Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13402434.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ダイヤのA_|_Daiya_no_A_|_Ace_of_Diamond
  Relationship:
      Kominato_Haruichi/Kominato_Ryousuke
  Character:
      Kominato_Haruichi, Kominato_Ryousuke
  Additional Tags:
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Sibling_Incest, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, No
      Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Power_Dynamics, Dirty
      Talk, Reunion_Sex, Floor_Sex, Knotting, Aftercare, Literal_Sleeping
      Together, Multiple_Orgasms, Biting, Bruises
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-18 Words: 10069
****** Thorough ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "For all that Ryosuke has teased his brother by pretending to forget
     or acting as if he doesn’t know the train schedule for Haruichi’s
     arrival down to the minute, he has felt the promise of this weekend
     running electricity along his spine and tensing in the pit of his
     stomach as if the other’s arrival has come early." Haruichi comes to
     visit Ryosuke at university just before his heat, and Ryosuke is too
     impatient to wait.
Ryosuke can’t stand still.
He’s been jittery all week, counting down the days and, as the date circled in
red on his calendar drew closer, the hours to the weekend: after his university
classes were over, and after his baseball club concluded, once he was finally
free to walk down the rainy streets that stand between the muddy baseball
diamond and the bright-light elegance of the train station. His mind has
circled this fixed point ever since Haruichi confirmed their plans over the
phone the span of weeks ago; and for all that Ryosuke has teased his brother by
pretending to forget or acting as if he doesn’t know the train schedule for
Haruichi’s arrival down to the minute, he has felt the promise of this weekend
running electricity along his spine and tensing in the pit of his stomach as if
the other’s arrival has come early, as if instinct itself has broken free of
the restraints laid on it by nature and their own physiology. Even the
exhaustion of a full evening of baseball practice isn’t enough to strip
Ryosuke’s energy from him; he walks up and down the train platform instead,
pacing until the old injury at his hip begins to ache, until he has to sit down
just to force himself to some measure of stillness. He’s trembling with the
adrenaline, the taste of it sharp as fire at the back of his tongue, and he
keeps checking the time on his phone, as if he can make it run faster by his
own impatience. It’s foolish, he knows, a kind of half-superstitious anxiety he
would never usually leave on display; but he can’t help it, even knowing that
his strain must be painting a perfectly clear picture for the others clustered
on the station awaiting the train’s arrival.
There’s only so much patience an alpha can muster when he’s awaiting reunion
with his omega, after all.
Ryosuke is still sitting down when he hears the train round the corner a few
miles off, when he hears the whistle announcing its imminent arrival alongside
the platform where he’s waiting. Some others crowd forward, a handful checking
watches or skimming their cell phones, clearly on their way home after work or
school or play; the others linger a little farther back, eyes wide with
anticipation for the first glimpse of some beloved visitor’s disembarking.
Ryosuke glances at them, reading the tenor of their excitement from the tilt of
their shoulders and the bright of their eyes: nervousness, joy, excitement so
strong it overrides everything else. It’s clear to see in them, so obvious he
can almost smell it in the air; and then the train pulls into the station, and
Ryosuke’s head turns as if on a cue to give up his idle distraction in exchange
for the far greater payoff he’s about to get. The sleek metal slides to a halt,
the doors hiss open; and Ryosuke’s heart rises to his throat, his hand tightens
on the weight of his phone. He’s going to stay where he is, he’s not going to
fight for the privilege of being first in the crowd, he’s going to let Haruichi
come to him; but he can feel his heart humming in his chest, can taste his
breath catching sticky-hot at the back of his tongue. It’s hard to think
clearly, hard to force himself to focus long enough on the array of strangers’
faces emerging from the train before him to determine none of them are the
features he’s looking for; and then the wind catches over the crowd, a breeze
winds through the press of shifting bodies to find its way to Ryosuke’s nose,
and Ryosuke’s head jerks sideways, instinct pulling him to reaction before he’s
even placed that scent wafting through the air, sweet as fresh-cut grass, heavy
as the dusk falling to drape a curtain around the station. His breath catches,
his shoulders tense; and he’s moving before he can think, surging to his feet
and striding forward into the crowd with no hesitation at all. His hip is
forgotten, his intent to remain at a distance is scattered; his rationality is
stripped from him at once, pulled free of his control just by the weight of
that scent catching at his nostrils. It’s heat moving him now, that ache low
down in his abdomen jerking him forward as if on a lead; he can taste Haruichi
in the air, he’s all but panting in his effort to breathe more of that beloved,
familiar scent into his lungs.
The crowd is too thick for him to see through, his height is insufficient to
let him see past the broad shoulders of the men and women around him; but
Ryosuke could shut his eyes entirely and follow that scent blind with absolute,
unerring precision. He’s pushing past the office workers, stepping around
clusters of teenage girls and dodging the reunions of happy families; and then
he steps around a model-tall woman, and he’s reaching out before his eyes have
even registered recognition of the person before him. A ducked-down head,
sloping shoulders, the weight of hair falling in a curtain over well-known
features; and then Ryosuke’s hand closes at the back of Haruichi’s neck, and
he’s stepping in over the distance between them in a single stride, without
even giving the other a chance to lift his head. Haruichi makes a startled
noise, something soft and shocked gusting from his lips even as he moves; but
then Ryosuke has his arms around him, and he has Haruichi against him again,
and everything else gives way in the first rush of relief at having his mate in
his arms once more.
“Haruichi,” Ryosuke says, growling the other’s name in against the curve of his
ear. In his arms Haruichi huffs a breath of surprise that catches on the very
edge of something like tears; but he’s moving before Ryosuke can ask what’s
wrong, reaching out and up to clutch hard against his brother before him with
as much strength in his hold as Ryosuke can feel trembling through his own
arms. His head goes down, his face presses hard against Ryosuke’s shoulder;
Ryosuke can feel the shuddering breath Haruichi takes against him, like he’s
been suffocating and only just remembered how to breathe normally. Ryosuke can
sympathize. He’s turning his head, pressing in hard against Haruichi’s hair,
neck, skin, nuzzling in as close to the other as he can get to gasp for breath
against him, to fill his lungs with the familiar taste of Haruichi’s body, to
sate himself on the musky weight of Haruichi’s scent. It’s different than he
remembers it -- a little softer, a little gentler, anticipation of an oncoming
heat instead of the immediacy of it -- but it’s still enough for him to
identify, still enough to purr some dark, shadowed satisfaction against the
inside of his chest with every breath he takes.
