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It wasn’t anything new, Kojiro’s staring. 

 

Kaoru’s known for a long time that it was just that: his heavy brown gaze, often lazily half-lidded and paired with that terrible pink-lipped smirk, that drove the scores of women hanging off of his arm wild. But catching Kojiro’s attention was one thing, holding it quite was another. 

 

And that’s where so many of these hapless fools went wrong: thinking that just because they’d glanced across a room and noticed Kojiro staring, that signified some sort of understanding between them. Kaoru can’t count the number of times Kojiro’s left the bar with a drink soaked into the material hugging his broad shoulders, one cheek bearing the evidence of a hearty smack from a dainty hand. Spurned would-be lovers all, who mistook his momentary attention for lasting affection. 

 

Pathetic, Kaoru thinks uncharitably, swirling his waning drink in his glass, lifting it to his lips to throw it back, slamming it back down on the counter. Though, objectively, it makes sense. Kaoru gives a lazy wave to the bartender, indicating a refill, then does his best not to glance to his left, where Kojiro is holding court with a small gaggle of admirers, his laugh booming as he comes to the end of one of his awful jokes. 

 

Objectively.

 

Kaoru groans under his breath as he pinches at the skin above his nose, then resettles his glasses in place, clears his throat. Okay, alcohol tends to make the line he normally has no trouble crossing...a bit blurry. Which is why he tries not to drink too much around Kojiro. It’s stupid and he has it under control, of course. And his business has been booming, which is excellent, but the long hours spent schmoozing with overly chatty clients, making sure they felt properly nurtured and attended to always saps his energy by the end of the week. He’d originally intended to celebrate the weekend’s arrival by going straight home, soaking in the tub, and turning in for an early night, but of course, Kojiro had other ideas. And so he’s somehow found himself at one of the rowdiest drinking holes in the city, staving off a headache while his best friend since childhood ignored him to play Casanova to a coterie of simpering idiots, per usual. 

 

It’s the muscles, of course. Well, and his height helps. His hair has always been striking, obviously. Kaoru supposes that aesthetically, the complete picture is a compelling one, especially when you factor in that goddamn smirk that strikes just the right balance between friendly and mischievous...and the deep brown eyes that seem to twinkle, even in the low, pulsing lights of the bar— shit.

 

Kaoru could kiss the bartender for interrupting his mindless reverie by sliding over his drink, and he takes a somewhat desperate sip while studiously ignoring the uneven tempo of his heart. 

 

He didn’t even realize he was the one staring until Kojiro had suddenly looked over at him, catching his gaze with a jolt that Kaoru felt deep in his belly, which is stupid, because it’s Kojiro, who is a clueless neanderthal. 

 

If Kaoru sometimes admires the way his dumb curly hair frames his smiling face or wants to reach out and adjust his double chained necklace so the charm doesn’t rest right beside the enclosure — and maybe let his fingers brush the sculpted peaks and valleys of Kojiro’s collarbones — that’s Kaoru’s business and absolutely no one else’s.

 

“See something you like?” a low, teasing voice wonders from beside him, and Kaoru can smell Kojiro’s sweat and coconut shampoo and his awful cologne that smells like pine and doesn’t bother turning to meet his dumb, knowing smile.

 

“Not in the slightest. You have food in your teeth,” Kaoru lies, lips twitching against a laugh as Kojiro pales, leaning in closer to Kaoru to conceal from sight the way he squeaks in horror and quickly runs his tongue over his teeth, searching for the offending article. Finding none, he glares, giving Kaoru a punch in the shoulder.

 

“Fuck off. Why are you moping?”

 

“I’m not moping, I’m tired. As I told you.” Kaoru watches in dismay as Kojiro picks up his drink, sniffs it, and takes a generous gulp. “Get your own!”

 

“Yours always tastes better,” Kojiro returns with a saucy wink as he leans heavily against the bar, eyebrows rising at the color that rushes to the surface of Kaoru’s cheeks. “Did that make you blush?”

