If he were a little more honest, or at least open about it, Chikusa would admit that there’s a tentative sort of concern buried somewhere under all his forced apathy. They’ve already been hitting stumbling blocks today in their relationship too many times for him to be comfortable. There’s no way he’d tell Ken to go clean up even with the usual risks in place- what if this is the last straw? So he keeps his eyes locked onto him, focused on nothing but Ken, and lets the dips and scratches of the wall imprint into his palm.

It’s only when Ken is finally done, pressing up against him, that Chikusa breathes and lets his head fall again. His warmth is so welcome as he presses up against him. Ever since they’ve been young, Ken has felt like a miniature sun in contrast to the way his own body has never quite felt warm enough, and that alone would be enough to make him swallow thickly. Dragging a quiet little twist of sound is fingers shoving into him roughly, and Chikusa’s fingers curl against the wall. Not a name, not even a real word, just a bit of breath that makes sound almost as if by accident. Rough and quick, Ken’s fingers are exactly what’s needed to shake feeling into him everytime.

“Ken…” One hand pulls away from the wall, reaching back to curl his long fingers along the nape of the other’s neck. It’s a way to keep him there… Make sure neither of them can leave this time.