Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11058021.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Super_Lovers_(Anime_&_Manga)
  Relationship:
      Kaidou_Aki/Kaidou_Shima
  Character:
      Kaidou_Aki, Kaidou_Shima, Kaidou_Haru, Kaidou_Ren
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot,
      Twincest, Twins, Mutual_Pining, Blow_Jobs, Hand_Jobs, Power_Dynamics,
      Sexual_Fantasy
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-01 Words: 7281
****** Space ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "He keeps hoping it’ll go away. It would be nice if this were
     something he outgrew, some misplaced desire formed from youthful
     hormones and the awkward arousal that seems nigh-constant, through
     the years of middle school." Aki finds sharing a room with Shima to
     be challenging for a variety of reasons until Shima takes matters
     into his own hands.
Aki hates sharing a room with Shima.
It wasn’t as much of a problem when they were younger. Aki was always more
interested in playing with their shared toys than Shima was, or at least more
likely to throw a fit in the event he didn’t get his way; in practice the room
was as good as his, with the passive presence of his twin there as a ready-made
playmate when he got tired of playing alone or wanted someone to stand as token
opposition to the wars he would wage against block castles or sprawling train
tracks. Shima always went along with what Aki wanted without batting an eye,
often without any protest at all; and if Aki noticed any difference between
Shima’s submissiveness and Haru’s greater resistance, he never thought much of
it beyond being aware that Shima made for a better partner in the games he
devised.
That started to change in middle school, when they hit their growth spurt in
lockstep with each other and the narrow walls of their bedroom became suddenly
claustrophobic over what felt like the gap between one night and the next. Aki
couldn’t help himself from interrupting Shima’s studying, sometimes by force
and sometimes just by picking a fight, until finally Shima moved into the spare
bedroom and left Aki entirely to his own devices. Aki had thought that was what
he wanted, had grinned satisfaction the whole time Shima was collecting his
things to move from one room to the other; but that night he laid awake in the
oppressive silence of his bedroom, listening to the sound of his heart beating
without anyone else’s breathing to help fill the echoing quiet of the space
around him, and the next day he had been more irritable than ever, as if the
evening spent alone was enough to drive him absolutely insane. Shima had let
him go on sleeping, or rather not-sleeping, alone for almost a week; until one
day over breakfast, when Shima said “That study is big enough for a bedroom, if
we move the computer into our old room, Aki,” without even bothering to look up
from his eggs, and that was that. Everything was moved in the span of a few
sweaty hours, and that night Aki had fallen asleep to the soft murmur of his
brother’s breathing from the bed returned to where it belonged on the other
side of the room.
That didn’t solve the problem. Aki had his suspicions about the root of the
cause after that first interlude, when Shima’s absence left him feeling as
jittery and unbalanced as if he had lost a limb; once puberty properly set in
and  he started jerking off almost every night in the shower, it became wholly
impossible to ignore. Aki has plenty of pretty girls in his class, with dark
lashes and long hair and bodies just starting to curve into the promise of
maturity; but as his fantasies steady into regularity he finds himself thinking
of broad shoulders more than narrow ones, of strong jawlines instead of
feminine delicacy. And worse of all: the specifics of the face he pictures are
unmistakable, the narcissism of his own features but cast into more calm, set
behind the frames of the glasses he knows from the nightstand across the room
from him, and the thought of a familiar voice breaking high and moaning over
his name is always what pushes him over the edge into the shuddering relief of
pleasure under the grip of his hand.
He keeps hoping it’ll go away. It would be nice if this were something he
outgrew, some misplaced desire formed from youthful hormones and the awkward
arousal that seems nigh-constant, through the years of middle school; but then
he starts high school, and he and Shima move into the shared bedroom Haru sets
up for them in his new house, and Aki’s desire utterly fails to fade as he
hopes it will. If anything it steadies, settling into the back of his head like
it’s making a home there, until Shima’s is the first face he thinks of when he
reaches for a fantasy, until it costs him true effort to hold to the illusion
of thinking of anyone else. It’s pointless to fight it, he decides one day,
standing under the spray of the shower with his skin prickling with the
aftereffects of pleasure and his breathing gasping to heat in his chest; the
best he can do is live with it, carry the secret within his chest like the
burden it is and let his own awareness of his feelings go utterly unstated for
however many years they insist on lingering.
