Misaki prowled the apartment restlessly.
After a gruelling week of classes, he was tired – or at least, his eyes itched and it was difficult thinking too deeply about anything much – but his body refused to let his mind rest properly. Usagi-san was not there (and in any case, Misaki did not know what he would have done even if he was), and the clock edged closer to midnight as Misaki cleaned the kitchen for the second time that night.
His bed seemed small and cramped when he finally gave it up, and Misaki only dozed despite his tiredness. But he dreamed anyway, or else was hearing things, because Usagi-san's voice was in his ear, whispering things that Misaki couldn't quite make out. He woke again to full awareness scarcely an hour later, with a tight feeling in his chest and a damp hardness between his legs.
The thought crossed his mind that he might well be sleepwalking, as he found himself shuffling quietly into Usagi-san's bedroom. Their bedroom, for all intents and purposes, although Misaki slept in a separate bed as often as not – there did not seem to be much point in sharing a bed when Usagi-san was frequently up until dawn, typing in his study next door. Misaki cleaned the room as regularly as he did the whole house, and Usagi-san had… Misaki swallowed. Usagi-san had done things, all sorts of things, to him there more times than Misaki could now count. But seldom had Misaki been alone in the bedroom at night; there was no reason to be, if Usagi-san was not there. And Usagi-san, Misaki knew, was exactly the type of person who filled an entire room with his presence whenever he was around; his charisma, and the many other unique qualities that made up who he was as an individual, ensured that this was always so.
So when Misaki crossed the threshold, not bothering to switch on the light, the bed – without Usagi-san present, either smirking at him suggestively or else dead to the world and snoring – seemed huge and very empty. His stomach gave a flutter at the thought.
Usagi-san's scent, though, that was still there, a musky, masculine smell. It lingered in wisps in most places, but here it was naturally stronger, and Misaki could practically taste it as he moved closer towards the bed. He sat, square in the middle of it, taking a moment to breathe deeply in. His hand moved as he did so, almost compelled to pull his pyjama pants down and away from his body. He tossed them aside, and then decided that since it was so mild a night, he might as well undress entirely. Usagi-san's smell caressed him, then, making the goosebumps rise on bare flesh. He focused on this, and then found his body moving of its own accord, without him having to think about doing anything at all.
Kneeling there, the muscles in his thighs automatically clenching, his fingers stirring up waves of heady giddiness, he wondered if he was still in his own bed and dreaming after all. The whole situation had a surreal quality about it, and even though Misaki was aware of what was happening, just what he was doing, he didn't think he had the will to stop it even if he wanted to. While in any other similar circumstance he would have been mortified to be caught in such a position, he could not bring himself to care about what would happen if he was. He had certainly touched himself in such a way before – he was a fit and healthy male barely out of his teens, after all; it would have been decidedly odd had he not done so. But up until now, Misaki had stroked himself to completion only in private, and usually only in his own bed, the covers pulled over him completely as if to hide his actions even from himself. Now, for the first time he could remember, Misaki did not concern himself – did not want to concern himself – with the normal torrent of feelings: embarrassment, awkwardness, unease. This time he wanted, needed, not to worry, to be free of his own self-judgment when it came to matters of sex.
With this realisation came another kind of freedom, and Misaki allowed himself to moan his lover's name, imagining Usagi-san's fingers on him and in him, touching him like that instead of his own. It was habit for Misaki to swallow down the sounds that accompanied pleasure; to clench his jaw and even cover his mouth with his hand, smothering the noises that crowded at his throat. But it felt good, felt right, to now stroke himself with one hand, the other clutching at the bed sheets, and simply let those noises out. The tempo of his hands now picking up speed, Misaki found his whole body rocking to the rhythm as he gasped and groaned. His breathing came heavier, and he inhaled again, sharply… there was Usagi-san's scent again, now mingling with his own, making him repeat Usagi-san's name, more-
He didn't think he'd imagined that though.
But he was unsurprised, on the whole, to glance up and see the tall shape of Usagi-san silhouetted in the doorway. As far as Misaki was concerned, the night had already gotten weird enough to feel any kind of real startlement at this turn of events.
Even in the dimness, Misaki could feel Usagi-san's stare, boring onto and directly into him. He gazed steadily back, not making any attempt to cover himself or stutter an excuse. Lips parted to pant, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat, he continued to move; gave another throaty, wordless cry, because now that Usagi-san was actually here, Misaki's own hands were suddenly not enough anymore.
Usagi-san did not say anything, but the dark shape moved, and then there were those familiarly large, cool hands on him, making him feel the way only Usagi-san could ever made him feel.
