Greeting Haru and Ikuya upon their return was very similar to seeing them off. Except this time, they had more stuff to carry.

The moment that they'd both managed to step off the bus and get clear of the crowd of other swimmers around them, Makoto was something of a blur, shooting past all conceivable senses, and he nearly body slammed poor Haru to the ground. The only thing that prevented that was the vice grip of his bear hug locking around the smaller boy, and Asahi couldn't even begin to understand how Haru managed to take so much body barreling into him without flinching. But he supposed that could be considered Haru's equivalent of jumping into Makoto's arms. And almost immediately, they were lost in a bout of feverish kissing that no one could break them out of for a good, long, almost-uncomfortable, while.

It carried on for so long, in fact, that the rest of them managed to find a resting spot off to the side where they dragged and dropped all of the luggage, and Ikuya started unzipping things and handing out the souvenirs he'd promised to get — which did in fact include a hilariously gaudy purple headdress for Kisumi that the man in question didn't comment on, but held onto with admiring fingers for the rest of the night. For Asahi, Ikuya had snagged a jersey that he had gotten hundreds of athletes from around the world to sign, on the pretext that he would be giving it to "a friend who deserved to be there."

Asahi was upset, because he'd never encountered a gift that made him speechless, and all he could think to do to show his appreciation was punch Ikuya in the arm. That was about when Makoto and Haru finally rejoined them. Haru's eyes took in the jersey in Asahi's hands, and it seemed to remind him of his own gifts that he had procured.

"Oh, I got you something," he said to Makoto as he dug around in his backpack.

"For me?" Makoto smiled, leaning in curiously to peek over the top of Haru's bag.

Haru pulled out a black, flashlight-looking device that he immediately started adjusting switches on. Makoto watched him with a furrowed brow.

"What is it?"

"I'll show you."

Haru flipped one more switch, then walked right up to Asahi and jabbed him in the neck with a taser. His body locked up instantly, seizing with a shocking pain that shot through every single nerve he had like they were all being snapped straight at once.

"FfffUCK!"

It was over in an instant, but then he was on his hands in knees, gasping for air like he'd just taken a beating in a boxing ring.

"Holy shit," said Ikuya's disembodied voice, and it was surrounded by Hiyori's hysteric laughter.

"There," Haru said, after turning his eyes away unapologetically. He slapped the stun gun into Makoto's hand. Makoto was just staring with his mouth open.

"Fu- … Fucking hell," Asahi huffed, muscles still twitching restlessly as he tried to get the ground to stay underneath him. He clutched at a stitch in his side. "Haru, what the fuck?"

"Conversation had," Haru said. "Take that as a warning. I won't be nice next time."

"Haru," Makoto whined, turning his eyes to his boyfriend as he dropped the taser by his side. "You said you weren't mad."

"Not at you." Haru shrugged.

"How did you get that on the plane?" Hiyori asked. To which, Haru did not respond.

Ikuya's giggling voice suddenly drifted closer, and Asahi found himself being pulled to his feet. "What a lucky bastard," he said, patting Asahi on the shoulder — but also keeping him from falling back over as he blinked the dizziness from his eyes. "You should have seen his face when he got that phone call. I thought for sure he was going to kill you." Ikuya shook his head with a click of his tongue. "Stupid Asahi."

Asahi weakly pushed him away, only earning more teasing giggles. He held a hand to his neck and squinted at Haru, still incredibly out of breath. Haru had not a lick of sorrow to spare, but he did reach into his bag for something else.

"I got you something too," he said, this time to Asahi.

He flinched away the moment Haru straightened his back again. He squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for more pain, but what came instead was Haru slipping something over his head that dropped heavily against his chest. He blinked his eyes back open and looked down at the gold medal hanging from his neck. It wasn't until then that his muscles went still.

He slid a palm underneath the medal and held it closer to his face, watching it glint in the city lights as he inspected the five rings of the Olympic symbol engraved on the front, and decided from the weight of it that it probably wasn't made out of plastic. Again, the words weren't there, but this time he was just confused, so his eyes turned up to the blue ones watching him.

"I … I-I don't …" None of the questions he had came out, so he settled with shaking his head and hoping Haru would answer.

