Work Text:
He reminds Kiryu of summertime. A smile like golden sunlight streaming past the slats in the overhead veranda, both of them stretched out and sweating, sharing glass bottles of watermelon soda. Back at the orphanage, freshly dropped-out of school and blooming with bruises of paternal disappointment.
It’s snowing now and the taste of umeboshi paste is tart on Nishiki’s tongue as he kisses him, arching his back when Kiryu slides a hand beneath his waist.
“I gotta wake up early, Kiryu,” Nishiki sighs between kisses. Kiryu doesn’t deign him worthy of a response, the perceived insignificance of tomorrow’s Tojo meeting apparent in the way Kiryu’s stubble rubs against Nishiki’s chin. Nishiki likes him better clean-shaven, thinks it makes him look younger, but Kiryu doesn’t listen to his styling tips. Never really did.
“Kiryu,” he sighs again, voice low but pitching up on a whine. That characteristic brattiness. His complaints are fruitless. He doesn’t want to stop either. Their tongues are warm and the spit spreading between their lips is damp, sticky, and the space heater in Nishiki’s expensive high-rise apartment hums and soothes him into a dizzy lull, his muscles going boneless on the futon, his legs spreading as Kiryu moves atop him.
The space heater feels like summer on Kiryu’s back, a splotch of sun falling through the gaps of the canopy of magnolia trees, back when his skin was without a dragon. Fresh gangsters kissing in the grass like they didn’t have blood caking the rims of their nostrils because they picked fights they couldn’t handle.
Kiryu’s silhouette shading Nishiki from the heat. Now, he provides it.
Each limb snakes up. Arms thrown around Kiryu’s neck, his legs around his waist. Rubs against him, the heavy bulk of his cock sliding against Nishiki’s own dripping erection straining his pajama pants.
Kiryu’s smiling against his mouth. In the dark of the room, it’s more felt than seen.
“Kiryu,” Nishiki sighs. Raises his hips and pushes hard against Kiryu, until Kiryu throbs, until his dick twitches.
It’s on the side of painful whenever Nishiki rolls his hips in shallow circles.
“Yeah?” he finally asks, voice indicative of an increasing smoking habit. Nishiki smokes too, but Kiryu’s like a chimney these days. Has to have one before stepping into stores, hanging over bridges and tipping his ash into the river water behind Don Quixote before he can think about being bereft of one for more than thirty minutes.
He tastes like it, too.
“Eat my ass,” Nishiki sighs. Unwinds his arms from his neck and Kiryu shivers at the lack of warmth. Nudges a reddened nose against Nishiki’s cheek. Nishiki begins working down the waistband of his worn, thin pajama bottoms, until it gets caught around his knees. Kiryu lifts off of him to help him strip.
“It aches, Kiryu,” Nishiki says, his voice dipping low again, the fan of his inky lashes over angular, sometimes cruel-looking eyes hooding amber irises. He reaches down, both thighs pulled to a dove-white chest, and tugs his cheeks apart.
Shows off his gape reddened and loose from how often they’ve been fucking lately. Nishiki’s well-groomed, keeps himself clean and smooth, but there’s always a musk indicative of sex, of sweat dripping from between his legs.
Kiryu moves down, spreads him open with his thumbs, pressing on the tight elasticity of his rim until he can hear the soft noise of his insides working. It sounds slightly wet, maybe from lube or his cum from that morning. He leans forward and presses his lips to it, as if greeting him with a kiss.
Nishiki tosses his head back, loose black hair spilling over his pillow. He’s so pretty. Moonlight skin but he’s summery and humid between his legs, where Kiryu begins to lick. Laps at his puffy rim, spreads his tongue part-and-parcel inside and the corner of his lips quirk against his twitching asscheeks when Nishiki moans. Long and needy and Kiryu hopes the neighbors can hear the sound he makes when Nishiki’s spine rises a few inches from the futon.
