Work Text:
Atsushi would be the first to admit he hadn’t exactly planned for things to move this slowly. Not that he was complaining — three months in, and dating Akutagawa had already been far more than he’d ever dared hope for.
The Christmas party kiss had been an accident, born of too much alcohol and a poorly timed blackout. What came after wasn’t. The question slipped out earlier this year, once the big project they’d been working on together finally wrapped up.
Three months later, they had a rhythm. Dates that alternated between Atsushi’s optimism and Akutagawa’s understated silences. There had been kissing as well. A lot of them. Then, inevitably, the kissing turned into hands slipping under shirts, fingers brushing skin, gasps pressed into each other’s mouths. Atsushi had lost count of how many times he’d been kissed breathless against Akutagawa’s apartment door, his head spinning.
But beyond that — nothing. Not because they didn’t want to. Atsushi wanted it. Badly. And he was sure Akutagawa did too, from the way he sometimes kissed him like a starved man. But they never found the right timing. Someone was always calling, knocking, barging in.
Tonight felt different.
The office was mostly dark, long past its hours, with desks lit only by the glow of computer screens and the scattered remains of half-finished drawings. Atsushi had been leaning over to explain a sketch, hand waving over paper, when Akutagawa’s fingers closed around his wrist.
“You’re rambling again,” Akutagawa said softly, flush high on his cheekbones.
Atsushi blinked. “Oh, sorry—”
He never finished.
The grip around his wrist lingered, deliberate. Atsushi’s words dried in his throat when Akutagawa’s thumb brushed once, faintly, against his pulse. They stared at each other across the small gulf of the desk, silence pressing down heavier than the hum of the fluorescent lights.
Atsushi swallowed. He meant to pull back, to crack a joke, to ask what was wrong. Instead, he found himself leaning slightly, caught in the sharp line of Akutagawa’s gaze.
The chair creaked as Akutagawa shifted, tugging with enough force that Atsushi stumbled closer. His knees hit the desk, awkward and graceless, but Akutagawa didn’t look away. Didn’t let go.
“Wait,” Atsushi started, breathless, though he wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.
And then Akutagawa tugged harder, pulling him down into his lap.
The kiss that followed was rough and immediate, shattering the fragile restraint between them. One of Akutagawa’s hands cupped his cheek, the other sliding to the sliver of skin at his hip where his sweater hung loose. Papers slid off the desk as his knees knocked against the chair, fumbling to hold on. His head spun, heat curling low in his stomach.
He barely noticed when his own hand slipped under Akutagawa’s shirt, fingertips grazing the sharp line of his ribs. The low groan that escaped from his mouth only spurred him on. He dragged his hand higher, palm flattening against heated skin, until Akutagawa caught him by the wrist again — just long enough to yank it lower, pressing it against the hard line of his belt.
Atsushi’s pulse tripped. He swallowed the sound that wanted to escape, moving without thinking, fingers fumbling at the buckle even as Akutagawa kissed him harder, teeth scraping. His other hand clutched at Atsushi’s hip, dragging him down until their bodies slotted together.
The friction made Atsushi whine. Heat flared sharp and insistent, each movement of his hips sending sparks through his veins. Akutagawa’s grip was bruising, demanding, urging him to keep going.
“Ryuu—” he panted, breaking just enough to breathe.
“Don’t stop.” It came out low and ragged, nothing like his usual clipped tone.
Their rhythm grew frantic, the chair groaning under their weight, the desk rattling with every press of Atsushi’s body against his. The air thickened, filled with the sound of harsh breathing, the rustle of fabric, the unmistakable drag of arousal. Atsushi could feel the edge of it building, tight and overwhelming—
And then the door banged open.
“Atsushi! The column—”
Atsushi jolted as though doused in ice water, scrambling back so quickly he nearly toppled the chair. His face burned, breath coming in gasps, lips swollen, and shirt half-untucked.
Akutagawa’s scowl could have killed a man, but he straightened instantly, expression shuttered.
“Reviewing the load path,” he said flatly, voice a little roughened.
Kunikida’s eyes narrowed. “Good. Because we’re keeping it.” He hesitated, folder thudding onto the desk. His gaze flicked between them, sharp, pointed. “And next time… lock the door.”
The slam of the door echoed after him.
Silence lingered. Atsushi pressed his hands to his face, mortified, pulse still racing, lips swollen, and shirt half-untucked. Their relationship wasn’t a secret anymore; everyone in the office already knew, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating to be barged in on. Especially when they’d been two seconds away from something incriminating, in a place where they absolutely shouldn’t have been doing anything incriminating.
When he finally dared to peek through his fingers, Akutagawa was already staring at him, gaze steady and sharp, like he was pinning Atsushi in place without lifting a finger.
There was no mistaking the heat in it. Not when Atsushi felt it coil tight in his stomach, a wordless reminder of what they’d just been on the edge of. His throat bobbed, suddenly dry, and he scrambled for anything — anything — to break the silence.
“Right,” he mumbled, collapsing back into the chair, eyes darting everywhere but back at him. “Work. We should, um— go back to work.”
Akutagawa didn’t answer. He let the silence stretch, gaze unwavering, until Atsushi squirmed under the weight of it.
Only then did Akutagawa turn back to the desk, expression as blank as if nothing had happened at all.
Atsushi wasn’t fooled. Not when his own body was still thrumming with the echo of it.
It was supposed to be a quiet evening. Just dinner with Gin, something simple. Atsushi had even insisted on helping chop vegetables, though his knife skills made Akutagawa’s right eye twitch the entire time until he was banished from the kitchen to “just set the table.”
So he did. Plates, chopsticks, the careful fuss of someone who wanted everything perfect. They didn’t get evenings like this often. A normal dinner almost felt decadent.
Which was why Atsushi was still catching his breath at how quickly things had veered off-course.
He’d only meant to sit on the couch for a minute, waiting for Gin to arrive. Akutagawa had followed him, dropping beside him with that usual sharp economy of movement, laptop abandoned for once. Atsushi, restless, had leaned in with a teasing comment about how tense he looked, how maybe he should try smiling more.
And then Akutagawa kissed him.
It wasn’t new. They’d been kissing for months now, hungry moments stolen in doorways and hallways. But there was something different in the way Akutagawa pulled him closer this time, fingers curling tight at the nape of his neck. Something impatient, almost reckless.
Atsushi’s laugh dissolved against his mouth. He shifted, straddling his lap without thinking, arms winding around his shoulders for balance. Their teeth clashed on the next kiss, messy and hot, and the sound that tore out of Akutagawa’s throat made Atsushi’s stomach flip.
The couch dipped beneath them as Atsushi rocked forward, gasping when he felt the hard line pressing against him through their slacks. Heat flushed through him so fast he almost groaned.
“Wait— Gin—” he tried, even as he ground down again, helpless against the way it made Akutagawa’s breath stutter.
“Not here yet.” The words were low, rasping, as Akutagawa’s grip at Atsushi’s hips slid higher, fingers exploring the bare expanse of his back.
Atsushi swallowed, dizzy, every nerve screaming at him to keep going. His brain knew better, knew Gin could be at the door any minute, but Akutagawa’s mouth was hot against his throat, teeth grazing the skin, and the thought of stopping slipped further away with every pass of those hands under his sweater.