His friend shrugged again, like it didn't matter, but there was something different behind his eyes that Asahi couldn't read as anything other than tender. "If you had been on our relay team, we would have gotten gold," he said simply. "You should have a medal too."

Out of the corner of his eye, he just saw Makoto reach up to cup his hands over his nose, stun gun hanging from a wrist strap on his arm now. Asahi felt something massive give a very tiny shift, like the tectonic plates moving a centimeter to the right, and for the briefest moment — with the gold medal around his neck, the signed jersey over his arm, and Makoto getting ready to lose it just a couple feet away — it was like that mountain of emotions, that pile of everything he'd been so carelessly tossing on top of each other, just narrowly missed completely crumbling into a rock slide.

He tried to speak. "But … this … is yours," his voice said slowly.

Haru's response was another shrug. "Not really. And anyway, I have other ones." He was already turning away and tossing his book bag back over his shoulder before he finished his quiet comment.

He was the first one to decide they were done standing around as he walked off toward the car, and on his way, he pulled one more thing out of his pocket and placed it in Kisumi's hand. Their gazes locked for all of one weightless second, during which Asahi was now confident that there was a very certain and very specifically Haru kind of tenderness deeply set in those blue eyes, but he turned his head away again and kept on walking, and then the rest of them had no choice but to follow and go home.

It was a rose gold figa charm strung on a thin chain. A tiny fist, which, in Brazil — according to Asahi's research — was a talisman of good luck meant to protect the wearer from evil and negative energy. It was something that could only be given as a gift, never bought for oneself, and it had to be treated with great care, lest it break and cause the opposite effect.

That was the thing that Haru had put into Kisumi's hand.

And now, Asahi sat with his elbows on the homework table, rotating the small charm between his fingers as he peered at it and mostly tried to get the concept through his head that Nanase Haruka had given Shigino Kisumi a symbolic and meaningful gift that was meant to protect him. Once a thought so inconceivable that he might have laughed at the smallest mention of it, and yet here it was in his hands, tangible proof that Haruka legitimately considered Kisumi a friend.

It was incredible. Asahi could almost forgive him for tasing him in the neck. And yes, okay, he probably deserved that, but that was beside the point. He should have seen it coming anyway.

Thunk … thunk … thunk …

He lifted his eyes over his fingers to Kisumi, who was lying back on the bed, repeatedly tossing a basketball up over his head and catching it again. Every now and then he'd let it bounce off of the wall before it fell back into his palms, and his eyes watched it spin with an entranced boredom that Asahi continuously wondered whether or not he should interrupt.

He'd been doing this for a good half-hour already, expression still the same blank canvas of unfeeling that now brought a prickle to the back of Asahi's neck. Nothing had been said between them for hours, since they'd returned from classes and finished their responsibilities for the day. Akane had again forced Asahi to take time off, threatening to fire him if he didn't, and today had been a morning practice day, during which, not much practicing had been done anyway, because everyone was still hyped up on Haru's return, and most of it had been taken up by their coach and the university president taking turns talking about the "pride of the school," or something like that. Asahi hadn't really been listening.

He had cooked dinner, once he and Kisumi had gotten home, and Kisumi hadn't eaten it, which was not a surprise. He had excused himself in silence to take another long shower, and Asahi hadn't bothered him this time. Instead, he'd taken the time to leisurely clean up their living space, and had eventually decided to sit down and try doing some homework, and that's where they were now.

Obviously, he'd gotten distracted, and now that he understood Haru's gift to Kisumi, he wondered if Kisumi had taken the time to look into it himself, because he wasn't wearing it, and Asahi got this sour pit in the bottom of his stomach that made him feel like he really should be. He didn't know how to bring that up, though. Despite how quiet and uneventful the evening was, it didn't seem like the moment for a casual conversation about good luck charms and protective talismans.

In truth, they hadn't said much to each other at all since that night at the Nanase house, and Asahi didn't have half a clue as to how to approach that silence in general. He couldn't glean what was going on in Kisumi's mind, couldn't tell if he was mad, or bitter, or just tired. He didn't know if there was a specific conversation that needed to be had in order for the tension to break between them, and he wasn't sure if breaking that tension was even a smart move or not. But he certainly wanted it broken, and he could not deny that.

