[He almost wants to snatch the bottle back just for the principle of the thing, even though his glass is still full. He feels… restless. He doesn’t know what to do with the sensation, so it just translates into frustration.]
Like hell you’re not drunk! Do you even hear yourself? You’re talking like you’re…
[Like he isn’t exclusively interested in fun and outgoing and playful. In girls who giggle when hot guys feed them cheesy lines. In everything that isn’t calculated and reserved.
From Kaoru’s perspective, there has been no dance. Because he hasn’t even allowed himself to believe it was ever on the table in the first place. It hasn’t ever made him any more tolerant of Kojiro sneaking away with the next in a long string of nothing at all like Kaoru, but it’s the best defense mechanism he has under the circumstances.
And it’s breaking down. Fast. He might just end up snapping the stem of the glass in his hand, with how tense he feels right now.]
I can’t give anything to someone who doesn’t want it.
[ Instead of a glass stem snapping, it's the last thread of Kojiro's patience. ]
I've wanted you to give me that chance since we were in high school!
[ And there it is. It hangs in the air between them, ignorant to the tension it's simultaneously created and eased. The one thing he's never outright told Kaoru, the only truth that's never been evident. Because a long string of one-night lovers is simple, easy; no risk, no loss, nothing ventured nor gained. But Kaoru? He's the apex. The unattainable. He's the one shot Kojiro's never been able to take.
After seeing Kaoru with Adam, how could he? Charming, handsome, rich, smooth; Adam had everything Kojiro didn't. Everything that, possibly, Kojiro never would have, no matter how hard he worked for it. Kojiro knows when he's outmatched.
But he also knows that he fucked up. Immediately, the second those words leave his mouth, he knows that they shouldn't have. His heart jumps into his throat. His stomach drops. His fingers go numb. And still, even knowing how completely he fucked up, he still reaches out to rest his hand -- large and unbearably warm -- over Kaoru's. ]
But that's my problem. It always has been. It doesn't mean anything has to change. I'm just happy to have you in my life.
[It takes the room beginning to spin for Kaoru to realise he isn't breathing. Okay... first things first. Inhale, exhale.
Since high school? When Kaoru was finally grimly coming to terms with the fact that his confusing feelings about boys weren't going away?
Repeat. Inhale, exhale.
Kojiro in high school, his voice low and loud and booming when he laughs the way it never was when they were small. Pretending he couldn't sleep so Kaoru could talk to him on the phone into the early hours of the morning when Kaoru, in turn, was pretending he was just bored and that he hadn't called in the first place because he was on the verge of a panic attack.
Both of them, wrecking their sleep cycles in a way that's so easy to do when you're young and reckless and searching for something bigger than your own emotions feel. Making the night their playground.
God, it's been so long since then. And here they are, still keeping each other up after the sun has long fallen.]
You... what?
[Kojiro's hand is so big over his. Heavy. The pressure is comforting enough to keep Kaoru teetering off somewhere dangerous. Kojiro has always done that--provided enough shelter, enough of a security blanket, that Kaoru can push outside of himself a little more. In some twist of dramatic irony, that's why Kaoru has the wherewithal to respond with anger right now.]
Are you serious, you idiot?! No one asked you to be some fucking tragic, self-sacrificing martyr! Do you have any idea how much trouble you could have saved me if you'd said this ages ago?
[ Trouble. There's that word again. It keeps popping up tonight; like the very concept of romantic interaction is some unbalanced equation that Kaoru can't solve, or a sticky line of code he hasn't managed to debug. Relationships are trouble. Kojiro could have saved him trouble. And despite the flare of irritation that Kaoru's anger stokes, trouble is what fits those missing pieces into place.
Not that anything has ever been missing between them. The fragments have always been there, like a mosaic, patiently waiting for Kaoru and Kojiro to put it all together. Their jagged little edges fit like nothing else ever has, clear and beautiful as the morning sun, and the staggering comprehension is quickly settling into Kojiro's awareness. ]
Shut up, Kaoru.
[ Kojiro sets his glass aside, and that frees up his other hand to catch Kaoru's wrist, anchoring him in place (on the off- chance he had any notions about putting distance been them). He swears Kaoru must be able to feel the heartbeat in his fingertips, a frenzied rush that's leaving Kojiro lightheaded and hazy in its wake.
The first time Kojiro felt like this-- He remembers the exact moment. They'd skipped that day; spent the morning sleeping in at Kojiro's place, then went to their spot and skated 'til it after dark. The setting sun was all neon fire that day, rose and gold, like it was reflecting Kaoru into the clouds. Kojiro watched Kaoru skate, back-lit by that neon sky, and realized he'd never felt more peaceful in his whole life. And that no one would ever make him feel like this -- like he's safe, like he's home -- except for Kaoru.
Would it really have mattered? Would it have changed anything between them, if Kojiro told him then? Will it change anything now? ]
Can I kiss you?
[ There's some maddening, aching sincerity behind Kojiro's eyes. ]
You can be mad at me later. Just let me kiss you now.
[He flexes against Kojiro’s grip—not because he’s going to make any actual attempt to get away, but just to feel it. To press into the sensation of someone having a firm hold on him, with no intention nor will to let go.
Relationships are work, is that right? Because, sure, it might be a little work to keep his breathing steady. And to keep his mind from wandering down a hundred dark, twisting paths of speculation about what this might mean, and what might happen next.
But actually, on the whole, it’s easy. Easy to set the wine aside so he can settle a hand on Kojiro’s shoulder. Easy to let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. It is even maddeningly easy to predict the angle at which Kojiro might approach, to imagine in the moment before he even knows how he’s going to answer how it might feel.]
Do it.
[Please, he wants to add. Yesterday. Years ago. But the words don’t come. Instead, he closes his eyes.]
[ Once upon a time, Kojiro was so certain of how this would go.
He had it all planned out, had imagined it a hundred-thousand times over. From his hand on Kaoru's face to the soft meld of their lips, from the taste of his mouth to the plush warmth he'd find there, he was so sure of how it would feel. Moreover, he knew exactly what he would do, how he would touch Kaoru, how much he should push and what should be a pull instead. All worked out, top to beautiful bottom, to totally sweep Kaoru off his feet.
And now, with Kaoru practically demanding a kiss, it all goes out the goddamn window.
Kojiro scrambles forward the second Kaoru consents, lunges to capture his lips and hooks a hand behind his neck to hold him fast. There's an urgency to this, insistence in place of Kojiro's usual collected patience. He consumes Kaoru right away; no hesitation, caution to the wind, pulling over and over at Kaoru's lips just to taste that much more of him. Closer, deeper, like he's struggling to make them one from two.