He’s not going to interrupt Shima’s romantic prospects. That’s what he decides
first and foremost, establishing it in his head as a fixed rule his first year
of high school. Shima’s quiet and introverted, spending more time studying than
pursuing those few casual relationships he ends up in; but someday he’s sure to
find someone serious, Aki tells himself, and when that day comes Aki won’t do
anything to stand in his brother’s way. He’ll gracefully step aside, will bite
his tongue and smile in assumed happiness and hope that maybe Shima’s romantic
bliss will give Aki a chance to move on from his own unvoiced feelings. That’s
what he tells himself, that’s what he dedicates himself to; and then Shima
starts tutoring Natsukawa Ai, and all of Aki’s noble goals disintegrate with a
single glimpse of the way she looks at Shima.
It’s the worst fight they’ve ever had. Aki can remember shouting matches when
they were children, yelled insults and the occasional projectile of a pillow or
a toy; but those blew over quickly, were forgotten within the hour to leave
them friends again by the time they returned to their shared room. But this:
Aki seethes for days, feeling jealousy burn like acid in his stomach while
Shima continues about his life in blissful ignorance of both Natsukawa’s
interest and Aki’s building temper. It culminates in a late-night fight, Shima
with his jaw set on determination and Aki shaking with emotion far more intense
than the situation calls for. He can’t explain himself, can’t offer any
rational explanation for his response; all he can do is lash out with steadily
fraying patience, feeling the walls of his own carefully constructed facade
crumble, until he’s finally standing in front of Shima breathless and flushed
and horribly certain that he’s given his secret away. Shima doesn’t say
anything, doesn’t comment on how irrational Aki’s fury is and doesn’t offer a
possible explanation for the other’s emotions beyond the stated one; he just
looks at him, the cool of his gaze weighing and measuring with a deliberate
care that makes Aki’s spine prickle with discomfort, and then he turns to go
outside anyway. Aki retreats to their shared room, seething and hurt and as
miserable as he has ever been, and lies in bed to stare at the wall without the
least hope of obtaining sleep for himself. Shima is going to leave him, it’s
obvious, Shima is going to fall in love with the quiet, studious girl so much
like him, and he’s going to leave Aki behind; and Aki finds himself gasping
sobs into the muffling soft of his pillow as he wonders how he ever could have
thought he could bear this in peace.
And then Shima comes back.
Aki had thought him lost, had thought his secret revealed, had thought
everything undone well beyond anything in his power to fix. But Shima comes
back that night, and is still there the next day; and he doesn’t break open
Aki’s secret, doesn’t call out the irrationality of his brother’s hysterical
reaction. He submits to it, gives way to Aki’s demands, asks for his permission
to continue with the path he has set for himself; and when Aki ducks his head
into agreement he can feel his skin prickling with the weight of Shima’s gaze
on him, with the silent, unstated understanding hanging thick as smoke in the
air between them.
And so it has come to this, now: Aki alone in the room they share, with a
volume of manga open in front of him and his gaze fixed unseeing on the page in
front of him as he listens for the sound of low conversation downstairs to give
way, waits for the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs to the door. It would
be easier, he thinks, if he could lock the door, turn the bolt and throw
himself into bed and jerk off quick and rushed to the dark of Shima’s eyes and
the duck of his head and the voluntary surrender in that question, is that
okay? as if he needs Aki’s permission, as if he’s giving way to the other’s
dominance willingly instead of pushing back against it. But it’s Shima’s room
as much as it is Aki’s, the space shared out between the two of them even more
than Haru and Ren share the overlarge bedroom Haru has claimed for himself, and
so Aki has to wait, jittery with the inevitability of Shima’s arrival and
wholly lacking anywhere he can retreat to to work off the worst of his
frustrations. He hates it, hates being patient, hates having to wait on
something he can’t completely count on; and he doesn’t dare leave and risk
missing Shima entirely. The idea is worse even than the waiting, the thought of
going out and missing whatever interaction they are going to have impossible to
bear; and Aki knows something is going to happen, knows it with all the uncanny
certainty that he sometimes can feel in regards to Shima, like he’s getting an
echo of the other’s intentions over whatever bond they have between them. So he
stays where he is, tapping his fingers against the edge of the desk and rocking
back in his chair and getting up to pace up and down the room in a futile
effort to work off some of his anxiety; and then the door comes open all at
once, and Shima is there before Aki has a chance to even pause his motion.
