orangegreenlove: (Oh snap! Love ♥)
[personal profile] orangegreenlove
Title: Stars Like Glowbugs, Moon Like a Heart
Characters/Pairings: Sakuma/Iwamoto, mentions of Totsuka/Hashimoto, Yokoo/Nikaido, Watanabe/Miyadate and Fukazawa/Abe
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, space aliens, weird biology, babies
Author's Note: Set after Aurora Borealis

One of the babies is napping, curled around Totsuka's wrist like a fuzzy green bracelet. Another is squirming in his hand, sucking watered down honey out of the funnel Totsuka is holding. The nursery is strangely silent with all five of Nikaido's brats asleep in his lap after an exhausting game of chase, the only noise the high pitched chirping announcing that one of Iwamoto's babies, hatched a week earlier than Hashimoto's and bigger already, has climbed up high on the wall and is now afraid to either climb down or glide.

He sets baby and funnel down carefully, then piles bunnies into the sleeping basket. The sides of the basket are high enough to give him about three minutes before they get out and into any mischief, just enough time to coax the rainbow caterpillar down. After all these weeks of babysitting, Totsuka doesn't even need to look to know which baby is stuck, voices and personalities distinctly recognizable.

While Hashimoto's babies are all various shades of green, Sakuma's are more colourful, ranging from bright pink to rainbow patterned and nowhere near as fluffy. The chitin of their exoskeletons is glossy where it isn't covered by hair, a healthy shine that reassures Totsuka that the baby food they mix from honey and ground plant matter contains all the necessary minerals even if they don't have access to any of the fruits Hashimoto's and Iwamoto's species usually feed their young. Yokoo was able to find a few of Sakuma's favourite fruits, but since those make Iwamoto sneeze if he so much as kisses Sakuma within an hour after Sakuma eats one, Kawai vetoed giving any to the babies.

At the rate they are growing, it will be another three or four months before they pupate. Totsuka almost wishes he could slow down time – once they shed their exoskeletons, there is no guarantee that he'll be able to touch any of his babies. He buries the thought and concentrates on coaxing Sakuma's rainbow baby to climb onto his hand. There's no point in borrowing trouble.

A loud crash announces the end of nap time for Nikaido's babies.


The floor isn't any softer the fifth time Iwamoto slams into it. He's sure he'll have a bruise or two shaped like Kitayama's hands after this training session, the imprint of Kitayama's fingers on his skin likely to be almost as colourful as Sakuma's wings. Kitayama's smug face grins down at him. “Do you know what's wrong with your defence?”

Iwamoto takes Kitayama's offered hand, rising swiftly to his feet. “I'm protecting my right side too much,” Iwamoto replies, antennae blinking yellow-green in annoyance at his own mistake. He flexes his right arm - the elbow is still a bit stiff, even though Doctor K finally got the boneshield to dissolve. “It's an aftereffect of the pregnancy, I keep guarding my right pouch as if there were still eggs to protect.”

Kitayama nods. “Lets work on that.”

Readying himself, he spreads his wings and lungs at Kitayama. He already knows his height is no advantage against Kitayama and he quickly finds out that even when Kitayama limits himself to a set pattern of attacks, he's no match for the short man. Left shoulder, elbow, hip, chest, a slap against each, and before he knows it, he finds himself on his back once more.

“Comfortable down there?” Kitayama asks with a raised eyebrow.

Keeping his antennae a steady yellow to avoid giving away his intention, Iwamoto waits until Kitayama takes that one step closer to offer him a hand up. Fast as light, he hooks his foot behind Kitayama's ankle and yanks Kitayama's feet out from under him. Kitayama doesn't fall, arms windmilling for a moment to regain his balance, just long enough for Iwamoto to jump to his feet and land a blow against Kitayama's chest on the way up.

“Nice move,” Kitayama acknowledges, going on the offensive.

He wouldn't have thought it possible but Kitayama actually speeds up, evidently having held back previously. Time goes by in a blur, both fast and strangely slow, a series of motions that gradually come to make sense. By the time he can block one blow in ten, Iwamoto is exhausted enough to stay down despite Kitayama's challenging grin.

