that’s letting him read Kisuke more accurately than before, but he just can’t remember where he heard about anything similar before. He has though, he’s sure of it; there’s something familiar about all of this, about the clarity between them—
(Wait.)
(Can Kisuke read him like he can read Kisuke?)
(Oh no…)
“Erich-san…?” Kisuke suddenly prompts, frowning at Erich as he steps a bit closer. “Is something wrong?”
Erich forces himself not to freeze, forces himself not to flinch, and carefully lets go of his fear-worry-uncertainty; his friend doesn’t deserve those emotions aimed at him, no matter how Erich feels about being suddenly unable to shield himself the way he’s accustomed to. Hopefully it’s only Kisuke who can sense his inner emotions, not everyone around them, but until he knows for certain…
(He needs to be better.)
(He has to be better.)
“No, just more tired than I first thought,” Erich answers, even though he knows his words have nothing to do with the emotions he suspects Kisuke sensed. “I might end up falling asleep on you, sorry.”
“Maa, that’s alright,” Kisuke says with forced cheer, reiatsu edged with worry-concern-uncertainty. “So long as it helps, I’ll be happy.”
Erich hums a bit and slides the door open to his room, already reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt as he walks towards his bed. “I’m unsure if it will help, but I’m willing to try,” he admits as he turns slightly towards Kisuke to give the man a wry smile—
Kisuke’s gaze is fixed on his hands, on their progress down the line of buttons on his shirt, and Erich can’t resist taking just a fraction longer, can’t resist drawing it out, as he untucks his shirt and undoes the last few buttons.
He shrugs the dress shirt off. Tosses it into the basket against the wall. Turns away to fidget with his undershirt, trying to ignore the way Kisuke’s unwavering focus makes his mouth go dry and his mind go blank.
(That’s… that’s quite enough evidence.)
(Oh dear…)
Kisuke’s hand settles solid-warm-steady on Erich’s stiff shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles along the base of his neck. “I can see why it’s bothering you,” Kisuke murmurs as he moves closer, pressing his fingers into the tight, aching muscles along Erich’s shoulder. “Will you trust me to use reiatsu on this…?”
Erich hisses as Kisuke’s fingers dig deep into a sore spot and begin to carefully soothe it away. “For what?”
“Heat, mostly,” Kisuke answers as he nudges Erich closer to the bed, reiatsu rippling with too many emotions for Erich to keep track of. “You should also probably lay down, or at least sit down. I don’t want to make you fall.”
“I wouldn’t,” Erich protests, casting a glower over his shoulder as he pulls off his glasses and lets Kisuke guide him face down onto the bed. “I’m not that tired,” he mutters as he stretches out and tries to get comfortable; it’s a relief to get off his feet, to finally be laying down, but part of him can’t forget the look Kisuke has been giving him and how vulnerable he is like this.
(Not that that’s a bad thing, but…)
(His mouth is dry and his heart is pounding and suddenly he wants, he wants, he wants…)
“Perhaps not, but you’ll be more comfortable like this,” Kisuke says cheerfully as he crawls closer and then straddles Erich’s hips without an ounce of hesitation. He leans over and rests both hands on Erich’s shoulders, his reiatsu brushing softly against Erich’s senses before sinking slowly-carefully-steadily into his skin and—
It’s warm. It’s nice. Like a heat pack contoured along his shoulders, radiating an even heat that sinks deep-deep-deep into tense muscles. Combined with the careful pressure of Kisuke’s fingers as he begins to work at the tension in Erich’s neck, it’s practically heaven.
Erich groans as the pain starts to diminish and stretches his shoulders wider, tipping his head forward to better expose the back of his neck; he almost wishes he’d taken a moment to pull his undershirt off, just to feel Kisuke’s hands across his back, but… but this will have to do.
(There will be other times.)
(He’ll make sure of it.)
He can hear the way the breath catches in Kisuke’s throat, can feel the faintest tremor in Kisuke’s fingers, can sense the rising desire-hunger-want in Kisuke’s reiatsu—
Followed by the almost ruthless way Kisuke shoves those emotions aside and takes a deep, steadying breath.
“Good?” Kisuke asks in amusement. “Not too much heat?”
“S’good,” Erich mumbles into his arms, using Kisuke’s newly-calm reiatsu to steady his own.
(Now is… not the time.)
(Not when this feels so good.)
Kisuke hums a bit and shifts position, hands trailing down Erich’s back and then slowly working back up along his spine, chasing away tension Erich hadn’t even realized was there; he’s careful as he works, thorough just like he is with everything else he’s interested in, and it’s… heady. Intoxicating.
(If this is what Kisuke’s like now, when their relationship is so nebulous…)
(What will he be like when they finally sort this out…?)
Erich swallows. Presses his face into his arms. Shoves his growing want aside. Focuses on Kisuke’s hands, on the warmth sinking into his skin, on the fading pain and—
Drifts.