Thorough as his expections were, they never prepared him for everything that floods him now. Kaoru tastes like spring and red wine, he feels like a hurricane and a nighttime breeze. Their world erupts in pleasure and stars, all a rush of abstract sensation that Kojiro chases with every hungry pull at Kaoru's mouth. Kojiro's languished in innumerable kisses throughout his life, but this? It beats them all, sets him on fire and leaves him melting. Is this what it's really like? It's this much better, all because it means something?
But Kojiro can't overthink it. Hell, he can barely think, period. Reality is officially better than fantasy, and Kojiro wants to lose himself in more and more and more. ]
[Well, he can't say he didn't get what he asked for. He's being held but he's falling, being kept perfectly safe and steady and yet his world is spinning around him.
Maybe he's woken up still chasing the tail end of a dream like this before. Dreams are easy to shoo away, to chalk up to random error of sunconscious thought, to file away as meaningless and bury under the busy hum of everyday life. But he finds now that they've lingered in a corner of his memory, lighting up now to match their outlines against the reality of being kissed by his best friend.
But it's not just being kissed, is it? Because Kaoru is pressing back almost frantically, dragging Kojiro down closer, carving scratches into his bare shoulder because the goddamned idiot doesn't know how to wear a fucking shirt.
He was promised he's allowed to be angry later, so he pushes that to the background for now. No thinking about time wasted, or about ugly, shapeless jealousy. For now, he only lets in the sensation of Kojiro eating him up like he's running out of time. The heat of his mouth. New data collected in the form of what it feels like to touch, really touch, the muscles that shift under so much sunkissed skin.
It's so much. It's overwhelming. And yet he wants more.
He lets out a small sound that he will later insist was not a whimper, thank you, and nips at Kojiro's lower lip. Coaxing. Beckoning.]
[ If Kaoru hadn't come at him like this -- claws out and teeth gnashing -- Kojiro might have been able to dial it back. Calm the storm enough to make room for reason, at least. They should talk about this, shouldn't they? Figure it out, draw some lines, work out the logistics. As if the boundaries between them have ever been good for anything but crossing.
But there's something lurking there, creeping in the wake of the welts that Kaoru's scratching into his shoulder and hiding behind the sharp edge of canines in his lip. Something desperate and feral. Like he's trying to take Kojiro apart, like he's digging into the meat of all this, sinking his teeth in and still aching for more. And Kojiro's loathe to leave him wanting.
Kojiro's winds a possessive arm around Kaoru's waist, and his grip tightens at the back of Kaoru's neck. It keeps him close, practically flush against Kojiro's broad chest, to hold Kaoru into that devouring kiss while he moves them both in one swift pull. Because Kaoru always needs some illusion of control, and in Kojiro's lap feels like the most natural place for him to be. And if he wants to protest the manhandling, he'll have to fight Kojiro's tongue for the chance to speak. It's diving between Kaoru's lips, drawing him out, coaxing him to meet Kojiro blow for blow.
Maybe Kaoru will argue the notion that he's vocally enjoying this, but Kojiro's unapologetic about it. He's all sighs, hitched breaths, soft huffs, falling hot and quick against Kaoru's mouth. Losing his cool, damaging his calm. Even if he were conscious of it, there would be no stifling them. Because this--
It's a culmination. Finally, Kaoru. Finally. That's all his pleasure-soaked mind has room for. ]
[Yeah, no. If Kaoru isn’t allowed to overthink this situation, he certainly won’t allow Kojiro to move in on his territory and start applying logic either. It feels far too good to have all of that turned off for once. He’d rather hear Kojiro sighing into his mouth than the usual news ticker running through his mind, supplying every possibility of what might go wrong.
So when he does finally put in enough fight to break free from the kiss, it’s only so he can attach his mouth elsewhere, worry bruises right down the column of Kojiro’s neck and across one collarbone. There, now maybe that will finally make him think twice about bearing so much skin in public, at least for a little while.
Mine. The thought drifts through his mind, unbidden. It isn’t even shaped like a question; it’s a declaration pressed into Kojiro’s skin. The bruises might fade over time, but the intent behind them is indelible.]
[ There's something vicious about this, almost mean. It's sure as hell not subtle, laying his claim like this, but Kojiro can't find the words or the will to call him out on it. Instead, his head tips back, makes room for the insistent push of Kaoru's teeth. Fine. Let him pull a trail of bruises through Kojiro's throat. Let him mark his territory with a necklace of hickies. It'll serve as its own kind of reminder; Kojiro will see them -- and smile -- every time he looks in the mirror (probably for the next week, at least, if Kaoru's zeal is anything to go by).
Kojiro's hand drifts up from Kaoru's neck, thick fingers straying to sink into that mass of rosy hair. It's silken, and this too both meets and exceeds his expectations. Did he imagine Kaoru's hair was soft? Yes. Has he always ached to push his fingers through it, just like this? Fuck yes. Did he expect to be momentarily distracted by the texture? Absolutely not.
This felt like the eye of a storm the second Kaoru's mouth dropped to his neck. Kojiro's lips are still swollen from Kaoru's kisses, but they're hungry to have them back again. Kaoru's pulling wave after wave of pleasure through him, testing the frayed edges of Kojiro's patience, winding him tighter until, again--
It snaps.
Kojiro's hand tightens to a fist around the roots of Kaoru's hair, anchoring him to the bruise he's currently worrying into Kojiro's shoulder. Maybe it'll keep him close, steady, when Kojiro's other hand drifts from his low back over the rise of his hip -- all maddeningly impeded by his obi -- and down the outside of his thigh. His fingers go stiff at Kaoru's knee, pushing past the split in his kimono to find bare skin instead.
[Ohhhh. It’s hard to say which of them is having more fun with fingers in Kaoru’s hair. He has to stop what he’s doing to groan into heated skin. He could definitely do with more of that… the rough, sharp tugging that sends tingles down his neck, and then maybe once he’s done with that, Kaoru could fall asleep to broad fingers gently stroking at his scalp. Maybe every night for the rest of forever. They’ll have to check their schedules later, see if an arrangement can be made.
He’s breathing so hard his entire body heaves with it by the time he feels Kojiro seeking out more skin. Kaoru should probably be wearing less. But before he can think of the quickest route to making that happen, Kojiro drops the next bomb.
It knocks the wind out of him, and the aftershocks echo through his chest and rattle his bones. He can feel his eyes stinging, and—no, no, he is far too grown to revert back to crying in Kojiro’s arms. So he buries his face in Kojiro’s chest and tries to will the tears not to fall.]
You should have told me. I’ve been yours this whole time.
[“You moron” is implied. And, “So hurry up and be mine, too,” is better shown than said in words, he imagines.]
