Work Text
How did this happen?
Noam stares down from the hilltop, the highest point of the cemetery. Tombstones cascade down to the base as if they’ve sprung from his own feet. The mare is calm even as Noam anxiously tugs her dark mane. No one has been buried in this plot of land for more than 15 years. No one has even come to this church to worship.But the village prays tonight. Noam knows this, and that all their piety rests upon what he should discover out here.There is fear that one of these long dead has risen.A local man was found killed early one morning, laying facedown in his field with one hand still on the plow. In his neck, a wide gash, purple with congealed blood. Ice crystals formed along inside his exposed flesh—a murder done in the cold of an October night.The coroner either could not explain it or didn’t care to. Nothing was said, yet, amongst villagers, except that this must have been the work of that damn rabid dog suspected to be lingering in the forest. But somehow they already knew. The farmer’s corpse was buried upside down, millet and wild rice strewn over his grave.It was not until the next murder—some local drunk butchered in much the same way not fifteen meters from the bar—that the fear was spoken in low tones, the suspicion hard to ignore. A wax angel was affixed to the headstone of his grave. Around the village, bibles were carried in back pockets. After all, it was was whispered by old matrons over afternoon tea, you never knew when the demon would crawl up behind you.At last came the third death, a scullery maid lying on the steps of her home flat on her face—a river of blood trailing down her neck. A sturdy man from town that went by the name of McIntyre came to check upon it himself. The onlookers gathered closely as though it were a medical lecture. They watched as he drew his hand down to lid her pale eyes, and turned up to face them. He stated its name plainly:“Vampire.”And it was McIntyre who directed the entire affair, calling all men and their sons into the back of the carpenter’s shop to meet. He didn’t hesitate as he stood before them and asked the stinging question.“Who here is a virgin?”It took a moment for Noam’s hand to rise, blood rushing to his face. But sitting in that room full of old men and too-young boys, it was all too obvious who it had to be. Thus the decision was made.Noam was thrust upon a horse, her coat as deeply black as the sky at that time of night—nearly midnight, just before the start of the Sabbath. The Devil would be weaker then, they told him, as if it would offer some comfort. The village presented him with a number of gifts: a string of garlic; a corncob whittled quite crudely into something resembling a cross; a branch of hawthorn for one hand and a wild rose for the other. McIntyre came up to Noam last, presenting him with a sharp stake of aspen.“Kill it when you see it,” was all he said.And Noam was sent off into the graveyards, hardly certain of what he was looking for.By now, he presumes, the last hour has come, the moon hanging in the sky like a berry from a branch, dead white and drained of its juices. The night is black, so deeply that Noam can barely see even the horse beneath him as they travel amongst tombstones—if there is anything Noam has actually discovered during this mission, it’s that this village seems to have more of the dead than the living in it.Noam pauses to throw a handful of mustard and crushed garlic onto the ground, just as he’s been monotonously doing all night. Garlic in his pockets, an aspen stake slid into his belt. He can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at—something. He pauses to wonder what. What was he expecting if he had come face-to-face with...?Noam suddenly laughs to himself about the entire notion, of getting so caught up even for a moment in the hysteria. A vampire—how little it took for forgotten superstitions to return.And yet, Noam’s grip remains tight on the mane of the horse as she trots slowly over the hill. He wonders at the thrill of his own heart, the blood rushing through his veins. He knows that there is nothing to be anxious about. And yet the feeling persists, and the more he thinks about it the more he can somehow trace his blood racing through his body, and...Noam shouts with exasperation and hops off the horse, pacing in a circle. After a moment, he tries to shoo away her with a wave of his hand.“Alright, bastard, off with you.”The mare doesn’t budge. She stares off into the distance, hooves digging at the dirt. She sees something, and she, too, is frightened. Noam feels his own heart beat faster just watching her, so he swats at her rear and says, tersely, “I said git, you old nag...”But the mare won’t move, eyes transfixed. Noam follows her gaze and falls upon a tombstone just ahead of them on the hill. It’s ancient, markedly more deteriorated than all surrounding graves, a chipped and crumbling model of a small obelisk. The name inscribed upon the base is long-faded and impossible to read.The mare makes a sound that Noam has heard no animal make before, nearly a shriek. She rears back at the night sky, and Noam realizes that she is about to charge. His feet freeze to the ground.For that moment, he’s certain that he’ll be joining the other bodies below—when, suddenly, he feels hands on his shoulders pulling him away. Noam stumbles backward just in time. The wind rushes past him as the horse flees, hooves striking the earth so loudly it’s as if she’s cracking it to the core.Noam trembles as he watches the horse run down the hill and out of the gate, getting lost in the black forest below. He’s so frightened by the encounter, he doesn’t even notice the presence behind him until he suddenly hears it speak.“God!” It exclaims, “are you alright?”Noam jolts, still shaking from the shock, but turns his head.The man he sees behind him is immediately disarming. He’s slender, just a bit taller than Noam himself, adorned in a golden chain and a silk shirt. His face is handsome with a regal nose, a dark beard and head of gently curled hair—yet there’s a strangeness to the ashen, plain color of his skin and even his lips.But his eyes—his eyes, deep amber, are what’s most arresting. Noam flinches instinctively at the sight of them.“Fine—” he gasps, and suddenly becomes aware that he’s out of breath, “I’m fine.”The strange man’s pale lips turn up with a smile, oddly restrained. His eyes maintain a warm quality that doesn’t quite put Noam at ease, but at least lets his heart rate subside enough to speak. “Who are you? What are you doing out here?”The man smiles again, showing just a bit of his teeth. “My name is Ariya Daivari. I was just out for a walk.”Noam’s expression quirks. The name is unusual, downright exotic for these parts—but then again, probably fitting for the man before him. He feels even more keenly aware of the blood pulsing in his veins, and takes a slight step backward.“You’ve had quite a fright, mister…” Ariya says, taking the same step forward that Noam took back, closing the distance.Noam trembles as he comes closer, but swallows and responds, “Noam. N-Noam Dar.” Ariya nods.“You really shouldn’t be out this late at night, Noam…”Noam bristles, his spine going rigid. “Oh yeah? You’re out for a stroll, why can’t I be out too?”Ariya lifts a hand to his lips, half-heartedly attempting to conceal a laugh. “You’re a bit young to be out here on your own, aren’t you?”The blood rushes to Noam’s face. He clenches the branches of hawthorn and rose until they snap, falling to the ground.“You—you—” Noam huffs and stammers, trembling with a flustered rage. “Wh—you—what’re you trying to say? I’m not a man? Is that it?”Ariya doesn’t even look Noam in the face as he speaks. He kneels down to the grass, picking up the broken wild rose and sniffing the bloom at its tip.“Are you a man?” He asks, tucking the rose gently into the breast of his shirt.“I...” Noam swallows, then scoffs and turns away. “I shouldn’t have to tell you anything. I don’t want to waste my time with you.”Ariya’s eyebrows rise curiously. “Busy?”“Yup.”“With what, might I ask?”Noam’s lips flatten out into a straight line. “Mind your own business.”The man’s eyes glisten with amusement. “Now, give me some credit,” he chides, “I can tell you’re clearly up to something.”Noam feels his heartbeat grow erratic for reasons he can’t even begin to understand. It’s as if his body is reacting to a distress that his mind cannot see.“You really should relax, young man...” Ariya says, voice oddly soothing. The words send a shiver throughout Noam’s body. For a moment he almost forgets what he’s talking about.“W-what makes you think I’m not calm...?” Noam demands suspiciously. He makes a point of avoiding looking right at this presumptuous stranger, internally debating what caused his anxiety—fear? Embarrassment? Or something else entirely? Noam’s mind drifts back to the pouch of leftover garlic and millet still sitting in his back pocket.Ariya smirks again. “Isn’t it obvious? Your heart is racing...”A trail of ice runs down Noam’s spine. His jaw opens and shuts without any words coming out. Ariya only lets out another laugh, and Noam can just notice the tips of his canines seem a bit too sharp. “See? Now you’ve run cold.”“How did...you...” Noam’s question trails off. A notion begins to form in his mind, but he does his best to dismiss it.Ariya, meanwhile, only leans against the black iron spokes of the graveyard fence, gazing out at the village.“It’s a lovely night out, isn’t it?”For a moment, the two stare at each other: Noam nervously fidgeting, Ariya just looking him over, waiting patiently. At last Noam timidly stands at the fence, keeping a few feet’s distance between the two of them.The light of the moon is gentle, less cruel than that of the sun. Under it the many orange and red autumn leaves are washed with a soft blue, leaving them a spectrum of violet shades. In the distance sits the main village square, spires and sloped roofs standing up deeply black as ink against the night sky. The hour is dotted by low clouds, their long bellies lavender and blue as they stretch out along the horizon.“You’re right,” Noam says. “It’s pretty.”Ariya nods, his amber eyes fixed ahead of him. The feeling of danger in Noam’s heart begins to subside—but the notion in his mind continues to weigh heavily.Abruptly, Ariya points out into the mass of black houses in the village.“Look there. See that?”Noam looks. He’s indicating the carpenter’s shop, its windows filled with an orange glow. It’s the only spot in the whole village with a light on. “What is that?”A wave of nervous heat rolls over Noam’s body. “That...that’s the carpenter’s shop.”“Well, of course. But it’s the only light on in the whole square.”Noam tries to calmly shrug even as his mind wanders back to the crucifix in his pocket. “Maybe he’s working some late hours?”Ariya raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that so?”“I…” Noam swallows, feeling his heartbeat thudding in his chest and cursing it, cursing himself for being so overcome by nerves. Why was he so shaken? What about this man caused him to stir with fear? He knew that this mission was a pointless errand—that there’s no vampire haunting them.So Noam forces himself to abandon his reservations.“Alright, fine, you got me,” Noam admits. “The truth is…practically the whole village is congregated in there. They’re waiting for me to get back from a vampire hunt.”Ariya’s eyebrows arch up in amusement. “You’re hunting vampires?”Noam snorts derisively. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the crudely-shaped crucifix, examining it in thought. “Yes. They gave me all these things to try and deal with it. I got a whole pocket full of garlic, too…”Ariya’s pale lips turn up in a smile as he extends his hand. “Might I see that?”Noam easily hands over the cross, noticing that there’s a strange glow to the man’s amber eyes as he holds it—but suddenly Noam is unafraid. Now he’s certain of how ridiculous the whole situation is, and how stupid he’d been for being frightened. “As far as I’m concerned you can keep it. It’s got no use for me.”“Oh?” Ariya hums, twisting the little crucifix in his fingers. “And why is that?”Noam looks at Ariya incredulously. “Why? Because vampires don’t exist, that’s why.”There’s an unmistakable gleam in Ariya’s eye like the glow of an open flame. “Are you really sure about that?”Noam stares at Ariya, waiting for him to smile and say he’s kidding. He never does. A cold wind arises from the west, rattling the dry leaves in the trees and sending a chill up through Noam’s spine. The loose shirt around Ariya’s waist quivers in the breeze, looking so ancient and fragile that it may tear. Slowly Ariya smiles fully, teeth long and sharp, eyes shimmering ominously.Noam’s hand twitches toward the stake in his belt. He isn’t fast enough—the golden eyes seize upon him. In an instant Noam’s hand goes limp, his mind static. Thoughts are suddenly distant and difficult to grasp.Time seems slow as Ariya steps closer, almost floating on the wind. “Take that stake and drop it to the ground.”Noam pulls the stake out from his leather belt and drops it into the dirt, not thinking twice. His heart is rolling in his chest with peals of thunder, blood rushing hot and thick through his veins—but his body and mind are still and blank, drifting through a fog towards a shining light. Ariya looks him up and down, tongue running across his lips.“So you’re a virgin, then.”It’s not a question, but Noam responds in a whimper, beautiful eyes searing into his soul and brain. “Yes.”A smile forms on Ariya’s face. “They sent me a nice one, this time, didn’t they?”Noam’s lips tremble as darkness closes in around him. Ariya takes some pity on him, grabbing his jaw and tilting his head back, exposing his neck.“Don’t talk,” he purrs, his voice more soothing than any sound Noam has ever heard before. “Just be good.”Noam complies, his body slack—like waking sleep. He sees nothing but gold; hears nothing but blood rushing through his veins; feels nothing but the tips of Ariya’s sharp teeth feeling slowly across his skin for the jugular. It tickles, almost like a kiss. Noam wants more; every cell in his body cries out for it.How did this happen? A faint thought from the back of his mind, buried in the static and warmth.Then they sink in. Noam lets out a hoarse cry from the burst of pain, then drifts away into the darkness, helpless as the vampire takes what he wants. When Noam opens his eyes again, the world is soft and smudged. His body rests on something thick, plush and warm—but his flesh is so cold; he runs his fingertips across his own arm and shivers as though he’s dipped them in snow.His vision is blurred in the dim light, unable to make out shapes—he can see two long white forms wavering over his head like ghostly arms. Noam rubs at his eyes with the back of his wrists and blinks, and now sees that they’re linen curtains, flickering in the wind pouring in from the open window.The window...?Noam sits upright, looking about himself. He’s in a small bedroom, resting on a bed of heavy red quilts. Outside, Noam can see the moon hanging low in the sky, casting broken light over the thick treetops—this place is in a forest, perhaps many miles from the village.Noam leaps from the bed and stumbles, knees weak. He makes his way to the mirror hanging on the wall and looks at himself. He’s pale and disheveled, and his eyes seem tinged with amber. A strip of gauze is taped to his neck. With fumbling fingers, Noam tears it away, revealing two perfect red spots lying side by side in his flesh. At first they’re nearly indistinguishable from freckles, but the twinge of pain Noam feels as he touches them tells it all.“H…how…” Noam begins to ask nobody, but trails off, overwhelmed. It’s useless, anyway—he knows exactly how this happened.What Noam doesn’t know is how he’s still alive.Presently, the large door creaks open, and Noam panics, lunging back onto the soft bed. A head pokes in—it’s Ariya, looking noticeably less pale, his cheeks and lips softly pink.“Oh, you’ve woken up,” he says with a blithe smile.Noam reaches back instinctively for the garlic in his pocket when he finds no such pocket there. Noam looks down at himself and discovers that he’s wearing a rather antiquated silk dressing gown. At a loss, he looks up at Ariya, who chuckles.“Your other clothes didn’t seem too comfortable to rest in, so I gave you these instead. Like ‘em?”Noam doesn’t seem to absorb what Ariya has said, instead looking dazedly about the room. “Where...w-where am I?”“Consider it my ancestral home,” Ariya says, leaning against the doorway. “You’re the first guest I’ve had in a long time.”Noam’s head is swimming. He lies back in the bed and massages his temples as if it could provide some clarity. None comes, and he sighs.“How...how did this happen?”Ariya hums, sauntering easily into the room. “Well, I’m a vampire. Your village sent you, a handsome young virgin, to seek me out. And I made you mine.”“No, no,” Noam says wearily, “I mean...”He pauses, fingers gently circling the two puncture wounds in his flesh, still tender.“How am I...alive?”Ariya smiles as he sits on the edge of Noam’s bed. “I went ahead and patched you up. Figured I ought to give you a fighting chance, right?”Noam stares into the mirror. The marks in his neck are deeply red, almost black, with the remnants of his blood. It’s as cold to the touch as the rest of his skin.There's suddenly hands on Noam's shoulders, and—even though he knows exactly who it is—he turns back to spot Ariya behind him, looking at him patiently. He glances back at the mirror, only slightly surprised that Ariya's reflection isn't there.Ariya smiles knowingly. “Give it some time.”Noam peers into the mirror for a few seconds longer. Indeed, he sees his own image begin to grow lighter, already fading away into the wall. He turns his head away abruptly, a sick feeling in his stomach. Ariya pats Noam's arm sympathetically.“To be honest, though, I’d hardly call you alive. Just...not dead.”Noam swallows. His amber eyes almost shine in the darkness. “I’m a vampire.”Ariya nods. “I see you’re bright.”Noam doesn’t even have the wherewithal to be offended by the remark. He’s touching his flesh, the wounds in his neck, the dark circles under his eyes, still in disbelief that this is all real. “D-Daivari...?” He whispers. This time, Ariya’s smile is gentle.“You can just call me Ariya, you know.”“Why...why didn’t you kill me?”Ariya’s eyes narrow slightly. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” He asks.“W-why would you keep me around? What do you…” Noam pauses, realizing that there’s been a gaze held between himself and Ariya. He turns his head away uneasily. “What do you need me for?”Ariya gives Noam a smile, taking his jaw gently in his hand. “To be completely honest, young man,” he says, guiding Noam to look into his eyes, “I don’t need you at all.”Noam looks hurt. “You don’t?”“No, I don’t…” Ariya smirks, drawing Noam’s face forward until they’re just scant inches apart, eyes glowing like embers in fire. “I took you because I want you.”Noam blinks at Ariya through his dark eyelashes for several seconds. Ariya sighs as he realizes that he truly doesn’t understand.