“We can be quick,” Atsushi whispered, reckless, breath catching as Akutagawa’s hips canted up to meet his, grinding in just the right way.
Before he lost his nerve, Atsushi slid off Akutagawa’s lap and onto his knees. The carpet bit faintly into them, but he hardly noticed — too busy fumbling at the clasp of Akutagawa’s belt with shaking hands.
Akutagawa stilled, breath harsh, eyes dark and fixed squarely on him. The sight alone made Atsushi’s chest clench. He’d never seen him look like that — caught somewhere between shock and raw hunger, as if Atsushi had just crossed a line Akutagawa hadn’t dared to imagine.
“Atsushi—” His voice was rough, laced thick with warning and want.
Atsushi only glanced up through his lashes, lips parted, heart hammering. His fingers brushed cold metal, tugging clumsily at the buckle. He leaned in closer, dizzy with anticipation, so close he could feel the heat radiating through the fabric—
The front door swung open.
“I have ears, you know,” Gin’s voice carried, flat and cutting, from the entryway. “And eyes, unfortunately.”
Atsushi jerked back like he’d been shocked, knees skidding against the floor as he scrambled upright. His face was flushed, shirt half untucked. “Gin-san! We— uh— this isn’t—”
“We’re just setting the table,” Akutagawa cut in coolly, already tugging his belt back into place with practised precision. He looked perfectly composed, voice steady, movements sharp, if not for the flush high on his cheekbones and the telltale red staining the tips of his ears.
Gin raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking over them both, unimpressed. “I’ll pretend to believe that. Dinner’s going to be very awkward if you don’t get your act together.”
His knees still ached, his pulse thundered in his ears, and the memory of Akutagawa’s expression was burned so sharply into his mind he knew it would haunt him through the entire meal.
It did.
He spent dinner smiling too brightly, nodding along to Gin’s stories, laughing in all the right places — while every so often a sharp ache pulsed low in his body, insistent and impossible to ignore. His thighs pressed together under the table in a futile attempt at relief. Every glance at Akutagawa across the plates only made it worse; his face was its usual impassive mask, but Atsushi couldn’t unsee what had been there minutes before.
By the time Gin excused herself for tea, Atsushi was half sure he’d forgotten how to taste food. His brain had been lodged firmly in the gutter, replaying the moment over and over until it felt like torture.
Later, when the plates were cleared, and they’d migrated to the lounge, he did his best to keep up with the conversation. Gin asked about work, Akutagawa actually answered, and Atsushi tried to laugh along in the right places, but exhaustion caught up with him. His body, strung tight all evening, finally gave in. Somewhere between Gin recounting a story from school and Akutagawa making a dry remark in return, Atsushi dozed off against the arm of the couch.
When he blinked awake again, the room was quieter. Gin had already gathered her things and gone; Akutagawa was watching him from the other end of the sofa.
“It’s quite late,” he said simply, as if nothing else had happened that night. A beat passed, his gaze flicking over Atsushi’s half-lidded eyes, before he added, quieter, “You should head back. You’re tired.”
Atsushi rubbed at his face, the weight of sleep still dragging at him, and nodded. He didn’t think about what might have been, only about the comfort of his own bed waiting for him.
The site looked different from the drawings. Atsushi knew it would; he’d been told a hundred times that paper lines never matched the weight of concrete, that plans were only abstractions. But stepping through the gates that morning, helmet snug on his head, vest zipped, he still found himself staring.
The facade was up, scaffolding stripped back to just a few stubborn sections clinging to the upper levels. A single-storey facility crouched off to the side — temporary rooms for storage and site staff — but the main apartment block rose clean and solid, sun flashing against glazing.
It wasn’t finished, not yet. There were bare patches, taped-off corridors, and deliveries stacked in crates. Still, the bones were there.
“So this is it,” Atsushi murmured, trailing after the group as they crossed the forecourt. He kept glancing up, then back down at the plans folded under his arm, trying to reconcile the two. “It’s… actually real.”
Akutagawa gave him a look out of the corner of his eye. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Not this. Just— when I drew those walls, it was all lines and numbers. And now…” He shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Now you can stand under it. You can touch it.”
The group split, with supervisors leading clusters through different stairwells. One path curved toward a polished display suite, complete with staging: rugs, framed prints, scented candles pretending at homeliness. The other wound deeper into unfinished units.
By the time Atsushi and Akutagawa ducked into a side corridor, they were mainly left to their own devices. Their footsteps echoed, the air cool and sharp with the scent of cement.
“This one’s a two-bed,” Akutagawa said, scanning the bare concrete. “The kitchen will go here. Services are already capped.”
Atsushi trailed in after him, boots crunching faintly on grit. He looked around with wide eyes, trying to imagine plaster instead of raw edges, floorboards instead of dust. Sunlight spilled in from a tall window, bright against the unfinished slab.
“What’s that little nook in the corner?” he asked, pointing toward the recess where the wall met the full-height glazing.
Akutagawa followed his line of sight. “Probably meant to be a study.”
“Oh.” Atsushi’s smile softened. “That’d be nice. A desk right by the window.” He could already see it in his head — mornings with coffee, sunlight spilling over sketches, Akutagawa leaning against the desk with a mug in hand, gaze caught on the view outside. “I’d love to have a study like that.”
The words tumbled on before he could stop them. “Maybe when we live together later, we could do that. Have the second bedroom as a study.”
Silence landed heavily in the unfinished room.
Atsushi froze, heart dropping into his stomach. Oh god. Too fast. Too much. We’ve only been together three months, and now I’m talking about living together?! His face burned. He opened his mouth to take it back, to laugh it off.
But Akutagawa just stared at him. His expression was unreadable as ever, though Atsushi could’ve sworn his breath hitched.
For a moment, Atsushi thought he’d grown two heads.
For a moment, Akutagawa was simply taken aback, because Atsushi had put into words the one thing he’d never dared to hope for.
The silence stretched, heavy as the bare concrete around them. Atsushi’s ears burned. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, desperate to take it back, to laugh, to say something before the moment swallowed him whole.
But then Akutagawa shifted. Just the slightest movement — his shoulders tightening, the set of his jaw faltering, his eyes flicking down and then back up.
He stepped closer.
Atsushi’s breath caught. He could feel the sharp pull of it, like the air itself was bracing. For a second, he thought Akutagawa might retreat again, wall himself off behind that unshakable poker face. But the mask was cracking — the faintest tremor in his gaze, the weight of something unspoken pressing out between them.
Atsushi closed the gap. Just a tilt forward, just enough.
Their mouths met in a brush of hesitation, tentative and tender, so at odds with the charged silence that had come before. Atsushi’s lips were dry; he licked them nervously and pressed in again, a little firmer this time. Akutagawa’s breath shuddered against him, the sound betraying more than words ever could.
For a moment, that was enough. The quiet of an unfinished room, the taste of dust and sunlight in the air, the familiar gentleness between them.
But the moment didn’t stay quiet for long.
