The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 27

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Perhaps because fulfilling his own desires was never the goal, his mind remained unnervingly calm throughout the act. No—"detached" might have been a better word. Because of that, he could watch the man's actions with an almost objective gaze. Even when the man was straddling him, moving his hips with desperate intensity, it was the same.

The man greedily licked and sucked at Kawase’s length, took him inside, and came twice. Only when he was finally satisfied did he pull away, pressing a few lingering kisses to Kawase’s lips before curling up beside him and drifting off to sleep. Listening to the steady rhythm of the man’s breathing, Kawase found himself thinking—what now? What was he supposed to do from here?

There had been a moment before when he felt as though he had opened a box best left closed. He felt the same way now. Had sleeping with the man been a mistake? Or was it the right thing to do?

As he turned the thought over in his mind, a realization struck him—he was doing the same thing the man had done. The man had slept with his own mother to stop her from dying. And Kawase, too, had used his own body to stop this man from dying. So did that mean he was now doomed to live the same kind of life—the kind where no matter how much he wanted to push someone away, he couldn't?

Giving his body out of pity didn’t change the fact that it was just that—pity. Even if, for a moment, it was enough to quiet the man’s suicidal impulses, Kawase couldn't stay with him forever.

A man as perceptive as him had to know that kisses and sex, in this case, were nothing more than charity. And yet, did receiving them still make him happy?

When Kawase imagined himself in the same position, the emptiness hit him. Sex without feelings could only satisfy the body. Sleeping with the man had been a mistake, after all. But what was done could never be undone. The heat of the man’s body beside him in this narrow bed was an undeniable reality.

Maybe it had been reckless, but in that moment, he hadn't known what else to do. If the man had said he wanted to talk, Kawase would have talked. If he had asked to be comforted, he would have comforted him. But what the man had reached for was death—and Kawase’s body.

With no answer in sight, he let sleep take him, drawn under as if by the man’s pull.

When he woke, the rain had stopped. There was no more sound of falling water, and the dim morning light seeped into the room.

The clock read just before seven. The man was sitting up in bed, knees pulled to his chest. He blinked repeatedly, his gaze vaguely directed toward Kawase, but he wasn’t really seeing him.

The man's left hand began searching blindly over the sheets, and Kawase quickly feigned sleep. The fingers brushed against his shoulder, trailed down his arm, and finally reached his fingertips. Slowly, hesitantly, the man stroked his right palm.

It was almost strange—yesterday, he had moved with such fervor, so eager in his thrusts, yet now, his touch was delicate, reserved.

Somehow, it was those small, hesitant gestures that felt more like genuine affection than anything overtly sexual.

On impulse, Kawase let out a deliberate “Nnnh.” The fingers instantly withdrew.

So he didn’t want Kawase to know he was touching him like that. What a strange man.

Kawase sat up and opened the window. The sky was so clear, it was hard to believe it had rained yesterday.

"Can you unlock the outer lock before you go?" the man asked behind him.

"I'm not opening it."

"That’s a problem. I suppose I’ll have to climb out the window instead."

"Absolutely not. That would be a damn nuisance. This is the second floor—if you fall and get yourself half-injured, it’s just more trouble for me."

The man sat cross-legged on the bed, completely unconcerned.

"There’s no need to keep me locked up anymore. Or… did you enjoy the sex that much?"

His crude remark made Kawase scowl.

"You hated sleeping with a man so much you nearly tried to kill me before."

Kawase stepped closer to the man. His narrowed eyes were full of malice, his half-parted lips curled in a mocking smirk. If it had been yesterday, the sight alone might have made him want to punch him. But today, he could look at him calmly. It felt like the man was deliberately provoking him, saying things just to get a rise out of him.

Without warning, Kawase grabbed him by the neck and forced him down onto his stomach and, without hesitation, smacked his bare, pale ass twice—smack, smack. Red handprints bloomed against the smooth, white curve.