 

“I’m drunk,” Kaoru snaps, seizing back his drink and taking a swig. The music’s volume increases suddenly, and Kaoru tries to conceal the deep inhale he has to take, hoping to settle his jangling nerves. Why does Kojiro always insist on getting right into his space, prodding at him and teasing him and generally being an enormous, gorgeous nuisance?

 

An — enormous nuisance? 

 

“Drunk enough to dance?” Kojiro asks, tugging cheekily on the end of Kaoru’s loose ponytail, waggling his eyebrows when Kaoru fixes him with an incredulous glare. “Come onnnn, you could have just gone home if you were that miserable, admit it. You stayed because you know you always end up having fun with me.”

 

Goddammit. Kaoru looks at him a moment longer. Rolls his eyes. 

 

Kojiro grins, head tilted beseechingly, almost — coquettishly. The effect is disturbingly...effective.

 

And so Kaoru, despite himself, can’t help his loud snort. “First of all,” he intones, pointing at Kojiro with a slightly tipsy finger, “I am not dancing.”

 

“Uh huh,” Kojiro nods understandingly, grabbing his outstretched finger and rocking his hips, then gesturing to Kaoru’s half empty glass with his chin. “Finish that.”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Kaoru frowns, tipping the remnants of the drink into his mouth, then angling his head to find Kojiro’s abandoned admirers, who are still perched further down the bar. “Won’t your friends be missing you?”

 

Kojiro’s expression slides into something more attentive when Kaoru’s eyes find his again, and he shrugs expansively, his dance moves becoming more insistent. “They’ll be alright. Come on, Cherry, dance with me.”

 

For whatever reason, it’s his nickname that does it, and Kaoru passes a hand over his mouth to hide his smile, not sure how successful he is. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, and follows a whooping Kojiro into the crush of moving bodies, letting the music infuse his limbs, finding himself oddly grateful for this chance to shake off the stress of the week and let loose, painfully aware that without Kojiro’s urging, the thought never would have occurred to him. It’s a little embarrassing to be so easily swayed, but here, within this crowd where they’re both a little drunk and the lights illuminate the curve of Kojiro’s chiseled features, the loose fluidity of his movements, as familiar to Kaoru as the sound of his own voice — he admits to himself that this is what keeps them within each other’s orbit after all this time, even though they drive each other crazy almost every moment they’re together. It’s the ease of a long friendship, the comfort of being with someone you know and who knows you almost as well as you know yourself, privy to all of the ugliest, most tender parts of you since your most vulnerable years.

 

Not being with, Kaoru mentally corrects himself, briefly shaking his head as he lets his eyes fall shut, doing his best to get lost in the cathartic physicality of the dance, the heavy beat. Being friends with. Weird moments of attraction are not new, by any means, however much he might like to pretend they are. They happen, then they pass, and life goes on, with Kojiro none the wiser. That’s how this works. That’s how Kaoru stays sane.

 

Unfortunately, Kojiro chooses that moment to take Kaoru’s hand and spin him, which is totally incongruous with the type of music that’s playing, but he’s never been deterred by such details before. It’s unexpected and startling enough to make Kaoru laugh, and the grin of delight that spreads across Koijro’s face is dazzling enough to compel Kaoru not to drop his hand, not yet.

 

“See? I told you,” Kojiro yells, and he knows how much Kaoru hates being told that.

 

“Can you not be a dick for five seconds?” Kaoru shouts back, annoyed, and Kojiro just throws his head back and laughs before spinning him again. His hand is warm and broad and seems loath to let go, so Kaoru has to be one to drop it, which doesn’t make a difference anyway, because then Kojiro is pulling him close by his waist, and a million different alarm bells sound off in Kaoru’s head at once, his breath growing short at the unexpectedly intimate touch.