“Come on, don’t look at me that way. You’ve felt desire before, haven’t you?”There’s an immediate reaction in Noam’s veins, blood rushing in a torrent to his cheeks. Ariya smirks as he senses the warmth. “I can tell I’ve struck a nerve.”Noam breathes out, looking down into his lap. “It…it doesn’t matter what I feel. People don’t notice me until they need me to do something.”Ariya’s expression fades into something that may be concern. Noam is sure that he’s mistaken.“I can’t believe that.”“Believe it,” Noam scoffs. “Nobody has ever given a shit about me. They only sent me out as bait for you.”Noam turns to gaze out the open window. The cold wind doesn’t even make him flinch as he focuses beyond the tops of the trees, as if just beyond lies the village for which a seed of hate grows heavier in his undead heart.“They sent you out as bait for me,” Ariya repeats in a voice that’s calm and measured. “And then what happened?”Noam’s hands clench into fists. The wounds in his neck irradiate a pain from deep within. “I became your prey.”For a moment, they’re both silent, curtains billowing around Noam as he stares. At last he whispers, nearly to himself, “you made me like you...”Noam at last faces Ariya again. His eyes are blown wide, as golden and bright as a sun at midnight. Something new is coming over his expression—something dark, surprising on the face of a man that had so far struck Ariya as wide-eyed and naïve.“You...you made me yours.”Ariya feels his own blood begin to rush as he nods. “Figuring it out, are you?”Excitement builds in Noam’s chest. He had been taken by someone—with no favors in mind; no sacrifice needed; no conditions for their attention. He hadn’t been needed, but he had been wanted. It’s almost overwhelming.“I...I’ve never been...’desired’,” Noam confesses, eyes trained on Ariya, who merely extends his hand.“You’re beginning to understand, now.”Noam reaches out and twines his fingers with Ariya’s. His gaze is burning.“Show me. Show me how much you want me.”Ariya’s eyebrows rise, and he chuckles. “I suppose immortality isn’t enough for you?”Noam bites his lip, feeling the newly sharpened points of his teeth nearly pierce his own skin. In his whole body he senses a deep aching. At first he had thought it to be the pain of emerging from death, but now he knows that it’s yearning—yearning for Ariya, for the liberation that he presents, and for that look in his eyes. Desire.So he grips tightly to Ariya’s hand and pulls him forward. Their foreheads nearly touch; the mutual glow in their eyes creates a light of its own.“I never had enough before I met you,” Noam breathes. Ariya feels himself stir in a way that it hasn’t for so long.“Please.” Noam moves Ariya’s hand to rest right over his chest. “Make me inhuman.”That’s all it takes. Ariya grabs Noam roughly and throws him back into the mattress with enough force to make him bounce. When Noam reorients himself Ariya has already crawled up his body, glaring deeply into him with pupils narrowed to slits. Noam trembles and swallows—those eyes may not have a power over him anymore, but Ariya’s gaze still shocks him right to his core. It’s like being bitten again.“Very well.”Ariya’s voice is nearly a growl as he speaks, a cruel smile on his face. With one swift motion he grabs the front of Noam’s nightshirt in his fist and tears the fragile fabric to bits.Ariya moans as he’s almost instantly overcome—even under flesh so cold, blood is rushing hot through Noam’s body. And it’s making every fiber of Ariya’s being burn, pleading to get closer.His hands reach out for Noam, landing on his hips and pulling him up to meet him. Noam is all too willing, legs lacing around Ariya’s waist and closing whatever gap remains between them. Their chests press together as if one body needs the other, and Ariya finds himself slotting so easily into Noam’s shape, cocks pressing together through the fabric of Ariya’s clothes.Ariya purrs, already grinding easily against Noam, sensing the hot, delicious blood straining between the two of them. But Noam is unsatisfied, reaching up and grasping Ariya’s shirt in his hands. He’s visibly trembling.“O-off...need this off...” he gasps.Ariya smirks. “Then take it off yourself.”Noam looks dismayed for only a moment before growling, his eyes suddenly animal. He sharply yanks, and surely enough, Ariya’s shirt rips away just like Noam’s just a minute before.There’s a pause for a mutual gasp between them—Ariya for Noam’s exhilarating fierceness; Noam for Ariya’s chest, strong and toned, flesh perfectly smooth and soft. The only blemish visible is by Ariya’s clavicle, where two perfect round scars sit side by side.Something about Ariya’s bare skin drives Noam to the brink. He feels his mind spiraling as a scent washes over him, leaving his whole body buzzing. Something new and unfamiliar—something dangerous—now underscores the desire that’s still burning heavy down below, and it’s all too much for Noam to bear. He sobs as he lunges forward, fangs latching directly into Ariya’s neck.Ariya gasps deeply, body jolting in shock as points like needles are driven into his throat. He trembles and laughs.“O-oh, yes...y-you must b-be so hungry...”Noam is too lost to answer. He’s growling and sucking, intoxicated by his first blood—and what blood it is. Ariya is perfect, hot and delicious in a way that Noam never wants to be full from. It sends all of his senses into a wild frenzy, as if every ounce that trickles over his tongue makes him more and more of a beast. His hands fly up and knot Ariya’s hair into his fists, leaving Ariya writhing and gasping as he tugs and tugs hard.“Oh—oh, Noam—“ he sobs, already weak from bliss. He had forgotten over all these years how sweet pain could be. And Noam just keeps obliging him with it, sucking his neck until he’s numb and almost emptied.Below Noam’s hips are rolling as fast as his body can stand, the taste of Ariya driving him into ecstatic fits. Ariya is left sputtering, struggling to keep up with the awakened Noam. The bloodlust feeds itself more and more until the bed is creaking beneath their bodies from their desperation for each other. Ariya is slowly losing his grip; the friction of Noam against him is driving him to the edge, and with every moan that comes from his lips, Noam tugs his hair harder, grinds his hips down faster, presses his teeth just a strained bit further into his flesh. He’s in total control—and Ariya, after all these years as the hunter, is now the loving prey.“O-oh...ohfuck...” Ariya moans helplessly, his body weak to Noam’s power. Waves of pleasure crash over him in rapid succession, pulsing out from his cock up into his spine and every nerve in his body. His hips are so sore that they just relinquish and surrender, letting themselves be pressed flat into the mattress as Noam overpowers them. Every stroke makes Ariya’s cock throb in pain, the irresistible kind that he hasn’t felt for so long, begging for a final release but too much enjoying the torture.And then, just as suddenly as he plunged in, Noam halts. Ariya winces with just a twinge of pain as Noam pulls back, teeth sliding free of his flesh. Blood trickles out, curling in ribbons down Ariya’s ribs. He feels Noam trembling in his arms for a moment before their eyes lock.Noam—the Noam that Ariya ensnared earlier this evening—is gone, his golden eyes harsh, reflecting something so ancient and primal as Ariya falls captive to their stare. And then he spots the blood, heavy and rich like red wine, curling down Noam’s lips and chin as he sobs brokenly. He’s drunk from the feast—Ariya tingles with the sight of it, the blood of the prey, the blood that is his, trickling down the mouth of that wicked face with those entrancing eyes. For once, after so, so long, Ariya has been hunted.And that’s enough. Ariya sobs breathlessly as his spine goes rigid, pressing his hips flat against Noam’s tireless body.
“N-NOAM—!”
His cry is almost pathetic, keening against Noam as he throbs and—at last—spills over hot in his own clothes. Noam twitches for another moment before gasping, joining Ariya, making himself filthy with his own cum.They collapse in each other’s arms. For a while there’s only basking; Ariya feels a peace like nothing before as he watches the moon drift across the sky through the open window. Noam rests panting in his arms, and Ariya listens as the blood cools off in their veins.For a few minutes, Ariya drifts off into a light sleep, until he’s interrupted by a soft, cold hand tugging his arm. Ariya looks down to see Noam gazing up at him sullenly.“I-I…” Noam whispers brokenly, “I…’ms-sorry…”Ariya silences him with a finger to his lips—lips that are still coated with blood, now cooled and almost beginning to congeal. With a sigh, Ariya reaches to the bedside table to retrieve a handkerchief, which he proceeds to clean Noam’s face with.“Don’t be sorry,” he says gently. “You just seemed like you were starved...”Noam gives Ariya a meek smile. “I-I didn’t even know I was hungry...”“Few do,” Ariya says, wiping the corners of Noam’s mouth carefully. “I remember how hungry I was when I first turned...I thought I was going to die all over again.”Noam sighs softly as Ariya finishes cleaning his lips. He settles into Ariya’s arms, looking meek and placid, almost irreconcilable with the animal he was just minutes ago. “I’m so sleepy...”“That’s common,” Ariya says, stroking Noam’s soft hair sweetly. “You’ve sated yourself pretty well. You should sleep...”Noam moves to comply, nestling into Ariya’s arms and closing his eyes, resting his head in his chest. Ariya gazes down at him fondly, swearing for a moment that his own heart begins to beat.This young man, once timid, virginal, is now all his, belonging to him in a way that’s much deeper than a thrall—and Ariya belongs to him just as completely.Even he can hardly believe this has happened.“Ariya...?” Noam murmurs sleepily.“Yes?” Ariya hums.“I never told you earlier...I...I have felt desire before.”Now Ariya’s eyes creak open to see Noam shyly blushing.“Oh? Whom for?”“A...” Noam clears his throat, “a man from the village. He’s big, strong and demanding. Whenever he looked at me I got a little...flustered.”“What’s his name?” Ariya asks pointedly. Noam swallows hard.“M...McIntyre.”Ariya’s lips twitch with a smirk. “Oh? And just as I was thinking I was special...”“I don’t mean that!” Noam huffs. “But...I thought that perhaps you and I could...”Ariya chuckles under his breath. “Well...I do think I may be hungry after I wake up...”An expression of wicked excitement crosses Noam’s face. He purrs, arching back to nuzzle Ariya affectionately.“Thank you....”Ariya smiles, pulling Noam in close against his body, feeling a warmth from within. “Only for you...you are my closest...’companion’, now, after all.”Noam just smirks.“I think I’m going to like this new life.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Mustafa feels ill as he sits by the edge of the pier, staring at the empty horizon before him.This is meant to be a day of celebration. Thousands of families will be reunited with their sons, husbands, and fathers when the ships arrive and dock by the harbor. The night of feasting is expected to last well into the next morning.Yet, a hollow wind rings through Mustafa’s body, threatening to scatter the pieces out into the sea at any moment.No deaths had been recorded amongst the guard that had been sent out to the conflict in the hinterlands—a miracle in and of itself. But the last message Mustafa had received is printed into his being. He can see it like a phantom when his eyes are shut.
“Your Resplendency:
Cedric injured, l. bicep. Deep gash. Feels very poor.”
The note carried the smoke wafting from a battlefield—and in the haze, Mustafa’s confidence withered.A new message came in three weeks’ time, ink smudged from a scrawl of rapid excitement, that the conflict had at last drawn to a ceasefire. Statistics, signatures, a copy of a treaty with several lines for the crown to sign upon, bundled together under a shiny wax seal.But no further word on the head of his guard. The ache in Mustafa’s throat formed suddenly in that moment in his throne room, before the bowed heads of the messengers—And so, seated above the crowds of the eager and the desperate upon the granite dais, Mustafa’s throat feels ready to burst. No one looking upon him could ever notice, beneath the features of his face, set calm and still like a serene idol. The duty of the prince is to bury his soul alive.Ages pass beneath the veil of July heat, and the masses begin to shuffle discordantly. Flesh grows sticky and hot. Yet their prince remains, expression sculpted from ice, unyielding and unmelting beneath the brow of the sun. Mustafa gazes into the unbroken sea, the agonizingly calm waves rolling up into monotony.Mustafa’s grip on his scepter tightens imperceptibly. It’s all he can do to keep from throwing himself into the water.It feels like an eternity has passed when the masts rise up, piercing the breast of the sky. Mustafa numbly registers the shrill cry of the crowd, a release of agony that’s turned suddenly into joy. His citizens throb with excitement, rushing to the edge of the dock with fervor that stops just sort of falling into the sea. Mustafa’s blood is rumbling in his veins as he marches down the steps, erect and stiff, amongst his people, who cheer and bless him and thank God, reaching upwards toward him. Mustafa reaches back to them kindly, clasping and touching their hands, though he barely even recognizes the sensation.The ships, as slowly as it had taken them to reach their destination, seem to have doubled their speed upon sighting their homeland. With an eerie exactness, they are lined up by the pier like a precession, and silently await the word of their sovereign. All goes quiet, and all eyes, even the wind itself, turn to the prince. Some kneel.The lump that pains Mustafa’s throat so goes unnoticed by the masses as he speaks to them. He feels as though he is sleepwalking through a dream he’s had many times before. This is a day of great honor. You see before you your fellow man—your families, your brethren. These are our people: diligent, courageous...The meaning of the words is lost to him in his haze of fretful thought. Mustafa isn’t even aware his speech has ended until he realizes that he’s gesturing towards the ships, and that the ramps are now flooded with the thousands of warriors exiting the vessels. He watches as the crowds merge into one. Men kneel down to pick up their daughters, barely old enough to walk, and kiss their foreheads. Wives embrace their husbands, each sobbing with relief into the shoulder of the other. Elderly men grasp the hands of their sons. Mustafa feels a soft stirring in his chest to witness a rebirth of his people’s spirit—he feels regret that he cannot share their joy. Not yet.Next is a long line, weaving back into the capitol and coming to a head at the top step of the dais. Mustafa bows his head with every soldier, offering a solemn prayer and congratulation to each. He fights his hardest to not be terse and speed through rites, but the temptation is difficult to resist. By the time Mustafa is at last approached by one of his advisors, flanked by shipmen, he is certain that the sun has shifted in the sky.“A magnificent day, my prince...” the advisor notes gaily, bowing at the waist before Mustafa, who only nods.“The head of my guard, please.” Mustafa licks his lips, dry as ash. “Is he...aboard?”The advisor waves his hand dismissively. “Please, my prince. You know he’s resilient.”The tension slides off of Mustafa’s shoulders in an instant. “Oh, God…”The advisor pats Mustafa’s back, smiling at his clear relief. “Cedric will recover soon. Less than two weeks, even. However…”That’s enough to cause a little panic to crawl up Mustafa’s spine. He reaches out to grasp his advisor’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “What? What? Daivari, you tell me…”The advisor tsks and shakes his head, brushing Mustafa’s hand from his arm. “For God’s sake, calm down...”Meekly, Mustafa shrinks back, lightly rubbing his neck. “Right. I apologize.”Ariya sighs, sliding his spectacles off and wiping them with the flared sleeve of his robe.“All I meant to say,” he says, returning the glasses to his face, “was that he is not to be disturbed at any point this evening—“Like a child, Mustafa groans and pouts, just short of stamping his foot on the deck. Ariya flashes him a grimace. “Don’t you get upset with me. This is right from the mouth of the medics. Besides, you’ll be plenty busy tonight, won’t you?”Now it’s Mustafa who grimaces. Tonight will be long with celebration and feasting, and the duty of presiding over the rejoicing public falls to Mustafa. He feels a pang of guilt. Typically, being amongst his citizens during festivities is what he lives for. But without his guard by his seat at the table—without even being able to see him—Mustafa knows there’ll be a grim little cloud over his head all night.Ariya, sensing his prince’s displeasure, claps an arm onto his shoulder and lowers his voice confidentially.“Are you going to be alright, Moose?”Mustafa merely grumbles, patting away Ariya’s hand. “Of course. Of course, I’ll be fine.”Ariya nods, and bends into a quick bow with the shipmen before they promptly excuse themselves. Once they’ve vanished into the crowds, Mustafa’s eyes turn once again to the massive ship. Two tall guards stand in the entrance, assisting the few stragglers down the ramp, and—more importantly—guarding the sick and wounded who must disembark separately with medical staff. For a moment, Mustafa contemplates a bribe, perhaps even demanding entrance aboard. But he stays put, simply sighing wistfully as he stares. There was no need for him to selfishly interrupt the environment.At last, Mustafa wraps his robes up to his neck and turns to the city, his city, behind him. There will be much to prepare for that evening, and, hopefully, much to keep him busy. Somehow, Mustafa isn’t preoccupied enough.It’s almost impossible. The lanterns are strung high to the ceiling, casting the long chiffon cloths on the banquet tables with an amber glow. The dancers, the feasters, the partygoers simply sparkle in the dim light, faces bright and merry as families rejoice in one another’s presence. The band sits on the raised stage, draped by rich silver and purple tapestries and textiles, playing music that’s soft but sweet, somehow energizing and lulling all at once.Surrounded by love and beauty. Normally the prince could be lost in the scene, but tonight he sits upon the platform feeling as if he were a thousand miles away from everything. The lights, the sounds, the faces; all distant and smudged in his mind—a mind that’s wandering no matter what Mustafa does.The problem is that he’s so unused to being alone on his right side. Every so often Mustafa cranes up his head to make a comment—“the way they’re dancing, Cedric; what are they doing with their bodies?”