“Your hair is different,” he says, fitting the words against the back of
Haruichi’s ear while his fingers push roughly up through the other’s hair to
measure out the weight of it, to fit against the fall of the strands curtaining
Haruichi’s face. “You changed it.”
“Ah,” Haruichi whimpers into Ryosuke’s shoulder, his voice breaking as
Ryosuke’s fingers push against him. The sounds cradles heat into the depths of
Ryosuke’s stomach. “Y-yeah. Yes.” Ryosuke can feel Haruichi’s hold on him
tighten, can feel the strain in the inhale the other takes in his arms. “I let
it grow out.” There’s a pause, a hesitation of uncertainty like there always
is, from Haruichi; Ryosuke had almost forgotten that, over the time they’ve
been apart. “Do you not like it?”
“No,” Ryosuke says, with more weight on the word than he would have
deliberately put there; but he’s well past rationality, now, his voice is
pulling up from the dark instinct within him, the part of him that
ignores propriety and Haruichi in favor of possession and mate. “I like it.”
His hand clutches at the back of Haruichi’s head, his fingers spreading wide as
if to catch the whole of the other’s existence against his palm. “It hides your
eyes.” He presses in closer against Haruichi’s ear, breathing in deep against
the dip leading down to the other’s neck; Haruichi makes a soft sound in the
back of his throat and tips his head to the side in reflexive surrender to the
demand of Ryosuke’s mouth against him, like he’s offering himself for the press
of the other’s lips. Ryosuke growls satisfaction in the far depths of his
chest.
“I like being the only one to see you,” he says, and then he’s taking that
implied invitation to press his lips close against Haruichi’s neck, to taste
against the salt of the other’s skin, the dry, papery feel of travelling and
the familiar dust of baseball lingering over the surface and underneath: warmth
like a fever, the beginnings of need just starting to rise to glow against
Haruichi’s skin, the scent of his heat that will mark him as the omega he is to
any alpha within blocks. It hasn’t broken yet, hasn’t yet unravelled Haruichi’s
own composure into the irrationality of need, the desperation of instinct that
grips him whenever his heat comes on him; but Ryosuke can smell the promise of
it, can already see the what is coming as clearly as if he’s looking into the
future. Haruichi flushed and pink, panting even stripped bare and laid over the
sheets of Ryosuke’s bed, his sweat sinking into the fabric beneath him to mark
the whole of Ryosuke’s room with the proof of him, with the reality of his
presence. The way his lips will part for Ryosuke’s touch, the way his thighs
will open for the glance of Ryosuke’s gaze; the way he’ll look coming, the way
he’ll feel as he screams himself into orgasm as Ryosuke drives him into the
endless, helpless relief his body will demand. The thought of it alone is
enough to flush hard against Ryosuke’s cock, to swell and strain at the front
of his pants, and when his hand drops it’s to slide down Haruichi’s back, to
pin the other’s jacket close against the dip of his spine and threaten the top
edge of his hips, barely clinging to propriety as Ryosuke’s hips rock forward
of their own volition to grind at Haruichi’s leg before him. Haruichi gasps at
Ryosuke’s ear, his hand comes up to clutch against the other’s neck, and
Ryosuke growls satisfaction into Haruichi’s hair and pulls him in closer.
“Aniki,” Haruichi says, his voice soft and hot with embarrassment. “We...we’re
in public.”
“I don’t care,” Ryosuke tells him, and catches his teeth against Haruichi’s
neck to nip the start of a bruise into the skin, to leave the print of his
teeth on the flushed pink of his brother’s throat. “I missed you.”
“Everyone will know,” Haruichi tries, even though his hand isn’t straying from
Ryosuke’s hair. “Aniki, they’ll see us and they’ll know, we look too much
alike.”
“I don’t care,” Ryosuke says again. “Let them stare.” His hand slides down from
Haruichi’s hip to drag over the curve of the other’s ass inside his jeans, his
fingers tighten to dig in hard against the soft give; Haruichi’s balance jerks,
his breath rushes from him. Ryosuke grins satisfaction against Haruichi’s neck.
“You’re my mate, I don’t care who knows.”
“Aniki,” Haruichi says, dragging over the word until it becomes a plea. “You
said you wanted to show me around.” A pause, a catch of breath. “For next year,
when I come here with you.”
Ryosuke growls against Haruichi’s neck. Instinct is firing hot in him, his mind
and body in complete agreement on what he should do: push Haruichi back against
the nearest available flat surface, strip him down to pink skin and trembling
limbs, renew his claim to his mate’s body as directly and unmistakably as he
can. But Haruichi’s right, however much Ryosuke may not want to admit it; and
the reminder of next year, of the far-off dream of a future together unbroken
by anything but what distance they choose to indulge in to make their reunion
sweeter, is too tempting for Ryosuke to casually dismiss. He drags in another
breath at Haruichi’s neck, tightens his hold to squeeze the other’s ass hard
enough that Haruichi hisses a breath of shock against his shoulder; and then he
lets go, easing his hold enough to step back so he can actually look at
Haruichi before him again. Haruichi’s head is ducked down, his grown-out hair
falling heavy in front of his face so Ryosuke can’t see the details of his
eyes; but his cheeks are flaring with color enough for him to understand with
perfect clarity, and that’s enough to twitch Ryosuke’s mouth on a smile in
spite of the dull roar of frustrated instinct in him that he’s fighting back
through sheer force of will.
“Fine,” he says, and he pulls against Haruichi’s shoulder to turn him towards
the edge of the station platform so they can move together towards the exit.
There are a few heads that turn to watch them, and more that deliberately don’t
look up from the attention they’re fixing on the phones in their hands; Ryosuke
doesn’t spare any of them a glance. “Let’s get you back home, then, first
thing.”
Haruichi’s steps stutter, his head comes up to glance at Ryosuke walking
steadily next to him. “I thought you said we were going to look at the school
when I got here.”
Ryosuke remembers. He had purred the words over the static of a phone line,
murmuring them like a promise to Haruichi while the other breathed so hard with
excitement that Ryosuke could almost taste the rhythm of his inhales in the air
of his silent, single room. The idea had been heady, in his imagination:
keeping Haruichi out at the campus, or wandering through the baseball field,
drawing the line of anticipation between them so taut with adrenaline that
Haruichi would be breathless and shaky by the time Ryosuke got him home, maybe
would be teetering on the edge of an early heat just from the thrill of
impatience coursing through his veins like fire. But Ryosuke hadn’t counted on
his own adrenaline, hadn’t expected the scent of his omega’s skin and impending
heat to hit him as strongly as it did, and at the present moment even the few
blocks of distance between the train station and his apartment seem all but
insurmountable to him.
