Work Text:
A golden heart with silver locks;
precious metal
Is not obtained by chance.
It’s pulled from the dark,
ground to dust,
heated molten,
until it scarcely resembles
the raw material it began as.
People have always told Atsushi that he isn’t good enough. That he’s worthless; a waste of good resources as the orphanage had put it. It came as no great surprise that he grew up to be so apprehensive, hating his every decision and thought. Frozen; his lack of confidence stuck to him like tar. No matter where he went, or what he did, he remained maddeningly the same, lips quivering and brows furrowing. Too timid to acknowledge his own fundamental needs, let alone the greater aspirations tucked away in the recesses of his mind. Too timid to even keep himself alive, should it mean confrontation.
Everything changed when he joined the Armed Detective Agency. It served as a fork in his unassuming life path; one in which he was presented with a choice between staying the same or finally having some control in his life. Though not immediate, he eventually went with the latter. His confidence grew with time and experience, and the convictions of those around him colored his world in vibrant shades he had never known. And before Atsushi knew it, he had not only discovered his own desires, but actually had the means of obtaining them. It was no longer enough simply to survive; he wanted more. Some of these desires were more selfish than others.
The first time he felt it was on the cargo ship. It was only a whisper, then. A passing thought that the man cloaked in black could use a friend. That maybe his soul wouldn’t be quite as dark if he were shown a bit of warmth. He was dangerous, sure, but Akutagawa’s words and presence bled with loneliness; with a violent sorrow. Atsushi had felt a strange draw to the man, the same way one might find themselves drawn to a wild animal that’s been wounded: with guarded compassion. The kinship that he, too, was once a cornered beast was not lost on him. As Atsushi had learned when he joined the Armed Detective Agency, sometimes all it takes is one person with the right intentions to change everything. It would only be later that Atsushi had an epiphany; he wanted to be that person for Akutagawa.
A wounded heart plunged in darkness;
Glass loses its usefulness
once shattered.
No matter the shape it held,
Nor the purpose it served,
It only becomes a hazard
in brokenness,
yet its shards always fit back together.
Akutagawa has, by no means, had an easy go at life. At one point he thought that fact made him strong; impervious to the type of weaknesses that ordinary people succumb to. Killing meant nothing to him. Given his years of destitution, how could it? It was kill or be killed. Not much changed when he joined the Port Mafia. His deadly and effective methods had him rising through the ranks effortlessly, feared by friend and foe alike. Nobody ever told him that fear did not equate to respect. It was a vicious cycle of brutal tactics, distrustful subordinates, and his own unquenchable rage, ever grasping for more control. Like a man dying of thirst at sea, his bones ached for something more. Something real . At one point he had thought that something was Dazai’s acknowledgement. How very wrong he was.
His true something came in the unexpected form of a silver haired boy; younger and more naive (or so he thought) than himself. He would’ve hardly believed it himself if he hadn’t felt the tug of envy in the pit of his chest when Atsushi had stopped him from killing Kyoka. Envy that he saw something in the girl worth saving, that she was valuable independently from her use as a weapon. It haunted him. As it turns out, control was merely a coping mechanism. His encounter with the weretiger left him bare, his illusion of strength dissolved away and all that remained was brokenness.
Each mission thereafter was plagued with inane bickering between Dazai’s budding team. Akutagawa, simply looking to pick a fight with the source of his emotional distress, and Atsushi, trying to put what’s right over both his soft spot for the dark haired man and his desire to take the bait. It came to a head on one mission in particular, where Atsushi took a new angle to their circular arguments, slamming Akutagawa up against the wall of some nameless alleyway and stopping the foul words from exiting his mouth with his lips. It was surprisingly effective. Akutagawa was shell shocked to find what he was looking for in the softness of Atsushi's lips and the tenderness of his touch.
And so began a new type of dynamic between the two; one in which Atsushi led and Akutagawa followed.
Only light can chase away the dark.
