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His back hits the wall with a deafening thud, breath knocking from his lungs the instant he weaves his hands through dark hair, fingers tugging at the roots. An overpowering yet familiar scent of smoke fills his nose, ashes clinging to the taller man’s jacket, week old cigarette dust landing soft against his outstretched arms. It’s barely visible but he knows it’s there.
The taller man chuckles, deep vibrations working their way straight through the silence, eyes glistening with hidden mischief the instant he sets his sights on his companion. The moment he feels the shorter man lean in close.
“What’s this?” Kanoichi stifles another laugh, tilts his head to the side, eyes the shorter man from head to toe, gaze falling to his mouth where it lingers for the briefest of seconds before glancing towards the hallway.
Arata teeters up and onto his tiptoes, brings his hands down to rest against the nape of the dark haired man’s neck, smooths each and every baby hair over with the pads of his thumbs. He can’t help but smile at the expression forming upon his companion’s face, warmth spreading across high cheekbones, lips parting slightly with the makings of a somewhat dopey grin.
“What’s, what?”
He catches a kiss to his bottom lip, slotting their mouths together with ease, not once breaking eye contact though his partner’s gaze has turned far too soft—too loving and damn near embarrassing to behold.
“You know what I mean.”
Two months since their last case, three weeks since Kanoichi returned to Tokyo after being called abroad, and exactly four hours since they shared their first meal after getting back together. They’ve barely set foot within the older man’s apartment and already Arata is stifling a moan into the fabric of his jacket.
“Somebody missed me.” Kanoichi teases, the same mischief in his eyes making its way to his voice just as calloused hands find purchase around Arata’s waist. And if the shorter man hasn’t already leaned in more than enough, he makes sure to press their bodies dangerously close, relishing in the heat that radiates off his companion’s clothes—in the sheer force of Arata’s heart pounding inside his chest, the way each wave vibrates straight through to the older man’s veins. “If I’d have known this is all it takes to make you moan, I’d have stayed away longer.”
Arata pulls back, fixes the dark haired man with a look halfway between want and disdain, curls his bottom lip and crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t test your luck.”
*
“That thing I mentioned before you left,” Arata’s tone is a mixture of throaty desire, pent up energy, and an emotion the raven haired man can’t quite place, but wants to, desperately. “I’ve been wondering,” he falls silent, eyes the bathroom door before bringing his gaze back to the taller man. “I’ve been wondering if maybe you’d like to . . . . try . . . it . . out?” He takes note of the somewhat doubtful expression slowly forming upon his companion’s face, works around the smallest lumps of regret taking root within his chest before leaning forward to rest his head against the taller man’s shoulder.
“We obviously don’t have to,” another pause, hands coming up to fist into the fabric of Kanoichi’s shirt, tugging ever so soft until the dark haired man falls against him. “But . . . maybe we could?” He does his best to not sound overly needy, attempts to keep what little hints of passion have already started to kindle inside his chest at bay. Knows the damage has already been done from the near death grip forming upon his waist.
“I’ll go get ready, then.”
Heated breath ghosts across Kanoichi’s neck, auburn hair falling haphazardly against the fabric of his shirt, and he swears he can feel Arata’s eyelashes dancing over his pulse point the longer the shorter man remains tucked in place. The dark haired man opens and closes his mouth, wills himself to answer though he cannot seem to find the right words. He chews his bottom lip, takes a desperate gulp of air, wonders how the young man can bring about a whirlwind of emotions the likes of which he’d no sooner lock away, though he swears he’s been unable to as of late.
Miyako Arata is just too much for him.
‘The fuck is he doing in there?’
The clock reads just past 10pm.
He’s never been one for pleasantries, but he takes to setting a few candles here and there for ambiance, allowing the warm glow to flicker while he dims the lights, casting the bedroom into a shroud of swirling oranges and deep greys. He’s beyond exhausted and sore, but the thought of having his partner over after so long is more than enough to keep him awake—more than enough to make the palms of his hands sweaty, heart racing a mile a minute the longer he waits for Arata to finish with his shower.
He scrolls through a few articles on his phone, checks the clock once more. Sighs. Sits up from his perch upon the bed, cracks his back and slowly plods across the carpet making sure to smooth over the sheets with the back of his hand.
The clock reads 10:30pm. Screw waiting.
Kanoichi doesn’t even think to knock before unlatching the sliding screen, welcoming the sweet scent of lilac shampoo that pours out in a haze to linger before him. He squints, barely able to make out the form of his companion, all lean muscle and slender limbs, hints of bare skin partially hidden by way of a curtain of water and steam.
And Arata must know he’s no longer alone, for the young man stiffens, relaxes, reaches over to turn the temperature up before squeezing a bit more soap onto his hands.
Kanoichi shuts the screen behind himself, lingering in the doorway with a look that could freeze over even the warmest of hot springs.
“Are you expecting me to watch you shower, or did you forget that I just flew all night to be with you?” Kanoichi practically bristles where he stands, tone far beyond his usual state of annoyance.