The man’s eyes widened as he remained facedown. His flushed cheeks deepened from pink to a vivid red in an instant. For someone who had no shame in pressing his naked, aroused body against another, being spanked like a child seemed to humiliate him. It was oddly human, this reaction—unexpectedly raw. Maybe the man was more honest when he wasn't speaking.

Kawase bent his knees and lightly grasped the man’s reddened ear.

“You don’t need to say anything anymore.”

The man’s lips parted slightly.

“Don’t speak until I say you can.”

Words were the problem. Because this man lied, because he provoked, because he deliberately tried to make him angry, Kawase had been led astray again and again.

His fingers brushed against the man’s stiff expression. Tracing his lips, stroking the skin beneath his eyes. Slowly, as Kawase touched him, the tension in his face eased.

After thoroughly running his fingers over the man’s face, Kawase finally let go. The man gave a quiet sniff, his nose twitching slightly. His face was expressionless, yet somehow, the gesture reminded Kawase of a lonely puppy.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Even while working, Kawase couldn't stop thinking about the man. Just because it was the day after didn’t mean he could stay by his side all the time. He had no choice but to tell himself that even if the guy jumped out of the second-floor window, he wouldn't actually die.

The morning meeting ran long, bleeding into the afternoon, and by the time he grabbed a late lunch at a nearby burger joint, he noticed a young couple at a table over, clinging to each other so shamelessly it made him want to look away. It made him wonder—what exactly did that man at home want? Did he want to be with Kawase the way that idiot couple did, to date him, to be his lover?

He could offer his body for comfort, but that was all. Anything more was impossible. Unthinkable, really. Which left only one other thing the man wanted—death. Kawase didn’t understand why he wanted to die so badly. Was it because of his mother’s suicide? Did he love her that much? But that had been over six years ago. If this was supposed to be some kind of delayed follow-up, it was far too late. Sleeping with him didn’t offer any answers either; he still had no idea what was going on in the man’s head.

Kawase left work earlier than usual, unable to stop thinking about the man occupying his apartment. When he arrived home past seven, the man’s shoes were by the entrance, but he wasn’t on the living room sofa. His chest went cold for a second—had he really climbed out the window? But when he checked the bedroom, he found him sprawled out on the bed, blanket half-slipped off, exposing a sliver of pale skin beneath the hem.

The man remained facedown, not turning toward him. Was he ignoring Kawase despite knowing he was home, or was he actually asleep?

Kawase sat on the edge of the bed and touched his shoulder. The man’s back twitched. When Kawase pinched his earlobe, which had been bright red in the morning, the man slowly shifted his head, revealing his face. His sulky expression wasn’t entirely unappealing.

Kawase traced a finger along the man’s cheek. His unfocused eyes narrowed slightly, like they were ticklish, and his skin shifted beneath the touch. When Kawase’s fingers brushed against his lips, the man licked them, cat-like. The wet sensation made Kawase instinctively pull his hand back. But the man, unaware of the missing contact, jutted his chin out, tongue searching. He seemed so desperate for it that Kawase let his fingers brush against his lips again. The man happily took them into his mouth.

With soft, wet sounds, he sucked at Kawase’s fingers like a kitten drinking milk. The blanket draped over his waist slid to the floor with a thud. Lying on his side, the man rubbed his knees together. Between his legs, his arousal had taken form, the tip trembling. For a moment, Kawase thought he actually looked cute—like a needy little kitten—but the reality was that his body responded like a tomcat in heat.

Watching the man suck on his fingers while his body reacted made warmth creep into Kawase’s lower stomach. The moment he realized he was getting turned on by the man’s submission, he roughly pulled his fingers from the man’s mouth.

“…I’m gonna eat.”

He left for the living room. As he set his convenience store meal on the table, he heard a soft, breathy “nn… nn…” from the bedroom.

Before long, the man emerged naked and sat on the sofa. Kawase placed the opened bento on his lap, and without a word, the man started eating.