While he catches his breath, his eyes wander. There's Watanabe, whirling the two-pronged staff that is the traditional weapon of his people. Watanabe is training with Fujigaya, whose pink hair, the exact same shade as Sakuma's, looks very pretty to Iwamoto. Fujigaya ducks to avoid Watanabe's staff, colourful wings fluttering behind him and Iwamoto grins. While the wings look entirely real, down to even the lightest flutter, to Iwamoto and anyone who actually possesses wings, it's obvious that Fujigaya does not. Wings, even nearly useless ones, change the way the body balances. With wings, Fujigaya would bend just a fraction farther, rise just a tiny bit slower.

Another hint is Watanabe, evading Fujigaya's hits much wider than necessary, as if there were flames following in the wake of Fujigaya's limbs, visible to no one but Watanabe. Thanks to Abe, Iwamoto isn't as creeped out by mind powers as most people are. He worked with Abe, trained and fought alongside him long enough to see mind speech as nothing more than a useful skill, same as Fukazawa's ability to fly nearly any ship or Watanabe's ability to coax an extra blanket out of even the grumpiest quartermaster.

Rainbow colours travel up Fujigaya's pink antennae, culminating in sparkles shooting out of the tips and Iwamoto grins. It's one of Sakuma's habits, atypical for his species – most members of Sakuma's species let the rainbow start at the tip, not the base. It's one of the things he finds most appealing about Sakuma, which is exactly why Fujigaya's ability picked it up; anyone who looks at Fujigaya will always see a very attractive member of whichever species they are most attracted to. Most see their own species, but Iwamoto knows he's far from alone with his inter-species love – according to the laws of the human empire, almost everyone on this little planet is a sexual deviant.

Kitayama is back, offering him a bottle of üxelberry juice. While Iwamoto drinks, Kitayama explains a few defensive moves, demonstrating slowly. The second round of practice goes a lot better, though he still spends a good portion of it on the floor. The door opens and of course Kitayama takes advantage of his momentary distraction to send him flying again. Flat on his back at Sakuma's feet, Iwamoto grins. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Sakuma's foot nudges Iwamoto's shoulder. “You almost done?”

Iwamoto looks at Kitayama and Kitayama waves him off. “Go play. You're already getting slower from exhaustion.” Kitayama turns his grin to Fukazawa, who followed Sakuma into the trainings hall. “Are you up for some fighting?”

“Did you blow anything up?” Iwamoto asks as he wanders down the hall with Sakuma. Training sessions with Goseki are generally exciting.

“Not this time. Fukka did though. He cut the wrong connection and blew up five of the training charges.” Sakuma's wings open and close constantly while he's talking, breaking the light in a million interesting ways. They pass by the room where Nikaido is teaching Abe and Miyadate, Nikaido's voice loud in the enclosed space, the sound following until they reach the end of the training centre. The heavy door closes behind them, cutting off Nikaido's confusing explanation about the different kinds of lock picks. Surprisingly, Nikaido does know what he's doing, but his explanations are not exactly helpful.

Iwamoto finds himself pushed against the wall besides the door to the training centre, Sakuma pressing close. One of the high windows is behind Sakuma, casting light through Sakuma's wings, glimmering pink circles, blue dots, yellow stripes, patterns in all the colours of the rainbow. Iwamoto has thought in the language of the human empire for so long that he barely remembers the names of the colours beyond the limited spectrum human eyes can see, he only knows that Sakuma is beautiful and shiny. Shiny enough that the nictitating membranes of his eyes close on their own, dimming the light but not obscuring his view much.

When Sakuma rises up on his tiptoes to kiss him, he wraps his arms around Sakuma's waist to hold him close. One of Sakuma's hands is in his hair, the other clenched in the front of his shirt, holding on. The kiss is urgent, peachy-pink lips against green, the tips of their tongues twining around each other. It's only when Sakuma moans against his lips that Iwamoto realizes his thumbs are caressing the lower edges of Sakuma's pouches through his shirt, entirely inappropriate in a public hallway.

Iwamoto breaks the kiss. “Come on, lets check on our kids.”

Only the training centre and the greenhouse are above ground, one in case of explosions, the other to catch as much sunlight as possible. The doctor's office, most of the guest rooms and the nursery are located in the caverns that hollow out a good portion of the planet's upper crust. Sakuma runs down the stairs and Iwamoto follows, mesmerized as usual by the patterns Sakuma's wings throw upon the white walls.

