Merry Christmas, everyone.
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Chocolate and Sake
It was a testament to the patience and diligence of its sole resident that the Emiya household stood as a festive, glittering ideal. Lights red, green, blue, white sparkled along the edges of the main building's roof, and even the cluttered old shed was no less brilliant. Yellow lights shone out from bare branches weighed down by snow, entwined with the trees like glimmering leaves; and amidst this whole display, not a single tacky inflatable Santa Claus or animatronic reindeer display was to be found. Even at its most tasteful, the Emiya household stood out from its surroundings.
Fresh snow had blanketed the city just in time for Christmas, mostly unspoiled even now at the close of the day; the pavement was covered in it, as were the roofs of all the houses in the neighbourhood, and the trees and yards alike.
His shivering breaths blowing out into the dark air above, Shinji alone trudged through the twelve inches of powder that choked the streets and pathways, the cuffs of his jeans spattered with white and just partly soaked through. He had nothing appropriate to wear other than a thicker-than-usual jacket; otherwise, he had no choice but to go out in sneakers and thinner trousers than he'd have preferred. He had a scarf but no cap, the tops of his ears turning red from the winter chill, and the gloves he wore had been bought in anticipation of a much milder season.
With every step he turned over in his head the thought of just going home and having something warm to drink, but by now he'd come too far, and to return would mean spending even more time out in this exhausting weather.
More than that, though, he'd been invited out him, very specifically just to spend some time together with Shirou on Christmas Eve.
When he thought about it, he honestly couldn't remember the last time they properly hung out as friends. Certainly they didn't after Shirou had quit the archery club, so this was quite rare in itself; he couldn't know what to expect. After some more thinking something he'd had plenty of time for on the long trek through the snow he decided to set his expectations aside. It would be just the two of them, after all. They had their differences and they were by no means perfect friends, but for today none of that would matter.
Shinji kicked his boots on the edge of the doorframe, then casually knocked a few times. The next few seconds seemed to drag on as he inhaled deeply, expecting the redhead to show up to answer as soon as he was called; a delay like this wasn't like him.
Not from what Shinji knew of him at school, anyhow.
How long was it before the door opened and a familiar redhead peeked through a minute, perhaps more? Shinji had crossed his arms, finding himself subconsciously tapping his foot, as though having been made to wait was a personal attack.
Another breath. And just in time, as it happened: Shinji heard the door opening and his eyes narrowed, seeming to notice Shirou before the boy noticed him.
There he was now, standing in the doorway, sweat trailing down his brow; his casual clothes were hidden away behind an apron spattered all over with a light red, as if he was at the scene of a murder and the weapon that did the deed was the wooden spoon clutched in his right hand. Barely hesitating, he bowed and stood aside for Shinji to enter.
His slim friend obliged with a broad grin typical of him as if the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind washed away as soon as he saw Shirou, leaving only the classic Shinji, the boastful and superior young man from the archery club who suffered no equal, let alone superior. In that sense, Shirou was greeted by a familiar face.
Shirou's smile, in contrast, was warm and honest, and he laughed a little as Shinji took off his boots, quickly apologising for not answering the door sooner.
I know it's not really traditional, but I thought I'd try making curry. You don't mind that, right? He ran a hand through his messy hair, laughing again, this time a bit more awkwardly.
Shinji shrugged. It's better than more fried chicken. You're not a bad cook, Emiya; don't tell me you could ruin something like curry... could you?
Oh, no, I'm sure that won't be a problem.
Looking around at the house a quaint, homely place, as he saw it Shinji didn't let up with the same sort of demeanour he showed at school, taking off his white jacket and hanging it up in a closet by the door before following his host into the dining room. As soon as he'd left the hallway by the entrance, he was hit with the heady spice of hot curry, and in reaction his stomach grumbled audibly. Shinji furrowed his brow, his body more honest than he was himself, but Shirou hadn't appeared to notice, and happily strutted off into the kitchen, coming back out with a black pot.
He nodded at his friend, then beckoned for him to take a seat. You came here earlier than expected, but I still managed to get dinner ready in time. Just bear with me a little longer, alright?