—only to find nothing there, and somehow, feel his heart sink even though he’s not at all forgotten the situation.Mustafa scratches at his neck impatiently. These are his “party clothes”: thick, long robes brocaded with silk borders and gold sashes and red something or others; so detailed and massive that not even he had ever seen them fully. Naturally, after a good four hours of wear (especially when perfectly still, perched on a pillow, save for raising the toast), the whole outfit was oppressively hot and impossibly heavy. Mustafa’s legs fell asleep sometime after hour six.He looks for some other change in scenery, turning his head to some guests in the corner. A younger couple: he extends his hand warmly; she plays bashful for a moment or two before pulling him in herself. They gaze at each other fondly for a moment, and—Mustafa turns his head away and growls, again scratching at his neck. Between the weight of his robes and the company all around him, he’s trapped in place.He needs to escape.Mustafa looks behind himself. The tall, wide doors leading out of the ballroom into the corridor are unguarded, but he would certainly never get out unnoticed by the crowd of the party. Not unless there were a distraction…Mustafa’s eyes brighten. He looks around for some official-looking person, perhaps allegedly in his entourage, and eventually settles on a taller man seated at the nobles’ table. Mustafa clears his throat, and points.“You there.”The man looks a bit surprised as he stands, but still bows to the hip. “Yes, sire?”Mustafa motions for the man to come closer, then points to the band onstage.“Go tell the band leader to call up another dance. This party’s getting stale!”The man nods in comprehension and bows sharply before running up to the front of the room—Mustafa can’t help but laugh at just how seriously he’d taken the task. On cue, the band lets out a sudden united shout, and their energy is reignited with a vigorous number. The crowd catches the wave in an instant, surging forward to join in the dance, clasping hands and swinging around in a wide circle that snakes all around the ballroom.Just as planned—Mustafa is left alone in the back of the great hall, and the sudden liveliness catches the seats of nobility before him off guard.With a rush of excitement, Mustafa slides quickly out of his shoes, creeping to the door on stocking feet. His steps fall as silently as snow as he inches out the door, little by little—waiting for the heartbreaking moment when the wrong head finally turns around and discovers him attempting to shirk his duties. But—miraculously!—the moment never arrives. Mustafa feels a thrill of victory as he shuts the great door behind himself.Now Mustafa is faced with a wide corridor—a deep, gray granite place covered by shadow and cold. Not a light or soul in sight: almost all of the palace’s primary staff are preoccupied with the festivities. On one hand, this affords Mustafa ready-made stealth. On the other...Mustafa shivers as a cold wind blows across from the adjacent courtyard, which lies still under the watch of the pale moon.On the other hand, this is not the most pleasant part of the palace to explore in the dead of night.Mustafa opts to stay close to the walls, where his fingers slide along, searching for the edges of a door—not that he believes this will mean great progress. The sheer number of rooms, baths, infirmaries, libraries, and galleries afforded by this floor is unknown to even him. And Cedric could be behind any one of those doors.Mustafa slinks along in near-perfect silence, broken only by the heavy shuffle of the ornate cloth trap he’s still ensnared in. His fingers find the doors rather easily in the darkness, all things considered; however, when Mustafa clicks the outer latches (a quick gesture; pulling twice on the lever of the handle to quickly ask, “is anybody home?”), the only response is silence. The whole hall is filled to its ceiling with an unbearable quiet, and if another ounce were added, Mustafa thinks he may burst. In fact, he’s beginning to question if anyone is even alive in this area. After all, Ariya wasn’t specific as to which floor Cedric would staying on—Mustafa’s thoughts are interrupted by a sharp ripping sound. He turns with a sense of dread washing over him, and finds his outermost robe has snagged upon a rose topiary in its low, thorny branches, beginning to tear as Mustafa moves forward.“Shit,” he whispers, reaching back to attempt to disentangle the mess. No good: the vase the plant rests in jerks with Mustafa’s motion, the base making an awkward ceramic screech that echoes throughout the vast hallway. Shit, shit, shit. No one seemed to be out—but that couldn’t guarantee that noise wouldn’t stir someone to see what the fuss was—there could be someone, couldn’t there? Waiting in the shadows?—nerves get to Mustafa all at once. In a panic, he does the only thing he can think of doing: disentangle himself from the clothing. Hurriedly, Mustafa unties and unbuttons layer after layer of brocaded silk and satin, until all of them are sliding off his body, giving him enough space to quickly dash out.Mustafa shivers. He’s completely exposed now to the cold air, bare save for a silk undergarment about his waist—but, at the very least, he feels about thirty pounds lighter. He turns his head back to the mound of clothes he’s left behind. Without him it’s merely a shapeless, inelegant mass; huge and disgraceful like the corpse of a dragon...Speaking of disgraces, a soft voice sounds from behind Mustafa’s shoulder, hushed and urgent.“Your highness!”Mustafa feels his soul drop out of his body. He’s almost too ashamed to turn his head and look at the shadow looming behind him. He’s certain, that, for a prince, he bears a striking resemblance to a whipped dog at the moment. He even flinches when the figure steps closer—an odd, lopsided movement that seems strained.“P-prince...?”The voice has softened, now. The pinpricks of fear in Mustafa’s blood subside as he realizes how familiar it sounds. He takes one step closer to the figure.“C-Cedric...?”Now Cedric’s face is fully formed, flushed with embarrassment as he awkwardly tries to bow at the hip for his prince. The task is made more difficult with his arm wrapped up in a white cloth, held closely to his chest in a sling.“Th-that’s alright, Cedric...” Mustafa murmurs hurriedly as he steps closer. “I...oh, Cedric, I’ve been searching for you...”Cedric balks a moment as he looks Mustafa up and down, reminding him all at once of how bare he is. “Oh?”Mustafa blushes, swallowing, trying to moisten his dry throat. “It...was quite a journey...”Though he can’t quite see it in the darkness, Mustafa can feel the weary smile that comes across Cedric’s face. “You’re telling me...”Mustafa nods, motions quick and nervous. “May I...” he pauses to drag his tongue across his lips, “m-may I come in?”For a moment, there is silence, before Cedric tersely asks, “is anyone else with you?”Mustafa shakes his head rapidly, so much so that his hair beats against his own face. “No, no. Not a soul, I made sure of that. Please.”Cedric sighs, slowly pulling the door open. He could never deny his prince—especially not when he begged.There is a single oil lamp on Cedric’s night stand, its light making the room feel golden and comforting. Or perhaps that’s just the effect Cedric’s presence has on Mustafa’s spirit. Even weary and battle torn, his eyes are still the same in the soft light of the lamp, deep and dark brown and so warm. Mustafa can’t help himself but smile.“Cedric...” he sighs, settling into the armchair by the bed. “It feels like it’s been months.”Cedric flashes Mustafa a tired smile as he settles back into mattress (Mustafa notes how he grunts painfully). “Only five weeks, my prince...”Mustafa shakes his head. “No, no. No ‘my prince’ or ‘my lord’ or anything right now.”Cedric’s smirk is breezy and effortless, just like himself. “Why not? You’re my prince...and I like that.”Mustafa feels the blood rush into his cheeks, but does his best to replicate the smirk. “I’ve told you again and again, dearest knight,” he purrs, leaning over Cedric’s body, “you are not to call me any of those when we’re spending time alone together...”“Nnnng...” Cedric lets out a hiss of pain through his teeth. “M-Mustafa...my...”Mustafa glances down at himself, and finds his hand placed flat against Cedric’s wound. He backs away quickly.Now, in their isolation, Mustafa can at last have a look at the injury. The edges of a deep gash, crusted black with dry blood, are visible, peeking out from the corners of the gauze that’s pasted onto his arm—gauze that was once white, now mottled with pink and green stains from the seepage of the wound and the herbs ground against it. Cedric’s arm remains pinned to his chest with a cloth, tightly wound and tied, to keep him from moving it around in excess. Now Mustafa understands why he was told to stay away.“I-I am so sorry...” Mustafa murmurs, face warm with shame. Cedric grunts, rolling to prop himself up on his free elbow.“No, no. It’s okay,” he says, giving Mustafa a brave smile, that, no matter how forced, makes the prince sigh.“I wish I’d never sent you out there...” Mustafa says wistfully, slowly lying on the narrow edge of the bed by Cedric’s side. “Look what it’s gotten you.”Cedric shrugs a shoulder and chuckles. “Come on, my—Mustafa. You’ve seen me have worse falls than this.”Mustafa shakes his head. His eyes are faraway, tracking something beyond the boundaries of the ceiling. “You were out in that mess. All of you...” A knot forms in Mustafa’s throat. “Y-you could have—““Enough.” Cedric intervenes. “We didn’t. I didn’t. This is now.”Mustafa sighs. Cedric’s touch is as soft and gentle against his skin as ever, but it isn’t full comfort. “Don’t you get tired, Cedric? Tired of just throwing your life on the line for...” Mustafa pauses to shake his head in disbelief. “For me?”Cedric looks dismayed by the very question. “It’s my duty. I do everything in your name...”Mustafa groans. Cedric’s voice is so dedicated that it’s simply painful; painful that he’s so adamant about this.“You deserve more than this, Cedric...”Cedric sighs. “Alright, then. May I be so bold, then, to ask you what it is that I deserve?”Mustafa’s eyes fall shut as he imagines it.“A palace...one of your very own. Made all out of gold, and a kingdom to go with it. Ten thousand horses. So many servants you need a second palace—“Cedric laughs so suddenly it jars Mustafa out of thought. “Servants?” He chuckles, beaming in amusement. “Who in the hell would be my servant?”Mustafa lies still a moment, trying to think of it. Soon he opens his eyes, wearing a slight, playful smile.“I don’t know. Who do you want to be your servant?”There. The look crosses Cedric’s eyes in an instant, and no matter how he tries to hide it, Mustafa notices. A little thrill of excitement tinted by darkness; the quick sweep of his eyes up Mustafa’s mostly bare body. Their eyes meet in that fleeting second, and in almost the same moment, Cedric’s face flushes and turns away.“C-Cedric...?” Mustafa inches forward, only for Cedric to flinch nervously away. Mustafa feels himself beginning to smirk. “My, my...my dear sir Cedric...”“Forgive me!” Cedric bursts, sitting upright. “Please, forgive me! I didn’t mean it!”“Hold still!” Mustafa groans, taking Cedric’s unwounded shoulder and pressing him back into the mattress. “You’ll hurt yourself, thrashing like that...”Cedric merely averts his eyes in shame, cheeks dusted red. “I...I’m sorry. I just shouldn’t look at you with those eyes.”Mustafa sighs. Sometimes, Cedric is simply too difficult to get through to. Even after the countless nights they’d spent together, taken up to each other’s rooms to discuss “matters of the state”, or sequestered in a barracks after a lull in training—Cedric still insisted on being a gentleman.“Believe me...” Mustafa whispers, tracing up Cedric’s stomach, snaking around his abs, “I know all about those eyes of yours by now, Cedric...”Cedric gasps softly as Mustafa’s fingers stray over him. For a moment, the pain of the wound on his arm, the pain that’s been throbbing deep in his flesh for days, is suddenly erased, dominated by the gentleness of the prince’s touch. Cedric’s body subtly arches up into it, not wanting it to escape.“P-prince, prince, please...” Cedric is already begging. Mustafa feels satisfied with how little time it took.“I told you to say my name...” Mustafa says with a mock sigh. “I don’t know if I can go on, if—““Mustafa,” Cedric croaks out pleadingly, “Mustafa, please...”Mustafa is satisfied by that—or perhaps he’s satisfied with the way Cedric’s lips tremble as he speaks, looking so warm and soft, almost begging themselves to be kissed. Or, perhaps, it’s Cedric’s body, toned and perfect even after the scarring and exhaustions of battle—especially his chest, so broad and powerful, which is, at present, rising and falling with his gradually quickening breath.Whatever it is, Mustafa at last slips over, carefully straddling Cedric’s waist. A shock of hunger flickers in his deep brown eyes the moment he does so.“Yes...that’s what I like to hear...” Mustafa purrs. At once Cedric looks as adoring as a worshipper—and Mustafa can’t keep down a chuckle at his loving expression. “Oh, Cedric...I do so very much appreciate your 'service'...”“Yes. Yes.” Cedric’s response is breathless and immediate. He gazes up at his prince, straddling him—straddling him almost bare, his decency only barely preserved by the thin silk garment around his waist. The hunger rolls through Cedric’s veins again. He could just tear that cloth off with a single hand and expose everything, leave this divine body open to the night air; let the moon and stars witness him: the heavenly prince stripped naked in his guard’s bed.He and Mustafa meet eyes, staring deeply into and through each other. Slowly, Mustafa smirks, as if every microcosm of filth that had just formed in Cedric’s mind had flashed across his own.“Good, good boy...” Mustafa whispers, and it nearly sends Cedric into ecstasy. “But...”“W-what, what?” Cedric gasps, his body beginning to tremble from the tension capped within him. Mustafa can feel the bulge of his cock growing, pressing slowly into his thigh.“You said just now, didn’t you...” Mustafa hums, and can’t help but to pause for a long second, waiting until Cedric looks like he’s about to burst. “That you’d like me as a servant.”Cedric moans, pressing his head back into the pillow. “No, no, w-wrong...I-I didn’t—““Shhhh.” Mustafa delicately rests a fingertip over Cedric’s lips, hushing him. Cedric only barely staves off his impulse to suckle it into his mouth.“I do believe you’re in luck, Sir Cedric...” Mustafa softly sighs, slowly slinking up to Cedric’s ear to deliver a decisive blow, “...my lord.”All of the air leaves Cedric’s lungs in an instant. He sputters uselessly, staring into Mustafa’s glimmering brown eyes, waiting for the joke to be revealed, but it never comes—his expression remains deeply serious.Cedric stares at the way Mustafa moves, slinking gracefully down from the bed onto the floor. He gets on his knees in a way that’s so fucking flawless it makes him want to cry; poised perfectly with his back up straight, hands placed delicately upon his lap. Mustafa tilts his head and looks up at Cedric through his long lashes, as innocent as a helpless doe. But the feint can’t hide what’s about to come—Cedric has known the prince far too long to be fooled by that again. His liege was the host of deep rebellious tendencies. Looking into Mustafa’s eyes, Cedric could sense them now emerging in full.Mustafa just purrs, innocently lifting his fingers to his lips, pressed into a playful, plump pout.“Please, my lord...” he whispers in a voice that seems designed to make Cedric shiver, “you’ve given so much to protect your country and serve your prince...”He pauses, reaching down and finding the strings that hold his white garment onto his body. He pulls them slowly, mockingly slow; Cedric can somehow feel every fiber gliding against each other in his skin.“I beg that you let your little prince serve you.”He’s naked. Sitting on his knees, pliant and delicate, every inch of him just there like some kind of temptation, his soft, tan skin shimmering and golden, all for his hands to grasp.Cedric lets out a sort of pathetic sob just staring at him. It’s almost unfair. After ten thousand times seeing his prince this way, it still leaves him unable to speak.It’s those seconds of stunned silence from Cedric, in fact, that spur Mustafa to speak. “Go ahead…” He says with a sly, promising smirk. “I’m at your command.”“H-h-h…a-a-ah…” Cedric’s mouth makes sounds before his mind is ready to make words, still catching up with the situation at hand. “I…I’m…”Mustafa tilts his head in a way that he really shouldn’t; the playful “innocence” is enough that it nearly destroys Cedric’s train of thought all over again, but Cedric claws into the sheets and tries to stay afloat.“I-is it okay?” Cedric finally manages to ask. “I-is this real…?” Mustafa smiles, mysteriously and beautifully.“I don’t know…” he says. Suddenly, Mustafa boldly reaches forward, grasping Cedric’s available hand and guiding it forward. Cedric gasps—deeply, out loud—as he feels the skin of his prince’s chest beneath his hand; as Mustafa holds it there for him to touch.All at once, a wave is released over Cedric, as if all the time that they’d been separated had suddenly doubled and rained down over his head in that moment—and Mustafa’s flesh is breaking for air. Five weeks apart. Cedric finally realizes how starving he is.Moaning, almost growling, Cedric reaches and firmly grabs Mustafa’s arm, jerking him up onto the bed (obligingly, Mustafa scrambles up willingly, moaning himself), then pinning him down flat to the mattress. The impact knocks a low gasp out of Mustafa’s lungs, and he rolls his head back against the pillow, where all his thick, dark hair is spread out like unspooled silk. He looks so heavenly that Cedric almost feels guilty for wanting to fuck him out of consciousness.“M-my lord…” Mustafa softly moans, a hand sliding up Cedric’s strong, broad chest, “y-your arm…mind your arm…”“Oh?” Cedric breathes out, deeply. “What if I wanna push you down and use you? What about that?”Mustafa feels his skin rising up and tingling at the very idea, and shudders, but tries not to give in. “G-give me a c-command...” he murmurs, still cutely struggling against Cedric (even with one arm, Cedric is still impressively strong). “A-any word...”Cedric tilts his head back, looking down at Mustafa with a smirk. “Any word?”Mustafa rapidly nods, his eyes glimmering again as he purrs. “I’ll obey anything...”Slowly, Cedric leans away, freeing Mustafa (and for a fleeting second, Mustafa feels disappointment in no longer being trapped) and lying back in the mattress. The prince can’t help but tremble at the sight of him sprawled out in the bed, somehow lazy and powerful at once. He looks like a god—and Mustafa is the sacrifice, offered up on a golden plate.Cedric pats his thigh. “Come.”Mustafa swallows, forgetting his own teasing for a moment as he eagerly crawls up Cedric’s body into his lap.