Warnings: Sexual content, sap.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.
Summary: Soubi places everything into two categories these days: Before Ritsuka and After Ritsuka.
Comments: This took me entirely too long to actually type up. I think I’ve had it written in a little notebook for over a year now, and I only just recently got around to typing it up and posting it. This fic is a fairly long one-shot and shamelessly filled with smutty sap… or sappy smut. Something. Takes place when Ritsuka is sixteen and Soubi is twenty-four. I hope you all enjoy it!
“What are you painting?”
The question comes as a surprise, for Soubi has been so engrossed with the task at hand that he failed to notice when the shower stopped running. But this is how it always is when he paints: He becomes completely lost in his work.
Soubi leans back in his chair, letting his Sacrifice see what he’s been working on: A bright blue sky and an even brighter yellow sun; orange butterflies and dark green grass. Bright colors. Happy colors—colors that he hadn’t used much of, before Ritsuka.
It isn’t surprising that, these days, Soubi has started placing everything into two categories: Before Ritsuka and After Ritsuka. Before Ritsuka, he’d painted with much darker colors—shades of red and black and grey and navy. After Ritsuka, bits of yellow and pink and orange had started sneaking their way into his artwork. They have been there ever since, growing more and more pronounced over the years.
Kio, ever-observant as always, had been the first to notice the sudden splashes of these new, different colors in the paintings, and had said: “That kid’s really changed you, Sou-chan.” He’d been smiling when he said it, and Soubi hadn’t disagreed with him because he’d noticed the changes too, no matter how subtle.
Ritsuka had changed him. Has changed him.
“It’s nice,” Ritsuka murmurs, crossing the room to stand beside Soubi’s chair, and Soubi notes with a start that the teen is clad in only a towel. It isn’t a normal thing for Ritsuka to prance around the apartment like this, practically naked. Not that Soubi is complaining.
He finds his thoughts wondering (mostly to ideas of Ritsuka without the towel), and he shakes his head a little. No. Bad Soubi. Clearing his throat, he asks, “So you like it, then?”
“Mm-hmm.” Ritsuka lifts one hand and rests it on Soubi’s shoulder. “Looks like I could just roll around in that grass. It’s kind of inviting.”
“That’s what I was going for,” Soubi replies proudly and then he grinds. “Wouldn’t recommend rolling around in it, though. You’d get dirty, and you’ve just taken a shower.” He leans in closer then, not quite able to help himself, and he presses his cheek against Ritsuka’s side, nuzzling like a cat would. Ritsuka smells shower-fresh.
Surprisingly, Ritsuka doesn’t push him away. He slides his arm around Soubi’s shoulders, lightly embracing him, and shrugs a little. “I could always take another shower.”
The teen makes a valid point, and so Soubi doesn’t bother to argue with him further. He simply closes his eyes and presses closer, surrounding himself with Ritsuka’s warmth and Ritsuka’s smell. “You feel good, Ritsuka.”
“… You should let your hair down,” Ritsuka says after a moment, probably too embarrassed to respond to Soubi’s comment. “You’ve had it up all day.”
But he doesn’t give Soubi the chance to take it down himself. Instead, he gently removes the little elastic band, dropping it onto the chair between Soubi’s legs. He then combs his fingers through blond locks, his fingertips brushing against Soubi’s scalp, and it feels oh so very nice.
“And shouldn’t you get dressed?” Soubi asks, mainly because it would be incredibly easy to remove the towel Ritsuka is currently wearing, and Soubi doesn’t want to get scolded today, no matter how adorable Ritsuka still looks with his cat ears flattened against his head and his tail flicking back and forth in annoyance.
There is another long pause, and then: “No. Easier access, you know.”
Soubi blinks, and then tilts his head back so that he is looking at his Sacrifice’s face, into his violet eyes. Surely, he has heard incorrectly, for his little Ritsuka doesn’t tease quite like that.
“You heard me correctly,” Ritsuka tells him, as though he read Soubi’s mind. He is blushing, but he is still looking directly at Soubi as opposed to looking away. His tone and the look in his eyes mean that he is serious. “And I think you’re overdressed.”
Soubi swallows, sure that Ritsuka can hear it, and tugs the unresisting teenager into his lap, studying his face. “Do you mean to say that….” He trails off, leaving the question hanging, feeling like the part of his brain that is responsible for communication has possibly exploded. Or maybe imploded. Either way, it’s all thanks to the beautiful boy in his lap.
“I’m saying that… that I have thought a lot about this… and… uhm. I would—I want to….” And suddenly, Ritsuka is twelve again instead of sixteen, nervous and shy and fumbling for words, only to trip over them when he finds them. “I’m ready to give you my ears.” He says the last bit in a rush, like he wouldn’t be able to say it otherwise—like it’s difficult for him to get out. It’s adorable and so very Ritsuka and….
His words send electricity down Soubi’s spine and make him want even more, because Ritsuka is offering to give Soubi himself, and that is beautiful and something meant to be treasured. Now, it seems that he is the uncertain and inexperienced one, wanting everything to be perfect without quite knowing how to make it that way.
Soubi gently cups Ritsuka’s cheek, and maybe he doesn’t need to ask—maybe it isn’t necessary, but he asks anyway: “You’re sure?”
Ritsuka rolls his eyes before closing them and leaning into Soubi’s touch. “You idiot,” he says fondly, “if I wasn’t sure, do you really think I’d be saying anything about it?”
