Work Text:
Dating Yasutomo Arakita, as Shingo Kinjou has found out, is a bit like romancing a firecracker. It's beautiful, energetic, and smells like the end of summer. It's also dangerous as hell up close.
Kinjou suppresses a wince, feeling one of Arakita's exceptionally sharp canines drag across his lower lip again. He moans into the other young man's mouth, tapping lightly at his cheek where Arakita is starting to apply too much pressure. Immediately, Arakita corrects himself and loosens his jaw, letting Kinjou's tongue inside instead.
He's getting better about this. Their last few make-out sessions, he didn't even draw blood once until Kinjou asked him to.
Managing Arakita's teeth is just one task, though. His nails are another. Left to their own devices, Arakita's hands tended to leave long scratches along Kinjou's biceps or shoulder blades -- or tear at his sleeves, if Kinjou is unfortunate enough to still be wearing clothes when they start doing this. Like he is right now.
(It can't be helped. When Arakita gets into a mood it doesn't matter if they're fresh out of the showers or running late to a lecture, or like they are right now, standing under a sodium yellow streetlamp as the first snow of the season drifts down on their uncovered heads. If anyone sees them like this, they'd both probably die of shame, but that doesn't stop Arakita's hands from venturing to Kinjou's waist, and then further south from there--)
Kinjou moans a warning into Arakita's mouth again, returning his hands to Arakita's wrists just before they come to rest at his ass. Thumbs pressed to his pulse points, he moves Arakita's arms back to his sides and then breaks the seal of their mouths, hot breath frosting in the air between them as they part the kiss.
“Let's go inside,” Kinjou suggests, a little winded.
Arakita drags a bright red tongue over his lower lip, already chapped from the cold. It's a strangely lewd sight, especially together with the pink flush covering his cheeks.
“Tch… big baby. Afraid someone might see you?” Arakita murmurs, sounding more flustered than annoyed. Like somehow for the thousandth time Kinjou has worked some kind of witchcraft on him to get them into this spot. Their hips only brush, but Kinjou wouldn't be surprised if Arakita is already getting hard inside his jeans. It's happened before.
Still, he doesn't protest when Kinjou starts to lead in the direction of the dormitories. Whatever's waiting for them there seems a promising enough prospect to get out of the snow.
They stamp their shoes clean at the dormitory foyer, take the elevator up to their floor, and are halfway out of their coats by the time Kinjou gets the keycard lock open on their room. The door is barely shut behind them before Arakita urges Kinjou's back against it and presses their mouths together in another harsh kiss.
“Mnn,” Kinjou reminds, tapping Arakita's cheek while his tongue is snared in the other man's mouth. This time, it takes a moment before Arakita lets up with his canines, and Kinjou comes away from the kiss nursing a hot scrape along his lower lip. He worries it, sucking on it between his teeth while slipping off his glasses.
“Oops,” says Arakita, flashing a white grin. He tugs at the knot of the red and gray scarf around his throat, allowing it to slide to the floor by their feet.
Kinjou fixes him with a firm look, the kind which usually spells a lecture. Instead, the tip of his tongue peeks out between his teeth and runs over his bitten lip, while in the same fluid movement, his eyes narrow on Arakita and he flips the lock on the door behind him.
“Oh-hoh," Arakita remarks, unfastening the last button on his coat so that it drops to the floor atop his scarf. “Shin-chan's got that scary look in his eyes again.”
“Can't imagine what you mean,” Kinjou rumbles, even though his coat and gloves are going the way of Arakita's clothes at a severe clip. At this rate, they'll be down to their briefs before they even reach one of their bunks. But before that happens, Kinjou darts out his hands and hooks a couple fingers through Arakita's belt loops, tugging him by the waist until their hips are flush together again and Kinjou's teeth are at Arakita's throat.
“Sh-shit...!” Arakita gasps, a full body shudder running through him, so powerful that Kinjou can actually feel Arakita's bones rattle where their bodies meet. His fists his hands in the sleeves of Kinjou's shirt, hard enough that the seams start to creak, maybe threatening to snap. And he'd just repaired this one. “And you give me a hard time about--! What are you, in heat, you fucker?!”
Kinjou releases his teeth, lapping at the neat lines of red marks -- like a sewing pattern -- placed along a strong line of Arakita's throat. (Good: he didn't break the skin. It’s pointless to give Arakita rules if he doesn't follow them himself.)