It’s a warm summer night after a day of complications. The streets are quiet save for the occasional rush of a passing car and the songs of crickets; the scent of cooling pavement clings at his nose. Akutagawa’s arrival at Atsushi’s dorm is nothing out of the ordinary, eyes scanning the dimly lit landing carefully for observers, as always. He’s manipulated the black cloth of Rashomon to include a dark hood that ends just above his brows, giving him a bit of additional ambiguity. Atsushi calls his hypervigilance ‘a bad habit’, Akutagawa calls it being thorough. Not everyone can get away with being as naively trusting as the weretiger has. That fact aside, Akutagawa has managed to keep his relationship with Atsushi under wraps thus far. It’s not that he’s ashamed, more so that he’d rather die than discuss his personal life with anyone. Furthermore, when people have information on you, even the simplest of things, they can predict your behavior, and that is how many problems take root; Dazai-san had taught him that.
When his eyes don’t detect any others, he walks to the door, head down and hands pocketed inside Rashomon. The overhead lights cast a shadow off his hood, masking his expression in darkness. He can’t say what makes him decide to show up on this particular night, apart from the certainty that Atsushi won’t turn him away. The affectionate man, with words and actions of gold, is kinder to Akutagawa than he feels he deserves. Though there’s not much Akutagawa feels he deserves. Not really. It’s not about what he deserves, though. It’s what he wants; the simple pleasure of being cared for. He’s come to find that it’s as habit-forming as any drug.
He gives the door a few sharp knocks and waits several seconds. He feels the vague thump of footsteps reverberating through the ground before the door is opened to reveal the handsome, silver haired man, sending his heart into a flutter. Akutagawa gives a small nod in response to Atsushi’s curious expression which quickly melts into a beaming smile as he steps out of the way to welcome the cloaked man into his home.
“Ryū! Come in,” Atsushi says cheerfully, brushing the longer side of his asymmetrical hair to the side.
Only a rare few on Earth call Ryūnosuke Akutagawa by his first name, and even they wouldn’t dare shorten it to a nickname. So, then, why does it feel so right to hear it from those lips? The feeling of belonging is not lost on Akutagawa, leaving him struggling to not grin stupidly in return. The inviting smell and warmth of cooking hits him as he enters.
“How was your day?” Atsushi asks casually, closing the door behind him.
Atsushi wears part of his work clothes; a white button up shirt and black pants. His suspenders, belt, and gloves have all been removed, and his black tie hangs loose around his neck. The top couple buttons of his shirt have been undone, exposing the hollow where collar bones meet. Akutagawa assumes he must not have returned home from work long ago.
“Hell,” Akutagawa grumbles as his hood falls gracefully off his head, the fabric settling back into his black coat. “We’re still in the middle of a turf war. I can’t even do grunt work without someone trying to jump me.”
Atsushi’s heterochromatic eyes trail over him with concern. Akutagawa, however, doesn’t appear to be injured or even have a hair out of place. That careful look of scrutiny inspires rage inside him.
“I was obviously able to handle it,” he snaps, waving a hand dismissively.
“Yeah, I know,” Atsushi replies with a grin, making his way back over to the small kitchen space where a few ingredients sit out. “There’s other's fear all over you.”
Akutagawa doesn’t know what the scents that Atsushi often describes smell like, but he’s certain he doesn’t smell of death. He hadn’t killed any of them. He keeps his promises.
He follows Atsushi and takes a seat at the plain kitchen table, laying his arms across the flat wooden surface before he rests his head atop of them, eyes closed. For a few minutes he simply listens to the sounds of the other man moving around in the kitchen. It’s a peaceful silence; so different from the threatening silence within the walls of the Port Mafia. He doesn’t have to worry about a blade being driven into his back here, though if Atsushi were to do so, he’s not sure if he’d object. He hears the distinctive clunk of a cup being put down on the table next to him before he feels fingers trailing over his back. Atsushi’s soothing scent hits him next; musky with ambiguous floral notes, likely from whatever type of soap he uses. It has Akutagawa sighing quietly with contentment.
“I think you’ve forgotten something,” Atsushi says warmly from behind him, hands tracing the delicate outline of his neck and shoulders beneath his coat.
