Itch

His fingers tapped out an impatient rhythm on the couch. Misaki imagined the almost inaudible patter echoed about the room, his waves of discomfort sending shivers through the apartment; stirring the empty bedroom, the desolate computer. When Akihiko wasn't there it was different, that was undeniable. Misaki didn't feel any romantic sense of loss, didn't writhe in emotional agony or pander to the man (he wasn't sure he could live with himself if he did) but everything became awkward. The meals he cooked too large and even the sofa he sat on refused to mould to his body; as if it needed only the weight of it's owner to create a comforting dip…perfect to snuggle into…

Misaki shook his head slightly, flushing at his own weakness: that was one time!

He started again as the door clicked and Akihiko himself strode in, the door closing behind him as if on it's own accord.

"You're up late." Usagi shrugged out of his dinner jacket, Misaki winced slightly as it fell in a crumpled heap, the expensive material rippling like a dark shadow from Akihiko's back, but otherwise made no sound.

Akihiko paused for a second, taking in the slight frown on his boyfriend's face, his rigid sitting posture despite the invitation of the worn couch. Keeping his eyes on the younger man, he continued: "You could have come. It might have been a little more bearable if there was one person there not trying to jump down my thro-"

He stopped suddenly however, as Misaki stood, his eyes still focusing on somewhere near Akihiko's midriff. Small hands grasped him by either bicep, pushing him forcefully into the middle of the large living space. The mildly baffled Akihiko noted at that point all the lights in the apartment were switched on.

"Misaki…are you okay?"

"…Yes" breathed the reply, Misaki's lips barely moving. "Just…just stay here, for two seconds okay?"

Akihiko opened his mouth to respond but closed it almost as quickly. Misaki's eyes were half closed, his head relaxing back, exposing his pale neck. He almost looked in prayer, breathing shallow.

Despite the distance between them, Misaki felt Usagi engulf him. His musky smell; his ego; the energy that radiated from his every pore. Slowly and surely, the apartment came back. The sharp edges of the counters softened with the curve of Usagi's hand, the bed inviting with the promise of his luxuriating smirk, the temperamental couch offering an arm around him, keeping him safe and tight by Usagi's side.

It was hard to tell how long it had been but Akihiko felt a light squeeze on his arms as Misaki cleared his throat, eyes opening. For a second they looked at each other; blue penetrating green, an intangible link, as if a focused beam of light had sprung between the two men.

Then it was gone. Misaki's arms whipped to his sides, eyes to the floor, a delicious pink hue tingeing his cheeks. "S-sorry, that was… I just…" He looked up with a pained expression to see Akihiko looking like he didn't know which way was up.

"Welcome home." And with that Misaki turned on his heel, a strange curl in the pit of his stomach as he sensed Akihiko's jaw drop behind him.