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nothing left for me to do but break

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Kurosawa Yuichi had never been in the habit of lying to himself about the things he liked – cooking, Ragna Crimson, nice clothes, Adachi Kiyoshi. He liked almost everything about the latter, especially since actually being with Adachi was even more than he’d ever dreamed.

(Because he’d only ever dreamed of it being possible rather than letting his fantasies completely consume his waking hours, even if Kurosawa had let his control slip as he spent more time around Adachi, his mind instantly conjuring the warmth of his skin under Kurosawa’s fingers or the taste of his mouth over his own long before they’d ever even gotten together.

Kurosawa was a weak man when it came to Adachi. He wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself about that either.)

So when the recurring idea finally grew loud enough in his head that he could no longer ignore it, six months after they’d first had sex (and about six months and three weeks after that heart-stopping conversation where Adachi had admitted that he could hear Kurosawa’s thoughts , which doubtlessly included all those terribly self-indulgent fantasies of his), Kurosawa had to admit to himself what he wanted.

Maybe bringing it up for the first time while he had Adachi pinned to the counter of his kitchen wasn’t the best idea, though.

Adachi’s smooth skin tasted like salt and smelled like the body wash he’d borrowed from Kurosawa’s bathroom, activating something possessive in his hindbrain as it recognized the familiar scent. The buttons of his dress shirt were falling apart under his eager fingers, revealing even more warm skin for him to duck and bite at as the last functional part of his brain sought to find the right words for what he wanted.

But it really was quite difficult, with Adachi making high, needy sounds above him as he sunk to his knees and mouthed at his clothed erection, slipping a hand up his thigh and pulling away before he lost control of his thoughts completely.

“I was thinking,” he started, pressing gentle kisses to the jut of his hipbone, sharp and easy to bite at even under Adachi’s slacks, then settling back onto his heels. Adachi’s chest was flushed with arousal, dark bruises blooming prettily against his tanned skin under his open white dress shirt. Kurosawa swallowed hard as Adachi looked down at him, pupils blown wide and cheeks flushed even redder than his chest – beautiful, gorgeous, stunning Adachi, hair sticking up a thousand different ways and mouth swollen from kissing. “I was thinking, maybe this time you top me?”

It was a simple conversation, and one they’d never had. But maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea, watching the way that Adachi’s breath hitched so sharply, as his face, neck, and chest darkened in an even deeper flush and as his eyes went wide and round and so very, very interested. Kurosawa leaned forward and brushed his mouth over Adachi’s inner thigh, wanting warm skin under his tongue rather than tasteless fabric but willing to wait patiently for it. He waited seven years for just reciprocation, after all. This was nothing in comparison.

“I- really?” Adachi’s voice had gone low and rough as he dropped to his knees, forcing Kurosawa to move a few inches backwards. “But we’ve always-,”

“If you don’t want to,” he replied, ghosting his mouth over Adachi’s without making any real contact, savoring the way his boyfriend’s eyes slid shut in anticipation, “then we don’t have to.”

Adachi’s eyes opened to dark half-slits, long-lashed and darting from Kurosawa’s eyes to his mouth and back again. “Do you want to?”

Kurosawa couldn’t help himself, leaning forward to slot their mouths together again, licking filthily into Adachi’s mouth and cupping his jaw with one hand. Adachi moaned softly, long fingers coming up to grip at Kurosawa’s neck and tugging gently at the shorter strands of hair at his nape, sending sharp spikes of too-pleasant pain up and down his spine. He almost lost himself again before remembering Adachi’s question.

“Yes,” he murmured, “yes, Adachi, please.”

He felt the way that Adachi grinned against his lips, the hesitant way that one of his hands slipped down his back to lightly cup his ass, little more than a drag of fingers against his trousers that felt more electric than if he’d grabbed a handful and held on tight.

“Do you want to?” He repeated back to Adachi, tossing his head back and groaning loudly as Adachi slipped the hand around the back of his thigh and yanked , pulling Kurosawa into his lap as Adachi sat back on the floor, knees around Adachi’s hips as two strong hands settled over his waist.