 

“Kojiro—” he begins, flustered and hating it, as the song changes into something with a slower, dirtier beat, full of bass and a woman’s low, raspy crooning. His breath catches when Kojiro ignores his chastising tone and just tightens the arm around Kaoru’s waist as if it belongs there, his expression strangely determined, but also fragile, as if awaiting a harsh rebuff. For some reason, it makes Kaoru swallow hard, heart hammering as he unthinkingly settles into his touch, his arms settling on Kojiro’s shoulders, looping behind his neck. What are you doing what are you doing what are you doing—

 

“Kaoru,” Kojiro says, and something in the nervous quirk of his lip before he covers it with a haughty smirk makes Kaoru fight to hold back a disgustingly fond smile, a rush of something warm and sudden sweeping through him, too tender to examine right now. 

 

Is this actually happening? Finally? And on this random ass night, of all nights, long after Kaoru had given up all hope — was it hope? Embarrassing — of this? 

 

“What are you doing?” Kaoru asks evenly, but the effect is somewhat lessened when one of Kojiro’s hands finds his lower back, much lower than he’d ever dared to touch him before, bringing him closer, so that their bodies are pressed flush together. “S-stop messing around.”

 

“I’m not messing around,” Kojiro returns petulantly, his other hand wandering up Kaoru’s back, lingering between his shoulder blades, then drifting into his hair. They look ridiculous, probably, as they’re barely dancing anymore, just clutching at each other as their feet shuffle back and forth, completely off beat. 

 

Kaoru couldn’t care less, plucked tight as a drum from Kojiro’s wandering caresses, head spinning at the implication of his plaintive words, spoken so close to his ear. A bit closer and—

 

“And you call me an idiot,” Kojiro whispers harshly, and whether by accident or on purpose, his lips brush the lobe of Kaoru’s ear, and then his teeth close on it, pulling a startled gasp from Kaoru. Emboldened, Kojiro does it again, fingers tightening against the silken fabric of his yukata. “You try so hard to pretend you hate me, but you don’t, do you?” His voice is low, and curious, and spilling warm into Kaoru’s ear, and they’ve never held each other like this before. 

 

“No,” Kaoru answers before he can catch himself, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? Still: “I just can’t stand your face.”

 

“My face, huh.” The rounded tip of Kojiro’s nose traces a gentle line leading from Kaoru’s temple to the center of his cheek, then back to his ear, where Kaoru can hear his lips spread into a smile. “What else.”

 

“Your laugh. Terrible.” Kaoru shudders as Kojiro bites playfully at his jaw. “Oh, and your clothes. Especially that orange striped shirt. Throw it out.”

 

Kojiro pulls back, mouth fixed in a small pout, clearly stung. “I like that shirt!”

 

“It’s hideous,” Kaoru lies, smiling, wondering when he’d begun playing with the curls at the back of Kojiro’s neck. “You have a terrible sense of fashion. Kojiro...what are you doing?”

 

“You didn’t care about that in school,” Kojiro argues, stubborn. 

 

“We wore uniforms... Answer the question!”

 

“What am I doing, he asks. Are you really this dense?” Kojiro’s eyes are more intense than Kaoru’s ever seen them, outside of gearing up for a race, and he finds himself unutterably lost in their depths, blood singing through his veins, alive. Kojiro opens his mouth to speak again, closes it, groans softly in frustration. “Will you just,” he sighs, offering a sheepish smile, a flicker of his boyhood self that nestled his way easily and instantly inside Kaoru’s heart a few forevers ago. “Just shut up and let me kiss you?”

 

“Why?” Kaoru asks dumbly, stunned, not expecting an answer, and he doesn’t get one. His vision is suddenly full of Kojiro’s face until his eyes cross and fall shut and Kojiro’s lips are on his, full and soft and a wholly different experience from watching them turn upwards in triumph or down in sadness, flatten into a thin line from anger or fear. He inhales, and it’s Kojiro. The thrumming bassline, the shouted conversations and laughter, the acrid beer and sake and perfume scent of the late night crowd — it all diminishes as Kaoru breathes again, soaring, terrified, then angles his head to capture Kojiro’s lower lip between his own, gently exploring, the kiss halting and soft, thrillingly uncharted territory. 