Shinji's reaction was as simple as it was noncommittal, and he took up a seat by the table on the floor, drinking in the scent of the dinner set before him. The heavy lid of the pot concealed what was inside, but the smell couldn't be held back, filling the whole room, saturating Shinji's senses with an aroma he was far from used to; it lingered in his nose and on his tongue, and against his wishes he found himself anticipating the meal Shirou had made for the both of them, very specifically and it struck him again that this was something just the two of them were sharing.
For some reason, he found himself feeling oddly satisfied by that thought.
When Shirou next appeared from the kitchen, he had in his hands a pair of plates and utensils, and diligently set them out on the table as if this was a restaurant and Shinji the only customer. Not an inaccurate way of looking at the situation, perhaps.
Once everything had been taken care of, Shirou let himself sit at the table with his friend.
Let's eat!
Shinji nodded, looking at the pot curiously before getting himself some rice and pouring out a few heaping spoonfuls of curry down onto his plate. Shirou followed suit shortly afterwards, and in no time the two were eating and enjoying the dinner Shirou had painstakingly made effort that Shinji didn't and couldn't know. It wasn't like him to boast about his cooking even to a friend, but he couldn't help but wonder what this particular friend was thinking as he ate.
His expression was inscrutable: the same vague contempt he seemed to hold for everything he looked upon was gone now; instead, Shinji was more or less neutral, taking bites, chewing, swallowing, sometimes nodding for reasons known only to him.
The truth was that he found the dish too spicy for his tastes, but he didn't let Shirou see even a hint of that. Enjoyment wasn't something he could fake, but he tried.
Eventually the chef's curiosity dissipated in favour of the more immediate interests of his stomach; the two finished their meals at about the same time, but barely a word had passed between them. Neither of them could be sure of this was their own fault, or because of the uncertainty of the other, and even Shinji didn't try to say anything. Occasionally he met Shirou's gaze, but then glanced away to his food, as if there was something he wanted to say but just couldn't, not then.
He breathed in, consciously not looking over the table at Shirou. Now that dinner was over he'd become used to the smell of curry in the air and he barely noticed it, his sated hunger allowing him to think more clearly than before.
It's good, he said, setting his spoon down with a little clatter. The chilly quiet that pervaded the whole house, though broken by Shinji's words, soon returned, and conversation become difficult again. The both of them were made suddenly aware of the phrase 'breaking the ice' and understood now perhaps why it had the meaning that it did: for them it felt like there was a barrier between them, leaving certain things unsaid when, in any other situation, there would be conversation laughter friendship.
Shirou stood up to his feet all of a sudden, catching Shinji's attention, who shot the redhead a glare as though he'd disrupted the peace.
Sorry, he said, putting on a smile. Unlike Shinji, he could fake warmth and friendliness even when he knew it wasn't there. Ah, but anyway, I'm going to have hot chocolate, would you like some?
When Shinji again was noncommittal with a brief raise of his eyebrows, Shirou scratched his head, like this was some puzzle he couldn't quite get.
Or... well, since it's Christmas, how about sake? I have a bottle, if... that's what you'd prefer, Shinji. Then, he quickly added, and I'm glad you liked the curry, too!
The offer of drink seemed to cut through the tense awkwardness that the two had built up. It was refreshing, and Shinji found himself no longer as tense as he watched, once again, as his redheaded friend's back slipped behind a thin wall into the kitchen. He imagined Shirou stooping down, opening the fridge to take out a chilled bottle he'd bought who knows how long ago.
Had he bought it for himself? Had he anticipated inviting his friend over and sharing it? Those thoughts and others kept Shinji occupied while he waited, and his normally under-control mind wandered more than he liked it to.
The truth was, it had just been a gift from Shirou's boss but Shinji didn't need to know that.
Here we are, sorry to keep you waiting, Shirou said, setting the bottle down on the table, along with a small cup half the size of the mug that held Shirou's own piping-hot chocolate. Tea was what he preferred no matter the time or occasion, but he never forgot the one December when Kiritsugu had been there and shared hot chocolate with him under a clear winter sky. Memories like that could never fade.
And, he hoped, tonight would be another memory like that, even despite how reluctant Shinji was to make it social. That surprised Shirou more than anything; he knew his friend to be a steady conversationalist, but through the whole of the night so far he'd hardly spoken more than a few sentences.
