WRITTEN BY CHANTREA JOHARI
The light was dim, but Sakito was still reading, curled up in that chair in the corner of his bedroom with a book open in his lap. The chair was well-cushioned and comfortable, and Hitsugi knew that because he’d sat down on it before, he’d bent him over the side of it and fucked him while the other man moaned into the soft fabric of the cushion. He didn’t see Hitsugi standing there, because Hitsugi had let himself into his apartment with the key the other guitarist had given him months ago, and he hadn’t intended to let the reading man know it.
His dark eyes were trailing over the pages of the book slowly, because Sakito read like that, as if he enjoyed savoring every word. It was the same way he ate chocolate, when he allowed himself the pleasure; he’d take small bites, let it melt in his hand and then lick it slowly off his fingers—he’d once told Hitsugi that it tasted like heaven.
Hitsugi had told Sakito then that he tasted like heaven, and promptly blushed in complete embarrassment, changing the subject quickly. And Sakito had let him, because the two understood each other, and he always knew where Hitsugi was coming from. He’d even known, the first time that Hitsugi had guided him down onto his bed, what the other man had wanted.
But now, Sakito was completely oblivious to Hitsugi’s presence in the room, was reading the book in front of him with such intense concentration that he probably wouldn’t have noticed even if the other guitarist hadn’t made a conscious effort not to make a sound.
Hitsugi moved fluidly through the dimness of the room, because this was where he felt most comfortable, this was where he could mask his embarrassment and his fear. In the darkness, he could be whatever he wanted, and sometimes, he wanted to be aggressive and dominant and dangerous. Sometimes, he wanted to be that guy so many people already assumed he was when they saw pictures of him with the band, with dark makeup and all his piercings.
And sometimes, Sakito wanted to let him. And Sakito didn’t know it yet, but this would be one of those times.
The taller man seemed surprised when the book was suddenly pulled from his grasp by a pair of hands from behind him, and he looked up, though he already knew who the other person was. He wasn’t surprised when he found himself looking up into a familiar face. Sakito recognized the look on the other guitarist’s face the moment their eyes connected, and like always, he knew what the other man wanted.
Without even a word, Sakito stood up and gave the other man a meaningful glance over his shoulder, fingertips dancing around the hem of his shirt as he walked toward the bed. Slowly, his back turned to Hitsugi, he grabbed the bottom of the garment and slid it fluidly over his head, moving his body provocatively. Hitsugi growled low in his throat as the long expanse of Sakito’s back was revealed to him, the sinewy muscles and hard lines. Sakito looked over his shoulder again and grinned at the other man.
“Saki-kun,” Hitsugi breathed out warningly. “Don’t be a tease.” His voice was languid and deep—it was something about the confidence this near-darkness gave him. Sakito smiled again; he was tempting fate.
“What are you going to do about it?” he inquired cattily, and Hitsugi’s resulting movements were quick; he had the man by the wrists in a moment, had him pinned to the bed on his hands and knees, Hitsugi’s already-growing hard on pressing directly against the other guitarist’s cloth-covered ass. Sakito seemed pleased by the response, pressed back into the comforting presence of another body behind him.
“This,” Hitsugi hissed into the other man’s ear, pressing his growing erection into the other man’s ass. With the limited mobility Sakito had, he continued to press back into the stimulus.
“I want you to fuck me,” Sakito breathed out a few moments later—the darkness could make him more confident as well.
“I want to fuck you,” Hitsugi breathed, but he could feel himself flushing again; somehow, this was an involuntary reaction he could never get rid of, because on some deeper level, the realization of his desires always mortified him. Sakito’s reaction, though, was always different.
Hitsugi shifted a bit, so that he was holding the other guitarist’s wrists with only one hand, using the other to unbutton Sakito’s pants. There was something about the modicum of control this afforded him that was intoxicating; he knew that Sakito would be able to break his hold without much effort, but he also knew that the older man wouldn’t. And that was exciting.
The movement took more effort than it would with two hands, but somehow, Hitsugi managed to get the other man’s pants unbuttoned and pulled down just over his ass. It was marginally easier to unbutton and unzip his own pants, as well as pull two necessary items out of his pocket—he had come prepared. He was only halfway finished spreading lubricant on his now condom-sheathed cock before Sakito breathed out, “Do it,” and suddenly, Hitsugi found himself plunging deep into the older man’s body.
Sakito, who was now being pinned down again by both of Hitsugi’s hands, groaned at the sudden intrusion, as much as he had been expecting it. He writhed beneath the other man’s body, delighting in the feeling of being so deliciously filled. He continued moving backward into the other man’s thrusts, groaning softly, urging the other man with his movements to thrust harder.
Their bodies moved together in a synchronized dance; they’d done it many times before, on nights when they had both needed it this desperately. Hitsugi couldn’t come out in the light and say that he wanted this, that he wanted to hold one of his close friends down and pound mercilessly into his body—and not being able to say that made him desperate after a while. After a while, he needed it almost more than he needed to breathe.
Just like Sakito needed to be dominated, needed to be pinned down and fucked the way he truly desired, the way he couldn’t ask anyone else to fuck him. Because he’d never even asked Hitsugi—he couldn’t. But Hitsugi knew. And Hitsugi continued to thrust into his body, harder.
Both men were still mostly clothed, and it almost felt dirty to be fucking this way—but it was easier in the darkness, as if they could hide any semblance of debauchery either man felt as if they were committing. Both guitarists were breathing hard, moving in rhythm together, as if their bodies were made to move together, as if their bodies could speak to each other, skin to skin.
Sakito was still moaning and writhing, but he had only limited mobility because of the way that the younger man had him restrained. And Hitsugi, too, was now making sounds, muttering low curses under his breath. And their bodies understood each other in just that way—just enough that when Hitsugi gave his final, culminating thrust, Sakito too had reached his release, and both groaned out in ecstasy before their bodies collapsed to the bed.
They breathed harshly together for a few long moments before Hitsugi pulled out and Sakito spoke. “Fuck. I love it when you fuck me like that,” the taller man breathed out.
And Hitsugi blushed, but the other man didn’t see it in the darkness.