Rashomon resonates blithely at the touch. Akutagawa merely grunts in response.
“Did… uh… you have a good day?” he mutters after a moment passes.
The words feel so unnatural coming out of his mouth, but they’ve discussed this before. It’s something Atsushi thinks is important, and the man gets what he wants.
“Mmm,” Atsushi hums, pressing his thumbs into Akutagawa’s tense trapezius muscles, causing the dark haired man to groan softly. “We just did paperwork today, but I’m grateful for days without any field work.”
“You’ll get weak without fights,” Akutagawa replies; a thought that plagues him when there’s been too many days in a row without action at the Port Mafia.
“Do you think I’m getting weak, Ryū?”
Akutagawa can hear the smugness in his words. His mind flashes with memories of the man easily overpowering him, manipulating his body however he likes.
“N-no, that’s not what I meant,” he replies quickly.
Atsushi leans in closer, fingers delicately combing the man’s black hair that fades to white at the tips away from his ear before pressing a kiss to it, and causing Akutagawa to suppress a violent shudder.
“Have you eaten?” Atsushi’s voice is like velvet in his ear.
“No, but it’s fine,” Akutagawa starts.
“It’s not fine,” Atsushi replies, letting go of his hair. “I need you to have your strength.”
Akutagawa grunts again, and Atsushi’s hands leave him as he moves back to the kitchen counter. He presses himself up from the table and takes a sip of the tea that’s in front of him. It’s good, prepared exactly how he likes: green tea with a slice of lemon. He can taste that Atsushi has taken care to brew the tea with the correct temperature of water. He watches Atsushi finish putting together a simple meal of chazuke before joining him at the table. He slides a bowl across to him, chopsticks neatly across the top.
“Eat,” he says firmly.
And Akutagawa does. Though the food is nothing special, once he starts eating it's easy to finish the entire bowl. In his position, he often eats higher end meals, but his tastes have never refined from the simple pleasures of a basic meal after his days on the streets. That, or perhaps he would think dirt was delicious if Atsushi were the one feeding it to him. The man had a way of making everything better with his presence. An impressive feat given the fact that Akutagawa considers himself to have the opposite gift. Their relationship is completely counterintuitive, and yet it feels like perfect harmony.
After they’ve eaten a meal much too late to be considered dinner, Atsushi leads Akutagawa into the small bedroom by the hand, guiding him to take a seat on the edge of the bed. His compliance is stony but gentle, the features of his face sharpened by the shadows cast over his face from the dim bedroom lamp. Atsushi smiles warmly down at him before kneeling between his thighs, pressing his lips along Akutagawa’s quivering jaw line as his hands smoothly snake under the black jacket of Rashomon. Akutagawa tenses, both from the forwardness and the sudden intrusion, and Atsushi’s hands freeze in response. Having someone separate him from his ability is still something that he has to get used to. Atsushi pulls his head back and his eyes of gold and violet meet Akutagawa’s stormy gaze. Rashomon swirls reassuringly against his back.
“You know you can trust me, right?” Atsushi says softly.
“Of course I know that,” Akutagawa averts his gaze. “Just get on with it.”
“That’s not how it works, Ryū, you have to relax.”
Akutagawa takes a deep breath, feeling the familiar tightness in his lungs, before looking back at Atsushi.
“I… want you to keep going,” he says, fighting through the embarrassment of his own words.
His face feels hot.
Atsushi presses another kiss to his cheek, his lips somehow even hotter against Akutagawa’s skin, before his hands slide further under the jacket, gently sliding it down his arms where it lays on the bed like a shadow. Next he works to untie the jabot around Akutagawa’s delicate neck. Upon removal, he presses his face to the pale skin underneath and nips lightly. Akutagawa shudders with each gentle assault.
Atsushi’s commitment to undressing him slowly is maddening. Akutagawa’s body burns as the silver haired man runs a finger over his chest, still clothed under his white button up shirt. Atsushi’s light eyelashes are cast downwards, lips pulled into a simper as he gives complete attention to Akutagawa’s body. His fingers stop to tease each nipple briefly, sending electricity down the other’s spine. Akutagawa clutches at the front of Atsushi’s shirt as if the man were his savior. And perhaps he is.
