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He knows he doesn’t deserve it.
The warmth of Isagi’s body, his vulnerability, his effortless beauty, the way he opens himself up for Kaiser like it comes natural to him, this intimacy — it makes the wound in Kaiser’s chest ache, expand like a black hole, throat tightening, constricting. Like he’s choking on it, the nothingness, the void. It’s so easy for him, everything is so easy for Isagi. He doesn’t have to worry about slipping up, or letting his lies drown him when he can no longer keep up with them. He’s good, so good and Kaiser’s not. Kaiser stains everything he touches, ruins it, destroys it. Kaiser doesn’t deserve any of it.
Not the way Isagi touches him, so gentle, so intimate, adoring hands running over his bare skin like he’s the only thing in the entire world. The way he tastes, the way he feels, it's like Kaiser has been missing something his whole life until this very moment. Every sensation feels like fire running through his veins, and it only makes him want more. Isagi’s fingertips burn against Kaiser’s skin. He wants to pull away, curl into himself, shrink, disappear, be anywhere but here. Isagi’s hands shouldn’t touch Kaiser’s tainted skin, they shouldn’t have to be careful with him just because Kaiser asked him to.
And that’s the worst thing. Kaiser hadn’t even asked, not really. Not with words, which meant he didn’t ask, so it didn’t count. Sometimes, at times like these (although this is the farthest they’ve ever gone), he wonders if Isagi does this out of some kind of pity. Kaiser hates it, hates the thought of it, hates feeling like a problem Isagi needs to fix.
He still remembers the look on Isagi’s face when he’d caught sight of Kaiser’s back in the showers, ugly scars covering the skin, raised and purple, all misshapen. A look of pure horror, which dissipated into pity when Isagi noticed that Kaiser had caught him staring, and Kaiser had snapped at him to take a photo, it’ll last longer. He’s never actually told Isagi how he got them, but there’s only so many ways to have a back covered in scars, and Isagi’s smarter than he looks. He’s probably known for a while, longer than Kaiser realised he had, but he hasn’t said anything, either.
He’s like that. Cautious, careful. And right now, one hand on Kaiser’s nape, the other tracing the scars on his back, feather—light and barely there. But Kaiser feels it, tensing and stilling instinctively, before reminding himself that this is Isagi. It’s Isagi, and Isagi is the first to hold him without hurting him.
So when Isagi lies down on the bed, bare from his head to his toes, cheeks flushed pink and laces his hand with Kaiser’s own, he thinks he might just die. His chest is tight, his heart is heavy, and the shame, the guilt, all of it, is crushing him. Isagi waits for him to make a move, expectant and patient. Kaiser can’t tell if he hates or loves it, whether he’s angry or grateful. Isagi looks so beautiful, and Kaiser feels like all of the filthy things in the world, lumped together, a pile of trash that people just keep heaping on.
He taints everything he touches — all of his past friendships and relationships are living proof of this. When you grow up teaching yourself to destroy others like you’ve been destroyed, it’s hard to unlearn it. When you grow up without love, it’s hard to learn it. Isagi doesn’t deserve that — he deserves someone who can give him everything and more. Not someone like Kaiser, who can barely make eye contact with feeling sick.
“Are you ready?” Isagi asks him, pulling him from his self-deprecating thoughts, as if he can read Kaiser’s mind. He always ends up going quiet; losing himself in the self-hatred.
Kaiser nods, dumbly, focusing on the feeling of their entwined fingers, Isagi’s hand in his own unlovable hand, thinking maybe if he focuses on the sensation hard enough, he’ll forget about everything else on his mind, that it’ll just go away like he’s always wished it to. Isagi squeezes his hand gently, distracting him from his thoughts. It’s really pathetic, he thinks, the way Isagi was able to find all of the cracks of his figure so quickly, and a way to piece him back together again, as if it were just that easy. Like if Kaiser had tried harder, he would have been able to fix himself.
