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In many ways, Dice settling into his home changed little about his normal routine. Apart from Posse meetings orchestrated by Ramuda, they still spent the bulk of their respective days apart; heaven forbid that Gentaro planned his hours around an impulsive thrill-seeker who rarely knew what he’d be doing thirty minutes from the present. Dice’s life is dictated by his whims, first and foremost, in the same way Gentaro built his own around his curiosity in others’ lives.
While Dice was off doing god-knows-what, Gentaro would sit by his lonesome and people-watch, were he feeling particularly outgoing, or sit inside and write, if his muses were inclined to talk to him. Pepper in the business side of publishing — talks with his editors, or attending book signings — and his days are set.
In some ways, Dice’s presence is a welcome change from that monotony.
As is the case with someone so loud, merely by virtue of being himself, Dice is often heard before he’s seen, and today is no exception. There’s the door closing behind him, the rustling of his coat as it’s tossed to the couch, and the footsteps approaching the kitchen, and the way he calls out Gentaro’s name to announce his arrival.
“What’s for—“
He cuts himself off presumably when he sees Gentaro; Gentaro needs not turn around to confirm it. A smile flickers on his lips, though he’s careful not to let the satisfaction seep into his voice.
“Yes, Dice?”
A couple more foot falls as Dice bridges the gap between them, and then there’s his hands on Gentaro’s hips, his mouth on Gentaro’s nape, right above his collar. It’s buzz-inducing, shiver-worthy, and all manners of things Gentaro doesn’t have a succinct word for, monumental in its familiarity.
“What’s for dinner?”
To Dice’s credit, he regained his composure in record time.
“Beef and vegetables. Would you like to help?”
“Sure. Tell me what to do.”
It might be a surprise to... well, everyone who’s acquainted with him, but Dice is handier around the kitchen than he seems. Yet another thing about Dice that’s incongruent with the rest of him, that likely has a story behind it, but Dice has never, ever pried into his affairs, so Gentaro grants him the same courtesy by not asking. He’s deathly curious, of course, but he’s learning, albeit clumsily, to enjoy things as they come. Whether or not Dice is responsible for that is a fact he’s not ready to admit just yet.
Cooking goes faster with two hands working, and so does dinner, with two bellies to fill. Routine dictates that this is when Dice would head out to the casinos and when Gentaro would settle with his laptop, but some nights there’s a shared idleness in the room that neither of them address aloud that keeps them right where they are.
Some nights Dice would toss a coin to decide where the rest of it goes, but tonight they seem to naturally gravitate in front of the television, beginning with a respectable distance between their thighs that gradually lessens, prompted by Dice’s casual hand on his knee.
With Dice in charge of the remote, he flips through channels for a good few minutes before he leaves it on an old action blockbuster, all explosions with minimal introspection, much like himself.
The clock ticks. A car chase happens. Dice yawns, and surreptitiously trails his hand higher up Gentaro’s thigh, fingertips toying with the hem of the skirt he’s wearing.
“You like this one,” muses Gentaro, trying not to sound like he’s smirking, and failing spectacularly at it.
“‘S just new. Threw me off guard.” Dice’s palm dips under the skirt, stroking the inside of his thigh with his thumb. “You don’t got one with flowers on it besides this, right?”
Gentaro, now also failing at the whole breathing thing, keeps his eyes on on the screen.
“Dice.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you like to make out?”
Perhaps without meaning to, Dice laughs, and Gentaro tries not to think about how he doesn’t even know he’d won this game he probably had no idea they were playing. Nevertheless, Gentaro takes the loss gracefully, by way of suddenly throwing a leg over Dice’s lap to straddle him, and then Dice isn’t laughing anymore.
They don’t need words, not really, when they do this — just their mouths on one another’s, deep and slow, their fingers in each other’s hair and tugging at clothes to get to more skin — but with so much to say, one of them ends up breaking the silence at some point. At the moment, it’s Dice, murmuring against Gentaro’s throat and running his hands up and down his bare thighs.
"You're pretty."
This time, Gentaro doesn’t bother to hide his shudder, though he attempts to brush it off. "Mm, do tell me again."
"You're so fucking pretty,” amends Dice, teeth grazing at Gentaro’s quickening pulse.
"I was lying, Dice."
"I wasn't."
Gentaro’s breath catches, as ever, at that effortless sincerity. His heart, traitorous as it is, doesn’t skip, but does an exceptional job at convincing him that it did. He kisses Dice, again, again, and finally thinks about how Dice’s arrival in his life has changed it in one significant way:
“You always know how to render me speechless, don’t you?”
He can be honest, now, and finds that he can allow himself to want things, just a little more than before.