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vulgar

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It’s been a long day of work for Akihiko: lots of meetings and lots of writing between those meetings. The deadline for his next novel was in the upcoming week, and he wasn’t excited to not sleep for the next few days. So, he does what any reasonable person would do: procrastinate. In today’s episode of I Could Be Doing Work but Am Instead Incessantly Bothering My Boyfriend, Akihiko is splayed across the kitchen’s island, watching said boyfriend cook. “Misaki⸺?”

“What⸺?” Misaki imitates his whining, tiredly chopping lettuce.

“When are you gonna be done cooking⸺?”

Misaki flits his eyes up, “When I’m done. Why?”

Akihiko pouts, leaning his head on the counter. “I wanna do it.”

Misaki looks up again, a disgusted look on his face. He grunts before continuing his task. “...Didn’t you get enough last night, sensei?”

He slouches even further, practically melting into the counter. His words are mumbled by the slab of granite, “But I never get enough of you, Misaki. I’m obsessed.”

Misaki deters his eyes, blushing. “...Shut up. Go do your work.”

“C’mon, just really quick! If I just do you from behind you won’t have to stop doing anything! Or maybe I could suck you off from underneath the table… Does that sound nice?”

“No, it does not—” Misaki stops his banter, suddenly inhaling. His expression is blank.

Akihiko lifts his head, sensing a shift in the air. “...What’s wrong, love?”

In this order: Misaki looks down, he looks back up, he does the thing Akihiko always finds cute where he bites and sucks on his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out, he begins to sniffle, his chest starts to heave up and down rapidly, concerningly, his eyes get all wet and teary and raw and then there are rivers coming from them, going down his cheeks and rolling off the chin, his nose dribbles straight fluid.

...What? Akihiko immediately gets on his feet rushing over to the other side of the table. Did I say something? “H-Hey, what’s the matter? I’m sorry, Misaki—” Akihiko looks down— a knife, being used to cut vegetables moments before, is sticking straight out of Misaki’s right foot— and looks back up. His face is equally blank. What?!?!?!

Misaki’s bottom lip slips loose and he lets out the horrific, heart-wrenching, heart- destroying wail. It’s sucked back in with an inhale, pushed out again, rapidly. He’s shaking.

Akihiko immediately shifts into overprotective mode, quickly sweeping Misaki off his feet and sitting him on the counter. “It’s okay!!” Akihiko holds him tight to his chest, “It’s okay, baby. Don’t freak out.”

“D-D-Don’t tak-ke the kn— knife o-out!” Misaki manages to say, and to repeat again and again, through his sharp inhales and sobs. His grip tightens and loosens rapidly, repeating.

“I won’t, honey. Just breathe.” Akihiko looks him in the eye, exaggerating a relaxed breath cycle for Misaki to follow.

The injured tries this and fails miserably, only sobbing louder. “H-H-Hurts!” He’s cling wrap, holding tighter and tighter.

“I know it does, honey. I’m so sorry. Just breathe with me,” Akihiko rubs circles on his back, whispering, “Do you think you can let me drive you to the ER? Or do you want me to get an ambulance?”

He doesn’t respond, or can’t. He only sobs and hyperventilates and clings and bleeds; the blood soaking through his sock and beginning to drip onto the hardwood. He barely chokes out an “Usagi-san,” but nothing more.

Must’ve hit a bad nerve. Misaki was usually never this pain-sensitive. Akihiko strains his mind to think of any main arteries in the foot. ...That wouldn’t make sense, right? “...I’m gonna go call 119, okay? Try to calm down,” Akihiko says, knowing it probably won’t work. “I love you so much.”

Misaki manages to let go, allowing Akihiko to make the call. He immediately curls up at his absence, covering his face with his sleeves, soaking them in tears and mucus. He tries to breathe, but his chest is tight, constricting. He feels nauseous with the subtraction of impending vomit or diarrhea; simply a panicked feeling, impending doom. He holds a hand over his chest. Listens.

 

Meanwhile, Akihiko flies through numbers on the rotary phone.

“119, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi, um, my husband dropped a knife on his foot and it looks like it went right through. He’s in a lot of pain.”

Thankfully— thankfully as in Akihiko has never been more thankful to hear something in his life— a giggle comes from across the room. “I-I-I’m you— your husband-d?” But then, unthankfully, Misaki reverts back into his ball, whining. For some reason, even laughing hurt.

Akihiko turns around to keep an eye on him, worried. Well, not just worried, but… The whining was starting to get to him. And the crying. And the smell of his blood. And the sight of it, pooling on the floor. And the way Misaki looks up to see him, his face all red like it always is in spite of the circumstances. Wow… I’m disgusting.

“Okay, sir, just don’t take the knife out—”

“I know.” Akihiko proceeds to list off all of his personal information: his name (the operator’s voice goes up with that one), his address, the passcode to his apartment, the name of the “husband.” And Misaki continues to whine and cry in the background, though now it was starting to die down. Akihiko shifts his legs.

“Sir, you probably don’t need an ambulance in this situation.”

