“Are you still scrubbing the ceiling?”
Akira shatters the glass of his drink, splattering both Ryou and him with a splash of red that mimics an arterial spray of blood. Ryou doesn’t even flinch.
He merely blinks, and it drips onto his once pristine shirt.
“Sorry, Ryou!” He leans forward, lifting his shirt to wipe Ryou’s face, remembering his fastidiousness. “You took me by surprise.”
“So you’re still scrubbing the ceiling.” Ryou remarks, leaning into his hand like Tako as Akira only succeeds in smearing the juice over his mouth. It stains his mouth red. “How about the girl?”
“If you’re not doing it with the girl, Amon would hardly be satisfied with your hand.” Ryou says, his gaze fixated somewhere at Akira’s belly, but Akira has never know Ryou to avoid his gaze. So Akira draws him closer into a hug instead, earning himself a soft sigh, before his words sink in.
“With Miki..?! She’s like a sister to me!”
“How about visiting someone? A party? Sabbath?” Ryou offers, and Akira feels an answering twitch from his traitorous dick. “What type do you like? Curvy? Tomboyish? Wide hips? Big breasts?”
“It’s not,” Akira feels his face flusters even more, as he tries to think of something to say, but an uncharacteristic shyness has taken over him, when before he would openly comment about Jenny. He slides a glance towards her unobtrusive form beside the door. The folds of her suit has low enough to show the faint pink of her nipples, but she remains uncaring, that grin still stretched wide over her face.
“Jenny…?” Ryou’s expression doesn’t change. “Do you want her then?”
It’s easy enough to imagine Jenny, her luscious body on his sheets, her suit jacket in shreds and the swell of her breasts in motion as he fucks her vigorously, hands gripping tight on those hips - but he- he’s thinking of-
The low thrumming base notes at Sabbath. Despite the flush of heat in his loins from the sheer amount of debauchery around him, his entire body had shivered from the hot breath from Ryou against his ear, the low cadence of his voice that sent a dangerous amount of tension coiling throughout him.
Something in his face gives something away because Ryou simply nods and leans back, dropping the topic. His tongue darts out, as red as his mouth now, leaving a sheen of saliva along the surprisingly generous curve of his bottom lip.
This is a familiar dream.
There’s breasts in his face, and Amon can barely care that its a memory from Silene, that he fucked and killed, only paying attention to the satiation of his lust, her face in ecstasy as he fucks in.
“Amon,” She cries out, and she digs claws into his back, and something twinges inside of him, enough that he switches to something else instead, riding the high of desire.
A scene from a porn video then, the female paler than the white of the sheets and her nipples a rosy pink that flushes red with blood as he bites down. “Akira,” She gasps, her voice uncharacteristically low, tugging at his hair. Her own hair is a pale golden blond, spread around her head like a halo. There’s bite marks scattered all over her neck, promising to bruise, and his lust swells tenfolds, as he fucks harder along for her to tighten her legs around his waist. “I need you Akira,” and he groans in response to the wet heat of her, his wings tearing through his back to spread out in a primitive display of dominance as he draws blood from her slender hips with how hard he’s holding onto her and it’s her, her that completes him, shining golden to his blackened devil self-
“Akira,” and it’s-
He wakes up with a gasp, only to spray his face and headboard with his come. He nearly chokes on it, nearly tears off his dick with how hard he’s gripping it, but he doesn’t stop coming until one minute in, and his pillow and body is entirely soaked.
The ceiling however, remains pristine.
“What the fuck.”
He fidgets, avoiding Ryou’s gaze. He hears everything from faraway, as though he’s existing underwater, all attention focused on the pale curve of Ryou’s neck, even though Ryou is laying out his plans for their next hunt-
“Akira,” Ryou says, softly, and lays a hand on his forehead, peering closer. The action is hesitant but organic all the same, obviously learned from Akira himself. “Do you feel unwell today?”
His mouth waters, as though he was staring at a prime slice of meat, instead of his best friend. An unnatural amount of drools escapes the corner of his mouth with the need to devour Ryou’s flesh.
He jerks himself away, scrabbling to the other corner of the sofa and tearing deep gouges in it in his haste.
“Akira?” Ryou tilts his face, seemingly confused. The curve of his lashes are inky black, and break out against his cheekbones in a dark wave, at odds with his golden colouring and blue eyes.
Ryou is a guy without any of the curves he has learnt to appreciate, none of that seductive sway to his hips, but as though it was a parasitic infection by itself, the lust and hunger for him spreads taking control of his entire body. His cock fills with blood, and he forgets himself for a moment, palming it, only to let go by the surge of shame that suffuses him as Ryou’s gaze follows his hand down.
“I see.” Ryou says, his voice entirely without inflection.
“Sorry,” Akira says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I should- you know- go.”
