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Stay With Me, Lay With Me

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Akira's body tells a story. The dips and curves tell of evolution, of humanity laid bare before him. The translucent remnants of stretch marks on his shoulders show growth, soft beneath Yusuke's fingers. Some even stretch up the inside of his knees, and when Yusuke kisses them, Akira always squirms away and laughs, nearly kicking him in the struggle. Yusuke has become better at dodging his frenzied feet — except when he wants them close, to Akira's amazement. Gray eyes peer at him as he runs his hands along every toe, rubbing at the calloused soles.

Akira doesn't think he's serious about loving all of him, but Yusuke knows better. His eyes are wide open, drinking in the gifts bestowed upon him. He sees the love etched into Akira's skin, mirrored back up at him, and he can't help himself. His lips meet each finger, each toe.

Wrapped up in Akira's arms, he is home after a lifetime of walking, of searching for that which defies words. Rain patters against the window, a torrential storm brewing just outside Leblanc's walls, but here, he is safe. The little space heater is broken, but Yusuke is still warm with Akira's arms holding him tight and breath hot against his skin.

With eyelids fluttering, Akira even sleeps with beauty. Yusuke touches his eyelashes ever so slightly; the smoothest of curls. He's never been able to portray Akira's eyelashes as well as he'd like in his art, but he's never stopped trying. Maybe he defies art, his very existence just out of Yusuke's reach when he tries to paint him, hopping right off the canvas and into the boundless corridors of his heart.

Yusuke's shirt is still unbuttoned from their earlier lovemaking, their bodies too eager to bother with such trivial things like undressing themselves. He presses his chest against Akira's, his shirt one of the few articles of clothing they managed to wrangle off. It was Akira who tore it off, bringing Yusuke's hands to his chest to rub circles into taut skin.

One of Yusuke's favorite things is seeing Akira's eyelids flutter in pleasure beneath the lens of his glasses, unsure whether to stare up at him or to lose himself completely to bliss. Sometimes it's both, in a mix of passion run wild; sometimes it's Akira on top of him, pressing his shoulders into the mattress as he rides him. That wild smirk of his can only last so long before Yusuke's hands find their way to his hips, pulling him down as his body rushes up in a frenzy of heat and love.

His body tells these stories, too; not just of genetics and the past, but the present. Even the future, if Yusuke looks close — of where he'll want Akira's body and when. Maybe when there are people downstairs, enjoying coffee on a cool autumn day. Yusuke will push Akira forward on the bed or against the wall, hand tracing the lightest freckles that grace his back. Maybe his fingers will find Akira's mouth, tongue pressing against his skin as Yusuke dares him to moan, to let his voice out as no one has heard before.

But as he watches Akira on the cusp of waking up, eyes finally opening before he grimaces at the light of the afternoon sun still plaguing the windows, Yusuke feels selfish. He wants him all to himself: his kisses, his moans, his taste. If anyone else were to see or hear Akira as he does, surely they would fall just as deeply.

He is Akira, after all — with his oversized glasses and sleep-mussed hair, who smiles too easily and falls in love far too soon. But Yusuke can't fault him that, not when he fell in love the moment Akira first modeled for him. It was an accumulation of passion finally coming to a head, and when his pencil met paper, he was lost in wide eyes and lips parting to ask if he's okay.

Yes, I am all right, he had wanted to say. Instead, he just stared at Akira — his beloved model — as his smile made Yusuke's heart soar to new, untrekked heights.

They make their way down to the first floor of Leblanc now after pulling on lost pants and buttoning up shirts. Akira promises him coffee and breakfast, as if his mere company alone isn't tantalizing enough to keep Yusuke around.

Again, Akira doesn't seem to realize the effect he has on his boyfriend. It's love that weaves them together and binds them, but even more than that, it's a fire that never dissipates. It's Akira's smile that flames it, his moans that stoke it. It's love woven into every look and every touch; each meal Akira prepares for him is full of so much thought and care. Akira knows more about Yusuke's favorite foods than he knows himself, and he can even guess what new things he might like.

More often than not, he is correct. And then Yusuke's head is left fuzzy as he soaks in the attention, not used to being adored and wanted. Even now, when Akira touches his hand as he sets down his cup of coffee, he feels dizzy, as if his breath is being stolen away.

Before Yusuke met Akira, his life was an endless hallway. There were twists and turns, but it was a hallway nonetheless. All the doors led to broken promises and shattered dreams, to the endless pursuit of the unobtainable. Akira helps him see the pieces of his life, rather than the image as a whole, and Yusuke uses these blocks to build beautiful things he never thought possible before.

As Akira leans over the counter for a kiss, Yusuke wonders what the future might hold — where their dreams can lead them. It is an infinite void that stretches before them, tempting with its limitless possibilities, but that isn't all that matters to him anymore.

He has Akira by his side now. Akira, who makes the mundane exciting, who makes his world spin a little faster with every sultry look and every encouraging grin.

Yusuke would walk to the ends of the earth if he asked him to — as long as Akira was there waiting for him at the end.