“Jinko, please,” he hates the way his voice sounds when it exits his mouth.
It sounds so… desperate.
“Ah,” Atsushi’s tone is scolding as he tilts his head back, the smile never leaving his lips. “We’ve been through this, Ryū. You can get away with calling me that when we are on missions, but not here.”
His hands have stilled on his ribs and Akutagawa squirms, his body begging for more. There’s something addictive in the way Atsushi looks at him. In the way he touches him. As if he were something worth cherishing. As always, it leaves him starving for more.
“Atsushi,” Akutagawa breathes, knowing his pride won’t last long in this situation regardless of his choice to comply or not.
“Good,” Atsushi hums and his hands begin to work again, this time working the buttons of his shirt open before sliding it off his shoulders to reveal his flushed, bare chest.
Akutagawa’s skin is not unblemished, it’s littered with various scars: bullet and stab wounds, dog bites from his time in the slums, and even self harm. He doesn’t particularly like the sight of his own body. The scars are ugly and remind him of things he would rather forget. As usual, Akutagawa feels the sting of regret; regret that he didn’t voice his desire to leave his clothes on at the start. He feels slightly nauseous that Atsushi is subjecting himself to the sight of his scrawny, mutilated body. It must be unpleasant. He averts his eyes, feeling heavier than usual, as Atsushi pauses momentarily to run his eyes over exposed skin. His flesh burns with shame everywhere eyes fall. The room suddenly feels too quiet, almost suffocating.
After what feels like an eternity trapped inside a few moments, Atsushi’s voice breaks the deafening silence.
“You’re so beautiful like this, you know,” he says, running a hand over a particularly jagged scar just above his hip. “Especially these,” he removes his hand to press a kiss to the spot, tender and loving.
Akutagawa whimpers before he can stop himself. Atsushi’s words cleanse him, giving him permission to let go of his poisonous thoughts. His vision blurs a little as his eyes become misty, threatening tears, his body warm and heavy.
“I must be the luckiest person alive to get to see you like this,” Atsushi breathes into his skin.
He’s the only person who gets to see him like this, but Akutagawa isn’t about to voice that fact.
Atsushi takes his time, giving attention to each scar on his lean upper body, sending Akutagawa into a litany of little sounds that build with urgency; not quite moans or cries but something in between. He feels good. Too good, considering Atsushi hasn’t even fully undressed him yet. With each junction of lips on skin, his pants seem to get a touch tighter, back arching a little more. Soon he can feel his cock pressing against every ridge of his pants, wetness staining the fabric at his tip. Mercifully, Atsushi makes quick work of removing the remainder of Akutagawa’s clothes, leaving him bare with heavy breath at the edge of the bed.
Throwing his pants onto the floor, Atsushi crawls back between Akutagawa’s legs, grasping his shaft in one hand to pull it to the side to continue his mission of worshiping every inch of the dark haired man’s body. Akutagawa squirms under his patient touch. Atsushi’s hot kisses begin at the base of his cock, making their way leisurely up to the tip. He pauses, inhaling deeply and looking up at Akutagawa.
“I can smell how much you want me,” he says, running his lips teasingly over him. “Your scent is delicious.”
A shuddery little breath leaves Akutagawa. There’s no point in denying it; he’s right. Akutagawa wants Atsushi to fuck him so badly that it’s almost painful. Alluring breaths and the brush of lips against his cock threaten to drive him mad.
“J-,” he inhales sharply as the hand around him tightens to a point past comfort. “Atsushi! Ah- yes! I want you!” He cries pathetically.
Akutagawa’s answer seems to satisfy his partner, who smiles before parting his lips and guiding his swollen, leaking cock into his mouth. Akutagawa wails, curling forward, hands gripping silver locks with desperation. Atsushi sucks on him tenderly; as if he were a fine meal to savor slowly, tongue dragging over the sensitive underside of his tip. Akutagawa’s head spins and he can think of nothing else but the heat of Atsushi’s mouth and the smooth friction of his skilled tongue. A few low moans of enjoyment from Atsushi’s throat vibrate through him, and pure, unbridled bliss begins to pool in his core, causing muscles to tense and release.