“Point,” Soubi concedes, and he feels a sense of relief—this is okay. Ritsuka wants him and has given him permission and is sure of is decision. His Sacrifice is smiling, and that smile is full of sweetness and trust and expectancy, but even now, Soubi hesitates. Yes, he’s been given permission, but he doesn’t know where or even how to begin.
Ritsuka cups his face, the look in his eyes softening, and he whispers, “Kiss me, Soubi.”
And that seems like as good of a place as any to start, so Soubi closes the distance between their lips and kisses his Sacrifice, nearly smiling when Ritsuka almost immediately opens to and for him, giving Soubi the opportunity to explore the other’s mouth at his leisure, which Soubi proceeds to take full advantage of.
The kiss starts out slow and sweet, like molasses on a winter’s day, and then turns into something harder and more insistent, with just an edge of demand to it. This is okay—much better than okay, and when Ritsuka takes the lead and shoves his tongue into Soubi’s mouth (it is so very rarely that he does this, after all), Soubi whimpers – actually whimpers – into the teen’s mouth, and apparently that is okay too, because Ritsuka makes a sound low in the back of his throat and presses closer, hands coming to rest on Soubi’s shoulders.
While Ritsuka’s hands are mostly still (save for the little clutching motions that he’s making every now and again), Soubi’s are currently anything but still, because it’s impossible to resist the temptation of all that beautiful, bare, clean skin. His hands move over Ritsuka’s body, tentative at first and then with more confidence as Ritsuka shivers and encourages him with soft moans and whispers of, “It’s all right,” and, “Touch me,” between kisses.
Soubi’s hands explore Ritsuka’s upper body, fingers dancing along his sides and then his arms, smiling as goosebumps form on the teen’s skin. Then he caresses Ritsuka’s back and then his chest, fingers skittering over his nipples, and Ritsuka… Ritsuka is all hard angles and soft skin and pleasured sighs; his mouth is now hot on Soubi’s throat, tongue lapping at one of the pulse points there. When Soubi brushes his thumbs more firmly against Ritsuka’s nipples, Ritsuka moans and squirms in Soubi’s lap, and all of a sudden, Soubi’s jeans are less than comfortable. He can ignore that for the time being, though. He can ignore how unbearably tight his jeans seem to have become in favor of lavishing Ritsuka with the attention he’s made perfectly clear that he wants.
Soubi smoothes his hands down Ritsuka’s back, following the curve of his spine, and Ritsuka repays him by scraping his teeth along the tendon at one side of Soubi’s neck. Just the hint of his Sacrifice’s teeth on him makes Soubi groan, and without any conscious thought or effort, he finds his hands drifting to the towel still wrapped around Ritsuka’s hips. He gives it a little tug but it doesn’t come undone, and Ritsuka bites down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder (Soubi can’t tell if it’s meant to reprimand him or to pleasure him further, but he thinks it might be a mix of both) before telling him “no” in a gentle but firm tone. The teen quickly adds: “Not yet. You still have too many clothes on.”
Soubi isn’t sure what his current fully-dressed state has to do with Ritsuka’s current mostly-undressed state, or why his Sacrifice is seemingly so adamant about not losing his towel at the moment when it’s obviously going to happen in a little while (hopefully) anyway, but he obeys nonetheless, hands stilling on Ritsuka’s towel before moving up his back again, stroking his shoulder blades.
Ritsuka licks at where he’s bitten before pressing a soft, wet kiss to Soubi’s jaw and sliding out of the blonde’s lap, his towel surprisingly (and disappointingly) remaining perfectly in place as he does so.
“Come on,” the violet-eyed teen says, offering his hand to Soubi. “Up on your feet.”
Soubi tilts his head in confusion (he liked it much better when Ritsuka was in his lap), but he takes the offered hand anyway and stands.
Ritsuka smiles and steps closer, releasing Soubi’s hand and running both of his own hands up the front of Soubi’s shirt, his touch light and barely even able to be felt through the material. “We’ll get rid of this first.”
Their difference in height isn’t nearly as noticeable as it had been four years ago. The years have definitely been kind to Ritsuka in that department, and he can reach even the top button on Soubi’s shirt without any problem at all.
As he sets to work on the buttons, Soubi notices that Ritsuka’s hands are shaking slightly—he’s nervous, for all of his eagerness and anticipation, he’s nervous. Soubi wants to reassure him like Ritsuka reassured him a few moments ago, but he isn’t quite sure how to do that when he’s so nervous himself. It feels like his stomach is tying itself into a knot.
He presses a kiss to the top of Ritsuka’s head, right between his cat ears, and whispers, “It’s just us, Ritsuka. Just you and me, like always. You can’t do anything wrong.”
Ritsuka, halfway through the row of buttons, pauses and looks up at Soubi. He says nothing, but he smiles softly and nods before he resumes the task at hand, and once he is done, he pushes the shirt off of Soubi’s shoulders, his hands no longer trembling.
Soubi shrugs out of it the rest of the way, letting it fall to the floor, and for the span of a few seconds, there is nothing: not movement, no touching, no breathing. They simply stand there, close, watching one another.
Ritsuka is the first to move, breaking the spell by lifting his hands, fingers lightly caressing the scars on Soubi’s neck—the name that Seimei carved there. His touches are soft and almost reverent, so unlike anything that Soubi has ever known.
