bakerstreet | since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

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since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

(harmless) hanahaki meme

hanahaki (literally "vomiting flowers") is a fictional illness that began in japanese literature. most commonly, it happens in the case of unrequited love; flowers bloom in a person's lungs and their love suffocates them until it is either requited or they die.

that's pretty angsty. instead, consider a world where hanahaki is a normalised inconvenience and it's never hurt anyone. flowers grow in your chest from the cultivation of love — for your friends, your family, your dog. and it's a feeling that wants to be known, so maybe you can't help spilling petals sometimes when you laugh, or sigh, or shout at someone. everyone knows what it means and it's something to be celebrated. you love.

maybe you don't want to, though. maybe you chew on the petals and swallow them back, so that no one knows the feelings you're carrying around in your heart. but maybe that's not going to work forever, and sooner or later, you're going to cough those feelings up.

the short version
① hanahaki means your characters cough up flowers. plain and simple.
② it's caused by unspoken love, in any form, platonic or romantic; whether the love is requited has nothing to do with it.
③ the disease is not harmful in any way, and it's no more annoying than a persistent cough; it's treated as more symbolic magic realism here than concerned with the real life implications of coughing up flowers.
④ it's "cured" when a person expresses their love, whether the feeling is requited or not.
⑤ so basically, you can rp any everyday scenario... but now your character might have to deal with the minor nuisance of hacking up petals around the people they love. and those people are going to know what that means.

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[ better. he sighs into Peter's mouth and arches up to meet him along every line of his body, tangling their legs together for nothing but the warmth of it, the pleasure of skin sliding against skin. his arms wind around Peter's ribs, fingernails tracing gentle lines down his back with laziness for just this moment, sinking into indulgence. much, much better. the feeling where his heart should be seems fit to burst, huge and amorphous; something that could crack him open, leave behind an empty chest cavity bursting with plantlife.

close enough: the flowers Peter kisses out of his mouth are full and blooming in action as they come off his tongue, and there's one that's a full, flowering stem of milkvetch, several of them clumped together on this curling green stalk. Juno has to pull away for that lest one of them choke on the thing. ]

Ugh, that's— [ kind of gross? and kind of desperate, Steel. ] Wow. Sorry.

[ he feels it, the barest tickle of a thing reaching out between the both of them, kissing soft petals as they reach their way towards his tongue. it happens fast, juno pulling back to reveal a plant in full bloom falling from his mouth. inside, peter swells a bit more, eyes wide with fascination as a bloom falls past juno's lips, stem and all and maybe... it's a little gross.

but god if it doesn't excite him more than anything else. he leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth softly, still very much unwilling to be untangled from him now that they're so wound together. ]

No need, [ quiet. fingers sliding themselves up to rest on his throat, thumbing at his pulse. he kisses his throat. ] They're beautiful, regardless of... timing.

[ he mouths the shape of each word along his skin, letting ringed fingertips sink into his hair, stroking, thumbing behind his ear in equal measure, stretching out long like a cat, impressing himself against the shape of him. they hold fast like a knot, and as peter winds an ankle around him, he's fairly certain he doesn't want to let go as he chases the taste of juno's flowers with his own. ]

[ there's a snort of laughter, and Juno's vocal chords humming under Peter's fingers: ] You don't have to be polite about it.

[ romantic or not, it was pretty bad.

he could almost purr with those fingers sliding through his hair and the long limbs entwined with his. but their easy, sedate pace doesn't do anything to bank the heat Peter already sparked, the thing licking at Juno's insides, his fingertips singed along their nerves and buzzing with sensation. he ducks his head to kiss Peter, long and deep like he's trying to drink him down, or press petals against Peter's tongue to preserve them. leans in again, and again, and again, kissing with less finesse and more hunger as he goes.

and with their legs already tangled, it's easy to nudge his own thigh in between Peter's and put pressure on; gently, looking to stir interest. this soft atmosphere is soothing and all — Juno is more relaxed than he has been in a long time without the aid of whiskey, he knows that full well — but he wants Peter's teeth against his bones, wants the lithe movements of a cat with a bird in its reach, wants what those slow, rolling hips had promised would follow. he wants to drown in Peter Nureyev. ]