“Y-yes, master...” he whispers, feeling the tremors in his voice as he speaks.Cedric gestures again to show Mustafa where to lie, and the prince curls up by his side like a kitten. His guard’s flesh is warm against his own skin. Mustafa sighs just to feel his presence again.“Now...” Cedric begins, pointing at his own pants—pajamas to rest in, made of soft white satin. “I want these off.”“Yes, master...” Mustafa slips down to Cedric’s hip without a question, trying not to whimper as his own cock drags against the mattress. Instead, he focuses on Cedric, on slowly untying the front of his pants until they’re finally loosened enough to take down. Cedric is patient, merely watching Mustafa as he works, tugging down the edges of the pajamas and slowly bunching them down Cedric’s thighs (a difficult task, considering how thick and soft Cedric’s thighs are).“O-oh...” a moan escapes Cedric’s lips, and Mustafa looks up, only for a little shock to zip up his spine. True, he’d expected to see it; he’s already seen it countless times by now, in fact. But still, even after all this time, seeing Cedric’s cock exposed and bouncing, thick and warm and completely full for his prince—of course, Mustafa finds himself feeling absolutely thrilled by the sight of it every time.Cedric, on his part, reaches down and squeezes it, fingers trailing slowly up his shaft. A bead of precum, white and thick, forms at his tip, and all at once Mustafa’s lips and throat feel so dry. He swallows, tongue dragging across his lips, and trembles, which elicits a laugh from Cedric.“Nervous?” He asks, still gently squeezing at his cock. As teasing as his smile is, there is a calm, loving look in his eyes. Mustafa senses what he’s really asking—“do you need me to stop?”—and vigorously shakes his head. Cedric’s knowing grin widens even further.“You want something, don’t you?”Mustafa hoarsely laughs, trying to override the feeling of his own cock beginning to burn. “Is it o-obvious, master?”Cedric looks down upon Mustafa with both sympathy and self-satisfaction, a hand resting on his cheek. The prince-turned-slave’s eyelids flutter, relaxing into his touch.“You always have been obvious with what you want...”Cedric smirks as he trails off into a pause, watching as Mustafa’s eyes fly back open, clinging onto his voice as if the end of the sentence is the most important thing in the whole universe. He’s gone, succumbing completely to Cedric’s size and warmth and shape. Cedric smiles as he tips back Mustafa’s head by the chin, making the dim light catch his face in the most beautiful way, outlining the contours of him like the burnished edges of gold, but infinitely more valuable.“...servant.”The finish strikes a chord within Mustafa; causes him to shiver and fade out of self-respecting consciousness as his hips squirm, tongue poking out from his lips as his whole body seems to cry out “please fuck me now”. Cedric laughs, reaching up to Mustafa’s head and delicately stroking his long, dark hair. “Don’t worry, baby; don’t worry...”Cedric senses the hunger in Mustafa’s eyes, deep and hollow and begging to be filled with something. His warm little mouth hangs open as he stares at Cedric’s cock, just there right in front of his face and making his hunger even more violent inside of him, but leaving his head clouded and his tongue swollen. He can’t speak—but that’s nothing that Mustafa needs to be concerned with right now. He won’t have to say a word.Cedric doesn’t speak, either; merely presses his tip up until it’s pressed against Mustafa’s soft, warm lips—lips that Mustafa opens without hesitation, taking Cedric’s cock into his mouth. Cedric groans softly. The prince is eager, can’t even wait for Cedric to set the pace; Mustafa’s mouth, hot and wet inside, envelops his master’s head before finding itself deeper around his shaft, suckling on it with a sort of breathless need that Cedric can barely handle.Cedric’s head slackens back into the pillow as he moans, Mustafa’s hunger making him weak, almost helpless to his whim. Cedric draws down one hand, aimlessly patting the air until he finally finds the back of Mustafa’s head, covered in that thick, black hair. It feels calm beneath his fingertips, smooth and perfect in spite of all their thrashing. For a moment, he questions if he’s even worthy to touch the stuff—but then Mustafa makes a delicate, purr-like sound as he presses his head back against Cedric’s hand, reminding Cedric that he’s been appointed the master this evening. Then Cedric goes ahead and pulls on the prince’s perfect hair with abandon, and the gentle purr becomes a full-throated moan as Mustafa shivers, back arching in sweetly.Cedric guides his head forward as if by a set of reins, pressing Mustafa’s mouth further around his cock until, at last, the moan becomes a soft gagging sound. Mustafa gazes up at Cedric with deep brown eyes, choked with tears of pain of the most divine order. They seem pleading, almost sorry; as if they’re saying that if he could go any deeper he would in an instant.For a moment, Cedric keeps him there in place, letting his mighty prince choke around the thickness of his warm, full cock. The cruelty almost surprises even himself, until he can no longer stand it and quickly pulls Mustafa away.“Breathe, breathe…” he calmly instructs, stroking Mustafa’s hair like he’s comforting a fawn. Mustafa sits there, wheezing and choking, a string of precum stuck to his lips...and his eyes—his eyes are burning, gleaming with tears and lust, so deep and dark that Cedric wonders if he’ll fall into them headfirst.His thoughts are interrupted when Mustafa begins squirming, trying to press his face back down to Cedric’s warm, heavy cock. A pathetic mewling comes from his lips in a steady stream.“G-give it...give iiit...”Cedric’s mouth twists into a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, now...I told you...”He lays a hand aside Mustafa’s cheek, cupping his face. The action seems to send lightning through his little prince’s brain, evoking a gasp, his eyelids fluttering. The writhing continues, however, fighting to get closer to his superior’s erection—no matter. With his one arm wrapped around his waist, Cedric suddenly tugs Mustafa up until they’re at eye level, and, before the prince can even marvel at his strength, ensnares him in a powerful kiss. An eternity blossoms in a second between them before Cedric pulls away, leaving Mustafa dizzy, lips hot and tingling.“I’m gonna take care of you...”Cedric’s words are somewhere on the spectrum between a promise and a threat, but Mustafa can only nod. This is everything he’s spent the last month waiting for.With his one available hand holding him steady, Cedric can’t properly aim his cock and line it up, but Mustafa is more than willing to take care of that himself. With a bit of a murmur—impatience, perhaps—he shifts his hips, guiding himself until, with a gasp, he feels the warm pressure of Cedric’s thick cock resting against his twitching hole. When he sees the little prince shiver, Cedric smirks with no shortage of appreciation.“Good job...” he coos softly into Mustafa’s ear. The words seem to have some sort of weight, a force of their own that makes Mustafa moan and spread his legs out further.“P-please, my lord...give it to me now...”“No, no...” Cedric tsks. “Not all at once. I’m not going give it all to you just because you’re needy.”Now Mustafa is whimpering—a pathetic sound; not fitting for a prince but for a wounded animal. Something about that makes Cedric smirk more; forces him to keep going and lean even closer to Mustafa’s ear.“No, slut...” he says, a purr bordering on a growl. “I’m going to savor it.”He pulls away to look into Mustafa’s face. His mouth is bitten shut into a stoic line, trying to preserve the last of his dignity as he nods—but his eyes are simply shattered, broken entirely to Cedric’s will. And that’s just what Cedric can’t resist.He decides to begin gently, a careful half of a thrust up against Mustafa’s entrance. There’s a clenching as if in recoil. Cedric shakes his head, looking up at Mustafa with expectant eyes.“Relax for me.”There is only the suggestion of a command in Cedric’s voice, but it’s still enough to make Mustafa’s throat clench. As per his master’s words, however, he tries to force a breath through himself and loosen his muscles. Cedric thrusts up again—Mustafa remains too tight.“I-I’m sorry…” Mustafa whimpers, eyes cast down and frustrated. Cedric, however, doesn’t speak; just reaches forward and runs his hand up Mustafa’s spine, eliciting a purr from the prince as he bows his back in. Cedric smiles.“It’s alright, little servant...” he whispers. Mustafa immediately seems somewhat calmed by his voice, body swaying as it relaxes. Cedric hums as he gently strokes Mustafa’s side. An idea forms.“Turn around.”Mustafa’s eyelids creak open as he makes a soft, questioning hum. Cedric nods. “Turn around. Right over my chest...”Mustafa stumbles but obeys, inverting himself over Cedric’s body. His little ass is over Cedric’s chest, lifted up shyly into the air. Cedric huffs, smiling as he slowly drags himself up to lean against the headboard, staring down at the prince’s pink little hole.“Good boy.”Mustafa seizes up, breathless to the point of almost choking as Cedric suddenly presses a finger deep inside of him. A faint whimper leaves his lips.
“A-a-aaaaah...”
Cedric smirks. “See?” He purrs, drawing his finger out slowly, “now you’re relaxed...”Mustafa shivers, thoughts distant and glittering as Cedric thrusts his finger in deeper. He’s not just relaxed, but melting, falling apart right in front of his master, knees already weak and wobbling. Of course Cedric is being so careful—just one to start off with, and his pace is generously slow. That doesn’t matter. It’s his skin, his touch, his presence here and now after having been away, anywhere else but with his needy little prince—that’s what’s too much for Mustafa. That’s why just this, already, is almost enough to make him drown.Cedric can tell, too; he can see it in Mustafa’s glowing eyes, can feel it in the way he keens and twitches with every little thrust. With curiosity, he twists in a second finger to join the first, and finds the effect doubled as Mustafa lets out a shrill, airless noise. Tension leaves him as if through a puncture. Cedric can’t help but be a bit pleased, gently skimming his fingers through the prince’s deep dark hair.“Yeah, baby...that’s perfect, isn’t it...”Mustafa lets out a wail that’s meant to be a stand-in for “yes” as Cedric keeps thrusting. The English language has already been lost in the fog of bliss.For a moment, it almost seems to dissipate as Cedric’s thick fingers suddenly glide out of Mustafa, leaving him cold without his warmth—but before he can even pout about it, he’s being flipped over onto his back, staring into the face of a man who had all sorts of awful plans for him. He realizes the storm is only beginning.“M-master...” he gapes at nothing in particular. The master dips in close, silencing him with a kiss (such a kiss; the kind only Cedric could provide—so gentle and warm, yet driven, protective to the point that it nearly becomes possessive). He’s aching with anticipation and desire by now, both of them are; it’s so much that just Cedric lining his tip up to Mustafa’s entrance is enough to elicit a moan from either of them. Now, Mustafa seems far more relaxed, purring rather than flinching when Cedric thrusts—a practice thrust, just barely adding pressure against his twitching hole, testing to see how his prince reacts, and the reaction is bliss. Still, Cedric’s hand crawls forward, up Mustafa’s chest and against his cheek. He only trills like a kitten, leaning into the palm’s warmth like he’ll die without it. Cedric smirks.“I think you’re ready...” his pauses, taking in a slow breath and looking down at Mustafa. Though his eyes remain closed, he bites at that pretty lower lip of his, and Cedric can feel him shivering. He smirks.“...My pretty, adoring little slut...”He draws it out a bit, perhaps too much, just so he can enjoy seeing the prince squirming under him for just a minute more, but finally, the reward comes to him. Cedric’s hips glide forward, driving up into his poor little prince—it’s a slow and careful thing, like the slow release of a valve, inch by inch as he sinks into Mustafa’s heat until they’re connected by the hips. Cedric is already shaking from the pressure, and so is Mustafa as the tip of Cedric’s cock is already resting close to his core, teasing his nerves.Mustafa’s eyes flutter open and lock with Cedric’s. They stare just a moment, watching the other breathe. The silence rings loudly in their ears.Cedric crumbles first, groaning as he drags his cock out, making Mustafa whimper as it drags against the nerves in his soft, hot walls. Then the frenzy that they both have been dying for so long finally begins. Cedric is losing himself rapidly as he thrusts, forgetting his mind and existence as everything else funnels down, tunnel vision; even when he is the master, Mustafa is his whole world.He’s faintly aware, over the filthy sound his cock makes as he pounds back into Mustafa’s hole hard, skin on skin, that he ought to be used to all this but never quite made it. The prince never got any less hot, any less tight or silky inside; his ass never stopped being any less of a dream to slam into after a hard day of training or battle or—shit, the hell he’s been through. Mustafa was right: Cedric deserved this prize.And the prince—slave—whatever the fuck he’s supposed to be right now (he isn’t even sure when Cedric is taking him so roughly the bed is creaking forth); he can’t believe how new it still all feels after all this time. No matter how often Cedric has taken him, every night that came was as raw and unrelenting as the night Mustafa’s virginity was lost. He feels every detail of his guard’s—his master’s—cock inside of him, thick and heavy, every vein and pulse known to him like the back of his hand.Yet it never grows to be a bore. Cedric is is too electric, too a part of Mustafa’s own soul, and too good at just fucking that soul out of him until he’s drooling and stammering nonsense half-phrases. And Mustafa is already speaking gibberish.“Mm-mmm-hahh...s-suh-Cedriiiccc, d-d...myyyy...” Mustafa is choking, Cedric filling him up to his throat, practically, every twist of his warm, heavy cock teasing even deeper towards just that sweet spot—it seems almost impossible, with how roughly Cedric is pulling Mustafa over him, that he hasn’t just dived headlong into it yet.Perhaps it’s some of that deliberate cruelty on his part, that warrior spirit. Instead of dragging Mustafa half-dead across the battlefield, he’s dragging him across orgasm, sagging breathless on the ground and feeling every grain of sand on the way.But those eyes—Cedric’s eyes, dark brown and full, soaking up every drop of light thrown off by the flickering oil lamp, trained on Mustafa with a loyalty towards his form—those aren’t the eyes of a warrior. They’re the same eyes that have gazed at Mustafa for so long, sometimes across the room, often looming over him, always steadfast at his right side. His eyes. The eyes of his guard, sometimes his subordinate and sometimes his master, always his closest friend and always his lover—The throbbing in the prince’s heart spills over with a shudder. He rises suddenly up from the mattress and latches his legs around Cedric, pulling him down into a kiss that’s so hot and close that sweat drops off of one onto the other. Cedric moans into his mouth as his cock sinks down to the hilt, at last stabbing into the nerve that he’s been teasing all night. That’s all that Mustafa needs. His whole body tightens and uncurls inside and out, practically sobbing against Cedric’s hot lips as his cock finally sprays his stomach with heavy cum.Cedric isn’t far behind. One more pulse of the hips sends him tumbling into the same depths that he’s explored with Mustafa before, familiar and warm but never any less sweet. He shivers, still gently thrusting through the orgasm and rambling half-formed language. Mustafa does the same below him. Being filled by Cedric feels almost better than orgasm itself.At last they collapse against each other. Cedric regains his vision from oblivion first and sees his prince in his arms, locks of hair stuck fast to his flushed face, gasping for breath. Cedric works his good arm out from under his side, wrapping it around Mustafa’s shoulders and pulling him into his chest. The prince rests there happily against his guardian, each listening to the sound of the other catching their breath.When Cedric at last catches his, he doesn’t speak for a moment; just looks down at Mustafa against his chest, eyelids fluttering as he teeters on the edge of sleep. Cedric brushes away a lock of hair that’s fallen across Mustafa’s face. This causes him to stir, blink and look up at Cedric with eyes that are still dazed, uncertain of where he even is. Cedric gives him a somewhat regretful smile.“Time for you to get back to that party, isn’t it?”Mustafa moans, pouting and pressing his face into Cedric’s broad chest, still glistening with sweat. “Nuh uh,” he says rather smushedly, “not without you.”“Come on, now...” Cedric hums, tilting up Mustafa’s face by a loose grip on his hair, “you know they’ve noticed you’re gone by now. What’re you going to tell them when you stumble out of this room tomorrow?”Mustafa contemplates this a moment in silence before lifting his eyes back up. “I’ll say I was with the master and leave it at that.”Cedric laughs, soft and hoarse in a way that crawls through Mustafa’s veins and causes him to blush. Finally, they’re back on even ground, the way they were always meant to be. Outside of the constrictions of royal conduct or the passing of kinky words from one to another, Mustafa knows. In bed with Cedric there is no prince or guard, nor, despite the conceit of their exchanges, master or subordinate. It is only the two of them, stripped down to their bases and given all of each other to take. Cedric is every bit Mustafa’s equal—and this will always be their way of celebrating that fact.Mustafa leans in. With a tender kiss on Cedric’s temple, he whispers, “I love you, Cedric.”Cedric smiles brightly, eyes drifting shut. “I love you too, my prince.”“Please, Cedric...” he sighs, smirking knowingly, “just Mustafa.” It’s only about ten minutes later when the prince finally peels himself from his guard to return to his duties. Mustafa slips out of the door, careful to be silent as he shuts it behind him—Cedric has melted back into sleep, and Mustafa would rather die than disturb him.Now, looking down at himself, he’s conscious of being underdressed again, clad only in his silk undergarment. Which way did he come? Mustafa looks left and right, hoping to find the mass of robes still lying somewhere out in the halls like a decaying husk. If he could just retrieve it and slip into it again—“Prince.”Mustafa’s blood freezes in his veins, turning into pins. He stays motionless as Ariya emerges from behind a pillar, eyes unamused behind his spectacles. Something is folded up in his arms.Mustafa’s throat dries. “What are you doing here?” He croaks. Ariya shrugs, then drops the big sheetlike object to the ground, where it lands with a deep “whumpf”.