“I changed my mind,” he says, a single, short summary to tie up everything in
him into a direct statement; but Haruichi just ducks his head, and huffs a
breath shaky enough with heat that Ryosuke thinks he doesn’t much mind the
change in plans, anyway. Ryosuke tips his head to look at Haruichi next to him:
the bag over one shoulder, the forward tilt of his body, the flushing color
staining his cheeks, and for a moment there’s nothing in the world he wants so
much as to reach out and claim Haruichi in the span of his arms, to pull him
close enough to make up for the long weeks of solitude they’ve both been
suffering through. The desire hits him like a fist, like a blow landing solidly
at the center of his chest to knock the air clean out of him, and for a moment
it’s hard to find the voice for even a mundane question. “Do you have any other
bags?”
“What?” Haruichi’s head comes up, his lips parted on surprise at the sudden,
unexpected question. Ryosuke wants to grab at the back of his head to hold him
still, wants to lick into the shadow of Haruichi’s mouth and dissolve all the
days apart directly off Haruichi’s tongue. Haruichi’s lips press together, his
head tilts into a shake. “No, just this.”
“Good,” Ryosuke says, and he looks back out to the entrance to the station,
where the last of those departing ahead of them are shuffling out and into the
dark of the rain-wet streets. He lets his hand drop from Haruichi’s shoulder,
lets his touch trail casually down the line of the other’s arm to the angle of
his elbow and the slack weight of his wrist. When he winds his fingers in
against Haruichi’s it’s casually, with an easy grace as if they have ever done
this before, as if holding his brother’s hand in public is something Ryosuke
would have ever dared to do in their hometown. Haruichi’s head comes back up,
his breath catching audibly in his chest as he looks up to Ryosuke, but Ryosuke
doesn’t let his hold go any more than he acknowledges the indulgence of the
contact with so much as a smirk at his lips. He keeps his gaze fixed forward,
keeps his attention on their nearest audience some feet ahead of them, and when
he speaks it’s with his voice pitching deliberately soft so it will fall below
the range of audibility for anyone but the two of them. “You won’t be wearing
many clothes on this trip anyway.” Haruichi sucks in a sharp inhale and ducks
his head, the sound and motion together far more of a giveaway than Ryosuke’s
own deliberately metered tone; but after a moment his fingers tighten on
Ryosuke’s, his hold tensing with tentative care like he thinks Ryosuke might
pull away from the reciprocation. Ryosuke doesn’t look at Haruichi, doesn’t so
much as smile to give himself away; but he tightens his own grip, just for a
moment, and when Haruichi’s hold clenches to bruise-raising pressure he doesn’t
flinch away from it.
They walk in almost complete silence. There’s the sound of their shoes scuffing
against the pavement, of course, the soft huff of their breathing as they make
their way down the street -- Ryosuke isn’t setting a gentle pace, and Haruichi
has never been willing to ask his brother to slow for him -- but neither of
them speak, not even to offer the kind of bland small talk that might hold
together the facade of calm they are only barely clinging to between them.
Haruichi’s face is still flushed red when Ryosuke glances at him, his cheeks
stained so dark the color is clear to see even with his head tipped far forward
so he’s staring at his shoes as they move down the street; and Ryosuke’s
thoughts are skipping ahead already, flipping through the next few minutes of
his life with casual disregard to paint out the details of what will await them
in the quiet privacy of his apartment, in the living room or the hallway or the
bedroom. Ryosuke will pull Haruichi through the door, he thinks, will take the
other’s bag and cast it aside to be collected at some later point, when he has
the attention to spare for the mundanities of existence around the
overwhelming, illuminating radiance of need he can feel sparking low down in
his body even now, that has his cock so hard and straining at the front of his
pants he feels like the very picture of an alpha caught off-guard by his
omega’s first heat, as if he doesn’t know Haruichi’s cycles so well he can call
them to mind more readily than he can recall the day of the month. It’s too
early still -- that was the goal, after all, to have Haruichi complete his
travel early, before the incapacitating need of his heat settled into his veins
to render him desperate and incoherent with painful want -- but Ryosuke still
feels alight all the same, as if the anticipation alone is enough to set his
own veins on fire. He wonders if this is something akin to what Haruichi feels,
if Haruichi’s heat is anything like this all-consuming focus, this complete
attention to a single much-desired conclusion; but even that thought is a
fleeting one, a moment of curiosity that is overridden with the next whiff of
Haruichi’s skin Ryosuke catches, as the heat of their movement and the clean
cool of the air sweep aside the dust of travel to lay Haruichi’s own wine-rich
scent bare for Ryosuke’s appreciation. Ryosuke shuts his eyes for a moment,
trusting familiar streets and habitual paths to guide his steps while he
savours the weight of Haruichi in his lungs, while he breathes in open-mouthed
to catch the faintly salty tang of the other’s sweat in the air against the
heat of his tongue; and then he opens his eyes, and tips himself forward, and
hurries them into still greater speed to more rapidly cross the remaining
distance to his apartment.
The windows are bright as they approach. Ryosuke left the light on when he
left; intentionally, in this case, although he was so distracted it could as
easily been have by accident. But he had been thinking of his return even as he
left, had considered coming up this path with Haruichi beside him, and a smile
of greeting on his lips; and he wanted, he wants, to show Haruichi the whole of
his future home all at once, without any kind of slow easing into it.
Haruichi’s steps alongside him slow as they draw nearer, as he realizes where
Ryosuke is leading him and the anxiety of expectation eclipses the warmth of
anticipation; but Ryosuke doesn’t hesitate, and as he takes the last few steps
forward he’s all but pulling Haruichi in his wake, urging them forward towards
the warmth and the privacy the apartment offers. His heart is racing, his mouth
is all but watering; but his hand in his pocket is graceful, his movement
elegant with familiarity as he slides his keys free so he can unlock the door.
The latch turns, the deadbolt gives way, and Ryosuke pushes the door open at
once, taking the lead to step forward into his apartment as he leads Haruichi
through the doorway in his wake.