[ he'd answer (he'll always answer--get the last word in slyly like a pick in a lock every time), but instead juno is kissing him and like he could eat him alive. it's good, better than good really. fantastic, stupendous, incredible, delicious. too many words, not enough time to think them all within the seconds that pass as peter sighs into the kiss, presses back just as firmly and hums.

he's gentle when juno is tense out of respect, to test, to try and to feel him out, but being pushed up against in a gradual stacking of sensations says more than enough to peter now. their knees bump and shins graze and juno's thigh sits perfectly at the apex of his thighs where he lets him know just how interested he is in him. there's still care in his touch, in how he settles palms against him.

but the way he presses his fingertips in has far more fire than before, raking instead of just trailing now as he matches him with each swell of motion and each breath. and when he gasps between them both, it's with a mouthful of soft white and pale pink again, velvety petals that scatter as he pulls away to meet juno's eyes with a sly smile, a petal caught between the sharp little canines before he leans in to nip the tender swell of his lip, hips pressing deep and lingering with a grind now.

he whispers his name against his mouth over and over, syllables half-sung, a litany half-way there, an indulgence. ]

[ the friction between the both of them is electric now that there's intent behind the way Peter's hips bear down on him, and Juno is taking damp, panting breaths of air, both of his hands anchored at the small of Peter's back. what he'd wanted more than anything was to stop more of those words he can't bear to hear about him and the ugly, thin flowers he coughs up, things that hurt all the more for the conflict between knowing that Peter is sincere and knowing that he can't be, like gears grinding together and all the other motions getting stuck. as far as distractions go, this outcome is — good. it definitely could not have gone any better than it is.

Juno's heels are digging into the mattress, scrabbling for purchase on the sheets to better meet Peter's long, languid movements, and although he tries to keep his teeth closed to stopper the sounds he makes, it's getting more difficult as he's starting to breathe harder. and between the snatches of hitched breath and quiet moans, there's one thing that he doesn't manage to lock his jaw around, straining: ]

Please—

[ he's stuck in the middle-ground of good but not enough, every crest of sensation along his nerves so close to something better. he doesn't even mean to beg, he just — wants. ]

[ silencing him is never an easy feat, but juno seems to do it almost effortlessly in this moment, swallowing his every word with incomprehensible sounds, the feeling of his hands along his lower back, his body practically swaying underneath him as they move. it's a movement of limbs that escalate to being frenetically desperate juno whispers out a crumpled up "please" past his lips and peter kisses the shape of the word at it's end, pulling up only to look down at him without the frame of his glasses to impede the truly hungry look in his eyes.

he doesn't speak, there's no speaking here in this moment as he reaches down with his fingers to drag juno up against himself in the cup of his palm. he strokes him with a firm hold, thumb rubbing concentric circles just beneath the head of his cock, thigh pressing up a bit more to brace the both of them against one another.

teeth on juno's jaw clip him just slightly and peter hisses out softly, eager: ]

A little louder now...

[ a cruel press of his thumb all along the underside of him, and back up, slick with him. ]

[ it shouldn't be this much just to have Peter finally touch him with intent instead of those light, teasing passes. it isn't as though Juno is close to an edge of their evening, but it's a shock to his system somehow, and his hands slide further up along Peter's spine, clutching at him, clawing. the encouragement hits him hard, or maybe opens him up vulnerable to Peter's clever fingers, the way his thumb drags along him and hits below his gut like goddamn free-fall, coiled tension coiling tighter — all of it wrenches a gasp out of him: ]

Please! Shit, Peter—

[ his head bows, forehead pressed to Peter's as he pants for breath, close enough to kiss him but too wound-up to close the gap. this seems so unreal, dream-like; the fact that he could have Peter here after he spent so long with nothing but the memory of a scent and a voice he couldn't get out of his head. even after everything Juno did to push him away — even though Juno should have died — Peter is draped over him and looking at him like he's been wanting this for so long he's ravenous and he sounds so pleased.

