The sound of Kenta’s voice is static-y and distorted over the telephone line, but it doesn’t change the gravity of his words, nor the effect that it brings.

Neo has to stop right in his tracks, old tennis shoes making a splashing noise against the wet pavement.

And he has to swallow because his throat’s gone dry.

They repeat in his head with the repeating mantra of the most sacred ritual: I want you, I want you, I want you. Neo’s insides begin to burn, his lips parting with no sound between, and he can just make out the subtle noises of Kenta’s shifting on the other end of the device. It sounds like he’s holding his breath, like he’s anxious, like he’s anticipating whatever may come next after such a bold admission. Neo knows that he’s doing the same, and he knows that he’s beginning to care less and less about the rain splashing onto his head and his shoulders.

I want you.

Neo shivers for reasons other than the cold.

(I want you, too.)

“Wait for me,” Neo murmurs, his voice cracking a little towards the last word. There’s a sharp breath on the other end and a little murmur of agreement, and Neo closes his eyes, adding three more syllables. “The motel.”

Then he kills the line.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so bare-boned, so needing–the rate at which he rushes towards the familiar, rickety building is so quick-going that he thinks he should be embarrassed. But as he goes in dripping on the wooden floor, asks about booked rooms, and hears a familiar three numbers in the receptionist’s voice, that embarrassment is replaced with a heady spinning sensation. A heat burns low in his stomach, spreading with slow sureness to the rest of his body, warming him from the inside out and making it feel like the rainwater is evaporating off his skin. He ducks his head to hide the darkening of his eyes. He thanks the woman and rushes upstairs.

(I want you, too.)

He opens the unlocked door with too much force, his fingers shaking on the doorknob. And there. Sitting. Waiting.

Neo’s lips part in a thirds-whisper, thirds-sigh, thirds-groan.

“Kenta.”

As he shuts the door with his foot, the vampire is on him, super speed pushing their bodies close before Neo has the time to breathe.

The kid is cold, freezing; because of the rain, Neo is the same. He feels hands bury in his hair and a steady tug, a pull to get his head to duck down closer. Their foreheads brush, noses bumping awkwardly, blue eyes clashing with grey and the artificial lighting of the room making everything seem too real–too harsh and too irrevocably there–and Neo reaches up with shaking fingers to flick the lights off before doing anything else.

And then he kisses Kenta Hayashi on the mouth.

Fireworks aren’t what registers in Neo’s mind–the word is gunfire, and each bullet of feeling creates holes in him that are filled almost instantly in the solidity of Kenta’s frame held tight to his own. The young man is shaking, fingers digging almost painfully into Neo’s scalp. Neo can feel his own hands hesitate before one of them finally curls around the back of Kenta’s neck, the other pushing at the small of his back. It is–it is a long time coming. And Neo is shivering and pulling Kenta as tight against him as possible, lifting him, hand sliding to the back of his thigh to wrap a leg around his waist.

He isn’t sure who whimpers between them.

His entire body burns.

The insistent slam of Kenta against the door has the vampire piping up–that hurt, idiot–but Neo kisses the insult off his mouth, kisses the skin beneath his ear, the curve of his jaw, the slide of his neck and the light peek of his collarbone beneath his t-shirt. He nibbles, biting at the shape as Kenta lets out a gasping breath, head tilting back against the wood behind him. Neo can feel the curl of his fingers again, the almost impatient squirm in his arms, the rise and fall of his chest.

He sucks and nips at the hollow between Kenta’s clavicle until the skin turns purple beneath his teeth.

“Bastard–”

And Neo kisses him again, tongue swiping over Kenta’s lower lip as one of his hands reaches up to grasp the young man’s. He eases it off his hair. He swallows Kenta’s noise of delight as he licks up at the roof of his mouth. Their fingers twine, locking, and Neo sucks absently at the muscle in the vampire’s mouth before he pulls away with an almost obscene whisper of a sound.

His voice is a slow, heated murmur, breath falling over Kenta’s lips.

“I want you, too.”

The brunet flushes darkly at the words and Neo grins down at him, pressing the back of his hand against the door as their fingers remain twined together. He knows his own cheeks are coloured, knows that his eyes have darkened in thinly veiled desire, knows that it’s him who presses forward until their hips line up and a shallow breath escapes Kenta’s parted lips.

He’s so damn beautiful.

And Neo kisses him until Kenta forgets that vampires don’t need to breathe.