He stops at once, jerking to a halt a few short feet away from the door where
his brother has just entered. Shima has his hand on the doorknob, is staring
straight at Aki; for a moment they’re gazing full into each other’s faces, with
all the calm on Shima’s and all the tight-wound anxiety on Aki’s fully visible
to each other. Aki can feel himself going red as self-consciousness takes the
place of that impatience, as adrenaline drops the bottom out of his stomach to
leave him feeling like he’s in free-fall; and when he speaks the words come
from that frustration more than any rationality, from a desperate attempt to
salvage his composure from the wreckage Shima’s too-silent entry made of it.
“Finally,” he blurts, and that isn’t at all what he meant to say but it’s what
he’s saying now, that one word is pulling others behind it and leaving him
helpless to resist the spill of emotion from his lips. “I thought you were
going to leave me waiting all day.” He gets his mouth closed, then, forcing his
lips together as he feels his face color to brilliant crimson with
embarrassment; but the words are said, the too-much admission already hanging
in the air between them.
Shima doesn’t laugh. Shima doesn’t smile, doesn’t so much as blink. He just
looks at Aki, gazing at the other like he didn’t hear his words at all, or
maybe like he’s processing them with all the silent acceptance of a computer;
and then he steps forward into the room, moving past the entrance so he can
push the weight of the door carefully shut again behind him. The weight of it
clicks into place, settling against the frame with a soft noise that
nonetheless runs hot down the whole of Aki’s spine; and then Shima ducks his
head, deliberately breaking the eye contact they’ve maintained, and every inch
of Aki’s body goes flame-hot with that one gesture of surrender.
“I’m sorry,” Shima says, in that tone that always manages to fall somewhere
between irony and sincerity. “I didn’t realize you were waiting on me.”
Aki swallows, feels the motion working over the tension in his throat; but
Shima is looking down, the dip of his lashes and the tilt of his head granting
Aki confidence to match the surrender clear in the other’s expression, and it’s
easy to step forward into that, to move closer to cover the gap between them
even as Aki’s heart pounds harder and his breath catches steam-hot in his
chest.
“Of course I was,” he says, and reaches past Shima’s head to brace his hand
against the door over the other’s shoulder. It feels like a ridiculous action,
like he’s imitating a thousand television shows rather than occupying his own
body; but Shima doesn’t laugh at that either, just lifts his gaze to look up
over the top of his glasses at Aki. His focus is steady, his attention fixed;
Aki has the brief thought that Shima can probably see him clearly even without
the corrective lenses of his glasses, as close as they are now. The thought
runs hot through the whole of his body, knots low in the pit of his stomach
with that familiar, guilty desire; but Shima isn’t looking away, and he isn’t
flinching back, and Aki doesn’t think he can make himself pull away while Shima
is staring at him with so much focus in his eyes. He takes a breath and goes on
speaking, shaping the words with as much confidence as he can make from the
heat shaking apart all his coherency as fast as he finds it. “It’s not like I
could take care of myself when you could walk in on me anytime.”
“No?” Shima says. He’s leaning back against the support of the door, his head
rocked back against the flat behind him; his voice is very level, his
expression is very calm. “Were you really that worried about me coming in on
you jerking off?”
Aki’s face heats again, his cheeks flushing red in the span between one breath
and the next. “What--I--”
“I mean,” Shima says, and lifts a hand to slide his glasses higher up the
bridge of his nose, so he can look through them at Aki in front of him. “It’s
not like it would be the first time I heard you fantasizing about me.”
Aki chokes on his inhale. His face is glowing, now, he thinks he might not ever
be able to stop blushing; but then rationality catches up to embarrassment,
untangles the implication of Shima’s words from the self-consciousness they
bring, and Aki gasps an inhale, his eyes going wide as he stares at Shima’s
level gaze.
“You,” he starts, struggling for words while Shima watches him with calm
consideration. “You listenedto me?”
Shima doesn’t so much as blink. “I did.”
Aki gapes at him for a moment. Embarrassment is foremost in his mind, the self-
consciousness at being overheard when he thought he was effectively alone, the
dizzy backtracking over all the fantasies he’s ever indulged in, wondering what
he might have said, what Shima might have heard; but clear behind that and
rising to greater weight with every breath is the image it implies, Shima lying
still and silent in his bed listening to Aki jerking off, listening to the
sound of Aki’s breathing and the whimper of his moans, listening to the sound
of his own name--
“Pervert,” Aki gasps, and then he’s reaching out without thinking at all,
without imitating anyone’s behavior but his own as he grabs at Shima’s chin,
bracing his fingers to pull the other’s head up and angled towards him. Shima’s
lips part, his mouth opening on the start of shock at this sudden movement; and
Aki leans in immediately, without waiting for Shima’s composure any more than
he’s waiting on his own rationality, and crushes his mouth down against his
brother’s.