He turns at once. The apartment is familiar to him: comfortable, yes, as much a
home as he has been able to make it without his mate here with him, but it
holds no surprises for him, and he wants to see Haruichi as the other steps
forward and into the light. Haruichi’s chin lifts, his hair sliding away to
uncover part of one eye as he looks up; Ryosuke can see his lashes widen, can
see his lips part. There’s not much to see, all told: just a bookshelf, and an
attached kitchen, a couch along one wall and a small television in the corner.
But it’s Ryosuke’s, it carries as much of him in it as he can print onto the
walls around them and the few pieces of furniture within; and he can see
recognition of that in the way Haruichi bites his lip, in the way his lashes
dip over the damp of almost-tears at his eyes.
“Oh,” Haruichi breathes, his voice creaking in the back of his throat. “Aniki.”
“Do you like it?” Ryosuke says without looking away from Haruichi’s face.
Haruichi’s lashes flutter, his gaze flickers to meet Ryosuke’s eyes; Ryosuke
lets his lips curve on a smile, lets his head tilt to the side into the teasing
angle that is so easy to adopt, with Haruichi. “Good enough for you to move
into next year?”
Haruichi’s forehead creases, his lips quiver. “Aniki,” he says, and then he
ducks his head forward to hide his face as he lifts his free hand to press to
his eyes and push against the emotion shining there. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not,” Ryosuke says at once, with more sincerity than he intends; and then
he’s stepping forward, pushing in to urge Haruichi back with some force born
from the depths of his stomach, something rising up from the heat at his spine
and the ache of want surging all through him. Haruichi takes a step back at
once, surrendering with instinctive speed to Ryosuke’s force; his shoulders
catch at the door still open behind him to push it back and into place against
the frame. The sound is loud, Ryosuke can feel it rattle through the walls of
the apartment, but he doesn’t care, he can’t find any part of himself that can
spare a thought for anything outside the span of the walls around him, anything
that doesn’t fit within the reach of his arms. He grabs for the lock to turn it
over in the doorframe, to hold out the weight of the world outside for the span
of the night, at least; and then he reaches up to slide his fingers into
Haruichi’s hair, to push the fall of the pale strands back and away from the
other’s face as he steps in closer to back his brother up against the support
of the door as quickly as he pulls at the weight of Haruichi’s bag to slide it
free and drop it to the floor.
“I want you here,” Ryosuke says, growling the words against Haruichi’s
quivering lips, against the hiss of breath at the other’s mouth as he lifts his
hands to clutch at Ryosuke’s hips as if to brace himself steady against the
support of his mate against him. Ryosuke’s body comes forward of its own
accord, cresting in to pin Haruichi back against the door behind him; Haruichi
whimpers in the back of his throat, a low keening note somewhere between pained
and wanting, and Ryosuke ducks his head in to drag his teeth against the
bruise-marked line of Haruichi’s neck and fill his lungs with the sweet scent
of his mate’s skin against his mouth. “Every time I come in the door I think
about coming in to you, about having you waiting for me.” He presses his nose
to the collar of Haruichi’s jacket and breathes in hard, like he’s struggling
for the air to which he’s laying claim. “I want to be able to open the door and
taste you in the air.”
“Aniki,” Haruichi groans. His hands tighten at Ryosuke’s hips, his fingers
slide to dig in against the other’s shirt. Ryosuke huffs a breath, the sound
hot and strained in the depths of his chest, and he lets his hips buck forward,
lets the instinct in him guide the rhythm of his motion as he rocks up and
against Haruichi in front of him.
“I want you in every room,” he says; a confession, an admission, something he
would never have offered before, something born out of these months apart with
no more of Haruichi than the image of his face on a video screen, with none of
his scent or his shape or his heat to flare Ryosuke’s body into incandescent
life. “I’m going to fuck you on that couch, Haruichi, and over the table in the
kitchen and against the tile of the shower, I’m going to spend your whole heat
marking this place with you.”
“Oh,” Haruichi gasps. “And the...the bed?”
Ryosuke’s breath tears from him in a growl so hot and low it takes on the shape
of a purr in the back of his throat. “And the bed,” he says. “I’m going to
spend an entire day there with you, Haruichi, I’m going to push you into the
sheets until every inch of the mattress smells like you, until I can press my
nose against the pillow and remember the feel of your heat just from that.”
“I’m not--” Haruichi starts; but it’s an apology, not a protest, and Ryosuke
doesn’t lift his head from where he’s nipping a line of bruises into Haruichi’s
collarbone, where he’s printing the shadow of his mouth against the pale of his
brother’s skin. Haruichi’s hand tightens at Ryosuke’s hip, his head ducks
forward against Ryosuke’s hold. “I haven’t started my heat yet, aniki.”
“I know,” Ryosuke says against Haruichi’s throat. “I don’t think I would have
let you out of the train station if you had.” His hips come forward, his cock
grinds hard against the front of Haruichi’s jeans; under his mouth Haruichi’s
head goes back, his throat straining over a moan as hot as it is helpless.
Ryosuke can feel the tension starting to gather in the other’s body, can feel
the heat of arousal building beneath him; it’s a strange, brilliant novelty, to
be able to coax Haruichi up and into desire without the instinctive assistance
of his heat burning all the blood in his veins to adrenaline before Ryosuke has
even touched him. It makes Ryosuke’s breathing come faster at the thought of
it, at the knowledge that all this is for him, is pure response to his own
actions rather than the result of Haruichi’s omega physiology; when he moves
again to grind his hips to Haruichi’s it’s with deliberate intent, dragging the
motion out so he can feel the shift of Haruichi’s cock swelling against his,
can hear the catch of want at the back of the other’s throat as he clutches at
Ryosuke’s shoulder. “I’m going to fuck you anyway.”
Haruichi huffs an exhale against Ryosuke’s hair; when his hand comes up it’s to
clutch at Ryosuke’s arm, to brace against the tension at his brother’s bicep.
“What about later? Tomorrow, or the day after, when I…”
“I’ll fuck you then too,” Ryosuke purrs. “Don’t worry, Haruichi.” He pushes his
fingers through Haruichi’s hair to urge the weight of it back from the other’s
eyes; when he pulls away from Haruichi’s skin it’s only so he can meet the
shadows in the other’s gaze, so he can savor the heavy-lidded force of desire
so clear in Haruichi’s expression. “I’m going to satisfy you no matter how much
you want.”
Haruichi’s lashes flutter; Ryosuke can see the shadow of them, can see the pull
of motion in the other’s throat as he swallows. “Aniki.”