Akutagawa’s cool, slender hands cupped his cheeks, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. The clasp of Atsushi’s helmet snapped open beneath deft fingers; Atsushi mirrored the action in a daze, fumbling with Akutagawa’s buckle until both helmets clattered to the unfinished floor with a thunderous thud. The sound echoed off the concrete, too loud, and they both flinched, but neither stopped.
The next thing Atsushi knew, his back was pressed against the wall, the raw chill of it seeping through his vest. The kiss grew heavier, more insistent, Akutagawa’s mouth dragging against his with a rough hunger that made Atsushi shiver. He gasped against him, only to stumble forward when sharp teeth grazed the column of his throat.
His own mouth found Akutagawa’s neck in return, tentative at first, then bolder — kissing, biting, leaving marks that pulled low, muffled groans against his neck. Atsushi’s hands slid under his vest, tugging the zipper down and pressing flat against the hard plane of his chest until he found the buttons beneath and clumsily worked them loose.
The air filled with the sound of their breathing — ragged, uneven, punctuated by gasps and low moans whenever fingers caught bare skin or teeth scraped just right. The friction of their hips colliding and grinding through layers of fabric only stoked the fire higher. Atsushi could feel the heat of it everywhere, his body thrumming with desperate need.
Then Akutagawa’s hand slipped lower. His belt unbuckled with terrifying precision, the cool slide of fingers against heated skin making Atsushi jolt and gasp outright. The sensation burned and thrilled all at once, pleasure spiking up his spine. He bit back a noise, clutching harder at Akutagawa’s shoulders, and then—
“Is everything okay here?” A voice rang down the hall, closer with each step.
They broke apart like they’d been burned, scrambling so fast it was a miracle neither of them cracked their skulls on the wall. Atsushi caught on the edge of his half-unbuckled pants and went down hard, landing with a graceless thump that knocked the breath out of him.
Which left him on his ass. Directly in front of Akutagawa. Face level with — oh god.
Akutagawa’s vest hung open, his shirt half-unbuttoned, belt undone, pale skin flushed beneath. For once, his composure faltered; a startled laugh slipped out of him, short and rough-edged but unmistakably genuine. Atsushi’s stomach twisted at how unfairly cute it was.
Then the flashlight beam hit.
Mark Twain, the site supervisor leading their tour, stepped into view, hard hat tilted back and expression teetering between confusion and horror. “Uh.” His gaze flicked from the scattered helmets to Atsushi on the ground, right at crotch-height, before landing on Akutagawa, dishevelled and flushed.
“He tripped and fell,” Akutagawa said flatly, the picture of deadpan denial.
“Uh-huh.” Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “Right. You okay there?”
Atsushi’s face went up in flames. He gave a weak thumbs-up, smiling meekly as though that would erase the scene.
Mark’s gaze darted again, clearly taking in the unzipped vest, the scattered gear, the way Atsushi was still practically kneeling between Akutagawa’s legs.
“I see,” he said finally, tone thin. “I won’t intrude then.”
“It’s not like that!” Atsushi yelped, scrambling upright so fast he nearly tripped on himself again.
Mark was already retreating, muttering something about checking the lift shaft. His footsteps faded down the hall.
Akutagawa adjusted his shirt with infuriating composure, though his ears were bright red. “It is like that, though,” he said cooly, as if they hadn’t just been seconds from being caught red-handed.
Atsushi buried his face in his hands. He would never be able to look Mark in the eye again. Ever.
Kyoto in spring was almost too picturesque. Petals drifted in soft showers down temple paths, scattering pink against the stone, catching in Atsushi’s hair no matter how often he brushed them off. He couldn’t stop staring — even after the morning sessions of the conference, even with the day’s schedule tight, the detour to see the temples felt like something out of a postcard.
They took pictures, too many to count. Akutagawa, stiff at first, eventually relented to Atsushi tugging him into frame. Behind them, Dazai and Chuuya bickered like always — half flirty, half at each other’s throats, loud enough that Atsushi was sure the temple staff were grateful when the group moved along. Kunikida looked an inch away from having a migraine, muttering about “professional conduct” while Tanizaki only laughed and took another photo on his phone. Atsushi, meanwhile, mentally catalogued which matcha sweets to pick up for Ranpo before the train back.
By the time they reached the hotel that evening, everyone was worn thin. The reception desk announced, with apologetic efficiency, that there were two queen rooms and one twin room available.
“Chuuya and I’ll take the queen,” Dazai said immediately, elbowing his partner with a grin that earned him a glare.
Atsushi blinked, about to suggest he and Akutagawa do the same, when Tanizaki cleared his throat. “I’ll share the twin with Kunikida-san. You two can… have space.” His gaze flicked toward them, glinting unmistakably knowing, the kind that said yeah, we all know, don’t worry about it. Then he grinned, easygoing as ever, and turned back to the receptionist to collect the keys.
Kunikida sighed in relief. “Good. Settled.”
Keys were passed out. Luggage was rolled down carpeted halls. Atsushi found himself unlocking a door beside Akutagawa, the two of them stepping into a neat, impersonal hotel room, their bags thudding softly against the floor.
He glanced at the bed. One queen, neatly made, two pillows set side by side. Heat rose to his cheeks.
The thought tumbled through him with a mix of nervous anticipation and something darker, deeper, low in his stomach. For once, there were no interruptions. A locked door. Just the two of them.
The hotel room was neat and impersonal: grey carpet, heavy curtains drawn over the window, and a single queen bed made crisp and symmetrical. Atsushi placed his bag down by the desk, pulling out the small paper parcels of matcha sweets he’d picked up to bring back for the office. He stacked them carefully, too carefully, as if lining them up just right would distract from the awareness of the bed only a few steps away.
He fussed a little longer than necessary before blurting, “Do you— do you want me to take the couch?” His voice came out awkwardly high, and he winced.
Akutagawa, already setting his phone on the nightstand, glanced at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. The bed is big enough for both of us.”
Atsushi swallowed, nodding quickly, though his ears burned. Right. Of course. Just sharing a bed. Totally fine. Totally normal.
They took turns using the shower and changed into sleepwear — Akutagawa in navy sweatpants and a loose white sweater that made him look so comfortable. Atsushi opted for his favourite white tiger-print hoodie and grey sweatpants, soft from wear.
Soon they were side by side on the bed, pillows propped up behind them, the TV's glow flickering across their faces. The room’s main light was off, only the soft amber of the bedside lamp kept the edges of the room visible.
“What did you think of today?” Atsushi asked after a while, voice low, relaxed now that the silence had stretched into a more comfortable territory.
“Was efficient,” Akutagawa said, which Atsushi translated as “I got to do everything I wanted to do.”
He smiled faintly. “Kyoto’s beautiful. Maybe one day we could visit Osaka, too. It looks nice, and I heard their takoyaki are to die for. And Okinawa’s supposed to be really beachy — I’d love to see that.”
Akutagawa made a quiet noise, noncommittal, but he didn’t look away from him.
Their chatter drifted, lighter now, until words faded altogether. The TV hummed on, casting shifting light over the bed, but neither of them was watching. The closeness was heavy, charged. Atsushi could feel it — the quiet certainty that tonight might finally be different.
His heart kicked when Akutagawa’s gaze flicked to his mouth.