“Ugh- I’m going to-” Akutagawa murmurs through sharp breaths.
He tugs gently at Atsushi’s head gently, wordlessly asking him to pull back, not wanting to soil the man between his legs. He feels lips tighten around him before Atsushi presses his face forcefully further onto Akutagawa’s cock, pushing against the resistance of the dark haired man’s shaky hands. Flustered and already at his limit, Akutagawa quickly passes the point of no return.
“Ah- no! It’s dirt-,” Akutagawa whines urgently.
His eyes slam shut and he stifles a couple moans as he empties involuntarily into Atsushi’s eager mouth, fingers and toes curling with rapture. The silver haired man sucks him gently through his release before swallowing in one deep gulp, Adam's apple bobbing reflexively.
“There’s nothing dirty about it, I can’t get enough of your taste,” Atsushi corrects him affectionately as he leans back onto his heels, licking his lips and looking up into Akutagawa’s eyes. “You were holding back, though. I wanted to hear your pretty voice.”
Pretty and beautiful aren’t words that Akutagawa would use to describe himself in any capacity. In fact, he’s not sure if he’s ever heard anyone use the words to describe him; not before Atsushi. Akutagawa is in a haze of endorphins, but the words of affection still make him feel a little warmer. Lighter. As if simple prose could absolve him of all that he is. He hums in response, gazing down at the striking man before him.
Atsushi’s lips and cheeks are flushed pink, hair tousled from Akutagawa’s grip, as he guides the dark haired man farther backwards to fully lay on the bed. His eyes burn with a primal hunger that reminds Akutagawa that the man is, in fact, part beast. Akutagawa’s breath is still heavy, and it triggers his cough, his throat clamping shut uncomfortably. He brings a hand up over his mouth as he wheezes several times, body struggling pathetically to rid itself of his permanent curse. Atsushi comes to lie next to him, stroking his shoulder in kind reassurance. When the attack has passed, he smooths Akutagawa’s black hair backwards and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“You OK?” Atsushi asks.
“Yeah,” Akutagawa replies, slightly breathless. “We can keep going.”
Atsushi gives him a look that conveys concern, hand pausing its stroking movements over his shoulder, and it makes Akutagawa press his lips together tightly. He hates that damn look, the one his attacks are always followed by: pity. Akutagawa has never considered himself to be someone that others need to be concerned about. Being treated like something fragile makes him crave destruction.
“I want to keep going,” he huffs.
Atsushi’s lips spread into a warm smile.
“OK,” is all he replies before slowly moving over top of Akutagawa, his hips coming between the other man’s thighs as his own clothed erection presses against the oversensitivity of Akutagawa’s, eliciting a soft whine from the man as his head turns to the side reflexively.
Atsushi encompasses him, an elbow on each side of his ribs. His lips immediately move to the graceful curve of Akutagawa’s neck, where he begins to suck and bite the skin, drawing up patches of crimson and violet. The level of attention that Atsushi gives to him is overwhelming. He gasps and shudders, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels himself twitch. Atsushi’s chest is pressed against his own, only the thin layer of the other man’s shirt between them. The fabric mocks him, teasing the warm skin underneath. Akutagawa whines and begins to snake a hand into the opening at the shirt's collar, tugging it in a wordless plea for it to be gone. Atsushi drags his face up to Akutagawa’s ear.
“Do you want something, love?” His voice is low. “You know you can tell me.”
“I-” Akutagawa’s face is burning again, “-want you to take this off,” he tugs at the shirt once more for good measure.
Atsushi’s smile is so genuine that Akutagawa thinks it might be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his whole life. How dimples perfectly frame his lips, how his sharp canine teeth still somehow manage to look inviting, and especially how the warmth of his expression touches his eyes like a vibrant sunset.
“God, I love it when you tell me what you want,” his voice is like silk as he pushes himself up and leans back onto his heels to begin unbuttoning the shirt.