[ Kaoru buries his face against Kojiro's chest, and for a fraction of a second, everything cools. There's something here that needs to be honored. Somewhere between the tightness in Kaoru's voice and the reluctance to show his face, Kojiro needs to find a place to acknowledge and appreciate this for what it is. Vulnerability is hard; harder for Kaoru than it's ever been for Kojiro, and he's not going to sully something so rare by ignoring it.
Instead, Kojiro smiles, warm and gentle, and lets his arms curl around Kaoru's waist and shoulders. It wraps Kaoru up -- safe, secure -- and pulls him in for kiss after kiss after kiss. Crown, temple, cheek, jaw, a shower as unyielding as his embrace, until he's at a better angle to tuck his forehead against Kaoru's shoulder. ]
I'm sorry. Sorry I didn't see it. I'm an idiot, remember? I'm all yours now, I promise. I'll make it all up to you.
Just tell me how you want this to go. You're the boss.
[Okay. Okay. It seems like he can breathe evenly enough that there will be no actual crying, but his eyes are decidedly more wet than usual. He's definitely never been kissed like this before--like he's precious, and something to be protected. It's a lot. Hearing "all yours" is a lot, too. He chases Kojiro's lips, determined to memorise them. To remember them long after everyone else has forgotten. It is, quite frankly, not fair that Kojiro kisses like this, and so many others have known it long before he did. Kaoru will steal away so many memories for himself that no one can ever compare.
Aside from that... how does he want this to go? Acknowledging that this is what he's wanted all along is like staring directly into the sun after holding the curtains shut tight for so long, knuckles white and fingers numb.]
I.. don't know. [Under all other circumstances, yes, he'd want to have the last word and feel in control of every move. But right now...] I don't want to think anymore. I've done enough thinking.
[ Those are impossible words from Kaoru. I don't want to think anymore, as if he hasn't built an entire career around beating every thought into shivering submission. I've done enough thinking, like he couldn't overthink and outwit an entire battery of scientists and philosophers just for fun. It's the one drawback of that big, beautiful brain of his. It never stops. It exhausts him. Strength and weakness both.
But Kojiro can make good on all of those assertions from earlier. Maybe he can crowd out all those thoughts. Push out all the doubt and the demons. Leave a blissful vacuum to fill with his praise and his gratitude, with soft words and pleasured hands. Not forever, probably. But just for a little while, so that Kaoru never has to second-guess that--
Fuck, that he's so incredibly loved. Kaoru deserves that. He's always deserved that. To be so loved that he never has space to doubt it. To be so safe, he won't have room for fear. ]
That's fine. [ Kojiro meets each and every one of Kaoru's seeking kisses while he speaks. ] You don't have to. You don't have to worry about anything at all. I'll take care of you.
[ Whatever that looks like, whatever that entails, Kojiro will take care of him. The promise is punctuated by a hand pushing through Kaoru's hair, to scrub blunted fingernails across the back of his scalp. ]
I'm want to touch you a little. Find every little piece of you. Just tell me if it's too much. Or not enough. I promise I'll give you whatever you want, and I promise I'll stop if you ask me to.
You good with that?
[ Kojiro asks this, as his spare hand spiders back down the outside of Kaoru's thigh. ]
[He knows he's not sounding like himself at all. He usually doesn't allow himself to be this vulnerable, even around Kojiro. But he can make excuses and blame it on the alcohol later. Right now he just wants to indulge and be taken care of in the way only Kojiro can offer. In the way he hates admitting he still needs.
He shivers at the feeling of fingers pressing into his scalp, swallows, and nods just a little. He's blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, and can hardly meet Kojiro's eye. He must look so pathetic... but that's never seemed to be a problem with Kojiro. He just keeps showing up, smiling that broad smile of his like there's nothing at all to worry about in the world. Sometimes he's found that vexing, even infuriating, in loud clashing contrast with how full of complication and worry Kaoru's world almost invariably seems. But right now, it's comfort. It's security.
[ Make me stop thinking. It's not a request. Despite the plea, Kaoru's not asking for Kojiro to touch him. He's demanding it, and that begs a small smile from Kojiro. Typical. Pushy bitch. Kojiro wouldn't have him any other way.
The obi comes apart end over end, and Kojiro helps to unwind it piece by piece until he can pull Kaoru free and toss it over the arm of the couch. Sash next, untied and discarded, all while Kojiro's lips bully their way to the side of Kaoru's neck, to push lingering kisses beneath his jaw and down to his shoulder. Christ, these layers; it feels like unwrapping a gift, like snapping ribbons on a pretty package. Appropriate, all things considered. Because Kaoru is a gift, and Kojiro fully plans to treat him accordingly.
Kojiro's hands press between the part in Kaoru's kimono, slide up beneath the collar and coax it off his shoulders. There's no desperation to undress him, though. More and more of Kaoru's skin is exposed, bit by tantalizing bit, and Kojiro seeks it all out just as soon as he can. His hands are like fire, so warm they practically burn trails over Kaoru's flesh. Down his collar, his chest, back to his shoulders, down his arms, shifting to his ribs. His lips follow wherever they're able to reach. None of this new territory is left untouched, unkissed, unexplored. Kojiro's worshiping him, taking his time, savoring Kaoru's body.
He's lost in it. Kaoru's so much softer than he imagined, so much better than anything he's had. He's made to be touched and kissed like this. He's made for Kojiro, just like Kojiro's made for him. ]
Now, there's a thought he'd never dream of sharing out loud. But it's just too good, not having to do anything except watch Kojiro unravel both his clothing and his composure at the same time. Those big, brutish hands have a surprisingly deft and delicate touch when they need to. Did he ever imagine it would be like this to have those hands mapping out his skin as if he's being memorised? If he did, he certainly never thought he'd admit to wanting it as much as he does. But heaving for breath the way he does, groaning low and long under the barrage of kisses, feels like admitting everything all at once. Even the parts he was so careful not to admit to himself.
He digs his fingers into Kojiro's hair, just to have something to hold onto. Some way of grounding himself in the middle of a moment that's making him so dizzy. Because, how is he supposed to feel? Kojiro has always been bigger and brighter and stronger, able to navigate life with such ease and so little worry, and yet here he is handling Kaoru in a way that's so admiring it feels almost subservient in its quiet intensity. It's not like Kaoru lacks confidence in the areas where the evidence is overwhelmingly in his favour--his particular areas of expertise, and his appearance. But he also isn't a stranger to thoughts like don't outgrow me and don't leave me behind.
What Kojiro is impressing into every inch of skin he can reach is a promise that Kaoru doesn't ever need to worry about those things. Not with him. Someone who touches him like this isn't going to run off somewhere Kaoru can't follow.
His eyes are stinging at the corners again, and he closes them tight.
There's something he wants to say so badly that it feels like the force of it might crack his ribs from the inside. But he's still so new to all of this that he feels the need to tread carefully. To work his way up to it and place it in just the right spot.]