 

Kaoru pulls away before it can deepen, eyes still clenched shut for a moment to get himself under control, a live wire of want blazing to life beneath his skin. It’s like a switch has been flipped, and it’s scary how impossible it suddenly is to ignore the steady undercurrent of lust, unaware of how persistent it had been up until this moment, with Kojiro solid and steady and here, clutching Kaoru so tight in his arms.

 

He struggles for words for a moment, every breath ringing with the sensation of Kojiro’s body up against his, then settles for a somewhat resigned, despairing, “Shit.”

 

Kojiro chuckles, and Kaoru finally opens his eyes, meets the warm gaze of his best friend, his best friend who’s staring at him like he wants nothing more than to devour him right here on the dance floor. It’s undeniable and overwhelming, and they need to be somewhere less public, now.

 

“Kaoru,” Kojiro half moans, always the quicker to wear his heart on his sleeve, leaning in again to place warm, wet lips against his cheek, voice dropping to a pleading murmur. “Tell me you want to do that again. And possibly a lot more.”

 

Kaoru nods quickly, not trusting himself to speak.

 

“Then let’s go, before I drag you into the bathroom,” Kojiro says decisively, finding Kaoru’s hand, entwining their fingers as if it were normal to do so, as if they held hands every day.

 

Kaoru pretends not to be charmed, even as his hand curls easily into Kojiro’s, letting him lead them to the bar to close out their tab. “That’s disgusting.”

 

“I’ve been waiting for a very long time,” Kojiro shoots back, almost absentmindedly, and well, there’s nothing Kaoru can say to that.

 


 

By the time they make it back to Kaoru’s place, Kaoru has thought of approximately thirty-eight reasons this is a terrible idea, but the dark, hungry glint in Kojiro’s eyes as he slams the door shut to plunder Kaoru’s mouth anew, palms braced to bracket his shoulders, dissipates each and every one like so much ash. 

 

“Need to lock the door,” Kaoru mumbles mindlessly, head spinning from the scorching heat of Kojiro’s tongue, a small, powerful part of Kaoru horrified at how hungrily his body responds to his touch. One hand fumbles blindly for the lock as Kojiro’s kisses wander from below his ear down the sensitive skin of his neck, humming his assent.

 

“Okay, lock it.”

 

“I can’t—” a clumsy grab, then a satisfying click, and Kojiro moans gratefully to have Kaoru’s full attention again, coming back up to taste his lips again... and again, and again, jaws widening as the kiss builds slower, wetter, deeper. Kaoru’s head spins, he buries his fingers in Kojiro’s hair, groans low into his mouth as firm hands clamp around his hips, tugging them forward—

 

“Oh, fuck.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Why didn’t we—

 

“I know, but we are now.” 

 

Later, Kaoru will be somewhat ashamed of the trail of clothing strewn across the living room, but that’s later and this is now, now, and now is tugging his glasses off to toss onto his nightstand. Now is the perfect curve of Kojiro’s smile in the pale light of the heavy moon, the electric-hot drag of skin against completely bare skin, the sweet melody of their pants and moans and wet mouths colliding, biting, sucking—

 

“I want you so much,” Kojiro whispers in a rush, his eyes luminous in the dimness when he pulls back, gazing down at Kaoru in something like awe. His necklace swings, the pointed edge of its triangle charm tapping at Kaoru’s collarbone. “Can I touch you?”

 

“Do it,” Kaoru sighs, feeling heat prickle up his spine, spreading upwards from his chest and staining his skin, he knows, at the easy way his thighs fall open further, hips pressing up more deliberately to feel Kojiro’s heavy cock against his own. “Yes, I want you to.”