Akutagawa licks his lips as Atsushi’s chest comes into view. Then the scars on his side. But Atsushi’s scars don’t elicit the same response in Akutagawa as his own. They remind him that Atsushi is just like him in a way: an orphan who faced hardships beyond his years. But if Atsushi is just like him, why, then, are they so different? Why did Atsushi turn out so pure and kind while he turned out so bloodthirsty and cruel? They aren’t the same at all. Dazai-san had made that clear. Akutagawa wishes he could erase Atsushi’s scars for him; he doesn’t deserve to be likened to someone like him.
“Stop thinking so hard, Ryū,” Atsushi replies as he leans back down, combing his fingers into black strands as he presses a kiss to his lips; soft and sweet, sterling hair tickling his cheeks. “You frown when you’ve got too much on your mind,” Atsushi touches a finger between Akutagawa’s furrowed brows.
Next, the man turns him over before pulling him back onto his knees. It’s amazing to Akutagawa how powerful his movements feel, easily manipulating his body into the position he wants, while at the same time maintaining such gentleness. Nothing hurts. It feels natural. Good, even, to be handled this way. Akutagawa clutches at a pillow, burying the side of his face into it. He feels the mattress shift as Atsushi leans over to the nightstand and opens the top drawer to retrieve a bottle of lubricant; hears the click of the cap opening before he gasps at the chill of the fluid against his skin.
“I’m going to start getting you ready,” Atsushi says, leaning forward to rub his lips over the soft skin of his hip.
Akutagawa nods into the pillow. His skin is hot and tingling in the trail of Atsushi’s touch.
Atsushi kneels on the bed beside him, resting a palm on his tailbone with fingers slowly massaging his opening. Akutagawa arches his back at the contact. Atsushi’s touch never fails to ignite something new within him. Commanding yet eternally tender, it’s as if Atsushi were an angel, cleansing his body with each union of skin. The darkness within him melts away, if only for these moments. His cock, already hard again, painfully so, hangs twitching between his legs. The finger circles him, teasing what's to come but not giving it to him just yet. It’s just as he’s beginning to consider throwing away any and all remaining pride to beg when Atsushi presses a finger inside him. The moan that leaves his mouth is indecent.
“Perfect; just like that. I want to hear exactly how good you’re feeling. No holding back on me this time,” Atsushi coos.
Akutagawa clings to the pillow as Atsushi continues to work his fingers into him, opening him slowly. It’s as if Akutagawa is a map that Atsushi has carefully studied, memorizing every spot and the reaction it will elicit. Akutagawa would not be able to stop the sounds spilling from his lips even if he was clear headed enough to try. Allowing Atsushi to have complete control, without so much as choosing the position, is utter bliss. He can truly let go here. Nothing else matters. When Atsushi presses in a second finger, pushing in just deep enough to massage his prostate, his entire body tenses in euphoria. He can’t take it. His body feels overwhelmingly hot and his head is spinning again. He tries to hold back but it’s no use against the skill of fingers that press against all the right places. He shudders, gripping the pillow tightly as he comes untouched with a whimper onto the blankets underneath him.
Atsushi doesn’t stop thrusting his fingers into Akutagawa as the waves of pleasure wash through him, his hips softly rocking along with them. After his body melts into relaxation, the fingers inside him still momentarily.
“Mmm, I love how sensitive you are,” Atsushi leans down and kisses just above his tailbone. “Do you need a break?” he asks.
“N-no, I’m OK,” Akutagawa replies through heavy breaths.
The curious sensation of hypersensitivity is something he doesn’t necessarily dislike, but more so he doesn’t want Atsushi’s touches to stop. The man’s fingers regain movement, pressing in experimentally and dragging a frantic whine out of Akutagawa. His entire body thrashes and he buries his face in the pillow as Atsushi begins scissoring his fingers inside before carefully squeezing in a third.
“You’re doing so good for me,” Atsushi praises as he works, palming his own erection through his pants with his other hand.