Here’s the thing – Kurosawa liked topping. Loved it, even. Loved the feeling of taking care of his partners, even if there hadn’t been many between meeting Adachi and entering his current relationship with Adachi. He liked the fact that he could bring Adachi to the edge and keep him there, loved how pretty he looked with his thighs wrapped around Kurosawa’s hips and his neck and chest littered with evidence of Kurosawa’s mouth, untouched dick swollen and leaking and red against the soft skin of his stomach. But he didn’t always want to be in control.

He’d held himself under control for so long . It had been almost a decade since he’d last felt comfortable enough to just let go.

Adachi knew all of Kurosawa’s most sensitive spots, but his favorite was obviously the pulse point just under his ear, the one that always served to wind him up even more than he already was. His teeth scraped hard against that one spot, light and gentle but with enough pressure that Kurosawa could still feel it, lighting every one of his nerve endings on fire as his hips ground helplessly down against Adachi’s.

“Of course I want to,” Adachi said quietly against Kurosawa’s throat, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw and drawing an embarrassingly needy sound from the man in his lap, “I want to try, if that’s what you want.”

God, what did he do to deserve this? This beautiful, gentle, impossible man, that loved Kurosawa back just as fiercely as Kurosawa loved him?

Adachi slid his hands under Kurosawa’s thighs and squeezed lightly. “Wish I could carry you,” he murmured, mouth biting somewhere around Kurosawa’s clavicle, “love it when you carry me, but I think I’d just knock us both over.” He chuckled softly before releasing Kurosawa’s legs and pushing him gently backwards.

Kurosawa felt like every inch of him was electrified in anticipation as he stood, waiting for Adachi to follow and letting him drag the tips of his fingers over Kurosawa’s mostly buttoned shirt. There was a strikingly intense expression on Adachi’s face that cleared when their eyes met. If he hadn’t been so far gone that it was almost embarrassing already, the way that Adachi smiled would have done him in for good, soft and shy and a little bit wicked.

“I- should we- bed?”

Adachi’s confidence had grown incomprehensibly since the beginning of their relationship, and Kurosawa was so immeasurably, unbelievably proud of him, but he also still loved the way that Adachi asked for things sometimes like he wasn’t quite sure how exactly to phrase it. It was endearing to know that Adachi still got as nervous as Kurosawa did on occasion.

Kurosawa nodded helplessly, letting Adachi gently take him by the wrist and guide him to his bedroom.

“Can I- your shirt?” Adachi asked, ghosting his fingers over the buttons of Kurosawa’s shirt and thumbing them carefully open one by one when he nodded in assent. Adachi mimicked a move that Kurosawa so often pulled on him, dragging his mouth down Kurosawa’s chest with each new strip of exposed skin.

Kurosawa let his hands fall to Adachi’s soft hair, running absently through the strands and choking back a groan as he felt his boyfriend undo his belt and trousers in swift movements, slipping the slacks from his hips and exposing his heated skin to cool air.

“Kurosawa is so amazing,” Adachi murmured softly, sinking his teeth into the meat of his inner thigh and wrapping an arm around the backs of his legs as Kurosawa’s knees threatened to buckle, “amazing, and wonderful, and beautiful.”

He felt a whine build in the back of his throat at the praise and stifled it, instead reaching over to the table beside his bed and frantically rummaging through it for supplies, tossing them on the bed as his fingers closed over them.

The last time he’d done this, he’d been a relatively inexperienced twenty-one-year-old with his second? Maybe third boyfriend? Now, he was nearly thirty-one, with the man that he was dead certain was the love of his life. If this didn’t work with Adachi, then it never would.

Adachi’s mouth was on his only a moment later, gentle and searching and tender and distracting as his hands slipped to the waistband of Kurosawa’s boxers. Adachi was still mostly clothed, shirt having been pulled from the waist of his trousers, belt buckle undone, the fabric of his pants brushing sensually against Kurosawa’s bare legs as Adachi flipped them around and gently led them both to the bed, pushing lightly on Kurosawa’s shoulders for him to sit on the mattress.

Kurosawa had been bare before Adachi too many times to count, but he’d never felt so exposed .

“Adachi,” he whispered, just for something to say, heart pounding unsteadily in his chest but not with apprehension.

“Hmm?” Adachi had knelt between his legs, hands warm on his knees as he pushed them open and got to work on his thighs. The skin of his inner thighs had always been sensitive, always bruised so easily, and the thought of Adachi taking his time, marking him up and leaving him sore and tender, was almost addictive.