Shima responds immediately. For all that his shock is clear in the open angle
of his mouth and the rush of the inhale he takes against Aki’s cheek there’s no
hesitation in his reaction at all; it’s like he was just waiting for Aki to
move, as if his reply has been wholly defined and just waiting on the other to
act. His hand comes up, his fingers brace at Aki’s head; and then he’s turning,
angling himself farther into the kiss, and Aki is groaning against Shima’s
mouth and licking in against the part of the other’s lips to taste the inside
of Shima’s mouth against his. Shima opens his mouth wider, making space to make
an offering of himself for Aki’s taking, and Aki does take, pushing back to
crowd Shima up against the door behind him as he takes a step in so close his
chest brushes Shima’s, his shirt catches at the friction of the other’s against
him. Aki’s hand drops from Shima’s chin, falling to reach and fumble for the
other’s waist instead, to find a hold against the soft fall of cloth; and Shima
arches up towards him, curving away from the door to press close against Aki’s
body. Their knees bump, Aki feels the fingers at the back of his head tighten
and pull, and then Shima’s hips fit against his own, and Aki can feel his
brother’s arousal like a mirror of his own. The heat makes him groan as much as
the friction, the dizzy awareness that Shima is as ready for this as he is; and
when he moves it’s to shove closer, to pin Shima flush against the door with so
much force that it knocks the breath from his brother’s lungs and leaves him
gasping for air while Aki leans in hard against him, rocking his hips forward
to grind himself against the outline of Shima’s arousal hard inside his pants.
Shima’s lashes flutter, his lips part on a soundless exhale; and then he’s
pulling Aki towards him, urging the other into impossible closeness, and Aki
presses into him like a wave breaking over a beach, as if he’s trying to find
all the ways their bodies fit together by touch instead of sight.
“Shima,” Aki says, or means to say; but it comes out as a groan, an echo of all
those fantasies left unvoiced, bitten back to guilty silence in the tension of
his throat. It’s intoxicating, now, just to taste the syllables, to know the
feel of them on his tongue without any attempt to hold them back; he can’t help
but offer them again, lower and hotter, resonating far down in the depths of
his chest as he rocks roughly forward against Shima in front of him. “Shima.”
“Aki,” Shima says, but his voice sounds different than Aki’s ever heard it
before, like it’s breaking open at the seams, like some measure of the other’s
composure is coming unravelled as fast as he speaks. His fingers tighten at the
back of Aki’s head, his thumb slides farther through Aki’s hair. “What--” Shima
closes his mouth, shuts his eyes for a moment; Aki can see him swallow as he
fights for composure. “What do you want?”
Aki frowns. “What?” The question seems inane, under the circumstances; he
wonders dizzily if Shima doesn’t want a confession from him, if the present
moment isn’t enough to clarify his desire. “What do you mean? I want you, is
that all you--”
“No,” Shima says, shaking his head to underscore his negation. “What do you
want me to do?” He blinks, bringing his gaze back up to Aki’s face; his eyes
are very dark, darker than Aki’s ever seen them before. Aki wonders if his own
are as blown-open on heat as his brother’s. “I’ll do whatever you want.” His
lashes dip, his throat works on a swallow. “Anything you’ve thought about me
doing to you.”
Aki’s breath stalls for a moment. He can feel it catch in his chest, can feel
it knot around his ribs to steal his voice; for a heartbeat his vision blurs,
his focus giving way to a surge of heat as weeks, months, years of fantasies
rush over him at once. Shima lying across his bed, knees spread wide and
clothes disheveled and breath coming fast in his chest; Shima pressed down
against the sheets, head turned to the side and glasses knocked loose as he
gasps for air in time with Aki thrusting hard into him. Shima on Aki’s lap,
rocking in against him while Aki clutches his hips, or holding Aki down to the
bed with a hand pressing at the other’s throat while he drives smooth strokes
into Aki’s body with his fingers. Aki’s whole body flexes tight on want, on the
array of options so suddenly available to him; and his fingers curl against the
door, his hand tightening to a fist bracing him up, and he forces himself to
gasp a breath and answer.
“Down,” he says, and pulls at Shima’s hip to urge him to motion, to push him
towards the floor. “On your knees.”
