Chapter Text
Giyuu can’t sleep.
He tried going to bed early tonight, plagued by boredom, but after an hour of tossing and turning under his sheets he throws them off and glares up at the ceiling. Eventually he sits up, clicks the light back on, and swings his legs off the bed.
Back on his feet, Giyuu wanders out to the living room, flicking on one of the lamps on his way to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. The rush of the faucet is unusually loud in the stillness of the apartment, and Giyuu keeps his steps light when he treads over to the couch.
It’s always especially quiet when Sanemi isn’t here. Giyuu enjoys his time alone, but sometimes he finds himself missing the presence of another person living alongside him—the faint sound of footsteps across the floor only a room away, the rustle of drawers opening and closing, the muffled grumble of Sanemi swearing to himself. The absence of such company becomes glaringly obvious at times like these, when the shadows in the corners are darker than normal and the silence is disturbed only by the hum of cars driving down the street below.
Giyuu sighs, crossing one leg over the other as he cradles the cool glass of his cup between his fingers. His shorts ride up his thigh, exposing him to the chilly air of the room, and a slight shiver skips across his skin.
He takes one more sip of water, then sets his cup aside. That’s when he notices the article of clothing thrown over the back of the couch only a couple feet away from where he’s sitting—Sanemi’s gym shirt, discarded haphazardly when he swung by for a change of clothes early this evening before setting off again.
Giyuu remembers he was in a hurry. That’s why he didn’t wait until he was inside his room to undress, shucking his shirt off while Giyuu was eating at the table. Sitting there, he had a perfect view of Sanemi’s body as he revealed it—the clean cut of his hip bones, then his abs, then his chest, still bathed in sweat from his workout. It was hard not to stare, as opportunities like this were rare, and soon Sanemi disappeared behind his bedroom door to change.
In the present, heat rises to Giyuu’s face. He forces himself to look away from the shirt, to separate himself from the memory, but not before he feels that heat trickle lower to settle between his legs.
It’s no secret (at least to him) that he’s attracted to Sanemi. Perhaps from the very moment they met, when Giyuu was about to give up his hunt for a suitable roommate when he showed up and Giyuu had never welcomed someone in his life faster.
But it wasn’t until recently that his feelings for Sanemi escalated from a fleeting crush to whatever the fuck it is now. And because of something so stupid, too—he can’t even remember most of that night, thanks to the fact that he was shit drunk when it happened, but clearly it was enough to leave him with a lasting impression.
A party at Uzui’s place. Lots of beer, lots of people. Games. Dumb, stupid games. Like spin the bottle. Giyuu sat down in the circle—he didn’t know why. He spun the bottle. Sanemi was there, too. Across from him. The bottle spinning, spinning. Slower. Even slower. And stopping. The neck of the bottle pointed at Sanemi’s left knee.
They shoved them in a closet, laughing, snickering, the click of the lock silent yet deafening in that dark stifled space. Sanemi said something, something about the party and the drinking and that they didn’t have to do this, not if Giyuu didn’t want to, and Giyuu could see his eyes in the thin sliver of light through the door crack. And then they were kissing, Giyuu’s hands in his hair and Sanemi’s on his face, numb from the blush and the adrenaline, on his waist and his hips and his ass. Sanemi kissed him dirty, with tongue and open mouth like he needed it to survive, and Giyuu kissed him back with just as much vigor and never questioned why. Then Sanemi’s hand started to inch past the waistband of his pants and the door opened and they weren’t alone anymore. So they stopped, walked out of the closet, and never talked about it again.
Giyuu bites his lip, one of his hands drifting down to the waistband of his shorts. If he tries hard enough he can bring himself back to that night, to the feeling of Sanemi pressed up against him, the firm grip of his hands and the warmth of his mouth.
Giyuu sighs, falling deeper into the memory. His fingers slip past his shorts to dip even lower, skirting dangerous territory, closer to where he can already feel himself growing damp.
That was almost two months ago. And every day since then, he’s been plagued by these thoughts—thoughts that shame and tempt him all at once, the forbidden apple dangled before his greedy, wanton eyes.
Like those moments when Sanemi brushes past him in their tiny ass kitchen, when he puts a hand on his waist to let him know he’s there and Giyuu has the wild fantasy of Sanemi using that same hand to bend him right over the counter. When he walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips, still covered in that damp sheen of moisture from the mist of the shower, and Giyuu feels his thighs squeeze involuntarily under the table. Or when he’s carrying bags of groceries inside and before he sets them down Giyuu gets a glimpse of his arms, the muscles flexing and the veins running down his forearms, and he forgets how to speak.
The heat between his legs pulses, demanding attention. Frustrated, Giyuu pulls his hand from his shorts with a huff, then quickly pushes them off. His underwear follows soon after, tossed aside in his impatience to settle back against the couch. But for a moment he sits still, legs together, hesitating as he eyes the empty room around him.
He’s never touched himself in such an open place before. Normally he locks himself inside his room late at night if the urge hits, and only when he’s sure Sanemi’s already gone to bed or out with his friends.
