[ So much has changed since they were last like this together, and yet there's so much familiarity left between them. Ainosuke's body is different -- heavily muscled and broad planed -- but it responds to Tadashi's touch just the same, all shivers and a pleading moan. His eyes are heavier, but they still spark to fixation when they meet Tadashi's gaze, and beckon him on with with a hungry leer. And his lips are more desperate, more demanding for every taste they steal from Tadashi, despite the same sharp bite behind them.
But Tadashi? He's also different, and nothing could have prepared Ainosuke for that realization. With his clothing gone, Ainosuke can appreciate it fully, and Tadashi's body holds him rapt. Where did this come from? Where was he hiding it? He's like a masterpiece chiseled from marble, and Ainosuke's been given leave to touch, to revere, to defile. And he does; his hands are greedy, tracing the sharp cuts of his abs, the softer stretch of his pecs, grasping softly at the rise in his shoulders, and God help him, Ainosuke finally -- fully and truly -- knows madness. He wants to tear Tadashi apart piece by piece, devour him whole, consume his heart and his soul and his love, and carry him forever within. Perhaps Tadashi does too.
They are, after all, ravenous; so much as to trap them on the floor, tangled up on the carpet at the foot of the bed. Tadashi is slipping away from him, down, and Ainosuke can't manage more than to sink a hand through his hair. He could lose himself in this. In the softness of Tadashi's hair, in the gentle push between his legs. Ainosuke's thighs spread eagerly at Tadashi's insistence, welcoming him between, even through a silent plea in Ainosuke's eyes. He wants more; more touch, more kisses, more and more until he drowns in Tadashi and floats away with him together.
And still, there's that instinct; to either flinch away or to lash out. Ainosuke resists it so valiantly, even when he can see it so clearly in his mind. How can this truly be love? How can Tadashi breathe his I love yous without delivering a blow in its wake? How can Ainosuke claim to love him in kind, absent the agony? How can he reconcile one without the other? ]
Show me. [ Ainosuke whispers, and his fingers curl tight into Tadashi's hair. ] Remind me. I want you.
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But Tadashi? He's also different, and nothing could have prepared Ainosuke for that realization. With his clothing gone, Ainosuke can appreciate it fully, and Tadashi's body holds him rapt. Where did this come from? Where was he hiding it? He's like a masterpiece chiseled from marble, and Ainosuke's been given leave to touch, to revere, to defile. And he does; his hands are greedy, tracing the sharp cuts of his abs, the softer stretch of his pecs, grasping softly at the rise in his shoulders, and God help him, Ainosuke finally -- fully and truly -- knows madness. He wants to tear Tadashi apart piece by piece, devour him whole, consume his heart and his soul and his love, and carry him forever within. Perhaps Tadashi does too.
They are, after all, ravenous; so much as to trap them on the floor, tangled up on the carpet at the foot of the bed. Tadashi is slipping away from him, down, and Ainosuke can't manage more than to sink a hand through his hair. He could lose himself in this. In the softness of Tadashi's hair, in the gentle push between his legs. Ainosuke's thighs spread eagerly at Tadashi's insistence, welcoming him between, even through a silent plea in Ainosuke's eyes. He wants more; more touch, more kisses, more and more until he drowns in Tadashi and floats away with him together.
And still, there's that instinct; to either flinch away or to lash out. Ainosuke resists it so valiantly, even when he can see it so clearly in his mind. How can this truly be love? How can Tadashi breathe his I love yous without delivering a blow in its wake? How can Ainosuke claim to love him in kind, absent the agony? How can he reconcile one without the other? ]
Show me. [ Ainosuke whispers, and his fingers curl tight into Tadashi's hair. ] Remind me. I want you.