[ There's a pained longing in the tenor of Ainosuke's moan. Tadashi's touch, the hand tight and slick around Ainosuke's cock, is searing. It strikes him hard, a tremble in his stomach that shakes the rest of his body in kind, and every stroke pulls him tighter, higher, dizzying. The pleasure of it melts him molten, has him falling back in hard twists and sensuous writhes against Tadashi's chest, gripping at the back of his neck to keep them trapped together, close, god.
But then his fingers shift, tremble, push up the side of Tadashi's neck and sink into his hair. And in the softness he finds there, he remembers more. Their first-- It was in the garden, tangled together just like this. Night fallen, in an alcove of rose bushes, in the cradle of Tadashi's arms, lips and breath hot on Ainosuke's shoulder, Tadashi's hands beneath his shirt and between his legs. Hadn't they been watching the stars? The Leonids, wasn't it? Then honeyed words, and plush kisses, and heat, heat, heat, burning away all the doubt and the shame, turning their repression to ash, and--
Ainosuke's eyes fly wide when it hits, his cries fill the room, a wounded mantra of Tadashi's name. He doesn't know when his free hand found Tadashi's wrist, but he grips it tight, a ballast to steady him through each paralyzing wave of his pleasure. He shudders through the thick, heavy spill of cum, over his chest and Tadashi's hand, and it's like finding paradise. Like coming home to Eden, finally theirs again, only in Tadashi's arms.
He also doesn't know when he started crying. But he's blinking back tears when he collapses against Tadashi, suddenly bereft every ounce of tension. ]
Our first was like that. [ Ainosuke whispers, breathless, and smoothes his fingers over Tadashi's hair. ] In the roses, Tadashi. Just like that. Do you remember?
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But then his fingers shift, tremble, push up the side of Tadashi's neck and sink into his hair. And in the softness he finds there, he remembers more. Their first-- It was in the garden, tangled together just like this. Night fallen, in an alcove of rose bushes, in the cradle of Tadashi's arms, lips and breath hot on Ainosuke's shoulder, Tadashi's hands beneath his shirt and between his legs. Hadn't they been watching the stars? The Leonids, wasn't it? Then honeyed words, and plush kisses, and heat, heat, heat, burning away all the doubt and the shame, turning their repression to ash, and--
Ainosuke's eyes fly wide when it hits, his cries fill the room, a wounded mantra of Tadashi's name. He doesn't know when his free hand found Tadashi's wrist, but he grips it tight, a ballast to steady him through each paralyzing wave of his pleasure. He shudders through the thick, heavy spill of cum, over his chest and Tadashi's hand, and it's like finding paradise. Like coming home to Eden, finally theirs again, only in Tadashi's arms.
He also doesn't know when he started crying. But he's blinking back tears when he collapses against Tadashi, suddenly bereft every ounce of tension. ]
Our first was like that. [ Ainosuke whispers, breathless, and smoothes his fingers over Tadashi's hair. ] In the roses, Tadashi. Just like that. Do you remember?