Shinji was over-eager in how quickly he grasped the sake bottle's neck, something he realized only moments after he'd done it, and by then there was no recovering from the slight faux pas. As he often did, he pretended as if he'd intended it all along, and filled his cup right to the brim with drink.
A few drops spilled over on either side as he brought it up to his lips, and like an exhausted salaryman he downed it in one go.
The next cupful he took more gingerly, deliberately not trying to look like a repressed alcoholic as Shirou sat there innocently sipping his hot chocolate, but the damage if any had already been done.
I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, Shinji, Shirou said with a small laugh; had anyone else spoken those same words they'd be accused of sarcasm but with Shirou of all people, Shinji knew better than that. His friend was honestly and level in seemingly any situation, like the straight man in a comedy duo, but maybe not so strict. From the smile he wore, it was clear that he at least was enjoying Shinji's antics, for whatever they may have been.
It's not that, Emiya, he said, drinking only half of his cup of sake this time, but you wouldn't understand. No matter what I say, you never understand...
His words trailed off as the bitter, dry taste of the alcohol registered on his tongue, and he wrinkled his nose in response to the smell and flavour of it. He'd never had any before he wasn't 20 yet, not that that ever really mattered to anyone else his age and this introduction was hardly the best he could hope for.
Shirou set down his mug and laughed, sighing as he thought of what Shinji must get up to in his spare time especially with the girls that so often flock around him and found his perception of his friend changing, little by little. For the better, of course.
It so happened that Shinji wasn't as superior as he tried to make himself seem to others, but that wasn't a flaw. It was part of who he was, and Shirou liked that.
Emiyaaaa, he drawled, pretending annoyance as he stared into Shirou's deep eyes, taken in by the redhead's calm, easy smile. He suspected it was put on, but he couldn't know anymore.
And Shinji's growing inebriation imagined or otherwise only made that oddly charming smile grow wider, more pronounced, more inviting. Shinji shook his head, downing the rest of his cup and making a move for the bottle again before he stopped himself. He let out a long sigh, then looked at his empty plate where a few specks of rice still remained.
I could never really get used to the taste myself, Shirou said, trying as best he could to make friendly conversation even when it seemed more awkward than it was worth.
He was quietly stubborn like that.
Both of them felt pressured to talk either to start, or to continue and it weighed on them, neither wanting to be the first to speak in consideration of what the other was thinking, despite how many conversations they'd had before that flowed as smoothly and easily as the alcohol down Shinji's dry throat. For everything that was between them, both past and present, they were friends; but what were friends who couldn't chat when the occasion called for it? Somehow all of the things that made them like each other in the varied strange ways they did didn't matter at all, because despite all that it was as though they were strangers. Everything came back again to the idea of breaking the ice but, as with anything between people, it had to be mutual.
No matter what Shirou said, it didn't bring down the wall that seemed to tower between them on that small wooden table in his dining room.
In cases such as these, it sometimes happens that words can do nothing to relieve the awkwardness; something, then, best left to action. Something that Shirou, as earnest as he could be in ways subtle and overt, couldn't bring himself to try, even if the sweat on his forehead wasn't entirely from the heat of his cooking, nor the pounding in his chest from the sugar in his drink.
Between them, Shirou was the man of words, honest as an open book, but action was Shinji's particular realm of choice and the action he had in mind?
It happened faster than Shirou could react: Shinji crawled onto the table, leaning forward, and, his cheeks a burning red, spoke in the most direct way he knew how given the situation: a wet kiss to his friend's lips.
What he noticed first, before anything else, was the sweet taste of chocolate. He liked it more than he thought he would.
Pulling back as slightly as he could, his face only an inch from Shirou's, he stared into the redhead's eyes, smelling the residue of curry on his breath probably more pleasant than the alcoholic taste of Shinji's lips, but there wasn't anything he could do about that now. He'd made his decision, and like with his downing of the sake, the only way to go was ahead, owning his decision as if it was what he'd been planning all along.
Well, in this case, that much was true, but he hadn't expected it to go like this.
