Archive of Our Own

Takahiro doesn’t knock anymore. Not since they started doing this. Doing each other.

Since they started fucking on couches, chasing glances towards one another in public when it was impossible to say anything, since bathroom visits became quick touches. Everything about it felt good. For Issei, at least. It’s not like they ever talk about whatever this is.

So, Takahiro doesn’t knock on Issei’s apartment door anymore. No longer waiting for a response, he just calls out from behind the door and opens it before Issei has a chance to reply. It’s normal and completely different all at once, because on the one hand, it’s incredibly domestic and Issei finds it hard to feel normal about a Takahiro that could live here too. But this normality is far too strange for someone like Issei who’s never let anyone in like this in his life. Someone who’s just allowed to take up all of his space, someone who can just walk into his apartment and life like he’s always been a part of it. 

It is Issei’s fault though. It’s not like he keeps the door locked. 

It’s not even a big deal anymore, hence the normality. Takahiro’s here all the time, sometimes they watch bad soap operas, sometimes they try to bake. Sometimes Issei flips Takahiro onto his stomach and fuck him right on his couch. Depends on the day. Depends on the couch. 

All of this to say that Takahiro’s doing what he normally does, his pretty limbs strung over Issei’s couch. Long and relaxed as if he lives here. He should live here.  

Really, it’s too domestic for two people who aren’t together. All of their friends think so, which is annoying because people like them are never right except for when they are. This dynamic feels wrong for Issei, but maybe it’s normal for someone like Takahiro. Maybe this is how he is, someone who fucks guys and invites himself into apartments without asking. The kind of person to make you think you’re everything before moving onto the next guy.

Bu that doesn’t sit right in Issei’s head. It feels so wrong to string someone like Takahiro along. Feels worse to get something that feels so good out of someone he’s not in a relationship with. It’s all Issei wants. To have it all. 

And despite wanting it all, Issei lets himself have whatever Takahiro gives him. Which isn’t as bad as his pessimistic internal dialogue is making it out to be, since it’s a Friday night and Takahiro has once again let himself in to use his Disney account. Which is fine, except he wants to watch Chicken Little for some reason.

Nothing about Takahiro makes sense. But Issei blinks as he watches him type it into the search, and he can’t believe this is what he’s paying a subscription for. 

‘Don’t look at me like that.’ Takahiro says without looking up from the screen, and with way too much concentration. Issei does just that, since he’s a great listener and all that. He stops looking and pretends to prepare himself for an hour and a half of garbage. As if he cares about a stupid chicken.

Issei is a self proclaimed loser that can’t keep promises, even if he doesn’t say them to himself. Because it’s been nine minutes and he’s already looking at how Takahiro’s got one leg under the blanket, the other stretched out towards Issei’s thigh. His head is resting against the couch’s arm rest, which looks uncomfortable but Takahiro insists on it every time. He’s fingering a packet of sour gummies, which is ridiculous since he hates them, and he’s only eating them because they were Issei’s first. 

And this is fine. All of this is completely okay. They’re really good friends who get along incredibly well, and also fuck sometimes. People do this all the time, they fuck around and do things typical friends don’t do. It’s normal but none of it feels like it. Watching Takahiro do normal things shouldn’t feel this earth-shattering, not after all the nasty things they do to each other. But somehow it does, because this relaxed version of Takahiro is so desirable and not-so-suddenly everything that Issei has ever wanted. Sitting in his space like he belongs here.  

‘You’re quiet.’ Takahiro kicks his thigh mid-spiral/mid-fantasy.

‘Just watching.’ Issei recovers. ‘I want to make sure all the bad things I have to say about this movie are correct.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Sure. Keep staring.’

Issei feels his throat expand to accommodate the massive lump he has to swallow. Hates how Takahiro can say something so casually that can drive him up the wall. Which is infuriating because they’re watching Chicken Little. One that drags on like Issei knew it would. But Takahiro laughs a few times, scoffs way more. Drops two sour gummies on the floor. Scratches his leg once. Nods off once. 

The blanket wrapped around his torso has slowly been sliding down towards his front, exposing the smooth skin of his lower back where his shirt rides up. The dip in his back glows in the light of the television. Takahiro’s pants hang low enough to see the slight curve of his hip bones, and it takes genuine effort to look away. Issei has never claimed to be smart, or good at this. 

Issei feels bad for not pausing the movie, but doesn’t really have time to think about it before he’s looming over Takahiro, arms trapping his head on either side. 