"Misaki", the older man growled, and it was the sound of his voice after hours of ringing silence that undid him. Misaki grabbed at him, pulling him down so that he, too, was lying on the bed, pressing against his back, his long, clever fingers making Misaki shudder helplessly. He wanted Usagi-san more than he had wanted anything else in that instant. He wanted Usagi-san not just to touch him, to make him feel good, but to possess him completely. He wanted Usagi-san to feel just as free as Misaki himself did now.
He wanted to make Usagi-san lose control.
"Tie me up", he said.
Usagi-san's hands stopped in their tracks. Misaki fought back an almost hysterical laugh; he did not think he had ever seen Usagi-san in such a state of shock.
When Usagi-san remained still, Misaki yanked impatiently at his collar.
"This", he said, and Usagi-san needed no further encouragement.
There was the silky hiss of numerous pieces of costly material being pulled off all at once, and the twin sound of breathing, shallow and rapid. Misaki could not resist palming at the heat between his legs as Usagi-san fought to rid himself of his clothing; he did not think he could go even a moment without some sort of friction now, lest he lose this completely new, exhilarating feeling of his and never be able to attain it again.
Still, he was relieved when Usagi-san took over again, binding Misaki's hands together with the necktie and then pushing both of their bodies upwards over the bed until Misaki felt the coolness of the wooden head board against him. Usagi-san's hands continued to brush Misaki softly as they worked to fasten the knot, and Misaki whimpered – not enough, not nearly hard enough – and then Usagi-san was binding his wrists to the bed itself, his arms over his head.
A question. Usagi-san was asking him a question. Misaki tried to concentrate.
He could move wriggle his wrists around, just, if he tried – they were firmly bound, but not enough to cut off the blood flow to his hands. He nodded, because he couldn't find the words to answer otherwise. He only wanted Usagi-san to touch him again, quickly, roughly, before…
His head tipped back, mouth open to vocalise his pleasure as he felt Usagi-san's lips on him, teeth nipping at the most sensitive parts of his mouth, neck, throat, chest. His tongue traced the curve of Misaki's collarbone, as Usagi-san's lower body rubbed against Misaki's own. Their skin finally pressed closely together, Misaki felt the world fall away again – there were only two bodies straining against one another, seeking out the other's mutual pleasure, revelling in their abandonment of everything but this.
This. Misaki wondered just how long he would be able to last as Usagi-san slid downwards. Now his tongue traced jutting hip-bone, kissing the flesh that trembled uncontrollably beneath him. It was impossible for Misaki to remain still when that tongue found its most responsive mark; he jolted, hips bucking and wrists instinctively wrenching against their constraints as Usagi-san lapped at him.
He keened, unable to remain silent; it was not just his lower body but his entire being that was now convulsing, taut as a drawn bowstring. His head spun as Usagi-san took him fully into his mouth, and whether he whispered Usagi-san's name or whether he cried it made no difference at that point, because nothing in the world mattered at all, save that he was able to express the nameless it that clamoured to be let loose.
But not yet. Not yet. Usagi-san was saying something again, his voice in Misaki's ear, low and husky. Wait. Wait for me. Misaki sensed the words rather than heard them, and shivered. He wanted Usagi-san in a way that was physically painful, but there was something in his tone that held Misaki back from giving in to the whatever-it-was that coursed through him so unrelentingly.
While he could not put what it was that he felt into coherent thoughts, Usagi-san felt Misaki squirm beneath him, and understood. Even in his novels, a potent blend of active fantasy and unconscious desire, Misaki had never acted like this. The Misaki in his books was simply an exaggeration of the behaviour Misaki himself typically exhibited whenever he was with Usagi; blushing, stammering, and all too self-conscious, Misaki had never been able to fully let go when it came to physical intimacy. He was too aware of himself, and too mindful of his embarrassment to be able to wholly relinquish self-control. Now that he had finally been able to do so, he needed Usagi to do the same in order to gain a true sense of fulfilment. And although Misaki might not know it, what Usagi comprehended, in a flash of insight, was that his young lover was showing the other side of his sexuality – the side that had been hiding from them both, suppressed, until the instant that Misaki had dropped his guard enough for it to surface. Small surprise, then, that Misaki was now shuddering, thrashing, writhing wantonly in Usagi's grasp, since had run up against an aspect of his own desire that he had no means of controlling – a part of himself that, until now, he had not known existed.
For his part, Misaki simply wanted release. He did not understand why his feelings were so much more powerful than they usually were, or why he felt them at all, but in the heat of the moment, the reasons did not matter. His universe, used to being ordered by logic, had been overturned by something far more forceful.