it's a lot because it isn't just the sensation in it, trying to chase the promise of something more right now. it's how many times Juno thought about this and hated himself for it, and that didn't do anything to stop it from happening again because he missed Peter Nureyev with a real, phantom feeling of absence. how often he thought about Peter after that first case, how being near him again felt like a fishing hook planted right through Juno's sternum with the line reeling in. it's, honestly, the urge to just tell him it turns out I've been waiting months for you to fuck me and I'm really, really bad at waiting. ]

[ well.

he'd be lying if he said he hadn't wanted to bang juno steel like a storm door in a radiation hurricane long before now, before the cave, before the casino, but maybe somewhere between the cyanide lipstain and bloodied hands.

juno makes a caught noise, like some animal in a trap, his name gasped out through a vice. ]

There.

[ the sound of his name is better than any written symphony coming off of juno's lips (most would say this is a very gross overstatement, but peter would sooner show them the business end of his knife than agree with that).

truth is, they're probably not done talking. they shouldn't be. there's too much laid out on the table untouched, even more left unsaid. you left me behind. you left me behind so you could die. and maybe that's said somewhere in peter's hands, a touch too rough because he wants to be certain he's real, even now, cruel in the way he slows his strokes, presses the heel of his palm against the head of him and brings his fingers down to slide just beneath his cock, and even further to press against the softness of his taint with warm fingertips.

god he wants to spread him on his fingers now, but peter holds back his aching teeth just a bit. ~~i'm gonna nat 20 his sleight of hand check on getting lube somewhere at some point don't look at me right now.~~ ]

Edited 2017-10-27 13:48 (UTC)

[ the fingers pressing against him come as a surprise if only because he definitely didn't notice Peter drawing away at any point to prepare, which probably shouldn't surprise him, partly because he's plenty distracted and partly because when does he ever know what Peter is up to behind his back. he keens with his teeth clenched hard enough that he feels the sound through them, and shifts his hips, trying to push back a little against Peter's careful teasing.

he likes the rougher edge of Peter's touch, the insistent message of stay under his cruelty — he thinks that maybe he needs to be convinced that he's alive as much as Peter does. Juno was so ready to die. he'd accepted it before he even closed that door and there wasn't any fear at all, there was relief, weightless in a way that should probably frighten him now in the aftermath. and all of this is so perfect that it doesn't do much to convince him he really did come out of that tomb, only grounded in reality by the ache where Peter has left imprints of his teeth, and the missing half of his vision.

he's still writhing, knowing he should relax but desperate for the pressure of Peter's palm grinding against him, and one of his hands falls to the bed, the other sliding up into Peter's hair. ]

God, you don't have to take that much time. [ he clutches at the sheets and there are petals between his fingers, soft and velvet; he doesn't know whose they are without looking, but his heart twists. ] I'm not getting any prettier.

[ yeah, well.

that's twenty years of pick pocketing for you, the ability to seamlessly multitask (though juno makes it difficult--he hardly wants to divide any of his attention from him when he has to in moments between kisses, between grinding headily with a rhythm he doesn't want to shunt.)

the sight of juno grasping at the sheets has him shaking his head, biting his lip as he smiles and lets his fingers tease him open slowly, knuckles bruising petals where they lay on the sheets beneath them. it really is getting just a little ridiculous--petals under his knees, around them, half a blur because peter's glasses are somewhere else and the only thing that fills his vision is juno, swaths of skin and sweat and the warm curls at his pelvis and the weight of his body twisting and needing.

and that's just fine.

whether it's pure tunnel visioned fervor or his sight, it doesn't matter. his eyes flick up over to juno's in the faint light as he teases him open on two fingers methodically, a thorough press and pull to keep him from going completely tense with each inward push. ] I strongly disagree, [ he whispers, letting his free hand press against juno's sternum, nails digging in ever so slightly as he curls the fingers on his other hand, searching. ] You get prettier by the second.