“You tell me,” Kinjou murmurs into his ear, even though he senses that, just as Arakita says, he's losing his usual firm handle on the situation. Whether that counts as being 'in heat' to Arakita's nose, Kinjou can't really begin to guess. But it's probably best he regains his composure, and gets them into one or the other's bunk soon, anyway.
(Going in on a room together for their second year at university had been Arakita's idea, and though at first it had been a total disaster, the two ultimately found themselves just as strangely compatible as roommates as they seemed to be in everything else. There's nothing to be done about the single bunks, but it's a small inconvenience for the benefit of a little privacy.)
They end up in Kinjou's bed, which is not as messy, but which sadly has a stack of textbooks piled in one corner. These, Arakita manages to kick off within twenty seconds of Kinjou pinning him to the mattress. To Kinjou's credit, he doesn't stop to pick them up.
There is a tugging off of shirts and an unfastening of trousers, and then Kinjou wraps both hands around Arakita's wrists again, pushing them into the mattress to either side of his head while Kinjou's teeth scrape at his lower lip. Arakita is nearly feral beneath him by this point, his breaths coming fast and short as he licks over Kinjou's teeth and lips and nose. Their hips meet again, and this time Kinjou is able to relish the sweet friction as they grind together, the heat of Arakita's arousal pressed against his own through the fabric of their underwear.
Kinjou lets out a long, steady groan into Arakita's mouth. He can't keep Arakita's hands pinned forever, not unless he's content to just come in his shorts while frotting against him like this. And while that has a certain appeal, it lacks a bit in creativity. So, shifting Arakita's hands so that he can restrain them both one-handed over his head, Kinjou rocks his weight back onto his knees and uses his free hand to reach for the side drawer on his desk.
“Hey... Shin-chan,” Arakita says, breathless. His eyes are glazed and a little unfocused, as though he's drunk off of Kinjou's tongue or the heat between their bodies. “This kinda hurts.”
“So do your nails,” Kinjou answers, still sorting through the contents of the drawer.
“Haaah...” Arakita drags out a laugh with an exhale, chest rising and falling so sharply that Kinjou can see the outline of his ribs. “I'll be good today. Promise. Don’t be such a hardass...”
This is a promise Arakita never, ever keeps, but when he says he like that, Kinjou's helpless to refuse. Besides, it won't matter in a few minutes anyway.
“All right...”
Settling back into a kneeling position between Arakita’s legs, Kinjou finally releases his grip on his wrists. He interests himself in the items retrieved from the desk drawer while Arakita massages some life back into his fingers.
“Tch... you're way too serious,” Arakita complains, watching Kinjou from his position reclined against the bed. The fugue has lifted a little from his expression, but his skin is still flushed from his cheeks on down to his collarbone. Even his nipples have darkened to a pink shade that looks so cute and uncharacteristic that Kinjou only narrowly resists the urge to pinch them. “The hell d'you got there, anyway? A blankie?”
Rather than answering, Kinjou lowers a hand toward Arakita, palm up. He's regarded with a suspicious glance for his trouble, but after a beat Arakita relents, resting his hand in Kinjou's.
Ducking his head in an appreciative nod, Kinjou works quickly, slipping the pink crocheted material over one of Arakita's hands and then the other. By the time Arakita is able to react, he's already fastening the cuffs.
“Wh--” Arakita stutters, eyes growing wide as he looks down at the mittens now covering his hands. “Wha-- What the--? What the hell is this?!”
“I made them,” Kinjou answers smoothly.
“Who the fuck cares if you made them, why are they on my hands?!” Despite his blustering, Arakita is already turning his hands over to examine the mittens’ reverse sides, seeing the precise snake and wolf designs Kinjou has knitted there. “And why are there straps?!?”
“So they won't fall off.” In one beat, Kinjou reaches down and gathers up Arakita's wrist again, nimbly unbuckling the small cuff. He watches Arakita's eyes as they follow his fingers, and knows even before he finishes undoing the band that Arakita won't take this opportunity to rip the thing off. “Tell me if they're too tight.”
“Fuck you, 'tell me if they're too tight'!” Arakita exclaims, sputtering. His face is still a deep scarlet. “Why are we using these?!”