“It’s okay.” There’s a faint curve to his lips, almost unnoticeable, except Akira considers himself the most well versed person in the country, or perhaps the entire world that knows Ryou. “Come here then.”
“No really,” He would wave a hand except one is still covering his face and the other hiding his sex, except he’s so hard every touch merely inflames him. “I should- go-“
“Then I’ll go over.” Ryou says, and crawls towards Akira. He stares with an almost clinical interest to the throbbing outline of Akira’s member, and touches it with a cool hand that brushes against Akira’s one, generating waves of heat throughout all of Akira as his hips jerk up involuntarily. His laptop slips to the floor with a hard thud, but Ryou doesn’t seem to be bothered.
“Is it painful Akira?” Without waiting for a response, he squeezes Akira, earning himself a dumb whine. “What do you need?”
“Please.” Akira begs, and his mind is filled with the edge of Ryou’s voice, urgent and demanding, because all Ryou has to say is jump, and Akira goes how high- I need you, Akira, Ryou says, tossing his head-
Ryou hums, making quick work of Akira’s zip. Hissing as his cock is exposed to the cold air, Akira tries to shift away, except Ryou grips his hips tightly. Without breaking eye contact, Ryou leans down, and licks a stripe from the base of Akira’s cock to the tip, before scraping hard with his teeth.
Akira comes, all the breath in his chest wheezing out as though Ryou punctured them. His gaze whites out for a moment as he digs his hands into the black chesterfield, tearing out the cushion.
Akira wakes. Ryou is typing something on his laptop, a hum of machinery in the background.
“You’re awake,” Ryou comments, even though he doesn’t glance up.
“I had a really weird dream.” He replies, and instinctively, checks the ceiling. It looks clean, and he heaves a sigh of relief.
There’s a click, and he realises that Ryou has snapped his laptop shut. Turning to look at Akira, Ryou seems weirdly sensual, just like that day at Sabbath, where he seemed to have loosened his inhibitions. His mouth is red again and there’s something white at the corner of his lip and in his hair, and it takes Akira a full minute to realise-
It’s his come.
It’s not a dream then.
Almost immediately to that, Akira’s cock jerks to attention, so erect it brushes the plane of his belly.
Ryou stands up, and Akira realises that he’s not wearing any pants. That they’re both not wearing any pants.
“I prepared myself already,” Ryou says, calmly as though he’s not frying Akira’s brain with his words and the outline of his limp sex against his thigh where it’s nestled between mouthwateringly golden curls. “It took a while to adjust myself to fit your size, but I believe I’m ready now.”
“Would you like to see for yourself?” Instead of waiting for a reply, Ryou takes his hand and presses it to his entrance. As promised, it’s wet and nearly not loose enough, judging from the way it grips Akira’s finger.
The blue of his eyes glitters with an emotion Akira doesn’t know how to read. Silene hadn’t been this, this cold creature leaning above him with a hand on his chest and the other gripping tight around his wrist to urge his fingers in deeper. Ryou barely gives any reaction, not even an exhalation as Akira puts in another finger and stretches around him, exploring.
“Ryou,” Akira says, wrecked. “Ryou.”
Ryou’s lips twist upwards, just a bare slant. “I’m here Akira.”
Akira finds himself trembling, and his mind is going blank from the sheer heat that feels no different from the time Amon tried to burn Gelmer right out of himself. Ryou tracks that too, and he sways forward, bracing himself on Akira’s shoulders.
“Put it in Akira,” He demands softly, and Akira obeys, could do nothing but follow his order. The press of it is almost overwhelmingly unbearable, an inexorable pressure around him that barely gives at all. Ryou’s lashes flutter shut and a soft sigh escapes him, fanning against Akira’s face, sweet to his ears.
“Ryou, I’ll hurt-“ You, Akira wants to say, except Ryou has rocked backwards, and sunk himself further down on Akira’s cock. His hands fly to grab Ryou’s waist, trying to halt him from forcing it when he can feel the tightness all around him, his voice choking in his throat. “Idiot, I’ll hurt you-“
“It doesn’t hurt.” Ryou says, slightly breathless. He rocks back and forth, almost unconsciously, and Akira realises that Ryou is pursuing his own desire, and it’s gasoline all over the flames of Akira’s lust, causing him to bite down on Ryou’s neck as he jerks upwards.
Ryou makes a sharp noise, and Akira glances downwards to realise Ryou is hard too, pressed against Akira’s belly in a gorgeous curve. He presses a hand to it, curiously, urgently. When he looks back at Ryou, he realises Ryou’s mouth is parted open, his irises fully blown and swallowing up all of that drowning blue as he jerks Ryou in a slow drag of his hand, more to memorise the shape than to give any actual pleasure.
“Akira.” Ryou says, and Akira cannot help himself, is helpless himself, as he kisses the claim from Ryou’s unsteady mouth, its shape at once so dear to him.