No one says anything for a second, but Takahiro looks like he’s two seconds away from pushing him off and going back to the movie. It’s all or nothing with this guy.

‘What are we doing?’ It comes out a little more desperate than he wanted it to. Their faces are so close that Issei gets to watch Takahiro’s eyes flick over his face uncomfortably. Gets to watch in real time the way his cogs turn to think of something to say. It’s funny. 

‘We’re watching a movie.’

Issei snorts. Doesn’t mean to. ‘Don’t be a smart ass.’

He watches his face melt from focus to faux confusion. Issei doesn’t like that. It looks like he wants to say I don’t know. Because that would be easy, and something that Takahiro would say. But Issei is too close, and can hear the way his heart has sped up since he asked the question. Since Issei moved on top of him. Not an unusual place for them to be. 

There’s a very important look in the Book-of-Takahiro-Faces. The one where he wants you. It’s a look you must learn to understand, because when it happens to you, you don’t want to waste it. The look is plastered all over his face, a subversion Issei typically falls for. Because he’s not an idiot. Usually there’s hands grabbing at each other, clothes come off and land on the floor soon after. And lots of sounds, always.

But Issei breathes in and out, pushes every ignited feeling he’s ever felt down and presses his lips to the corner of Takahiro’s mouth. He rejects the look. Probably for the first time. Hopefully the last.

‘Touch me.’ Takahiro bats his eyes. 

Issei shakes his head. ‘Not like this. No more.’

Takahiro stares. Not clueless, but unsure as to why he’s not getting his way like usual, why his look won’t work. ‘Touch me, Issei.’

Issei looks and doesn’t say anything, which has Takahiro squirming a little. He smiles fondly at the way Takahiro’s still laying beneath him so obediently, despite not getting what he wants. Very endearing. 

‘You want me?’ Takahiro nods quickly in response, just twice. ‘Not until you tell me what you want.’ Issei uses the muscle in his forearm and pushes himself up. Not too far, but enough to show him that he’ll to stop this. Even if it kills him. Even if he never has Takahiro again. 

‘Don’t do that.’

‘Don’t do what?’ Issei blinks, tilts his head like a dog. 

Takahiro looks at Issei’s face, searching for a crack that will snap him out of this conversation. Testing his patience like he’s so damn good at doing. But he looks embarrassed now, like he’s not sure if he can say it. Not sure if it’s okay to break whatever comfortability they’ve got into pieces that will be harder to clean up. 

Issei takes his time to look at Takahiro’s body, whatever he can see from his elevated angle, and runs a flat palm against his stomach and lets it trail down. ‘I don’t wanna let this go.’ Takahiro whines at that. Issei’s always happy to give him what he wants, he just has to say it. With words. His hand breaks the waistband of Takahiro’s pants. ‘Nothing to say?’ 

‘Are we seriously talking about this now?’ Takahiro bucks his hips up into Issei’s hand, an attempt to get Issei to stop thinking and to just give in. It doesn’t work. ‘You know you want to.’

Issei smiles again. ‘‘Course I do. Look at you.’ He keeps exploring Takahiro’s body, as he always does. Focuses on the things he’s not touching.

Takahiro blushes. Which is beautiful and the first time Issei’s ever seen him do it. ‘Issei. Please,’ He’s so close. ‘Touch me.’ It looks like his eyes are about to water, which is cute. 

He grabs Takahiro’s cheeks with one his hands and squeezes, shaking his head side to side. ‘You already thinking about my cock in you? Can’t even answer my question, baby?.’ His composure cracks a little, the way it always does with Takahiro.

Takahiro whines. Issei grins. ‘Come on. Tell me.’

He shakes his head. Mutters something like I can’t under his breath, and bucks his hips into Issei again. Whining and embarrassed like Issei’s never seen. He feels his stomach sink, and betrays himself a little by pressing his lips against Takahiro’s. Just a helping hand. ‘Do you want me like that?’

Takahiro nods enthusiastically, but it’s not enough. Not yet. 

‘Tell me.’

‘I want you.’ He blurts. The lower half of his body twisting as if he’s never been touched in his life, and Issei is responsible for that. It’s almost a good feeling. No one else should ever touch Takahiro again. ‘Please, Issei.’ Which is incredibly sweet since Issei didn’t even ask him to beg. 

Issei kisses him again, long and lazy like they tend to be. Uses that time to feel Takahiro’s sides, running his hands softly over the parts that make him twitch.  