Bingo. Impatient as ever.
‘Well, if it’s a show he wants,’ he’s smirking, lathering the soap between his fingers, mind going a mile a minute with how he can bring the older man to his knees. ‘Then it’s a show he will get.’ Arata peers towards the doorway making sure not to catch Kanoichi’s gaze before slowly extending his arm up, fingers beckoning the man forward.
The sound of footsteps moving forward greets him, loud and clear and somewhat hurried.
“What are you playing at, brat?” Kanoichi takes the same tone he uses for missions that don’t go his way, clipped with mild annoyance, hands clenching against his side. “So help me if you’re second guessing things.” And he half expects the young man to open the curtain, all sweet faced with apologies, smelling of fresh flowers and utterly ready to tumble into bed. What he doesn’t expect, is the laughter that filters through the tiny room, giddy amusement bouncing off the walls to fall heavy against his ears.
And, what he hasn’t prepared himself for, is for Arata to bring his free hand up, lips parting ever so slightly, tongue darting out to swirl across the tip of his index finger, sucking gently before pulling back with a deafening pop.
“I’m sure you’ll figure things out soon enough.”
Kanoichi damn near tears the shower curtain right off its hinges.
Steam settles around his frame, lingering just below his navel, just enough for the older man to see inside, more than enough for him to catch the exact moment in which Arata leans against the tiled wall, legs spread with hints of soap dusting his hips and thighs. The perfect sight to behold, though the young man does a wonderful job of keeping him outside and out of reach, swatting his hand away the instant he tries to reach in and turn the water off.
“Did I say you could do that?” Arata hums, makes a show of slowly easing off the wall to draw the curtain tight, soap bubbles dripping down between his legs to land against his feet. He hunkers back, bites his bottom lip, concentrates fully on the sound of water flowing, pit pattering against his skin.
“I’ll ask again, the hell are you playing at?” And this time Kanoichi taps his foot against the floor, twitching. He’s already waited for what feels like a century, has yet to sleep, and the thought of staying up for much longer only leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
“Turn the damn water off already and come to bed.” Another tap of his foot, tone stern.
Strike two. A lethal smirk forms upon Arata’s face, eyes glistening behind a veil of auburn.
“You know, I really missed you when you were gone.”
Arata gathers his courage (tosses what little bit of dignity he has left, if any, aside), runs his hands over the expanse of his chest, soap bubbles foaming against his nipples, tickling just enough to send a jolt of excitement straight through to his groin. “Did you miss me?” The pads of his fingers fall soft against each hardening bud, pinching down only to swirl over the tips, eliciting the harshest of sobs from between his lips. He’s damn near hard, legs trembling from having stood for too long, knees close to giving out though he knows he can’t back down. Won’t back down.
Heated water pools beneath his feet, steady spray of steam and heavy droplets mingling against his skin, the ever present scent of floral soap clouding his mind. He flashes a dangerous look in Kanoichi’s direction, one that screams ‘fuck me’ though even he knows he won’t let the older man anywhere near him just yet.
“Like what you see?”
Kanoichi visibly shudders.
“Well? Do you?”
Arata’s hands trail down to rest upon his thighs, smoothing little trails of soap here and there, forming miniature hearts against his skin in the process. He rocks his hips, head lulling against the tile to reveal water streaks that falter and fall to land against his collarbone. And, for a split second, he stops. Wonders if he’s doing too much too soon and if his companion even finds his actions halfway as alluring as he hoped. Swallows his doubt behind a throaty moan the instant his palm comes into contact with his dick.
Kanoichi curses, grits his teeth. Throws caution to the wind and pulls back the curtain, allows for the warm spread of water to seep through his boxers before easing up behind the young man. One hand finds purchase between Arata’s legs, fingers curling around the young man’s length, thumb pressing deadly circles against an already dripping tip (and he knows it’s anything but water). The other takes to fondling his companion’s ass, index finger pressing gently at just the right angle before easing in, forcing a wanton moan from between the young man’s lips.
“Thought you could tease me, huh?” His voice sounds far too close to Arata’s ear, tongue rolling against his bottom lobe, teeth nipping none too gently only to trail a series of open mouthed kisses down the expanse of the young man’s throat. “I appreciate the effort, but,” he pulls away, fingers slick with anything but water, takes note of how Arata’s face flushes, eyes blown wide with lips partially open, “I dare say I can do much better.”
The kiss he steals from Arata’s lips tastes of shampoo, soap, and lust, and it takes everything he has to not make the young man come right then and there in the shower.
*
“F-uck . . .!”
Heated breath escapes from between kiss swollen lips, chest heaving, heart thundering. Arata barely has a second to register what’s going on before his back hits the mattress, head falling against plush pillows, breath knocking from his lungs. He squirms in place, arms stretched out above his head, hands bound between calloused fingers holding tight to his wrists. His feet dig deep into plush sheets, toes curling, legs wrapping about either side of the dark haired man's waist for traction.