“Yes,” Ryosuke says. He lets his hand drop from Haruichi’s hair, lets some of
the weight of the strands fall back over the other’s eyes in favor of gaining
the use of his hand to slide down and pin the button of Haruichi’s jeans
between his fingers, to push and urge it loose of the denim. “Let’s have a
practice game before the championship match, Haruichi.” That wins a gusting
laugh past the other’s lips, as it was meant to; and then Ryosuke is drawing
down the fly of Haruichi’s jeans, and the outline of laughter melts into a
groan as fast as he can slide his fingers up and inside the weight of the
fabric. Ryosuke presses his palm in close, grinding down to feel out the curve
of Haruichi’s cock, to catch at the weight of the other’s balls while his own
draw up tight with anticipation against the inside line of his jeans; and then
he’s pulling Haruichi away from the door, and down to the floor, and Haruichi
is following him, stumbling with the speed of his obedience to Ryosuke’s hold
and Ryosuke’s pull.
Ryosuke is glad for the weight of the rug across the floor. There’s the futon a
few feet away, and the soft of his bed around the corner and down the short
hallway of the one-bedroom apartment; but he can’t get his hands to draw away
from Haruichi’s skin, and after weeks apart he finds his desire too fever-
bright to restrain for even the very few seconds it would take to lay claim to
a more comfortable position. Ryosuke has to have his hands on Haruichi’s hips,
sliding under the weight of the waistband of his pants to urge the denim down,
to lay bare the trembling muscle in his thighs and tensing against his calves,
and if the rug beneath them will save Haruichi’s skin from the raw marks the
bare floor would leave, Ryosuke is more than grateful to it for that if nothing
else.
“I missed you,” Ryosuke says, growling the words against the midpoint of
Haruichi’s stomach as he urges the weight of the other’s jeans down and over
his ankles to strip bare the length of his legs, to free the delicate line of
his ankles and the pale inside of his thighs for Ryosuke’s touch, for Ryosuke’s
gaze, for Ryosuke’s mouth. “You should stay here with me, Haruichi, just don’t
go back.” He ducks his head to press against Haruichi’s stomach, to mold the
curve of his lips just against the other’s navel; below him Haruichi gasps and
shudders, his back arching to bring him up to meet Ryosuke’s lips, and Ryosuke
takes advantage of the movement to slide his fingers inside Haruichi’s boxers
and pull to draw the fabric down and off the other’s hips. The action leaves
the heat of Haruichi’s cock bare, the flush of his length looking strange and
unfamiliar for the softer uncertainty that comes with a coaxed arousal rather
than a forced one; it makes Ryosuke’s mouth water, makes his chest flex over a
groan as his own cock twitches hard against the inside of his jeans, swelling
as if it intends to knot Haruichi to him with the first thrust forward. He
wants to strip his pants off, wants to drag down the zipper holding him back
and push forward and into Haruichi in one long stroke, with the motion made
easy by the slick of the other’s arousal and the heat of his own desire; he
wants to fuck Haruichi down against the floor right here, wants to struggle out
of their clothing while they remain locked together rather than taking the time
to strip themselves of the barrier to begin with. There’s an appeal to that, as
much as there was a draw to the idea of pushing Haruichi back against the wall
of the train station and taking him right there, in front of whatever staring
audience they might have for their mating; but Haruichi isn’t in heat yet,
however much Ryosuke can taste the promise of forthcoming arousal just under
the surface of his skin, and that grants Ryosuke some measure of composure
beyond what he could muster with the scent of his mate’s need heavy in his
nose. So he slides down instead of pressing up, dipping down to weight his
hands to the inside of Haruichi’s knees so he can urge them apart, so he can
make space for himself to sprawl over the soft of the rug beneath them, and
when he says “Take your shirt off” it’s a purr against the inside of Haruichi’s
thigh, a murmur closer to a suggestion than a command. Haruichi still shudders
with it, desire answering Ryosuke’s tone even if his need isn’t yet swelling to
dominate his awareness, and Ryosuke shuts his eyes and presses in closer,
leaning into the inside line of Haruichi’s thigh while the other struggles
against the floor to strip his jacket free of his shoulders so he can shed the
thin of his t-shirt where it’s clinging close to his skin. Ryosuke lingers
where he is, nuzzling close against Haruichi’s thigh where he can feel the heat
of the other’s arousal, where he can taste the damp catch of expectation on
Haruichi’s skin; and then Haruichi tosses his shirt aside, and Ryosuke pushes
himself up and away with fluid grace, drawing a last inhale off Haruichi’s body
before he rocks up onto his knees so he can urge his own coat off his shoulders
and tug the weight of his shirt up and free of his chest.
“You look good, Haruichi,” Ryosuke declares, looking down at Haruichi spread
out before him. Haruichi is sprawling over the floor, his skin flushed with
anticipation and his breath visibly straining in his chest as he watches
Ryosuke past the weight of his lashes; Ryosuke can’t remember ever seeing
anything as seductive in all his life as the tangle of Haruichi’s hair catching
at his eyelashes or the curve of the other’s mouth as he bites at his lower lip
with his teeth. Ryosuke strips his shirt up and over his head, letting it
rumple through his hair without concern before tossing it aside to join the
trail of Haruichi’s clothes they’ve left across the room; when he drops his
hands to the front of his pants to unfasten his belt he lets his gaze drop too,
dipping his eyelashes with a deliberate show of intent as he lets his attention
slide down over the pant of Haruichi’s breathing in his chest and the shift of
lean muscle just under the warm heat of his skin. “Did you stop skipping
practice when I left?”
“What?” Haruichi sounds dazed, like he’s having trouble following the
conversation; Ryosuke strips his belt free of his beltloops in a long drag of
motion, smiling at the way Haruichi’s breath catches before he shakes his head
in a desperate attempt to pull himself back to composure. “I...I never skipped
practice, aniki.”
“Liar,” Ryosuke purrs as he draws down the fly of his jeans and hooks his
thumbs into the waistband of his pants so he can push them down his hips and
thighs along with the thin weight of his underwear. The fabric catches at the
stiff angle of his cock for a moment, dragging against the heat of it before it
slides free to curve back up towards his stomach again; Ryosuke casts his gaze
up through his lashes, just to see the way Haruichi’s lips part on a huff of
heat at the motion. “You spent more than one practice sweating in my dorm
room.”
“Oh,” Haruichi whimpers, his voice giving way to something between
embarrassment and arousal; Ryosuke can see his fingers tighten to fists at his
sides, can see his shoulders shift as he rocks back against the floor. “I can’t
help going into heat, aniki.”