 

Kojiro moans, and then he’s speaking harshly right against Kaoru’s mouth, one large hand encircling Kaoru’s cock, making him stiffen and whimper. “You don’t know,” he grinds out, stroking him once, sweeping his thumb over the weeping head, “how badly I’ve been wanting to do this. How long.”

 

“You’re right,” Kaoru manages after a few seconds spent trying for words, nails biting into Kojiro’s back as he strains for more of that sure, proprietary touch. “I don’t.”

 

Ducking his head down to carefully suck a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking at the miniature barbell, Kojiro glances up and moans happily, pulls away to speak, his voice husky. “I’m so glad you didn’t get rid of these.”

 

“How long?” Kaoru asks without meaning to, watching Kojiro’s face closely, needing to see the truth of whatever answer he's about to give telegraphed across the features he knows so well. Even in the semi-darkness, Kaoru watches as Kojiro flushes a brilliant red, though he lowers his head to worry at his nipple again, the ripples of pleasure nearly making him forget the conversation entirely.

 

“I don’t want to say.” The words are mumbled, shy.

 

“Hm? Why not?”

 

“Because it’s embarrassing! So show me yours, maybe I’ll show you mine.” 

 

Kaoru chuckles despite himself, tangling his fingers in Kojiro’s hair, tightening to lift his head from his chest. His smile is dopey, sheepish, and adoring, and it squeezes something impossibly tight in Kaoru’s chest until all he can do is kiss him again. It quickly turns filthy as Kojiro continues to stroke his cock, building speed, and Kaoru breathes harshly against Kojiro’s mouth as one hand shoots down to clamp around his thick forearm, stopping his movements. 

 

“Not like that,” he blurts, eyes beseeching as his other hand wanders down Kojiro’s sculpted chest, “I want you to—”

 

Kojiro’s eyebrows rise, but he waits patiently, his hand still wrapped around Kaoru’s prick, making it a little hard for him to think.

 

“I...want you to. Inside.” Kaoru’s voice shakes at the end, but he’s said it, sort of, and Kojiro’s expression cycles through shock, wonder, and curious sort of realization as he leans in to swirl the tip of a wet tongue against the inner lobe of Kaoru’s ear. Kaoru’s cock jerks in instant response, expelling more fluid.

 

“Say it again,” Kojiro breathes.

 

Fuck. “Kojiro…”

 

“Yes?” Having his voice this close, this low, thickened with lust and blowing hotly against his ear is having such a profound effect on Kaoru that his own voice grows somewhat frantic, swiftly approaching the limits of his waning self control. 

 

“Inside, I want — I need you inside me. Kojiro, please.”

 

Kaoru blinks as Kojiro’s weight is suddenly gone, and then his legs are in the air, and he barely has time to feel embarrassed about how easily he’s been spread open before Kojiro’s tongue is dragging up the underside of his sac, suckling at him, slow and tender, and then stiffening to stab into his hole.

 

Kaoru’s hands instantly find the bars of his headboard and grips them so tightly it hurts, stomach tight and chest heaving as he rocks down against the slick, firm pressure probing at him, wondering idly where those bitten-off cries are coming from before he realizes it’s him. He labors to swallow and looks down the line of his straining body to see Kojiro looking back up at him, traces the arched peak of an eyebrow with his thumb, scraping his fingers through emerald curls before clutching them tight to ride his tongue, incandescent with want— “Oh, fuck, Kojiro, yes—!”

 

With a playful bite to the curve of one asscheek, Kojiro takes his time moving back up, dropping lingering kisses against the quivering muscles of Kaoru’s stomach, worrying at his other nipple, being just as careful with the jewelry adorning the peaked nub. He sighs as Kaoru continues to caress his scalp, pushing into the touch, flicking his eyes up to catch his gaze once more. 

 

“You’re beautiful,” he says openly, watching Kaoru’s mouth fall open at the breach as Kojiro slowly pushes two fingers inside, cock jerking against his stomach at the promise of such tight heat, of Kaoru letting him taste and touch his most intimate places. “I want to make you feel so good.” 

