Author's Notes:

Hey, everyone! There were a couple hiccups with the posting/notifications for the previous chapter. Just wanted to give everyone a heads-up, since a lot of important plot/relationship stuff happened that you probably ought to read before you start on this one.

Warning: Explicit content in this chapter.


Chapter Ten

Twenty minutes later, they stagger across the threshold of Ryuuo's apartment. Ryuuo shoves the door shut with his hip and twists the deadbolt, his free hand roaming across Syaoran's neck, snagging on the collar of his shirt. Syaoran sheds his coat, stumbling over it as Ryuuo pushes him toward the couch, discarding his own jacket with jerky movements.

Their mouths haven't separated since they stepped through the door. Ryuuo catches Syaoran's lip between his teeth, nibbling gently as his fingers hook in Syaoran's waistband, tugging downward. Panting, Syaoran unsnaps the button of his jeans. As he does, the waistband loosens enough for Ryuuo to pull the garment the last few inches down his hips, and the jeans drop to pool around his ankles. The sudden coolness raises the hairs on his exposed skin, and his thighs twitch at the myriad sensations as Ryuuo ruts against him, breathless. "I need to know if you have any triggers."

"Triggers?" he repeats, confused.

Ryuuo must hear the confusion in his voice, because he elaborates a moment later. "Anything that makes you uncomfortable or brings back bad memories. Things like how you don't like it when someone gets too close to your eyes."

"Oh." He tilts his head back, exposing his throat. Ryuuo takes the hint, pressing kisses along the side of his neck. Distracted as he is, it takes Syaoran a few seconds to gather his thoughts. "I have issues with feeling trapped."

Ryuuo nuzzles his collarbone, right where he left a hickey nearly a week ago now. "Okay, what else?"

"I . . ." It's getting harder to think; pleasure enshrouds him like a fog, softening everything else into a gauzy haze. He clears his throat. "I don't think I'd do well being restrained."

"Good to know." Ryuuo unfastens his own jeans, letting them drop, then removes his shirt before helping Syaoran out of his own. "Anywhere you don't like to be touched?"

"My eyes," he says at once. "But you already knew that."

"Mm." Ryuuo's fingernails graze Syaoran's shoulders, possessive yet careful. It's a stark contrast to the friction of their hips dragging together through their underwear. They haven't even fully undressed yet, and already the need for release coils tight inside him. He slows his breathing, resisting the pure, animal desire to simply rut against Ryuuo until he reaches that peak.

"What about you?" he asks, chest heaving.

"M'not picky. Just don't pull too hard on my hair, 'kay?" Ryuuo's mouth finds his midway through the last sentence, muffling his words. This kiss lasts a solid minute and sends ripples of warmth down Syaoran's body. "Anything specific you want to try?"

"I . . . I'm not sure. I've never done this before."

Ryuuo grunts, teeth scraping across Syaoran's shoulder. Hesitantly, Syaoran reaches up, running his fingers gently through the other boy's hair. It's thicker than he expects, soft but dense, and smells faintly of sawdust. "We—" Ryuuo draws in a trembling breath, looping his arms around Syaoran's shoulders. "My bedroom's down the hall."

The words send desire sparking through his body. He kisses Ryuuo again, the two of them shuffling awkwardly toward the hallway, nearly tripping over the piles of abandoned clothes scattered across the floor.

They make it to the bedroom. Syaoran's hip collides with the doorframe on their way in. "Sorry," Ryuuo says, drawing back, just a little, so they can maneuver through the doorway without falling all over themselves.

A plush bed draped in a gray, argyle-patterned comforter dominates the room, raised up on four metal pegs. They fall on top of it in a tangle of arms and legs, each of them seeking to get as close to the other as possible. As their bodies press together, Syaoran feels the rigid length of Ryuuo's shaft through the thin cotton of their underwear and pushes up against it, groaning as Ryuuo whimpers beneath him. "We should probably finish undressing now," Ryuuo says, voice hoarse.

Syaoran nods, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Ryuuo's briefs and tugging them downward. His own follow a moment later, fluttering to the slate-gray carpet.

It occurs to him then that he has no idea what comes next. His eyes trace the contours of Ryuuo's lanky frame—the subtle ripples of his ribs, the jut of his pelvis, the thatch of coppery hair between his legs. His gaze lingers on Ryuuo's shaft, dark and erect, a tiny bead of moisture at the tip. It takes him a moment to realize he's staring, and another before he can bring himself to meet Ryuuo's eyes. "What do you want me to do?" he asks, heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Ryuuo's arm sprawls awkwardly toward the nightstand. Syaoran opens the drawer and finds a tin of some sort of oil inside. "Is this . . . ?"

"Yeah." Ryuuo's face reddens. "So, do you want to be on top, or . . ."

Syaoran opens his mouth, but nothing comes out except a high, uncertain noise. He's never imagined himself with another man, hadn't ever contemplated the idea of being with anyone but Sakura until Ryuuo had kissed him, and while he generally considers himself well-read, his education on this point is not merely lacking, but almost nonexistent.