“I want an ambulance.”

“...Okay, I’ll set out a request for one. Please stay on the li—”

“Great, thank you.” And he hangs up.

 

Misaki peaks his head out of his ball and sees something unsurprising. A bit less perturbed than before: “...Are you seriously turned on right now?” He giggles at his own remark, sniffling.

Akihiko, pleased to see that his lover was starting to return to his normal self, walks back over. “Like you’re not. This is exactly what you’re into too, Misaki.”

Misaki sits straight up, red. “S-Shut up. Am not.”

Akihiko grins, wrapping his arms around him again, in a different manner this time. He leans in close to his ear, his voice lowering in pitch, “May I remind you of last night when you said— and I quote— ‘Please put it through me, Akihi—'”

Misaki pushes him away, practically glowing with blush. “Shut. Up.”

Akihiko pulls away the unaffected leg, inadvertently exposes an erection beneath the apron, and sandwiches himself between Misaki’s legs. He gets incredibly close to Misaki’s face, looking directly into his eyes. Misaki looks at his lips. “I won’t.”

 

Akihiko finally shifts the needed millimeter forward for them to kiss, and they do, feverishly. Misaki’s hands cling to Akihiko’s back differently, not refusing to let go but pulling him in even closer. Akihiko’s hands untie the back of Misaki’s apron clumsily; he never understood how Misaki could make such a perfect bow behind his back when Akihiko could hardly untangle it.

As their tongues mash, the pressing begins, Akihiko’s hand lightly pushing against Misaki’s crotch. Misaki’s toes curl and he immediately gasps out in pain, tears forming in his eyes once again.

Akihiko pulls back, concerned once again, “Are you okay?”

“...Y-Yeah…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “It hurts.”

Akihiko looks down, saying softly, “...Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

Oh… Misaki grins through the pain, leaning his head on Akihiko’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to.”

“...Yeah.” Akihiko plants a kiss on Misaki’s forehead, and then on each of his cheeks, clearing the tears away.

“Hm. I wanna fuck you.”

“Usagi-san, quit being vulgar.”

 

And yet, he got his way. Misaki’s apron and shirt have been discarded on the floor, centimeters away from the growing pool of blood. However, his pants and underwear are only pulled halfway down; they didn’t want to deal with trying to get a pant leg around a 15-centimeter knife. Akihiko too only exposes his cock, not that he needed anything else to be seen.

As much as Akihiko would like penetration, the state of Misaki’s body wasn’t really ripe for that. Other than the knife in his foot, they had done it quite a few times the previous night, as evident by the fresh red lines on Misaki’s abdomen and thighs. Akihiko kisses along them, presses on them, and, occasionally, scratches back a bit of the scabbing to give him something to lick up. Cutting had become a pretty prominent aspect of their sex life as of late, as have many other questionable practices. Foot-stabbing was far from a regular occasion, but they might as well exploit it when it comes.

But, anyway, no penetration. They simply pleasure each other by touching, kissing, and reopening cuts. When he’s looking for a different reaction, Akihiko will dip down for a moment, delivering a lick or two to Misaki’s cock. He’s never disappointed.

However, Misaki can only lazily jerk Akihiko’s cock when the pain isn’t too horrendous. When it is, though, he uses his hands to cover his face from showing blush. Something like this caused him peak embarrassment, after all.

Out of convenience, Akihiko finally sits on the counter beside Misaki, allowing for much easier kissing, touching, and everything else.

“Usagi-san, s-stop…” his voice barely comes above a whisper, tears blotting his cheeks once again. He’s been unable to stop the toe-curling, a bad habit of his once he gets close to coming. As much as he hates to admit it, but this only makes him get closer. His hand stops moving, chest seizing. “I-I’m coming…”

Akihiko stops as well, a sly smile on his face. “You’re unfair, Misaki,” he moves Misaki’s hand back to his own dick, “I wanna come too.”

He cries into Akihiko’s shoulder, uttering artificial insults as he starts again, this time more purposefully.

Akihiko presses on the cuts, teasing as Misaki jerks him off. He lets low moans drift from his lips into Misaki’s ear, watches Misaki’s cock jump with each of these. He’s satisfied. “Good job, baby.” Akihiko moves his hand down again, intending to get Misaki off for a little bit longer, but—

“Ahn—” Misaki jumps up as he ejaculates, freezing up before spasming, crying, and panting softly, dipping back down into the crook of Akihiko’s neck. “Hn… Usagi-san…” Akihiko can feel more tears seep into his shirt. “U-Usagi…”

Akihiko cups Misaki’s hand in his own, easing him up and down; it seems he was too tired to do it himself. It didn’t take much for Akihiko to go over the edge as well; the ugly crying Akihiko had grown fond of combined with the calling of his name combined with a whole number of other things were a lot for his dick to handle. “Misaki…” he responds as he releases, accompanied by a low moan and many kisses. Then he joins Misaki, resting his head on to of his. “Love you.”

“I-I love y—”

And then the paramedics arrived.