When Iwamoto opens the nursery door, one of Nikaido's kids makes a dash for freedom, running out between his legs, but Sakuma bends down and catches the bunny. Lifting the kid up onto his hip, Sakuma wanders into the nursery, chirping at all the little caterpillars. Two babies jump off the walls, glide over and land on Sakuma's head, the pink baby almost invisible among the light pink strands of Sakuma's hair. One of Hashimoto's babies, without wings at this stage of development and unable to glide in any case, stretches towards Sakuma while only retaining a minimal hold on a plant. Iwamoto stretches his arm out before the baby can fall and the dark green caterpillar curls up on his hand.

He pets the fuzzy baby as they find their way through the toys and plants to where Totsuka is feeding several babies. The yellow baby and the turquoise one are squabbling, fighting over the same funnel. Totsuka ignores the squabbling, cooing encouragement at the pink and blue striped baby, the smallest of the bunch, to drink more. The dark green caterpillar sitting on Totsuka's head rises up, stretching towards Sakuma's chirping. Iwamoto wraps his arm around Sakuma's middle and stops him at a safe distance – in his enthusiasm, Sakuma tends to forget that touching Totsuka is not a good idea.

While Sakuma and Totsuka discuss the latest baby food mixture Kawai has cooked up in his lab, Iwamoto follows the sound of growling and kicking until he finds one of Nikaido's babies, head stuck under the roots of a plant and very much not amused. He crouches down and frees the baby with gentle hands, then cleans the biggest lumps of dirt out of the bunny's ears. The kid grumbles at him, three ears twitching impatiently while he works a clod of earth out of the fur on the fourth ear. As soon as the ears are reasonably clean, the kid kicks him in the leg and runs away to hide behind a plant, giggling. Iwamoto supposes it's a good thing none of the kids speak yet – his babies won't learn to speak until after they pupate, and Nikaido's brats aren't expected to say their first words for a couple of months yet.


The first thing Iwamoto does when they get back to their room is turn the temperature down another few degrees. He loves their babies, but they need to get back to work soon so a second pregnancy would be really inconvenient just now. Since Sakuma's species is only fertile during summer, the cold should be enough to keep him sterile for the time being. Iwamoto wraps his arms around Sakuma from behind and nuzzles the soft pink strands of Sakuma's hair. One of the differences he can't quite get used to is the lack of reaction from Sakuma's hair, it doesn't move into the touch, doesn't even sway the way his own hair would.

Opening all the ribbons that hold the back of Sakuma's shirt closed takes a while; Sakuma's wings are delicate, much more easily damaged than his own, and require a lot of care. With the last knot undone, the shirt falls to the floor. Kissing the back of Sakuma's neck, he trails his hands up Sakuma's sides, teasing at Sakuma's pouches that slowly start to pulse under his fingers. He trails his tongue down Sakuma's spine, green on peachy-orange, and when he reaches the sensitive skin between Sakuma's wings, Sakuma moans and his pouches begin to open. Sakuma turns in his arms and works on opening his shirt while they kiss, tongues entwining. Iwamoto's shirt, padded on the sides to protect his pouches during combat training, ends up on the floor in a heap with Sakuma's lighter shirt.

Since it's only a guest room, a temporary accommodation, they don't have a proper nest, just two beds pushed together. Sakuma grabs his wrist and drags him over to their nest, bouncing a little on the mattress before settling down comfortably. Watanabe claims that his species usually lies down for sex, but Iwamoto is pretty sure he's pulling his wing. It just sounds immensely impractical, though it might be more workable for species without wings, or perhaps for species that used to live in caves and burrows like Nikaido's. He sits opposite Sakuma, content for a moment to just look at Sakuma's pretty face, the purple freckles a nice contrast to Sakuma's peachy skin.

Sakuma is more impatient, leaning in to kiss Iwamoto's shoulder, to lick at his skin. Iwamoto lowers his head to touch his antennae to Sakuma's, three antennae rubbing against two in a loving caress. He raises his arms above his head, exposing himself to Sakuma, who simply looks at him for a few moments before flicking his tongue over Iwamoto's still mostly closed left pouch. Iwamoto shivers in response, his pouches pulsing faster as Sakuma licks at one and teases the other with gentle fingers.

Placing two fingers under Sakuma's chin, he draws Sakuma's head up into another kiss. Careful to avoid his bonespurs, Sakuma wraps his arms around Iwamoto's neck and presses close until their pouches touch, soft tufts feathering against each other. Sakuma's lips are still peachy-pink, the colour not at all changed by his otherwise obvious arousal, but they've been together long enough that Iwamoto is able to ignore the confusion of what his body interprets as mixed signals. His mind knows that it's perfectly normal for Sakuma's species to have only two antennae, to have lips and pouches that don't change colour from arousal, to have only five grooves in each pouch, it's only his body that keeps getting confused. He smiles against Sakuma's lips – if Hashimoto can get used to his partner carrying his sex organs between the legs of all places, then he can certainly get used to this.