It’s half an experiment. Aki’s heart is racing from the friction of Shima’s
mouth on his, his hands are shaking even as he braces at Shima’s hip; he’s more
than ready for Shima to refuse, to frown and reject the suggestion as quickly
as Aki offers it. But Shima drops instantly, like Aki’s words are enough to sap
the strength from his legs, and then he’s on his knees in front of the other
and Aki is blinking in shock, disoriented by Shima’s sudden movement until it
takes him a moment to duck his head and look down at the other. Shima’s
kneeling at Aki’s feet, caught in the space between Aki’s hips and the door
behind him; and he’s reaching out without hesitating at all in bringing his
hands to work the front of Aki’s jeans free of their fastenings.
“Oh my god,” Aki gasps. “Shima.”
“Like this?” Shima asks, framing the words before he glances up at Aki over him
again. His expression is still calm, his voice smoothed back to level; the only
indication of the heat Aki can see straining so visibly at the front of the
other’s pants is the faintest flush staining across his cheeks, the tiniest
tremor at the curve of his lips. He looks steady, certain in what he’s doing
even though Aki can feel his own heart racing itself wild in his chest on the
adrenaline surging so fever-bright through his veins, and for a brief moment
Aki wonders which of them is actually in control of the moment, even if Shima
is on his knees and submitting to Aki’s requests. “This is what you mean,
right?”
Aki swallows hard. “Fuck,” he says, and uncurls his fist at the door so he can
brace himself flat with his palm against the support. “Yeah.” It’s embarrassing
the way his voice skips high in his throat, the way that one word turns into
almost a question around the strain on his tone; but Shima just ducks his head
into a nod, as if Aki had calmly agreed instead of dragging confirmation from
the tension winding higher in his veins with every beat of his heart.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, and then he’s pulling Aki’s fly open and
Aki’s heart is racing to impossible speed, he can’t find his breath for the
sudden awareness of Shima in front of him, of Shima’s hands on his hips, of
Shima’s gaze on his -- and then Shima’s fingers slide up and around, his palm
dips down and into the weight of Aki’s open jeans, and Aki makes a raw,
helpless sound and rocks himself forward hard, without any chance at all to
hold back the involuntary reaction that comes with Shima’s hand pressing the
thin of his boxers close to his flushed-hard cock.
“Like that,” Shima says, but it’s not a question, and Aki doesn’t try to
answer. It’s enough that Shima’s hand is against him, the weight of the other’s
palm bearing down against the aching want in him and the grip of the other’s
fingers tightening into almost-a-hold around him; enough that Shima’s head is
ducked down, and his attention is fixed on his hand, his whole focus tied up in
the fit of his fingers against Aki’s body. His lips are barely parted, his
breathing coming at such a pace that Aki can hear it tangling in time with his
own desperate inhales; and then Shima lifts his free hand, and slides his
fingers under Aki’s boxers, and pulls the other’s clothes down in a single
elegant motion.
“Oh,” Aki blurts, “fuck” but Shima isn’t waiting for his reaction. He’s moving
immediately, lifting his hand away from the fabric of Aki’s clothes so he can
reach out for bare skin instead, so he can curl the strength of his fingers in
and around Aki’s cock. Aki’s breath rushes out of him in a shaky whimper, his
legs flex to buck his hips forward in helpless pursuit of more; and Shima’s
leaning in, and opening his mouth, and then his lips are catching to slide in
and around the head of Aki’s cock.
Aki doesn’t know what sound he makes. It’s something entirely involuntary,
spilling up from the tension knotting low in his stomach more than from
anything rational left amidst the scatter of his thoughts; he doesn’t think
about how loud he’s being, or about how far his voice will carry past the shut
door, or even how much like Shima’s name that particular moan will sound to
someone else. He just makes a noise, sudden and hot and desperate; and his free
hand is coming out, his fingers stretching to reach for Shima’s hair before he
can think of it, before he can stop the action. His hand lands in his brother’s
hair, his touch knocks Shima’s glasses off-center, and then they move as one,
Shima tipping in at the same time Aki bucks forward to thrust farther into the
heat of the other’s mouth. Shima chokes a breath in the back of his throat, a
reflexive response to having his mouth suddenly full with an unexpected
intrusion; but Aki is groaning encouragement even as they draw back and apart
for Shima to struggle himself back into his ordinary breathing.
“Sorry,” Aki says, while Shima still has his head turned aside so he can cough
into his hand; but he sounds as distracted as he feels, and he doesn’t bother
trying to find true regret from the heat spurring him forward for more as
quickly as Shima lets his hand drop and turns back towards him. Aki’s fingers
tighten at Shima’s hair, his arm flexes to urge the other back in; but Shima’s
moving as quickly, reaching out to brace Aki’s hips between his hands so he can
guide the other’s motion in towards him. His lips part, his breath rushes hot
across flushed skin, and Aki is groaning again as fast as his hips come
forward, giving helpless voice to the surge of heat that rushes out to fill all
his veins with steam at once.