Ritsuka’s hands slide lower, clever, gentle fingers finding each and every one of the scars on Soubi’s chest and sides and abdomen, and just when Soubi thinks his Sacrifice is done exploring, Ritsuka replaces his fingers with his mouth, pressing sweet kisses to the scars that his fingers brushed against.
By the time Ritsuka reaches the last scar on Soubi’s torso (the one just above his left hip, almost-but—not-quite concealed by the waistband of his jeans), he is kneeling in front of Soubi, and Soubi is pretty sure that he’s forgotten how to breathe. It feels like he has, at least.
Ritsuka looks up at him as he slides his arms around Soubi’s middle. “I’m not my brother, Soubi,” he says, voice low and yet filled with a fierce certainty.
“I know,” Soubi answers once he finds the breath to do so. He, too, is certain of it. Ritsuka’s eyes may be the same shade of violet as Seimei’s, but there is compassion in their depths when he looks at Soubi. Compassion and affection—two of the things he’d never seen in Seimei’s eyes.
Ritsuka carries the weight of a boy forced to grow up far too soon with the clumsy grace of one still young. Seimei never possessed that sort of strength.
Ritsuka nuzzles at Soubi’s belly and then straightens, moving in a half-circle so that he is now standing behind Soubi. He gives the scars on his back (wordless testament to Ritsu’s ‘conditioning’) similar treatment, tracing them first with fingers and then with lips and tongue.
“I am not your teacher, either,” he says, breath tickling Soubi’s skin.
That isn’t entirely true. Ritsuka is most definitely not Ritsu—he’s not anything like that man at all, but he is his teacher. He’s taught Soubi things which one could never learn inside of a classroom. He’s taught Soubi that there’s more to life than simply following orders. He’s taught Soubi that it’s possible to love without rules and without boundaries. He’s taught Soubi how to view himself as more than a mere possession or toy. He’s taught Soubi how to appreciate the little things. He’s taught Soubi how to trust again.
He’s taught Soubi how to live again.
But Soubi doesn’t tell Ritsuka these things, because he knows what Ritsuka is trying to say. The meaning of the words rings loud and clear. He is not Seimei. He is not Ritsu. He is Soubi’s Sacrifice; he is Loveless, though that name does not suit him at all. He is Ritsuka, and this is what Soubi tells him. “You are my Sacrifice. You are Ritsuka, and that is enough.”
Ritsuka slides his arms around Soubi’s middle, hugging him from behind. “I want to give you everything you deserve,” he whispers, and Soubi’s heart twists painfully in his chest. He knows that Ritsuka does not mean this in the way that Seimei would have meant it. Before Ritsuka, Soubi hadn’t had the luxury of knowing such tenderness. He’d been okay with this back then, but Ritsuka has shown him – and is showing him even now – how very different things can be.
He can’t find the words to explain how he feels right now; ‘I love you’ isn’t even adequate. So, he doesn’t try to put what he’s feeling into words—not when words are fleeting, insufficient things. Instead, he turns within the circle of Ritsuka’s arms and leans down to kiss him, letting his lips linger for several moments before drawing back.
Ritsuka opens his eyes and smiles. “I know, Soubi,” he says. “I know.” He understands, and that is more than enough.
Soubi almost grins as he trails one finger down Ritsuka’s throat and chest, taking a detour and circling around one nipple and then the other, paying close attention to the way his Sacrifice gasps and the way his lashes flutter when Soubi teases him like this. “Can I be honest with you and tell you that you make me dizzy when you put your hands and mouth on my skin like that? Can I tell you that when you slid to your knees like that, it made my knees weak?”
Ritsuka turns a grand total of about ten shades of red (or so it seems), but he doesn’t look away. “I guess you can, since you already did,” he replies, shaking his head. Soubi can tell that he’s trying to look annoyed, but he doesn’t quite pull it off, because a smile is tugging at his lips.
The teen then moves a little closer, pressing the lower half of his body agains Soubi’s and rocking his hips a little—not much, but it’s enough to cause friction and it’s enough to make both of them groan.
“It’ll get better as soon as we’re on the bed,” Ritsuka assures and Soubi has to wonder where his little Ritsuka has learned to be so bold.
“Why don’t we go to the bed then?” Soubi suggests, his words more than a little breathy as he presses his own hips forward, increasing the pressure, and it stings a little because his pants are too damn tight, but it’s worth it to see his Sacrifice go nearly cross-eyed.
“That’s a good plan,” Ritsuka praises, and then they’re kissing again, and his hands are on Ritsuka’s hips and Ritsuka’s fingers are buried in his hair. They blindly and haphazardly move their way to the bed, and this is where Soubi expects to take the lead—to gently push Ritsuka down and straddle him, but it’s the other way around: Ritsuka breaks the kiss, pushing Soubi down and not quite straddling him (but close), and it is a very pleasant surprise. He wouldn’t mind if Ritsuka chose to surprise him like this more often.
Ritsuka reaches for Soubi’s glasses but Soubi shakes his head. “Let me,” he says, and he removes his glasses himself; he’s closer to the nightstand anyway, and if Ritsuka were to remove them, he’d actually have to move from his current position in order to reach the nightstand, and Soubi doesn’t want his Sacrifice to move just yet. He likes where Ritsuka is just fine.
