Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1328917.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater, Soul_Eater_Not!
  Relationship:
      Akane_Hoshi/Clay_Sizemore
  Character:
      Akane_Hoshi, Clay_Sizemore
  Additional Tags:
      Blindfolds, Established_Relationship, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/
      Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-26 Words: 3577
****** Distance ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "'Shut your eyes,' Clay purrs into his ear, and Akane starts to
     suspect where this is going." Akane is self-conscious about his
     marked eye and Clay gets him to stop worrying.
“Fuck, Akane,” Clay laughs against the meister’s neck. “Breathe, I swear you’re
wound so tight one day you’re gonna shatter when I touch you.”
Akane tries. He really does. It’s hard to relax when his body is humming tight
with desperation and want and sensation, when every time Clay’s fingers find
bare skin at the meister’s elbow or neck or hip Akane startles like he’s been
burnt, but he does try. He pulls his mouth away from Clay’s shoulder, stares
unseeing out past the halo of blond hair in his periphery and tries to loosen
the clutching fists his fingers are making in Clay’s shirt.
“You’re terrible at this,” Clay offers into his ear, and Akane shudders and
tenses again. “I mean the calming down,” he goes on, dragging his fingers
through the meister’s hair so the pleasure pours down Akane’s spine warm and
soothing. “Not the sex. You’re pretty good at that.”
“Pretty good?” Akane shifts his weight under the blond, angles his leg up to
press against Clay’s length through the other boy’s pants. “I’m offended, I
strive for perfection in everything.”
“I know you do,” Clay says. He leans up and away so Akane can see the way his
weapon is smiling down at him, though his fingers keep trailing patterns
through the meister’s hair. It feels good but it’s ruffling Akane’s hair back
from his face, and even if it is just Clay here self-consciousness floods into
Akane’s spine to counteract the comfort of the touch. “You should, I don’t
know, strive for normal at some point. Just to see what it feels like.” The
fingers stroke over Akane’s forehead, bump against the frame of his glasses,
and the meister can’t help the flinch of panic that pulls his head back and
away and he tries to tuck his marked eye back out of sight.
Clay goes still, and for a moment Akane is afraid to look for fear of seeing
pain in the blond’s eyes. But the fear twists into panic and he needs to see,
needs to know even it it’s awful. He tips his head up and Clay’s just watching
him, an almost-smile turning at his mouth although it’s not reaching the gentle
consideration in his gaze.
“It’s just me,” the weapon says aloud, an echo of Akane’s internal monologue.
“Can’t you relax into it?”
Akane doesn’t trust his voice, so he shakes his head instead, slides his gaze
away from the understanding in Clay’s dark blue eyes because it is somehow
worse than anything else.
The blond sighs, but it lacks the resignation Akane is expecting, and then
there is a tug as the weapon pulls the frames of his glasses free.
“Hey,” Akane protests, sitting up and reaching for the accessory. With the
absence of Clay’s hand holding his hair back his vision falls into shadow
again. “Give those back, Clay.”
“Do people even wear glasses during sex?” Clay asks aloud as if musing to
himself. “People who aren’t totally paranoid and too uptight to relax for five
minutes, I mean.” He glances at his meister and the smile on his face takes all
the bite out of the comment. “Not that it matters.” He comes in to kiss Akane
so fast the meister doesn’t have a chance to respond before Clay is pulling
away, sliding off the bed and moving to set the glasses safely atop the
dresser. “You won’t need them anyway.”
“Clay.” Akane drags a hand over his face. “I know I don’t need them, but --”
“You don’t understand.” Clay’s fingers close around the meister’s wrist. “You
won’t need them. For vision or hiding or whatever, okay? Just trust me.” When
Akane looks up Clay is pulling his school tie free with one hand, twisting the
fabric around his neck until it comes free and he can shake it into a flat
strip of cloth. He looks up, teeth shining white in a smirk, and Akane has a
brief flicker of foreboding.
“I’ll show you,” Clay says pleasantly, as if he’s giving Akane a treat, and
drops his hold on the meister’s wrist as he slides forward on the bed. He comes
in very close, so close Akane is tipping his head up in anticipation of a kiss,
but Clay comes sideways and around him instead, looping the tie loosely around
the meister’s neck but the wrong-way around.
“Shut your eyes,” Clay purrs into his ear, and Akane starts to suspect where
this is going. He does as ordered anyway, and when the weapon slides the fabric
up to cover his eyelids he knows he’s right.
“A blindfold?” he asks into the darkness as fingers work at the back of his
head.
“Sure.” Clay’s voice is rougher and darker than usual. Akane can’t tell if it’s
just the lack of sight causing the change or if his weapon really is purring
over the word. “You don’t want anyone to see your eye, right?” The fabric pulls
tight, scraping friction against the meister’s shut eyelids. “This way you
don’t need to worry about it.” Another tug, a rustle of fabric, a shift of
weight. “Can you see me?”