He was living with a phantom — a barely tangible presence that just hovered in and out of the same space he did. It didn't mind him, didn't talk to him, didn't look at him, didn't interact with him. It appeared to have no aim, no purpose, no plot, no ploy, and yet it was stuck wandering as though trapped in a space it had long since given up trying to leave. And somehow that was the scariest part, because Asahi feared that one day his ghostly roommate would just sit down and wait to wither away like a dry sand dune against the wind, and he didn't have the hands to hold it. It would slip right through the spaces between his fingers.

Thunk … thunk … thunk …

Asahi absently passed his thumb in circles over the charm in his hand as he lowered his fists to the table and just elected to stare at Kisumi's hair for a while. It was the one thing about him that hadn't changed. The one part of Kisumi that was still silky, and soft, and full of pretty waves and pink feelings. He still thought about cherry blossoms when he looked at Kisumi's hair, still thought about chocolate chip waffles, and kisses, and just-for-Asahi smiles. And if he let himself fall deep enough into those things, then he'd sometimes find himself scanning the rest of Kisumi for memories, for good things, and warmth. Then he would remember how pretty Kisumi was and notice that he was still pretty, and when he noticed that he was still pretty, he would adamantly force to the side anything about this ghostly boy that was anything less than the pretty Kisumi he knew.

Kisumi had long legs, slender arms, and a delicate neck. The color of his eyes still shifted in the sunlight, and he had an overall very beautifully ambiguous face, with soft cheeks, an attractive jaw, and feminine lips. Asahi wondered — if maybe there was something in Kisumi that was still soft, something that just needed a little nudge, or a touch, or a gentle caress.

He found his teeth worrying the inside of his lip, and his fingers set the lucky charm back down on the table. He stood, picked his way across the room and stopped beside the bed, where Kisumi didn't acknowledge him, until Asahi reached out and caught the ball before it could make it back into Kisumi's hands. Then those purple eyes looked up at him, and they said nothing, but Asahi decided he didn't need them to. He released the basketball to the floor, dropped a knee on the bed, and leaned over to place a kiss on Kisumi's lips.

He didn't know what his aim was, or at least, there was no inherent goal regarding where he wanted that to go. He was just following the motions of what he felt might elicit something. He was very aware that Kisumi might very likely push him away, tell him no, or break his heart altogether, and he would have accepted any one of those things. He just needed something. What he got wasn't anything that had crossed his mind as a possibility, but he didn't knock it either.

Kisumi accepted the kiss. Not only that, but he kissed Asahi back. Not only that, but he kissed Asahi back very fervently. His tongue was hot and eager, sliding into Asahi's mouth. His arms reached up and wrapped around the back of his neck, and he lifted he shoulders off of the bed, pushing Asahi back until he was sitting. He made himself taller, crowding Asahi with an eagerness that he did not mind for a second. In fact, he was a bit surprised — maybe a little more than a bit — and all he knew to do in response was deepen the kiss with Kisumi, snake his arms around his waist, run his hands up his back, and not question it at all when Kisumi moved to straddle his legs and sank down on his lap. Asahi did exhale — a very long breath that was just a little more than a sigh — and his fingers clenched and unclenched around the fabric of Kisumi's shirt, the tendons in his arms trembling with a sudden burning energy that immediately colored his face and the back of his neck.

Kisumi's body started rutting against him, and a broken moan escaped Asahi's chest as the pulses of southbound need that he had just started to completely give up on suddenly came to life again. His mind went blank, filled with a static that put pressure on his ears and brought his heart up into his temples, like cranking a bucket of water out of a deep, dark well, where it had been floating forgotten for eons. He almost couldn't drink it fast enough. The thirst was too dehydrated to be appeased by small, slow sips of gratitude. And it wasn't asking to be consumed in that way either.

They were both feverish. Shaking, clumsy, and overstimulated by even the smallest touches — except that their hands were all over each other, and they were throwing off their shirts, and breathing heavily across each other's skin, and desperately consuming every kiss and bite to the lip that they could get to while their bodies rocked together not at all seamlessly, but in a way that made the hunt for gratification that much more urgent.