Shinji... Shirou breathed, his body slack, shoulders limp, not knowing how to react. Their hearts were both pumping faster than ever, the touch of their lips having given them both a high that they whatever their precise thoughts were wanted more of.
It was Shinji who initiated again; Shirou set his mug on the floor, out of danger, and cupped Shinji's face in his hand, bringing him closer, closer, too close; Shinji collapsed forward into his lap and Shirou tumbled back. When they were aware of what was going on again, Shinji understood through a dizzy haze that he was on top of Shirou, their chests pressed together, their breathing heavy and off-rhythm. He felt comfortable like that, as awkward as everything was, and he didn't want to move away.
This time, Shirou was the one to start their third kiss and it was the one that lasted.
It didn't matter how skilled it was, and even Shinji for all his boasts and veneer of romantic experience seemed in the heat of the moment like someone experiencing his first love. Shirou's strong arms were all over him, holding him in a caring embrace. With their bodies they said to each other what they had wanted to say with words that whole evening, and they found it was far easier to express in action than in conversation. There was a raw emotion to their physicality, an honest emotion to the way they mashed their lips together clumsily as they did, trying to kiss with their tongues but failing; Shirou put all the effort in he could muster, but he could barely reach past Shinji's teeth, let alone into his mouth, and so with shared smiles they gave that up.
Talking had been so stilted and so difficult, but this came far more naturally to them.
Not a word passed between them as they sat up again, facing each other, feeling a pain of parting as their lips no longer touched but they both had something else in mind, wanting nothing more than more intimacy, wanting to be as close as possible tonight, together, with each other.
Shirou tousled his friend's soft hair as he let him fumble with the buttons of his trousers. Shinji tried and tried and failed and failed, but eventually got it, his hands unsteady with unsurety as he had thoughts of what he wanted to to but his body was, in many ways, still in shock from what they had already done.
Down went Shirou's bottoms not all the way, though, but just enough to expose his crotch, soft and not yet ready despite their passion thus far; Shinji felt a sudden wash of embarrassment as he felt the stiff bulge in his own trousers, but he swallowed and undid the button, slipped down the zipper, and exposed himself as he'd done with Shirou.
His friend, his feelings inscrutable, smiled generously, wrapping his fingers around Shinji's length. He stroked him up and down, and Shinji followed suit, lightly grasping Shirou the same way. It didn't take long before Shirou, too, was hard, and the thought crossed Shinji's mind, wondering who between them was bigger but it was a brief thought, and it disappeared with the first bite of pleasure that flowed down through his body as Shirou squeezed down on his hot skin. Just a little, of course; they were still testing the waters, not used to this but knowing they both wanted it more than anything certainly more than any conversation they could come up with.
Shinji stayed gentle and careful as he slid his hand up and down, in close time with his breathing, but Shirou now was the more eager one: he seemed like he was somehow more than used to this already. His body was getting hotter by the moment, and sweat started to drip down his sides as Shirou's caress grew faster, faster, almost more lustful than loving.
There was a strange kind of hunger to the way he looked into Shinji's eyes, and without hesitating again he slipped his free hand behind his friend's head, pulling them back together. Their wet lips embraced with more fervour than before as they mutually rubbed each other, wishing that this particular moment would continue to last.
Almost squirming from Shirou's insistent ministrations, Shinji felt a heat between his legs, rising for a while then ebbing, his thighs almost starting to feel numb as he focused on nothing more than the sensation of his lips and his length. It felt tight, and he knew he was on the edge of climax, but he desperately wanted to keep going he didn't want to disappoint his friend, his lover.
Then, just as spontaneously as this had begun, for Shinji it seemed to come to an all-too-early end.
He slipped out of the kiss and let out a gasp, his eyes shut tight; Shirou didn't look down, but felt a soft throbbing, then a new warmth on his fingers. He smiled. With a polite look to Shinji, he brought his wet hand to his mouth, and he licked its whole length, all the way up his fingers, catching every drop of come that had spilled onto him with a deliberately erotic languidness.
Shinji noticed when he swallowed it all, Shirou's hand still slick and glistening in the room's bright light. He felt an intense pressure to measure up to that and he did so gladly, knowing it would please them both.