‘I want you too,’ Issei places hungry little kisses down Takahiro’s neck, works his way down and feels the heat literally radiating off of Takahiro’s body from want. The way his body wants to mold itself to his. ‘You knew that though.’

It’s as if Takahiro lost his voice, because he can’t stop nodding. Void of a response that probably would have been witty and bratty, Issei’s sure. The passing of forgotten animation on his television flicker over the whites in Takahiro’s eyes every now and then, when they’re not half-lidded and desperate to keep eye contact with Issei. This is a new Takahiro that Issei’s not familiar with. Not that a submissive Takahiro is new to him. But the way he’s like melted wax underneath him, eyes wide and blinking fast like he can’t process anything fast enough, is something special. 

There’s too much heat coming from his body, and Issei’s worried he’ll pass out before he gets the chance to do anything. But he follows his kisses down to Takahiro’s shoulder and back up to that sweet spot behind his ear. It gives him the reaction he thought he would get, and he feels himself getting hard against Takahiro. 

His eyes speak first, because they lock onto Issei’s and hold him in place. Then, Takahiro’s mouth opens and closes. His eyes darting again, but always finding their way back to Issei. ‘I want you,’ his hand finds Issei’s wrist and he drags it slowly to his waistband, trying not to shake the atmosphere with anything too sudden. ‘All of it. Issei. Let me come over without asking,’ he blinks. Issei freezes. ‘Let me eat your snacks, and watch your TV. I want you, Issei.’

Issei feels like he’s opened a gate he wasn’t really prepared to open. His hand stuck at Takahiro’s waist, the only thing he can feel being the heat off his skin. ‘I want to keep doing this. Issei, please.’ He bats his eyes again, but it looks genuine, as if Takahiro Hanamaki was actually a bashful guy. ‘I’m asking all nice.’ 

Issei feels his heart in his throat at the same time he feels his dick completely harden against Takahiro's leg. With delicate and shaky fingers, he pushes pink strands away from pretty batted eyes. He never thought he would hear this, had almost convinced himself that all Takahiro would ever give him is his body. 

‘No one else,’ Issei mutters, thinking with his dick now and not with anything rational. ‘No one else gets you like this.’ Issei works his hand over Takahiro’s pussy, his pants still on. 

He breathes out shakily. ‘No one.’ Takahiro reaches his hand down to where they’re touching, awkwardly trying to feel Issei over his jeans. He paws at them a little, impatient from how long this has taken. How he’s actually had to be good in order to get what he wants. 

‘Take them off for me.’ An order he knows will be difficult, but wants to see him try nonetheless. To see how far he’ll go to listen. It’s new for Issei, the opportunities are endless. A dangerous realisation.

Takahiro fumbles with the button, and works the zipper down easily. He struggles pulling them down and gets frustrated almost immediately, which pulls a mean laugh from Issei. ‘Can’t do it?’

Takahiro shakes his head, eyes wide and bubbling. 

‘Can’t do much.’ Issei lowers his pants, lets his cock fall on Takahiro’s stomach. Watches his eyes follow it up and down, up and down. ‘You get useless when you want my dick.’

Takahiro opens his mouth, the start of a shut up resting on it, but Issei isn’t in the mood. He shoves a hand over his mouth and feels Takahiro instantly clamp up. It’s so sweet. 

‘I know you want this,’ Issei pushes Takahiro’s underwear to the side, not bothering to take them off. ‘But I want it more. You gonna let me?’ He’s not really asking. Issei grabs himself and rubs it over Takahiro’s hole, which has him frazzled and tense like never before. He hates being teased, but loves doing it. So it’s sweet giving it back. 

Takahiro nods tentatively, his heart is pounding but he’s bucking his hips to try and line himself up with Issei. This has to be on his terms for once. 

‘Go on. Do it yourself.’ Issei moves the hand off his mouth. 

Takahiro squints, cautious. More likely fed up and about to explode. But because he’s so far gone all he can do is nod and try over and over again. His eyes well up again because he can’t do it, and Issei realises what a crybaby Takahiro is when he’s cock drunk. He hasn’t even done anything yet. 

He grabs Takahiro’s cheek again, forcing him to look him in the eye. He waits for them to settle, for the tears to dry and for the blinking to slow, but they don’t. Takahiro’s completely out of it, which makes it even sweeter when Issei pushes into him. He’s completely gone. 