His fingers shake as he seats himself between Isagi’s legs, his calves on either side of his thighs. “It’s okay,” Isagi says, his voice soft, “You’re okay. You can do it.”
It’s too much. Of what, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t want to know, but it’s all just so overwhelming, his emotions heightened tenfold, ready to spill over and out like a dam breaking or a volcanic eruption of years and years of bottled up emotions. He feels like he’s going to explode, with all of the pressure, all of the heat. It’s just — too much.
He leans forward, capturing Isagi’s lips with his own, feeling his hands thread through his hair, gently tugging at it as Kaiser kisses him, head tilting to the side for a better angle. He can’t get enough of Isagi; his mouth, his lips, his tongue, his body — Kaiser wants to eat him alive, kiss him until he can’t breathe, and then some more. Isagi’s hand reaches between them, his hand wrapping around both of their cocks. Kaiser gasps into his mouth at the touch, can feel himself leaking already. He’s not going to last — how fucking embarrassing.
He gives them both a lazy stroke, twisting his wrist with the motion, and Kaiser swallows his moan, covering his face with his arm.
“No, no,” Isagi murmurs, hushed. “I wanna see you.”
Kaiser doesn’t know what to do with that. The thought of anyone seeing him like this sends a sharp chill up his spine, and the familiar shame creeps in at the edges of his mind. He tentatively sets his arm at his side, eyes glued to the ceiling above them. He can’t bare to look at Isagi, to see him see Kaiser. Fucking terrified of what he’s thinking.
”Beautiful,” Isagi says, too softly, too gently, Kaiser feels sick at the words. Isagi flicks his wrist again, swipes his thumb over the slit of Kaiser’s cock, and Kaiser comes in Isagi’s fist with a drawn—out, broken cry, his head falling into the crook of Isagi’s shoulder, hips stuttering as his orgasm racks through his body. He practically melts into the boy beneath him, and Isagi wraps his arms around Kaiser’s body, keeping him there, holding him tight. The feeling is like nothing he’s ever felt before. So intense, and yet so fleeting.
It feels like they lie like that forever, but it’s only a few minutes in reality. Kaiser doesn’t want Isagi to let go, he wants to stay like this, in his arms, with his face hidden away from the world and its scrutiny for the rest of his life. The sound of their heavy breathing and thumping hearts take up the silence around them, swallowing him whole.
It’s then Isagi realises that Kaiser is crying — he can feel wetness on his neck where Kaiser’s face is buried in the crook of it, feels the slight shake of his shoulders that’s too distinctive to be anything other than sobs being held back. “Hey,” he whispers, nudging Kaiser gently. Kaiser pulls away to look at him, his eyes tear-filled and red-rimmed.
Isagi reaches up, his hands cupping Kaiser’s cheeks, fingertips dabbing at the tears that roll down his face. “You’re so good,” he says, “Did so good, Mihya, I love you.” Isagi leans forward, stroking his cheekbone, kisses him like he’s breathing new life into him, soft and deep and with all the passion in the world. Kaiser can hardly muster any words, let alone thoughts. His chest feels tight, like it’s closing in, suffocating him.
“Mihya?” He whispers, eyes wide. Kaiser doesn’t cry often. In fact, he never cries. And Isagi — well, he cries all the time. Now that the roles are reversed, it’s strange. Kaiser feels pathetic, naked and crying in Isagi’s arms. Even months ago, he’d have never let this happen. And he’s not even sure he’s letting it now, but he can’t stop the tears. It’s like a dam has burst, floodgates opened.
“’M sorry,” Kaiser mumbles, sniffling, “I’m— I—”
Isagi holds him tighter, shushes him. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s just me. You just gotta relax, okay?”
And Kaiser does, eventually. He doesn’t stop clinging to Isagi, but his tears let up and dry on his cheeks, as Isagi slowly cards his fingers through his hair. Kaiser’s never been loved before, and he never thought it possible. He’s not sure if that’s changed, but he can hope. For now, it’s enough.