[ Simple as that. No lies, no sidestepping, no flowery bullshit. Kojiro lays it out so matter-of-factly, it almost feels incongruous with the way his hands are spreading over Kaoru's body; the words are firm and sweet, while his touch is full of sentiment. But if he knows anything about Kaoru, it's that he can't leave any room for misinterpretation, can't provide loose ends for his anxiety to twist around.
And why should he be anything but truthful? What's Kaoru going to do at this point? Run? With the way his hands are wringing through Kojiro's hair? How is breath is staggering over the question? Not fucking likely. ]
Just waiting for you to want it. Or tell me.
[ Kojiro's lips are pushing kisses down Kaoru's sternum when he pauses, and tilts his head up to meet Kaoru's eyes. ]
Never thought you were waiting on me too. Sorry I didn't see it sooner. I'll do better.
[ There was a blind spot before, but Kojiro's pretty sure he's got it worked out now. All that aggression, the snide remarks, the ire, the derision; it all comes from somewhere, all rooted in the same place that these soft touches are springing from now. And now that Kojiro's figured that part out, the rest will come easy. At least as easy as it is to touch Kaoru now, and that's felt miraculously natural from the start.
Kojiro's hands slide down to Kaoru's hips, to guide him closer with a gentle squeeze. There's no hiding his own reaction or eagerness; it's hard already between Kaoru's legs when their bodies press flush. And is Kaoru all right with that? That remains to be seen. ]
If you let me. If you want me. I'll do better. I'll do the best I can for you.
[Kaoru is used to treading the psychological minefield of words like "pretty" and "princess" and "sweetheart," answering them with expressions of practiced exasperation and disdain. But Kojiro has never pulled a petname on him like that with such warm sincerity in his voice. Kaoru's breath catches.
He almost wants to argue, because it would be easy and familiar. He has no idea how to navigate Kojiro taking responsibility for everything, or gently asking for permission to do everything Kaoru never let himself hope for. That seems like a major oversight now--not at least considering a possibility, no matter how slim, no matter how much it made his chest ache. At least he'd maybe he could have been able to feel less clumsy working a hand between their bodies to touch Kojiro's erection through fabric that feels so, so thin.]
Of course I want you, idiot.
[Then again, maybe Kaoru is the idiot whose toes are curling just from touching a dick for two seconds. And for letting Kojiro go on and on like every bit of the responsibility is his own.
But that's a matter for later. No more thinking. Just expressing pent-up desire through panting breaths and careful strokes of fingers pressed tight between the two of them.]
[ No room for misinterpretation there. Kaoru wants him. Kaoru's touching him. And despite Kojiro's general philosophy about love and seduction, it's a little different when it involves Kaoru. In large part, Kojiro's still suspending his disbelief; still struggling to convince himself that this decade-old achy, yearning want is finally blooming in his lap, and the shock is lending him a degree of caution.
Or appreciation. The need tightens in him, winds lower with every pass of Kaoru's hand over his cock. The harder he gets, the more evident it becomes that Kojiro is well-proportioned, thick and stiff in Kaoru's grip, practically throbbing already through the pleasured sigh that he breathes against Kaoru's chest. The sensation pushes through him so softly, arrests his thought, stills his breath, and--
Fuck, he wanted to take his time and enjoy this, but that's quickly turning into a non-option. He needs Kaoru, now. And if this is happening, it's not happening on the fucking couch. ]
Hold on to me, gorgeous.
[ Kojiro doesn't wait for Kaoru to react. He hooks a forearm under Kaoru's ass, and lifts him along when he stands from the couch. Then it's down the hall, to the bedroom, where Kojiro lowers Kaoru to the end of his bed, and drops to his knees on the floor in front of him. It's like fire and ice between them, cooling one moment only to fan to inferno the next. Like now, with Kojiro reclaiming his lips like they're breath, like they're life, invading Kaoru's mouth with his tongue, and guiding Kaoru's hips up to pull away his briefs with both hands. ]
[It seems that Kaoru can fling all the insults he wants, and just get more terms of endearment in return. That’s a nice little compromise to all of the control he’s (albeit willingly) giving up here; it certainly feels like he’s winning something.
Especially because, if there was some small part of Kaoru that was also doubting whether this is too good to be true, it’s blown out of the water when he can feel for himself the way Kojiro is reacting. It’s not like that big stupid gorgeous oversized body can lie.
Pout and protest as he might about being manhandled and carried(he is capable of waking, thank you very much!), he still lets himself be deposited on the bed, still shifts to let Kojiro lay him bare as he gets every bit of breath kissed out of him. More things that he can blame on the wine later, even though said wine isn’t preventing him from being so hard that it aches. Nor from spreading his legs before he knows what he’s doing. Okay, so maybe it’s been a while, so sue him.]
[ Kaoru can be as pliant or as reticent as he wants about this; he won't catch Kojiro saying a damn thing about it. Touching Kaoru is too much of a thrill, and Kojiro's happy for anything Kaoru will give to him. He's too good, too sweet; he tastes like he belongs to Kojiro, and Kojiro has wanted this for far too long. He'll follow Kaoru's lead, and Kaoru said he wants him, so--
Kaoru gets what Kaoru wants, and it's Kojiro's pleasure to give it. But it's too good to rush, and Kojiro sits back when he drops Kaoru's briefs to the floor. He has to take a second to drink this in, to take in every piece of Kaoru he's never been allowed to admire before. Jesus, he's fucking beautiful. Work of art, statuesque on Kojiro's bedcovers. Kojiro's fixated on the aesthetic of his hands on Kaoru's body, strong and dark against the pale perfection. They wander over the new territory, staking their own claim, touching Kaoru with careful hands and greedy eyes. ]
Kaoru... you're more beautiful than I imagined.
[ The words bring a hot flush to Kojiro's face, and there's something so satisfying about that. A rosy blush that only darkens when his lips shower kiss after kiss down Kaoru's chin, down his throat, to his chest, and then drift to distraction at Kaoru's nipples. His teeth catch across one, tease with his lips and then worry between a bite until it hardens, and he's satisfied to move across to the other. ]
I thought about this. About how I'd make you feel good, if you ever let me. Did you think about it?
[ A question like this, as Kojiro pushes a hand between Kaoru's legs, and thick fingers curl around Kaoru's cock. ]
WELCOME BACK this was so delightful to see in my inbox =']
[This is almost surreal. Kojiro and those big, soulful, heavily-lidded eyes of his... they're just so damn expressive, and Kaoru reads both hunger and adoration in them. His childhood friend who seems to spend so much time prodding and trying to get a rise out of him, and he's capable of looking at Kaoru like this? Really?