As Soubi places his glasses on the nightstand, Ritsuka apparently decides that his hands should be occupied once more and, he trails his fingers down Soubi’s chest and abdomen, frowning slightly when his progress is halted by Soubi’s jeans. “Time for these to go, I think,” he murmurs, and even before his words have registered, he’s unbuttoning and unzipping Soubi’s jeans and urging the older man to lift his hips. “C’mon, Soubi. Can’t get them off unless you move.” Which also means that Ritsuka has to move. Damn.
Soubi obeys, lifting his hips. “And just when do you lose the towel?” he inquires as Ritsuka tugs at his jeans.
“When you’re naked,” Ritsuka replies without even pausing in his task. He tugs harder and Soubi wriggles a little, trying to help, because the sooner he is naked, the sooner Ritsuka will also be naked.
Finally, his jeans are far enough down his legs for him to be able to kick them off, and that is what he proceeds to do. All that remains now is his pair of silky blue boxers.
Ritsuka offers him a sort of half-smile and moves his fingers over Soubi’s boxers as well, no doubt purposefully bypassing his erection in favor of his right inner thigh. Even the thin material separating Ritsuka’s hands from his skin feels like it’s too much—too much between them.
“These are nice,” Ritsuka comments, still blushing, and he – very gently – brushes the palm of one hand over the clothed head of Soubi’s cock. The touch is so light and fleeting, but it makes Soubi’s toes curl nonetheless, and he can only imagine what it will feel like when his boxers aren’t in the way and when it’s skin-on-skin. Ritsuka might even use his mouth, and—oh. Oh.
Ritsuka’s clever fingers have satisfactorily derailed his thoughts, and have brought him crashing back down into the here and now (fantasy has been made reality), for those long and slender digits have slipped through the slit in his boxers and are now hesitantly stroking along his erection. Ritsuka hasn’t blushed this much since… since he was twelve, maybe, or maybe it hasn’t been quite that long ago; regardless, the blood in Soubi’s body is too busy rushing elsewhere, and doesn’t seem to care much for even making so much as a pit-stop at Soubi’s brain. Therefore, thinking clearly isn’t anywhere near manageable right now.
Ritsuka is studying his face, no doubt because expressions often say more than words ever could, and Soubi knows that right now, the look on his face is telling his Sacrifice that what he is doing is oh so very right—it feels good and Soubi doesn’t want him to stop. However, Ritsuka seemingly has other plans, because he does exactly what Soubi doesn’t want him to do: He stops. His fingers cease their teasing and Ritsuka withdraws his hand before grabbing Soubi’s boxers and tugging at them. “I need your help again.”
Soubi eagerly assists Ritsuka by lifting his hips yet again, and when his boxers are out of the way, he immediately reaches for Ritsuka’s towel for the third (fourth? Fifth? He’s lost count) time, only to be denied for the third (or fourth, or fifth) time.
“But you said--” Soubi begins, sounding very un-grown-up and very much like an impatient child, but he’s abruptly cut off when Ritsuka curls his fingers around Soubi’s cock and squeezes hard—hard enough to make Soubi swallow his complaint and then moan, hips rocking upwards of their own accord.
Ritsuka, heavy-lidded and suspiciously close to panting, licks his lips and glances back and forth between Soubi’s face and Soubi’s cock—his hand wrapped around Soubi’s cock. “How do I…?” He trails off, giving Soubi a meaningful look, and Soubi understands what the teen is trying to ask.
He answers Ritsuka’s not-quite question with a question of his own. “You’ve touched yourself before, haven’t you?” He imagines Ritsuka doing just that, touching himself and letting Soubi watch, and the mental image alone makes his cock throb in Ritsuka’s hand. “Maybe even while thinking of me?”
Ritsuka’s glare isn’t threatening at all, though it is as every bit as adorable as it was four years ago (and yesterday, and the day before that, and….). “I have,” he answers, though the tone of his voice says, ‘tell me how that is any of your business’.
Soubi chuckles and leans up, brushing his lips against Ritsuka’s. “So demonstrate what you do to yourself on me.”
Ritsuka briefly hesitates, but then his hand starts moving – stroke, stroke, squeeze, rub – and Soubi almost wants to writhe, because Ritsuka is surprisingly good at this. He also almost wants to ask just how much ‘practice’ Ritsuka has gotten, but then Ritsuka’s thumb brushes over the head and Soubi’s thoughts scatter like ashes in the wind.
“So this is good?” Ritsuka asks before giving him another languid, spine-tingling stroke from base to head. He sounds pleased with himself, and he has every right to feel that way—he’s earned it.
“Very,” Soubi answers, bucking his hips into Ritsuka’s tightly-curled fist. “What would be even better, though, is if you’d remove that towel already and come up here.”
Ritsuka seems a bit puzzled as to why Soubi would say such a thing, but then he nods and says, “I did tell you that I’d take the towel off when your clothes were out of the way, didn’t I?” He fumbles with the knot that he’s tied to hold the towel in place (and suddenly Soubi understands why it hadn’t come undone earlier), though once the knot is undone and the towel is no longer an issue, Ritsuka seems a little unwilling to do anything else. He’s… shy? Even now?
His violet eyes are averted, downcast, and he’s chewing at his (kiss-swollen) bottom lip. Soubi lets his gaze travel further down, to the part of Ritsuka’s body that had been covered by the towel, and his breath snags painfully in his throat when he notices that Ritsuka’s cock is just as hard as his own. Ritsuka wants—wants him, and that is a beautiful and glorious thing. Ritsuka, too, is beautiful, but Soubi had never doubted that.
