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A Catalyst Of Sorts

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Adachi has come to realize the vast majority of the things people think about him are almost disappointingly mundane.  


his sleeves are too long 


does this guy smell or it is just me wait no it’s definitely me 


i wish my hair was still that thick


Adachi sighs and adjusts the straps of his bag, waiting for the light to turn.  He woke up late this morning and had to rush out the door, giving him no time to make his usual stop for lunch.  He taps his foot.  The light doesn’t change.  He’s going to be a few minutes late for the first time in months all because he couldn’t hear his alarm over a stupid dream about…


He swallows, and shifts his weight.  If he closes his eyes, he can still see the phantom image of big hands running down the tops of his thighs, fingers splayed wide.  So he doesn’t close his eyes.  Instead, they’re wide open.  Almost owlishly round as he stares at the dimmed pedestrian walk sign, keeping his mind off the memory of fingers at his waistband, warm lips just below his navel, messy hair falling over a long, straight nose bridge as the head between his legs moves lower and lower – 


Someone knocks into him.


excuse me, dumbass


The light has changed.


Adachi walks the rest of the way to work so quickly that he’s winded by the time he makes it to the elevator in his building.  It’s empty except for him and a bored looking secretary from a different floor.  He lets himself shake, trying to figure out why his knees are wobbly and his fingers are trembling, until it hits him.


Those hands are waiting for him in the office.


Those lips will smile at him today.


Were he alone in the elevator, he would be screaming.


He shuffles into the office quickly, muttering a quiet good morning and trying his best to become invisible.  Perhaps he should be embarrassed by his lateness, and he is.  Sort of.  But mostly he’s trying to escape a certain set of eyes.


Urabe, of course, can’t help but draw attention to him.


“Well, well,” he bellows, rolling up to Adachi’s desk.  “A whole half hour late.  Had me worried our little Adachi would call in sick.”


“It’s fine,” Adachi says.  “I’ll stay – I’ll stay a whole hour after to make up for it.”


“I don’t care how long you stay as long as your work is done,” Urabe leans close and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.  “But I’m not the only one who noticed, you know?”


“Eh?” Adachi tries to look nonchalant, and utterly fails.


“Kurosawa was asking about you a little while ago,” Urabe says, and Adachi’s ears burn red.  “You might have to deal with him instead.”


Frantically, Adachi whips his head around.  Sure enough, Kurosawa is watching him from his desk.  He purses his lips – his lips! – in a curious expression and Adachi whips back around.  His head is pounding already.


“Good luck,” Urabe says, and Adachi is once again overcome with the urge to just scream .


Naturally, since Adachi dreads running to a convenience store for lunch, the morning zooms by.  He’s tired and a little grumpy and his feet are sore by the time he finally throws himself down at a table and digs into the cheapest bento he could find.  It tastes like salted cardboard and sadness and the little packet of sauce exploded when he tried opening it.  He scratches restlessly at his ankle with the side of his sole and wonders why he’s so… So… So…


So frustrated .


He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and groans quietly.  He can’t stop shuffling his legs around.  His head feels heavy and light all at once.  His stomach is growling but his appetite is gone.  There’s a different kind of craving in him right now, something cloying and heavy and horrible that marches up and down the nerves of his spine like someone walking their fingers across his skin, someone rubbing warm circles into his tense muscles, Kurosawa massaging away all his aches with a hand moving low on his back–


No.  No no no no no no no!




“No!” Adachi squawks, turning to look at the voice over his shoulder just in time to see Kurosawa’s smile drop into concern.  “I mean.  Hi!”


He waves awkwardly, and Kurosawa pulls up a chair.  “Are you feeling alright?”


“Of course.”


“You were late today,” Kurosawa remarks.


“Mm,” Adachi nods.  “I… Slept through my alarm.”


Because I was too busy dreaming about your hands on me , goes unsaid.  And will stay unsaid.  Forever.


“That’s not like you,” Kurosawa notes, and the intensity of his concern is nearly suffocating.  “And you’ve barely touched your lunch.”


“It’s fine,” Adachi tries to smile.  “I had a filling breakfast, that’s all.”


It’s a little white lie that might have gone over without a hitch, if not for the ungodly growl from his stomach seconds later.  Kurosawa quirks an eyebrow, and Adachi admits defeat.