Atsushi leaned in first, tentative. Their lips met softly, testing, as if relearning each other in the new context of quiet lamplight and shared space.
Their lips met softly, testing the waters, a whisper of contact that lingered just a heartbeat too long. Atsushi pulled back an inch, eyes wide, pulse thudding in his ears. Akutagawa’s expression softened, the faintest flush creeping up his neck.
Atsushi swallowed, nerves tying knots in his stomach. He kissed him again, a little firmer this time, his hand brushing clumsily against the edge of Akutagawa’s sleeve. The warmth of it made his chest ache.
It seemed that they had kissed for hours, and when they finally parted, Atsushi’s breath came fast, uneven. The TV hummed in the background, forgotten. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he whispered, “Do you… want to try, um— tonight?” The words tumbled out half-broken, shaky with nerves, but there was no mistaking what he meant.
For a moment, silence pressed in, heavy as the lamplight between them. Atsushi’s heart felt like it might burst.
Then Akutagawa shifted closer, hand lifting to cup Atsushi’s jaw with deliberate calm. His touch was steady; his eyes lingered on Atsushi’s. “If you want to.”
The simple reply sent a shiver down Atsushi’s spine. He nodded, too quickly, too earnest, face heating even as relief loosened his chest.
They leaned in again, mouths finding each other more surely this time, the kiss deepening by degrees. It wasn’t hurried, not yet. Just the slow, unspoken agreement that tonight, maybe, they could let themselves go further.
The next kiss was nothing like the first.
Akutagawa pulled him in by the jaw, steady and sure, and Atsushi melted against him with a sound he couldn’t contain. Their mouths slid together, deeper this time, all hesitation burned away. The kiss turned rough, teeth clashing, breath stolen between them.
Atsushi’s hands fumbled at the hem of Akutagawa’s sweater, tugging it upward until his fingers brushed heated skin. The sweater hit the floor in a careless heap. In return, Akutagawa tugged at the hem of Atsushi’s hoodie, yanking it and pulling it over Atsushi’s head, leaving him in just his sweatpants, chest rising and falling too fast.
The TV still flickered in the background, blue light strobing across the sheets, but Atsushi barely registered it. All he knew was the weight of Akutagawa’s body pressing him down into the mattress, the sharp gasp against his lips when their hips ground together.
Atsushi bit back a whine, clutching at his shoulders. The friction was unbearable, hot and dizzying through their sweatpants. Every grind sent sparks rushing low in his stomach, every hitch of breath making him crave more.
Akutagawa’s hand slid down, sure and deliberate, fumbling at the waistband of Atsushi’s pants. Fingers brushed skin, cool against the heat radiating off him, and Atsushi gasped outright, arching helplessly. The rush of it pushed him past hesitation; with shaking hands, he shoved down Akutagawa’s sweats and wrapped his fingers around him, stroking clumsily but desperately.
The sound Akutagawa made — sharp, bitten off — nearly undid him. His own hand slipped inside Atsushi’s sweats in turn, fingers wrapping around heated flesh, and Atsushi broke with a strangled cry, bucking into the touch.
It was messy, frantic, hungry. Their breaths tangled as they worked each other in sync, pants shoved low on their hips, bare skin grinding together between the frantic slide of hands. Atsushi’s throat worked around broken gasps; Akutagawa’s teeth grazed his collarbone, sucking a mark that made Atsushi’s back arch off the sheets. They were right there, on the brink, the room thick with heat and the slick sound of their strokes.
They were right there. So close.
And then—
A guttural groan vibrated through the wall, loud enough to cut the air in two.
“Dazai— Fuck!” Chuuya’s voice, ragged and breathless, carried clear through the plaster.
A loud bang of a headboard against the wall followed, rattling the frame of their own bed.
“Chuu— Ah, there!” Dazai’s voice rang out, shameless, clear as day.
Atsushi froze, eyes wide in horror. His hand stilled where it wrapped around Akutagawa.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” he whispered hoarsely.
Atsushi froze, every muscle in his body locking tight. His face flamed hot enough to burn, mortification slamming through him harder than any rush of heat. “Oh my god,” he breathed, barely audible, but it didn’t matter — his entire body had already gone stiff with horror.
Akutagawa stilled. For a moment, he didn’t move, eyes shadowed, breath still rough against Atsushi’s cheek. Then, reluctantly, he slowly drew back. He tugged his sweater back on with jerky motions, ears red, jaw tight.
The bed creaked as he settled back against his side, a careful space opening up between them. The noise from next door carried on, impossible to ignore — groans and thuds and moans like a concert of everything Atsushi wished he wasn’t hearing.
Atsushi scrambled upright, tugging his hoodie back over his head with shaking hands. His face still burned; he didn’t dare look at Akutagawa, not with the racket echoing through the wall.
He flopped back onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. “This is the worst,” he mumbled into his palms, voice muffled.
Akutagawa said nothing, only shifted until he was lying beside him again. When Atsushi finally peeked through his fingers, he caught a glimpse of him — sweater rumpled, hair mussed, ears still burning red.
The mood was gone, but Akutagawa hadn’t moved far. That counted for something.
With a sigh, Atsushi reached for the remote, flicking the TV on just to drown out the sounds next door. The blue light washed over them, filling the silence with harmless chatter. They sat side by side, not touching, but not apart either, until gradually the tightness in Atsushi’s chest eased.
When the noise from the other room finally died down, Atsushi set the remote aside, blinking tiredly. He hesitated, nerves prickling all over again — until Akutagawa exhaled and tugged him close with a firm arm around his waist.
Atsushi startled, then melted instantly, burrowing into the soft cotton of his sweater. The scent of laundry soap and faint cologne grounded him; the steady pressure of Akutagawa’s chest against his back felt safer than anything.
They lay like that, the lamplight dimmed, the TV forgotten, wrapped into each other until sleep came.
Whatever chance they’d lost tonight, Atsushi thought, this was still more than enough.
The office was too quiet after hours.
It wasn’t late, not really — just past seven — but everyone else had already gone home. The low hum of the plotter filled the print room, sheets of crisp paper feeding slowly through, one after another. Atsushi hovered by the bench, stacking the finished drawings into neat piles, double-checking they’d be ready for the client meeting tomorrow.
He’d texted Akutagawa on instinct, thumbs stumbling over the screen.
Atsushi: just printing stuff for the meeting rn
Atsushi: gonna drop them in the boardroom, then we can grab dinner?
The reply came faster than expected.
Akutagawa: Wrapping up now. I’ll come by.
Atsushi had stared at the screen a moment too long, warmth creeping into his ears. There was something unspoken in it, the telltale of I’ll keep you company and I want to spend more time with you.
When the door opened, Akutagawa stepped in, scanning the space with faint amusement. The room was cluttered in that very particular architectural way: oversized rolls of paper stacked haphazardly, scale models resting under plastic covers, scraps of balsa and acrylic in neat bins beside the cutting bench.
“We had a printer lab at uni,” he said dryly, “but nothing like this.” His eyes lingered on a model of a facade fragment, sharp lines under the fluorescent lights. “Engineers don’t make things this pretty. Not after graduation, anyway.”