Well, he’s out tonight. And—Giyuu peeks at the clock above the T.V., hanging crooked on the wall since the day Sanemi threw the remote at it when the batteries stopped working—it’s only ten o’clock. He shouldn’t be back for at least another hour. Plenty of time for Giyuu to get off, clean up, and slink off to his room to wallow alone for the rest of the night.
With that in mind, Giyuu finally allows himself to get comfortable. He sinks into the pillows behind him, then lifts his feet off the floor to spread his legs. The skim of cold air between them makes him shiver, goosebumps rising to his skin. Giyuu tilts his hips up, squirming against the feeling, and lets his shirt roll up to expose his bare stomach too.
He drops a hand down, following the curve of his thigh higher and higher until his fingertips graze the outer folds of his pussy. He’s so sensitive that even his own touch makes his breath hitch.
Sometimes it seems like Sanemi knows. As if he can see right through Giyuu, every aversion of his eyes and stutter and blush. He’s hyperaware of how his body responds whenever Sanemi’s around, whenever he gets too close, and every now and then he worries that Sanemi notices it too.
But if he knows, then why hasn’t he made a move yet? It’s obvious enough that Giyuu wants it—wants him. That he would drop everything if Sanemi leaned close and told him he wanted him, too.
Giyuu’s fingers sneak lower, searching for the place where he aches. He’s already wet there, more than he expected, and without waiting he rubs his fingers through the mess and over his folds. Entranced by the softness of his own pussy, the tightness of it whenever he ventures down to nudge a fingertip against his hole.
Maybe Sanemi’s being a tease. Maybe he’s purposely dragging this out to see how long he can get away with it. How long Giyuu will be able to hold out, resist his desire until it consumes him from the inside out.
If that’s Sanemi’s end goal, then he won’t have to wait much longer. Giyuu’s starting to feel insane from dancing around the subject, and every day he comes closer and closer to giving in and throwing himself at Sanemi.
Giyuu strokes his fingers over his clit once more, then runs them down to tease at his entrance again. This time he presses a finger inside, crooking his wrist to work himself open, arcing his hips up to make it easier. Soon he adds another, fitting it alongside the first and sighing at the stretch. For a few minutes he appeases himself with this, fingering himself steadily, lazily, playing in the warmth of his cunt.
His eyes settle on Sanemi’s shirt again. It sits there so unassuming, only an arm’s length away, and the image of it seems to taunt him.
Before he knows it, Giyuu’s hand is moving on its own, grasping the shirt by its collar and lifting it up to his face. Against his better judgement, he inhales, soaking up the smell of Sanemi still embedded in the fabric. It loosens the tension wound into his body almost instantly, like a drug, and Giyuu muffles a desperate moan into the shirt.
Giyuu thrusts his fingers harder, deeper, trying to satisfy the burning need inside him. But all that does is worsen the urge, feeding and fueling it until Giyuu thinks he might burst. He’s so worked up that he can hear himself, the wet sounds of his pussy filling the air around him, but that’s only one of the things contributing to the blush on his face.
He needs more than this. Something bigger, something thicker. Something that will reach deeper than his fingers, curling pathetically inside him. Sanemi, he needs Sanemi—
But he isn’t here.
A pitiful whine breaks from his mouth. No, this isn’t enough. He can’t come like this.
Giyuu pulls his fingers out, then hurriedly pushes himself off the couch and onto wobbly legs. He stumbles back to his bedroom, awkward and clumsy as each step smears the wetness from his pussy all over his inner thighs.
Back in his room, Giyuu realizes he’s still holding Sanemi’s shirt in his hand. Without thinking, he tosses it on his pillow and climbs into his bed.
Before lying down, he hesitates. His eyes drift over to his nightstand, sitting innocently beside his bed, and on impulse he reaches over to yank the drawer open. Digging through it haphazardly, all the way in the very back, he finds what he’s looking for—his favorite toy, a decent-sized vibrator, stashed there for lonely nights just like this one. His knees go a little weak when he wraps his fingers around it, already anticipating the feel of it on him, inside him.
Quickly he pulls his hand from the drawer, snaps it shut, and flips himself over to lay on his back. Then he tugs the bottom hem of his shirt higher off his crotch and spreads his legs wide, biting his lip as he switches the vibrator on and brings it down to his cunt. He circles it around his clit first, already slippery with his own wetness, warming up to the stimulation before he applies it directly.
Giyuu glides the toy between his folds, drawing a messy line up and down his slit. Bumping up against his clit, lingering over his hole, a back and forth that has him whimpering in seconds. He holds one of his thighs back with one hand, his spine curving up towards the ceiling as he continues to tease himself. When he takes the vibrator away from his pussy altogether, he finds himself shuddering, sweat collecting under his knees and the small of his back.
Once he’s collected himself, Giyuu lowers the toy to his hole to test the give, wiggling his hips as he tries to fit the tip inside. One good push and it slips in, along with half the entire length.