“Maybe I’m hungry,” he mutters.  “Maybe I didn’t eat this morning and maybe I didn’t have time to stop for my usual lunch.  And maybe this bento kinda… Sucks.”


Kurosawa glances down at the convenience store lunch, at Adachi’s hands fidgeting awkwardly with the plastic.


“Let me come over and cook for you,” he urges gently, as if he doesn’t already spend at least four nights out of seven doing just that.


such a messy eater sometimes


Eh?  Adachi tries not to look like a cornered rabbit as he steals a glance downward and sees it – Kurosawa has moved close enough that his knee is brushing Adachi’s thigh.


i don’t think he even realizes it


so cute


Messy eater?  Adachi bites his lip and tries to fight the urge to ask if something is on his face.  He feels self-conscious and embarrassed, until he sees kurosawa reaching out for his hand, kissing the knuckles gently and licking away the little bit of sauce adachi spilled across the skin with that coy look on his face, something heavy and hot in kurosawa’s eyes as he kisses up the length of those fingers and presses his lips to adachi’s fingertips one at a time, and adachi finds the courage to push two fingers past his lips, watching kurosawa’s eyes fall closed in bliss as he sucks adachi’s fingers into his mouth


Adachi jerks involuntarily, breaking the point of contact between their bodies, and the visual is gone.


He tries not to look too gobsmacked, because what the hell ?  Why?  Why is the universe so horny today?  What has Adachi done to deserve this?


“Uh – okay,” Adachi chokes out, just to smooth over his own awkwardness.  “I would like that.”


“Huh?” Kurosawa blinks at him and – oh god.  For the first time he’s caught Kurosawa so lost in his fantasies that he’s totally spaced out.


“I want you to come,” Adachi says.  Softly.  Shyly.


Kurosawa stares at him.


“Over to make dinner,” Adachi adds in a rush.


“Oh,” Kurosawa says, and then his face lights up.  “Oh!  You mean it?”


“Mm,” Adachi nods.  “If it’s not too much trouble.”


“It’s no trouble at all,” Kurosawa smiles.  “We can leave together.”


“I might be a little late to leave,” Adachi reminds him.  “Since I was late getting in this morning.”


“I don’t mind waiting,” Kurosawa says.  “But, ah, I should be getting back to work now.”


They exchange smiles like parting gifts, and Kurosawa is gone.


Adachi looks down at his hand.  There’s a messy streak of sauce dripping across his knuckles.




It’s amazing how much fuller his apartment feels with Kurosawa in it.


They stopped by a store on their way home, loading ingredients into plastic bags that now litter the limited counter space of Adachi’s small kitchen.  Kurosawa seems determined to feed him a good meal tonight, and Adachi can’t say he minds.  He’s starving.


“Are you going to peek over my shoulder the whole time?” Kurosawa teases, and Adachi realizes he’s been quietly watching Kurosawa prep the meal.


“How about you teach me how to make it,” he feels bold enough to suggest.  “Maybe some day I can make you dinner.”


“You don’t have to,” Kurosawa says.  “I like cooking for you.”


Adachi isn’t used to acting cute to get what he wants, so he has no idea what comes over him when he puts on a little pout and rocks his shoulders back and forth, whining, “You’re just saying that so you don’t have to try my cooking.”


It must be some involuntary predator urge or something, because it makes Kurosawa freeze in his tracks for a moment.  His eyes are trained on the jut of Adachi’s lip like nothing else in the universe exists.


“How about,” he visibly swallows, “We work up to the point where we make dinner… Together .”


That… Sounds fun, actually.  Adachi feels himself smiling without meaning to, and it seems to snap Kurosawa out of whatever trance he was in.


“So, how can I help tonight?”


Kurosawa’s brain still seems to be moving slowly as he backs up and roots around through the plastic bags.  “How about…  You chop the vegetables.”


“Oh,” Adachi peeks into the bag at them.  “I might not be able to get it perfect.”


“No such thing as perfect,” Kurosawa assures him, and holds his thumb and forefinger up.  “Just need to chop them about this big, give or take.”


Adachi bites his lip and nods eagerly.  He can do this.