 

Kaoru’s vision blurs as he clenches around Kojiro’s thick digits, each rough stroke working him looser, more pliant, positively melting off the bone. He’d appreciate the metaphor, Kaoru muses, but his brain is too much of a scramble to assemble the words, capable of only a vague smile, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as he nods his enthusiastic assent.

 

There’s some shifting and then Kojiro is hovering over him, sliding a third finger inside, swallowing Kaoru’s soft moan in a needy kiss. 

 

Pulling away a moment later, Kojiro laughs quietly. “It’s been, um. Since you let me give you your first piercing.”

 

Kaoru blinks, trying to make sense of his words, before he realizes he’s answering the question from before. As quickly as he can manage while being slowly stretched open, he performs the math.

 

“Kojiro...that was — ah! Almost a d-decade ago.”

 

“I know exactly when it was. It had rained that morning and you bailed hard on our way to school. You landed in some mud and never got the stains out of your jacket.” His voice is warm and soft as he drops kisses along Kaoru’s neck and chest, now thrusting deeper, harder, humming in satisfaction when Kaoru's breathing grows more labored. “You shed one tear when the needle went in, and then you giggled like a madman for almost the rest of the night.”

 

“Mmmmm, my first rebellion,” Kaoru recalls, each press of Kojiro’s fingers bumping deliciously against his prostate, shredding holes through his typically airtight emotional filter. “Why... didn’t you...s-say something?”

 

“Oh fuck, Kaoru, look at you,” Kojiro breathes, distracted, opening his jaw wide to bite at his neck, suck at the skin. “I was scared, at first. And then it just seemed impossible.” He pauses, and then asks desperately, “Do you have lube?”

 

Kaoru snaps to instantly, reaching over to tug open a drawer and pluck out the small bottle, as well as a condom, flopping back down with a long sigh as Kojiro slowly withdraws.

 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he mutters to himself, one arm flung over his eyes, and he isn’t at all surprised when that arm is gently lifted away, exposing himself to Kojiro’s half-mirthful, half-accusing face, heart pounding wildly at the improbable inevitability of it all. “Since day one,” he lies, in response.

 

It isn’t a total lie, he admits to himself as Kojiro’s face slackens in surprise. He’d felt something click into place the first time they shook hands, both minutely and monumentally, the seismic shift only intensifying in exponents well after the fact. The years multiplying, rushing by, and Kojiro a comforting constant through them all.

 

The actual revelation came, rather perversely, a week after Adam’s rejection, in the wild west of one of their final teenage years — Kaoru nearly paralyzed in shame and startled clarity, Kojiro quietly, fiercely protective, knuckles growing pale with tension at odd moments, his eyes shining with something both soft and untamed whenever a sullen Kaoru caught his gaze unexpectedly.

 

He refuses to invoke him here, though. Not here and not now, when it feels nearly — Kaoru allows himself this moment of overwrought sentimentality, thinking it cosmically owed by now, dammit — sacrilegious to do so, a violation of this shared temple of starved longing, now joined in trembling salvation. What was a day to a decade to a lifetime, when Kojiro’s touch alone could bring time a stuttering halt?

 

“Kaoru.” The word is whimpered, plaintive and slightly despairing, into the air between them — Kaoru opens his eyes, which he didn’t know had closed, watching Kojiro’s jawline tighten, his eyes grow suddenly bright. “Can I—I need to fuck you. I mean—make love to you. Please.”

 

Kaoru wrinkles his nose even as he expels a laughing moan, watching the quick motions of Kojiro’s hands. The way he slides the condom down over his thick cock, slicks himself up with lube, the coiled power in his arms and broadness of his torso — a wave of feral need sweeps through Kaoru’s body and he wraps a leg around his waist to tug him close, cradling one hand against his throat, licking at his lips as he tightens the hold, just slightly.

