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[terriblepurpose]

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[peripheries]

Teasing is when you say things that you know aren't true to try and fool me. Like when you tell me I've slept through the entire day but it's really just later in the morning.

[He leans into the touch, one hand twisting in Paul's shirt as if to steady himself against the gentle sensation. The other rests on Paul's, rubbing gently at long fingers with a thumb.]

Right now you're being playful. Because you mean what you say and what you do.

[terriblepurpose]

Sometimes it's already afternoon.

[He drifts his fingers on the other hand under Kaworu's shirt as well, grazing over the constellations of scars there.

Paul handles Kaworu as delicately as one of his illusive butterflies, but there's a weight to his palms that suggests he's very aware of his warm, definite physicality as well.]

I'm glad to know the difference.

[He leans up to kiss him again, framing his ribs between his hands.]

[peripheries]

Only sometimes. And it's dark all the time now. So is there even morning or afternoon anymore?

[He has to defend his honor at least a little bit before he collapses forwards to bring his lips to Paul's, as though drawn by a magnetic force that he can't resist.

There's something about Paul handling him so gently, like he's something delicate that could break like glass, that makes him feel warm and soft.]

[terriblepurpose]

[Paul makes another soft sound crushed between their mouths, lips parting to slip his tongue along the seam of Kaworu's. It might be a yes, decidedly affirming, but whether it's to the question or the kiss is unknowable.

Being up here, out of sight of anyone on the ground but exposed to every star above them, that Paul thinks (as much as he thinks) he likes. As if the whole world is small beneath them, far away and none of their concern.

It makes him bolder. He pulls Kaworu closer, chest to chest, to feel the hum of his S2 engine.]

[peripheries]

[Kaworu opens himself to Paul's tongue as it's his turn to make a soft, unrestrained sound. Though unrestrained might be his default, it's always with words that he can use to get something out of someone else. A sound is just a sound, vulnerable, with no chance to gain an upper edge.

When Paul pulls him close he reaches out to tangle his fingers in curly hair, just like he did in the closet. He likes being like this. Paul's heartbeat in his chest, his fingers in soft hair, his thumb stroking a strong jaw bone.]

[terriblepurpose]

[There's a growing collection of sounds that Kaworu makes wound into the fabric of Paul's memory, indexed against a multiplicity of factors. Where he was touched, and when, and how long, and how much. Paul is a quick learner in this, as all things.

He knows how to coax an echo of it from him again, a light curl of his tongue against his, but not too deep. He tilts his face into the tracing of Kaworu's thumb, a warm hum pulled out of him in turn. His hands aren't content to stay still, roaming up and down his back as if mapping the territory under his palms.]

[peripheries]

[Kaworu should know that Paul is breaking this down, mapping it, trying create rules and logic where it may not exist. But he's too enthralled by all of this, completely in the moment, to call the other boy out.

He gives Paul the soft echo of a pleased moan, barely more than a soft exhale through his nose, further satisfied by the hum that Paul makes.

Then Paul's hand brushes a ticklish spot on the ribs on his back, next a newer scar, and he can't hold back a soft noise, almost a squeak, into Paul's mouth and he squirms like one of Paul's worms.]

[terriblepurpose]

[Paul's laugh melts into something warm and sticky crushed between their mouths as Kaworu wriggles on top of him, and his fingers slip down to catch a belt loop in an effort to hold him still. It doesn't do much but realign certain angles, press the tilt of his hips closer to Paul's soft belly.]

Too sensitive? [He breathes, between one kiss and the next.] Or did you like that?

[He's determined that thorough information collection can be pleasurable, if you're doing it right.]

[peripheries]

[There's a soft hiccup against Paul's lips and the flutter of wings as another butterfly appears. Still, Kaworu moves with Paul's efforts to steady him, sinking closer to him, trying to think.]

It was sensitive. But I think I liked it.

[terriblepurpose]

[Speaking of things that tickle - Paul wrinkles his nose and catches his laugh behind firmly sealed lips, transmuting it into a low hum.]

Let's see.

[He seeks out the spot again, trailing a finger along the fresh, raised scar before dipping to the sensitive spot below and drawing a skimming circle, anchoring Kaworu by his belt loop.]

[peripheries]

[Kaworu's body stiffens when Paul's finger brushes the scar as if stealing himself. It's not an unpleasant sensation but there's something that makes him want to seem strong and upright when he knows that Paul is touching a symbol of weakness and being harmed.

Then when Paul's fingers brush the sensitive spot, he goes limp, squirming with a giggle and sigh. It makes him feel giddy even as his body sends odd sensations down his ribs. He can't pull away due to the finger twisted through his belt loop, so instead he collapses forward against Paul once more.]

[terriblepurpose]

[Paul scatters soothing, semi-apologetic kisses along Kaworu's forehead and cheek, twisting to expand the territory he can cover. The catch of Kaworu's collapse is a more than welcome one, and if anything, Paul still somehow wants them to be closer. Everything Kaworu says about yearning has made more specific sense to him these days.]

That's a yes?

[He asks, huskier than he expects himself to be as he experiments with another swirling touch.]

Should I keep looking?

[peripheries]

[The press of their bodies is like the night of the party, his chest on Paul’s exploratory hands now gone still. And yet, he can now point out what is different in the way Paul’s hands move with purpose and more familiarity. A deep yearning instead of fumbling need.]

Yes. We’ve only just started.

[He whispers back, an upwards pitch in his voice noticeable at the swirling touch. He leans forward, shifting his hips as he does, to press his lips against Paul’s.]