He’s slow at first, trying too hard to mimic the exact length Kurosawa had shown him with his fingers.  He builds up a rhythm, but the knife starts cutting in at an awkward angle, and Adachi starts to panic at the thought of Kurosawa seeing him fail at something so simple as cutting food.


“It’s easier like this,” Kurosawa says, and that’s Adachi’s only warning before there’s a hand overtop his, shifting the vegetable to a different angle.


i hope he didn’t feel pressured into inviting me over


his hands are so soft


and small, under mine


i wonder if he’d ever let m


“Ah,” Adachi jerks away.  “I’ll get it right, eventually.”


“There’s no right or wrong,” Kurosawa says, and Adachi can hear the smile in his voice.  “Just ways to make it a little easier.”


“Like a life hack,” Adachi mutters as Kurosawa moves behind him to continue bustling around the kitchen.  As he pulls away, he slowly drags a hand across the small of Adachi’s back.  His hand is warm and steady.  


It would almost be comforting if not for a broad hand overtop adachi’s, linking their fingers together, the knife and vegetables forgotten as kurosawa pushes adachi against the counter with his full weight, pressing kisses up the line of adachi’s neck all the while adachi squirms and sighs out sweet little noises, throwing his head back when kurosawa’s lips inch up to the hinge of his jaw, sucking a bruise just below the mole on his neck


And – poof.  It’s gone.  Adachi stares straight ahead, eyes wide and fingers trembling around the knife.  He gives the vegetable a firm squeeze, and mentally counts to ten.













“Adachi, are  you okay?”


So close.


“Y-yes,” he stammers, and starts chopping like a madman.  “I just realized I forgot something at work, don’t worry about it!”


Luckily, Kurosawa doesn’t press any further.


Dinner is delicious as it always is, and Adachi feels a swell of pride when he tastes the vegetables.  A together-meal.  Even if Adachi’s role was small, it’s nice.  But maybe, it’s more than just the food that’s nice.  Because they finish, and an hour passes, and then another hour.


And they’re still sitting at the low table, giggling like a pair of fools about something, when Kurosawa glances at his phone and realizes what time it is.


“Oh,” he sighs.  “I’ll probably have to call a cab soon, huh?”


The carefree mood from a moment ago is gone, and Adachi feels helpless to the reality that they can’t just sit around in his apartment forever.  The world is still turning out there, in the chilly autumn night.  Kurosawa has his own apartment, nicer than this one, full of pajamas that aren’t a little too short at the ankles, and a bath that heats much faster than Adachi’s.  Once he steps out Adachi’s front door, he has so much more waiting for him on the other end of a cab ride home.


Selfishly, Adachi doesn’t want him to go.  He wants him to stay the night, but he wants it to be different from how it always was before.  He wants… He wants...


“Why don’t you –” Adachi begins, but the words stop up in his throat the moment Kurosawa makes eye contact with him.  I hate how hard this is , he thinks, and looks down.  


It should be easy to ask.  They might not be intimate , but they’re official, and it’s not a weird thing to want.  It’s simple, but so is walking on his own two feet, and he manages to stumble even then sometimes.  And he’s scared that if he stumbles with Kurosawa – says the wrong thing, asks for a little bit at a time without giving up everything at once – maybe Kurosawa’s patience will finally run out.  He’ll realize he’s made a mistake in giving Adachi the time of day.  He’ll think that this has all been a waste of time.


But – no.  That train of thought is a disservice to Kurosawa.


“Stay overnight,” Adachi blurts out, forcing himself to look up.  Kurosawa looks surprised at first, but quickly nods.


“I would love to, if it’s okay,” he says, and points his thumb toward the linen closet.  “I can set up the futon this time–”


“No!” Adachi barks, and fights the urge to smack himself in the forehead.  Kurosawa freezes.  This is going swimmingly.  “No, I mean.  I mean, not – you don’t have to sleep on the floor.  The futon isn’t the softest and.  My bed is… Small but.  I think we could, ah, fit?  I think.”


Adachi clamps his jaw shut and tries to ignore the way he feels like he just ran a marathon.  His heart is beating and his teeth are itchy.  But the quizzical expression on Kurosawa’s face is bleeding softly into one of his gentler grins.  Not the winning smile he plasters on for clients and coworkers, but something secretive he wears when it’s just the two of them.  Especially when he’s teasing.  Especially when he’s being… Lewd.