[ that being: squirming in the sheets, grasping what he can. juno's fingers in his hair have him half a mess already, the rest from the prospect of being so close that his cock nearly aches as he works him open, presses himself in a little closer and removes his hand from his chest to prepare with both, smoothing skin, angling him just right.

peter is methodical, insanely meticulous, but the stutter of his fingers here and there and the faint tremble in his thighs could give it away. he's reigning in his impatience because the last thing he wants to do is hurt him (more than he's already been hurt these past few weeks.) ]

[ as he's being worked open, Juno can't shut himself up — not keening anymore but gasping, open-mouthed moans and sounds choked off in his throat because there's a vice wound tight around it. he feels like he's breathing in smoke, burning him up inside and filling up his lungs; feels dizzy with it, feverish and delirious, and he can't remember why that's a problem. he's never wanted anyone this badly before, enough to want months, years, forever. enough that it hurts in some bone-deep way, wanting to run his hands over every inch of Peter, to wake up in the morning and press him into the mattress and—

but the edge of his desperation is wearing, with Peter pressing into him with such painstaking, languid care. even when he feels the occasional slip, the eager curl of his fingers, the tension that vibrates through every line of his body; Juno is panting with a fire blazing in him but he's breathing deep. the pressure is steady as a heartbeat, persistent and burning low, instead of the wild thing that had him clawing. and he's on the edge of falling into something else, he knows, molasses-thick and sweet and indulgent. he doesn't fight it. ]

Come on. [ he gives a shaky sigh that comes out half a moan, sweeps his fingers through Peter's hair, down the back of his head. rests his fingers at the nape of his neck. ] I'm alright. You're not going to hurt me.

Pushy, [ he whispers against the touch sliding down his hair and pressing in against where neck and skull meet. he leans in slowly towards him, letting his fingers pull back while he pulls juno close and guides himself in. it's not an easy glide, rather, it's hot and messy and peter has to bite down on a groan that chokes itself out bit by bit. he presses his hips forward and back, a testing motion met with damp, trembling friction that he couples with taking juno's mouth against his own and kissing him hard.

they've been through too much. peter can feel the ache in his body, taste where juno's lip still feels dry and split, cracked. he can practically smell the martian desert, dusty and irradiated in every pore of his skin, the blood. so he kisses him, and he kisses him again, desperate, hungry sounds barely whispers in his throat as he rolls his hips forward. he can taste the gardenia again in the back of his throat like a ghost: i love you, i love you whispered softly against each kiss.

he's sick, absolutely lovesick, and it makes him dizzy as he moves with juno, full-bodied motions like the rocking of dark waves on the edge of the beaches on venus that spare nothing.

every press is impassioned, a step up from simply tender and affectionate, teasing and drawing things out. heated and open mouthed, peter tests the give and twist of juno's body, letting arms slip around his shoulders, pressing him up against the pillows along the headboard to angle him just right against his cock. there's a sense of all of this being too surreal, the serpents twisting in his belly as he feels the dip of the bed, the way juno feels tight and perfect around his cock. ]

[ it hasn't been a significantly long time since Juno slept with anyone, but he can't remember the last time it felt like this, both of them so overwhelmed, burning up together. he feels full in every sense, overloaded and dangerously unstable like an electrical circuit, and Peter pressing into him seems to force all the air out of his lungs. he's gasping Peter's name into his mouth and letting it be swallowed, eager to surrender to the voracious way he surges against him. ]

I— [ —love you but he can't say it still, he can't. he's breathing petals and he can't say it. he curls into Peter, shaking apart, and when he rolls his hips back to meet his movements, it drags a loud cry out of him. he'd usually be urging to be fucked harder, or he'd get his hand in between them to curl his fingers around his aching cock, the kind of messy tumble all of his one night stands have always been; but just this is so much and all of his nerve endings feel raw and flayed, like the adrenaline from everything they went through in the tomb has been building all this while and it's only hitting him now. ]

Peter— Peter— [ one of his hands is still tangled in Peter's hair, gripping it like an anchor that Juno uses to come back in to kiss him with lips and tongue and teeth, to lick petals out of his mouth and press his own words in so that they can't make it out of his own. ] I want— mh.