An image of perfection. One Kanoichi wants nothing more than to wreck.
Kanoichi doesn’t think to use lube, the soap and pre and water already having done their job, rather he eases in without restraint, bottoming out long before Arata has time to protest. Though the sweet sound easing its way from the young man’s mouth afterwards is damn near mind blowing.
He runs his hand down Arata’s chest, fingers pausing to briefly flick across the man’s nipples, toying with each hardened bud before continuing their course to land once more against his length. He works his fingers up and down, steady rhythm matching each elongated thrust—the way he all but curls the young man inward, fucking him hard and deep and dangerously close to the edge only adding to the growing tension he builds by way of tender strokes.
Arata whimpers, bites his bottom lip, lets his head fall back against the pillow until all he can see is the ceiling and the dim flickering of candles. He’s far too tight, stretched thin, and the warmth spilling out from where he ends and his companion begins is unbearable. He pushes back against the other, lets the feeling of being completely full take over any remaining coherent thoughts he might possess—keens into Kanoichi’s touch, the way he all but sinks in deep to the point of being too much, sending shudders down his spine.
"You're doing so good, so . . so . . good for me." Kanoichi leans forward, plants an open mouthed kiss to his companion's chest directly below his heart, presses up until his tongue flicks across the young man’s nipple, smirks into partially flushed skin. “But, I think you can do much better.” Snaps his hips, hard, skin meeting sweat laden skin, free hand curling around a slender waist drawing the young man unbearably close.
And Arata suddenly can’t stand the friction, the heat building low and heavy within his gut, the way the older man looks down upon him with those half lidded eyes, guttural gasps leaving his lips the longer they remain together. He clutches tight to Kanoichi’s back, nails digging in deep, slight hints of blood blossoming against pale skin at the sensation of one particularly harsh (pleasant) thrust. He can feel the entirety of his body going on edge, tingling with desperate attempts to chase that much needed release all but vanishing from mind upon feeling his lover slowly pulling out.
“What are you . . . ?” He can barely speak, tongue heavy within his mouth, throat constricting against pent up sounds the likes of which he knows will send his lover over the edge. On instinct, Arata arches up, reaches for that much needed connection once more. Falls back against the sheets with a heated huff of breath.
"Let it all out for me, I want to hear you." There’s desire lacing Kanoichi’s tone, in the way he latches on to Arata’s hips, with how he devilishly smirks before colliding back only to teasingly hover just at the edge, smirk widening at the sight of pre dripping from his lover’s length. Too much, too soon, but definitely not enough.
“Is this for me?” The older man ghosts his thumb across Arata’s tip, once, twice, just enough to collect what he needs before sucking gently on his own finger.
He’s damn near feral, and Arata loves every minute of it.
Arata allows for a slew of curses to escape into the silence, moans puffing out his cheeks now stained a pleasant shade of peach. His hips buck, seeking friction and the sensation of being full, the need to feel each and every thrust pushing him forward, drawing his mind into a frenzy.
“Say my name.” Kanoichi hovers above him, toned muscles covered in a thin sheen of sweat, eyebrows knotted, mouth working around the makings of a moan. He tugs until the young man can’t possibly be any closer, links his arms around the small of his waist, draws him upright so that with each thrust he can watch him bounce, pre leaking out to fall against his stomach.
“Sa . . . satoru . . . ahn!”
White lights fizzle and pop behind his eyelids, warmth spreading across his face. He’s so close, so damn close, and Kanoichi picks that very second to lift him up, bringing him back down with such force that he swears he sees stars.
“I . . . mmph . . . I can’t . . .!”
And there’s a hand upon his length, calloused palm rough against far too sensitive skin, fingers trailing heated lines across his head and back down, back up, repeat. Arata tenses, twitches, clings to the older man’s back for support. He’s so close.
“Satoru . . . stop teasing me!”
Kanoichi’s thumb presses hard against his tip right as he rolls his hips at just the right angle, just enough pressure to turn Arata into a mewling mess upon the sheets.
*
“You ever worry you’ll get tired of this?” It’s an honest question, one that Arata has thought of on numerous occasions, but has never had the heart to ask. He does so then, wrapped tight within the older man’s arms, blankets pooled against his waist. He asks while the high has yet to come down, while his insides still hum with a gentle pressure, and while the older man has yet to nod off.
Kanoichi weaves his fingers through unruly auburn hair, flicks the young man’s forehead for emphasis. “I could ask the same of you.”
“You know I’ll say no.” Arata’s response is quick, far too quick, and the way his grip tightens makes the older man wonder if he’s possibly pictured otherwise. They’re already teetering on the brink of dangerous connections, why make it any worse?
“Just,” a pause and a carefully placed kiss to Arata’s temple, “just don’t let your coworkers know and we’ll be fine.”
Except, they both know the boisterous pair already have an inkling of an idea as to their relationship, and that it’s only a matter of time before one of them blows their cover. They know, they understand, but that doesn’t stop them from nestling further into the sheets, allowing for their hands to once more do the talking.