Adachi swallows hard.


“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” Kurosawa shifts so he’s closer to Adachi, bracing a hand next to Adachi’s on the floor so he can lean in closer.  Their pinkies are nearly touching.  “What if I snore?”


Adachi is used to this, almost.  His mouth slants in a grin as he tries to tease back.  “It would bother me just as much from the floor, anyway.”


“What if I,” Kurosawa sweeps his eyes down Adachi’s body, just once, “Toss and turn in the night?”


“You…  You didn’t before, when you stayed.  Not even when Rokkaku threw his arm over you.”


Kurosawa’s eyebrow quirks.  “What if I get clingy in my sleep, and wake up squeezing you like a teddy bear?”


“Ah,” Adachi chokes.  Adachi pictures it, and chokes again.  “Ah.”


Kurosawa cracks up, and Adachi blushes.  “You’re so easy to fluster, Adachi.”


“And you’re so – so mean ,” Adachi whines, rearranging himself to get back up on his feet so he can storm away in mock-indignation.  But Kurosawa, still beaming at him, grasps his wrist and gives him a playful little tug.


And Adachi just kinda… Buckles.


“Oof,” Kurosawa grunts, catching Adachi’s full weight.  They topple a little together, nudging the table hard and making some of the dishes clatter.  Adachi could have just landed a little off to Kurosawa’s side, banging his knees on the floor and ducking his head in embarrassment at his clumsiness.  But no, Kurosawa had to catch him like a, like a–


like a fawn


Eh?  A fawn ?


my adachi is so cute when he stumbles


i want to be there to catch him every time


“You’ve got to be more careful,” Kurosawa murmurs, and it takes a moment for Adachi to realize he said that part out loud.  He lifts his head from where he’s hiding in Kurosawa’s chest and faces the reality that he’s sprawled across Kurosawa’s lap, in Kurosawa’s arms.


This is a nightmare.  This is bliss.


“I was being careful,” Adachi tries to tease back, but it sounds awkward to his own ears.  “ You’re the one who tugged on me.”


Tugged .  One tiny word and one big mistake.  Because suddenly he sees kurosawa laughing against his mouth, pulling him backwards by the wrist until he topples onto the bed, tugging adachi down on top of him so they land in a soft heap together among the blankets, kissing and touching softly until it’s not so soft anymore, until adachi is straddling kurosawa’s thighs and rutting down against him, moaning with his wet mouth open just enough to see the pink of his tongue


Kurosawa’s voice is soft when he says, “I just didn’t want you running away from me so soon.”


Adachi’s eyes bulge.  How can Kurosawa seem so composed while thinking about such dirty things?


“Well,” Adachi pries his eyes away from Kurosawa’s face, frantically trying to recalibrate his brain.  “Someone has to take care of the dishes.”


i made him uncomfortable


he’s trying to make an out


i should let him go


i need to let him go before i do something stupid and scare him away


The hands at Adachi’s waist start to reluctantly pull away, but Adachi is possessed by a sudden wave of courage.  He puts his hands over Kurosawa’s, keeping them locked in their little embrace, and looks back up to meet his eyes.


He wants this.  He wants to be held by his – by his boyfriend .  And maybe he’s not ready for… All the other stuff yet, but he also doesn’t want Kurosawa to feel guilty for thinking about it.  For wanting it.  So he needs Kurosawa to know that he’s not afraid.  Apprehensive, maybe, but he’s not going to run away.


He just hopes he’s conveying that when he leans up and presses a dry, soft kiss to Kurosawa’s cheek.


Adachi pulls back, and waits for Kurosawa’s reaction.


And waits.


And waits.


Anxiety starts to well in his throat.  Because for a moment Kurosawa says nothing, does nothing, thinks nothing.  The room is achingly still outside of the drip drop of the leaky faucet beating out a tempo far too slow against the racing of Adachi’s heart.  And then – 


i love him


“I’m going to take care of those dishes now,” Adachi blurts out, grabbing two handfuls of plates and rushing into the kitchen.




Talking about crawling into bed with someone and actually doing it are two very different things.


Adachi has made a horrible mistake.


