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Author: Amy the Evitable a.k.a.
Warnings: ponderings of
Summary: Doumeki knows he's a
jealous man. But perhaps not unreasonably so.
Last Updated: 9 February 2008
On the screen, the hero and heroine were engaged in some pointless
argument. Of far more interest to Doumeki was the hair spilling down
over his lap. It was all of one color, a black so true it gleamed blue
in the light from the television, but the strands that curled over his
left leg were thicker and more coarse then the feathery fan surrounding
the head resting on his right thigh.
He yielded to the urge to touch, curling a lock of Himawari’s hair
around and around his forefinger. She tilted her head where it rested
against his shoulder to offer him a smile before returning her
attention to the movie. Her hair was sleek, smooth, and pleasantly cool
as he twined it around his skin.
Watanuki’s hair, when he tried the same winding trick with his other
hand, was equally sleek, but impossibly soft. Silken. It twined
amicably enough, but slithered free after a second or two, refusing to
be held in place. How hair so soft and fine produced cowlicks that were
stubbornly impervious to every hair care product known to mankind was
both baffling and entirely of a piece with the rest of Watanuki.
Doumeki contented himself with combing his fingers through Watanuki’s
hair. The only reaction was a soft sigh, atypical for his
touch-sensitized, twitchy boyfriend. A quick glance revealed that
Watanuki had fallen asleep, lying on his side in a curled up-ball,
barely fitting on his third of the couch, head pillowed on Doumeki’s
Sitting at the center of the couch, cuddled on both sides by the people
he cared for most in this world, watching some ridiculous movie – there
was no place Doumeki would rather be. Even if his leg was going to
It was Watanuki who had started it.
It was two years after Watanuki had moved into the shrine – moved in
with Doumeki. There had been the call from Kunogi, and a long wait in
the hospital lounge until she walked out. She told them that her father
had suffered a heart attack and was in intensive care; that he’d need a
bypass operation; that while the doctors were cautiously encouraging
about his condition, it would be a long and difficult recuperation; and
that only one person was allowed with him in ICU, and her mother was
with him now. All of this was spoken with a smile on her face.
She thanked them for coming, and then seemed to have run out of words,
standing there with her hands tightly clasped in front of her, still
Reassurances and offers of help had poured out of Watanuki, until he,
too feel silent, and she was still standing there, still smiling.
Then his boyfriend had turned to him and said, “You idiot. Hug her,
He’d given Watanuki a sidelong look, then stepped forward and wrapped
his arms around Kunogi. It was only then that he realized she was
shaking. She was rigid in his arms a moment, and then seemed to
collapse against him, her hands winding into the fabric of his shirt
and holding on with a white-knuckled grip. Her face was pressed into
his chest, and the fabric was dampening with tears, but that was fine,
because he was certain that <i>smile</i> had finally left
He held her against him, less tightly then he would have held Watanuki,
and wasn’t sure if he ought to be stroking her back. He thought that
other people would be offering reassurances, nonsensical words meant as
a soothing noise instead of communication, but he’d never spoken unless
he had something to say, and all he had to say right now was conveyed
by the fact that he was holding her.
It had been an incredibly awkward thing, holding on to his boyfriend’s
former crush as his boyfriend looked on. It had been Watanuki’s turn to
smile a smile that made Doumeki uncomfortable. It was like the smile
Watanuki had offered the dead girl beneath the hydrangea, or the smiles
offered to Kohane when the young exorcist's mother was at her worst –
warm, and kind, and bleeding along the edges with Watauki’s pain at
being unable to help -- being unable to do more, to fix things.
It wasn't a surprise to register that there was no envy in the look.
Kimihiro had long ago been thoroughly convinced that Shizuka was in no
way a rival for Himawari's affections; and Kimihiro had accepted the
fact that his own relationship with Himawari would always be at a
distance. Doumeki knew this. Also knew that Kimihiro had made it clear
in a thousand little gestures paired with ten thousand little insults,
denials, and backwards statements that he was happy in his relationship
But it wasn't until this moment that Doumeki really
<i>knew</i> that Watanuki wasn't pining for Kunogi. That
Watanuki was really his.
He was shamed by the sense of relief that flooded him. He hadn't
realized that jealousy was still there, after all this time.
Something of his chagrin had to have shown in his face, because
Watanuki's smile had faded, replaced by a worried look.
"I'll get us something to drink." It was too brisk, too cheerful.
Himawari's hands had clenched around the fistfuls of his shirt, but she
didn't say anything. Didn't ask.
Because neither of them asked, he could offer.
"Come here," he told his lover, reaching out an arm.
Kimihiro had hesitated, scrutinizing his expression. In the end,
Doumeki had lost patience, and yanked his lover forward into what was
more a collision than an embrace.
He hadn't let Kimihiro be out of arms reach for more than a day
afterwards, but nothing more horrible than a stubbed toe had resulted
from the contact with Kunogi. Yuuko had confirmed that if Watanuki was
touching Doumeki, the archer's resistance to Kunogi's curse seemed to
The next time was far less dramatic. There was a movie, and the three
of them on a new leather couch – a slippery leather couch with a
distinct sag in the middle. After the third time Himawari had to
reposition herself to stop the slide before she touched him, he'd
simply put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him.
Watanuki had already lost the battle and was plastered to his other
side, and wrapping his other arm around his lover prevented anyone from
trying to run away.
Movie night had become a regular weekly event since then. The movies
were never ones any of them really wanted to watch – Kimihiro insisted
that they rent the horror movies Himawari so adored, but she demurred,
knowing how easily Watanuki could be spooked. So Doumeki found the most
ridiculous horror movies on the shelves, ones that couldn't frighten
anyone, and the three of them were becoming conniseurs of B-grade
In the one they were currently watching, the monster – a killer pinata
– stalked his prey. Not even pretending an interest in the movie,
Himawari reached over to join him in stroking Watanuki's hair, and
their hands brushed together as they stroked the cool, soft locks.
So far, all they had done was cuddle.
Himawari had been giving signals that she would interested in doing
more – more with both of them. Since their high school days, it had
always been clear that to Kunogi, Doumeki and Watanuki were a package
deal as far as she was concerned.
He suspected that Kimihiro would be willing to expand their sexual
relationship, as well – so long as he didn't expire from mortification
in the process. His lover had been unexpectedly shy in bed at first. It
had been a small disappointment for Shizuka, who had hoped Watanuki
would be as bossy in bed as he was everywhere else. After a certain
amount of encouragement and even more baiting, Kimihiro had grown
more... assertive. Much more assertive. And there was something
appealing to the occasional fits of self-consciousness, anyway, now
that Shizuka was certain there was no genuine reluctance to be seduced.
It was up to him. Doumeki knew himself to be a jealous man. Nothing
would take what was his from him. Knowing that Kimihiro was his,
without regret... Knowing that even if Himawari's curse ended tomorrow,
the two of them would never do anything without him...
He might be able to find it in himself to be unreasonably possessive of
He took Himawari's hand, and brushed their twined fingers against
He might, indeed.
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