Mosquito
They always came around just as the sun began to set, when the air finally started to cool.
“Oh, damn. A mosquito bit me. ...Eh, whatever.”
Yuga scratched at his right arm as he gazed out over the inn’s famous Japanese garden. Inside, the floor was covered in Ryukyu-style tatami mats, while subtle indirect lighting lent the room a sleek, modern elegance.
He settled into a woven bamboo chair, letting himself simply exist in the moment without a care for the time. How long had it been since he’d felt this at peace?
“Not okay. I’m the only one allowed to leave marks on your skin.”
Just as Yuga was surrendering himself to the gentle breeze, one particular man beside him had to come along and stir up a wind of his own.
Yuga let out a soft sigh, then indulged the voice at his side with a response. For all his protests, he had a soft spot for this man.
“...You want to bite me?”
“Can I?”
The question came so eagerly that Yuga paused to reconsider before answering.
“Hmm. Actually, no.”
“Aww, come on.”
The man beside him, Mizuho, made no effort to hide his disappointment.
His voice had that way of making Yuga’s interest drift elsewhere. As Mizuho’s hand began to slip away from his, Yuga found himself reaching out on impulse, catching those slender fingers and lacing them with his own.
“...You can suck, though.”
In that instant, Mizuho’s cool, striking eyes lit up, locking onto their target.
With the momentum of rising from the chair along the veranda, he pulled Yuga to his feet—or rather, pulled him along without giving him a chance to object—then pushed him down onto the low platform bed.
In the blink of an eye, Yuga was lying beneath him.
“Mizuho...”
Yuga gazed quietly up at Mizuho in his yukata. They wore the same loose, traditional robes, and through the relaxed opening of Mizuho’s collar, a glimpse of pale skin stirred an irresistible urge in Yuga to leave a mark of his own.
“What are you looking at?”
Mizuho asked, his sharp gaze practically demanding, Look at me.
“Nothing. I was just thinking I kind of understand how mosquitoes feel.”
“I’ve understood for a while now.”
With that, Mizuho buried his face in the open collar of Yuga’s yukata. Then he gave a soft little suck, a quiet mwah against Yuga’s skin.
Yuga let out a breathy gasp.
Mizuho didn’t tell him what he really wanted: Yuga’s neck. All those veins gathered beneath the skin, in a spot where there was never quite enough fabric to keep them covered.
How annoying.
As Mizuho worked his way lower from Yuga’s collar, leaving one crimson mark after another, Yuga answered him with hot, unsteady breaths escaping his lips.
“Ah... ah, h-hah...”