Iwamoto draws back to look Sakuma over, enjoying the view even more now that Sakuma's pouches have opened and are pulsing invitingly. Light pinkish fluid is already welling up, drops of it slowly running down Sakuma's body and Iwamoto can't resist any longer. He licks at the drips, his tongue caressing Sakuma's soft skin. Unlike Iwamoto's own sugary fluids, Sakuma's taste tart, a stronger, more piquant flavour that Iwamoto simply can't get enough of. The tip of his tongue teases at the edge of Sakuma's pulsing pouch, a light touch that draws soft noises from Sakuma.

Sakuma’s wings flutter when Iwamoto dips his tongue into the first of Sakuma’s soft grooves, each wingbeat filling the room with colourful reflections. Iwamoto laps up the tart, pink fluid, exploring his partner’s sensitive pouch with his tongue. There are few things he enjoys more than this - to give pleasure, to taste, to watch. Sakuma’s fingers caress his antennae, a light touch of fingertips going from base to tip, coaxing and teasing. His hair sways into the touch, eager to be petted. The tips of his hair feather over the skin of Sakuma’s hand and wrist, brushing against the braided bracelet of alternating green and pink strands.

It’s one of the traditions of Sakuma’s people to give a bracelet woven from hair on their wedding day, but if there’s one thing Iwamoto is decidedly not good at, it’s weaving. Sakuma often jokes that if they’d waited until Iwamoto produced a proper wedding bracelet, there would be grandchildren before the wedding took place. Iwamoto privately agrees - even after more than a hundred attempts, the bracelet Sakuma is wearing now is wonky and uneven, the strands of pink and green hair already coming apart. Two of the pink strands look frayed; Iwamoto isn’t sure if it’s from wear or because their babies seem to like chewing on Sakuma’s bracelet, but he knows he’ll have to get started on making another soon.

One by one, Iwamoto dips his tongue into each of Sakuma’s silky grooves, brushing gently over the feathery tufts. There are only five grooves in each of Sakuma’s pouches; what would be an embarrassingly low number for a member of Iwamoto’s species is entirely normal for Sakuma’s. The middle groove contains a double tuft, more feathery than the others and eternally fascinating to Iwamoto. He’s inclined to linger, but Sakuma moans his name and suddenly all Iwamoto wants is to kiss Sakuma’s peachy-pink lips. Straightening up, he does exactly that, blue lips on pink, a sweet kiss that neither of them is in any hurry to deepen. His antennae tilt towards Sakuma’s, the middle antenna tilting to the right with no thought required and Iwamoto is pretty sure that if he ever slept with a member of his own species, he’d probably be confused to find three antennae instead of the two he’s used to.

Sakuma reaches for his hands, apparently done with foreplay and Iwamoto links their fingers. They raise their arms above their heads, pressing their upper bodies closely together; the height difference requires a bit of slouching and stretching, but they’ve figured out comfortable positions years ago. After his pregnancy, Iwamoto’s tufts are even more attuned to Sakuma, extending to meet Sakuma’s tufts as soon as they are close enough to sense. Iwamoto moans when Sakuma’s tufts feather against his, a delightful caress that fingers or tongue can never quite match. He uses the chance to deepen the kiss when Sakuma moans against his lips, entwining their tongues. The pleasure grows steadily, the dual sensations of pouches and antennae driving him higher and higher. It’s not long before Iwamoto reaches orgasm, the familiarity of Sakuma’s body against his driving him higher and higher with unusual speed.

Waves of pleasure drag him under, cresting again and again as his tufts shiver against Sakuma’s. Even at the height of it, when the pleasure washes out even his name, Sakuma is a constant presence, brushing against all his senses until Iwamoto barely knows where he ends and Sakuma begins. Time is relative, irrelevant, nonexistent, the constant pleasure of his pulsing pouches diluting Iwamoto’s sense of time the longer his orgasm goes on. Every three or four minutes, the short, thrilling pleasure of Sakuma’s antennae vibrating against his coaxes sparks from Iwamoto’s antennae, standing out in an ocean of slowly rolling delight.