Atsushi laughed, scratching his cheek. “We kind of live off them here. The clients like something they can poke at.”
He shuffled another set of drawings onto the pile, then glanced up. “What should we have for dinner?”
“There’s a new yakitori place ten minutes from here,” Akutagawa said. “We can walk after.” He didn’t phrase it like a question, but his tone softened a little, as if testing the waters.
Atsushi’s stomach growled at the thought; he could almost smell the chargrilled meat already. He beamed, “That sounds amazing, I can’t wait!”
They lapsed into easy chatter after that, voices low against the drone of the plotter. It felt oddly domestic — just the two of them, in the dim hum of the machine, talking about nothing and everything while the paper fed through.
The plotter whirred on, another sheet sliding into the tray with a soft rustle. Atsushi gathered it up, smoothed the edge against the pile, then set it down on the bench. The room fell quiet again, just the mechanical hum and the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.
That was when his brain betrayed him.
Out of nowhere, the image slammed into his mind — Akutagawa’s pale fingers, stained faintly with ink, fisting in the collar of his sweater and dragging him forward. His back hitting the cutting bench, hips caught between Akutagawa’s knees, the sharp press of a mouth crushing against his, teeth scraping, breath hot and demanding. Atsushi could almost feel the cool bite of the bench against his spine, the blunt scrape of nails through fabric.
The thought was so sharp, so sudden, that Atsushi flushed hot all over, ears burning. He shook his head quickly, willing it away. Don’t think about that. Don’t think about that.
“…You’re red,” Akutagawa said flatly.
Atsushi nearly dropped the stack in his hands. “Huh? N-no, I’m fine! Just— it’s warm in here, isn’t it?”
Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, gaze steady in a way that made Atsushi’s stomach twist. “It isn’t.” His voice was cool, but his hand lifted anyway, brushing against Atsushi’s temple, sliding briefly down to the curve of his cheek. “You’re hot.”
The touch made Atsushi’s breath catch. “I— it’s nothing.”
A pause. Then, with faint suspicion curling at the edges of his tone, Akutagawa said, “Why are you suddenly red? Were you thinking of something you shouldn’t?”
The words hit like a jolt. Atsushi sputtered, face flaming brighter. “Wh— what? No! I wasn’t—! I wasn’t thinking about anything weird!”
The corner of Akutagawa’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but something sly, sharp, almost amused. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Atsushi opened his mouth, then closed it again, words tangling uselessly in his throat. “I—I didn’t—” He flailed, face blazing, every syllable only making it worse.
Akutagawa didn’t look convinced. He stepped closer instead, slow, deliberate, until Atsushi had to tip his head back to meet his eyes. The printer hummed behind them, a low mechanical buzz, but it only made the silence between them louder.
“What,” Akutagawa said, voice pitched low, “were you thinking about?”
Atsushi squeaked, then faltered. His back hit the edge of the cutting bench, the cool press of it a stark reminder of just how cornered he was. His pulse thundered in his ears.
Akutagawa’s gaze flicked down, sharp, catching the nervous dart of Atsushi’s eyes to his mouth. His hand lifted, fingers curling at Atsushi’s jaw, tilting his face up. “Something with me?”
The words landed like a blow, heat rushing to Atsushi’s cheeks so fast he thought he might combust. “I— shut up,” he stammered, and in a rush of nerves and impulse, he leaned forward, closing the last inch between them.
The kiss landed clumsy, breathless, all teeth and panic at first. But Akutagawa’s grip tightened, his mouth steadying the angle, and suddenly Atsushi was drowning in it — sharp, hungry, nothing tentative about it.
His back hit the edge of the cutting bench, scattering rulers to the floor, and realisation shot through him. “The cameras—”
“No cameras,” Akutagawa said against his mouth, flat as ever. “I checked.”
Atsushi almost choked on his own gasp, mortification and heat colliding. He checked? He actually—
And then Akutagawa kissed him again, harder this time. Atsushi stopped thinking altogether.
The kiss turned frantic almost immediately. Atsushi clutched at Akutagawa’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer, even as his back pressed harder into the edge of the cutting bench. Akutagawa’s hand slid from his jaw down the column of his throat, cool fingers splaying against the heat of his skin, and Atsushi shivered.
Their mouths moved with increasing urgency, teeth clashing, breaths tangled and harsh. Atsushi gasped when deft hands shoved his sweater up and over his head, baring him to the chill of the room. He scrambled back at Akutagawa with clumsy determination, tugging at the hem of his hoodie until it joined the growing heap on the floor.
Somewhere behind them, the plotter gave another mechanical groan, paper still caught halfway through, red ERROR light blinking like an alarm. Atsushi half-heard it, half-cared, but then Akutagawa was bracketing him against the bench with his hips, and all thought fled.
The grind of denim on sweats was dizzying, friction sharp enough to tear sound from his throat. Atsushi bit back a whine, hips jerking helplessly in time with Akutagawa’s.
It still wasn’t enough. Every push made him ache for more, sharper contact, skin on skin. He fumbled at Akutagawa’s waistband with shaking hands, dragging fabric down just far enough— desperate to feel him properly.
Akutagawa’s breath hitched, his own hand slipping under Atsushi’s jeans in answer. Cool fingers wrapped around heated flesh, and Atsushi broke with a strangled cry, bucking into the touch.
Atsushi’s head was spinning, heat pooling so low it hurt. Akutagawa’s hand stroked him with unrelenting precision, and Atsushi’s own fingers fumbled to return the touch, clumsy but desperate. Their pants hung low, hips grinding together in a frantic rhythm that made the edges of the room blur.
He gasped into Akutagawa’s mouth, “We’re— oh god— we’re really going to—?” The words tangled, but the meaning hung clear in the air.
Akutagawa’s expression didn’t waver. He reached sideways, into the bag he’d tossed against the bench, and pulled out a small foil packet. Then another, clear lube sachets. He held them between two pale fingers, unbothered, as if producing them in the middle of the plotter room wasn’t absurd at all.
Atsushi’s jaw dropped. “You had those this whole time?”
“Obviously,” Akutagawa said, calm as ever, though the flush along his cheekbones betrayed him.
Atsushi wanted to laugh, cry, and combust all at once. Of course he had everything. Of course he was prepared. And their first time is going to be in the goddamn plotter room? His body thrummed with need, half-mortified, half-grateful beyond words.
Akutagawa kissed him again, pushing him harder against the bench, the foil packet crinkling between their hands. The thought crystallised, sharp and dizzying: they were about to actually do this. Here. Now.
The plotter, long since jammed, gave a loud electronic beep. The red ERROR light flashed insistently, like an alarm.
Atsushi barely registered it before the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming echoed down the corridor. Footsteps. Coming closer.
His blood ran cold.
The footsteps were coming fast.
On instinct, Atsushi shoved Akutagawa down, toward the gap beneath the cutting bench. It wasn’t much — three enclosed sides, just enough space for someone to crouch in shadow. “Just stay there,” Atsushi hissed, panicked.
Akutagawa slipped into the narrow space without a word, tucking himself out of sight. Atsushi’s heart hammered as he yanked his hoodie back on, fumbling the zipper halfway up. He jammed the button of his pants closed with shaking fingers, hair still mussed from where Akutagawa’s hands had been.