Asahi was hot and cold, and full and empty, and relieved and frantic all at the same time. It felt good, but there was also a knot of raw emotion in his throat that he couldn't swallow back, so he turned over to return Kisumi to his back, and pulled the sweatpants from his waist instead. Kisumi chased that by freeing his legs from his briefs as well and both were tossed to the floor without a second thought — really even without a first thought. There were no first thoughts in removing the rest of Asahi's clothes either. He didn't even think he did it himself, but also didn't remember Kisumi sitting back up to very quickly push everything off of his hips, and then hook an arm around his neck to sink back down onto the bed again.

Insatiable fingers pulled at his hair, and raked down his back and grabbed at his ass, and did it all over and over again in a random pattern of demand, pushing and pulling at his body as though it needed any encouragement to grind down on the one beneath him. Kisumi's skin was so warm, his limbs so long, his grip surprisingly strong for how much muscle he'd managed to lose at this point. He wasn't skin and bones, but he was so easy to hold, so easy to engulf, and maneuver, and touch. Asahi's hands were just as restless, sliding up and down Kisumi's body, grabbing at his thighs, measuring his waist, and marveling at the texture of his skin.

He couldn't believe this was happening, but also it was a thought that just barely made it to the cortex of his mind. He couldn't believe it was happening, but that was it. It was just happening and he was just in awe, and the whys, and the hows, and the but what abouts were all irrelevant.

"Asahi," Kisumi gasped into his mouth. It was the first thing he'd said to him in probably a solid three days, and it was the kind of call that expressed its need to say more.

Asahi was listening, but he was also still pulling ardently on Kisumi's lips with his own. And Kisumi's hips were still consistently and deliciously lifting up to meet with Asahi's. He really couldn't respond, but Kisumi found a way to continue anyway.

"I want you to fuck me," he whispered, with just the right amount of pleading in his tone that sent a marvelous shiver down Asahi's spine.

It wasn't that he wasn't going to. He just hadn't thought about it in such concrete terms. And now that he did, he found the haze of carnal instinct breaking up just enough for him to catch a couple more thoughts and actually formulate words that made it out of his mouth too.

"Okay," he breathed, body still moving, lips still kissing. "Mm … Do we … Do we have any —"

"No, we don't. It doesn't matter," Kisumi exhaled in a rush, already shaking his head.

And something about that started to raise the smallest of flags in the back of Asahi's mind, but then he was aware of Kisumi's fingers curling around his shaft, and he experienced a pull of desire so strong that it was swept out of his mind in an instant. It was like Kisumi had found the remote control and just discovered the button that shut off common sense. Asahi melted against him with a moan, hands moving up to cradle his face as he responded with deeper kisses.

He was entranced by the up and down of Kisumi's fist and the way his pelvis responded to it. He didn't notice Kisumi dropping his hips and shifting underneath him, didn't notice that he was being guided closer and lower, until that thought suddenly became concrete again when he found himself at a gateway he'd never been to before.

Another small moan made it through his nose, but this time it was the effort of him trying in his haze to turn the common sense back on.

"Wait, wait," he breathed, finally pulling himself away from Kisumi's lips, and somehow managing to remove the hand that was holding him. "You're not … Don't we … You're not ready yet."

A pull of impatience made it to Kisumi's brow and his hands grabbed at Asahi's waist to pull him back. "I'm ready. It's fine."

"No." This time Asahi shook his head, capturing Kisumi's hands when he tried to reach between his legs again. He was gentle about it when he pinned his wrists to the bed above his head. "Let me get you there. I can get you there. Okay?" He placed a chaste kiss on Kisumi's lips this time when Kisumi's impatience started to turn into a soft scowl. He passed a soothing hand up and down the side of Kisumi's waist. "Let me do it," he whispered.

Kisumi didn't respond, so Asahi placed one more kiss on his lips, then made a trail down from his cheek to his neck, to his collarbone, and then his chest, hoping that it would ease whatever tension was beginning to bundle itself up in Kisumi.

They didn't have anything that would have made this process easier, and Asahi's brain wasn't the kind that could work fast enough to come up with an alternate, outside solution. So he licked his fingers — several times — before starting with one and slowly entering the gateway to Kisumi's body that he had never touched like this before. He continued peppering Kisumi's torso with kisses, placing a few low on his stomach, and when he received no reaction from the other boy, he went ahead and worked a second finger into the equation.