Kinjou suppresses a chuckle. Because with the way Arakita asks that, it's clear that he's already given his permission. Besides, the cuffs are just repurposed leather wristwatch bands -- they don't confer any real restraint and he's not otherwise tied down. All they are is a bit humiliating, which (if Kinjou is going to be honest) is pretty much the point.
“So you don't scratch,” Kinjou explains, leaning in to give Arakita a reassuring pat on the cheek.
He knows as soon as he sees his eyes narrow that Arakita will turn his head and catch his thumb between his teeth. Kinjou allows it anyway, a crooked grin spreading across his face as Arakita bites down. The pressure is close to pain, but he's not using nearly enough strength to break the skin. He's almost sucking on his thumb like a pacifier.
It's maddeningly erotic, if Kinjou lets himself get caught up in it for too long. This is another one of the dangers of dating Yasutomo Arakita.
Still, after a long moment, it’s Arakita who cracks first. He can’t tolerate the way Kinjou is holding his gaze as he bites and releases his thumb, tossing his head aside.
“...F-fine,” he huffs, still avoiding Kinjou’s eyes. “You made them, and it's not like they're cutting off my circulation or anything, so... I guess we can try it. Once.”
'Once' is good enough. With an appreciative hum, Kinjou dips his head and brings Arakita's wrist to his lips, kissing his pulse point just below where the mitten's cuff ends. Arakita makes a sound like a cat getting its fur stroked in the wrong direction, but that's still generally a good sign, in Arakita's lexicon of noises.
“...They still look dumb as hell,” Arakita continues stubbornly, after Kinjou has refastened the cuff. He reaches up and fumbles a bit to get a handhold around Kinjou's shoulders. The soft wool is a bit ticklish against the skin, but the mittens have also warmed to Arakita's body temperature, so it's not unpleasant. “Why couldn't you just pick something up at a sex shop like a normal weirdo, anyway?”
“'Normal weirdo'?” Kinjou echoes, the question terminating in a soft groan as Arakita hooks a leg over his hip and connects their bodies again, stirring his arousal back to life a little. “...There's no reason. I just decided to opt for... hnn. The 'personal touch.'”
Actually, the prospect of going into a specialty store for something like this had mortified Kinjou, but Arakita doesn't need to know that. The snake and wolf designs look cute on him anyway.
He reaches a hand beneath Arakita, hooking his fingers under the waist of his jeans to begin tugging them aside, and Arakita's briefs along with them. As his nails drag softly over newly exposed skin, Arakita growls and sinks his nails into Kinjou's back -- blessedly without effect, save for a firm pressure digging into his shoulder blades.
“You're such a nerd,” Arakita complains, settling on sucking at a tender spot of flesh above Kinjou's collarbone, now that his nails aren’t an option. “Mmff. It doesn't hafta be a big production. It’s just a fuck.”
“Not this time,” says Kinjou, finally tugging Arakita's jeans and shorts free of his hips, and then wrapping a firm hand around his flagging cock. Arakita makes a little choked noise in the back of his throat and arches into his grip almost immediately. "This time I want to take you apart."
“Shit... Shin-chan...”
The ridiculous mittens start dragging along Kinjou's back, but that's not the problem anymore. The problem now is Arakita's teeth, scraping open-mouthed against his throat and collarbone, at times nibbling along his jaw.
“If you lose control with your teeth,” Kinjou warns, even as he ignores all signs and keeps pumping Arakita's erection in his fist, “I'll have to muzzle you.”
“--Gkh! You wouldn't--!” Arakita snarls, but the objection dies in his throat as he shudders, head suddenly tilting back. The contours of his throat are outlined in a clear sheen of sweat, and Kinjou’s red teeth marks from before are already starting to darken, practically daring Kinjou to tease the same spot again. So that's exactly what he does, dipping his head down to suck at Arakita's throat while his thumb circles over the wet head of his cock. “Hey-- quit-- this whole 'topping' shit--! It's pissing me off--!”
He says that, but Kinjou and Arakita have already had the conversation on the difference between 'no' and 'no.' He has a safeword. He's used it. So Kinjou is fairly confident that this, here, isn't stepping over his boundaries, much as he blusters and shouts about it.
Rather than give a reply, Kinjou slides his other hand up over Arakita's stomach and gives one of his nipples a cruel pinch. Arakita curses again, his back arching and falling as Kinjou increases the tempo of his hand around his swollen dick.