“It looks as though you’ve lost something, prince.”Mustafa swallows hard. It’s his robes. Of course it’s his robes.“How long have you been...?” Mustafa trails off, voice lost in a nervous crackle.Ariya’s features remain stiff. “Long enough, I promise.”Mustafa feels his soul drop into his feet. Shit. He heard everything. “Please, Daivari, please,” Mustafa begs, raising his hands up as if to prove some innocence he does not have, “I will do anything if you just don’t—““Forget it.” Ariya cuts the prince off sharply. Mustafa looks taken aback.“W...what?”“I said,” Ariya repeats, turning his face away, “forget it. Nothing happened. We will return to the party as such.”Mustafa blinks for a moment, dumbfounded. He takes a step closer to Ariya, whose head remains turned away, jaw clenched shut. He perceives that his cheeks are darkened, almost flushed—wait.He heard everything.A smile forms on Mustafa’s lips, conjured up from equal parts embarrassment and amusement. “Mr. Daivari—““Enough!” Ariya finally snaps, voice trembling slightly. “I’ve already told you to forget the damn thing! Now move!”Mustafa merely smirks, giving a bit of a haughty bow of the head to Ariya as he passes, snatching up his robes.“As you wish, dearest advisor!”Ariya grimaces a bit as Mustafa walks ahead, trying to rid himself of the filth on his mind.He can’t keep letting the prince get away with this.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Drew rifles through the stack of envelopes on his desk just one more time to be certain. Tozawa’s name isn’t written anywhere among them - disappointing, but hardly surprising. He had known from the moment the young man stepped into his office that he wasn’t going to pay rent on time; after several years of bad checks and sloppy overnight vacating, Drew had learned to pick out a bad tenant, and Akira was circled in red. He stepped on carpet with muddy shoes; his face was scratched and bandaged from mysterious scrapes; his motorbike helmet was still under his arm, face shining with sweat. To Drew, it screamed wild, screamed infrequent employment, screamed risk-taker and risky investment. He knows he should’ve thrown the apartment application out right then and there. But, when Tozawa reached to him for a handshake, Drew had felt his nerve falter. He accepted the young man’s hand, feeling it firm and reassuring. There was an earnest smile on his face, the promise to do his best. So Drew gave Tozawa the key and his trust. He knows, even as he stands outside the poor unsuspecting idiot’s door, that all of this is his fault. There’s nothing Drew hates more than threatening one of his own renters. Drew only has to knock the door once before he hears footsteps trotting close from within. “Chottomatte!” A voice exclaims, crisp and clear over the hissing of a faucet. “Chottomatte kudasai—“ The door opens with a puff of steam that almost wrinkles the starch out of Drew’s shirt. Akira Tozawa stands in the mist, a towel thrown haphazardly around his midsection, hair stuck down to his forehead and dripping water. His face is flushed red from the hot shower, the rush to the door—and perhaps the embarrassment of seeing his landlord before him. “Good morning, Mr. Gulak...” Akira swallows. Drew regards him coolly. “Tozawa,” he says, offering a slight nod. “Is this a bad time?” If a tenant missed a payment, they’d normally seize any chance to get Drew out of the way for just a minute more. But Akira only moves aside, motioning Drew in. “No, please. I just wasn’t expecting you. Come in, please!” Drew steps inside. The air is warm and sticky from the steam of Akira’s shower, clinging to the windows and the walls of the room—mostly bare, given that he’s only moved in recently, but there’s still signs of life to be found: a coffee table in the middle of the room; workout weights dumped onto a mat in the corner; a box heaping with colorful books Drew can’t quite read the titles of; a cheap bookshelf lined with painstakingly posed action figures. “Cozy,” Drew hums, wandering over the space like he owns it (which he does, in the literal sense) and inspecting every detail. No dings in the wall or rips in the carpet seams yet. Akira smiles uneasily, rubbing his elbow. “I haven’t been able to finish unpacking yet,” he says. Procrastinating- whether he’s moving in or making a payment, at least Tozawa is consistent. Drew is about to make a comment on the matter when his eye falls upon the action figures standing on the shelf again. He notices something that he hadn’t before, and points straight at one figure, perched on the edge with its hands raised skyward. “That’s Sting,” Drew says. It’s not until he sees the bemused look on Akira’s face that he realizes how pedantic it sounded. “I mean, you watch wrestling?” For a moment Akira looks hesitant, as if there could be a wrong answer to the question. He finally nods, tightening the ends of the towel in his fists (Drew tries not to notice). “Yeah, I do—sir,” he’s sure to quickly append. Drew smiles as he takes the figure off the shelf, examining it in his hand. “I remember watching him as a kid...this is in pretty good shape! Hey, are you a collector?” He turns to look at Akira, and the expression on his face as Drew handles the figure is almost agonized. Yes, he’s definitely a collector. For some reason, Drew feels a bit ashamed as he quickly places the figure back on the shelf. “Sorry, I-” “It’s fine,” Akira cuts Drew off quickly. “I didn’t know you liked wrestling, too.” Drew smiles, sitting down upon one of many unpacked boxes. “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other, I guess.” Why the hell did he say that? Even Drew isn’t really certain; all he knows is Akira is staring at him like how a mouse must at a snake. Drew nearly wonders why before remembering his own purpose in coming here. “Tozawa,” Drew begins, and is surprised to hear his own voice crack. He clears his throat and starts again. “Tozawa, last Thursday - “ “Rent.” Drew squints at Akira, who bites his lips shut and looks away. “So you know, then?” Drew asks. Akira nods jerkily, still not looking in Drew’s direction. Drew sighs. “You knew it was due and you didn’t pay it?” Akira remains frustratingly silent, staring at the wall and fiddling with the edge of his towel. Drew thinks he sees his back muscles trembling. Why is he afraid? Drew wonders. What is the problem? On some strange instinct, Drew reaches out to touch Akira’s shoulder. “Tozawa, what’s - “ His fingers have barely even grazed the man’s skin when Akira suddenly gasps and jerks around to face him. His deep brown eyes are wide, locking Drew’s in a frightened gaze - and as they stare, Drew doesn’t notice what Tozawa’s hands are doing until he hears the muffled rasp of cloth hitting the floor. Akira has dropped his towel, leaving it in a soft pool around his ankles. His body is still lightly wet, drops of water clinging to the abs that had until now been hidden away. Drew’s mouth goes dry as he sees that Akira’s cock is half-hard. “I-I…” Akira stutters, his expression still fearful. “I-I can’t pay yet. I don’t have the money.” He half-trips, half walks right into Drew’s chest. Drew stays dead still and silent, staring down at the bleach blonde hair still shining with droplets. “Please,” Akira’s voice comes out in a muffled sob. “Don’t kick me out. I’ll do anything.” Warm hands hover over Drew’s hips, ready to draw him closer. Before they can, however, Drew finds himself suddenly taking Tozawa’s shoulders, shoving him back and holding him at an arm’s distance away. The force snaps Akira out of his trance, leaving him blinking confusedly into Drew’s face. “Do you think you’ll have money next month?” Drew asks mechanically. Akira’s lips flap wordlessly for a second before he nods. “Okay. Pay your rent next month.” After a pause, another moment spent staring into Tozawa’s wonder-filled face, Drew quickly adds, “no interest.” Without another word, Drew pivots around and makes his way to the door, feeling as though he’s floating outside of his body. He has his head poking into the hallway when Akira comes back to life all at once.
“Wait!”
Drew stops short and looks at Akira behind him. His expression has finally relaxed; he’s gathered his towel up from the floor and shields his body behind it. He gives Drew a smile - it’s big and warm, summoning up wrinkles to appear at the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Gulak.” Drew finally feels settled back into his own skin as he returns a little smirk. “You can call me Drew.” As he speaks, Drew thinks that he sees Tozawa’s eyes widen again, notices a little flush crossing his face again even though the steam has dissipated. But he turns and leaves once more before he can linger on it. Standing in the hall, Drew shudders as he at last processes what just occurred. Did Akira really think - ? Why would he have expected anything like that? What would make him think that the landlord - that Drew would - Drew takes a deep breath and dismisses one thought after the other, the theories shuttling about in his head. It didn’t matter what Akira was expecting - nothing of the sort would have ever been on Drew’s mind. Whatever just happened with Tozawa, he hopes this encounter will be the end of it. One of Drew’s more detrimental qualities is his fondness for martyring himself, which is really a dramatic way of stating that he didn’t live in an apartment nicer than his tenants’: only a single-bedroom unit at the very top of the building on the fourth floor. It’s a tight squeeze, scarcely enough room for his furniture - Drew had even sacrificed a couch just for space to put his work desk. What’s more is that it has no washer and dryer. Drew prides himself in offering among the most cleanly, well-managed apartment properties in town, but they still offer relatively little in the way of amenities for their rate (it’s not a practice that began with him; when he bought this complex he found that many of the apartments didn’t even have cable). So every Monday morning, Drew gathers all his clothes up into a knapsack and carries them to the 25¢ laundromat across the street. And it’s here that he meets Tozawa again. It’s the first time that they’ve crossed paths in two weeks - indeed, Drew hadn’t seen him since the incident in his apartment. The weather in that time has turned decisively from summer to autumn; Drew enters the laundromat wearing his Phillies sweatshirt zipped up almost to his neck. But Tozawa is barely more clothed than he was during their last encounter: a tight white tank top and small blue bicycle shorts. He’s stretching up on a bench, shutting the door on one of the top-mounted dryers and humming under his breath as he does. Really, there’s nothing remarkable about seeing one of his tenants on a laundry run here, and he even notices that Tozawa has one earbud in, but Drew can’t help but speak aloud. “Tozawa?” Akira turns his head with an ease that surprises Drew, as though his arrival here hadn’t been the least bit unexpected. As a matter of fact, Akira smiles, face again wrinkling under its power. “Drew!” He cries as he takes a seat upon the bench. “Good morning!” “Mornin’,” Drew responds, his smile belying his sense of confusion. Tozawa seems shockingly pleased to see the man to whom he still owes money. “You’re in a good mood today,” Drew remarks, moving over to the bench upon which Tozawa is sitting, discreetly taking another glance at his shirt as he squats down to load up the washer with clothes. He’s really trying to be innocent about it - there’s a dark symbol on the center of Akira’s shirt, smudgy flames surrounding a phrase he can’t read - but suddenly Akira’s leaning forward, and Drew’s staring down the front of the shirt. Tan skin, lines of muscle and collarbone, the edges of nipples hardened in the cold - Drew jerks back, staring into Akira’s face. He’s bent forward, elbows on his knees, and smiling breezily. “Looking at something?” He teases. Drew’s lips tremble for a moment, staring into Akira’s face with his eyes blown wide. But he has to say something, so, timidly, he says, “Y...your shirt.” Tozawa’s expression falters as he pulls the edges of his shirt, looking down at the logo. “This?” Drew nods. “Y-yeah. I mean, what’s…” At last, Drew can read what’s scrawled on the tank top in a sloppy hand. It appears homemade. “Monster Express?” Drew’s almost pleased to see a light blush cross Tozawa’s cheeks at the question - a bit of revenge for the way he’s just flustered Drew. Akira grasps the hem of his tank top and fiddles with it nervously. He looks as though Drew’s just asked him about rent again, so Drew encouragingly adds, “It looks really cool.” That’s enough to make Akira bashfully smile. “Thank you, but it’s just a dumb thing...my friends and I call ourselves that, like a gang. We ride our bikes together - “ Akira’s train of thought promptly jumps tracks, his head snapping up with sudden inspiration. He turns to Drew with a grin. “Have you seen my bike?” As a matter of fact, Drew has; he’s watched from his bedroom window every morning as the bright red motorbike rattles and zings out of the parking lot below. He’s made note of the battered vanity “AKIRA” plate attached to the back. But he can tell that Akira is guiding him somewhere with the question, and for whatever reason, Drew doesn’t want to pull away from the thread. “No,” Drew says, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t know you had one.” If Akira knows Drew is lying, he doesn’t show it. He leaps eagerly off of the bench and scoops the other man’s wrist into his hand, tugging him out the door. “You have to see it! I just had it fixed and repainted, it looks like it’s brand new!” Drew stumbles over his feet as Tozawa drags him out the door. “But our laundry - !” The protest is feeble. Drew is hardly thinking about the laundry when he sees the excitement in Tozawa’s eyes, and allows himself to be pulled along into the apartment parking lot. The bike itself is handsome enough, if not quite remarkable. It’s small and zippy, and with the candy apple-colored coat of paint it really does look almost brand new. Drew does have some reservations - there are long streaks on the tires where the treads have been worn away - but overall, he must admit that she is quite pretty. “Like it?” Akira asks as he flops onto the leather seat. Drew smirks at the sight of him, straddling such a powerful bike while wearing shorts and flip flops. “Not bad. Except for…” Drew pauses, humming as he observes a blemish on the ridge over the tires. He kneels down to find big splotches of orange paint adorning the side. “What’s this?” Akira smiles like an imp. “I painted flames on!” Drew clicks his tongue and laughs, standing and looking across the length of the bike. “Of course, of course…” It’s somewhat involuntary that his eyes sweep over Tozawa again. It’s still quite cold this early in the morning, and again Drew spots Tozawa’s nipples pressing out of his tightly stretched shirt - ashamed by his piggishness, he forces his eyes to keep moving. It’s not only that; goosebumps are rising up from Akira’s legs and arms, and his hands are wrapped around the handlebars with a bit-too-forceful grasp. Drew frowns. “Uh, Akira…” Drew starts. Almost immediately Tozawa’s eyes alight at the sound of Drew saying his first name. “Yeah?” “You’re cold, aren’t you?” Akira attempts to look surprised at the question, but fails terribly. “What, you think it’s cold?” Drew sighs, unamused by the game Tozawa is playing. “I can see your breath. Come here.” Hesitantly, Tozawa slides off the bike and faces Drew, looking like a child about to be scolded. Drew spares him that. Instead, he unzips his hoodie and shrugs it off his body. Tozawa watches his hands as they pull the long, heavy shirt up over his own shoulders. “What are you - “ “You need it more,” Drew insists, zipping the shirt up to Akira’s neck. He steps back to observe, and holds back a laugh as he sees that the sleeves nearly cover Akira’s hands. He didn’t think Tozawa was that much smaller than him… “Oh, I…” Tozawa looks down at the hoodie, the way his body looks wrapped in Drew’s clothes. “I can’t keep this.” Drew only pats Akira’s shoulder. “You can give it back later. I’m not gonna freeze.” The look on Akira’s face is nearly comical with devotion. Drew scratches the back of his neck, almost embarrassed to see it. You’d think no one had ever done anything nice for him before… “Th...thanks.” Tozawa finally says, stepping forward. The gap between himself and Drew shrinks ever smaller. “I really mean it.” Drew can’t understand why his mouth is dry, or how he never really noticed how Akira is a good few inches shorter than he is. He can’t understand why his heart wrenches a little bit seeing Akira standing there in his hoodie, only the tips of his twitching fingers visible at the bottom of his sleeves. He can’t understand why his head feels lighter or why he’s letting Akira stand so close or why he can’t say anything. Akira’s lips are parted—and pink. Why did he only notice that now? Realistically, of course, the pause between them is only a few seconds in length, but when Akira’s phone buzzes, it feels like hours have passed. Drew takes a step back and finally breathes again as Akira retrieves it from his pocket. The message on the screen makes him grimace. “I have to work.” Drew blinks, still a bit dazed. “Work?” Tozawa pouts indignantly and stands up straight. “I have a job!” He exclaims, and Drew feels guilty for even questioning it. “I…” Drew’s tongue falters, betraying him when he wants to say something the most. “I’ll see you later” - could he say that? Akira might vanish on him for weeks again. Seeing Drew is taking too long, Akira gives him a sort of sad smile as he mounts his bike and engages the motor. “I’ll be back!” He exclaims over the dull roar. Drew nods, lost in a fog. It’s all he can do before Tozawa is gone, screeching out of the parking lot and whizzing down the road. Drew is left speechless and a bit cold. It was abrupt, too abrupt for Drew’s liking. He feels as though something has been left incomplete - but what could it be? He and Tozawa had only been talking, just a regular conversation… Drew runs his hands through his hair as he walks back to the laundromat, shivering slightly in the chilly air. He notices that the dryer that Akira had put his clothes in has stopped rumbling. Cautiously, Drew pulls open the door and tentatively feels the pile of shirts and shorts. Still wet in the middle. Drew looks to the washer where he’d shoved his clothes. It too is now still, ready for Drew to empty it and load his own dryer. Only one quarter remains in Drew’s pocket. Drew inserts the quarter into Tozawa’s dryer. He waits patiently until the timer buzzes, takes the clothes out and folds them carefully before setting them in his own knapsack. He hauls them all back over his shoulder back to the apartment and sets the bag down on Tozawa’s doorstep, leaving behind with it a sticky note scrawled with red pen:
“I’ll see you later!