His right nipple was unusually red. Kawase was sure it had been a normal color earlier. Maybe he had been playing with himself while masturbating. The thought left Kawase feeling strangely restless, his throat tightening. He forced himself to look down at his own food, avoiding the sight of the man’s chest altogether.

The burn on the man's right hand had been left exposed to water yesterday, but looking at it now, even to an untrained eye, it had healed considerably. Kawase had him shower without covering it, washed his body for him, then applied ointment and wrapped it in fresh bandages. The man stayed still throughout, letting Kawase do as he pleased.

Dressing him in sleepwear, Kawase shoved him back into the bedroom. Then, in the living room, he cracked open a beer with the TV on. He was watching it, but none of it was registering.

In the end, he downed two cans in quick succession, turned off the TV, and lay down on the sofa.

Tonight, he would sleep on the sofa to keep an eye on the man and make sure he didn’t slip out in the middle of the night. Since he hadn’t made any moves while alone during the day, he was probably fine—but it was better to be cautious. Kawase lay down and closed his eyes, but the thought that the man had been sleeping here this whole time made his mind oddly alert, keeping sleep at bay.

He tossed and turned in the cramped space, wrapping the blanket tightly around himself. Still, he couldn’t sleep. Giving up, he sat up and switched on the light. He slid open the bedroom door.

Right by the entrance, the man’s sleepwear lay discarded on the floor. Naked. The realization hit him like a wave of heat, making his throat go dry.

The man was looking at him. Completely bare, sprawled on the bed, one leg propped up, exposing everything between them.

Until yesterday, Kawase would have averted his gaze in disgust. He wouldn’t have seen anything but something obscene, something unpleasant. But now he knew. He knew what lay deeper inside, how it took him in, how it swallowed him whole.

He shut the door, cutting off the temptation. Went straight to the kitchen and downed two cans of beer in quick succession. Tipsy, he collapsed onto the sofa. If only sleep would take him now. But every time he closed his eyes, that shameless pose came back to haunt him.

No, no, he told himself. But the more he repeated it, the more he questioned—why not?

There was no love in his desire. Only lust. But if the man wanted it, if he was willing to give it, then why shouldn’t it happen?

The impulse outweighed his hesitation. He opened the door again.

The man was still in the same position, watching him. It was impossible not to feel like he was being invited. Kawase swallowed hard.

He stepped into the bedroom. The wooden floor creaked beneath his weight.

“I’m sleeping here too. Move over.”

The man inched toward the wall. Kawase slipped into the open space beside him. As expected, warm arms wrapped around his stomach, a face nuzzling into the back of his neck. A wet tongue licked along his skin.

At first, he endured it. But as the slow, persistent licking continued, he couldn’t hold back anymore—he twisted his body, turning to face him.

The man pressed up against him. His bare skin was warm, and his gray hair smelled like Kawase’s shampoo. Was he just the kind of person who liked licking? His lips pressed against Kawase’s neck, sucking lightly. Occasionally, his teeth scraped the skin, sending a dull sting through him.

Kawase pushed him away.

The man’s lips parted slightly, like he was waiting for something.

Kawase hadn’t been in the mood. But the moment he got into the same bed, the man had invited him. So he went along with it. It wasn’t as if he had initiated anything. He hadn’t forced anything. Turning these excuses over in his mind, he leaned in and granted the man a kiss, a mere indulgence for his slack, waiting lips.

The man let out a small, eager sound, his nose twitching slightly.

Kawase ran a hand over his back, feeling the slight shudder that ran through his body. Then, he squeezed the small, round shape of his ass firmly.

"Ahn—" The sound escaped the man’s lips before he could stop it.

The man arched, pressing his hips insistently against Kawase’s stomach as if demanding he take responsibility.

When the man reached down, trying to pull off Kawase’s shorts, Kawase pulled him closer instead, bringing his lips to his ear.

“Make some noise.”

The gray-haired head gave a small shake.

“Only when you’re feeling it.”

A quivering, honeyed sigh slipped from the man’s lips and brushed against his ear.

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