Kurosawa ran a hand through Adachi’s hair, gasping as he sucked another hard bruise further up his thigh and tightening his hand involuntarily.

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely, patting the side of his head, “sorry, I-,”

“Don’t mind,” Adachi murmured, pressing a grin and another harsh nip into the crease between his hip and thigh as Kurosawa whined . “It’s okay, Kurosawa. I don’t mind.”

Perfect, perfect Adachi. Kurosawa wanted Adachi to take him so badly that he thought his chest might explode from it.

“We should probably prep you now,” Adachi muttered absently, turning his attention to Kurosawa’s unmarked thigh after a long, heavy glance at his handiwork on the first. Kurosawa nodded frantically.

“Do you want me to do it?” Kurosawa asked, feeling vaguely breathless. He usually liked preparing Adachi for sex, but they both knew how it worked (and sometimes, dear God, the sight of Adachi above him as he prepped himself, head tossed back and mouth open in pleasure and frustration as his fingers fell just short of right where he wanted them, was the closest thing he’d ever felt to something holy).

Adachi smiled shyly up at him, cheek resting against his knee. “I’d like to, if you don’t mind?”

There was only one thing for that, Kurosawa thought to himself as he grabbed Adachi by the shoulder and tugged him into another dizzying kiss. God, he never got tired of kissing Adachi, never got bored of the soft, needy noises he made or the way he’d learned how to reduce Kurosawa into little more than a hard, pliant mess with just his lips and tongue.

There was no art in the way that Adachi slipped off the rest of his clothes and joined him on the bed, but there was in how delicately and carefully he arranged Kurosawa, flat on his back with a pillow under his hips, hands lingering over his flank and stomach as he flipped open the cap to the lubricant. The light was still on, casting a soft golden glow over the both of them as Adachi leaned forward and kissed him again.

He kept his mouth working over Kurosawa’s neck as the first finger slipped in, tight and foreign and unfamiliar after too many years out of practice. Kurosawa’s breath hitched audibly, and Adachi pulled back.

“Are you okay?” He asked simply, trusting that Kurosawa would tell him if anything was wrong.

Kurosawa, for his part, felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs. “Yeah,” he replied, nodding vigorously, “yeah, I’m okay. Please- keep going, please.”

Adachi’s eyes searched his face for a long moment, still hesitant and concerned. But whatever he found must have been enough, since his expression cleared a moment later and he got back to work.

This time, he remembered what to expect – the few minutes of prep that would certainly be shortened by Adachi’s growing impatience, maybe an increased urgency as they both grew more desperate but that usually resulted in an unwillingness to really take their time. Kurosawa had always loved that desperation, that heightened need that only got more intense the longer that they spent preparing, getting them both so hard that it ached but still waiting until Adachi was ready to take it. Kurosawa took ages with Adachi, longer than even was necessary most of the time, because he loved seeing Adachi so overcome with want for Kurosawa that it became the only thing he could think about, overriding all of his unfounded worries and anxieties for a little while and allowing him to truly just enjoy himself.

And then Kurosawa remembered that he wasn’t with any of his past boyfriends, and none of them had ever been anything close to Adachi.

“Look at you,” Adachi murmured gently, pulling his head away from the marks he was leaving on Kurosawa’s throat with something like awe in his eyes, “I never get to see you like this.”

All of Kurosawa’s higher brain function had left the room. There were three fingers stretching him open, plenty of slick lubricant dripping down his thighs and Adachi didn’t look even remotely impatient, even as angry red as his cock was as it bounced against his stomach. “What?”

Adachi laughed, bending at the waist to pepper kisses all over his chest before slowing down and swirling his tongue around one of Kurosawa’s nipples, nipping lightly as he made a sharp, strangled sound under Adachi’s attentions. “You’re always handsome. But you look so beautiful like this.”

Kurosawa was learning something about himself today, and wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about it, brain going foggy at the praise as he arched into any touch given to him.

“Another, you think?” Adachi whispered into his ear, slipping a fourth finger in and kissing Kurosawa’s cheek as he groaned loudly. “Payback for all the times that you do this to me.”

“Adachi, please,” he said breathlessly, turning his head for a kiss and moaning quietly as he was rewarded.