“Yeah, Ryou,” He murmurs softly, at contrast with the sharp snaps of his hips, burying himself in the rolling rhythm of Ryou’s body, Ryou’s breathing quickening with every thrust Akira makes. “Ryou.”
There’s a different sort of heat against Akira’s eyes, making him feel as though he’s about to cry. Ryou cups his face and kisses him, an uncertainty to the glacial set of his beauty that hurts and threatens to blind Akira at the same time, a searing tangible heat from Ryou’s cold mouth.
The lust doesn’t ebb, only increasing in its insatiableness with every one of Ryou’s actions, so minute in their differences that it holds a world of meaning for Akira. The slight increment in pressure from where Ryou is holding his face as Akira fucks in hard, the way he tightens around Akira as Akira swipes his thumb over the head of Ryou’s cock, the low hums of vibrations from Ryou’s throat like the purrs of a cat. He wants to fuck, to devour, to hold Ryou inside his belly safe and as his own possession and swallowed all the way down down down until they can never be apart-
“Akira,” Ryou’s voice is urgent. “Akira, something’s wrong with - your hand, I feel strange-“
Ryou doesn’t know an orgasm, has never touched himself for the sole purpose of bringing himself pleasure, and now he has given himself to Akira-
He’s overcome with love for Ryou. Akira wants to be gentle for this lonely man who holds himself no different from an unsheathed blade, the cold brilliance of his brain a double edged sword that cuts him away from humanity and into himself with loneliness, dissecting everyone into pieces for his own perusal, and yet, for Akira-
“Ryou,” he puts an arm around Ryou’s waist, pulling him closer, cradling him like you would something precious, something dear. “Ryou, I love you-“
Ryou startles, a broken sob of Akira’s name as he spills over Akira’s hand. His body spasms in Akira’s arms, eyes wide with the shock of it.
Something feral in Akira responds, Amon, or maybe he himself, because he sweeps Ryou down, presses him down onto the leather as he fucks in without inhibitions. His skin ripples, wings ripping through flesh, and Ryou -
Ryou does not let go, even as he arches backwards, his body twisting to accommodate the way Akira is growing bigger inside of him, bracing his feet and spreading his legs wider. He still clenches down, squeezes Akira so tightly that it takes him effort for any movement. Openly panting now, Ryou’s cock is barely even flagging despite the viscous liquid over his belly and there’s little gasps being driven out of his throat as though his first orgasm has awakened the lust in him, or perhaps he’s feeding off Akira’s own-
He always knew, that Ryou was beautiful, but like this, like this he is glorious, an angel of light, blindingly so, and it feels as though Akira could give his life for this person, would give his life for him, his entire existence, not just his trust- A day star, a son of dawn, such splendor even God himself would cast him out-
“Akira, I need you,” Ryou pulls Akira down, and with that kiss, Ryou cutting himself open on Akira’s teeth and flooding their mouths with blood and the taste of Akira’s tears. Akira feels as though his entire existence is being tugged forward, into Ryou - and he thinks to himself, I will never leave you alone, I will always-
For as long as you need me-
They fuck several times throughout the night, like mindless beasts, their lust brilliant as lightning fall from heaven. At times with Akira as a human, or as a demon, and Ryou is receptive to both, bracing himself on the hopelessly stained chesterfield with a sinuous arch to his back. Breed him, all of Akira’s instincts seem to say, even as he draws out only for Ryou’s hole to clench on empty air, leaking out copious amount of Akira’s come. Breed him until he is filled with you, until he carries a piece of you inside-
But Ryou is a man-
But that is not all that he is-
Akira watches the dark shape of his cock disappear into Ryou’s pale flesh in an impossible give, because Ryou remains maddeningly tight, clenching down hard every time Akira fucks a dry orgasm out of him, his clawed hands supporting Ryou’s hips. Once he fits his tail in as well, and Ryou chokes and blacks out as he comes.
Akira is not the only insatiable one.
Ryou demands for more. Every time Akira thinks they’ve had enough, Ryou turns onto his side and pulls up his leg, pressing his own fingers in with his eyes closing in pleasure, in invitation. He doesn’t care that Jenny is watching, doesn’t care for the bruises that Akira leaves or the mauled condition that Akira has left his skin in. He only needs Akira inside him, fucking him, “changing him,” he marvels out loud, all that Akira has to give-
When the dawn comes, spilling morning light over them, Ryou holds Akira close to him and kisses him until his tears have finally stopped.
That night, when Akira sleeps, he dreams. He dreams that he meets his end in a blinding rush of light, with nothing but overwhelming happiness and joy in his heart, so much that he can barely contain it because Ryou will finally understand what Akira means by love.
He feels feathers across his face.
He sleeps. He dreams.