The mittens -- now itchy with the addition of a bit of sweat; Kinjou's surprised he didn't think of that -- drag urgently up along his shoulders, and then Arakita palms one hand against Kinjou's neck; his cheek. It's... well, it's uncomfortable and probably looks completely absurd, but Kinjou can't be bothered with distractions right now. Not with Arakita's hips jerking up to meet his hand as his breaths turn into pants.
“--Fuuuuck... Come on... Shingo...”
His full first name, for once. Smirking against Arakita's throat, Kinjou darts his tongue out to lap at the bitten and sensitized skin, deciding that perhaps he can be generous for today. Tightening his grip, he pumps the full length of Arakita’s cock until he’s all but shouting in his ear, the mittens dragging through Kinjou’s short-buzzed hair.
“Ah--”
Kinjou’s pace falters, as he feels something like a pinch and then a stinging sensation along his lower back. Shifting, he becomes aware just how tightly Arakita’s legs are fastened around his waist, toes digging hard into the small of Kinjou’s back just above his belt.
“Whuh…” Arakita gasps beneath him, disoriented, as Kinjou abruptly releases his hand around his cock and sits back. “Wha’s goin’-- Whazzamatter…?”
“You must’ve kicked your socks off,” says Kinjou, resting back on his heels as he deftly unfolds Arakita’s legs from around his midsection. “Go into the drawer and hand me the small box there.”
“What the fuh…” Arakita breaks off into a pant before he can even get to the final syllable. He tosses his head, throwing loose, sweat-damp bits of hair out of his eyes. “I was almost there!”
“It should be the box with the gold and red paper,” Kinjou continues, as if Arakita hadn’t spoken up at all. He interests himself in resuming what he started earlier, yanking Arakita’s jeans and underwear off the rest of the way. He gets a few half-hearted kicks for his trouble.
“Gh--! I can’t grab anything when you’re manhandling me, dumbass!” Arakita snaps, even as he twists against the mattress to reach a hand into the open desk drawer. It only takes him a moment: Kinjou knows exactly where the item he requested is, and sure enough, Arakita is tossing the small wrapped package at him just a second later. “That better not be handmade booties or rope or something.”
“Nothing like that,” Kinjou says evenly, sticking a finger under a corner of the wrapping paper and tearing a neat line down along the box’s side. “This was your Christmas gift, but I suppose I can let you have it a little early.”
“If it’s mine, why are you the one opening it?” Arakita grumps, propping himself up on his elbows just as Kinjou removes the last of the wrapping paper. The box itself is slim, the size of a decent-sized paperback, and for as much as Arakita probably wishes to feign disinterest his gaze is fixed directly on it.
“I thought I’d be doing you a favor,” says Kinjou, indicating the mittens. Arakita blushes and sputters, so Kinjou goes ahead and opens the box. Then, before Arakita can get a good look at the items contained within, Kinjou grabs Arakita’s nearest leg by the ankle and starts slipping them on.
“...Socks?!” Arakita cries a moment later.
“Bedsocks,” Kinjou corrects him, tugging them neatly into place. They are dark blue, soft and, most importantly, thick enough that Arakita can’t slip them off on accident. “You always complain how cold your feet are in the morning.”
“You got me socks.”
“And now your feet won’t scratch,” Kinjou explains brightly, lifting one of Arakita’s knees to rest on his shoulder, as he settles down onto his stomach between the other man’s legs. It’s not especially elegant -- nearly half his body is hanging off the edge of the mattress now -- but it’ll do for the moment. “For our first year, anything else may have seemed too serious, so I thought this would be an acceptable gift. I do appreciate you, Yasutomo.”
“Gkhh-- Shut up, shut up, don’t even--!” Beet red with embarrassment, Arakita reaches out and swats at Kinjou’s head. With the mitten, it feels like being assaulted by a grandmother. “Don’t say stuff like ‘appreciate’ or use my name when you’re-- A-and don’t think I’m getting you a gift or whatever just because you got me these…!”
“Of course not,” Kinjou assures him, knowing full well it won’t reduce Arakita’s humiliation one bit. Nothing will, when he’s like this, and it’s not as though Kinjou doesn’t fully enjoy seeing him embarrassed, so -- he simply moves along and takes advantage of his current position between Arakita’s thighs, placing a wet and lazy kiss along the side of his cock, just beneath the head.