Kisumi's body shifted, just the smallest bit. His spine pulled in for a moment and his chest lifted with a quiet breath, before settling back down with a stubbornness that was strained. Asahi kissed his way back up to Kisumi's chest and paused to tease a nipple, earning a flinch and yet more resistance, especially as he pushed his fingers deeper and rotated them carefully, pressing against the inner walls of Kisumi's body in search of a response.

It was working, but something about Kisumi's body didn't want to admit it for the longest time. Asahi found that he wasn't in a rush anymore though. The tone of the moment had changed somewhere, and he was less feverish about getting his own needs met, and more insistent about untangling the knots that had Kisumi wound up so tightly. He wanted him to feel good. That had always been an aim. So he made every move and touch intentional and thoughtful, as full of care and understanding as he could make it. He didn't want to fuck Kisumi. He wanted to love him, and he wanted Kisumi to know that. Because he did.

He grazed the sensitive tissue on Kisumi chest with his teeth and then moved to the other side, curling his fingers at a new angle at the same time, and finally Kisumi exhaled a short and heavy sigh, body shifting again. His hips started to move, bearing down on Asahi's fingers, in search of that same pleasure, and Asahi gave it to him — several times, lifting his head to watch the crease deepen on Kisumi's brow as he closed his eyes and let his head sink back. His exhales got heavier and longer, and every now and then were interlaced with the smallest whimpers. Asahi retuned to touching his torso with soothing kisses. Kisumi's body shivered.

"More," he breathed quietly, that same tone of pleading returning twice as thick. "Asahi, more."

Asahi obliged with another finger, and this time the sound that Kisumi made was wanton and clipped and much louder. He grabbed the sheets over his head and hid his face from view. Asahi continued, finding that same spot of pleasure much easier this time, and now he used his free hand to massage gentle attention into the erection lying on Kisumi's stomach. Kisumi huffed out a gasp, body tensing even more. His hips still seemed to be moving of their own accord, but his arms very intentionally pressed closer to his face. It wasn't long before he dove back into impatience and reached down to pull Asahi back up, hungrily kiss his mouth, and push his hands away, shimmying his body beneath his urgently.

"Asahi, please," he whined against his lips. "Now, please."

This was about when Asahi really started to notice his heart thrumming his chest. He kissed Kisumi, cradling his head between his palms again.

"Are you sure?"

Kisumi nodded vigorously, body still restless and rubbing up against Asahi's to reiterate his desperation. "Yes."

It was enticing, but common sense still made him hesitate, even as he licked his fingers again and tried to get himself ready. "Have you done this before?" he asked a little breathlessly.

Kisumi shook his head. "No. It doesn't matter."

"It matters a little bit. I've never done this before either. Maybe we should —"

He found himself being yanked back down the moment he tried to sit up on his knees to look around.

"No," Kisumi stated roughly, in a way that startled Asahi's heart into his throat. "Just put it in."

Asahi could feel his ears turning red, everything about this suddenly uncomfortable. He very subtly tried his luck with pulling back again, but Kisumi's grip was solid. "Kisumi, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere. I just really think we should pause for a minute. There has to be something we can —"

"Asahi, it's fine," Kisumi insisted, throwing his forehead into Asahi's shoulder, his fingers curling hard against Asahi's skin. Asahi could feel that thin body vibrating with frustration. "I don't want to wait. We don't have to pause."

"Kisumi, you're way too tense right now —"

"I am not."

"I don't want to hurt y- …"

"I want it to hurt!" he shouted, breaking away to throw his fists against Asahi's chest.

It was more shocking than it was painful, and Asahi just stared down at the flush of anger flooding the tops of Kisumi's cheeks. His heart was pounding, now with something that hurt him somewhere deep on the inside, and the way that Kisumi glared up at him just made it worse.

He didn't like it. Kisumi wasn't with him, he was detached. He was somewhere else, and Asahi hadn't noticed that until just now.

He didn't know what to do, but he couldn't stand looking at that face, so he forced the tension of concern in his muscles to relax and hovered closer.

"Okay," he whispered. He placed a kiss on Kisumi's forehead, palm petting his waist again. He looked Kisumi in the eye to convey as best he could that he understood, and he nodded. "Okay. It's okay."