“Please?” Adachi’s free hand roamed over his chest, pressing lightly into darkening bruises and settling at his waist.

He felt another embarrassing sound build in his throat and pushed it down only for it to be torn from him entirely as Adachi brushed his fingertips over the sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside of him, sending him arching and gasping and begging for more, hands scrabbling at the sheets and gripping tight as Adachi inhaled sharply above him.

Had it ever felt this good? Was it Adachi, just making everything in his life a thousand times better? Kurosawa couldn’t remember if any of his previous partners had ever treated him so gently when they’d been in control.

Adachi made a wounded noise above him before frantically kissing him again, sucking hard marks into every inch of Kurosawa’s skin that he could reach as his fingers drilled into that spot over and over. “Kurosawa, Kurosawa, I wish you could see yourself right now, you look so perfect.”

He felt perfect, but he probably looked like a mess. A hard, flushed, needy mess.

Yes ,” Adachi laughed, nosing at Kurosawa’s jaw as it came to his attention that he had actually said all of that out loud, “a perfect mess.” A hand slipped through his sweat-damp hair as Adachi kissed his forehead, and somehow that felt like the most intimate thing Adachi had ever done as he pulled back and tore open the condom.

Kurosawa couldn’t help himself as the first few tears slid silently down his face, his eyes wide and frozen in shock and his breathing gone erratic as he pushed himself up to sitting. Adachi’s grin fell instantly when he looked back up to Kurosawa, horror coating his features as his hands fell to Kurosawa’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” Adachi sounded so heartbreakingly confused, but Kurosawa didn’t have the words to tell him just how completely the opposite it was, only shaking his head as he moved forward to settle himself on Adachi’s lap, reaching behind him with one hand to position his dick as his other gripped Adachi’s jaw and kissed him desperately, sinking down onto his cock in a smooth movement so deep and filling that they gasped at the same time.

“Hey, wait,” Adachi’s hands flew to his waist and held tight, but his voice was still frustrated, “Yuichi , tell me what’s wrong?”

Kurosawa dragged in another heavy, sobbing breath as he buried his face in Adachi’s neck, shaking his head vigorously as his tears fell damp against Adachi’s skin. “Nothing,” he choked out, laughing helplessly even as he sobbed, “everything’s- you’re perfect. So perfect.”

“Then why are you crying?” He replied, baffled.

Kurosawa lifted his head, startled as Adachi’s fingers raised to his cheeks and gently wiped away his tears, leaning into his palm and kissing whatever part of his boyfriend that he could reach. He felt overwhelmed, ragged and vulnerable and so impossibly full. Adachi’s face had gone soft and earnest and confused, searching Kurosawa’s expression for any sign of discomfort.

He darted forward and kissed Adachi’s nose, feeling the tightness in his chest subside as he laughed. “I’ll tell you later.” Kurosawa rocked his hips forward and sighed happily as Adachi groaned, reminding them both of their current issue.

Adachi’s hands tightened even further on Kurosawa’s waist as he leaned forward and delicately licked salty tear tracks from Kurosawa’s cheeks down to his clavicles, lifting himself up onto his knees as he thrust forward into him. Kurosawa felt like he could do little more than hold on and take it, gripping the back of Adachi’s neck and clenching his thighs around his hips as Adachi laid him on his back, setting a hard, dragging pace that sent sparks flying up his spine, his cock hard and hot and heavy and brutal against his prostate as release curled tight and sharp in the pit of his stomach. Adachi bent him nearly in half so that he could kiss him as he came, reaching a hand between them to bring Kurosawa off at the same time.

Adachi braced his arms on either side of Kurosawa’s head to keep himself from collapsing, panting heavily above him as they came down from the high and giggling lightly as their eyes met.

“Thank you,” Kurosawa said breathlessly, grinning.

“That was-,” Adachi swallowed hard, nodding vigorously, “that was really good.”

Kurosawa absently stroked his hand up and down Adachi’s side, still giggling to himself. “I’ll have to keep that in mind, then.” He sighed as Adachi pulled out, watching languidly from his bed as his boyfriend moved across the room to tie off the condom and toss it in the bin, disappearing into the bathroom as the sound of running water carried to Kurosawa’s ears.

His hands flew to his face as he laughed breathlessly into them, a helpless grin splitting his cheeks. Adachi’s feet padded back into the room as a warm towel was dragged over his stomach.