He flushes hot at the compliment, and even hotter at Kojiro working his mouth over sensitive nipples. It makes him gasp and arch his back. Oh god, Kojiro is going to uncover every weakness too quickly. Kaoru is in such deep trouble. Absolutely done for.]
How could--ah! How... could I think about it? [His thoughts are scattered, fragmented. He can't gather them enough to consider whether maybe he shouldn't be this honest.] I didn't want to think about what you could do. I didn't want to think about what you might be doing to someone else.
[But Kojiro did. He imagined doing this... when? It always seemed like he had plenty of distractions. One outlet after another for those sorts of thoughts. Where in all of that was Kaoru?]
[ Where Kaoru was, in all that, was firmly occupying every corner of Kojiro's great, big heart. Distractions were all well and good, and maybe Kojiro had plenty of them. But as much as he gave of his body, his heart and his soul still stayed in Kaoru's hands. There came a point when he just had to accept it; to acknowledge that he'd never love anyone the way he loves Kaoru, and embrace the burden that came with it.
And too much came with it: memory and regret and fantasy, all heavy and heart-rending and achy. What Kojiro imagined was always nebulous; fragments of need, broken and lacking for all that his memory couldn't supply, and they don't measure up. Not to this. Not to the addictive responsiveness of Kaoru's body, or the sweet music of his quiet gasping, or the unparalleled softness of his skin under Kojiro's touch. So maybe he doesn't have a good imagination, because this feels decadent, and Kojiro's indulging in as much as Kaoru will allow him.
But that admission-- It's hard to hear. That Kaoru was aching for him just as much -- that Kojiro caused some of that hurt -- is altogether too gravid to brush off. He reaches up to cradle Kaoru's chin in one hand, guides him down so he can catch his gaze and hold it, even while his other hand languidly strokes Kaoru's cock. ]
You have me now. Okay? Hundred percent. I'm here. We're here. I'm yours.
[ Kojiro's grip is hot and tight around Kaoru's arousal. Steady; a slow caress from hilt to head and back again, toying with different angles and pressures until he can find the one that makes Kaoru gasp again. ]
I'm yours, Kaoru. Thank you for giving me a chance. I'll never let you regret it.
[Kaoru has never been touched quite like this. It's possible that no one else could do it. That it's because it's Kojiro that he's able to feel safe enough to be this vulnerable. He presses his face into Kojiro's hand, eyes wide as he takes in the words and slowly, slowly nods. He can let himself believe this, right? Kojiro has always been as good as his word. Kaoru won't find himself hurt in the end even if he gives himself over to this, even if he lifts his hips into the touch and lets the soft sighs escape into the space between them, allows himself to be open and honest about how much he wants this.
And god, does he ever want this, now that he's allowing himself to peer into this corner of his mind. Once he untangles all of the bitter jealousy and defeatism, there's something much more appealing there. It feels warm and bright in his chest.]
You had better make good on that promise. You know I'll kick you if you don't.
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beefyspaghetti) wrote2021-05-08 06:09 pm
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Like hell you’re not drunk! Do you even hear yourself? You’re talking like you’re…
[Like he isn’t exclusively interested in fun and outgoing and playful. In girls who giggle when hot guys feed them cheesy lines. In everything that isn’t calculated and reserved.
From Kaoru’s perspective, there has been no dance. Because he hasn’t even allowed himself to believe it was ever on the table in the first place. It hasn’t ever made him any more tolerant of Kojiro sneaking away with the next in a long string of nothing at all like Kaoru, but it’s the best defense mechanism he has under the circumstances.
And it’s breaking down. Fast. He might just end up snapping the stem of the glass in his hand, with how tense he feels right now.]
I can’t give anything to someone who doesn’t want it.
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I've wanted you to give me that chance since we were in high school!
[ And there it is. It hangs in the air between them, ignorant to the tension it's simultaneously created and eased. The one thing he's never outright told Kaoru, the only truth that's never been evident. Because a long string of one-night lovers is simple, easy; no risk, no loss, nothing ventured nor gained. But Kaoru? He's the apex. The unattainable. He's the one shot Kojiro's never been able to take.
After seeing Kaoru with Adam, how could he? Charming, handsome, rich, smooth; Adam had everything Kojiro didn't. Everything that, possibly, Kojiro never would have, no matter how hard he worked for it. Kojiro knows when he's outmatched.
But he also knows that he fucked up. Immediately, the second those words leave his mouth, he knows that they shouldn't have. His heart jumps into his throat. His stomach drops. His fingers go numb. And still, even knowing how completely he fucked up, he still reaches out to rest his hand -- large and unbearably warm -- over Kaoru's. ]
But that's my problem. It always has been. It doesn't mean anything has to change. I'm just happy to have you in my life.
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Since high school? When Kaoru was finally grimly coming to terms with the fact that his confusing feelings about boys weren't going away?
Repeat. Inhale, exhale.
Kojiro in high school, his voice low and loud and booming when he laughs the way it never was when they were small. Pretending he couldn't sleep so Kaoru could talk to him on the phone into the early hours of the morning when Kaoru, in turn, was pretending he was just bored and that he hadn't called in the first place because he was on the verge of a panic attack.
Both of them, wrecking their sleep cycles in a way that's so easy to do when you're young and reckless and searching for something bigger than your own emotions feel. Making the night their playground.
God, it's been so long since then. And here they are, still keeping each other up after the sun has long fallen.]
You... what?
[Kojiro's hand is so big over his. Heavy. The pressure is comforting enough to keep Kaoru teetering off somewhere dangerous. Kojiro has always done that--provided enough shelter, enough of a security blanket, that Kaoru can push outside of himself a little more. In some twist of dramatic irony, that's why Kaoru has the wherewithal to respond with anger right now.]
Are you serious, you idiot?! No one asked you to be some fucking tragic, self-sacrificing martyr! Do you have any idea how much trouble you could have saved me if you'd said this ages ago?
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Not that anything has ever been missing between them. The fragments have always been there, like a mosaic, patiently waiting for Kaoru and Kojiro to put it all together. Their jagged little edges fit like nothing else ever has, clear and beautiful as the morning sun, and the staggering comprehension is quickly settling into Kojiro's awareness. ]
Shut up, Kaoru.
[ Kojiro sets his glass aside, and that frees up his other hand to catch Kaoru's wrist, anchoring him in place (on the off- chance he had any notions about putting distance been them). He swears Kaoru must be able to feel the heartbeat in his fingertips, a frenzied rush that's leaving Kojiro lightheaded and hazy in its wake.
The first time Kojiro felt like this-- He remembers the exact moment. They'd skipped that day; spent the morning sleeping in at Kojiro's place, then went to their spot and skated 'til it after dark. The setting sun was all neon fire that day, rose and gold, like it was reflecting Kaoru into the clouds. Kojiro watched Kaoru skate, back-lit by that neon sky, and realized he'd never felt more peaceful in his whole life. And that no one would ever make him feel like this -- like he's safe, like he's home -- except for Kaoru.