“It’s still missed practice,” Ryosuke purrs. He kicks his feet free of his
shoes and shoves his pants off and aside without looking; when he comes back in
it’s to press his knees to the rug between Haruichi’s feet and lean in to brace
himself with a hand at the floor so he can reach in and under the upward angle
of the other’s tipped-in knee. He doesn’t have to fumble for traction, doesn’t
need the guidance of sight to see what he’s reaching for; his fingers press to
Haruichi’s entrance on his first try, his touch pulled there as if it can sense
the wet heat of Haruichi’s body answering the demands of Ryosuke’s own, easing
obediently in expectation of the pressure of Ryosuke mating them. Haruichi
shudders with the contact, his whole body tensing for a moment of convulsive
strain; Ryosuke gusts a sigh of satisfaction and anticipation in equal parts as
he presses his touch close to feel out the wet of Haruichi’s entrance and the
flutter of pressure there, as if an invitation to urge him within. “You’re as
wet now as you used to be back then.” He draws his fingers around, pressing
close against Haruichi without quite thrusting inside, teasing instead of
answering the want in the body trembling under his touch. “I forgot how good
you feel, Haruichi.” Ryosuke ducks in closer, tipping his head in over the
shudder of Haruichi laid out under him, panting and hard and as ready as if
it’s his first heat all over again, as if it’s desperation instead of blood
coursing through his veins. “How good you smell.”
“Aniki,” Haruichi whimpers, his voice skipping so high it’s nearly a protest.
He lifts an arm from his side to cover his face, to cast his forearm across his
features and dip them into what disguise shadow can grant. “Please.”
It would sound like a plea to stop, from someone else, to someone else. At
someone else’s lips it would be protest; to someone else’s ears it would be
refusal. But Ryosuke has his fingers against Haruichi’s body, has his gaze
fixed on the shadowed angles of the other’s face; and in the end it’s Haruichi
beneath him, his brother and his lover and his mate, and Ryosuke has never yet
been wrong about Haruichi, and what it is Haruichi means when he says that
word.
“Yes,” Ryosuke says; and he draws his touch back, lifting his hand away to
touch to Haruichi’s knee even as the other is shuddering with the tension of
relief that courses through him in answer to his brother’s words. “Open your
legs for me.” Ryosuke couples the words with a gentle push, a suggestion more
than a demand, in case Haruichi has lost his grasp on coherency to the heat
glowing his skin so warm with color; but Haruichi doesn’t need the implication,
maybe doesn’t need the order at all. He’s letting his knees fall open,
spreading his feet wide against the rug under them and opening his thighs to
offer up the soft heat against their inside curve, and Ryosuke hums
satisfaction in the back of his throat as he lets his touch slide down
Haruichi’s body to follow that sleek line of pale skin. Haruichi’s cock
twitches towards his stomach, Haruichi’s fingers curl into a tighter fist at
his side; and Ryosuke can feel his patience give way like a wave breaking over
him, like the swing of a bat coming around to slam solidly into the oncoming
weight of a perfect pitch. He draws his touch away, pulling his fingers back
even as Haruichi’s thigh trembles with the loss and Haruichi’s breathing
catches on a hiccup in his chest; but Haruichi doesn’t voice a protest, and
Ryosuke is closing his fingers to brace at the base of his heat-heavy cock and
guide it steady as he slides his knees in close to fit under the open angle of
Haruichi’s and leans in to shadow the glow of the other’s body with the weight
of his own. Haruichi catches a breath, Ryosuke angles his hips in and down; and
then his cock is pressing to Haruichi’s entrance, and instinct is flexing in
his thighs, and he’s sliding forward and in to sheathe himself inside the warm
wet of Haruichi’s body in one smooth stroke. Haruichi’s head goes back,
Haruichi’s throat opens up on a moan at the sensation; and Ryosuke’s shoulders
are canting forward, Ryosuke’s legs are straining, Ryosuke’s whole body is
tipping in and down to get closer, to press tight against Haruichi beneath him
as their bodies slide together at last.
“Haruichi,” Ryosuke hears himself groaning; but it’s not his voice, or at least
no conscious part of his voice. It’s heat instead, raw and unfettered and as
immediate as the surge of sensation that swells his cock harder, that thickens
at the base in expectation of satisfaction. His head comes down, his shoulders
tip forward, and when he moves it’s with pure instinct guiding his motions,
drawing his hips back before snapping them forward to fuck into the pliant give
of Haruichi beneath him. Haruichi quivers with the force, moaning far in the
back of his throat in a range that might be pain, in other circumstances; but
his hands are coming up too, lifting from his sides as he reaches to clutch
desperately at Ryosuke’s shoulders, and when his legs shift it’s only to hook
his heels around Ryosuke’s knees, to pull the other closer with the full
strength of his body under his brother’s. Ryosuke lets himself press down, lets
the weight of his body pin Haruichi to stillness, and then he moves with force,
letting the rhythm of long-repressed instinct rush through him on the wave of
his own desire rather than in response to Haruichi’s regular heat.
“Haruichi,” Ryosuke says, growling the other’s name just against Haruichi’s
neck, down at the curve where the other’s throat dips into his shoulder.
Haruichi’s skin is flushed, glowing warm and damp with the beginnings of sweat;
it’s novel to have him rising to responsiveness with every motion Ryosuke
takes, to have him sliding up towards arousal instead of already pantingly,
desperately there. The thought brings Ryosuke’s motions to greater force, to
more speed, as he moves with an intent more to draw Haruichi further into
arousal than to sate the desperate need that is already there; he can feel
Haruichi easing around him with every thrust, can feel the tremors of sensation
coursing through the other’s body pressing close against his. At his lips he’s
breathing in heat, is inhaling deep lungfuls of air right off the radiance of
Haruichi’s body beneath his; his hand is grabbing at Haruichi’s hip, his
fingers tightening to brace the other still against the forward buck of his
hips.
“I’m going to knot you,” Ryosuke says, weighting the words like a promise
against Haruichi’s throat. “Haruichi, do you hear me? I’m going to knot you
now, tonight, I’m going to keep you with me until I’m satisfied, until I’ve
made up for all the weeks apart.”