“No.” Akane feels oddly calm, distant and separate from the proceedings.
There’s a flicker of mental image of Clay kneeling in front of him, Clay’s tie
knotted over his eyes, and he shivers at the rush of heat to his blood.
“Good.” That was deliberate, the way the word slides heavy over the weapon’s
tongue. There’s another rustle, unidentifiable sounds, and the weight between
Akane’s legs shifts and disappears.
“Clay?” He reaches out, half-panicked at the lack of visual input.
“I’m here.” There’s the brush of fingers against his and then they pull back,
but the weapon keeps speaking. “Breathe, you’re fine.”
“What are you doing?”
Akane can hear the smile in Clay’s response. “You’re not supposed to know. Kind
of the point of the blindfold, right?”
“But.” Akane swallows and drops his hands to the sheets, lays them flat over
the fabric and slides idly against the texture. “But I don’t know what to
expect.”
“And he understands,” Clay laughs. There’s a click of metal -- a belt, maybe? -
- and the shuffle of fabric rubbing against itself. “Just stay calm, okay?” A
scuffle against the floor, a huff of breath from the weapon, and the weight at
the end of the bed is back. When Akane reaches out into the darkness his
fingers hit skin and after a moment of exploration he realizes he’s touching
Clay’s shoulder and brings his other hand up to ground himself against the
weapon’s body. He can hear every breath Clay is taking, as if his ears are
hyper-sensitive with the removal of his sight. The weapon sucks in a deep
inhale and Akane knows he’s going to speak even before he does.
“I can take it off, if you don’t like it.” He doesn’t sound contrite, just
sincere. “Just say the word, okay?”
“No.” Akane shakes his head. Without sight he has a strange sense of vertigo,
like he’s not sure if Clay can see the movement, like he’s not sure if he’s
actually moving at all. “No, it’s fine. I can’t tell where you are and
it’s...I’m a little dizzy but.” Fingers touch his hip with no warning and blood
surges down to his cock in instant response. The reaction saps the strength
from his words and turns his voice breathy. “I like it.”
Clay’s breath comes in warm over his cheek. “Oh good.” The hand at Akane’s hip
comes sideways, pulls gently at the front of his pants, and when Clay’s
shoulders bump against the meister’s Akane leans back obediently. Clay pulls
away but the meister doesn’t move, just lies still, feeling faintly like the
need for action is gone with his vision, like the blindfold is granting him
permission to just lie flat on the bed and breathe faster in anticipation of
Clay’s touch.
“Lift up,” Clay’s voice orders, clear through the odd haze of sensation, and
Akane does. The loosened fabric around his hips slides free at Clay’s tugging;
there’s a brief wave of cool air on bare skin and an accompanying flush of
self-consciousness blush under Akane’s cheeks, but it’s not so bad without the
ability to see Clay seeing him, and then the weapon’s hands are sliding hot up
against his thighs and Akane is shuddering at the contact and the chill and
self-consciousness both evaporate.
“You’re gorgeous,” Clay says, and Akane gasps as the shifting fingers come up
under the loose hem of his shirt. “I don’t get to look at you enough and that
is a shame.” One hand starts pulling at the buttons down the front of Akane’s
shirt while the other comes farther up and sideways, traces ticklish sensation
across the meister’s stomach so Akane shivers and half-twists as his shirt
comes open. There is a tug at his neck -- that’s Clay pulling his tie loose, it
has to be -- and then the tie slides free and the weapon’s fingers are trailing
against the line of his collarbone, sliding his shirt open to his shoulders and
touching so lightly that Akane is gasping and rocking up for more concrete
sensation.
He doesn’t realize how close Clay is to his skin until the weapon chuckles and
warm air gusts against Akane’s hip and around his cock. He jerks in surprise
and bumps up against Clay’s lips for a moment before dropping back flat to the
mattress with a groan.
“Sit up,” Clay says, pulling back so Akane can only hear and not feel the
words. His hands curl around Akane’s hips, sweep against the curve of his back
as the meister comes up and forward, and then there’s a weight across Akane’s
lap and friction against his cock, and it’s not until Clay settles against him
and sighs in satisfaction that Akane can identify the pressure and friction as
his weapon straddling his lap. He didn’t realize Clay’s pants were off, but the
weapon’s bare skin is pressed up against his and when Akane leans forward his
cock bumps briefly against Clay’s length so both boys shudder. Akane’s mouth
fits in against the weapon’s chest and Clay’s fingers drag down over his
shoulders and arms to push his shirt and jacket free. As soon as the meister
has the use of his arms again his fingers are seeking out the lines of the
other’s back, pleased if not surprised to meet no resistance.