Would it really have mattered? Would it have changed anything between them, if Kojiro told him then? Will it change anything now? ]
Can I kiss you?
[ There's some maddening, aching sincerity behind Kojiro's eyes. ]
You can be mad at me later. Just let me kiss you now.
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Relationships are work, is that right? Because, sure, it might be a little work to keep his breathing steady. And to keep his mind from wandering down a hundred dark, twisting paths of speculation about what this might mean, and what might happen next.
But actually, on the whole, it’s easy. Easy to set the wine aside so he can settle a hand on Kojiro’s shoulder. Easy to let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. It is even maddeningly easy to predict the angle at which Kojiro might approach, to imagine in the moment before he even knows how he’s going to answer how it might feel.]
Do it.
[Please, he wants to add. Yesterday. Years ago. But the words don’t come. Instead, he closes his eyes.]
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He had it all planned out, had imagined it a hundred-thousand times over. From his hand on Kaoru's face to the soft meld of their lips, from the taste of his mouth to the plush warmth he'd find there, he was so sure of how it would feel. Moreover, he knew exactly what he would do, how he would touch Kaoru, how much he should push and what should be a pull instead. All worked out, top to beautiful bottom, to totally sweep Kaoru off his feet.
And now, with Kaoru practically demanding a kiss, it all goes out the goddamn window.
Kojiro scrambles forward the second Kaoru consents, lunges to capture his lips and hooks a hand behind his neck to hold him fast. There's an urgency to this, insistence in place of Kojiro's usual collected patience. He consumes Kaoru right away; no hesitation, caution to the wind, pulling over and over at Kaoru's lips just to taste that much more of him. Closer, deeper, like he's struggling to make them one from two.
Thorough as his expections were, they never prepared him for everything that floods him now. Kaoru tastes like spring and red wine, he feels like a hurricane and a nighttime breeze. Their world erupts in pleasure and stars, all a rush of abstract sensation that Kojiro chases with every hungry pull at Kaoru's mouth. Kojiro's languished in innumerable kisses throughout his life, but this? It beats them all, sets him on fire and leaves him melting. Is this what it's really like? It's this much better, all because it means something?
But Kojiro can't overthink it. Hell, he can barely think, period. Reality is officially better than fantasy, and Kojiro wants to lose himself in more and more and more. ]
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Maybe he's woken up still chasing the tail end of a dream like this before. Dreams are easy to shoo away, to chalk up to random error of sunconscious thought, to file away as meaningless and bury under the busy hum of everyday life. But he finds now that they've lingered in a corner of his memory, lighting up now to match their outlines against the reality of being kissed by his best friend.
But it's not just being kissed, is it? Because Kaoru is pressing back almost frantically, dragging Kojiro down closer, carving scratches into his bare shoulder because the goddamned idiot doesn't know how to wear a fucking shirt.
He was promised he's allowed to be angry later, so he pushes that to the background for now. No thinking about time wasted, or about ugly, shapeless jealousy. For now, he only lets in the sensation of Kojiro eating him up like he's running out of time. The heat of his mouth. New data collected in the form of what it feels like to touch, really touch, the muscles that shift under so much sunkissed skin.
It's so much. It's overwhelming. And yet he wants more.
He lets out a small sound that he will later insist was not a whimper, thank you, and nips at Kojiro's lower lip. Coaxing. Beckoning.]
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But there's something lurking there, creeping in the wake of the welts that Kaoru's scratching into his shoulder and hiding behind the sharp edge of canines in his lip. Something desperate and feral. Like he's trying to take Kojiro apart, like he's digging into the meat of all this, sinking his teeth in and still aching for more. And Kojiro's loathe to leave him wanting.
Kojiro's winds a possessive arm around Kaoru's waist, and his grip tightens at the back of Kaoru's neck. It keeps him close, practically flush against Kojiro's broad chest, to hold Kaoru into that devouring kiss while he moves them both in one swift pull. Because Kaoru always needs some illusion of control, and in Kojiro's lap feels like the most natural place for him to be. And if he wants to protest the manhandling, he'll have to fight Kojiro's tongue for the chance to speak. It's diving between Kaoru's lips, drawing him out, coaxing him to meet Kojiro blow for blow.
Maybe Kaoru will argue the notion that he's vocally enjoying this, but Kojiro's unapologetic about it. He's all sighs, hitched breaths, soft huffs, falling hot and quick against Kaoru's mouth. Losing his cool, damaging his calm. Even if he were conscious of it, there would be no stifling them. Because this--
It's a culmination. Finally, Kaoru. Finally. That's all his pleasure-soaked mind has room for. ]
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So when he does finally put in enough fight to break free from the kiss, it’s only so he can attach his mouth elsewhere, worry bruises right down the column of Kojiro’s neck and across one collarbone. There, now maybe that will finally make him think twice about bearing so much skin in public, at least for a little while.
Mine. The thought drifts through his mind, unbidden. It isn’t even shaped like a question; it’s a declaration pressed into Kojiro’s skin. The bruises might fade over time, but the intent behind them is indelible.]
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[ There's something vicious about this, almost mean. It's sure as hell not subtle, laying his claim like this, but Kojiro can't find the words or the will to call him out on it. Instead, his head tips back, makes room for the insistent push of Kaoru's teeth. Fine. Let him pull a trail of bruises through Kojiro's throat. Let him mark his territory with a necklace of hickies. It'll serve as its own kind of reminder; Kojiro will see them -- and smile -- every time he looks in the mirror (probably for the next week, at least, if Kaoru's zeal is anything to go by).
Kojiro's hand drifts up from Kaoru's neck, thick fingers straying to sink into that mass of rosy hair. It's silken, and this too both meets and exceeds his expectations. Did he imagine Kaoru's hair was soft? Yes. Has he always ached to push his fingers through it, just like this? Fuck yes. Did he expect to be momentarily distracted by the texture? Absolutely not.
This felt like the eye of a storm the second Kaoru's mouth dropped to his neck. Kojiro's lips are still swollen from Kaoru's kisses, but they're hungry to have them back again. Kaoru's pulling wave after wave of pleasure through him, testing the frayed edges of Kojiro's patience, winding him tighter until, again--
It snaps.
Kojiro's hand tightens to a fist around the roots of Kaoru's hair, anchoring him to the bruise he's currently worrying into Kojiro's shoulder. Maybe it'll keep him close, steady, when Kojiro's other hand drifts from his low back over the rise of his hip -- all maddeningly impeded by his obi -- and down the outside of his thigh. His fingers go stiff at Kaoru's knee, pushing past the split in his kimono to find bare skin instead.