Ritsuka still isn’t looking at him, and Soubi wonders if his teenage Sacrifice believes that he is inwardly judging him unfavorably. “Ritsuka,” he murmurs, “look at me.” And when Ritsuka does look hesitantly at him, Soubi reaches for him, pulling the dark-haired teen close. “You are beautiful,” he tells his Sacrifice, and he means it.
Soubi is relieved when Ritsuka offers him another small smile, his eyes shining with gratitude, among other things. Soubi finds it both amusing and endearing—the fact that they keep having to reassure one another.
“Do you know why I wanted you against me like this?” Soubi asks Ritsuka, and when his partner shakes his head (Which is exactly what Soubi counted on), Soubi happily demonstrates, taking hold of Ritsuka’s hips and pulling them downward while he rocks his own hips upwards. Their lengths brush against one another, and they groan simultaneously. Before Ritsuka, no-on would have ever indulged him in something as simple (and pleasurable) as this—the slip and slide and grind of one body against another. Before Ritsuka, no-one would have ever taken the time for it.
“A-again,” Ritsuka demands brokenly, though Soubi apparently does not act quickly enough for him, because before Soubi can comply, Ritsuka is pulling back, only to return a half-second later—more skin-on skin, more friction as their erections rub against one another, and it’s pure torture, but Soubi doesn’t want it to stop.
He moves his hands down Ritsuka’s back again, and this time, his progress is delightfully uninhibited by the towel, since it is no longer there. Bare skin is free to be explored and Soubi takes full advantage of the given opportunity to cup and squeeze Ritsuka’s ass (which earns him a moan and another press of his Sacrifice’s hips against his own) before he almost curiously grasps Ritsuka’s tail and strokes it, slowly and gently. Ritsuka all but writhes above him, and he’s never done that when Soubi’s touched his tail before. But then again, the situation that they’re in now is altogether entirely different, isn’t it?
“You know,” Soubi begins teasingly, thumb rubbing over the tip of Ritsuka’s tail, “we could come like this, both of us, just moving together.”
“No,” Ritsuka gasps out, shaking his head, though he seems unable to make his hips cease in their current grinding motions. “That’s not… not what I want. Not right now.”
“So what do you want, then?” Soubi purrs, still teasing, still rocking his hips up against Ritsuka’s.
There’s a seriousness in his Sacrifice’s eyes that he hadn’t counted on seeing, because he’d only been teasing. Ritsuka doesn’t seem upset, but he is frowning slightly in what appears to be disapproval. Has Soubi displeased him without meaning to?
“I want you--” and Ritsuka could leave it at that, but he doesn’t: “—to let me give to you. Weren’t you listening the first time, you dummy? Everything, Soubi. All that you deserve, I want to give to you.”
“Of course I was listening,” Soubi replies, his voice soft but filled with the same seriousness that is in Ritsuka’s eyes. “I was only teasing, Ritsuka.”
“I know.” Ritsuka nods, the look in his eyes softening. The tip of his tail brushes against Soubi’s thumb. “I know that. I just want to…” He trails off then, as if he can’t quite find the words to say (not that words are really needed). “What do you want, Soubi?”
And now Soubi feels just a little guilty, because Ritsuka is being serious and sincere—he is offering Soubi everything. He is offering himself, even though he’s given so much already. He’s given Soubi that which the Fighter had never possessed before. He’s given Soubi gifts which he had always been led to believe he did not deserve, among those gifts being laughter and affection. Ritsuka has never treated him as Seimei would have (and had) treated him. He has never used violence. And before Ritsuka, all of the lessons he’d been taught had revolved around winning battles and being a good follower of orders. Ritsuka has taught him lessons far more valuable, and here Soubi is, teasing his Sacrifice (though good-naturedly) when the teen is willingly placing himself in such a vulnerable position.
“I’m sorry,” Soubi whispers, with gravity. He continues before the violet-eyed boy has a chance to reply: “Do you remember years ago when I told you that I wanted you to take me one day? I know you didn’t understand then, but--”
“I understand now,” Ritsuka interrupts, sounding perhaps a little indignant. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Soubi.”
Soubi quirks an eyebrow and smiles, slipping a hand between them and lightly gripping Ritsuka’s cock, stroking it once before releasing it, making Ritsuka squirm a little. “You most certainly aren’t.” Then he runs his fingers through his Sacrifice’s hair, tilting his head to the side and shifting a little. “So you must know what I want then, right?”
Ritsuka’s lashes lower, eyes slitted, and he gives a short nod. “I do, but tell me anyway.” He is the only person Soubi has ever known that can make a statement sound like a request and a command all rolled into one.
This is an order-request that Soubi is all too happy to follow. “Take, Ritsuka. Give.” He is aware, too, that his own request might sound a little like a command, but Ritsuka has taught him that that is okay—before Ritsuka, he would have been severely punished for even hinting at such a thing.
Ritsuka’s eyes darken and he leans down, brushing his lips against Soubi’s. “I’ll be careful,” he breathes, and it is a promise. Before Ritsuka, no-one had ever been careful with him. Not with his heart, and most certainly not with his body.