In contrast, Kurosawa is practically glowing.  The glimpses of thoughts Adachi has been trying to avoid since dinner haven’t been dirty, surprisingly, but giddy .  He’s practically humming love songs in his head at the prospect of sleeping next to Adachi.


Mushy.  It’s too mushy!  Adachi can’t do it.  He can’t.


But he has to.  He will!


Kurosawa settles in bed first, looking disturbingly natural where he’s burrowed under Adachi’s duvet.  He’s pretending to scroll through his phone, but you don’t need magical powers to know he’s been stealing glances at Adachi.  And as for Adachi, he’s busy bustling around his room, inventing before-bed rituals to stall the inevitable.


He glances over just in time to see Kurosawa quickly look away from him with a soft smile plastered on his face.  Adachi’s heart is going to burst.


“I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” Kurosawa reminds him, but Adachi vehemently shakes his head.


“It’s fine,” he says.  “It’s fine.”


It’s not fine.


By the time he finally gets under the covers, Adachi has to confront the reality that it’s impossible for two grown men to fit in his bed together without some touching unless one or both of them are teetering on the edge.  He chooses to go with the second option.  It’s some kind of miracle when he realizes he’s slowly relaxing against the quiet conversation Kurosawa leads him through as they lie next to each other in the dark.  It’s nice – the talking.  Kurosawa’s deep sleepy voice is a balm on Adachi’s anxiety.


But not long after comes the disappointment, when Kurosawa’s voice trails off into a stretch of lonely silence.  Adachi thinks he must have fallen asleep, but he’s not sure.  Adachi himself certainly doesn’t feel like sleep will come any time soon, not with the way their body heat is settling in the same space, enveloping them in intimacy Adachi has never experienced before.


“You can’t sleep,” Kurosawa notes, evidently still awake.  “Can you?”


Adachi shakes his head. He hopes Kurosawa can feel the motion of it in the dark.


“I’ve found it helps to focus on the breathing of whoever is sleeping next to you when you can’t sleep,” Kurosawa says.  Makes sense, Adachi supposes.  He should follow Kurosawa’s advice, since it’s not like he has his own experience to work from.  “Like counting sheep, but better.”


“I suppose you learned that from – from sleeping with an ex.”


It comes out sounding dejected and pathetic.  Adachi regrets it immediately, wishing he could take it back.  Until Kurosawa snorts.


“I learned that from letting my cat sleep on my chest when I was a kid.”


Adachi pictures it before he can help himself, a mini Kurosawa snoozing with a big fluffy cat curled on top of him.  He bites back a sleepy, delirious giggle at the thought.


“What?” Kurosawa whines.  “She was a good cat.”


“I’m not making fun of you, it’s just–”


He turns to look at Kurosawa in the dark, and trips over his words.  He’s turned on his side, barely illuminated by the small amount of light streaming into the room, but Adachi can see his eyes as if it were daytime.  The earnest longing in them is clear without even hearing his thoughts.  It’s startling to recognize.  Adachi just wants to go to sleep.


“I’ll take your advice.”


Adachi turns over fully.  They roll close to one another, drawn to the dip in the middle of the bed.  It’s better this way, he admits to himself.  They fit comfortably like this.  But touch is inevitable.  Kurosawa shifts, a miniscule motion of his legs, and their knees brush.


such a cute sleepy face


i never thought we’d end up here


but i’m glad


i’m glad for every moment with him


His thoughts are so… Quiet .  And slow.  Languid, really.  Like waves lapping at the shore.  Tentatively, Adachi raises a hand.  He lets it linger awkwardly between the two of them for a moment, before pressing it to the center of Kurosawa’s chest.  Only to feel his breathing, of course.


What he doesn’t expect is the gasp Kurosawa draws in.


Adachi’s heart stutters.  “I-Is this okay?”


calm down


he’ll feel your heart racing


“It’s okay.”


Adachi doesn’t feel any more sleepy.  If anything he feels more awake.  The inside of Kurosawa’s head is startlingly silent.  At first, Adachi thinks Kurosawa has fallen asleep just like that.  And then, his confused sleep-addled brain thinks that maybe he never knew what sex was in the first place.  Maybe just fondling the admittedly very nice expanse of Kurosawa’s chest over his heart is enough to constitute as virginity lost.