“Ah,” Haruichi gasps. His fingers grab at Ryosuke’s hair, his hold tightens to
a fist, but Ryosuke doesn’t flinch from the uncomfortable tug against his
scalp. “What about...I’m going to go into heat, aniki, I--”
“I know,” Ryosuke tells him. “I’m going to fuck you through that too, Haruichi,
I swear it, I’m going to leave you more satisfied than you’ve ever been.” He
huffs a laugh against the other’s neck and ducks close to press his lips to a
glancing kiss; Haruichi whimpers and tips his head to the side to make an
offering of himself for Ryosuke’s mouth. “I’m your alpha, Haruichi, it’s my job
to bring you through your heat.”
Ryosuke presses his hand hard against the floor, steadying himself against the
support so he can push up and away from Haruichi by inches. Haruichi blinks up
at him, his hair falling back from his face to leave the pleasure-darkened haze
of his eyes clear to see; his lips are flushed against the part of them, his
cheeks are stained nearly to red by the warmth coursing through his veins. He
looks dazed, incoherent, like he’s struggling to place himself in the world and
has only Ryosuke to reach out and brace himself against; he looks like the most
delectable thing Ryosuke has ever seen. Ryosuke’s hips jerk forward
involuntarily, his cock driving forward into the give of Haruichi’s willing
body; and Ryosuke gasps a breath, and fixes his hold the tighter on Haruichi’s
hip.
“Your heat is for you,” he says, low, with the words humming to shadows in the
back of his throat. “This is for me.” And his thighs flex, his hips buck
forward, and beneath Ryosuke Haruichi spasms, his lashes fluttering as his lips
part on a soundless breath of pressure. Ryosuke can feel Haruichi’s body
straining around him, can feel the shift and pull of almost-resistance as he
pushes forward; and then Haruichi eases, and Ryosuke slides forward and into
him. He can feel the rush of heat to his cock, can feel the sudden sharp weight
of his knot swelling wider to pin them together; but it’s only for a moment,
only for the span of a breath, because the heat against his spine is sweeping
up, the pressure deep down in his stomach is unfurling all at once, and
Ryosuke’s head is going back, his shoulders are flexing tight as he jerks, and
groans, and pulses long waves of pleasure into his mate under him. Haruichi
gasps, his legs flex tight around Ryosuke as if he’s trying to urge the other
closer; and Ryosuke gives Haruichi everything he has, wave after wave of
sensation breaking over him until he’s panting for air, until he’s trembling
with it, and still they keep coming, as if his body intends to drain itself dry
with his first orgasm. He rides it out as best he can, gasping for air and
staring unseeing out at the wall before him; and then the height of the tension
eases, and pulls away, and Ryosuke can gasp himself back into the structure of
a normal breathing rhythm again.
“God,” Ryosuke groans, “Haruichi” and he’s letting Haruichi’s hip go, letting
his bracing grip give way so he can reach down between them instead. Haruichi
jerks when Ryosuke’s hand closes on him, his eyes open wide as his breath
rushes out of his lung, but when Ryosuke draws up to stroke over the needy heat
of the other’s length Haruichi just arches into it, his knees tipping wider as
his head goes back, as his lips part on the sound of a moan pulling up from the
depths of his chest. Ryosuke can see the other’s orgasm building in the angle
of his lashes, in the tilt of his throat, in the tremor of his lips; and he can
feel it too, quivering against Haruichi’s thighs and tensing at his fingers and
running through the whole of his body to clench around Ryosuke inside him, as
if instinct is reaching out to brace Haruichi steady against the weight of
Ryosuke’s knot. The thought makes Ryosuke growl something between satisfaction
and rising arousal, as his own cock makes a bid towards renewed heat of his
own; and then he presses his thumb up and over the head of Haruichi’s, and
Haruichi spasms into pleasure, gasping and quivering through each jolt of
sensation as Ryosuke pulls him to spill wet over the flat of his stomach.
Ryosuke watches him through it, feeling his own arousal building in response to
each shaky, helpless convulsion of his mate under him, of his brother coming
apart to his touch, until by the time Haruichi is panting himself back towards
composure Ryosuke can’t bear to let him go, can only manage to shift his grip
from Haruichi’s cock to his hip, to press sticky fingerprints into the small of
Haruichi’s back and urge him up and closer. Haruichi arches into it, eager with
his submission even without the aid of his heat to melt him into it, and
Ryosuke ducks in to kiss at Haruichi’s throat, to press his lips in against the
rhythm of the other’s heartbeat just under his skin.
“Haruichi,” Ryosuke purrs, and he pulls Haruichi in closer, drawing the weight
of the other’s body in against his to make a single form of them both, to
center their balance in over his hips so he can pull Haruichi up against his
chest without straining at the knot holding them together. Haruichi winds both
arms around Ryosuke’s neck, and presses his head in close to the other’s
shoulder; Ryosuke turns his head to breathe in deep against Haruichi’s hair, so
nearly the shade of his own but a little longer, a little softer, a complement
instead of a copy. “Hold onto me.” Haruichi does, without asking why, without
waiting for clarification; and Ryosuke braces Haruichi against him, and gets
heavily to his feet, and brings them both down the hallway to the bedroom
without letting any part of Haruichi go. He pushes the door open with his
shoulder, elbows at the lightswitch to fill the room with illumination; and
then he steps forward to the bed, and drops to his knees at the end of it, and
when he drops Haruichi to the soft of the sheets Ryosuke follows him down to
press a kiss against the part of his lips.
It has been long, long weeks since Ryosuke last saw Haruichi, since he last had
the taste of his mate on his lips and the scent of Haruichi’s hair in his nose;
and he makes up for all of them, riding out the rush of orgasm after orgasm
while Haruichi shudders and pants with the force of them beneath him. Ryosuke
can feel his thighs cramping, can feel the ache of muscles grown unaccustomed
to this kind of use protesting the sudden exertion; but every time he comes the
waves of pleasure just pull another in their wake, as if his body itself is
begging for just one more every time he considers letting himself go slack with
satisfaction. It’s impossible to draw away, not now that he has Haruichi back
with him again; and then there’s Haruichi himself, with his eyes wide and clear
of the almost drugged haze that comes with his heat, that desire so intense he
can barely experience it as relief at all. Haruichi is present for every moment
of this, the focus in his eyes an aphrodisiac as potent in its own way as the
musk of his oncoming heat; and every moan Ryosuke pulls from him, every
fluttering convulsion of pleasure he urges Haruichi into, he knows belongs to
him alone, Haruichi’s arousal drawn from him by nothing more than the effect of
Ryosuke’s words and Ryosuke’s touch. Ryosuke urges Haruichi into a second
orgasm, a third, struggling through a fourth; until Haruichi is shaking
helplessly beneath him, caught in the tremors of pleasure marked by nothing
more than a few drops of come to spatter across the sticky mess of his stomach.
