A/N: Marya asked me to write a Nakada breathplay fic, and I didn't think I could. I swore up and down that I didn't get Nakada, that I couldn't write it, but this weekend I had a bit of a eureka moment and this quick little scene popped into my head. So Marya and all you other Nakada lovers out there – I hope I got it right!
I wrote this while listening to various gothy 80s music – Siouxsie and the Banshees, Echo and the Bunnymen, Bauhaus, New Order, Killing Joke, The Mission U.K., The Birthday Party, Cocteau Twins, etc.
Enjoy!
When Okada got like this, Nakamura was the only one who could make it right.
Not that Okada loved the entire process.
Going to bed with Nakamura could be, well, a bit overwhelming. There was a lot of noise, a lot of sweat, and a lot of hair. So much hair.
He didn't know if Nakamura meant to worship him or devour him.
Nakamura's mouth was everywhere, it felt like, absolutely everywhere. Wet and sloppy. Okada hated the feeling of spit drying on his skin, hated the primal delight in Nakamura's eyes, hated how exposed it all made him feel.
But Okada liked the shivers that coursed through him when Nakamura licked just right, always seeming to find the perfect spots. He liked when Nakamura's teeth grazed his neck and made sparks rain through his nerves - so good the only thing he could do was laugh. He liked the weight of Nakamura's body on his, liked feeling hidden and crushed and small enough to disappear.
Sometimes Nakamura growled so loudly in Okada's ear that Okada wanted to throw him across the room. But sometimes Nakamura murmured against Okada's skin that he was beautiful – such a weird, quiet thing amidst this storm – and Okada wanted him to stay forever.
Okada lay on his side now, the side of his face pressed into a pillow, his legs curled up just a bit. One of Nakamura's hands held him at just the right angle, and Nakamura fucked him with deep, long, slow strokes, each one giving him a flutter of the best kind of butterflies in his stomach, like some exquisite roller coaster. He didn't understand how it was possible for Nakamura to make him feel quite like this. He'd been with better-equipped men. But, as much as he didn't like to admit it, there was something Nakamura knew that they didn't.
A lot of things, really. Which is why Okada kept coming back in spite of it all.
Nakamura had three of his fingers in Okada's mouth by now, and Okada sucked on them like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to the Earth. If Nakamura hit a particularly good spot, Okada bit down, which made Nakamura groan like the happiest sort of beast. At any other time, it would have been off-putting.
All the pleasure built up in Okada like an anxious shaking mass, trapped and desperate to escape. Okada's fingers curled tentatively around his cock, and he choked back the vague nausea of shame that always came when he had to do this in front of someone else. He whined around Nakamura's fingers, but he knew Nakamura's hands would remain otherwise occupied. Really, he had to admit, it was better this way.
It wasn't long before Okada felt himself starting to get close. His hips rocked into his fist. Moans escaped his lips, louder than he would've liked, particularly when Nakamura pulled his fingers out of his mouth and rested them on his throat.
Nakamura's voice was so low in Okada's ear he could barely hear it. "You want it?" Nakamura asked.
"Please," Okada said.
Nakamura squeezed Okada's throat just right, and Okada faded into that soft platinum flash, into those few quiet gorgeous seconds of sweet oblivion. When Okada came back, the bliss of everything felt magnified, and the disgust blurred.
Nakamura slammed hard into Okada now, sucking at the back of Okada's neck, mumbling something Okada couldn't understand through the glittering haze that filled his mind. Okada stroked himself fast now – so close, but it wasn't enough.
"Do it again," Okada pleaded. "Don't stop."
Okada had barely finished his sentence before Nakamura squeezed his neck again, and his whole being sparkled into that glorious silvery, silent light of irresistible bliss. He faded back into himself with a gasp, his head buzzing, every sensation glittering around the edges and beautifully magnified, his hand somehow not managing to lose its rhythm.
After a few moments, Nakamura squeezed again. The light was somehow brighter now, and when he came back, that lush glittering haze was somehow heavier. The cycle continued, each time fantastically brighter, until Okada came, feeling like he shattered into a million crystal shards and floated from himself, so far gone he barely noticed Nakamura coming, too, as loud and frantic as it was.
When Okada could think again, he was draped over Nakamura's chest, Nakamura's arms wrapped tightly around him, his head moving up and down a bit with each of Nakamura's deep breaths, feeling warm and safe and hidden. Aside from the sound of their breathing, the room was quiet, and for once, so was Okada's mind.