The door swung open.
From the entry, the sightline cut straight past the bench to the plotter behind it, its red error light blinking accusingly. To anyone standing there, Atsushi would be the only thing visible: slouched against the cutting bench, trying not to look like someone who had almost fucked in the plotter room.
“I’ve got a notification for a jammed plotter.” Katai, the IT guy, stepped in, tablet under one arm. He stopped short, eyes narrowing at the sight before him.
Atsushi was half-dressed, hoodie zipped too high in his rush, hair mussed, chest still heaving. He slapped his hands down on the cutting bench, praying it looked casual. “Ah! Yes, sorry! I must’ve been… daydreaming. Didn’t notice it was jammed.” His laugh came out thin, frantic.
Katai tilted his head, brows knitting, but moved over to the plotter without comment. A few quick taps on the panel, a firm tug at the paper roll, and the machine gave a satisfied whir, spitting out the stalled sheet.
“There you go.” He gestured toward a scrap of paper taped to the side of the housing, messy handwriting scrawled across it. “That’s my mobile. Call me if it acts up again.”
“Thank you, Katai-san,” Atsushi said, bowing too quickly. His palms were damp. He dared a glance at the bench — no sign of Akutagawa beneath, thank god — but the air felt so heavy he thought he might faint.
Katai slung his tablet under one arm, turning for the door, then paused. His gaze swept the room once more, landing on the corner where two bags rested against the wall.
“You’re carrying a lot today,” Katai said casually. “Looks heavy for just you.”
Atsushi followed his gaze to Akutagawa’s open bag, sitting plain as day beside his own. His throat worked uselessly. “I— yes! I mean, it’s mine. Both mine. Just brought some extra stuff today.”
Katai’s eyebrows rose, sceptical, but he only hummed. “See you, Atsushi.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence crashed back over the room.
From beneath the bench, Akutagawa finally stirred, unfolding himself with the same cool detachment as if he hadn’t just been crouched half-dressed in the shadows. The effect was ruined by his mussed hair and flushed cheeks, his sweater tugged half off one shoulder. He looked anything but composed, though his face gave nothing away.
Atsushi groaned, burying his burning face in both hands. “One of these days, I’m going to have a heart attack. I swear.”
The plotter whirred one last time, spitting out the final sheet. Atsushi seized on the distraction, hurrying to pull the prints free, stacking them into neat order with more force than necessary. “Not one word about this,” he muttered, still hiding behind the papers.
There was a pause. Then Akutagawa’s voice, lower, almost reluctant: “Likewise.”
For a beat, silence hovered — awkward and heavy — until Akutagawa tipped his head toward the door. “Shall we go have dinner now?”
Atsushi’s stomach answered for him with an audible growl, and his face went crimson all over again. Akutagawa only looked at him with a glint of amusement in his eyes before turning toward the hall.
The tension broke, just a little, enough that Atsushi found himself laughing weakly as he scooped up his bag. Mortification or not, they still had dinner waiting, and somehow that felt like enough to keep moving forward.
Friday nights at Atsushi’s apartment were still new. He’d insisted on hosting this time, said it was his turn, and somehow that had ended with Akutagawa in his kitchen, sleeves pushed up, methodically cooking while Atsushi fussed over mismatched bowls and chopsticks.
Dinner had them squashed together on the little two-seater couch they’d picked up at IKEA weeks ago. It wasn’t spacious, but that was part of the charm: the way they slotted in like puzzle pieces, hips pressed together, elbows knocking until they found a position that worked.
Later, they put on a horror movie. Atsushi insisted he liked being scared, and if his yelps and the way he covered his eyes contradicted that, his bright glee gave him away. Every jump scare made him flinch, every twist of sound design wrung another gasp out of him, and yet he was delighted, practically glowing.
Akutagawa, by contrast, sat impassive. But every so often, when the sound spiked suddenly, or a shadow leapt too quickly across the screen, his shoulder twitched. Atsushi noticed, biting back a laugh.
“You really are strange,” Akutagawa said at one point, low, almost thoughtful. “Timid at work. But here… you enjoy being frightened.”
“Hey!” Atsushi protested, cheeks heating, even as his smile betrayed him. “It’s fun. You wouldn’t get it.”
Akutagawa’s eyes lingered on him, unreadable. Then he gave the faintest hum, gaze turning back to the screen.
By the time the credits rolled, the room was quiet save for the hum of the fridge, the city muffled beyond the walls. Atsushi shifted, meaning to get up for drinks, but Akutagawa’s hand caught his wrist, tugging him back down into the couch.
Their eyes met in the dim glow of the TV menu.
Atsushi’s breath hitched. All the other times, they’d been cut short. Always someone barging in, always something breaking the moment. His body tensed automatically now, wary, braced for the next interruption.
Akutagawa seemed to notice. He pulled his phone from his pocket, flicked it to silent, then placed it face down on the table, sliding it deliberately out of reach. His hand lingered there for a moment before he looked back, gaze softer than usual.
“It’s just us,” he said quietly.
The tension in his shoulders eased. He wasn’t sure if it was the words or the faint unsteadiness in Akutagawa’s voice — like he was holding back nerves of his own — but something in him relaxed, as if finally letting go of weeks of false starts.
Because the truth was, neither of them were cool here. They weren’t experienced, not really. They’d done their share of fumbling research, nights alone with too many tissues and restless thoughts, but this — together — was uncharted territory.
When Akutagawa’s hand shifted from his wrist to his jaw, Atsushi leaned into it instinctively, heart thrumming in his throat.
So when he leaned in, Atsushi met him halfway.
The kiss was soft at first, unhurried. Akutagawa’s hand slid from Atsushi’s jaw to rest against his neck, thumb brushing the line of his throat. Atsushi leaned in, pressing closer, his heart rattling against his ribs. For once, Akutagawa’s composure slipped — his lips pressed too hard, his breath uneven, like he was struggling to control something sharp and trembling just beneath the surface.
Atsushi shifted, knee brushing against Akutagawa’s thigh, and the small couch creaked beneath them. There wasn’t much space, but it only pulled him closer. His hands fumbled at the hem of Akutagawa’s sweater, tugging it upward until his fingertips found the warmth of skin beneath.
Akutagawa’s breath hitched. Then, without a word, he tugged Atsushi forward, pulling him into his lap. Atsushi straddled him awkwardly, knees digging into the cushions, thighs bracketing Akutagawa’s hips.
The shift made the kiss sharper. Their mouths opened, hungry now, heat sparking between every brush of tongue and teeth. Atsushi gasped, grinding down without meaning to, his palms flat against Akutagawa’s chest.
Clothes started shedding in fumbling pieces — Atsushi’s hoodie tugged over his head, Akutagawa’s sweater peeled off and dropped beside the couch. They laughed once, breathless, as Atsushi struggled with a sleeve, then swallowed the sound in another kiss.
Somewhere between buttons and zippers, Atsushi broke away, chest heaving. “The couch,” he stammered, ears pink. “It’s kind of tiny. Maybe we should—um—the bedroom? There’s more space.”