“I know you will,” Soubi responds. He knows without having to be told that Ritsuka will be very careful to begin with, even though he doesn’t really have to be. It is just how he is. “I will be careful, too.” And Soubi isn’t just referring to the sex. He trusts that his Sacrifice will understand that.
“I know you will,” Ritsuka echoes, smiling softly before moving away from Soubi, scooting towards the edge of the bed. “We’re… ah… we’re going to need… lubricant.” The words are spoken in a near-mumble, and Soubi knows that Ritsuka is blushing without having to see the other’s face.
“Yes,” Soubi agrees. “There’s some in the—Ritsuka?”
Ritsuka is lying on his stomach and leaning over the edge of the bed, tail swishing back and forth. The angle gives Soubi a nice view of the teen’s ass, but surely that cannot be the reason as to why Ritsuka is currently pretty much hanging upside-down.
His curiosity is sated a moment later when Ritsuka re-emerges (right-side-up) with a small tube of… wait, where did he get that from?
Soubi is aware of the fact that he’s staring, and he probably shouldn’t be too terribly surprised. Ritsuka has always liked to be prepared for everything, and besides, he is a young man now.
“I bought it myself,” Ritsuka tells him before he can pick his jaw up off of the floor. “I put it under the bed because, in all of these years, I have never seen you look under the bed. Not even once. Figured it would be a nice hiding spot. Also figured you had some as well, but….” He shrugs a little as he opens the tube, squeezing some of the lubricant onto three of his fingers. “Are you… I need you to… open your legs a little more.”
Ritsuka, the one who still has his ears and tail in this picture, is giving Soubi instructions. He is giving them tentatively, but he’s giving them. Soubi can barely believe his ears.
“Yes,” Soubi murmurs as he spreads his thighs a little further apart. “You need to--”
“I know what I need to do,” Ritsuka gently interjects. “Don’t worry about anything, Soubi.”
It then occurs to Soubi that his little (well, definitely not so little—not anymore) Sacrifice might not be as innocent in the ways of love-making as he’d previously thought. He offers the violet-eyed teen a smirk and drawls, “Why Ritsuka, you appear to be more knowledgeable about this than I thought. Have you been… watching adult movies, perhaps?”
Ritsuka’s cat ears twitch and his cheeks turn scarlet. “No!” he sputters quickly, moving his hand carefully between Soubi’s thighs. One of his fingers brushes against Soubi’s perineum before moving further down, slowly circling his entrance, and both of them hold their breath for a long second. Ritsuka is watching him—watching and waiting for the permission that Soubi already granted years ago.
But he says what Ritsuka wants – perhaps needs – to hear at the moment, anyway: “I’m yours, Ritsuka.” He means those words with every bit of his damaged heart.
That seems to be the ‘go ahead’ (so to speak) that Ritsuka needs, and he presses that finger inside, so very slowly. Up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and he pauses. Soubi doesn’t understand why he’s stopped.
“… Yes,” Ritsuka finally whispers, the blush still gracing his pretty cheeks. “I have watched… porn… but it wasn’t really a lot of help.” He frowns. “It’s just sex for the sake of sex, which is the point of it, I guess, but I had to… uhm. I asked for advice.” He twists his wrist a little, from one side to the other, and Soubi’s curiosity briefly vanishes, replaced by pure, demanding want.
But the inquisitiveness quickly returns once Ritsuka’s finger stills within him yet again. “Asked… who?” And why hadn’t Ritsuka asked him about it, instead of someone else?
Ritsuka’s finger moves again: in, out, out, in. Still slow and careful and gentle and pure. The feel of it is indescribable; Ritsu never bothered to prepare him like this—he was never slow, always in a hurry, and never gentle. Soubi is so caught up in the feel of this because it is so different, and he almost doesn’t hear Ritsuka’s answer: “Kio.” Immediately after his reply, however, he asks a question of his own. “Is this okay, Soubi?”
Soubi prioritizes, answering Ritsuka’s question first. “It’s wonderful, Ritsuka.” Honest. Sincere. “More, please.” And by the time Ritsuka adds a second finger to join the first, Soubi has almost forgotten that his Sacrifice had even mentioned Kio. But only almost.
“Why did you ask Kio?” he queries, even though some part of him knows that he should forget it for now—save it for later because Ritsuka’s fingers are… god, they’re amazing. Long and slender and pushing in and pulling out of him and scissoring and curling, and how did he learn to do this?
Even before he can give Ritsuka a moment to answer him, he is asking yet another question, blurting it out in one breath, half-jealous and half-ashamed, “You didn’t have any hands-on lessons with Kio, did you?”
He regrets it the instant the question leaves his lips, of course, because it’s a stupid thing to ask. He knows better. Kio is his best friend. Ritsuka is his everything. He trusts Kio with his life and with Ritsuka, and he trusts Ritsuka with his heart.
Ritsuka stops moving, and he glares at Soubi harder than he ever has in the past four years, and then there’s the guilt and more regret, and Soubi wishes again that he hadn’t said something so stupid. What had even possessed him to say such a thing? Jealousy over the fact that Ritsuka hadn’t gone to him first?
“I know you don’t mean that,” Ritsuka says, voice low and even, carefully controlled. “You’re being a dummy for no reason again, as usual. I asked Kio because both of us trust him, and because I wanted to… surprise you. I wanted to do this right for you, you idiot. Now, are you going to let me do this, or are you going to continue with the interrogation?”