And then he thinks– no, wait, that’s stupid.  He’s stupid.  He doesn’t know anything, and not even the cheesy litany of Kurosawa’s stream of consciousness is here to distract him.  With his mission totally forgotten, Adachi is just about to pull away.  Until he finally hears something, deep in his own head:


i can feel adachi’s heartbeat


i should move to the floor so he can sleep


but he’s so warm


he feels so nice beside me


No, no!  If Kurosawa called it quits here on his behalf, it would feel like all that effort was wasted.


So Adachi keeps his hand pressed to Kurosawa’s chest and tries his hardest to match his own breathing with the slow, steady rhythm under his fingers.  Kurosawa doesn’t return the touch.  Not for what feels like a very, very long time.  It’s later, when the room is shrouded in an incandescent darkness, that Kurosawa reaches out and presses his own palm flat against Adachi’s chest.


It’s a catalyst of sorts.


The next thing Adachi knows, he’s dragging his own hand up slowly, slowly.  He tangles his fingers in Kurosawa’s hair, playing with the strands before digging his fingers in and pulling .  Kurosawa gasps and bites his lip.  Adachi feels awestruck as he watches himself explore Kurosawa’s body with innocent curiosity, running a thumb across his cheekbone, dragging his fingernails down the exposed skin of his arm.


Pushing his shirt up just a little, feeling the planes of his stomach, the jut of his hip bones.  Kurosawa is built differently from his own soft skinny body.  Adachi maybe likes the contrast, just a little bit.


All the while, the hand on his own chest stays still, fisting the material of his t-shirt.  It’s as if Kurosawa is trying to make himself a doll for Adachi, something sweet and soft to experiment with touch on.  His eyes are closed, lashes brushing his pink-tinged cheeks, and Adachi realizes he’s panting slightly.


The slack shape of his mouth is red and almost wet.  Like wine.  Adachi wonders what it feels like, but his hand is occupied with the fine hairs below Kurosawa’s navel.  So he leans forward, easy as anything, and draws his tongue over the top lip.  When he bites down on the bottom lip gently, Kurosawa grunts out a broken sound.  Like porcelain shattering on the floor.


That’s okay, Adachi thinks, skirting his tongue over Kurosawa’s teeth.  He drags his hand down the swell of a hip and hikes Kurosawa’s thigh over his own legs, basking in the weight of it.  He digs his fingernails into the space behind his knee, and then at the back of his thigh near the top, and then – a little higher.


When he gives the ass a little squeeze Kurosawa jerks and gasps in his hold, shoving his face into Adachi’s shoulder.  It feels… Weird.  Kinda nice, actually.  Oddly powerful.  Like he could do anything – like Kurosawa wants him to do anything.  Or everything.




Adachi releases a shuddering breath.


don’t stop, please


touch me more


He does, moving back to Kurosawa’s hips for a moment.  His hands barely shake as they dip lower, lower, and when he grinds the heel of his palm into Kurosawa’s hard cock, he has no idea what he’s doing.  He just knows that he doesn’t want to stop, especially not when Kurosawa snaps .


No longer playing the pliant doll, Kurosawa grabs Adachi around the waist and drags him in close and rolls them over.  Adachi yelps more in surprise than fear.  He finds he doesn’t mind winding up on top of Kurosawa, straddling his hips with his hands braced on either side of Kurosawa’s head.


He finds he quite likes it, actually.  They fit on the bed much better this way.


The big hands that wander up under his shirt aren’t bad, either.  Especially not when they rake lines up his ribs and scratch over his nipples, showing Adachi he’s sensitive in ways he didn’t even know about.  He twists the sheets in his hands and tries to bite back his embarrassing noises, all the while he can hear Kurosawa calling him good , calling him sweet , saying let me hear you pretty boy .  An embarrassing whimper tumbles past Adachi’s lips when Kurosawa rolls his hips up.


There’s a full, hard cock grinding against him.  Kurosawa’s eyes are dark as he grips Adachi’s ass with one hand, making Adachi feel tiny and worshiped as he guides him into a steady rocking motion.  Adachi is plenty hard himself, nearly choking on arousal when he cock drags against Kurosawa’s stomach.  Every time they grind together, there’s a pressure against his hole that sets him alight with such an intense desire he could cry.  He wants it, he wants it, he wants it –


But he doesn’t get it, because he wakes up.


