Fern
i put a spell on you.
The day Akira asks him if he believes in magic, he can only smile at how childish the sudden question is, at the squeeze the blond gives his hand, at the peck on the cheek as they walk down an out of the way street in the city. He glances at the taller man and chuckles at the finger that pokes his nose and the lips that replace it shortly after.
“Why? Are you Harry Potter now? Going to put a spell on me?” he smirks, stopping as they walk and using his free hand to make some exaggerated gestures, as if he's carrying a wand. And as Akira laughs, beams, as he glows with complete bliss, he steps closer. His body is pressed against Akira's, their hands locked in between, splayed across the blond's chest as they sway from left to right. “Or you gonna sing that one song? Goes something like: I put a spell on you,” he croons, chuckling and kissing Akira gently, “because you're mine. I can't stand the things that you do. No, no, no, I ain't lyin', no. I don't care if you don't want me, 'cause I'm yours, yours, yours anyhow. Yeah, I'm yours, yours, yours. Y'know, that song.”
“Wasn't what I was expecting as an answer, but I like it better anyway,” murmurs Akira, their foreheads touching, lips within centimeters of each other. “Didn't know you liked jazz either, 'nori.”
“Just this song,” Takanori smiles cheekily, leaning closer still. “It's magical.”
“Nice pun.”
Takanori laughs and their breaths mingle, each heartbeat hammering against their rib cages synchronized and strong. “I love you, I love you. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I put a spell on you.”
“Why? Are you Harry Potter now? Going to put a spell on me?” he smirks, stopping as they walk and using his free hand to make some exaggerated gestures, as if he's carrying a wand. And as Akira laughs, beams, as he glows with complete bliss, he steps closer. His body is pressed against Akira's, their hands locked in between, splayed across the blond's chest as they sway from left to right. “Or you gonna sing that one song? Goes something like: I put a spell on you,” he croons, chuckling and kissing Akira gently, “because you're mine. I can't stand the things that you do. No, no, no, I ain't lyin', no. I don't care if you don't want me, 'cause I'm yours, yours, yours anyhow. Yeah, I'm yours, yours, yours. Y'know, that song.”
“Wasn't what I was expecting as an answer, but I like it better anyway,” murmurs Akira, their foreheads touching, lips within centimeters of each other. “Didn't know you liked jazz either, 'nori.”
“Just this song,” Takanori smiles cheekily, leaning closer still. “It's magical.”
“Nice pun.”
Takanori laughs and their breaths mingle, each heartbeat hammering against their rib cages synchronized and strong. “I love you, I love you. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I put a spell on you.”