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Samatoki Aohitsugi was a drug.
Ichiro knew the side effects. He knew what Samatoki did to him. Samatoki was addictive. Every touch made it harder and harder to let go. Every time he found Samatoki’s hand on his, Ichiro knew he was giving in to Samatoki’s wolfish grip on him. Every messy kiss, every spark Samatoki left as his fingers grazed his body, every hot breath in his ear; it was dangerous. He knew all of this.
And yet, he kept letting that man come back for more.
Ichiro would hear a knock at his door, short but aggressive with urgency. The knock was all Ichiro needed to be able to tell who was standing outside his house, and he knew not to keep him waiting. As he opens the door, Samatoki would be standing there with an air emanating that would make any sane person but Ichiro run away, along with trails of cigarette smoke leaving his lips. His piercing red eyes drift into Ichiro’s, an intensity that made even the tallest, most terrifying men stand down. Ichiro swallows, feeling his heart skip beats as his body heated with the anticipation of being completely devoured. Samatoki seemed to always come around when Ichiro’s brothers weren’t home, thankfully. He didn’t want them to learn how weak the older man made him.
The same loop, over and over again. Ichiro would open the door wider to invite the man in with unspoken words. Samatoki drops his cigarette to the ground and stomps the fire out of it with shoe. He would meander in, only a few steps inside the doorway before his hands come out of his pockets to make contact with Ichiro’s face. Ichiro sucks in a deep breath as rough lips connected with his, lapping up the smoke hanging onto Samatoki that always reminded him who was he was entwined with.
The white-haired man would explore every inch of Ichiro’s mouth, greedy to taste the unique combination of flavors that made Ichiro, Ichiro. Sultry, suffocating kisses made the younger man’s head spin. As he gasped for more and more air, the buzz takes over, and all Ichiro could think about was wanting more, like he was born to be at the complete at utter mercy of Samatoki Aohitsugi. Of course, Samatoki knew this, and Ichiro’s increasingly desperate moans and grips on his shirt would only make Samatoki more excited. He would finally let go of Ichiro’s mouth, only to move further down to the unmarked skin of his neck. The man runs his tongue along his skin, tasting the salty sweat that had formed on the surface. Samatoki then bites down, fiercely enough to earn a yelp from Ichiro as he pulled on his hair, the way he knew Samatoki likes it. Samatoki proceeds to suck on the bite mark, leaving a dark red mark of possession that Ichiro would curse him for later.
This feedback loop Samatoki’s love bites and Ichiro’s hair pulling would continue until Ichiro grows tired of being treated like a chew toy for an untamed wolf, leading to Ichiro yanking Samatoki’s head up. Samatoki growls at him, but notices the look of lust in Ichiro’s eyes and smirks in response. He would stand upright again and grab the other man’s wrist, the two sauntering towards Ichiro’s room. Once they arrived, Samatoki was the first to sit on the bed, hand outstretched with a sly smile as he invites Ichiro onto his lap. Ichiro bit his bottom lip but gave in, straddling the man’s lower half with his thighs. The makeout ensues as Samatoki lowers his back onto the bed. Ichiro decides to be bold this time and allow his wandering hands to find themselves under Samatoki’s shirt, feeling the cold skin glittering with sweat. The younger man half-expected Samatoki to punish him for taking the lead, but he simply hums into Ichiro’s mouth in response.
Large hands would run up and down Samatoki’s toned body, not neglecting any part of him. Ichiro slowly pushes the jacket off of the older man’s shoulders with one hand, then slides the shirt underneath off with another. He gazes at Samatoki under him, red and green eyes craving his body. Samatoki sneers and follows suit, aiding Ichiro as he strips his own hoodie. Skin on skin, the two connect back into an uncoordinated kiss. Ichiro grinds his hips against Samatoki’s as he feels himself grow embarrassingly hard, desperation to such a degree that only Samatoki could make him feel. Samatoki gropes him over the fabric of his jeans and Ichiro moans quietly, still not being used to making such humiliating noises. Samatoki’s hand, Samatoki’s lips, Samatoki’s breath, it was all almost enough to push the black-haired man over the edge.
Samatoki stops suddenly and begins to unbuckle Ichiro’s belt with a few quick motions, then undoes his own. Ichiro slides his jeans down hesitantly, his cheeks too red for his own liking, and revealing his hard-on to Samatoki as precum dotted the edge of his boxers. Pushing his own pants down, Samatoki hums in content at Ichiro’s needy state. He too, is hard, which always thrills Ichiro as a reminder that the way Samatoki makes him feel, Ichiro has a similar affect on the white-haired man. Maybe he only sees Ichiro as a way to relieve his sexual frustrations. Maybe he is only one of many people Samatoki wanders to nightly. Maybe Samatoki feels nothing for him at all. Ichiro doesn’t know why Samatoki is here right now, but he doesn’t question him. That is the most dangerous part about him.
While Ichiro was lost in his own thoughts, Samatoki had rummaged under the bed and grabbed lube and a condom, preparing his fingers after he placed the condom onto himself. Ichiro jolts as Samatoki probes at his hole, cold and wet fingers urging to get inside of him. Ichiro naturally stiffens at the sudden intrusion, making it harder for Samatoki to make him loosen up. The older man makes a noise of annoyance and flick him on the forehead.
“Stop being so tense, idiot.”
The first words Samatoki would exchange in the night besides passionate moans of each other’s names, and perhaps the last, Ichiro wonders. He forces himself to relax into Samatoki’s working fingers, stroking himself to ease the feeling. The perverted sounds of liquid and fingers squishing inside of him turns Ichiro on more than it should. Ichiro knows Samatoki is avoiding hitting his prostate with his fingers. The bastard wants him to experience the full bliss with his dick inside of his ass.