Kiryu slurps, feeds a steady stream of spit into his hole. Gathers more saliva into his mouth, pulls away, and spits hard at his cunt.
Nishiki’s balls tighten at that.
“You’re making me wet,” Nishiki says, jerking himself off, the sound of his cock working in his hand giving truth to his melodic words. Kiryu’s making out with his hole, and the sloppy noises of Nishiki’s palm spreading the pre-cum along his shaft seems to match it. Slick and filthy.
Suddenly, too suddenly, Kiryu pulls away. Nishiki groans like a kicked dog, props himself up on one elbow and hits Kiryu with those dewy eyes, the onset of tears needling behind his eyes. As usual. Kiryu wipes his chin with the back of his hand, his facial hair wet.
Nishiki’s still playing with his pretty, heavy dick, even as he pouts. The offset of the innocent gaze, the bratty knit of his eyebrows, with the heft of his cock in his long, elegant fingers has Kiryu grunting as he crawls over him again. Pushes him down to the futon, kisses him deep.
“Mmgh,” Nishiki’s moan catches on a giggle that Kiryu swallows.
“You filthy bitch,” he sighs, fondly. Nishiki’s legs are still pressed to his magnolia-white chest and when Kiryu knocks his hips forward, his shaft slides against his gash lazily. Precum slips into where he’s open and twitching, feeding into the slick sounds from earlier.
“Me?” Nishiki tucks hair behind his ears. Hits him with that charming smile, all those blisteringly white teeth that charm so many girls at karaoke bars, at hostess clubs. “You’re the one who slipped inside me this morning.”
Kiryu shakes his head, nuzzles the swan-length of his throat. Holds coltish legs in two palms calloused from weight training and street fighting, and pushes inside him easily.
There’s no need to prep him. Nishiki’s got a perpetual pussy at this point, so soft and pliable, hot when he slips into it. They fuck every day, every night, it seems. Kiryu’s never not at his apartment at this point—has neglected two months of rent.
Clutches up around the thickest part of Kiryu’s dick and it doesn’t even matter that Kiryu’s been inside his hole only twelve hours ago. Every time he feels that silky heat of his best friend, his kyodai, his boyfriend, it’s the same as it’s always been.
Heat pooling in his abdomen, his dick twitching, Kiryu’s hips stuttering forward until he sinks in fully.
Already knows where Nishiki’s prostate is.
Knows everything about him. Knows when he hits it, the way Nishiki turns his head and parts his lips, his pulse visibly thrumming even in the dark of the room. Kiryu’s eyes have adjusted and the low light of the space heater with its burning fireplace-orange heat casts him in an outline of koi scale gold.
Fuck, Kiryu loves him. He loves him so much it aches. Aches in his heart.
His dick, too.
“Love being stuffed, don’t you?” Kiryu says, a hand going to the smooth, firm skin beneath Nishiki’s navel. Presses down on the lower abdominal muscles that become more prevalent every day. Nishiki gasps, his hips rising, and Kiryu can see how the slit of his cock shines with a new onset of pre-jizz. Slips clear and pretty as mist down the underside of his dick.
“Yeah,” Nishiki sighs, “Like taking it from you. My cunt’s made for you, you know…”
Kiryu pulls out. Feels the way that his walls clench around his dick, like he doesn’t want to let go of him. Slams forward too hard, too sudden, and Nishiki’s toes curl. Hiccups out a precious sound, kittenish, and Kiryu’s lips feel out the heart rate increasing in his neck.
“I know it is. I know. Your body sucks on my dick so good, Nishiki… And—fuck—so tight, still. No matter how much I fuck your slutty hole, it always stays so tight,” Kiryu’s voice is breathy, deep. Makes Nishiki shiver despite the heat of his body.
Bent almost in half, Nishiki’s guts ache when Kiryu nails his prostate with each thrust. His back aches, and he realizes he’s in a position he read about years ago—a position made for getting pregnant, keeping your feet up. He hooks them on either of Kiryu’s built shoulders and nails Kiryu with a look of sincerity.