“Shi--” Whether it’s a curse or Kinjou’s name, the noise becomes a startled choke before the end, as Arakita tips his head back and Kinjou takes him into his mouth. He’s still hard from before and only needs a few light sucks to start purring agreeably, a hand resting lightly on the crown of Kinjou’s head as he takes him in a little deeper.
Much as Kinjou enjoys Arakita when he’s shouting abuse or stammering, he likes him even better like this: robbed of words, a bundle of raw tension and nerves, trembling like a tightly coiled spring beneath him. He tastes salty and bitter -- Kinjou expects that; it means he's eating right -- but beneath that Arakita tastes like a summer festival or the top of a steep hillside, and his pulse is frenetic under Kinjou’s fingers. In moments like these, Kinjou likes to believe he can almost understand what it’s like to be inside Arakita’s skin, to smell the world like he does.
“Ahgh… Shin… chan… I’m gonna--”
Arakita draws a deep and shuddering breath, his toes digging into Kinjou’s back and his fingers into his scalp, both spared any pain except a hard, urgent pressure against Kinjou’s skin. His hips convulse, his muscles in his thighs draw drum-tight, and Kinjou only barely has time to lift his head and wrap his fingers around the base of Arakita’s cock, staying his movements at the last possible second.
“Not yet,” Kinjou tells him, and is immediately met with a torrent of cursing.
He does, eventually, let Arakita come. It’s a beautiful thing when it happens, like watching a fireworks display take place across his body: the muscles of his stomach rippling, sweat-drenched limbs stretched to their limits, his lips drawn back and white teeth sinking into the red rubber gag (they had needed to use one by the end). He comes undone, completely unraveled, broken down to his constituent parts.
By comparison, Kinjou’s own orgasm is a mostly perfunctory thing. After seeing that his partner’s needs are met, he pulls out his own cock and strokes until he teases the lingering thread of arousal out of himself again. He comes into his hand soon after, bent over and admiring Arakita’s exhausted and boneless body. Then he goes to fetch a towel.
When Kinjou returns to the bed, Arakita has mustered the energy to spit out the gag and unbuckle the strap on one of the mittens using his teeth. He reclines back and tolerates Kinjou’s touch as he does the rest of the ‘restraints’ and removes his socks, then pats him down with the towel. Arakita is also acquiescent when he helps him over to the other bunk, seeing as -- after everything they’ve done in it today -- Kinjou’s bed is no longer the tidier of the two.
The snow is still gently falling on the window outside their dorm room when Kinjou pulls the comforter up over Arakita’s bare, pale shoulders. He feels a hand around his wrist just as he starts to move away, and hesitates.
“Hey… Shin-chan…”
Arakita lifts one drooping eyelid, fixing Kinjou with a disapproving gaze.
“What happened to all that hot-blooded alpha male bullshit earlier?” he asks. His voice is a little softer than normal, but naturally, his manner is the same as ever. “Thought fer once… Might get t’see you go off yer chain a little…”
That’s right. When they were just starting earlier, there were moments when Kinjou felt like he was losing his handle on himself. But that was because he’s only human. It’s easy enough to just sink into simple pleasure during sex, especially with a wild guy like Arakita, but…
He finds he enjoys this more, honestly.
Kinjou rests a knee on the edge of the bed, leaning in to allow Arakita to tuck his hand against his chest, as he seems intent on doing anyway.
“Pay me back next time,” he says, although that’s a meaningless suggestion. They don’t conduct their relationship like a transaction. “But since you’re still awake… I do have a favor to ask.”
“Mn,” is Arakita’s reply, uncharacteristically permissive, even if he is on the verge of sleep.
Kinjou leans a little closer and, with his free hand, taps a finger to his breastbone, just above his heart.
“Here,” he says.
“Mmnn… Yeah, sure.”
Summoning up the remains of his strength, Arakita pushes himself up onto his elbows on the bed and leans over, burying his face against Kinjou’s chest. His mouth finds the spot of flesh Kinjou has marked for him, and he sinks in his teeth. Hard. Slow. Until he breaks the skin and his lips become ringed with blood. Until whenever Kinjou tells him to stop.
END