“Are you wearing anything at all?” Akane asks against the darkness.
He can feel Clay laugh, the brush of lips against his ear as the blond presses
a kiss into his skin. “Only one way for you to find out, isn’t there?”
Akane grins and slides his hands down to find Clay’s hips. The weapon goes
sideways without being told, lets himself be guided down onto the mattress.
When Akane moves he has another wave of dizziness and nearly falls as his
balance goes; a hand catches at his hip, there’s a bubble of laughter from the
weapon, and Akane smiles as Clay slides in under him and pulls the meister back
into balance.
“Clumsy of you,” he purrs. Akane tries to cover his mouth to cut off his speech
but he misses, catches the bottom of the blond’s chin instead.
“You tied your clothes over my eyes.” He gives up on closing off the weapon’s
continued laughter to focus on dragging his fingers down over shoulder, arm,
elbow. “I’m doing well, considering.”
It takes a few minutes to brush over the entirety of Clay’s body, down against
the shiver of his stomach and the tense muscle of his thighs and calves; when
Akane touches his palms Clay shifts, catches Akane’s wrists between his
fingers.
“Satisfied?” the weapon asks, one leg coming up to fit between the meister’s.
It’s enough warning that Akane lets his balance go fluid so when Clay leans in
against him to flip them back over he can go with more grace than otherwise.
“Impressed, actually.” Clay lets Akane’s hands go and the meister reaches down,
flutters his fingers through the empty air until he brushes up against hot skin
and Clay gasps over him. “I didn’t know you could strip so fast. How much were
you wearing under your uniform?”
“You may never know,” Clay murmurs against Akane’s hair. Then he’s pulling
away, leaving the meister’s skin to go cool again in the air of the room. Akane
shuts his eyes behind the cloth -- it’s pointless, not as if he can see
anything with them open anyway, but it gives him a sense of control and makes
it easier to relax back on the sheets.
He can hear Clay come back before he feels the touch, so he’s arching up in
anticipation before the warmth of fingers comes down against his hip. There’s a
shift at the end of the bed, contact more accidental than deliberate, but every
touch weighs more in the dark. Akane can’t even tell what’s touching him, just
that there is contact against his knee and a weight twisting on his ankle, and
he smiles out into the shadows while fingers come down around his leg to slide
along the inside of his thigh.
“Your hands are cold,” Akane observes. He can feel the path of slippery liquid
in the wake of Clay’s fingers. “Couldn’t you have warmed them up first?”
“Ah, sorry.” Clay’s words come lower than Akane expects, and after a moment
there’s warm breath blowing in the wake of the chill. Akane shivers more from
the heat than the cold of a moment before, and while he’s still trembling from
the sensation the weapon slides a finger inside him so he hisses in reaction.
“You know me, not so good at the planning.”
“Right.” It’s easier to relax even though Akane can’t see Clay moving between
his legs, even when the weapon’s mouth presses hot into the sensitive skin of
his thigh. He groans, takes a breath and steadies his voice. “Right. That’s
what I’m here for, yeah?”
“Right.” Clay’s moving his hand, pressing sensation against Akane’s body with
his fingers and his mouth, and Akane’s nerves are singing with feeling and
Clay’s barely even started. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Akane shifts his hips, moves himself against Clay’s hand, and the
weapon laughs. There’s a touch against Akane’s cock, a featherlight brush of
fingers, and Akane is gasping and rocking up as Clay carefully fits another
finger inside him. This is familiar in itself, but the lack of sight backs him
up into shocked responses that remind him of the first time. He’s not sure if
it’s the adrenaline of the moment or the memory of the first flustered
desperation that speeds his breathing so fast, but when Clay’s fingers shift
and push against him he moans and arches his back up clear of the bed.
A touch at his hip, gentle pressure pushing him back down flat. “Relax, Akane.
Just breathe.”
The meister sucks in air, lets it out slow, and when Clay curls the fingers
inside him the pressure sends pleasure sparking out into his veins. He shudders
and moans but stays languid across the bed, and he’s rewarded by the feel of
Clay smiling against his skin.
“Not so hard, see?” The hand against the meister’s hip drags down, gentle
affection in the friction. The warm breath shifts out of range for a moment;
then there’s damp heat against Akane’s cock, the slide of skin slippery with
moisture, and for just a moment Clay’s mouth comes down over the meister’s
length. Akane has only just identified the source of the warm sensation when
Clay is pulling away, mouth and fingers sliding away so Akane is left with
nothing but the fingers at his leg to ground him to reality.
“Clay?” He doesn’t mean to sound plaintive, but he feels at a loss, floating
free from the mattress under him without the advantage of his sight.