-DG”
“I think he’s doing it on purpose.” Drew sinks down in a chair across from the man he’s addressing - Brian Kendrick. Kendrick is hardly a great tenant - his room is always in disarray, he always waits until the last minute to give Drew his rent, and there are frequent noise complaints about him making quite the racket with whomever he’d “invited” over (in fact, one of these invitees is currently lying under a thick blanket on Brian’s bed, though Drew pretends not to notice). Still, Kendrick has been living here twice as long as anyone else, and he’s worldly in ways that Drew isn’t. And that’s why he’s sitting in his bedroom, smoking a cigarette and talking about Tozawa. Brian, for his part, purses his lips in thought, then blows out a thin ribbon of smoke. “Hang on, did you ever get your clothes back?” Drew sighs, crushing his own cigarette in the tray. “Yeah, he did, he brought my bag back later that night and it was full.” Brian stretches out, propping his feet up on the nearby table. “And then he…?” Drew grits his teeth, aggravated by Kendrick making him retrace the story all over again. “I told you, I was there when he came back, so he helped me fold them up and put ‘em away…” Brian’s eyebrows rise up with interest. “How close was he?”“Huh?” “How close was he to you?” Drew tries to conceal his blush behind his hand. That night Akira was next to him on the couch, and he was never any further away than when his bicep was flush with Drew’s. Drew swears that Tozawa had even tried to sit on his thigh at one point under the guise of losing his balance. That near accident plagued Drew’s mind later as he struggled to fall asleep. “He…” Drew clears his throat, eyes stinging from smoke, “he was pretty damn close.” Brain smirks behind his cigarette. “And you think that he’s doing it on purpose?” Drew groans and bolts upright, pacing across the floor and raking his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand it! Just last month, he seemed terrified of me, and when I pushed him back he was relieved! But now…” Whatever trepidation Tozawa had during that first encounter has all but vanished over the course of a month. Now, Tozawa seems to pop up wherever Drew is: in hallways, by the pool, and every Monday morning, without fail, at the laundromat. Sometimes he sits neatly on the bench with his legs criss-crossed as though he’s been waiting. And even in the most fleeting of moments, too, he finds a way to get a hand on Drew. In the halls he always seems to just walk a bit too close and bump Drew’s shoulder; in the laundromat he always taps Drew on the back with some kind of question (“how does the dryer work?” even though Drew’s already seen him use it before; “can I borrow a quarter?” even though he hears change jingling in Tozawa’s pocket). There could only be so many coincidences. Brian hums, lying back flat on his bed, smoke rising from the tip of his cigarette in a tower towards the ceiling. Drew fidgets anxiously. “Brian, you’re gonna make the smoke detector go off - “ Brian waves a hand through the air dismissively, scattering smoke between his fingers. “Relax, I took the batteries out.” Drew frowns. Does he really need advice this badly? “So you’re saying,” Brian speaks again, pulling the cigarette up from his lips, “that he’s scared you’re gonna make him fuck for rent, you set him straight, you even waive it for the month - and now, he’s doing his best to get in your pants?” Drew scratches his cheek. “That’s about the size of it, yeah.” Brian rolls up suddenly into a sitting position, clapping his hands together. “Well, there you go! Of course he wants to fuck you, you were nice to him!” Drew freezes, his heartbeat rushing. “What are you talking about?” “Tozawa, right, he comes in terrified. He doesn’t have the money and thinks that he’s gonna have to let this man who’s - you’re taller than he is, right?” Drew blushes. “I...I am.” “Thinks he’s gotta let this man who’s bigger than he is take advantage of him. All just so he has a place to stay. Not only does this man say that’s not the case, but says not to worry about this month, just take care of the next one.” Brian huffs, flicking ash from the tip. “Hey, you never did that for me.” Drew’s lip wrinkles. “You couldn’t look as scared as Tozawa did…” “Maybe you’re right,” Brian hums. “I should work on my acting skills.” Drew sighs, both hands clasped over his head in surrender. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” Brian quashes his cigarette in the ashtray. “I have a pretty simple question, then.”“What’s that?”“Why don’t you just go ahead and fuck him?” Drew blanches at the suggestion, hands tightening into fists at his sides. “Why don’t I?” He asks. “Why would I do something like that?” Brian shrugs. “Because he’s absolutely fuckin’ crazy about you and would make a great fuck?” Drew glances discreetly at the body still lying asleep in Brian’s bed. He must admit, if there’s anyone in the world with the intuition to know this, it has to be the Brian Kendrick. But... Tozawa? “I-it wouldn’t be right…” Drew says, more to himself than to Brian. “If anybody found out, what would they say about it? About him?” “They’d probably get jealous,” Brian says with a wistful sigh. “Gotta admit, I’m kinda jealous hearing about it. Kid’s pretty fuckin’ hot. Like, you’ve seen his arms, right?” Drew has. He’s stared at them; he doesn’t want to even reflect on how much they’ve dominated his thoughts lately, how toned they are, how they look in those goddamned tank tops he refuses to stop wearing… Meanwhile, the body by Kendrick’s side in the bed finally stirs and sits up, a fellow with hair and beard the color of dirty straw. He’s pouting as he looks at Brian. “What’s this talk about someone being hot?” He frowns. Brian locks an arm around his shoulders and kisses his forehead. “Danny, you know I don’t like anybody more than - oh, Drew,” Brian cuts himself short, spotting Drew staring at the two of them. “Hope we don’t put you off. You know Daniel, right?” Drew nods vaguely, offering the man in Kendrick’s bed a vague wave. Truth be told, though, he’s not put off by them per se. What he’d really been focused on was the way they touched; the easy way that Brian reached out for Daniel and held him close, kissed his face. The way it was no big deal. What if that was Tozawa? If Akira ever reached for him again - held his shoulder, sat on his lap - could Drew reach back? And could he touch Akira without guilt; without worrying it’s all some secret plea to keep his apartment? Brian reads the look right off of Drew’s face, smiling and shaking his head. “Shit. I think you want him. Bad.” Drew stands hurriedly and heads for the door. He should have expected that Brian’s ideas would be of this caliber. “I can’t stand this. I’ll figure out something, I…” “Hold on a sec.” Brian rolls onto his rear, thinking of something just as Drew trails off. “What day is it?” “The twenty-ninth…?” Drew’s eyes narrow a bit as he recalls. Brian tilts his head down, looking up at Drew knowingly through his lashes. “And that means…” Drew’s eyes widen. “Rent’s tomorrow.” Brian taps his head, grinning at Drew with teeth. “And I think someone’s gonna be paying you a visit, my friend.” Drew rubs a hand over the ridges of his forehead. Dammit, he’s right. “I...I have to go,” he finally says, breaking for the exit again. Brian follows him easily on the way out, holding the door as he leaves. “Hey, whatever happens, remember - there’s nothin’ wrong with liking him too.” “Will you just - “ Drew bites his tongue as he whips around to face Kendrick, exhaling through his nose. “Just…pay your rent on time, would you?” “Sure thing, general,” Brian smirks as Drew exits into the hall. “Am I gonna get a kiss if I don’t, too?” Drew jerks around only to find the door slamming shut with a puff of air. He sighs, wrings his hands and feels them shaking. Had Kendrick really pissed him off this much - or is it something else? Drew doesn’t have too long to think about it, hearing a two-tone ding sing from his rear pocket. He draws it out to find that he’s missed a call - it’s from Tozawa, and he’s left a message. “Hi, Drew!” The voice is slightly fuzzy, and partly muffled by the rumble of a (thankfully idling) bike engine, but still unmistakable. “Listen, I know rent is due tomorrow, and - “ “Sore wa anata no kareshiii desu kaaa?” Someone else on the other end is calling, loud enough for even Drew to hear. He doesn’t know enough Japanese to understand, but can tell from the tone that it’s mockery. “Damare!” Tozawa barks before resuming. “I know rent is due, and I have the money, but I’ll be busy tomorrow, so…” For a moment Akira is silent, and Drew feels his pulse pounding in his temples. Finally, Akira finds words again.
“So I’m gonna bring you the money tonight! I don’t know when, but…but I’ll see you!”
The message has ended, but Drew is still staring at his phone screen. Tozawa had almost certainly planned this out, Drew’s certain of it - another slyly plotted confrontation, the two of them alone together. Tonight . Drew paces in front of the stairs. What’s he going to do? Moreover, what does he want to do? It’s 7:30 PM, and Drew is slumped against the wall by Akira’s front door. Akira is already putting him at a disadvantage by ambushing him with a surprise meeting, but Drew can take back the upper hand by choosing the location himself - by surprising Akira at his home, rather than being cornered in his own. If his wits were about him, Drew might laugh at himself, treating a rent payment like tactical warfare. But the prospect of seeing Tozawa again so soon is making his palms sweat, especially after that long chat with Brian. Of course, Brian’s full of shit, and Drew knows that, but the idea’s gotten under his skin and now he can’t think straight. Drew has visions as he stands in the corridor, shivering as the breeze blows through the archway that opens upon the parking lot. He sees Akira and himself standing there just a few weeks ago. Akira is bundled in a sweatshirt, Drew’s sweatshirt; Drew had zipped it up himself and watched Akira’s body vanish beneath it. It’s much too big for him, but still somehow feels just right. And then they’re staring at each other, and for once Drew’s not focused on the way Akira looks like a delinquent, bleached hair and scratched nose, but his lips, the way they’re pink and soft-looking, and maybe warm if Drew could just - just what? What did Drew think was about to happen? Brian’s words ring in his ear like a taunting song: “I think you want him. Bad.” “Drew?” Despite his efforts, Drew’s been surprised again. He looks to see Tozawa behind him, standing beneath one of the fluorescent bulbs, casting his face in slanted shadows. His bike helmet is under one arm; the other hangs at his side with a heavy plastic bag in hand. He’s still, Drew is pained to notice, totally underdressed for the weather in a sleeveless shirt and shorts. “H-hey, I…” Drew fights the urge to kick himself for stuttering. “I’m sorry, guess I was lost in thought. I didn’t even hear your bike.” Surprisingly, the expression on Akira’s face turns to a despondent glowering (no wrinkles around the eyes there, Drew notices woefully). There’s sweat along his brow, and he looks achingly tired. Drew frowns. “What happened?” “My bike got stolen at my last stop,” Akira says, scuffing the heel of his shoe along the concrete floor. “I had to walk home.” Drew’s eyes widen. “Oh. I...I’m sorry.” Akira huffs, rolling his head to the side in something resembling a shrug. “It’s not important,” he lies. He lifts his arm and shifts the bag into his elbow, retrieving his keys from his pocket. “I know why you’re here. Please, come in.” Drew creeps in through the door behind Tozawa. The room is slightly more furnished than it once was; a TV set has been put on a small stand, and a few folding chairs have been arranged around the coffee table to make a quasi-dining space. Tozawa sets the bag down into one of the chairs (an aroma rises from it, meaty and spicy) and tosses his helmet haphazardly onto the floor. Drew almost flinches. “I’ll go get the money,” Akira says. His face is painfully still, eyes without the gleam they normally gain when Drew is nearby. “Please, have a seat.” Drew does so unhappily. Akira departs for another room, leaving Drew alone to stare up at the walls. Besides the TV and the few chairs, the only decorating Tozawa seems to have done is hanging up photos and posters. Tozawa is in most of the photographs, often with a bunch of other young men on zippy, fast-looking bikes. His big smile and crinkled eyes are visible even under the shade of his helmet visor. The posters don’t make Drew’s heart wrench as much, mostly for movies or, more familiarly, wrestling events: some Japanese and some slightly more known to Drew (Wrestlemania II!), some even signed. What catches Drew’s attention the hardest, however, is the sword, completely out of place as it sits on screws in the wall above the TV, mounted in a long black scabbard. It’s so absurd that Drew is kind of snickering at it as Akira reenters the room. “What’s so funny?” Akira asks, brows drawn together. “What’s that?” Drew says, trying to wipe the smirk off of his face as he points. Akira follows his finger to the wall, and the tips of his ears turn red. “I-it’s just a prop!” He exclaims hurriedly. “Don’t mind it.” Drew knows he should drop the subject, but can’t resist. “Can I...touch it?” Akira’s eyes bulge out. “What?” “Just for a minute! Please?” Akira stares at Drew for a moment, expecting some derision in his face. But when he sees only sincerity in those brown eyes, he relents. “Y-you can touch it. But be careful, it’s still sharp!” Grinning, Drew takes down the sword from the wall and unsheathes it. Tozawa’s right - even though it may be a prop, the blade is long and shining, and when he gives it a cursory swipe through the air it makes a clear slicing sound. He strikes a couple of poses from memory as well as he can - apart from Jedi and pirates in movies, Drew’s never seen too many swords at work - and by the time he’s finished, Tozawa is starting to giggle. Drew smirks. “How’m I doing?” He asks. Akira runs a hand through his hair, head slightly turned so Drew won’t fully see his smile. “You did good!” “Thanks.” Drew slides the sword back into the long black hilt. “Why do you have this?” Akira grows self-conscious again, scratching gently behind his ear. “I just...like that sort of thing, I guess. Like, movies and stuff…?” “Oh?” Drew hums as he sets the weapon back onto its screws. He glances back at the movie posters in frames lining Akira’s wall. Indeed, most of them feature wild explosions; men armed with guns facing off against ninjas wielding swords. “Seems fitting.” Akira frowns. “You think it’s silly, don’t you?” “What?” Drew exclaims, turning his body around. “No, of course I don’t, I think it’s…” Drew freezes in place. His hand is suspended in mid-air, hovering just above Akira’s shoulder but unable to quite let himself touch. Last time, this was where the trouble started. Tozawa is staring at Drew expectantly, so he tucks his hand back into his pocket, swallowing. “I think it’s cool.”Akira smiles, but his face is mutedly disappointed. “Thank you.” The silence that follows is the most awkward that Drew thinks he’s ever had to endure, so he’s more than grateful when Akira finally notices the sack of food that’s still sitting in the chair. “Oh, I forgot!” Akira exclaims, brightening. “Someone cancelled their order tonight after it was already finished, so they let me bring it home. Are you hungry?” Drew, in fact, does feel a pang of hunger in his stomach, but moreover, he feels the subtle pleading look in Akira’s eyes. “Y-yeah, sure. Thank you.” Akira beams, and the wrinkles surrounding his eyes are deeper than ever. He opens up the bag and starts setting out black plastic bowls with lids coated with steam. When he straightens out again, his eyes are still glowing. “You want a beer?” Drew hesitates, looking at Tozawa - he’s turned away, squatting upon the floor with his head in the fridge. Accepting dinner may have been a nicety on Drew’s part, but taking a beer now means taking a beer 20 minutes from now, too, and the next one, and however long into the night that would bring them. Accepting a beer would be basically settling in for the night. “Sure, I’ll have one.” By the end of dinner, three empty cans are on the table. Two are Akira’s, and it makes Drew mildly envious, being the bigger man who can handle less beer. Or, at least, Drew thinks he probably would be envious if his mind were straight. It isn’t really the alcohol - Drew’s only buzzed, a little bit slow - though he’d like to be able to blame the booze for his current state of mind. The real culprit is more than that; it’s everything that’s happening at once, from the food they’re sharing to the low lights shining around them to the way Tozawa’s cheeks fill out as he inhales the noodles from his plate with gusto. Drew watches as he swallows them, wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist and flashes him a shining smile. “Khao soi is good!” He declares for maybe the third time tonight. “Want a bite?” Drew chuckles and presses his cheek against his fist, sleepily sagging into the couch. “I don’t know if there’s enough left.” Akira glances down to his mostly-empty plate, and Drew laughs again. He sits up and offers Akira his own tray. “What about you? Want to try?” Akira squints at Drew’s food. “What is it?” “Mu wan? I think it’s just pork or something.” Akira purses his lips for a moment in consideration. Then, to Drew’s shock, he closes his eyes, dropping his mouth open expectantly.