Kisumi's body shuddered as he exhaled stiffly through his nose, because his jaw was too busy clenching to let his lips part. A disconcerting gloss of something Asahi couldn't name passed over Kisumi's eyes, and Asahi placed his hand now on his chest as he slowly sat back on his knees.

"Relax."

Kisumi's jaw flexed. There was still a stubbornness about him that wanted to refuse Asahi's comfort, but he forced himself to take several deep breaths. His glare never really softened, but the crease on his brow became increasingly plagued by a type of emotion Asahi didn't understand. The only thing he could definitively read from Kisumi was that he needed Asahi to do something. So he dropped his gaze and slicked up his shaft as much as he could, as quickly as he could. Then he positioned himself with more calculated thought than he'd ever given anything in his life, and gave Kisumi one more unsure glance.

That lavender gaze didn't back down. It was piercingly cold, and Asahi couldn't meet it directly for too long, so he moved on and pressed forward slowly — like slowly. It wasn't like he was packing a lethal weapon, but he was on the girthier side of the gene pool, probably still very average, but enough that taking his time was most assuredly warranted, because Kisumi was tight — for several reasons — and it took a very long, hovering moment for his body to even allow Asahi in.

It was … hard to explain the feeling, because all conscious thought really wanted to fly right out the window, the very moment that his neglected manhood received even the smallest bit of its first warm hug from another human being. He shivered all over, leaning forward to hover over Kisumi's body and curl his fingers into the bed sheets.

Resisting the urge to shove was surprisingly difficult, but listening to Kisumi's soft exhales trying to adjust to the new presence helped him to remain controlled. And so the process moved at an aching snail-pace, centimeter by centimeter, until he was as in as in could be. Then he just hovered there, trembling out of control and trying not to immediately sweat. Also, he was already breathing quite hard. They both were.

"Are you okay?" he whispered feebly, really unable to get his voice any louder than that.

Kisumi nodded, his eyes now closed and jaw so tight it was probably in danger of splintering. "Go," was all that he said, so Asahi hunkered down and started moving as carefully as he could make himself.

The tingle of rightness, despite the situation, was immediate. His body belonged there and it knew it, and that dehydrated thirst forced its way back to the foreground, demanding attention. But he refused, even as Kisumi's voice grazed his ear with an attractive moan and his fingers pulled at his back, begging him to give in all at once just as much as his own instinct demanded it. He dropped his forehead onto Kisumi's shoulder, arms curling around him, breath bouncing back into his ears with a loud echo, and he strained himself to make it gradual. His shallow "moving" became a rhythmic push and pull, which became a steady exploration, and then made its way up to a modest tempo of thrusting that already had him hiding his groans in Kisumi's chest.

"Fuck," he breathed, head swimming in an even thicker haze of static. He'd never felt anything like this.

Kisumi's breathing was shallow and fell in time with the cadence of Asahi's thrusting. For a moment, Kisumi also seemed to get lost in a haze somewhere, but it was just a moment, just enough time for his body to understand and adjust to what was happening, and then his fingers started digging and pulling again, trying to get a grip on Asahi's body, while lifting his hips again to meet it. A slightly distressed whine broke away from his chest.

"More, Asahi, more," he moaned, head dropping back.

Asahi's body was already super willing, so it obliged. He moved himself further up Kisumi's body and lined their noses to kiss his lips and pick up the pace, eliciting several broken gasps that Asahi licked up with his tongue. His fingers buried themselves in Kisumi's hair, thriving in the luscious texture, and his nose faintly picked up that nostalgic scent of orange, which he had never once labeled as shampoo until just now.

He found himself incredibly hungry, and so, settled with consuming Kisumi's neck with kisses, and licks, and literal bites. The prickle and sticky moistness of an oncoming sweat had already passed, and his back and hairline were already just wet. But he didn't mind, and he didn't care, and he hardly noticed, because being in Kisumi's body took all the little nuances of being human and blended them together into one raw moment of pique existence.

"Fuck," he groaned again, body instinctually changing the rhythm with deeper thrusts, one hand leaving Kisumi's hair to scramble for purchase on his hip.

Kisumi's lilting whimper to this shift made Asahi's very bones shiver. Kisumi's hips dropped open even more, legs hooking around Asahi's, fingers now scratching down his back.