Shima is focused on what he’s doing. He keeps his hands steady at Aki’s hips,
keeps his head angled down so Aki can slide smoothly forward to fill the
other’s mouth and press in over his tongue; all Aki can see of his expression
is the dark of his glasses and the feathery weight of lashes shadowing his
eyes. But that’s enough all on its own, and it’s enough for Aki to keep his
head tipped down and his gaze fixed on Shima, to watch the impossible reality
of Shima’s lips sliding down over his cock and feel the purr of the friction
run up his spine with every forward thrust against the heat of the other’s
tongue. Shima finds a rhythm with impressive rapidity, between the tension of
his hands at Aki’s hips and the press of his lips hard against Aki’s cock; and
all Aki has left to do is give in, is brace himself against the door with one
hand and clutch at Shima’s hair with the other and let himself rock into a
rhythm that rises like the tide in his veins, that sweeps out to overwhelm all
his insecurities, all his uncertainties, all his long-held fears with the
simple pleasure of this: Shima kneeling in front of him, hands at Aki’s skin
and mouth wet on Aki’s body, while Aki himself stares as if transfixed and
feels arousal climbing up his spine like Shima’s pulling it out of him by
force.
Aki wishes he could last longer. It would be nice, he thinks, to draw this out,
to linger in the heat of Shima’s mouth and the grip of his hands long enough to
satisfy the years of painful pining he’s been keeping inside the silent span of
his thoughts. But it’s too much, too impossible to believe and too immediately,
unavoidably real, until Aki’s breathing hard with the edge of inevitability as
soon as Shima finds a rhythm, until Aki can feel himself coming apart as
quickly as he leans in towards the support of the door in front of him. He
can’t keep himself up, can’t even hold onto the strength enough to brace
himself steady; he tips in against the door, pressing his head to the flat of
it as a replacement for the hand sliding away and down to reach for Shima’s
hair, to clutch in a desperate attempt for stability from the dark of the
strands. Aki’s fingernails catch at Shima’s scalp, scratch with what must be
painful force against the other’s skin; but Shima doesn’t protest even by a
sound in the back of his throat, just tightens his grip on Aki’s hips and moves
closer, faster, speeding his rhythm and drawing the gasp of Aki’s breathing
along with it. Aki can hear his inhales straining to whimpers in the back of
his throat, can feel incoherent pleading for relief starting in the depths of
his chest; and against Shima’s hair, in the dark locks so perfectly matched to
his own, his fingers curl and tighten to fists more desperate than demanding.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, hearing his voice skip to cracking heights in his chest
and utterly unable to even attempt to ease it back to his usual range. “Shima.”
Shima’s lashes flutter, his head tips up fractionally; when he opens his eyes
it’s to look up over the tops of his glasses, his gaze cutting up through the
shadow of his lashes to fix on Aki’s face. He looks intent, as focused as he
does when he’s studying, as if he’s turning his whole attention to the task at
hand and everything else might as well not exist at all for the moment. It
makes Aki’s skin go hot, burns fire into his veins and fills his chest with
pressure, and when he speaks it’s wholly unplanned, a spill of sound carried as
much by the drag of Shima’s mouth over him as by his own intention.
“Shima,” he says, and his fingers twist tighter, his breathing catches higher.
“Don’t stop, Shima, don’t stop, I’m...I’m--” as his hips jerk forward, his
motion stuttering free of Shima’s carefully constructed rhythm to force him
closer, deeper, farther. Shima’s hold at his hips eases, goes slack and
submissive as Aki takes over the pace of their movement together; but he
doesn’t look away, barely even blinks to interrupt the fixed heat of the gaze
he’s casting up at Aki’s face. Aki’s mouth is open, he realizes distantly, his
lips parted on the heat of his breathing and his face flushed out of all
composure, and for a brief, strange moment he feels himself laid bare, coming
undone as surely as if Shima were kneeling over him and pinning him down
instead of on his knees giving in to everything Aki wants, everything Aki has
ever thought about taking from him.