I’m sorry, Soubi almost says again, but doesn’t. Instead, he murmurs, “You’re here, so it can be nothing but right.” He then yanks the teen down for another kiss, and it’s a little awkward from this angle, but he can deal with it. Plus, it forces Ritsuka’s fingers deeper inside of him, and makes him whimper against Ritsuka’s lips.
Ritsuka doesn’t yield to him, exactly. He parts his lips and allows Soubi’s tongue entrance, but he is not at all passive. He kisses Soubi back and it’s hot and heavy and perfect. It leaves Soubi wanting more immediately after the kiss has ended, but Ritsuka does not indulge him.
At least, not with his mouth.
Ritsuka pushes a third finger into Soubi, and when he curls his fingers this time and presses, tiny shockwaves work their way up and down Soubi’s body and he shoves his hips down onto those delightfully torturous fingers, pleased to be rewarded with the same sensation—like electricity, only not. Ritsuka is doing this – moving his fingers like this – purely for Soubi’s pleasure, and before Ritsuka, no-one had ever given even the briefest thought or inclination to pleasuring him like this.
But Ritsuka is thinking about Soubi, and not just himself. This is not a selfish act. It is meant to bring mutual pleasure, and Soubi understands that even though it has been a foreign concept for much of his life.
“That’s it, huh?” Ritsuka asked with a small, seemingly self-satisfied smirk. “You really like this?” He draws his fingers back and pushes them in again, curling them like before, and Soubi makes an almost-strangled sound that is meant to be one of agreement. Right now he can’t quite manage coherency. He thinks Ritsuka might be proud of that fact, too.
“Oh, yes,” Soubi hisses, back arching when Ritsuka begins moving his fingers in unison, thrusting them in and out, mimicking what is to come. Soon, Soubi hopes fervently. Soon. His cock is throbbing and his muscles are clenching every now and again around Ritsuka’s fingers, and he feels like he can’t wait any longer but he is waiting—one second ticks by, and then another and another, until he’s squirming restlessly, because Ritsuka’s fingers feel good (and so does the slight burn of being stretched), but he knows that it can and will be better as soon as Ritsuka is inside of him (and there will be more of that burning, stretching sensation).
Ritsuka curls his fingers again and Soubi nearly sobs out, “Please,” because he could wait longer but he doesn’t want to. He’s waited long enough—not minutes or hours or days or weeks or months but years. And now, patience seems highly overrated, be it a virtue or not. Being virtuous has never been one of his top priorities.
“Okay,” Ritsuka whispers, and there is the slightest catch in his voice. “Okay, Soubi.” There is the loss of that feeling of fullness as he withdraws his fingers from Soubi’s body, and Soubi whimpers without meaning to, opening his eyes to watch as Ritsuka snatches up the lubricant once again, movements more hasty than before, and as a result, a bit more clumsy.
“Let me,” Soubi offers, and before Ritsuka can stop him, he takes the lubricant from him, squeezing a liberal amount of it (more than necessary, perhaps, but that doesn’t really matter, does it?) into his waiting palm.
The moment his fist closes around Ritsuka’s cock and squeezes, Ritsuka gives a short cry, hips jerking upwards, and Soubi smiles, loving how such a simple action can make Ritsuka react so strongly.
Not that Soubi has room to talk or anything.
“Can’t wait,” Soubi says, unaware of the fact that he’s said it out loud until Ritsuka tells him that it’s okay not to wait – that they’ve waited long enough – and Soubi nearly loses it for the nth time right then and there.
A few more strokes and it’s enough—it has to be enough, because Soubi isn’t going to wait any longer, and because Ritsuka is just as impatient as he is.
And as he helps to guide Ritsuka into position, he thinks that maybe it’s silly to be jealous about Ritsuka’s talk with Kio, because even though Ritsuka isn’t at all oblivious to how this is done, it’s still new to him—new to both of them, though in different ways. Ritsuka has never experienced lovemaking at all, nor has Soubi, though he’s familiar with sex and with violence. What Ritsuka is giving him is… almost foreign, in a sense, and Soubi is mesmerized by it, by this difference.
“Don’t move your hips until I tell you to,” Ritsuka instructs, a softly-spoken order, but an order all the same. His orders are different from theirs—so sweet and hesitant and not at all cruel. This is how Ritsuka has been and always will be. It’s something Soubi has had to adjust to, and even now, there are mornings in which he tests reality by waking up and pinching himself just to make sure he isn’t dreaming.
These past four years have been like a culture shock to him, almost. It’s still surreal at times, like he’s having an out-of-body experience.
Like right now, for instance: Right now, while the head of Ritsuka’s cock is pressing against his entrance. Right now, Soubi kind of wants to pinch himself, just to make sure this is really real.
But that is proven to be an unnecessary action when Ritsuka shifts and presses again, harder this time, and with purpose. And then he’s in, really in, and pushing still, inch by inch, so careful. More careful and gentler than Soubi had ever imagined, but he shouldn’t really be surprised, should he? This is Ritsuka, after all.
Ritsuka pauses when he’s fully sheathed inside of Soubi, and Soubi knows that he does it for the both of them—they need a moment to adjust to this new, raw sensation. Before Ritsuka, there had been pain during this act. Now, there is a stretching sensation, but no pain, and it’s never been like this with Ritsu.
“Soubi,” Ritsuka all but moans, “You’re… god, this is…” He shakes his head and closes his eyes, inhaling slowly, trembling above him.