“Kurosawa?” Adachi’s voice was concerned. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head. “You called me Yuichi, earlier.” Kurosawa dropped his elbows to the mattress and pushed himself up, smiling fondly at the embarrassed, uncertain look on Adachi’s face. “Don’t go back on that now.”

“I- well,” his face smoothed over as he nodded once, mouth quirking in a smile, “I’d like you to call me Kiyoshi, then.”

Kiyoshi ,” he tried, swirling the name around his tongue and relishing the shape of it, relishing Adachi’s blushing nod even more. “Come here.” He opened his arms as Adachi dropped the wet cloth into the bin, hands hesitating over Kurosawa’s dresser.

“You don’t want pajamas?”

He shook his head, waving his hands with a little more emphasis and grinning as Adachi sighed, moving several inches to the side as Adachi settled into bed next to him. Kurosawa threw his arm over Adachi’s waist and a leg over his hip, nuzzling his head into his chest as Adachi laughed indulgently, reaching up to stroke at Kurosawa’s hair. Adachi was warm and soft and safe, heart thumping steadily under his ear.

When Adachi spoke, his voice was quiet. “So, what was it that you were going to tell me?”

Kurosawa sighed, twitchy fingers starting to skate along Adachi’s waist as he pressed a kiss over his heart. “It’s not… a nice thing.” The hand in his hair stopped, much to his dislike.

“Will it explain why you were crying like that?” Like it hurt , Adachi didn’t say, but Kurosawa heard it anyway.

He nodded, eyes slipping shut as the hand in his hair started stroking again.

“Then I’d like for you to tell me, if you can.” Adachi kissed his forehead again, and if Kurosawa had been any less calm, he would have burst into tears again.

Kurosawa curled into him more tightly, seeking all the warmth and contact that he could get as he arranged his thoughts. “When I was younger, I had a few boyfriends,” he started, shaking his head lightly, “nothing serious, really. I was mostly just experimenting after realizing that I was only attracted to men.” Adachi remained quiet, thoughtful as gentle fingers tugged at his hair, his free hand settling over Kurosawa’s shoulders.

“They were never cruel, and there was never anything that I didn’t want,” Kurosawa continued, fingers drumming lightly against Adachi’s side, “but they were never gentle with me. When I took it.”

Adachi’s body tensed under him, though without being able to see his face he couldn’t tell what emotion was driving it. “Gentle?”

“They always rushed,” he shrugged, “and sometimes there wasn’t enough lube, or they hadn’t stretched me properly enough, or they went too hard too fast when it wasn’t right. And some of them were only tops, so we never switched. I always thought that that way was just how it always went, until I started topping for other people, who were a lot better than me about saying what they wanted.”

“Yuichi-,” Adachi said brokenly, hugging him as best he could as he pressed his face into Kurosawa’s hair, “is that why you always-?”

He nodded. “And I do like it, especially with you, but sometimes I’d rather not be in control.”

Adachi tilted his chin up, kissing him softly. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that.”

“I’m okay,” he replied, “I have you now, don’t I?” Adachi cringed slightly even as he blushed – the “mushy” stuff was still a work in progress for him, but he never failed to indulge Kurosawa’s sappier habits.

“But you enjoyed it, this time?” He asked, suddenly anxious.

Kurosawa grinned. “My Kiyoshi was so good to me.” He propped himself up, nosing under Adachi’s jaw even as the other man only laughed, too giggly and wrung out for anything else. “Taking such good care of me when I ask.” Kurosawa nipped gently at his collar, dipping his tongue into the deep hollow and chuckling as Adachi gasped before pulling away entirely.

“Well,” Adachi said firmly, “if you ever want to do that again, you only have to ask.”

Kurosawa made a protesting noise. “What about you? Did you enjoy it that way?”

Adachi’s face went wicked as he recalled the memory, eyes darkening as they traced over what was certainly the map of bites and bruises covering Kurosawa’s body. “I might ask for it too.” He brought his mouth to Kurosawa’s ear, voice dropped to a whisper. “If only to see how pretty you are when you beg.”

Kurosawa shivered, and Adachi pulled away with a laugh, settling them both more comfortably for bed as he reached over and switched off the light, throwing the room into darkness as Kurosawa sank into sleep.