Playmaker wakes in the aftermath of the final battle to warm light and a dull, sullen headache nagging at his temples, throbbing behind his eyes. His body is warm, the welcoming light is touching his bare feet, peeking out of the silk mattress.
He inches up toward the head of the bed, grumbling as he kicks at the sheets; he bites the inside of his cheek as he notices the large hand resting at his belly, the warm weight pressed over it. His stomach twistsinto a sharp sickly knot, the events near the end of his battle against Bowman playing in his head.
They had dueled with all their might, Bowman managing to summon a Link 5 monster out of the people’s consciousness, Playmaker had gritted his teeth, his mind formulating all kinds of strategies and possible ways to outcome that situation. Dragon after Dragon, the guardians of the Cyberse descended on the battlefield, aiding him and Ai. Bowman’s demeanour was constantly shifting during their duel, making it harder for Playmaker to understand his opponent.
Bowman frightened him. Way more than any of his previous opponents, even Revolver - or the man behind the avatar, so familiar and yet still a stranger. He had shown hostility and then compassion, smugness and softness, until the battle resumed to Bowman speaking directly to him - the tortured boy that longed for peace of mind. Yusaku’s chest had swollen at the promise of happiness, of normal.
That’s all he ever wanted.
And he had accepted…
Yusaku had not intended too, he accepted a long time ago how this was real, how his brokenness could not be fixed, or how even after his revenge he had nothing . Yusaku also hadn’t intended to kiss Bowman, but he had approached him after surrendering the duel. Bowman had been so close, had seemed so warm and solid against Playmaker's side, and Playmaker had leaned in before he could think better of it, letting strong arms wrap around him in a hug as the large man kissed him back.
He was so lonely, Ai also knew this. Maybe that’s why he didn’t struggle; just stared at him with a sadness that should be impossible to express in an A.I.’s face. But Ai was no regular A.I.
There were more like Ai, he knows, but he can’t--
Bowman shifts behind him, making a slow, sleepy noise, his hot breath hitting against the exposed skin of his neck. Playmaker stiffs, body suddenly tense. He can feel all of Bohman; from the rising (breathing, too real for an A.I.) broad chest pressed flush on his back, to the strong arms that enclose him in a protective embrace, large hands at his stomach and thigh, to the hard cock that keeps poking against the small of his back.
Until yesterday he didn’t even knew creatures like Bowman had a libido. Though that would explain Ai’s lewd-nature jokes.
He doesn’t try to pull away, he likes being here. Warm, safe, happy. He likes the hard cock on his ass, and he likes the feel of it there, as shameful as that is, and he likes the way Bowman holds him dearly as he takes him. So gentle and tender, something reserved only to lovers.
“I promise to give you eternal happiness.” Was what Bowman had told him.
His thighs still ache from having the large man between them, a burn in his muscles that makes heat curl into the low of his gut; he will have dark bruises on his hips by this time tomorrow, a sweet reminder of how tightly Bowman had held him as if he feared Playmaker would leave.
There’s nowhere for him to leave . He had no home to return to, and nobody waiting for him.
A soft groan sounds from behind him and the arms around him tighten up, pulling him close to the large man’s back. Playmaker stiffs again, biting down a surprised yelp.
“What are you doing, Playmaker.” Bowman whispers, hot breath against the skin where neck meets shoulder. It makes the thin hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Sleep.”
Playmaker hums, placing one of his hands over Bowman’s. He enlaces his thin fingers over the large palm, drawing circles with his thumb. He wants to sleep. No, he needs to sleep. But his mind keeps racing with thoughts, the phantom memories of his life as Yusaku Fujiki are foggy, but if he tries hard enough then maybe he’ll--
“ Don’t. There’s nothing in there. Accept this life of happiness, Playmaker. You earned it.”
Bowman’s words echo in his mind. Playmaker lets his heat drop to the side, his eyelids suddenly heavy. Maybe he really should sleep…
“How do you know there’s still nothing left?”
“I know. Your mind, your thoughts your feelings, your body-- You share it all with me…”
Playmaker blinks slowly, Bowman’s deep voice is making his eyelids even heavier. He tries to force them open.
He is so tired. He had it with everything. The war was long and it drained a lot out of him. Important people were lost but he can’t remember none of their faces or names.
A kiss is planted on the back of his neck and Playmaker whines, shuffling his body until Bowman’s exposed cock slips between his thighs. The man sighs tiredly and brings the hand that was holding on his tight to the base of Playmaker’s semi-hard cock.
Bowman’s large palm easily encloses over it and Playmaker lers out a shocked whimper, lazily humping inside Bowman’s palm as the man fucks his tights.
Slow-paced and precise. It doesn’t take too long until Playmaker comes undone, Bowman following right after, dirtying his already wet tights even further.
The boy doesn’t struggle when Bowman hooks his arms around his waist and rolls them over to the other side of the bed.
“Better?” He asks, placing another kiss into Playmaker’s damp red hair. Was it always red…?
Playmaker nods and finally closes his eyes. It’s alright. This is all he ever wanted, this is the happiness he always fought for and now Bowman gave it to him.