“Hahh—” Giyuu snaps his mouth shut, forcing himself quiet out of instinct, then relaxes once he remembers he’s alone in the apartment. He adjusts his grip on the toy, trying to find a better angle, and tentatively begins to pump it in and out.
Over time, Giyuu’s discovered that he always comes harder with something inside him, filling him up. But it’s been too long since he came on a real cock, probably because he’s only had his eye on one man for ages now.
Giyuu eases the toy out until only the tip is left inside, then slides it all the way back in, fucking a looseness into his pussy until he can take it easily. He starts to quicken his pace, too impatient to wait any longer.
He wonders if Sanemi would be gentle with him. Cradle him in his arms like something precious, kiss him sweetly and spoil him with pretty words. Or if he’d be rough, throw him to the bed and hold him down and have his way with him. If he’d call him names in that same mean voice he uses whenever he gets in a mood.
Giyuu finds that the second option gets him more hot, so he decides to stick with that route and see where it takes him. His head falls to the side, nose brushing the fabric of Sanemi’s shirt, enveloping him in the muskiness of his scent and bringing the fantasy to life.
Sanemi on top of him, caging him in. The weight of his body above him, pressing him into the mattress. His mouth, whispering dirty words right into Giyuu’s ear. Telling him how pretty he looks, how good he feels. The bruises he’d leave in the silhouette of his fingers, splotched all over Giyuu’s waist, his hips, his thighs. Maybe even his neck.
Giyuu’s pussy flutters, his stomach twisting. His rhythm is starting to fall apart, his wrist cramping with the effort to fuck himself in this position, but he refuses to stop. He can feel his orgasm creeping up on him, simmering under his skin with the promise of sweeping him off his feet.
Giyuu lets his eyes fall shut, breathing in deep. He can almost see Sanemi hovering right over him, can almost hear his voice. The way he’d sound fucking him. Owning him.
Completely lost to his imagination, Giyuu slips the vibrator free from his hole and angles the tip against his clit, gasping when that makes his hips jump and his pussy spasm. He scrambles at the sheets, searching for a grip, his back arching as he fights against the urge to close his legs. He’s almost there, so close, so close he can almost taste it—
The door creaks open. Giyuu’s orgasm hits him before he can process it, slamming into him with a force unlike anything he’s ever felt before.
“Hey, Giy—oh, shit—”
Giyuu makes a horrid noise, snapping his legs shut against the biting sparks of pleasure flaring up his body. But he can’t stop it—he keeps coming, and coming, and coming, nearly biting through his own lip to keep himself quiet. A moan escapes him anyway, strangled and breathless, and Sanemi still hasn’t left—
Instead he’s staring. Through the blurriness of his vision Giyuu can see him staring, one hand on the doorknob, both eyes pinned on Giyuu. Something about the intensity in his eyes makes Giyuu come even harder, and frantically he grabs for the hem of his shirt, pulling it down in a futile attempt to cover himself as he continues to ride every wave of his orgasm.
“Mmm, fuck, fuck—what d-do you—fuck—what do you want?”
It’s impossible to read Sanemi’s face, what he’s thinking. He’s gone expressionless, a look that Giyuu’s never quite seen on him before. It puts Giyuu on edge, and yet…
“I was looking for my shirt.”
“Oh, it’s—” It’s outside, on the couch, is what Giyuu means to say. But then he remembers that isn’t true anymore, because he took it with him into his room where he apparently forgot to lock the door, and now half of it is pillowed under his head. Fuck. Fuck.
Giyuu pushes himself up on one weak elbow, then further onto two shaky arms, and picks up the shirt with one tentative hand.
“Um, here.”
Sanemi lets go of the doorknob, and just a few steps take him to the edge of Giyuu’s bed. Giyuu lifts the shirt a little higher, offering it to Sanemi, making sure his eyes stay fixed at some point beyond Sanemi’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this embarrassed before. In fact, he doesn’t know why Sanemi hasn’t thrown him out yet, why he’s still so calm. After all, he just caught Giyuu getting off on the smell of his clothes—saw him come, for god’s sake.
When Sanemi doesn’t take his shirt from him immediately, Giyuu resorts to apologizing, though he’s sure it won’t do much good.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was—”
He doesn’t get to the rest of his sentence, because then Sanemi’s bending down and cupping a hand behind his neck and kissing him. Giyuu freezes instantly, too shocked to make a move, eyes popping wide open.
And then he’s kissing him back. His brain is lagging several steps behind, still trying to process everything from the moment Sanemi interrupted him, but Giyuu isn’t keen on wasting anymore time. He’s already spent months waiting for this exact moment, and now that it’s here he’s going to latch onto it and never let go.
But just as fast as Sanemi kissed him, he’s pulling away. Giyuu’s both surprised and embarrassed to find himself panting, already reaching out to reel Sanemi back in. Blushing, he retracts his hands and sets them on his lap.
“You have no idea,” Sanemi breathes, “how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”
Giyuu’s heart seems to stop. His eyes flicker, low in the lamplight. “What else have you been waiting to do?”
“This,” Sanemi says, and pushes him down to the bed again.