“I’m here.” The fingers tighten, the pressure of a whole hand rather than just
the brush of contact, and after a moment Clay’s other hand matches against
Akane’s other hip. The meister spreads his legs apart in anticipation and Clay
fits himself in between them, the heat from his body radiating out until
Akane’s not sure if their skin is actually touching or just within a breath of
doing so. Then there’s a press, hard skin against slick resistance, and as Clay
slides into him Akane’s closed eyelids flash white with a spark of sensation.
“Akane,” Clay groans. His weight shifts, a knee pressed against Akane’s leg,
and the meister laughs around the tight pleasure filling his throat.
“I’m here,” he manages. “I thought I was the one who can’t see.”
“I can see you.” Clay’s hand lifts aways from Akane’s skin, and the meister
knows where’s it’s going even before fingers wrap gentle around his cock.
“God you’re amazing, you’re beautiful Akane.” There’s a stroke up over his
length and Akane shudders even before Clay comes forward into him farther. “I
love you so fucking much.”
“You can love me all you want, just don’t stop touching me,” Akane gasps,
reaching out to touch Clay. His blind fingers hit face and collarbone before he
shifts his hand to cup against the blond’s cheek and around Clay’s neck, brings
his legs in to wrap around the weapon’s hips. With the extra leverage he can
shift against Clay’s hand sliding over him, rock himself back against the
weapon’s cock to match the blond’s rhythm. “I love you too. You know I do.”
“I know.” Clay’s leaned down again; Akane can judge his position by the hand at
the blond’s face. Lips brush over the meister’s cheek and when he arches up his
chest bumps against Clay’s. “My beautiful meister.” His fingers slide up, drag
against the flushed skin so Akane whimpers and pants for more, and Clay
anticipates, jerks his hand harder and faster and rocks forward so Akane can
feel the weapon moving slick inside him. Without the distraction of sight, the
sparkle of Clay’s blue eyes and the shift of his soft hair, there’s nothing
left for Akane’s mind to focus on but the feeling, the drag of friction over
nerve endings and the faint whisper of skin against skin, the sound of Clay’s
breathing going fast over him and the way his own throat hums as it turns every
exhale into a moan. Without seeing Clay’s eyes on him it’s easier to let the
self-consciousness go too, even when Clay is humming in appreciation every time
Akane arches up. He can imagine what they look like together without the panic
of self-awareness, his body curving up to meet the one working over him, his
lips parting around a moan until Clay laughs and leans down to lick the curve
of his lower lip. The shape of Clay’s back, the pull of muscle over his
shoulders as he rocks forward, the line of Akane’s leg cutting across the
smooth dip of his back into his ass, the blur-fast pull of fingers over the
meister’s length and the slow, steady push of the weapon’s cock inside the
other’s body -- he can see it clear with imagination, hazy with the heat he can
feel radiating off both of them, and when Clay draws his hand up Akane groans
just before the wave of pleasure hits him and washes out the image behind his
darkened eyes.
Clay keeps pumping his hand for another few seconds, until Akane has stopped
jerking under him in response to the sensation. When he pulls his hand away he
leans down instead, lays his body flat over the other boy’s, and rests his
mouth against Akane’s hair as his thrusts go fast and erratic. Akane’s skin is
coated in sweat and the heat and the darkness are making him dizzy, but the
lingering pleasure of orgasm is still suffusing his veins. He can hear Clay’s
breathing going too fast against his hair, and when Akane arches his hips up
the blond gasps and the meister can feel the jerk of the other boy’s body as he
comes.
Clay drops on top of the meister and for a minute there’s just the flush of
heat coming off their bodies and the pant of breath leveling into regular
pacing. Then the weapon pushes up to take some of his weight and starts pulling
at the tie knotted around the meister’s head. It comes free with a ruffle of
the other boy’s hair; Akane opens his eyes and flinches back from the light,
too bright in comparison with its brief absence.
“Sorry.” Fingers come down to brush against Akane’s forehead, and when the
meister carefully opens his eyes again Clay’s hand is shading his eyes from the
worst of the light. “That better?” The weapon slides back and away and Akane
shudders and smiles.
“Yes, thanks.”
“Did you like the blindfold?” Clay asks, fingertips dragging gentle paths over
Akane’s skin.
“Very much.” Akane blinks up at the blond, smiles faintly. “Though it’s nice to
see your face again.”
“Your eyes are so beautiful.” Clay leans in towards the meister and Akane shuts
his eyes again so the weapon can brush his lips against his eyelids. “You
shouldn’t be so self-conscious about them.”
“I’ll try.” Akane promises. “If you promise to cover them sometimes.”
Clay laughs against his hair. “I promise.”
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