And in turn, he wanted Usagi-san to be forceful.
When it came to Misaki, Usagi-san had always been insistent, demanding, sometimes rough. But he had never once given more than he thought Misaki could take; had always had a softness about him that made him gentle, even when Misaki made his half-hearted protests and tried to push Usagi-san away. Usagi-san had never given Misaki his all, and Misaki had not known that he had wanted it.
He wanted this part of Usagi-san now – the part that, for a long time, he had been missing without realising it. He didn't just want Usagi-san to touch him, kiss him, love him. He wanted Usagi-san to not hold back – to claim him, utterly and without hesitation. And now he knew that it was this that he wanted, he was able to act upon it.
The words he had never quite been able to say before, the ones he would have died of shame before admitting to himself, erupted from his mouth, begging, pleading, gasping, obscene, nameless. And as he did so he felt Usagi-san's fingers, a viscous substance coating them, circle their way underneath him. They mapped out spirals, each one becoming smaller and smaller as they inched closer inwards, making him ache with his need. He gasped as they at last slipped inside, and another flood of hoarse noises escaped him.
Usagi-san was on top of him again, and his teeth found Misaki's neck. Misaki arched as he sought further friction, fighting the waves that were beginning to consume him entirely. Distracted by the way Usagi-san's arms were intertwining with his own, he could only jerk powerlessly as he was finally penetrated, his legs wrapping tightly around Usagi-san's waist. An electrifying jolt passed through him, and then another, until he was moving with instead of against Usagi-san, because there was no choice but to do otherwise. It hurt, god, it hurt, but he wanted the pain almost as much as he wanted to the pleasure, and he wanted all of it, more of it. His whole body was being shaken by its force, and he knew his mouth was open, but there was nothing but Usagi-san, nothing but himself being impaled, again and again, by the raw energy that was Usagi-san's desire for him. This was the desire Misaki alone had woken in him – the thought made Misaki want Usagi-san all the more; made him surge harder, faster, more powerfully with the tide of it all. And Usagi-san thrusted a little more deeply and a little more forcefully each time. Each time, Misaki voiced his pleasure, his ragged breaths close to sobs. The tight, jittery sensation that had built up and up and up within him until now came to a head in this final rush, and the resulting outburst was enough to tear down whatever willpower Misaki might have had left. Dimly, he registered Usagi-san crying out something too, but he could not make out the words, what sounded like more than one language blending together in an incomprehensible jumble.
He retained enough awareness only to recognise that his body abruptly tensed up at this, a single moment suspended in time, before it all came crashing down.
Pitched, headfirst, from the edge of sanity, he didn't feel Usagi-san follow him there; knew only that somewhere, his body still struggled for air, still drew tattered breaths as his consciousness flickered in and out of reality. Somewhere, there were damp sheets beneath him, cradling him. Somewhere, Usagi-san was on top of him, calling his name again, thumbing away the few droplets that ran, unchecked, down the sides of his face.
He knew all this for certain when he went to open his eyes, only to realise that they were already open.
He wasn't sure if Usagi-san was repeating his name like that because he was worried, or because he simply liked the sound of it as it fell from his mouth. Misaki blinked, and his wrists flexed as he moved, slowly, checking to see that he still could. Usagi-san reached up to undo the knots that still held his arms captive. He rubbed at the redness there when they had been freed, and lifted them to his lips, kissing the skin that had been rubbed raw.
"Misaki", he said again, and he was smiling, smiling, like he had been given the world. Misaki thought about correcting him, but decided against it – he wasn't sure how to begin, and anyway, it seemed foolish to try and persuade Usagi-san otherwise when Misaki himself knew that he had just been given the universe.
Mentally kicking himself for such a ridiculous thought, Misaki rolled over, closing his eyes and breathing in the very scent that had turned him into such a mess in the first place. It was stronger now, and intermingled with another equally musky but distinctive smell, but he was too exhausted to react to it.
"Usagi-san", he said, mostly because it seemed unfair for him not to reply when his own name had been called so many times. He wasn't sure when exactly it had happened, but his body felt light, almost insubstantial, even as Usagi-san's fingers tangled themselves gently in his hair; he was glad that Usagi-san's body felt so firm and real against his side.
"Misaki. I love you. Misaki."
Usagi-san's voice was echoing. Or Misaki was sinking, still weightless, into nothing. Or he had been dreaming this entire time, and was only just now waking up.
Through swollen lips, Misaki felt no shame at telling Usagi-san that he loved him too.