 

“Come on,” he murmurs, pulse simmering in anticipation, at the way Kojiro gapes at him, pupils completely dilated. “Fuck me.”

 

“Yes,” Kojiro pants, steadying himself at the base, pressing Kaoru open with a tight hand around his thigh to position himself, and then begin pushing in. The stretch is just this side of painful, so full and burning hot and good— “Is this, am I, does this hurt?”

 

Kaoru’s head falls back as he’s slowly filled up, his world narrowing to only the point where their bodies meet. He releases a sharp cry when Kojiro’s movements slow, hands scrabbling at his back, half-fearful he might perish if he doesn’t take it all in, right now. “Don’t stop — don’t stop!”

 

“Okay, baby, okay,” Kojiro babbles — startling a breathless, shaky whimper from Kaoru at the unexpected term of endearment — and Kojiro breathes a guttural moan into Kaoru’s neck as he finally, finally buries himself to the hilt, shuddering. Kaoru clutches at him, positively lightheaded from the alternating sparks of pleasure and pain radiating from his core, trying to calm his racing breaths. 

 

“You’re—that's—” he tries, then gives up, blinking sightlessly up at the ceiling. Kojiro licks a broad stripe up his neck. “Move, please move.”

 

“Are you sure?” Kojiro asks, even as he pulls halfway out to rock back in again, both groaning out loud at the sensation. It isn’t long before Kojiro is pumping into Kaoru with swift, ardent strokes, his eyes a burning brand, lower lip bitten between his teeth, small grunts escaping him with every thrust.

 

Kaoru meets him eagerly, heedless of the sizable mess on his stomach from his steadily leaking dick, several strands of hair sticking to his face with sweat as he tries to toss it out of his eyes, voice rising in pleasure each time Kojiro’s fat cock strikes home. He won’t last long, neither of them will, but that feels beyond the point. He wants it like this now, he wants everything Kojiro can give him, fast and hard and primal until they both come — the slowness, the tenderness can return later. 

 

Emboldened by his own rampaging lust, Kaoru pushes Kojiro away, enough to turn over and onto his hands and knees, hair spilling over his shoulders, into his eyes as he turns to look back at Kojiro, sultry and greedy. “Take me like this.”

 

“Gladly,” Kojiro breathes, fingers digging tight enough to bruise in hips that shove backwards, wanton, fucking back in slowly, shaking hands traveling upwards to tangle in long, silken hair the color of sunset.

 

Kaoru snarls, hot pleasure curling in his gut. “Pull it.” 

 

“Like this?”

 

“Harder.”

 

Kojiro complies — he always does, and has, hasn’t he, when it counts — and then the sound of smacking hips once again fills the room, thick and wet. Kaoru lets the ecstasy of being used like this wash over him, relishing the prickling burn in his scalp where his hair is yanked backward, neck straining, hands braced tight as he takes every deep, unerring thrust. Kojiro fucks exactly like Kaoru always suspected he might, all precise, calculated power, maneuvering Kaoru’s body with ease, paying close attention to what elicits the most desperate sounds, wringing them from him again and again.  

 

And then he moves in close, shoving himself harder inside with a wild moan he muffles into Kaoru’s hair, now half-damp with sweat, and inhaling deeply. 

 

“I can’t go back,” he says harshly, holding Kaoru close, punctuating every phrase with a deep thrust. “Not like before. Not after this.”

 

Kaoru isn’t capable of much more than a choked sob, feeling himself begin to lose composure, the pressure inside unraveling into something both wonderful and violent.

 

“Touch yourself,” Kojiro commands roughly, and so Kaoru does, the dam bursting at the first glance of his own palm against his aching cock. “Oh, fuck, yes, you feel so—!”

 

Kaoru’s vision shorts out in a wash of color as Kojiro fucks him through his orgasm, then lets himself be turned back over to watch dazedly as Kojiro yanks the condom off and strokes himself with red-faced abandon, crying out as he paints Kaoru’s stomach white with jet after jet of warm cum. When he’s spent, he collapses beside Kaoru with a deep sigh, both of them breathing heavily in the thick, dewy air.

