*fight-or-flight grips killua's muscles as kalluto takes his wrists, holding him still as he gently aligns their bodies. he tries not to let their naked skin touch, but his stomach brushes against his brother's with each shallow breath, building the strange, coiled feeling inside it. maybe, he ventures, he wants himself to be the exception to the rule -- no one but him.

it's then that he realizes that there's something noticeably absent from the press of his brother's body against his own, something that should, by now, be insistently pressing back. with another tense gulp, he murmurs,*

kalluto...

...have you been feeling any different, since you got here?