Akutagawa feels as if he might go mad from the jolts of pleasure mixed with the shock of overstimulation that courses through him. But at the same time, it’s not enough. The fingers are falling just shy of a place inside him that craves to be touched. His body aches to be filled entirely. He needs more.
Before he can summon his mouth to form words, Atsushi pulls out his fingers, leaving him empty and gaping. Akutagawa bites his lower lip, stifling a whimper at the loss. He hears the sound of a zipper being undone, the rustling of fabric, and finally, the click of the bottle of lubricant. Atsushi repositions Akutagawa in the same powerful yet mild manner, pressing his hips down onto the mattress. It feels good to move, his legs and back stiff from the prolonged position. He feels the cool wetness of his own puddle of come on his stomach.
Atsushi leans over him, grazing his lips sensually over the nape of Akutagawa’s neck. The dark haired man shivers, watching Atsushi out of the side of his eye as he pulls himself back upright to generously coat his thick cock in lubricant. He grabs the supple flesh of Akutagawa's ass with one hand, spreading him open further before shifting his hips forward. He presses at Akutagawa’s soft entrance gently, causing the dark haired man to whimper needily in response.
“Are you ready?” Atsushi asks.
“Yes-ugh, hurry up!” Akutagawa squirms underneath him, trying to press himself back onto his cock.
Atsushi holds him firmly in place, though.
“Are you sure?” Atsushi continues, rubbing his tip teasingly against him. “We could stay like this a little longer.”
Akutagawa can hear a faint smug inflection to his tone. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing; working him into desperation and then denying him, albeit only temporarily.
“Shut the hell up and fuck me!” Akutagawa hisses through gritted teeth, eyes flashing with rage that’s been diluted with lust.
That’s all it takes for whatever self control Atsushi has left to crumble. He lets out a huff of amusement before pushing inside him with a growl. Akutagawa nearly sees stars with the stimulation to his prostate along with his cock now being pressed against the bed. He feels the man back out before sinking deeper and Akutagawa’s eyes roll back in his head, a low groan escaping his lips.
“Mmm, you feel amazing,” Atsushi’s voice is gravelly, eyes fixed downwards on where their bodies meet.
He presses into Akutagawa again, so deeply that Akutagawa feels the stiff fabric of Atsushi's pants that were never fully removed against his skin. With every thrust, Akutagawa’s cock is ground against the mattress.
“How do you feel, love?” Atsushi asks sweetly.
“I f-feel… so full,” Akutagawa struggles to get words out.
He feels as though he’s losing himself. His muscles are tense and body is burning up again. It feels as though he’s sweating from every pore.
“Ah! I’m going to- again,” he gasps.
His body shudders, fingers curling tightly around fistfuls of blankets as another orgasm hits him, eyes fluttering shut as Atsushi fucks him through it from behind. He doesn’t even have the strength to feel embarrassed about his swift climax as he sags into the mattress when it's over. Atsushi pulls out of him and rolls him easily onto his back.
“Come here, I want to see you,” Atsushi says, running a hand down the side of Akutagawa’s face before lining himself up and pressing back inside.
Akutagawa whines at the new angle and overstimulation, holding on to Atsushi’s broad shoulders in an attempt to keep attached to reality. Atsushi pushes into him slowly before leaning onto him, chest pressed to chest. The weight and warmth of Atsushi's body atop him soothes his frantic nerves. Atsushi kisses along Akutagawa's jawline before hovering over his lips, his musky scent only serving to intoxicate the man underneath him further.
Their lips meet as their bodies fit together in perfect union. Atsushi's soft tongue easily coaxes his partner's into a tender rhythm, one that resonates with his languid thrusts. They swallow each other's sounds like starving dogs. Atsushi invades his very being, filling the cracks of his soul with pure gold, and nothing has ever felt more veracious to Akutagawa. He wishes it were possible to stretch this moment on indefinitely.