Like every morning, it’s irritatingly bright in his bedroom.  His ceiling stares down at him as he realizes he’s lying on his back, and there’s something heavy on him.  


There are two possibilities Adachi is willing to consider:


  1. Yesterday was a hallucination, and he bought a weighted blanket at some point without remembering it, and maybe had a(nother) wet dream about Kurosawa Yuichi.
  2. Kurosawa Yuichi is lying on top of him, in his bed, and maybe had a wet dream about him.


He lets himself stare at the ceiling.  He’s hard, and he kind of has to pee, which is a horrible combination, and none of the problems on his plate are going to go away on their own.  Slowly, he drags his eyes downward and lifts his head a fraction.


Sure enough, he’s greeted with the mop of Kurosawa’s bedhead a breath away from his face


Oh, fuck .


This is catastrophic.  This is the worst thing that could ever happen.  Because perfect handsome Kurosawa is snoozing the morning away, trapping Adachi in bed when Adachi really desperately needs to get up and take the coldest shower imaginable.  Adachi starts to devise an escape plan when Kurosawa mutters something and shifts slightly.  Adachi’s blood freezes.


There is.  There is an erection.  A matching erection to his own.  Digging into his thigh.


Mortification has him petrified, but he knows he has to get up out of bed.  Now.  But before he can do anything, he feels Kurosawa’s thoughts returning to lucidity in slow pulses.


ah, i’m warm


don’t wanna get up


feel nice


feel - oh


Adachi tries not to clench his eyes shut tighter, tries to keep his breath even and steady.  Slowly, Kurosawa seems to prop himself up.  His cock drags against Adachi’s thigh with the motion.  Adachi thinks there might not be any oxygen left in his brain.


oh no


Quickly, gracelessly, even, Kurosawa scrambles upright and out of bed.  Adachi listens to the pitter patter of his bare feet trying to tip-toe-run through the apartment, and only lets himself breathe again once the bathroom door clicks shut.


This relationship stuff is too much.




Maybe Adachi jerks off in the bathroom that morning.  Possibly.  Can’t be proven either way.  But if it does happen – which, again, it might not – he definitely watches his cum swirl down the drain with existential dread setting into his bones.


Everything is going to be so awkward now.


He stumbles out of the bathroom, self-conscious of how long he took in there, and tries not to let his damp hair drip all over his button up shirt.


“Ah, Adachi,” Kurosawa calls out, blinding smile already sitting on his face.  “I stole your hair towel, I think.”


Oh no.  Adachi has no idea what to say or do now that he’s confronted with Kurosawa after doing that , but Kurosawa seems unbothered as he plops the towel on Adachi’s head and starts rubbing.


“Ah, ah, ah, ah,” Adachi groans in embarrassment, but he doesn’t try to pull away.  Instead, he lifts his hands and gently rests his fingertips at Kurosawa’s hips.  An involuntary motion that feels like the right thing to do, but it makes Kurosawa freeze and lift the towel off Adachi’s head.


Adachi looks up at Kurosawa though damp locks falling in his eyes and expects to hear the worst.  Something judgmental.  Or something filthy, maybe.  What he hears instead is –


cute cute cute cute cute CUTE


Adachi can’t help it.   He purses his lips, but the laughter escapes anyway.


“What?”  Kurosawa asks.  “What’s so funny?”


“Nothing, you’re just,” Adachi clears his throat and plays with the fabric of Kurosawa’s shirt where it’s tucked into his pants.  “You’re just cute.”


“Cute?” Kurosawa practically balks.  “If anyone here is cute, it’s you.”


“Oh, no, no,” Adachi shakes his head and starts backing away.  “You can’t just dump all the cuteness responsibility on me.”


“And who says I can’t?” Kurosawa asks, advancing toward Adachi with the towel held menacingly in his hands.


Adachi is late again that morning, by two minutes instead of a half hour.  Kurosawa chasing him around his apartment with a towel ate up a lot of his morning time, but he can’t be mad about it.  Not when they step into the elevator together, pressed close by the necessity of limited space, and Kurosawa gently runs his pinky down Adachi’s.


There’s no mind reading involved when Adachi feels the infectious delight pouring off of Kurosawa in waves.