Akutagawa’s eyes, dark and unsteady, searched his face. His answer came quietly, almost rough. “Okay.”
They stood, collecting the half-discarded clothes from the couch in clumsy handfuls. Atsushi clutched his hoodie to his chest, leading the way, and Akutagawa followed, each step sharp with anticipation.
Their restraints fell away the moment they reached the bedroom. Clothes slipped off and hit the floor in careless heaps as Akutagawa pushed him back against the door, kissing him with a force that stole Atsushi’s breath. Their mouths crashed together, urgent and overwhelming, weeks of pent-up hunger breaking free all at once.
Atsushi barely managed to kick his sweats the rest of the way off before Akutagawa steered him towards the bed. They stumbled together, kissing and fumbling, until the backs of Atsushi’s knees hit the mattress. He toppled onto it with a breathless laugh that cut off in a gasp when Akutagawa followed him down, pressing their bodies flush.
Hands roamed without hesitation now — sliding over bare skin, tugging impatiently at what little fabric still clung to them. Every touch felt hotter than the last, every brush of skin leaving Atsushi shivering, desperate for more.
When Akutagawa mouthed at his throat, sucking a mark deep into the skin, Atsushi’s back arched hard against the sheets. His fingers fisted in the hem of Akutagawa’s sweats, tugging them down in messy jerks until he felt the heat of him, skin against skin.
Atsushi’s breath hitched, overwhelmed. This is it. This is really happening.
Akutagawa kissed him again, slower this time, lingering, as if the reality of the moment had caught up with him too. His hand slid lower, tracing the sharp line of Atsushi’s waist before dipping into his sweats, fingers wrapping around him with steady pressure.
Atsushi gasped, his whole body jolting at the coolness of the touch. His head tipped back against the pillow, mouth falling open, and the sound that escaped him was raw, unguarded.
Akutagawa’s eyes flicked up, watching his reaction, and then he shifted lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down Atsushi’s chest. Each drag of lips and teeth made Atsushi squirm, heat curling tighter in his stomach, until the kisses dipped further, lower, past his navel.
“W-wait—” Atsushi stammered, half-panicked, half-desperate. “Are you—”
He never finished. Akutagawa tugged his sweats down and leaned in, taking him into his mouth with a care that felt devastating. Atsushi cried out, hands fisting hard in the sheets, thighs trembling at the slick, unfamiliar but comfortable heat surrounding him.
The sensation was overwhelming, messy and perfect all at once. He tried to cover his mouth, embarrassed at how loud he was, but Akutagawa caught his wrist and pressed it back down, holding him still.
“Ryuu—” Atsushi choked on his name, hips twitching helplessly. His vision blurred at the edges, toes curling.
Akutagawa pulled back slowly, lips glistening, his breathing now also uneven. His usual mask had cracked completely; his face was flushed, his eyes dark and wide, his composure slipping under the weight of his own want.
Atsushi could barely breathe, chest heaving. He reached down shakily, pulling at Akutagawa until they were pressed together again. “I want—” The words tangled in his throat, but the meaning was clear.
Akutagawa kissed him once more, rough and hungry, before murmuring, voice low and unsteady: “Then we’ll go slow.”
Akutagawa’s mouth was still slick when he kissed him again, rougher now, like he couldn’t help himself. Atsushi trembled under the weight of it, every nerve sparking, until Akutagawa pulled back just enough to rasp, “Do you have lube?”
Atsushi blinked, heat flooding his face. “Y-yeah,” he stammered, voice embarrassingly high. He twisted toward the nightstand, fumbling the drawer open. Inside, tucked between a box of tissues and an old charger, sat a small bottle and some messily stacked foil packets.
His ears went red instantly. “Here.” He grabbed the bottle and passed it over, unable to meet Akutagawa’s eyes as he did.
Akutagawa took them quietly, his fingers brushing Atsushi’s in the exchange. The contact was brief, but it sent a shiver up Atsushi’s spine all the same.
The cap clicked open, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room. Cool, slick fingers touched his entrance a moment later, hesitant at first, and Atsushi jolted, thighs clamping reflexively before he forced himself to breathe and open up under the touch.
“Relax,” Akutagawa murmured, voice low and softer than Atsushi had ever heard it. His other hand steadied Atsushi’s hip, firm and grounding. “It’s just me.”
The gentleness cracked something open in Atsushi’s chest. His throat bobbed. He felt the first finger slide inside — foreign, stretching, but careful, deliberate. His breath hitched. “Have you… done this before?” he asked, voice breaking on the question.
Akutagawa paused, the movement inside him going still. For a moment, Atsushi thought he wouldn’t answer, but then: “No.” His tone was even, but there was a tightness beneath it, as though the admission cost him something.
Atsushi hadn’t realised how much breath he’d been holding until it left him all at once. His chest eased, warmth flooding through him. “Me either.”
There was a silence — thick, not uncomfortable, just weighted with the truth of it.
Then Akutagawa moved again, twisting, and after a moment of adjustment, pressed in a second finger beside the first. Atsushi gasped, thighs trembling, clenching around the stretch as his nails dug lightly into Akutagawa’s shoulder.
Akutagawa’s composure wavered. Almost defensive, he said, “I’ve… read. Seen things.”
Atsushi’s face went hot, a whine caught in his throat. “Me too.”
Something flickered in Akutagawa’s eyes. His voice dipped, low and deliberate, fingers stroking carefully inside him as if to underline the words. “What were you thinking about when you watched them?”
Atsushi’s blush spread all the way to his ears. He squirmed against the stretch, breathless, but forced the words out anyway. “…You.”
Akutagawa’s breath stuttered, and for the first time that night, his cool cracked completely. His fingers curled deeper, the angle shifting — something sharp lit up inside Atsushi, and his whole body jerked, toes curling, the sound that tore from his throat almost a sob.
“A—ah— what—” His voice broke. “There, can you— can you touch it again?”
Akutagawa’s eyes narrowed, his mouth twitching like he was holding back something close to a smile. He twisted his fingers just so. “Here?” His tone was maddeningly calm, as if he didn’t already know.
Atsushi gasped, clutching at his arm. “Y-yes— oh god—”
His hips rocked helplessly against the touch, chasing it, breath hitching on every pass. Heat licked up his spine until his whole body was trembling, thighs trying and failing to close around Akutagawa’s hand.
“Please,” Atsushi babbled, cheeks red and wet at the corners of his eyes. “Please, I need—”
Akutagawa stilled him with a firm hand at his thigh, voice low but steady. “Not yet.”
Atsushi whimpered, strung so tight it hurt.
“You’ll take one more.” Akutagawa pressed the words as fact, not as a suggestion. His slick fingers slid out almost entirely, only to push back in — this time three. The stretch made Atsushi gasp and clutch at the sheets, his face twisting, but he forced himself to breathe, to take it.
“Just like that,” Akutagawa murmured, watching him carefully. “Good boy.”
The words hit harder than the stretch. Atsushi’s eyes flew wide, breath catching in his throat. Heat shot through him, curling tight in his stomach in a way that had nothing to do with fingers inside him. His whole body went pliant under the praise, chest fluttering as if he’d been aching for someone to say it.