Ryosuke’s long since lost count of his own -- he feels like he’s been coming
since that first thrust forward, as if every quiver of Haruichi around him has
milked another pulse of heat from his cock knotted inside the other’s body -
- until it’s the easing that he feels more than the tension, as the force of
arousal gripping him as tightly as Haruichi is clenching around his knot
finally loosens enough for him to consider letting it go.
“More,” Ryosuke says, down against the dip of Haruichi’s collarbones, where his
lips are pressing the imprint of his teeth to the other’s skin to mark him
outside as well as inside with his claim. “I’m going to give you more,
Haruichi, I promise I will.”
Haruichi’s fingers tighten in Ryosuke’s hair. “I know,” he says, his voice
dragged raw over moans of heat and sensation and pleasure alike. “I know,
aniki.” And Ryosuke shuts his eyes, and ducks his head, and feels himself
soften into bone-deep satisfaction against the give of Haruichi’s body beneath
him. The tension holding them together gives way as Ryosuke’s knot eases enough
to let him slide free of the slick heat of Haruichi’s body, but Ryosuke doesn’t
move to pull away, and Haruichi’s fingers don’t ease in his hair. They just
stay as they are, pressing close as if to make up for the weeks apart all in
one go; and then Ryosuke takes a breath at Haruichi’s shoulder, and sighs
himself into resignation to the movement they ought to effect. He pushes up
onto one elbow, shaking his hair back from his face so he can cast his gaze
down over the sticky expanse of Haruichi’s body beneath him.
“You’re a mess,” he declares, the words flat with the truth of his judgment.
“Honestly, your alpha ought to take better care of you than this.”
Haruichi’s breath gusts out of him in a startled laugh. “Aniki?”
“I would never treat a mate so carelessly,” Ryosuke says without looking up
from Haruichi’s stomach, where the spill of wet from the other’s orgasms is
drying to a sticky shine around his navel and halfway up his chest. “You should
be cleaned up first thing.” He lifts his hand to trail through the mess they’ve
made; he can see Haruichi’s stomach flutter under his touch, can hear the catch
of an inhale in the other’s throat as Ryosuke slides his fingers in and over
the ticklish curve of Haruichi’s ribs. “And then put in a hot bath for a soak
for your sore muscles.” He lifts his head to smile up from under his lashes at
Haruichi. “While your alpha scrubs your back for you.” Haruichi’s mouth
twitches at the corner, like he’s fighting back a smile he’s not quite sure
he’s allowed to indulge in. Ryosuke lets his grin go wider in answer before he
leans in towards that tremor against Haruichi’s lips.
“I’ll take care of you tonight,” he murmurs as he leans in closer.
“Thoroughly.” And he presses in to catch Haruichi’s mouth with his and hold
back the huff of laughter in Haruichi’s throat against his own tongue.
Ryosuke is as good as his word. They spend almost an hour in the bathroom,
until finally Ryosuke leaves Haruichi to tip his head back against the lip of
the tub and rest while he gets up to change the sheets on the bed. It takes a
few minutes -- he has to find the spare ones in the closet, and bundle the mess
they’ve made of the ones already there into the laundry to be washed at the end
of Haruichi’s visit -- and by the time he’s back Haruichi is flushed pink from
the steam and so drowsy Ryosuke has to dry his hair for him before walking him
back around the corner to the bedroom. Haruichi tumbles into bed as quickly as
Ryosuke draws back the sheets for him, curling up against the far edge of the
mattress as if he’s already anticipating the curve of Ryosuke’s body matching
to his; the sight makes Ryosuke smile before he pulls the blankets up over
Haruichi to keep him warm while he doubles back out to turn off the lights in
the rest of the house and bring Haruichi’s bag in from where they dropped it in
the entryway. The bag goes just inside the door of the bedroom, Haruichi stirs
enough to shift and stretch out a hand towards the door; and Ryosuke smiles,
and turns off the light, and follows the guidance of Haruichi’s hand back to
the warmth of the sheets and the soft of the bed. He fits himself in against
Haruichi’s back, pressing his chest close against the angle of the other’s
shoulders and letting his arm drape around Haruichi’s waist, and they fall
asleep like that, with Haruichi’s hand clinging close as if to hold Ryosuke
where he is even in sleep.
Ryosuke wakes to warmth. More than warmth: heat, a fever, burning so bright
against him he can feel the sheets sticking close to the sweat forming at his
skin. He stirs against the blankets, blinking as he shakes the haze of sleep
from his thoughts enough to bring himself to the present; and it’s as he moves
his arm from around Haruichi that the other gasps, and shudders, and comes
awake in a rush. His hair is sweat-dark at the back of his neck, Ryosuke can
see it is; his hold on Ryosuke’s hand is shaky-tight, his whole body radiant as
if he has summer sunlight coursing through him instead of blood. He’s trembling
head to toe, his whole body tense against Ryosuke’s; and Ryosuke can taste him
in the air, the sweet, musky scent that tells the story more clearly to his
instincts than all the circumstantial evidence that Haruichi’s heat has broken
over him.
“Aniki,” Haruichi whimpers, his hold on Ryosuke’s hand tightening as he quivers
against the bed, as his hips rock forward in pursuit of some kind of friction,
some relief for the arousal hot against his skin, for the desire like fog in
the air. When he rocks backwards it’s to grind himself against Ryosuke’s hips,
his body seeking out the satisfaction of an alpha to mate him while his voice
is still sleep-hazed in his throat. Haruichi gasps a breath, sounding like he’s
struggling for air; his arm tightens to hold Ryosuke against him. “Are
you...already?”
“Ssh,” Ryosuke hums, drawing the sound long and heavy in the back of his
throat. “I’ve got you.” And he lets his hand slide down to Haruichi’s hip, to
set his fingers in against the prints he left last night, to brace Haruichi in
place against the reflexive tremors of want running through him.
“I told you yesterday,” he says, as he pushes Haruichi down over the sheets,
pinning him in place so he can get a knee down between the other’s and rock up
to line up the length of his heat-heavy cock with Haruichi’s entrance. “I’m
going to take care of you, Haruichi. I promise.” And he presses forward to sate
the demands of Haruichi’s ever-insistent instincts.
However much he may tease him, Ryosuke’s never broken a promise to his brother,
and he’s not about to start now.
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