Issei grunts, having to breathe in and out to not cum immediately from how wet and needy Takahiro’s being. He pushes in until he’s completely filled him up, sweat already on his forehead, and Takahiro already squirming. 

‘Please,’ he whines. ‘Please, please, please, please—’

It’s cute, but too loud for Issei. ‘Shh, baby.’ He puts the hand back over his mouth. ‘Too noisy. Just let me feel you. Fuck.’ Issei can feel every muscle in him twitch, every part of him on fire. It feels different this time. Like he really does have all of Takahiro. 

The hand doesn’t completely work, because Takahiro still moans into Issei’s palm but also doesn’t try to bite it off. Which is progress. And he sounds so pretty getting fucked stupid that Issei couldn’t complain even if he wanted to. 

‘So good,’ Issei collapses a little closer to Takahiro’s body. ‘Making me feel so good. Like my doll.’

Takahiro screws his eyes shut, and feels him completely tense on Issei’s dick which has him grinding his own damn teeth. He’s going fucking insane. Issei does his best not to slow down, fucking him in the way he knows he likes while using his hand to make tentative touches on Takahiro’s clit. They start slow and gentle. In the way that annoys Takahiro because there's never enough friction, but enough to get him sensitive and pliant. Not like that was a hard task to manage.

He picks up the pace when he sees tears filling up Takahiro’s eyes for the third time. The realisation of how much of a crybaby he can be, really settling in Issei’s sadistic brain. He wants to see him cry, to watch the tears fall onto his cheek. To make him crack and beg for this. 

Issei falls back on the touches, waiting for a reaction like a predator watching its prey. It sends a rush of pleasure through Issei, and he feels sick for it. It works quickly, Takahiro looks at him with pleading eyes, no words coming out but plenty of tears breaking through his water line and onto his cheek. 

‘Aw, baby.’ Issei slows down, stops moving almost entirely, ‘I’m sorry, did you want me to stop?’ He feels sick. Sick and the hardest he’s ever been. 

Issei lets up his hand again, and the response is immediate, which is getting less surprising as the night goes on. ‘Please. Issei, please. I’ve been good.’

It puts a smile on Issei’s face. Partly because it’s true, but mostly because Takahiro’s practically begging and Issei barely had to ask him. 

‘You’re right,’ Issei admits easily, ‘Just can’t believe you’re all mine.’ He starts moving again, not even for Takahiro’s sake. Mostly for his own selfishness, how fucking good this feels. How this is better than anything he’s ever done. 

There’s a glint in Takahiro’s eye and it makes Issei move. Makes him rub circles on his clit that he knows will feel good, the perfect friction, because anything Takahiro wants, he deserves. 

‘Wanna give you everything,’ Issei pants, watches Takahiro’s eyes screw shut from how hard he’s getting it, his breaths ragged and voice croaking like he can’t breathe properly. 

‘Want you,’ Takahiro twitches every time Issei rubs him the right way, ‘Issei. So much. Always.’ He’s so into it, fucking himself back up to meet Issei in the only way he can. It’s not a lot, but he’s so desperate to try that Issei can’t stop the burning feeling in his chest. 

Issei presses kisses on Takahiro's neck, but he whines and drags Issei’s face to his lips. A kiss so wet and messy, Issei has to fight everything in his body to breathe. Takahiro is his. Issei is Takahiro’s. It’s all that consumes him. Brain and dick. 

‘Fuck— gonna cum, baby. Feel so good.’ 

Takahiro grabs onto his bicep, the only lifeline he’s got right now. ‘In me. Cum in me. Please, please Issei.’ 

Issei groans, disbelief flooding him that someone like Takahiro is so pliant and cock drunk for him. ‘Anything you want, baby.’

There’s sweat dripping down over the place where Takahiro’s holding on, and Issei fucks through it all. Feels how his pussy tightens, always wanting to please. So good for him. Fucks him right through his own orgasm, can’t find the fight in him to slow down yet. Obsessed with the way Takahiro’s skin feels on his own. How their sweat makes them stick together. 

Issei falls on top of the fucked out mess beneath him, panting and pressing lazy kisses against Takahiro’s jaw. ‘Fuck.’

‘Can barely keep my eyes open.’ Takahiro mutters, nudging closer to Issei. There’s so much to talk about, to understand about each other. What they want, why they want it. But it feels so far away now.

Issei kisses him again, a bit longer. ‘Sleep. I’ve got you.’

‘Always.’