When he can think again, Iwamoto drapes his wings over Sakuma like a shield or a blanket, a fuzzy sort of shared comfort. Under the privacy of his wings, they share another slow kiss, recovering their sense of self and time.


On the way to the nursery they pass the guest rooms the other snow spies are staying in. Fukazawa is napping with his head on Abe’s tentacles, his sharp teeth grinding against each other in his sleep. Iwamoto wouldn’t risk any of his appendages that close to Fukazawa’s teeth, especially not when Fukazawa is asleep and thus not exactly in control, but Abe clearly considers the risk worth it. It might help that Abe can regrow lost tentacles, though it takes a while. Abe flips the page, totally immersed in the book on war tactics she borrowed from Kitayama.

The air in front of Watanabe’s and Miyadate’s room is noticeably warmer, heated up by Miyadate’s body. It’s the reason all of them have rooms close to the surface - an open window keeps the smoke levels tolerable without wasting valuable electricity. Watanabe is curled around Miyadate, basking in his partner’s warmth. While Miyadate practices his lock picking skills, Watanabe naps, only his tail twitching occasionally.

Iwamoto follows Sakuma down the stairs to the nursery, drawn by the hypnotic play of colours across Sakuma’s translucent wings. Sakuma jumps to slap his hand against the ceiling, his wings spreading out. It’s easy for Iwamoto to imagine Sakuma flying, gliding through the air; even now, years after puberty robbed him of the ability, Sakuma moves as if he’s dancing through the air. One of the many ribbons holding the back of Sakuma’s shirt closed comes undone, so Iwamoto reaches over and ties it back up while they walk.

When they arrive at the nursery, they find Yokoo leaning against the wall next to the door, looking grumpy. Because of allergies, humans need to take medication before entering and Yokoo’s face makes it clear that he is not amused by the necessity or perhaps it’s just that he hates waiting for the medication to take effect. Under Yokoo’s glare, Iwamoto feels the absurd urge to wipe his feet before entering the room, all the more ridiculous because the floor of the nursery is covered in soft earth and grass. The first thing he sees upon entering is two of Nikaido’s kids, digging up a plant. Eight ears twitch at the sound of Iwamoto’s footsteps. The bunnies abandon the plant to run up to Iwamoto, smack his leg with their chubby little hands and run away giggling.

Shaking his head, he follows Sakuma deeper into the nursery. As usual, most of the caterpillars, their own colourful babies as well as Hashimoto’s green ones, are drawn towards the sound of Sakuma’s chirping. They find Totsuka asleep, two bunnies and five caterpillars curled up on top of him, all cuddled together. Woken up by the soft chirping noises Sakuma makes, the caterpillars wiggle, indecision clear in their movements. The pink baby stays curled around Totsuka’s wrist and the teal baby clearly prefers to stay cuddled against the furry ears of two of Nikaido’s babies, but the other three crawl over to Sakuma, who flops onto the ground to let them climb all over him.

Iwamoto leans against a tree and watches. After a few minutes the rainbow caterpillar, one of the more adventurous babies, drops onto his shoulder and chirps before investigating the collar of his shirt. The fuzzy little caterpillar wriggling against his skin tickles and the corners of Iwamoto’s mouth twitch. In the comfortable air of the nursery, it’s hard to remember that there’s a war on, that they’ll soon be going back to fight and spy under Tono’s command. He rubs two fingers over the snowflake brand on his left wrist to remind himself of everything that is at stake, everything Takizawa did for them. After Takizawa rescued them, the eight of them decided not to have the brands removed, turning the snowflake from a mark of shame to a sign of loyalty.

Nikaido punches Iwamoto’s arm, pulling him from his thoughts. “Don’t think so hard, you’ll scare the kids. Your face is rude enough even when you aren’t scowling.”

Yokoo’s fingers close around two of Nikaido’s ears and Nikaido squeaks. “The only thing rude here is you, brat,” Yokoo says.

Iwamoto misses the rest of their argument, distracted by the rainbow caterpillar. The little adventurer has discovered his piercings and is wiggling excitedly. “You can’t eat those,” Iwamoto says, trying to nudge the baby away from his ear, but the caterpillar is having none of it, pushing against his fingers. Giving in to the kid's determination, Iwamoto lets the caterpillar climb over his hand to chew ineffectually on his earlobe piercings. The signs are clear - this one is going to be a troublemaker, just as soon as it’s big enough to get into actual trouble.
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