“Aaaahhh…”
Drew feels his face turn hot, staring at Tozawa’s open mouth, the strange, placid expression on his face. Drew tries to force himself to speak, something like “no, silly, I meant take the fork”, but he finds the words unwilling to come out. At last he just takes the fork, pierces a piece of meat doused generously in brown sauce and places it carefully in Tozawa’s waiting lips. “Mmmmmm…” Akira’s eyes remain closed as he thoughtfully chews and swallows. Drew can’t help but be amused by the concentration on his face. “Well?” He asks. Akira’s eyes fly open, as bright and full as the late summer sun. “Delicious!” Drew smiles as he takes another bite for himself. It doesn’t bother him at all that the same fork was in Tozawa’s mouth. They’re silent again for a little while. Akira leans on the coffee table, face in his hand as he looks across at Drew - stares at him, watching every line in his face as he eats. It takes Drew a minute to notice it (the drinking has made him a bit less perceptive), but once he does he sets his food aside. There’s fluttering in his stomach, and he thinks he may get sick if he presses on. A smile flickers across Akira’s face, gentle and slight. “I’m glad that you stayed.” The butterflies rise. Drew clears his throat. “Y-you are?” Tozawa nods, pulling his knees up until they’re nearly to his chest. “It’s lonely sometimes at night. Especially in a new place.” Drew breathes out through his nose, looking at Akira with a resigned smirk. “It doesn’t always have to be in a new place, you know,” he says. “I mean, to make you feel kinda lonely…?” Akira swallows, his gaze growing even gentler upon Drew as he takes in his meaning. He’s turning it all over in his head, turning Drew over; trying to see through him, to see how far he can push the chivalry he’s been shown before it breaks. Then, all at once, he remembers. “I’m so sorry!” Akira exclaims without warning. It’s so sudden that Drew is jerked from his pleasant stupor. “What? What’s the matter?” He asks. At once Tozawa’s hand is buried in his pocket. From it he produces a white envelope, lightly crumpled and scribbled upon with pen. He hands it to Drew, who reads the outside: Mr. Gulak’s Money. Drew opens the flap and peeks into the pouch. It’s packed with bills of all sizes - singles, twenties, tens, one crumpled fifty - and a number of loose coins. A quick tally in his head tells Drew that there’s at least $600 in the bills alone. “It took some work, but I got it done,” Akira says. His face is glowing golden with pride. Drew stares at Tozawa’s expression for what feels like an age. The envelope is pressed between his thumb and finger until he feels it wilting and limp. “No.” Akira’s face falls as Drew extends the money back to him. “What?” “I-I said…” Drew clears his throat, trying to speak around his own heart blocking the way. “I can’t accept this.” Where there was joy in Akira’s eyes just a moment ago, there’s now confusion and fear. Is this not good enough? “Why not?” Tozawa asks, his voice dry. Drew bites his lip. “Because I...because you…” Drew tries to swallow again. He feels his blood rushing fast, full of adrenaline. Seeing Tozawa hurt now activates a sense of panic for him. “Because y-you’re going to need that money for a new bike, aren’t you?” Akira’s eyebrows rise up his forehead as the gears click together. “My - but the apartment!” He cries incredulously. “What about my apartment?” “I helped you foot that bill last month, right?” Drew smiles wearily. “I can do it a second time, I guess.” Akira stares at Drew in dumbfounded silence, lips parted. Drew swallows a lump in his throat, fighting not to stare at them and failing. He hopes to God that his courage doesn’t run out as he reaches for Akira’s shoulder one more time. This time, Tozawa allows it, and his skin rises and tingles under Drew’s heavy palm. “Akira…” Drew whispers, then bites his lip. He wants to talk about the way Tozawa has been acting - no, he wants to do more than talk; he wants to pull him right into his arms, whisk him away from his problems and into his bed. The way Akira is looking at him, Drew knows that he’s been playing his white knight this evening, and everything he’s done he thinks - he hopes - he’s done right. The fantasy is all too easy to become ensnared in. But Drew still remembers what happened the last time. He can’t dare go forward. Not unless he’s absolutely sure what his prince in the tower would want. Drew has been silent for a good moment now, and Akira is bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. “Yes? Yes?” Drew inhales carefully. “I just...I want you to know that…” he can feel his nerves wither in uncertainty, hand starting to tremble on Akira’s shoulder. “N-no matter what I do, I-I’ll never demand anything from you. Not if you don’t want it.” A playful gleam rises from the darkness of Akira’s eyes. “Don’t want…‘it’?” Drew would grip Akira’s shoulder until his fingers broke if he lacked just a bit more control. “Y...yes. That’s what I mean.” Akira is quiet for a moment, searching Drew’s face, and Drew feels a fear rushing in his blood that he’s never experienced in his life. Then Akira smirks, cheeks and eyes wrinkling, and everything changes. “What if I do want it?” Drew gapes. The last of the solid ground has crumbled away beneath him and he needs something to hold fast to. His sense of gentility finally surrenders. “Akira,” Drew doesn’t say it; doesn’t cry it out as much as he whimpers it, pulling Akira into an embrace. He noses along the seam of his jaw, fingers gliding up his neck and burying themselves into a bed of soft blond hair. Miraculously, Akira is gasping. He turns in Drew’s arms - not as though he’s trying to escape, but like it’s a game; like he wants Drew to pull him deeper until he can’t squirm anymore. Drew can feel the smile on his face as he traces over his cheeks. “See?” Akira pants out with a laugh. “Y-you don’t have to be so…” “Prudish?” Drew suggests, gazing into Tozawa’s eyes as he presses the tips of their noses together. Tozawa purrs. “I wasn’t going to say that…” Akira turns his eyes away, and even that simple action is more coquettish than anything Drew can stand. In an instant Akira feels a large hand under his jaw, guiding his face and forcing him to gaze back into Drew’s eyes, to feel the ache he feels. A thrill dances up Akira’s spine. “You don’t need to worry about that, anymore,” Drew mumbles warmly against Akira’s mouth before finally letting himself kiss those pink lips. They’re every ounce as soft as they appeared to be. Akira collapses into Drew. They stumble backward onto the couch still locked in a kiss - Akira is making it rough, using teeth like it’s playful fun, a fight between the two of them. But as ever, Drew remains kind, kissing Akira with an unrelenting carefulness that’s simply disarming. Akira can’t keep up, and instead allows himself to become lost in Drew’s deep kiss and warm arms. “Fuuck…” Akira moans, practically whispers, the moment Drew pulls away to breathe. He squirms in Drew’s arms, enraptured. “You’re strong …” Drew smirks, amused at the way Akira seems to sing it. “You think I’m strong, hm?” He asks, punctuating the thought by squeezing Akira tighter, making him sob as his waist is just slightly constricted. “Yes!” He cries in agreement. Drew hums. “Really? Well, why don’t I use my strength, then…” He wraps one arm around Akira’s waist. “Maybe I should carry you to bed, hm?” To Drew’s surprise, Akira shakes his head - emphatically. “No, no…” he breathes, legs rising slowly up and wrapping around Drew’s waist. “We’ll do it here.” Drew huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. Akira had planned it out all this way, hadn’t he? “Any way you want it.” He attacks with his hands. They make their way to the hem of Akira’s shirt, almost clumsy in their haste to tear it from his body. It’s only an obstacle to what Drew wants, the body that he’s been craving. It’s perfect, small but strong, just the right amount of muscle sitting ready beneath the surface of Akira’s tan-browned skin. Drew senses that he could be pounced upon at any moment if Tozawa wanted, so with one large hand he takes him by the wrists. “Now, you better hold still,” Drew speaks right into Akira’s mouth, gently stern. Rather than answer, Akira lifts his head up and presses his lips onto Drew’s, and the conversation is instead swallowed by another meandering kiss. Drew lets it go, hand wandering lower all the while. He’s just tracing his fingers down Tozawa’s abs when he hears a whimper and pulls back. “Sensitive?” Akira whimpers, looking up at Drew through his dark eyelashes. “N-never...done this.” Drew’s eyebrows furrow at Tozawa’s confession. “Never?” That head of silly bleached hair shakes, rustling against the pillow until it’s a scattered mess. Drew thinks darkly that this is how Akira is going to look in his arms by the end: ruffled and sloppy and spent. But Drew has to guide him there first. His thick fingers trail down the crease of Akira’s stomach, feeling it tighten as he hisses, hips lifting up from the cushion. “D-Drew - ” Tozawa cries out, but is silenced by one finger pressed to his warm lips. He sighs; kisses it softly as Drew’s other hand starts to play with the knot in the strings of Akira’s shorts. “Let me do it…” Drew insists gently, easing them down Akira’s legs until they’re nestled at his knees. “I’ll take care of it.” Akira whines. His cock is swelling, hard and ready between his trembling legs. Unlike the first time Drew had seen it, it’s clothed under a pair of tight red briefs - but Drew feels his insides aching deeply at the sight of it in a way they hadn’t before. He’s prepared now; he’s sure he wants it now. Drew cups the bulge through the fabric in his palm, and it’s more than Akira can stand. “S-stop teasing meee…” Akira begs softly, his voice pleading and urgent and high in a way that Drew can’t help but grin at. “Hey, now…” Drew clicks his tongue, fingers resting threateningly over the edge of Akira’s waistband. “Didn’t I tell you that I’m taking care of it? Don’t you trust me?” The muscles in Akira’s abdomen go rigid. He wants to thrash; he wants to scream at Drew to just do it already, but he keeps his tongue and nods silently. Drew smirks with satisfaction as he finally pulls down on Akira’s briefs and frees him. Akira gasps against the finger still being held to his lips. “Are you going to be good?” Drew asks. He’s not thinking; the words coming from his mouth barely feel like his own. Tozawa nods, deep brown eyes wide and glowing as he stares at Drew above him. Drew feels himself shifting in his jeans - with a moan, he gently presses a hand over the front to still it. Not yet . Slowly, Drew draws his fingers down Tozawa’s chest and stomach towards his cock. Akira takes in a sharp breath as Drew gently takes it into his steady hands. Drew finds himself staring at it for a moment - he’d been prepared for Tozawa to be smaller below, fitting in with the recent maddened fantasy playing through his head of caring for a helpless, handsome young man. He sees now how unfair that idea was. It’s plenty necessary to use both of his hands as he caresses it softly, feeling it burn beneath the tips of his fingers. Akira whimpers, thrusting aimlessly. “C-come on…” He murmurs, the couch creaking softly beneath his hips. “B-be nice…” Drew swallows dryly and starts to experiment - whether Akira realizes it or not, he’s just as new to this, and apart from rehearsals upon himself at night he has no experience driving men to desperate passion. He can’t even believe he’s made it this far, really. But he fights off his own urge to overanalyze, and gently traces up the length of Akira’s shaft with his thumbs. Immediately it’s throbbing in his hands, and by the time Drew circles his slit it’s weeping precum, sticky and hot over his fingers. Drew feels a flush descend across his cheeks. But he goes on with it, wrapping his fingers around Tozawa’s length and gently pumping it. It’s slick now, which makes it even easier—but Drew is still slow and careful to the point of pure agony, memorizing every inch of Akira that lies beneath his fingers. It’s pushing Akira to madness, his hips drilling hard and fast up into Drew’s hand in a desperate search for friction. Drew clicks his tongue. “I thought you said you were gonna behave,” he teases, hand halting in place on Tozawa’s cock. Akira’s eyes fly to Drew’s face, finding only a smirk. “Y-you’re heartless,” he gasps out - an odd smile crosses his lips. It’s the thrill of adrenaline, the same he gets from racing down the freeway in the dead of night. “I-I’m not going to last…” Drew hums, twisting his wrist just so, forcing Akira to spasm and arch up into a tight curve. Drew licks his lips. “Hmm...do I want you to last…?” He wonders aloud, squeezing Akira’s cock in his hand and feeling it gratefully throb. “I’m trying to imagine it, Akira…” Akira breathes through his teeth, unsteady and already close, too close for this early in the game. “I-imagine what?” “You,” Drew says simply, thumb just circling the edge of Akira’s cock, making him hiss and writhe. He goes on painting the picture vividly. “You...thrusting up in my hand. Your eyes fluttering, rolling...like your hips are right now...and then, while I’m watching, you lose it, just go flush against me...fuck, it’s hot thinking about you, making a mess like—” “DREW!” Akira cries, almost screams as his body jerks free from Drew’s grasp. Drew looks into his face: deep red from cheek to cheek; soft, hot mouth agape and almost drooling. His cock is full and hard, dripping thick precum onto his thigh in a steady stream. “I…” Drew swallows, trying to wet his dry mouth. He forces a giggle. “T-too much?” Akira’s blurred eyes are barely able to focus on Drew, but they still feel so sharp upon him, so determined. “N-no.” Tozawa swallows thickly and reaches up, pulling Drew’s face down to meet his own. “Not enough.” This kiss is different from the last, and it isn’t quite a kiss as Drew has experienced them. There’s never been a tongue involved before, but here it is now, forcing its way past Drew’s lips and it’s hot—it’s hot, and sending blood straight down into his already aching cock. When Drew moans into Tozawa’s mouth, it’s half pleasure and half pain. And, judging by the consternation in Akira’s eyes as he suddenly pulls back, he noticed. “What?” Drew pants, pretending not to know. Akira is even bolder than Drew had expected. He reaches down to the obvious swelling, palming Drew’s cock through his jeans and making him hiss. The relief makes his vision blur.
