Incubation (Sukunaxreader, Nanamixreader, EXPLICIT)

Q, R, S, T

The river was warm...

Warm, even for summer. It must be late August, you thought, an orange sun dipping behind sentinels of black spruce as you floated downstream, rocked soft by the current. Ears underwater, you listened to it speaking in clicks and thrums, in stones scraping and the flick-whoosh of skirting trout. Your back bumped against something firm – a log. Deadfall? You reached to touch it, smooth aspen curving beneath your fingers. No. Alive. The current pressed you in close against its trunk as you blinked the last persimmon light of evening. Gold and green leaves dancing overhead, wild with life.

You awoke to your body aching, furious with oversleep and more exhausted than you could believe. Just a dream... Still, your back was warm, so wonderfully warm that you curled in closer, shocking as suddenly Nanami's arm dropped around you, drawing you nearer into the cove of his chest. Feeling the whites of your eyes, you held your breath, listening for his. Soft and shallow, it fell in huffs against the back of your neck. So warm... When finally you were certain—absolutely certain—that he was asleep, you shifted. Slowly, slowly in his arms, daring inch by inch onto your back to look at him.

He looked tired, brows drawn down over the oily creases of his eyelids, his mouth gently open. Your back twinged and throbbed, but somehow you were unwilling to move, mirrored in his arms like a dream. Your hand twitched, moved, ghosted up tentative to wrap his bicep. Warm. Strong. The rhythm of his lungs was pulling you back under, your fingers slipping the thick, vascular trail down his forearm. Dropping your face nearer to his, you fell breath upon breath into a second cadence of sleep, warm and quick with anticipation.

The next time you awoke Nanami was gone, and the room was green as ferns with the light from outside. Your body was so sore now that it was almost laughable, but as you sat up you were actually glad to find yourself genuinely hungry. Or rather, willingly so. Traipsing from the bed to the maroon cushion, you lowered to sit, stretching your spine into a xylophone of cracks that made you moan. Plucking up the spoon from the edge of the tray, you hesitated it over the bowl of egg porridge. Regardless of how long the food had been sitting, the real danger was allowing your body to return to a state of impregnability... Still, you assured yourself, inhaling slowly, surely that would take more than a single meal.

Lifting the food to your mouth you were shocked to find it still warm, and pushed it onto your tongue ravenous, stopping only as the bathroom screen shifted with a scrape. Nanami appeared behind it, shirtless over his pants and holding a towel at his hair, dripping water like wet straw. The lines of his body made a gridwork, made shadows, made places you couldn't help imagining reaching your fingers—your lips—to touch.

You blushed and Nanami briefly clipped his gaze away before gesturing to the tray with a nod.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad."

"Have some too," you replied without thinking, shocked when after a momentary pause he came closer and dropped down across the mat.

"Thank you."

His naked stomach made smooth lines across his abdomen as he leaned in, the towel slung from his neck. "May I have this?" he asked, gesturing to the soup, and you nodded too fast, your pulse racing ahead of your breathing.

"Anything," you said. "I won't have more than porridge." At his frown, you added, "It'll take a bit until I can eat more than that.."

Seemingly satisfied, he lifted the soup bowl and tipped it deftly to his mouth. "You intend to keep eating, then?" he asked after another minute.

You hadn't intended to, no, but looking at him now was bending your resolve. "Will it make your life easier?" you asked.

"...I suppose so. Yes." He narrowed his eyes, sipping at the bowl again. Your gaze licked over the curve of his fingers around the pottery, long and thick.