 

Kaoru blinks, trying to summon one single coherent thought, and labors to puzzle it together when one finally wanders up to bat. He looks over at Kojiro, at his skin glowing and gleaming with the sweat of his exertion, eyes shut and lips upturned in postcoital bliss, and remarks petulantly, “You never told me your dick was like that.”

 

Kojiro’s smile widens, splits into a grin, and then he’s laughing, his right hand moving down to curl lazily, possessively around Kaoru’s upper thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles into the soft skin. Kaoru jerks and wiggles away, skin still overly sensitive in the afterglow. 

 

“I honestly don’t know what to say to that.”

 

“Hmm.” Kaoru sighs, using a corner of the sheet to wipe away the mess on his stomach and chest and then rolls onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow to better stare down the length of Kojiro’s body, openly admiring. It’s only natural that his hand follows the path of his eyes, so he lets it, tracing the chiseled panes and divots, and deliberately Does Not Notice Kojiro’s knowing smirk, just letting himself finally indulge. “I like you speechless,” he murmurs. “A vast improvement.”

 

“Is that so?” 

 

“That’s what I said.”

 

“Then you should fuck me next time.”

 

Kaoru freezes, goosebumps pebbling the back of his neck and down his arms at the sudden frisson of heat that Kojiro’s casual words inspire. He tilts his head, eyes slowly wandering Kojiro’s body again as he imagines it…

 

His brief, lurid fantasy is broken by Kojiro, who laughs softly at whatever is playing out across Kaoru’s face, even as his own flushes pink. “Wow. Whatever you were just thinking of, that’s exactly it. Do that.” Without warning, his hand rises to brush Kaoru’s hair away from his face, tuck it tenderly behind his ear. When he speaks, the words are hushed, almost reverent. “Fuck, I could look at you all day. Or night, whatever.”

 

Kaoru rolls his eyes to mask the way his stomach slowly cartwheels, shaking his head with a grimace. “Kojiro—”

 

“I may not say it in a fancy way,” Kojiro shrugs, then turns over onto his side to come face to face with Kaoru, his expression painfully earnest. “You’re the calligrapher here, not me! But I mean it. I want to look at you and touch you all the fucking time. I want to make you come every day. I want to,” he shakes his head, grappling for more words as his eyes dart between Kaoru’s, “I want to hold your hand, and know that when we get into it about whatever stupid thing, we can just make out when we get tired of fighting.”

 

Blushing, Kaoru opens his mouth to interject — with what, exactly, he isn’t sure — but then Kojiro is in his space, always right there in his space, and kissing him boneless again before he can think of what to say.

 

“I’m not explaining this to anybody,” Kaoru warns him, when he’s finally permitted to come up for air. 

 

Kojiro shakes his head with a slow blink, uncaring. “Let them wonder. Actually...you know, I don’t think anyone will be surprised.”

 

“You cannot call me baby in public,” Kaoru continues, ignoring the truth of the latter statement, stroking an appreciative hand over the rise of Kojiro’s hip, gripping the plump meat of his ass.

 

“Why, cuz it turns you on?” Kojiro winks, not missing a thing, and Kaoru seriously considers the possibility that this was all a colossal mistake. “Get you hot, baby? My precious, beautiful Cherry Blossom?” His hold tightens as he speaks, anticipating Kaoru’s instinct to push him away to dodge the deluge of praise, and he snickers into Kaoru’s ear as he rolls them onto his back, gazing up at him with all of the love that Kaoru will be able to vocalize in turn, one day, likely sooner than he expects, at this rate. 

 

Not yet, though.

 

“You won't miss your concubines, then?” 

 

“I have the only one I need, right here,” Kojiro quips, which earns him a sharp pinch in the side. “OW! Alright, you know what, maybe this was a mistake.”

 

Kaoru just beams, and leans down for another kiss.