“Fuuuck…”
“Stop ignoring it.” Akira’s voice is firm, so much so that Drew can’t help but chuckle a little—but he’s trembling slightly. Akira has figured him out. “Ignoring what? I’m not i-ignoring it…” Dammit, why did Drew’s voice have to crack now? Truth be told, Drew isn’t quite sure why he’s neglecting his own need. Maybe it's his gentility, his desire to make Tozawa come all the way undone without focusing so selfishly on himself. He’s still, in his own mind, the white knight. Akira, however, sees it differently. Drew may be stubborn enough to try to muddle through this without giving himself relief - but Akira, too, is stubborn, too much to allow Drew to martyr himself. Not when Akira has so much to give. Blearily, Drew sees Akira moving towards him, his bleached hair glowing like a halo through the fog. He isn’t certain where Tozawa really resides spatially until he feels his breath against his ear. “I want you,” he says. His hand is firm, moving to grasp the hem of Drew’s jeans. The scrape of his stubble against Drew’s bare cheek is just painful enough. “I want all of you.” Dammit. Dammit. That’s not fair. It’s not fair how Drew fed a whole paragraph of filthy talk right into his ear only for Akira to destroy him in eight words like that. Drew shoves Tozawa back - it’s all he can do to keep from exploding right there - and takes care of his jeans himself, fumbling until the button springs open. He’s even less careful with himself than he had been with Tozawa, pulling his jeans and boxers down in one sloppy motion and bunching them at his knees. For all the tension that oozes out of him at finally being free, an even greater amount shoots up his spine when he hears Akira gasping beneath him. “Oh god…” “What?” Drew demands, self-consciousness starting to sting him through the haze of his mind. “What is it?” He’s terrified that when he looks he’ll see Tozawa recoiling, closing his body off - or, worse, lying back with resignation to let Drew take what he wants. Instead, what he sees before him is Akira, eyes half-glazed as he pushes back into the couch. His lips are open and just breathing, sobbing for air as he reaches down and spreads his legs as wide open as the cushions of the sofa will allow. “In me,” he rasps out the command. “In me, now.” Drew, owner of the space they’re sitting in and everything around it, obeys him. In a swift motion he’s straddling Akira’s legs, carefully trying not to crush him as he reaches between his open legs. His fingertip brushes lightly against Akira’s hole - it’s hot, and Akira groans from a mixture of bliss and frustration. “N-no, no…” he pleads, legs twitching (if Drew’s position allowed for a slightly greater range of motion, he’d be kicking them petulantly). “D-don’t tease me, just…” “I won’t hurt you,” Drew raises his voice slightly, brows knit together. It’s difficult - he wants to give Akira everything he wants, but not at the expense of his comfort. Beneath Drew, Akira squirms. “W-well, then…” he huffs out, almost whining, “j-just get the lube. But please! Just... a-ah ...d-do it then!” Drew’s eyebrows arch as he looks about the room, causing Tozawa to sigh and hang his head off the arm of the couch. “Not in here ...i-in the bathroom.” Drew curls his lip, slighted by Akira’s tone. He stands, disentangling himself from Tozawa’s body, then reaches down and foists him up into a bridal carry. Instantly, the impudence is wiped clean from Akira’s face, and he stares up at Drew with wide brown eyes. “W-wait, what are you - ” Drew bares his teeth in a smile that feels just a bit threatening. “You’re starting to get an attitude, so I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Akira doesn’t realize it, but he bites down softly on his lower lip as he nods, looking even more fuckable for it. Drew growls lowly - it’s an animal instinct to do so. “Besides,” he adds, lowering his lips to Akira’s ear as he carries him, “I wanna fuck you in every room of the house.”
Akira falls onto his knees on the bathroom floor, bent sweetly over the edge of the bathtub. He’s already overheating, shivering and flushed, gasping out answers before Drew can even ask the questions. “Th-the sink,” he gasps, “it’s under the sink.” Drew kneels down to find it right there, a clear bottle with a blue cap. He gazes down at Tozawa as he flips it open, sprawled helplessly over the tub. It’s not quite the white knight’s bedroom, but Drew still thinks he looks lovely where he is. “Akira…” Drew clears his throat, almost embarrassed to ask, “have you ever…?” Akira spares Drew the shame, chuckling softly before he can finish. “N-not with anybody else...but...by myself…” He caps the statement off with a flirtatious smirk that Drew can feel deep in his core. He gets down onto his knees behind Akira, carelessly drizzling gel over his length until every inch is doused. When he’s finished he grabs Tozawa’s hips - slim, small - and lines him up with his tip. Now he presses the head of his cock carefully to his entrance, and soon they’re both lightly hissing with pleasure. Drew can see as Akira’s fingers tighten against the edge of the tub. “Akira,” Drew whispers, gently running a hand down Tozawa’s spine. This is the last chance for both of them. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Akira just laughs. He’s nervous, his heart is fluttering like a rabbit’s, but the wrinkles that form in his face are as prominent as they’ve ever been. “I’ve been sure...for months.” Drew can’t help thrusting after that. He has to restrain himself to do it - right now he feels like ripping his poor prince to shreds, but he’s being nice, pressing in tenderly until just his tip is sunken into Akira’s heat. Already, it’s a lot; Akira whines softly as he feels Drew’s size inside of him, stretching him. “Oh fuck,” he murmurs, knuckles white as he grips the tub. “Oh fuck, you’re big…” Christ. If Akira can whimper about Drew’s size, then Drew wants to ramble for hours about the way Tozawa feels around him, hot and so tight as he clutches onto his cock. He wants to, but his head is swimming already in sparks of static and he can barely think, and god this is only the tip; Drew can’t begin to imagine how the rest will feel. No wonder Kendrick raves about fucking virgins. “A-are you okay?” Drew gasps - it’s more courtesy than anything; he’s pulling back to thrust in again as he speaks. Akira nods, sweat already beading over the back of his neck. “M-more,” he gasps, half-begging and half-demanding. “Drew, please, give it to me…” And Drew does. He guides his hips forward - it takes all his patience not to just snap against him, do it all at once - and allows his length to sink down into Akira’s heat, inch by inch. Akira sobs; arches his spine and swears out loud, and Drew narrowly resists doing the same as he feels himself surrounded by perfect warmth. “How is it?” Drew gasps as he asks, lightly skimming a hand over Akira’s soft hair. Akira lets free a desperate cry, the tip of his cock dripping. “F-fuck, Drew, more!” Drew tightens his grasp on Akira’s hips and pulls away, cock only free for a second before he pounds back in. His rhythm builds steadily until he’s moving trancelike in it, as though the beat of their bodies crashing together compels him to keep going.The pace grows quicker, and a little more selfish as Drew feels the thrill running up his spine; feels the heavy weight building in his stomach. He can’t even remember where he is until Akira suddenly reaches up, blindly tangling a hand in Drew’s hair. “W-wait,” he gasps, nearly thwarted by his own tongue. “Bedroom, th-the bedroom…” Oh, of course. Drew’s promised to fuck his little obsession in every room of the house, after all. Once again, Drew foists Akira up into his arms - he’s showing off for him now, doing it with one arm around his waist, cock still buried in him for each of the steps from the bathtub to Tozawa’s humble bed, a mattress adorned with a couple of sheets. Akira’s back has just barely hit the surface before Drew is on him again, eyes glittering hungrily as it starts anew. This time the pace Drew sets is less forgiving, and each thrust is harder than the last, rewarding Akira a little bit more for each that he gladly takes. “Y-you’re being good, Akira,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Tozawa. “Y-you’re good, fuck, you’re so fuckin’ good…” Drew can’t prevent the smile that crosses his lips. He never imagined that he’d be speaking like this, that he would be ripping a man apart from the inside like this. Christ, let alone this man, wild and irresponsible and his . Drew feels the sheets beneath them grow taut as Akira claws at the linen, low moans flowing from deep within his throat. All his. As Drew smiles, though, he peers down at the expression on Tozawa’s face. Something is growing beyond his squeezed-shut eyes, some soft, warm light in his core. The heat starts to rise up from Akira’s stomach, into his chest, a sparkling pain radiating from within - about to burst. At last, his eyes fly open, looking as though the sun has just risen upon his face. “Drew-” He breathes out, hips suddenly canting up to meet Drew’s. He can feel Akira’s cock, hot and trembling, and he knows that he’s about to go. “D-Drew, I’m - “ Drew presses a hand to the back of Akira’s neck and pulls him up, stifling him with a kiss. In an instant it’s muffling a wail of bliss as Tozawa jerks and cums, coating Drew’s stomach. That’s enough for Drew to follow him down; thrust into him a final time and sob, their hips flush together as Drew cums in Tozawa until he’s dizzy and light. When it’s over, Drew collapses on top of Akira, who’s already limp. They’re both gasping for air, sweating and trembling as the room spins around them. Together they’re lost in the darkness, two bodies coupled together perfectly in isolation. Drew starts to get a sense of where he is first - the light still on in the bathroom, visible in a yellow slice through the cracked door; the faintest scent of Thai food still wafting from the living room; the soft mess of hair pressing into his chest. Drew breathes in, tracing his fingers over the muscles of Akira’s shoulders. He realizes, finally, that it’s real . Soon, Akira stirs slowly, lifting his head. His eyes glimmer up at Drew with the kind of mindless adoration that only comes from being fucked out of your mind. Drew can’t resist leaning down and pressing a tidy kiss to the tip of Akira’s nose. “H-how was that, baby...?” “Drew…” Akira gasps, because it’s all he can think about. “Drew, Drew…” Drew hushes Akira softly, then moves his lips to kiss his temple. “Don’t talk too much. Rest…” White teeth flash in a smile as Tozawa playfully squirms beneath Drew. “Nooo! I’m not...tired…” His words are disproven in an instant as his arms fall back down into the mattress. Every limb feels like jelly. Drew grins back victoriously. “Yes...you are.” He says, then huffs as he rolls off of Akira’s body and lies at his side. He sighs, feeling his muscles ache in a deep, rewarding way. Drew’s dead tired. In fact, he feels as though he could stay in bed forever - and, seeing Tozawa at his side, knotted up with a sheet pulled up over his chest, it’s an appealing thought. But the look on Akira’s face is drawn close with concentration. Drew hums, gently bumping his calf with his foot. “W-what’s, uh...what’s the matter?” An unusually slight grin crosses Akira’s face. “N-nothing, I was just...thinking about something.” Drew hums, pressing his head against Akira’s shoulder and burrowing in. “Tell meeeeee...come onnnnn…” Akira licks his lips thoughtfully for a moment. When he looks back at Drew his dark eyes are mischievous. “This doesn’t mean you’re gonna treat me different than everyone else that lives here, right?” Drew breathes out a hoarse laugh, throwing an arm around Akira’s waist. “Oh? How would I do that, then?” Akira purses his lips. “Mmmm...no more rent?” Drew laughs again, pulling Tozawa close and kissing him just under his jaw. He relishes in feeling Akira’s flesh heat up beneath him. Warm, all his to kiss just as much as he wants. “Akira, you pay your rent as often as you want to.” The deep wrinkles reappear in Akira’s face as he gives Drew a broad smile - Drew can barely resist from kissing all of them. Actually, why not? Drew presses his lips to Tozawa’s face and kisses every line of his smile, cheeks, lips and eyes. Akira is giggling by the time he’s finished, arms wrapped around Drew’s neck. “A-as much as I want, huh…” He hums, nose pressed almost to Drew’s. “Then what happens when I don’t want to pay anymore?” He’s only kidding. What he said was a joke, and Drew knows it was a joke, but now a myriad of thoughts are alighting in his head, sparked off by the question. Drew’s apartment is about as big as Akira’s, isn’t it? Sure, but Tozawa doesn’t have a lot of possessions - and neither does Drew. Nothing he can’t put in storage or throw away. They’ll only need one bed, if they can keep going on like this. There’s room, and if there isn’t, he can make it - “Drewwww?” Akira taps at Drew’s head, jolting him from his thoughts. “What’s wrong?” “Huh? Oh...uh…” Drew gulps, cheeks reddened. “N-nothing. Just...daydreaming.” Akira adorably pouts, tilting his head down to gaze up at Drew through his lashes. “Can’t you tell me?”
What about that sword? Maybe by the doorway? It could be a great conversation-starter with guests. And maybe Akira will need a new shelf put in for his figures…
Drew kisses Akira on his forehead and pulls him into his chest. “Maybe I’ll tell you later.” “Hey, is 1B still available?”Drew hums, nestling his phone between his ear and his shoulder. “1B? Yeah, it’s still open. Looking to move?” He can hear Kendrick stretching and yawning on the other end. “Yep. I’m too damn old to walk up and down 3 flights every day, and Daniel wants a place to garden in. I’m ready to make the down payment as soon as yesterday.” Drew laughs dryly as he sits down at his desk chair, wedged into a corner of the room where there’s just barely space for it - his apartment is tight, even moreso now that he’s had to do a lot of rearranging. But he’s happy putting his desk in this spot by the window, where he can conveniently look out over the parking lot as he works. “Yeah, yeah. You can give me the down payment any time if you drop by my door. And,” Drew's voice grows more pointed, “you can bring that last month’s rent too, since it was due 3 days ago.” Kendrick swears softly. “Again? Seriously?” “Look, I’m giving you time. But you’re not getting that apartment until you pay for this one.” Drew’s standing up now, peering through the blinds. He can’t see anything yet, but he can already sense the low purring of a distant motor in his ears. “You’re lucky nobody sues you,” Kendrick sulks. “I can’t pay on time, but I don’t get to be your live-in boyfriend like some people - ” “Heyyyy. Daniel wouldn’t like that, would he?” Drew chides gently. On the other end, he hears only a tri-tone beep. Hung up - Drew can’t help but laugh a bit at the irony. After Brian had pushed so hard for them to hook up - He doesn’t have time to ruminate for long. The rumble of a motor is growing closer now, rising thunderously until, at last, a bike zings into the parking lot, its bright red paint shimmering against the gray clouds of late autumn. Drew can’t stop himself. He runs, stumbles over furniture in his haste to throw open the door and step onto the balcony. “Akira! Hey, Akira!” He calls down, waving his arm. Akira pulls his helmet from his head, already laughing. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” He cries, racing to the stairs. Every single evening, Akira returns from work, hungry and tired, and Drew acts as though he hasn’t seen him in weeks. Tonight isn’t the least bit different as Akira throws the door open and finds himself instantly trapped, snared in strong arms and being dragged into the apartment. By the time they find their way to the couch, they’re already kissing. “You know what day it is?” Drew breathlessly asks, pulling away. Akira hums, sticking his lip out. “Sunday?” He guesses. “The last Sunday in November,” Drew corrects, lightly kissing Akira’s jaw and relishing in the gasp it elicits. “Which means...you’re three days late on rent…” Akira’s eyes widen in surprise that looks just a bit too genuine. “I...I still have to pay?” Drew sighs, shaking his head. Three months together, and Akira is still a bit oblivious to the joke. “Of course you don’t.” Akira’s shoulders slacken visibly. “O-oh...right...I’m sorry…” Drew licks his lips, a hand skimming down the side of Akira’s body, tracing his outline. “Don’t be sorry...but…” “B-but?” Akira asks, his voice quivering. Drew smirks, pressing his lips to his ear. “If you still want to pay me in some other way...it can be arranged.” Akira sighs, gently squeezing Drew’s hand. “Y-yeah...I’d like that. A lot.” There’s more kissing. It’s just about to get intense again when Akira squirms away, panting. “W-wait...I need to shower first. Please?” Drew looks at Akira with lidded eyes. He thinks about protesting that no, even coated in dirt and sweat Drew will take Tozawa just the way he is, but instead he rolls off of his body and relents. “Alriiiight, fine. I have some work to finish up anyway.” Akira beams, pecking Drew’s lips one last time before dashing into the bathroom. When Drew hears the hot water hissing from the nozzle, he stands, stretches, and heads into the kitchenette where he turns on the stove. He’s hungry, and he knows Akira might be as well once he gets out. He might quibble a bit on putting off sex for dinner, but even then, the oven can keep it all warm… Drew’s chopping onions when he looks thoughtfully over to the shelf in the corner. Potted plants, cups of ball point pens, all lined up parallel with rows of wrestling figures in brash poses. It all sits beneath the long black sword, resting on pegs in the wall as it sits in its sheath. Drew chuckles, shaking his head. The apartment is looking ridiculous these days, but he doesn’t mind it in the slightest.
Drew has just placed the lid over the hissing pot of meat and onion when two arms lace around him from behind. “Smells good. What is it?” Drew teasingly raps Akira’s wrist with the handle of the spatula. “Tacos. You’re out pretty quickly, aren’t you?” Akira hums. Drew can see that drops of water still rest on his arm - he got out in quite the hurry. “A little bit. But something was...on my mind.” Drew raises his eyebrows, Akira still clinging to him, holding him close. “And that is…?” Now warm lips are pressed to the shell of Drew’s ear, making him shiver when Tozawa whispers. “How months ago…you promised to fuck me in every room…” Drew whips around. Akira is bare, skin glistening with water droplets as he smirks up into his eyes. His cock is full and hard, bouncing as he eagerly sways from side to side. “Just a fast one, Mr. Gulak…? Here?” Akira asks in a honeyed voice, hands crawling up Drew’s arms. Drew tries to move his mouth, but finds it hopeless as he stumbles with his back to the wall. He’s already done for. Akira doesn’t waste the opportunity, crawling close and sitting astride Drew’s lap, kissing his face roughly. Drew moans against his lips and tongue, feeling himself twitching to life in his slacks. It’s not until Akira’s hot, hungry mouth is inching over the flesh of his neck that he’s finally able to speak.“W-what if dinner burns…?” Drew rasps, fingers tangled up in Akira’s hair - he has allowed the bleach to fade away by now, leaving only its natural color, dark as night. Akira pulls back, smirking. “Won’t burn if we’re fast enough…” Drew sighs and surrenders. He pulls Akira into his body once again. “O-of course...of course…” They sink back down into the floor, rocking together, holding each other close until Drew finds his pants sliding down his legs. Over the kissing, the rasp of their clothing and the rush of blood in his head, Drew can scarcely hear the food sizzling in the pan anymore. Below, he sees that smiling face, framed with deep lines around the mouth that he still can barely fight off the urge to kiss even now. How did he ever manage living alone?