This-- It's too much, too fast, but--
Fuck, Kaoru... I love you. I've always loved you.
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He’s breathing so hard his entire body heaves with it by the time he feels Kojiro seeking out more skin. Kaoru should probably be wearing less. But before he can think of the quickest route to making that happen, Kojiro drops the next bomb.
It knocks the wind out of him, and the aftershocks echo through his chest and rattle his bones. He can feel his eyes stinging, and—no, no, he is far too grown to revert back to crying in Kojiro’s arms. So he buries his face in Kojiro’s chest and tries to will the tears not to fall.]
You should have told me. I’ve been yours this whole time.
[“You moron” is implied. And, “So hurry up and be mine, too,” is better shown than said in words, he imagines.]
Sorry for the delay; notifs chronically suck
Instead, Kojiro smiles, warm and gentle, and lets his arms curl around Kaoru's waist and shoulders. It wraps Kaoru up -- safe, secure -- and pulls him in for kiss after kiss after kiss. Crown, temple, cheek, jaw, a shower as unyielding as his embrace, until he's at a better angle to tuck his forehead against Kaoru's shoulder. ]
I'm sorry. Sorry I didn't see it. I'm an idiot, remember? I'm all yours now, I promise. I'll make it all up to you.
Just tell me how you want this to go. You're the boss.
NO WORRIES, notifs love to fail
Aside from that... how does he want this to go? Acknowledging that this is what he's wanted all along is like staring directly into the sun after holding the curtains shut tight for so long, knuckles white and fingers numb.]
I.. don't know. [Under all other circumstances, yes, he'd want to have the last word and feel in control of every move. But right now...] I don't want to think anymore. I've done enough thinking.
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But Kojiro can make good on all of those assertions from earlier. Maybe he can crowd out all those thoughts. Push out all the doubt and the demons. Leave a blissful vacuum to fill with his praise and his gratitude, with soft words and pleasured hands. Not forever, probably. But just for a little while, so that Kaoru never has to second-guess that--
Fuck, that he's so incredibly loved. Kaoru deserves that. He's always deserved that. To be so loved that he never has space to doubt it. To be so safe, he won't have room for fear. ]
That's fine. [ Kojiro meets each and every one of Kaoru's seeking kisses while he speaks. ] You don't have to. You don't have to worry about anything at all. I'll take care of you.
[ Whatever that looks like, whatever that entails, Kojiro will take care of him. The promise is punctuated by a hand pushing through Kaoru's hair, to scrub blunted fingernails across the back of his scalp. ]
I'm want to touch you a little. Find every little piece of you. Just tell me if it's too much. Or not enough. I promise I'll give you whatever you want, and I promise I'll stop if you ask me to.
You good with that?
[ Kojiro asks this, as his spare hand spiders back down the outside of Kaoru's thigh. ]
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He shivers at the feeling of fingers pressing into his scalp, swallows, and nods just a little. He's blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, and can hardly meet Kojiro's eye. He must look so pathetic... but that's never seemed to be a problem with Kojiro. He just keeps showing up, smiling that broad smile of his like there's nothing at all to worry about in the world. Sometimes he's found that vexing, even infuriating, in loud clashing contrast with how full of complication and worry Kaoru's world almost invariably seems. But right now, it's comfort. It's security.
He shifts, and starts to unwind his obi.]
Please. Make me stop thinking.
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The obi comes apart end over end, and Kojiro helps to unwind it piece by piece until he can pull Kaoru free and toss it over the arm of the couch. Sash next, untied and discarded, all while Kojiro's lips bully their way to the side of Kaoru's neck, to push lingering kisses beneath his jaw and down to his shoulder. Christ, these layers; it feels like unwrapping a gift, like snapping ribbons on a pretty package. Appropriate, all things considered. Because Kaoru is a gift, and Kojiro fully plans to treat him accordingly.
Kojiro's hands press between the part in Kaoru's kimono, slide up beneath the collar and coax it off his shoulders. There's no desperation to undress him, though. More and more of Kaoru's skin is exposed, bit by tantalizing bit, and Kojiro seeks it all out just as soon as he can. His hands are like fire, so warm they practically burn trails over Kaoru's flesh. Down his collar, his chest, back to his shoulders, down his arms, shifting to his ribs. His lips follow wherever they're able to reach. None of this new territory is left untouched, unkissed, unexplored. Kojiro's worshiping him, taking his time, savoring Kaoru's body.
He's lost in it. Kaoru's so much softer than he imagined, so much better than anything he's had. He's made to be touched and kissed like this. He's made for Kojiro, just like Kojiro's made for him. ]
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Now, there's a thought he'd never dream of sharing out loud. But it's just too good, not having to do anything except watch Kojiro unravel both his clothing and his composure at the same time. Those big, brutish hands have a surprisingly deft and delicate touch when they need to. Did he ever imagine it would be like this to have those hands mapping out his skin as if he's being memorised? If he did, he certainly never thought he'd admit to wanting it as much as he does. But heaving for breath the way he does, groaning low and long under the barrage of kisses, feels like admitting everything all at once. Even the parts he was so careful not to admit to himself.
He digs his fingers into Kojiro's hair, just to have something to hold onto. Some way of grounding himself in the middle of a moment that's making him so dizzy. Because, how is he supposed to feel? Kojiro has always been bigger and brighter and stronger, able to navigate life with such ease and so little worry, and yet here he is handling Kaoru in a way that's so admiring it feels almost subservient in its quiet intensity. It's not like Kaoru lacks confidence in the areas where the evidence is overwhelmingly in his favour--his particular areas of expertise, and his appearance. But he also isn't a stranger to thoughts like don't outgrow me and don't leave me behind.
What Kojiro is impressing into every inch of skin he can reach is a promise that Kaoru doesn't ever need to worry about those things. Not with him. Someone who touches him like this isn't going to run off somewhere Kaoru can't follow.
His eyes are stinging at the corners again, and he closes them tight.
There's something he wants to say so badly that it feels like the force of it might crack his ribs from the inside. But he's still so new to all of this that he feels the need to tread carefully. To work his way up to it and place it in just the right spot.]
Where on earth were you hiding all of this?
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[ Simple as that. No lies, no sidestepping, no flowery bullshit. Kojiro lays it out so matter-of-factly, it almost feels incongruous with the way his hands are spreading over Kaoru's body; the words are firm and sweet, while his touch is full of sentiment. But if he knows anything about Kaoru, it's that he can't leave any room for misinterpretation, can't provide loose ends for his anxiety to twist around.
And why should he be anything but truthful? What's Kaoru going to do at this point? Run? With the way his hands are wringing through Kojiro's hair? How is breath is staggering over the question? Not fucking likely. ]
Just waiting for you to want it. Or tell me.