[ he doesn't know what he wants. he wants this to last forever, or maybe for the world to just end now so that this is the final thing for him, this small flash of time where he's alive with sensation and feeling, with love and a knot of good things he doesn't have names for. that seems like the best he could ever ask for. to go out like a supernova, hot and bright and burning. ]

[ peter has kissed marks before. he's flirting and cavorted and even gotten handsy with those he's been trying to swindle, rob, and snatch from, but kissing juno is an experience that toes the line between here and heaven. juno gasps sweet breath into his mouth, kisses petals from his tongue, his teeth, his lips, and between the both of them, it's raining a soft fall of flowers onto the bed, onto juno's thighs, his stomach, in a way that seems too artful to be real, too picturesque. it could be the endorphins talking, but peter would rather believe it isn't.

he eats each word juno tries to maneuver between the both of them, swallows up the sound of his name like gold leafing on the rim of the finest champagne glass. peter. peter. it sounds musical and real from juno's lips, demanding something of him, something he can only feel with his hands pressing against his ribs, his waist, his hips as he fucks into him with a renewed desire to press as deeply into him as he possibly can. he wants to be suffused in his heat, smothered in it, so that it might tattoo itself, the sensation, into his very skin. ]

Anything, [ he sighs out against his lips, against his skin as he reaches a hand out to bear down against the mattress to get a better angle, a deeper angle as he shifts juno's hips with him, pulling back and snapping his hips back in hungrily.

if peter bares his teeth, it's unintentional, but at this point it's as though he wants to eat juno alive, fingers digging, teeth trailing along his pulse, studded with hungry, wet kisses that could almost be sloppy if they were drowning in love. ] Juno-- [ peter says with a half-gasp as he feels himself teetering on that edge already and not caring about it. ] Anything you ask of me, anything, everything.

[ and he means it as he turns to look juno in the eye with hazy, light eyes, sliding his other hand over his ribs, splaying them over his heart before his nails dig in ever so slightly as he angles for deeper, angles for that dark, sweet spot to make him sing. ]

[ god, he doesn't know what Peter changed to find another few inches in him, but apparently they were the right ones, because Juno cries out again, louder, and every time he breathes it's a high, keening sound. he's wound almost unbearably tense, clenching around Peter, a heel digging into his thigh like Juno could possibly drag him in any closer. it's too much, not enough. the promises hurt, too, the weight of what he doesn't deserve pressing down with force to carve itself into his ribs.

both of his hands move to cradle Peter's face, trembling like he's holding something impossibly precious, delicate. ]

You. [ it feels like something he should be whispering and he can't, his restraint is entirely shot through. he has to shut his eyes against the way Peter looks at him, feeling helpless, pinned. ] Just you — just you, shit, Peter, I'm—

[ close. if he touches himself, it probably won't be much longer, so he won't, he doesn't, everything is perfect right now and whatever comes next — can't be. it's going to be like waking up cold and alone. anything you ask of me, fuck. Peter doesn't need to offer him anything; what else could Juno ever want but him? the flowers should all be ash in his lungs because this is a wildfire, this is all-consuming, something he can't douse or smother, and how do people live with this in them. he can't even get enough air, can't get his shuddering breathing under control for long enough to kiss Peter. ]

[ the hands cupping his face are enough to drop peter's jaw a little, the touch tender enough that it makes him press inside of him and hold desperately onto that moment of mid-thrust, reveling in the fever they've made between their bodies. his breath comes in soft gasps, leaning in to take juno's mouth with his own in a kiss that's more breath than contact. ]

Oh, Juno...

[ soothing, low, warm. peter can feel the heat building almost painfully, but teetering on that edge is perfection and something peter lets out a soft cry for because he's in love and it makes his chest swell painfully at the thought. another kiss, a touch of his nose to the faint scar on the bridge of juno's a warm smile that's giddy with sensation. the words are a whisper as he brings hands up to rest atop juno's knuckles. ]

You've had me... you have me...

[ soft, sweet, breathless and full of petals as his hips roll forward encouragingly, a soft push down a steep slope to embrace a rush before it gets too far from the both of them. he takes juno's hands now and slides them into his own, pinning his arms up over his head and driving forward in a sweeping motion. ]

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since the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be afraid

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