“I want you to cum inside me,” he says. Kiryu always does, though. Kiryu just noses at his profile, keeps thrusting. Each drag outward makes Nishiki work his hips against his own, as if trying to stop him. Body working against Kiryu’s in tandem. That’s how they’ve always operated.
“I wish I could keep your cum inside me all day. I wish I could ignore everything and take you, over and over, be your little dickslut until I’m stuffed and leaking. And then open up my hole for you again, anytime you wanted.”
Kiryu’s thrusts become unrhythmic at the idea. Awkward, stuttering thrusts, shallower than before. No longer is he luxuriating in the full drag of Nishiki’s hole along the length of his shaft. He’s just humping him like a dog as he pictures it. Nishiki beings his perpetual cumdump, opening up a silk kimono anytime Kiryu asked, as if he’s a perfect wife made for a tough yakuza. These patriarchal images of a traditional system are senseless, not even fitting. Nishiki is far too capable and energetic to be bound in bed and taking dick all the time.
And yet, it gets Kiryu dizzy with arousal all the same. His mouth kisses whatever he can. His collarbone, his cheek, the sweaty, damp locks of his hair. He rears up to dig in deeper, on his knees now, holding Nishiki by the hips. Turns his face to kiss at the elegant turn of Nishiki’s ankle.
Like worship.
Nishiki adores him. His chest aches with affection, his hole with how full he feels.
Even warmer, fuller—everywhere—whenever Kiryu’s hips start twitching in that telltale sign of orgasm. Kiryu can feel his own cum searing hot inside Nishiki’s hungry cunt, can feel it coating his dick. Just like this morning.
“Fuck yeah,” Kiryu sighs, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he luxuriates in the sweet, white bliss of nothing but Nishiki. The minute throb of his insides, drinking up each spurt. And the way he’s looking at him, eyelids low lidded, a small smile perking up lips that are as plum colored as the umeboshi paste Nishiki had today. “That pussy all good and filled up now, huh, Nishiki?”
A tart smile, slightly sweet. An expression too kind for a face so sharp, suggestive of a sinister nature.
Kiryu’s balls are heavy and full all the time, and he feels like he’s made to breed Nishiki sometimes with how often he can fill him up. How much he stuffs him with, until his semen is leaking around where the fat jut of his cock plugs his cunt up.
“There we go,” Kiryu says. Rolls his hips in circles, his cockhead kissing his prostate still. Deep inside of him as his balls twitch, as it drips down onto the cloth of an already-stained and well-used futon ripe with their combined musk, despite Nishiki’s tendency for good grooming, for hygiene.
Kiryu has really made his mark.
When he pulls out, Nishiki’s cunt squelches and flexes, streaking out a strip of Kiryu’s spend, as if he’s squirting.
“God, that’s a fucking sight,” Kiryu says with a chuckle, that rumble that comes from his chest, gritty from nicotine use.
Kiryu never needs to smoke when he has Nishiki, a far preferable vice, by his side.
Nishiki’s jerking himself now, eyes sealing shut and eyebrows drawing up. Cums with a sigh like a lightly perfumed breezed, splattering his stomach pearlescent, his lower body twitching with it.
“Feel so empty,” he whimpers. It’s late now. The night is beginning to lighten, a deep purple sky beyond the frosted windowpane beginning to take on a few shades of grey with the oncoming rise of the sun.
Kiryu crawls behind him on the futon. Nishiki turns on instinct, pushes a firm, smooth ass well-used and sloppy against his torso. Kiryu hums in satisfaction, well-built biceps tossed around his ribs. Clutches up his chest in palms that are clammy, all the stiffness of the cold long since spurned from his fingers.
Spoons him.
“I’ll keep you plugged up until the morning, then,” he suggests.