With the same insistence as when he'd first kissed him, Shinji lay his head in Shirou's lap before his friend could do anything. His heart pounded harder and harder, his mind trying to come to terms with the realization that he really was doing this, that this all wasn't a dream he was having after fainting in a deep snowdrift on the way home.
Thankfully, that wasn't the case.
He let his instincts guide him: he touched his lips to Shirou's shaft in the same reverent way he'd kissed the man himself properly as they had, but unlike that, this was more one-sided; Shinji didn't mind that. To him, it was only right to do this after he'd finished so early, and he needed no words to express that. He knew that, to Shirou, it would be self-evident.
His soft kisses reached up, to the tip, then back down to the base, worried to take it in his mouth as he knew he meant to worried that he'd mess it up, worried that he'd disappoint, worried that Shirou wouldn't enjoy it.
As if he sensed those troubled thoughts racing through his friend's mind, Shirou stroked Shinji's hair with his other hand being quite careful about that and reassured him without a word that it was good, that it felt fine. He smiled gently, though Shinji couldn't see, and that was all the honest encouragement that Shinji needed to overcome what stopped him from going all the way. He wanted, more than anything, to make this good for both of them; that couldn't and wouldn't happen if he wasn't willing at least to try.
Sticking out his tongue just a little, he pressed his head down on Shirou's length, thinking that it was much bigger than his, but he hadn't had a chance to really compare. Just entering his mouth it felt huge, to the point of being overwhelming, but he was as patient as he could be and made sure not to even graze Shirou's sensitive skin with his teeth. He brushed along the underside of his friend's shaft with his tongue, stroking it side to side, his hand working at the base to coax the same pleasure out of him that he'd received himself.
Shirou let out a groan of appreciation, followed by a sigh. He could get used to more of this.
Shinji admitted to himself, with something more than an inch of Shirou in his mouth, that he was surprised at how aggressive and eager his friend had been, but that only made him more encouraged to continue. This had started out as something he wanted, but it turned out that it was for both of them and he was more than willing to give what it was that Shirou wanted.
He let some honest enthusiasm show through, and smiled as best he could with his lips and mouth otherwise occupied; he did what came naturally to him, sucking gently, stroking him with his sloppy tongue, getting him wetter than seemed reasonable, but it had an effect: Shirou leaned back on his hands, panting, and Shinji paused for a moment to appreciate his own efforts.
He kept up his pace, eager but not too much so, and before he knew it Shirou's hand was roughly on the back of his head, urging him to give more, more, more.
Shinji, quite happily, obliged, working both his mouth and hand, and before long Shirou let out a sharp gasp, pushing down on his friend's head, wanting this more than anything.
Shinji closed his eyes and loosened his grasp on Shirou's length, feeling heavy spurts in time with Shirou's heartbeats. A hot, thick liquid poured into his mouth, covering his tongue, and he welcomed every last drop. He stayed like that voluntarily, his lips sealed just below the tip, trapping all of Shirou's come in his mouth so that he didn't miss any.
The taste was bitter and salty, but he didn't mind it at all oddly, it reminded him of how he'd first reacted to the sake he drank, that quickly-acquired tasted he now welcomed. He might need a bit more of that to wash all this down, was his most immediate thought.
When he was sure that Shirou was finished, he raised his head up, smiling a tight smile; then he swallowed everything down, just as Shirou had, and they shared a spontaneous laugh.
They were both hot with sweat and weak from exhaustion. Shinji wanted to sit up again, but he found himself more drawn to simply laying in Shirou's lap, enjoying the simple comfort that offered him. They shared one last, long look, and then Shinji closed his eyes, his breathing steady and content. He remembered, faintly, feeling the light touch of Shirou's rough fingers along his cheek, then through his thick locks of hair.
There was nowhere else that made him feel so comfortable, not even his own bed.
Here he could be honest with his feelings, and do what made him happy. Here he didn't have to put on a separate face for the world, because here he was just with Shirou, who accepted him as he he was, not wanting him to change.
And so, with that thought in mind, Shinji drifted off to sleep on a snowy Christmas eve.
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i wrote this in a day please be gentle, also it's late, good night
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Originally Posted by AkaiNeko
