Originally written in December 2019.
Like always, Doppo is quick to melt under pressure.
Even if said pressure is physical, and there isn't a single hint of intimidation — it's just Jakurai's body hovering over him, pushing him down against the bed. Long fingers trail along his spine, ghost touches send shivers down his back. Doppo's so weak, really weak (what else is to be expected of him?), so he doesn't fight back. He doesn't want to.
His body is limp as his arms hit the mattress with a soft 'thud', sliding away from Jakurai's angelic face. It's so hard to breathe; he pushes the air away from his lungs in long sighs, but it's not enough, none of this is enough. Relentless cravings eat away at him, begging to be filled, so the itching at the bottom of his throat will fade away, so his heart will stop crashing so fucking hard against his rib cages. He needs more. He can't take this anymore.
Doppo clings to Jakurai's clothes as his lips draw closer, kissing the side of his neck. He wants to grab fistfuls of his hair, pull on it. He settles on biting his lover's shoulder — there's something that tells him to go ahead and do it, to be as aggressive as his body is demanding him to be. He clutches a little harder on Jakurai's shirt and holds back the moans bubbling up his chest. Instead, he settles on focusing on his breathing: inhale, exhale, inhale... It doesn't make it any easier to tolerate the fever eating away at his skin. He can't sweat it out.
Only a doctor could help him right now.
He calls for Jakurai, a pathetic noise escaping from his lips. His reaction is to pull away and stare at Doppo with a sweetness that feels dissonant to the situation. His voice drips with fondness as he whispers an "I love you", and he's unable to answer more than a throaty hum and a nod. Jakurai smiles at the mess under him, wrapping his arms around it with a little more strength this time. It burns, Doppo whines, it burns everywhere and there's not enough air in this room. It's terrible. He wants to drown in this feeling.
Even after shirt and trousers are tossed away, nothing changes. If anything, the heat is being turned up; sweat trickles down his nape, hair glued to the skin. It's overwhelming in many ways, all at once. Wet kisses are spread all over his body, and it's amazing — unbelievable — how Jakurai's hands can reach every single inch of his, how every touch lingers and seems to leave a mark behind. His voice is raspy against Doppo's ears, singing words of love and praise. It's too much. He can't take this anymore. He let his eyes roll back and his throat open up, allowing himself to express each part of him that's crumbling down. Gasping for air one last time, he tries to forget about how much his body is shaking.
He grabs on to Jakurai's back, still calling for his name among that feverish haze, and makes an oath.
"I want to devote myself to this man. I want to give my life to him."
It's such a suffocating feeling.