At his hesitation, Ryuuo's mouth quirks up in an awkward half-smile. "Wow, when you said you'd never done this before, you really meant it, didn't you?" He takes a breath, guiding Syaoran's legs so that he's straddling Ryuuo's pelvis. "Okay. Pass me the oil."

Syaoran obeys, and Ryuuo unscrews the cap, dipping his fingers in the honey-gold fluid. "Lean forward. Good, like that," he says as Syaoran braces his forearms on either side of Ryuuo's shoulders. A moment later, he feels Ryuuo's fingertips push against the puckered ring between his legs with just enough pressure to make his intentions clear. "This might be a little weird at first, but just breathe, okay?"

"R-right." He inhales slowly, then gasps as Ryuuo's index finger penetrates the tight circle of muscle.

"Breathe," Ryuuo reminds him, pushing deeper. "Try to relax."

He takes another deep breath, familiarizing himself with the strange sensation. Under other circumstances, it would feel invasive, but here, with Ryuuo, it's more of a pleasant fullness, edged with just enough discomfort to make his muscles clench despite his efforts. He concentrates on his breathing, a shiver working its way down his back as Ryuuo's finger slides out, then back in. After a minute or so, Ryuuo inserts a second digit, flexing his fingers and sending sparks of heat up his body. The frantic, driving desire of a few minutes ago has subsided into a shimmery sort of pleasure, but as Ryuuo works his entrance, the thrumming in Syaoran's groin intensifies. He needs more, needs something to tip him over the edge, but then Ryuuo withdraws, leaving him empty and unsatisfied, and a whine of frustration escapes his throat. "Ryuuo—"

"Just a second." Ryuuo reaches once more for the nightstand drawer, digging through it until he finds a foil-wrapped packet and tears it open. "Less cleanup this way," he explains, rolling the condom over himself. "Safer, too."

Syaoran simply nods. He's not sure either of them need the protection—he's clean, and based on the fact that neither he nor any of the others have so much as caught a cold, he has to assume that Mokona's magic filters out any dangerous pathogens before they can cause them harm. But better to be safe.

"Ready?" Ryuuo asks, positioning himself so his tip presses against Syaoran's entrance.

"Yes." The word rushes out of him like water from a punctured wineskin.

Beneath him, Ryuuo pushes upward, penetrating inch by inch. It takes Syaoran a minute to adjust, even with the slickness of the oil minimizing the resistance. Carefully, he settles atop Ryuuo, sliding his hips back and forth in time with the other boy's shallow thrusts. "Yeah, like that," Ryuuo murmurs, turning his head to kiss the inside of Syaoran's forearm.

Gradually, they ease into a faster rhythm. The discomfort fades, and in their place, sparks of pleasure kindle into flames, bright and hungry, consuming coherent thought until the world narrows to just the two of them, a building inferno of need. Their breathing comes faster, synchronizing in time with each thrust, and suddenly it's too much to contain. The heat blazes out of control, and he surrenders to it, pleasure searing through him, scouring every cell with purifying fire. Syaoran cries out, hips snapping forward, and Ryuuo rises with him, a strangled shout breaking free of his throat.

When it's over, they lay beside each other, panting, Syaoran's arm slung over Ryuuo's chest, Ryuuo's hair tickling his nose, both of them fever-warm.

"Wow," Ryuuo eventually says. "That was . . . Wow."

Syaoran says nothing, just sprawls across the comforter, his body loose and languid. The only slightly unpleasant sensation is the dampness by his elbow—his own seed, splattered against Ryuuo's abdomen in that moment of release. I should probably apologize for that, he thinks, but instead he just rests his forehead against Ryuuo's shoulder. "This is nice," he murmurs. Peaceful.

"Yeah." Ryuuo tilts his head, a sleepy smile finding his lips. He lifts his arms above his head, stretching from fingertips to toes, like a lion. "We should probably clean up."

"Right." Syaoran sits up. The movement pulls at him in strange ways, but it's a good kind of pain. Satisfying. They spend the next few minutes setting themselves to rights, wiping themselves down with damp washcloths and gathering their clothes. Privately, Syaoran inspects himself for any marks. Kurogane may have already guessed what he's been up to, but he doesn't want Sakura or Fai to find out about this.

The thought stirs an echo of guilt inside him. He needed this—he can't pretend otherwise anymore—but it still feels irresponsible, seeking pleasure while his companions remain mired in grief.

"What's wrong?" Ryuuo asks.

Syaoran jumps, realizing he's been staring at the wall for several seconds now. "It's nothing," he says, turning away.

Behind him, Ryuuo exhales softly, then steps forward to drop a kiss on Syaoran's spine. He lingers there for several seconds as his arms wrap around Syaoran's abdomen. "Stay a while?"

"I . . ." When Ryuuo's arms cinch tighter around his body, he relents. "Okay."

Ryuuo nuzzles the back of his neck, his breath stirring the fine hairs there. Syaoran tilts his head back, luxuriating in the warmth of Ryuuo's embrace, the protective circle of his arms, and for just a little while, he lets his mind go quiet.