Atsushi’s pace begins to become faster, more frantic, and he pulls his head back, a string of saliva connecting their lips. He props himself up onto a forearm, the golden violet of his eyes never leaving the hazy grey of Akutagawa's. The intensity of their shared eyes, pupils blown wide, inspires a new wave of heat over Akutagawa's sweat sheened skin. The silver haired man reaches down and wraps his fingers around Akutagawa’s cock, causing him to keen, hips bucking uncontrollably. Familiar pressure builds within him.
“Ah- ugh, please, I want-” Akutagawa pants.
Strands of black hair cling to his damp forehead.
“Tell me, Ryū,” Atsushi says in a strained whisper, bringing his face down to suck at his collarbone.
"T-together," Akutagawa gasps.
He wants everything that Atsushi’s body can possibly offer him.
"But-" Atsushi breathes against his skin.
“Come inside me,” he cuts the man off with a whine, too delirious to care what he sounds like.
“God,” Atsushi growls, shifting slightly to bite at the side of his neck.
He slams into Akutagawa with purpose, lacking much of his previous tenderness. Hips meet hips again and again as Atsushi takes care to stroke the other man along, in rhythm with each thrust. Akutagawa’s eyes blur with tears as he feels fiery tension flare through him, his muscles shake with the strain, intensity building with every motion. Atsushi pulls his lips away from his neck and presses his forehead into his shoulder as a low moan reverberates on Akutagawa’s skin. Akutagawa feels Atsushi bury himself inside, cock throbbing and filling him deeply with warmth. It’s exactly what he was hoping for, and the notion alone is enough to send him over the edge for a fourth time. Akutagawa sobs, tears spilling down the side of his face as his muscles stutter and tense erratically.
The moments stretch blissfully onwards as the two come down from their high. Atsushi removes his hand from Akutagawa's cock, only a few new drops of come at the tip, before he relaxes his body on top of Akutagawa. He wipes the tears from Akutagawa's cheek and kisses his lips softly.
"You're so amazing," Atsushi whispers words of reverence in his ear.
Akutagawa hums in response, too tired to do or say much of anything. They stay like that; Akutagawa splayed open, thighs resting just above each side of Atsushi’s hips, and Atsushi still pressed inside him, face nestled in the slope of Akutagawa’s neck, for an unknown amount of time. Everything feels so right. So faultless.
When Atsushi finally pulls out, Akutagawa whines sleepily at the sudden emptiness. He feels warm liquid leak out of him onto the bed. It’s an uncomfortable sensation but his body feels as if it’s made of lead.
“I’ll be right back, love,” Atsushi says gently, tracing his hand along the slight curve of Akutagawa’s waist.
Atsushi pushes himself up and quickly walks to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. When he returns, he begins wiping Akutagawa’s skin, starting with his forehead and working his way down. It’s both refreshing and relieving. It feels nice to be cared for in this way; looked after completely. It’s not something he’s ever experienced before Atsushi. Akutagawa, only partially conscious at this point, smiles without inhibition. When Atsushi finishes cleaning him up, he also cleans the blankets as best he can where they’ve been dirtied with sweat and come. Next, he moves to a nearby dresser, digging through it before pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
“You’ll catch a cold if you stay like this,” Atsushi murmurs as he attempts to dress the quickly fading man, pulling the shirt over his head and lifting him off the bed slightly to work it down his back.
He wrestles the sweatpants onto Akutagawa and maneuvers him under the covers of the bed, where the sickly man immediately curls up happily. Atsushi cleans himself up afterwards, kicking their strewn about clothing out of the way and throwing on a set of sleeping clothes before crawling into bed himself. He flicks the bedside lamp off, plunging the room into almost complete darkness apart from a weak stream of moonlight entering through the windows. Akutagawa moves to cling to his back, wrapping his arms around Atsushi’s middle before he’s even fully laid down, burying his face into the man’s back and inhaling deeply. He exhales quiet words into Atsushi’s spine.
“I love you too, Ryū,” Atsushi’s reply holds much fondness.
Akutagawa drifts off to sleep with Atsushi’s hand encompassing his own, thumb stroking slowly along his fingers, the aftertaste of liberation on his lips. And when sleep takes him, it's deep and dreamless.
Atsushi’s heart of gold pervades his existence.