“Ryuu, please—” he gasped, voice breaking, face burning red. He clung tighter to his shoulders, trembling with the rush of it.
Akutagawa’s gaze sharpened, as though he’d caught the exact effect it had. His fingers pressed deeper, deliberate, and Atsushi’s back arched with a choked sound.
His body burned, stretched and aching, the desperate edge of want winding him tighter and tighter. When Akutagawa curled his fingers — three now, pressing deeper, hitting that spot again — Atsushi nearly came apart.
“Oh god—” he moaned, hips rocking helplessly into the touch. “I need you, please—”
Akutagawa drew his fingers out slowly, and Atsushi whimpered at the sudden emptiness. His thighs trembled, his chest still heaving, every nerve screaming for more.
Akutagawa leaned back, already scanning the mess of clothes strewn across the floor. He shifted, reaching toward his discarded slacks.
“Ryuu?” Atsushi’s voice cracked, high and needy.
“Just a second,” Akutagawa muttered, fingers closing on his wallet. “I need to grab—”
“Don’t,” Atsushi blurted. His hand caught Akutagawa's wrist, grip trembling but firm. His face burned scarlet as the words tumbled out in a rush. “I… I want to feel you. Just you.”
Akutagawa stilled. His gaze snapped to Atsushi’s, sharp and searching. “…Are you sure?”
Atsushi nodded quickly, then ducked his head, mortified. “I haven’t been with anyone. And you haven’t either.” His throat worked around the confession. “I heard it feels better… for both of us. And I want you to feel good too.” The last words slipped out in a whisper, his voice shaking with embarrassment.
The wallet dropped soundlessly back onto the pile of clothes.
Something cracked in Akutagawa’s expression — his cool restraint splintering at the edges. He bent over him again, mouth catching Atsushi’s in a bruising kiss, hands shaking faintly as they framed his hips.
When he pressed in, the blunt heat of his cock was overwhelmingly, unbearably raw. Atsushi’s breath caught, body tensing on instinct before yielding under the weight of Akutagawa’s hand like putty.
“Breathe,” Akutagawa murmured, voice low and rough. One hand steadied at Atsushi’s hip, the other brushing his hair back from his damp forehead. For a heartbeat, his composure slipped, eyes dark and wide. “…That’s it. So perfect.”
Atsushi’s body goes hot all over. His fingers fisted in the sheets, thighs falling open. A choked whine spilled out of him, need and embarrassment tangled altogether.
Akutagawa pushed his cock in slowly, inch by inch, his jaw tight, breath stuttering as if he were holding himself back with every ounce of restraint. Atsushi gasped, clutching at his shoulders, stretched wide, body burning. Still, the grounding weight of Akutagawa’s hand at his hip, the quiet rasp of you’re doing well, so well, carried him through the ache until the heat of it turned overwhelming, unbearable in a way that made his toes curl.
When Akutagawa finally bottomed out, the breath left Atsushi in a shudder. He felt it – raw, hot, impossibly close — every twitch and throb inside him. Akutagawa bent low, lips brushing his ear. “Good boy,” he whispered, voice rough, “Mine.”
Atsushi’s back arched at his words, a broken moan ripped from his throat.
Akutagawa started slow. Careful. Each shallow push had Atsushi clutching tighter at his shoulders, gasping through the stretch, but the grounding weight of his hand at Atsushi’s hip steadied him. His own breath came ragged, restraint written in the tight line of his jaw, as if he were holding back a tide.
Then he angled his hips just slightly, and Atsushi saw stars.
The sound that tore from him was broken, raw. His back arched off the sheets, toes curling, fingers digging crescent moons into Akutagawa’s skin.
“Ryuu. Please—” Atsushi gasped, eyes wide and wet.
Akutagawa’s composure slipped entirely. He pressed back in, hitting that spot again, then again, until Atsushi was babbling incoherent pleas, thighs trembling around his waist.
The pace picked up, deliberate restraint giving way to something harder, sharper, every thrust wringing out another cry. Atsushi’s voice cracked with each one, high and breathless, but the look on his face was blissed-out, wrecked.
Then Akutagawa’s hand slid between them, wrapping firmly around Atsushi’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Atsushi nearly sobbed at the sudden double sensation, jerking helplessly into his grip.
It didn’t take long. Couldn’t. Not with weeks of aborted touch boiling over now. Atsushi’s body coiled tight, vision blurring at the edges.
“I can’t—” he choked.
“Come,” Akutagawa rasped, voice low and wrecked. “With me.”
Atsushi broke. His whole body shuddered, release tearing through him with a choked cry, hot and messy between their bellies. At the same time, he felt it — Akutagawa spilled inside him, filling him full, sharp gasps breaking against his neck as he pulsed deep, every throb molten and overwhelming.
For a long moment, the world narrowed to that: the tight clutch of Akutagawa’s arms around him, the warmth and fullness buried inside, their breaths tangling raggedly in the dark.
Atsushi could only cling, chest fluttering, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it. Finally.
For a while, neither of them moved. Their breaths came ragged and uneven, sweat cooling on flushed skin. Atsushi clung to him, limp with exhaustion and still trembling, while Akutagawa stayed pressed close, his chest rising and falling hard against his own.
Eventually, Akutagawa eased out, slow and careful, and Atsushi winced faintly at the drag before melting back into the pillow. The loss left him aching and strangely empty; he could feel the warmth of it leaking out of him, slow and sticky against his thighs. His body felt loose, boneless, every nerve buzzing.
A flush climbed hot to his ears, the mess making him squirm, but before the shame could settle in, he let out a shaky laugh and buried his face against Akutagawa’s shoulder. “That was… god…”
Akutagawa’s hand smoothed down his back, steady and firm. “Messy,” he muttered, though his voice was quieter than usual. Roughened, almost fond.
He slipped away only long enough to disappear into the bathroom. Atsushi blinked blearily at the ceiling until Akutagawa returned with a couple of damp towels, still warm from the tap. The gentleness of it undid him — Akutagawa wiping him down, slowing when Atsushi flinched, taking extra care around the sore spots.
“Sorry,” Akutagawa murmured.
“It’s okay,” Atsushi mumbled back, embarrassed at how soft his voice sounded. His cheeks burned hotter with every swipe, not just from the mess but from the quiet intimacy of being tended to like this.
Once the worst of it was gone, Akutagawa tossed the towel aside, tugged the sheets into some semblance of order, and climbed back in. Atsushi curled against him without thinking, fitting into the hollow of his chest like he belonged there. This time, Akutagawa’s arm came around him without hesitation, pulling him close, his breath steady against Atsushi’s hair.
The room was quiet, just the hum of the city outside and the steady beat of Akutagawa’s heart under Atsushi’s cheek. For once, Atsushi’s nerves didn’t clench with worry about someone knocking, or barging in, or ruining it all. For once, it was just them.
“You’re comfy,” Atsushi mumbled, half-asleep already.
“Hm.” Akutagawa’s lips brushed his hair. “Sleep.”
Atsushi’s eyes slipped shut. And somewhere between waking and dreaming, he realised how easy it felt, how right it was, to drift off like this, with Akutagawa’s arms around him, with his breath steady at his side.