“Amazing,” Soubi finishes for him, reaching up to brush his fingers over Ritsuka’s lips. That isn’t even a strong enough word, but Soubi’s vocabulary is rather limited at the moment.
“Yeah,” Ritsuka says and nods. “You are.” He draws back and for some reason, Soubi thinks that Ritsuka might slam into him, for impatience and inexperience can make on rather… hurried.
But Ritsuka doesn’t do that at all; he pushes in again almost as slowly as he had the first time, and he repeats the motion again and again until he’s built a rhythm that is slow and sweet and perfect in its own way, and Soubi ignores the ache in his thighs—the silent scream of protest that demands movement instead of stillness. He ignores it in favor of concentrating on the lazy back-and-forth motion of Ritsuka’s hips, because the pleasure of that far outweighs the pain of his too-still muscles.
Besides that, Ritsuka has not yet given him permission to move along with him, and so Soubi stays as still as he possibly can, hips unmoving just as Ritsuka had ordered, though his hands are moving, smoothing along Ritsuka’s back and sides, stroking his skin and his tail.
Ritsuka’s arms are shaking, and Soubi knows it’s because he’s holding himself back—he’s not giving his all right now, and Soubi wants to tell him that it’s all right to go faster, to push in harder, but he doesn’t. He lets Ritsuka take this at his own pace—lets him take and give as much as he wants.
He can’t help the slight curve of his back, though, not when Ritsuka easily slides a hand between them and curls his fingers around Soubi’s cock, stroking him in time with his languorous thrusts. If he’s upset by Soubi’s involuntary reaction, he doesn’t show it. He rocks his hips down – in – again, circles them a little, and Soubi digs his nails into Ritsuka’s skin without meaning to. Ritsuka doesn’t seem upset by this, either.
The heaviness in Soubi’s lower belly is growing, building gradually like the tide, but it isn’t enough. He needs Ritsuka to speed up and he needs to move, but he does not demand either of those things, even though some small, secret part of him kind of wants to.
But eventually, his Sacrifice answers his silent pleas, surprising him further still by changing the angle, and when he sinks inside of him again, Soubi swears he sees stars. Ritsuka has found that spot, and it’s almost too much, all on its own.
“Soubi, I can’t,” Ritsuka gasps out and Soubi wants to gather him closer and stroke his hair and whisper that it’s all right, but doing that right now would make Ritsuka lose the angle that he’s found, and Soubi certainly doesn’t want that to happen.
So instead, Soubi tells him that it’s all right to let go and that he wants to see Ritsuka do that, anyway. In a way, he’s giving Ritsuka permission, even though he doesn’t need it—never will, because Soubi would go to the ends of the earth for him whether it was asked of him or not. This is something Soubi can give to Ritsuka easily. Freely.
“Move with me, then,” Ritsuka commands, leaning down to breathe the words against Soubi’s jaw, and without hesitation, Soubi moves, for he has permission now. The muscles of his legs practically sing in relief the moment he shoves his hips up to meet Ritsuka’s next thrust.
Everything is pretty much a blur after that; though Soubi remains acutely aware the whole time that it’s never been like this—never this deep or hard or fast or beautiful or loving or simply right. Ritsu had been almost brutal, even the first time, and Ritsuka (even when he’s seemingly lost control of the movements of his hips) is anything but.
Soubi doesn’t mind when there’s not much of a rhythm anymore and it’s just their bodies moving frantically together, lost in want and need and pushing closerclosercloser until finally both of them are coming, crying out and shuddering and clinging to one another.
He’s not sure if the wetness he feels on his cheeks is tears or sweat, but whether it’s one or the other or both, it doesn’t really matter, because Ritsuka’s face is buried against his neck, and Soubi can feel wetness there, too.
For long moments, they simply hold one another and breathe, and eventually, Ritsuka shifts and slides out of him, snatching at the tissues on Soubi’s nightstand (Soubi uses them in the mornings to clean his glasses), using them to clean up a little. It’ll do for now, because Soubi is eager to have Ritsuka in his arms, and when he reaches for him, Ritsuka goes to him immediately.
“Thank you,” Soubi says, voice a little hoarse. He knows he doesn’t really have to say it, but he wants to, anyway.
“It should have been like that for you your first time,” Ritsuka tells Soubi as he curls closer to his side, voice breaking in the middle. He presses a fierce kiss to Soubi’s forehead. “I… I could have given you that.”
He sounds like a man determined to protect that which he holds dear. He sounds like a boy mourning over and raging at the things he is powerless to change.
These days, Soubi places everything into two categories: Before Ritsuka, and After Ritsuka. Before he met Ritsuka, his life had been filled with people who, for the most part, wanted to dominate and take. After he met Ritsuka, he’d learned that not everyone was like that. Not everyone wanted to take until there was nothing left. Ritsuka didn’t, and doesn’t. Ritsuka believes in equality. Ritsuka gives.
Soubi has scars which are never going to magically go away. But, with time and with Ritsuka, things have gotten better and will continue to improve. With Ritsuka, he can heal.
He cups Ritsuka’s cheek and smiles, genuinely happy.
“You have given me that, Ritsuka. You have.”
I don’t think I’m as happy with this as I initially was, but… oh well. :/ Maybe you guys liked it, at least. I wanted the emotion to be evident in this fic. You’re all drowning in sap by now, probably. XD I AM SORRY.