“Fuck,” Aki says again, “Shima” and his hips come forward, his cock drives all
the way back into Shima’s mouth, and he comes in a rush of heat, a spasm of
electricity he can feel course down his spine and flex into every muscle in his
body in a long, helpless tremor. His eyes close, his throat tenses on a moan,
his fingers seize; and Shima’s there, unflinching, unmoving, his hands at Aki’s
hips to hold the other steady through his orgasm and his mouth hot and wet and
warm around Aki’s twitching cock. Aki’s gasping, panting for air as his whole
body shudders with the force of his orgasm; and through it all, in the midst of
the heat rippling through him, he can feel Shima’s gaze still steady on him,
the other’s focus fixed on him like Aki’s coming just for him, or like he’s
memorizing the tremor of the other’s pleasure for future reference. The thought
jolts a last spasm of heat through Aki’s body, bucks his hips forward into a
final reflexive thrust; and then he gasps an exhale, and blinks hard to bring
himself back to reality, and refocuses his eyes on Shima in front of him.
There’s a moment of eye contact, as Aki’s vision clears from the blur of heat
running through him and Shima holds that unflinching stare; and then Shima
blinks, and looks down, and Aki is left to shiver with aftershocks as Shima
pulls away from the other’s softening cock and lifts a hand to wipe at the damp
clinging to his mouth with the back of his wrist.
“Fuck,” Aki says, sounding approximately as shaky as he feels. He has to
struggle to ease his fingers from Shima’s hair, has to consciously think
through the effort of pressing his hand to the door to push himself up from the
boneless slump he’s adopted against the support; in front of him Shima is far
more composed, licking his lips clean with careful attention before he reaches
to pull Aki’s clothes back into order. By the time Aki is certain of his
footing again Shima has tidied them both and is pushing to his feet, unfolding
from his kneeling position with as much grace as he dropped into it, and then
he’s back in front of Aki, his eyes dark and lips red and expression calmly
composed, and Aki can’t help but look at the curve of his mouth, at the wet
heat of the other’s lips barely parted on his breathing. He can see the
friction of his cock marked out in flushed color against Shima’s lower lip, can
imagine the damp press of the other’s mouth with all the vivid clarity of
experience, with all the detail of the borrowed heat still coursing through his
veins. Shima’s tongue was pressing close against him, Shima’s throat was just
working around the hot spill of Aki’s pleasure into his mouth; and Aki groans
in the back of his throat, feeling raw and helpless to the fresh surge of
desire that hits him at the thought as he leans in to catch the part of Shima’s
lips with his own once again. Shima’s mouth is softer than it was, his lips
swollen and flushed with heat under Aki’s; and then Aki licks into the wet of
his mouth, tastes the hot friction of Shima’s tongue against his, and there’s
salt, there, a clinging bitterness filling the inside of the other’s mouth that
makes Aki’s blood go hot all over again, as if he’s seconds instead of hours
away from another orgasm.
“Fuck,” Aki growls against Shima’s mouth, feeling the word tear rough in his
throat. “You taste like me” and he’s kissing Shima harder, delving farther into
the other’s mouth as if to replace the slide of his cock with the pressure of
his tongue instead. Shima parts his lips to the pressure, giving in to Aki’s
attack without any indication of the slightest resistance, and Aki lets his
hand fall to the front of Shima’s pants to press his palm hard against the
pressure of the other’s arousal still stiff and hot with unsatisfied want.
He’s less polished about his movements than Shima. Shima made kneeling look
like a dance, unfastened Aki’s jeans with as much graceful dexterity as if he’s
been undressing his twin his entire life; but Aki is still shaky with the heat
of his own orgasm, and too caught by the pressure of Shima’s lips against him
and the taste of his come clinging to Shima’s tongue to pull away and spare a
glance for what he’s doing with his fingers. It doesn’t matter. It’s hardly a
complicated proposition to get Shima’s belt undone, barely a challenge to work
open the button one-handed; and if the zipper sticks as Aki drags it down,
well, he only needs enough space to get his hand down inside Shima’s loosened
clothing anyway. He presses his hand in under Shima’s shirt, working his way
down to bare skin before angling in and under to slide inside the elastic of
the other’s waistband and down to that flushed-hot skin, and then his fingers
brush hot resistance, and Shima makes a low, shadowed sound Aki can taste like
sugar against his lips.
“Shima,” Aki says, growling the other’s name into something of a promise, now,
an inversion of the plea it was before; and he curls his fingers in around his
brother’s cock, and jerks up roughly over him. Shima groans and grabs at Aki’s
shoulder as if to steady himself, as if he’s struggling to keep to his feet;
Aki can see the tension of the other’s body arch him back against the door, can
hear the rattle of the weight in its frame as Shima collapses back against it.