Samatoki removes his fingers, wiping them on the bedsheets beneath them. Ichiro is almost mad because now he’ll have the change the sheets later, but with the sweat tripping off their bodies it’s probably for the best. Ichiro sucks in a breath and leans backward, hovering over Samatoki’s cock. He positions the tip of him up to his hole and leans in slowly, mentally doing his best to loosen the muscles of his ass as he eases down on him. Samatoki’s voice hitches slightly as the pressure of Ichiro’s inner walls surrounds him, warm and pleasurable. Ichiro likes this position, but he wishes he had had the chance to appreciate Samatoki’s back, kissing along the large tattoo of a dragon decorating his back and shoulders. As he works himself to take in all of Samatoki, Ichiro’s breathing becomes ragged, his arms tiring from holding his body up. Ichiro just wants to give in to carnal desire and completely take Samatoki into him right now, but he knows from experience that he will regret it when he can barely walk the next day.
After a few minutes of slow and calculated movements, Ichiro would manage to have all of Samatoki inside of him and begin to move his hips along Samatoki’s dick. Samatoki puts his hands on Ichiro’s hips as he grinds, with slight upward thrusts into Ichiro as he moved downwards. The pleasure was immeasurable to the younger man. Each thrust sent waves of intensity from his lower body to his head, cheeks stained with tints of red color, sweat, and maybe a few stray tears that had managed to escape his tear ducts. Ichiro moans into every movement, a bit of saliva trailing from his mouth that hangs open, trying as hard as he can not to scream Samatoki’s name as the name manages to leave his lips in quiet gasps. Underneath him, Samatoki’s face is flushed as he breathes heavily, using his hands to guide Ichiro up and down his cock. He’s watching Ichiro, which Ichiro always hates, because he can’t tell what the older man is thinking. His red eyes are only glazed with lust.
Overtaken with frustration, Ichiro would lean over and connects lips with Samatoki as he continues to grind into him. Ichiro’s red and green eyes are narrow but open, trying to convey an emotion Ichiro doesn’t even understand himself. Samatoki is visibly surprised by the look Ichiro gives him as they kiss, but says nothing, and Ichiro has to break away eventually to take a breath. He’s losing his rhythm as he feels himself coming close to the climax, and he knows Samatoki is close too. The two increase their pace and substitute rhythmic consistency for maximum body contact. Ichiro’s moans turn into weak cries as he says Samatoki’s name, and Samatoki’s vice grip on Ichiro’s hips becomes even tighter than Ichiro thought was possible. That will definitely leave bruises.
With a few harsh thrusts Ichiro cums over Samatoki’s stomach, clenched teeth, neck arching his head backward as he rides out the exhilaration. Samatoki moans Ichiro’s name as he gives a final thrust into him, shivers of pleasure fizzing across his body. Ichiro and Samatoki would stay pressed together for a moment, easing their ragged breathes as they come down from their high. Ichiro finally pulls off of Samatoki when he’s had enough and flops down on the bed next to him, exhaustion sweeping over him. Samatoki slips the condom off, ties it, and simply tosses it off the bed.
“Gross.” Ichiro huffs, hugging his pillow as he turns to face Samatoki. Samatoki just rolls his eyes, reaching for the pocket of his pants at the edge of the bed and pulling out the box of cigarettes and a lighter he had stowed away. He would pull out one and light it, taking a big breath of putrid smoke. Ichiro watches him, wanting to say more but not knowing what. Samatoki stares up at the ceiling, appearing cool and collected as usual. Ichiro gives up on thinking of conversation and tucks his face into the pillow. Samatoki is silent, but after a few moments, Ichiro feels a hand on his head. Fingers travel through black locks of hair, gently, making Ichiro freeze to the touch. He grips the pillow tighter, heart beating a mile a minute. No matter how mature he tries to act around Samatoki, the older somehow always knows how to comfort him in an even more mature manner. He lets him massage his head for a while, even shifting his position on the bed slightly into the touch, still desiring close physical intimacy with Samatoki.
The number of times they’ve been in bed together goes past the fingers on his hand. Yet every time he can’t work up the courage to ask him what they are. Ichiro doesn’t want these moments to end, what he fears will happen the second he breaks the dreamlike trance of their relationship with words. But he desires more of Samatoki. The parts deep inside of Samatoki’s heart that no physical encounter can reach. And every time Samatoki gathers his belongings and leaves only the lingering smell of cigarette smoke, Ichiro curses himself for the lumps in his throat. It’s undeniably frustrating.
“Ichiro.”
The name in that husky voice of his causes Ichiro to jump up, holding his body up with arms to look at Samatoki. The white-haired man is looking at him affectionately, an expression Ichiro only saw when he talked with his sister. Ichiro is speechless, unable to deduce why Samatoki would be staring at him like this all of a sudden. Maybe he knew what Ichiro was feeling. Maybe Samatoki wasn’t as emotionally distant as Ichiro thought. Maybe-
Before Ichiro can finish his thought, Samatoki pulls him into an embrace. Ichiro inhales the smoke of the cigarette held away from him and the natural smell of Samatoki’s body as his face is pressed into his neck. Ichiro doesn’t know what to think, so he doesn’t. He let’s Samatoki hold him. He slowly brings up his own arms behind his back, gripping his shoulders with sweaty palms. While not many other words were exchanged the remainder of the night, this simple act was enough for Ichiro to realize that he did mean something to Samatoki. He would work on getting those words out of him another time. For tonight, they lay body to body, trails of smoke dancing out the window.