"Harder," he gasped. "Harder."

Asahi plowed harder, driving his hips forward with more force that pulled louder moans out of Kisumi's throat, and he feasted on it. It didn't occur to him that his body wasn't going to have the stamina to stay in this for very long, even though he desperately wanted to. This was his first time inhabiting another body, and the stimulation of such a new experience was shocking, raw, and insanely intense. He was used to lasting a while when he spent this kind of time alone, but that very quickly became nuanced as well, as the yawning cavern of ecstasy prepared itself for a flood. He shivered, and shivered again.

Kisumi's hips rutted up to meet his with near abandon, his erection rocking between their stomachs. His breath was hot and heavy in Asahi's ear, arms squeezing him tightly. "More, more," he begged. "Asahi, more."

The only notch up that Asahi had was to completely ram him with both force and speed, so he obeyed — with no complaints, but it was clear even more quickly that he most definitely didn't have it in him to keep that up for long. And it started to break through in his own breathless panting, the long, weightless moans of pleasure that rose slowly in octave. Kisumi was even louder, and the impact of their bodies clashing sat itself right on top.

"Oh fuck, Kisumi," he gasped, already losing his grip on the rhythm, which just became more frantic. He felt like he had nothing to hold onto, and yet he was practically pressing bruises into Kisumi's skin.

"Don't stop," Kisumi pleaded, nails breaking the skin of Asahi's back. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop."

A dense breath fell out of Asahi's lungs and it was full of exhaustion already, full of strain, full of exertion. He was trying. He didn't want to stop. He wanted to keep giving Kisumi everything he was asking for. He'd been longing for this for so long. He didn't want it to end so soon, but he could feel the pulsing contractions threatening to let go, and it was simply amazing how impossible it was to hold it back. The trembling was beyond containment.

"K-Kisumi …"

"More, Asahi, please don't stop."

He didn't have anymore. He already felt like a water balloon one prick away from bursting, but Kisumi's dry sobs and clinging body were so desperate. He feared what would happen if he stopped. But he honestly had no choice.

"I can't, I can't," he moaned into Kisumi's neck.

He meant to pull out, but Kisumi's ankles were locked around his lower back, and there was no time to remedy that. The band snapped, and he was submerged all at once in hot, trembling bliss with shock waves so intense, he lost all of his senses. His body still moved on its own, instinctually, riding the tide until he was empty and sapped of all his everything, which actually took a lot longer than was normal, and somehow in the midst of it, he felt Kisumi's body shudder underneath his, but was only just aware.

The descent back to earth was slow, and started with the abnormally loud tune of his own groans slowly dying away and turning into the shallow attempt to catch his breath. Then his body jolted, as though shocked by one last streak of lightning before the sinews in his muscles unraveled, and he just barely caught himself from fully collapsing into jelly on top of Kisumi. And then as the seconds started to pass, with his and Kisumi's chests fighting for air, he noticed how wet everything was, how quickly his body temperature was beginning to drop, how immediately sleepy his eyes became, and all he wanted was to just sink into the mattress with Kisumi in his arms and hover in that thing they called an afterglow probably forever. But it didn't happen like that.

A brief, but very pregnant, silence settled between them for all of a moment, and then Kisumi's breathing changed. His body trembled beneath Asahi's, and Asahi pushed himself back up. Kisumi's hands were covering his face, his skin flushed with color, but Asahi didn't really need much more than that to notice the darkness converging back into the place it had long since invaded and claimed as its home.

The sobs started small and quiet at first, just barely slipping through the cracks between Kisumi's fingers. Asahi's body tensed against the new cold, but that was all the acknowledgement he gave it. He tucked his hands under Kisumi's arms and pulled him up, nudging his elbows away to guide his face into his shoulder where the tears were hot sliding down his already wet skin. He curled his arms securely around him and turned his nose into his neck.

It always felt different, every time he held Kisumi like this and listened to him cry. But something about this was darker than any moment they'd experienced before, and it left him with an unfulfilled weight settling in the very bottom of his stomach. The hopelessness had finally found its way in, and he just sat there as it wormed its way through his intestines and turned him cold on the inside too. His arms tightened around the Kisumi he knew, and still adamantly refused to let him go, but Kisumi was already gone.