Aki’s leaning in too, following Shima back as fast as the other moves, until
his shoulders are all but pressing Shima’s to the door, until they’re breathing
the same gasping inhales between them; and at their hips, between the angle of
their bodies, he keeps moving, jerking Shima off with the rough haste he always
takes with himself, when he’s rushing himself towards relief before he gets
caught in the middle of yet another illicit fantasy. But this isn’t a fantasy,
this isn’t his imagination; this is reality, hot and slick and humid, Shima
gasping into his mouth and Aki’s skin prickling with heat and against his palm,
under his fingers, Shima’s cock swelling harder and hotter with every stroke of
motion Aki takes over him. Aki tightens his fingers, presses in hard with his
thumb; and in front of him Shima’s head tips back, Shima’s throat strains over
a groan of heat that spills up from the depths of his chest.
“Shima,” Aki says again, panting the other’s name into something almost a
prayer as he feels the beginnings of anticipation tighten in his chest and
strain at his shoulders. Shima’s lashes are dipping over his eyes, his gaze is
melting out-of-focus; Aki can see the effort each breath is costing the other,
can feel the rhythm of Shima’s heart pounding with reckless speed enough to
match his own. He feels dizzy, shaky, like he’s rushing towards his own orgasm
instead of pushing Shima towards his, like Shima’s reactions are bleeding over
and into his own as the line between them blurs and evaporates. There’s just
them, together, their breathing catching on itself and their bodies pressing
close, their hands grabbing for traction against each other as they press
closer, nearer, as the distance between them shrinks smaller and smaller with
every shudder in Shima’s shoulders, with every pull of Aki’s hand.
“Ah,” Shima gasps, and Aki breathes in sharply, filling his lungs with the note
of that sound at Shima’s lips. Shima’s head falls back entirely against the
door, his eyes flutter shut; Aki watches his throat work over sound, watches
the thrum of vibration against the line of the other’s neck before it breaks
free. “Aki” and it’s a gasp, it’s a prayer, it’s an acknowledgment that Aki has
craved over long years of silence; and Shima’s expression goes slack, the
strain in him gives way, and he shudders himself into orgasm under the grip of
Aki’s hand around him. Aki feels Shima come over his fingers, feels the sticky
heat catch at his wrist and cling to his skin; and he keeps watching the
other’s face, staring with absolute focus at each tremor of pleasure in Shima’s
expression as he draws them free until the other finally collapses into the
boneless weight of relief against the door of their room.
They’re both quiet for a moment. Aki feels like he’s been running, like he’s
finally crossed some finish line and is left gasping for air to fill the ache
in his overworked lungs; Shima doesn’t even open his eyes for a long moment,
just stays where he is leaning against the bedroom door and letting it take the
whole of his weight. Aki stares at him, looking at the part of the other’s
lips, at the flush across those cheekbones that so perfectly mirror his own, at
the dark weight of lashes feathery behind the cover of Shima’s glasses; and
then he ducks his head in, and leans forward to press his forehead to the door
over Shima’s shoulder while he breathes past the pressure of affection in his
chest, the desire only converted into something softer and heavier by the
immediate physical relief he’s so recently attained. Aki can hear Shima take a
breath, can hear the catch of the other’s breathing as Shima’s lips almost
touch his ear; and then motion, a rustle of clothing as Shima lifts his arm to
wrap around Aki’s waist. For a heartbeat the contact is gentle, careful and
tentative; and then Aki slides his hand free of Shima’s clothes, and reaches
for the other’s waist, and he doesn’t know which of them tightens his hold on
the other first and doesn’t care. It’s enough that Shima’s arm around him is
pulling him closer, that Aki’s gripping a handful of the back of Shima’s shirt
without any regard for the sticky fingerprints his touch leaves, that they’re
both clinging to each other with as much intensity as a drowning man looking
for salvation. Aki lets his hand on the door slide away to clutch at Shima
instead, to capture the other in the span of his arms and hold on as tight as
he can, but Shima is already holding to him with so much force Aki can barely
catch his breath. Aki tips in closer, pinning Shima back against the door of
their room like he’s trying to press them into the same space, and against the
back of his head Shima’s fingers slide up, Shima’s palm curls in against his
hair to hold Aki breathlessly close against him. Aki doesn’t know which of them
is holding on tighter, can’t take a guess at whose desperation is winning out
between them; it’s a strangely comforting thought, that for all the other ways
in which they’re different they are so perfectly matched in this.
Neither of them move for a long, long time, but Aki doesn’t mind. The room
feels far less like a cage when he has Shima in it with him.
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