[ Kojiro's lips are pushing kisses down Kaoru's sternum when he pauses, and tilts his head up to meet Kaoru's eyes. ]
Never thought you were waiting on me too. Sorry I didn't see it sooner. I'll do better.
[ There was a blind spot before, but Kojiro's pretty sure he's got it worked out now. All that aggression, the snide remarks, the ire, the derision; it all comes from somewhere, all rooted in the same place that these soft touches are springing from now. And now that Kojiro's figured that part out, the rest will come easy. At least as easy as it is to touch Kaoru now, and that's felt miraculously natural from the start.
Kojiro's hands slide down to Kaoru's hips, to guide him closer with a gentle squeeze. There's no hiding his own reaction or eagerness; it's hard already between Kaoru's legs when their bodies press flush. And is Kaoru all right with that? That remains to be seen. ]
If you let me. If you want me. I'll do better. I'll do the best I can for you.
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He almost wants to argue, because it would be easy and familiar. He has no idea how to navigate Kojiro taking responsibility for everything, or gently asking for permission to do everything Kaoru never let himself hope for. That seems like a major oversight now--not at least considering a possibility, no matter how slim, no matter how much it made his chest ache. At least he'd maybe he could have been able to feel less clumsy working a hand between their bodies to touch Kojiro's erection through fabric that feels so, so thin.]
Of course I want you, idiot.
[Then again, maybe Kaoru is the idiot whose toes are curling just from touching a dick for two seconds. And for letting Kojiro go on and on like every bit of the responsibility is his own.
But that's a matter for later. No more thinking. Just expressing pent-up desire through panting breaths and careful strokes of fingers pressed tight between the two of them.]
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Or appreciation. The need tightens in him, winds lower with every pass of Kaoru's hand over his cock. The harder he gets, the more evident it becomes that Kojiro is well-proportioned, thick and stiff in Kaoru's grip, practically throbbing already through the pleasured sigh that he breathes against Kaoru's chest. The sensation pushes through him so softly, arrests his thought, stills his breath, and--
Fuck, he wanted to take his time and enjoy this, but that's quickly turning into a non-option. He needs Kaoru, now. And if this is happening, it's not happening on the fucking couch. ]
Hold on to me, gorgeous.
[ Kojiro doesn't wait for Kaoru to react. He hooks a forearm under Kaoru's ass, and lifts him along when he stands from the couch. Then it's down the hall, to the bedroom, where Kojiro lowers Kaoru to the end of his bed, and drops to his knees on the floor in front of him. It's like fire and ice between them, cooling one moment only to fan to inferno the next. Like now, with Kojiro reclaiming his lips like they're breath, like they're life, invading Kaoru's mouth with his tongue, and guiding Kaoru's hips up to pull away his briefs with both hands. ]
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Especially because, if there was some small part of Kaoru that was also doubting whether this is too good to be true, it’s blown out of the water when he can feel for himself the way Kojiro is reacting. It’s not like that big stupid gorgeous oversized body can lie.
Pout and protest as he might about being manhandled and carried(he is capable of waking, thank you very much!), he still lets himself be deposited on the bed, still shifts to let Kojiro lay him bare as he gets every bit of breath kissed out of him. More things that he can blame on the wine later, even though said wine isn’t preventing him from being so hard that it aches. Nor from spreading his legs before he knows what he’s doing. Okay, so maybe it’s been a while, so sue him.]
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Kaoru gets what Kaoru wants, and it's Kojiro's pleasure to give it. But it's too good to rush, and Kojiro sits back when he drops Kaoru's briefs to the floor. He has to take a second to drink this in, to take in every piece of Kaoru he's never been allowed to admire before. Jesus, he's fucking beautiful. Work of art, statuesque on Kojiro's bedcovers. Kojiro's fixated on the aesthetic of his hands on Kaoru's body, strong and dark against the pale perfection. They wander over the new territory, staking their own claim, touching Kaoru with careful hands and greedy eyes. ]
Kaoru... you're more beautiful than I imagined.
[ The words bring a hot flush to Kojiro's face, and there's something so satisfying about that. A rosy blush that only darkens when his lips shower kiss after kiss down Kaoru's chin, down his throat, to his chest, and then drift to distraction at Kaoru's nipples. His teeth catch across one, tease with his lips and then worry between a bite until it hardens, and he's satisfied to move across to the other. ]
I thought about this. About how I'd make you feel good, if you ever let me. Did you think about it?
[ A question like this, as Kojiro pushes a hand between Kaoru's legs, and thick fingers curl around Kaoru's cock. ]
WELCOME BACK this was so delightful to see in my inbox =']
He flushes hot at the compliment, and even hotter at Kojiro working his mouth over sensitive nipples. It makes him gasp and arch his back. Oh god, Kojiro is going to uncover every weakness too quickly. Kaoru is in such deep trouble. Absolutely done for.]
How could--ah! How... could I think about it? [His thoughts are scattered, fragmented. He can't gather them enough to consider whether maybe he shouldn't be this honest.] I didn't want to think about what you could do. I didn't want to think about what you might be doing to someone else.
[But Kojiro did. He imagined doing this... when? It always seemed like he had plenty of distractions. One outlet after another for those sorts of thoughts. Where in all of that was Kaoru?]
Ty ty <3 bless your patience
And too much came with it: memory and regret and fantasy, all heavy and heart-rending and achy. What Kojiro imagined was always nebulous; fragments of need, broken and lacking for all that his memory couldn't supply, and they don't measure up. Not to this. Not to the addictive responsiveness of Kaoru's body, or the sweet music of his quiet gasping, or the unparalleled softness of his skin under Kojiro's touch. So maybe he doesn't have a good imagination, because this feels decadent, and Kojiro's indulging in as much as Kaoru will allow him.
But that admission-- It's hard to hear. That Kaoru was aching for him just as much -- that Kojiro caused some of that hurt -- is altogether too gravid to brush off. He reaches up to cradle Kaoru's chin in one hand, guides him down so he can catch his gaze and hold it, even while his other hand languidly strokes Kaoru's cock. ]
You have me now. Okay? Hundred percent. I'm here. We're here. I'm yours.
[ Kojiro's grip is hot and tight around Kaoru's arousal. Steady; a slow caress from hilt to head and back again, toying with different angles and pressures until he can find the one that makes Kaoru gasp again. ]
I'm yours, Kaoru. Thank you for giving me a chance. I'll never let you regret it.
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And god, does he ever want this, now that he's allowing himself to peer into this corner of his mind. Once he untangles all of the bitter jealousy and defeatism, there's something much more appealing there. It feels warm and bright in his chest.]
You had better make good on that promise. You know I'll kick you if you don't.
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this can probably be the bow on this thread, if you're good with that