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Akaashi could feel his hands tremble as he held him, almost urging him to pull him close. They've gone through this. Akaashi does not reply, he refuses the reprieve.
"Please take me as your husband."
Akaashi stood between Bokuto's bent knees on the edge of the bed. He was bound between Bokuto's arms; his head resting against Akaashi's stomach. The sound of crinkling linen sheets irked him, Akaashi hands sweat in Bokuto's grasp.
"You no longer need to sleep in fickle houses for payment. I cannot promise you permanent happiness but the life you deserve," Bokuto said almost sympathetically, his golden eyes were a prominent glow under the shade of the sconces atop the bed frame. If only Akaashi could see the lies beneath his gaze.
"What right do you have to feel sorry, you've only met me five months ago and now you believe you can acquire what I need because you think I cannot achieve it my own way?" Indignantly, he breaks his hands free from Bokuto and backpedaled. Akaashi noticed the way Bokuto's lips pursed, but his anger was adamant.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that—"
"I'm a whore, Bokuto-san, and you know it. I've fucked countless of men and women before you for a living. There's a lot to pity, but nothing to change." Bokuto stood up abruptly, his forehead creasing in worried lines. Akaashi had always felt conflicted about his build; unlike his lanky and lean figure, Bokuto was sturdy and healthy in every muscle. The silence was hefty in the bedroom though Akaashi's heart palpitated in his ears.
In his respite, a series of memories flashed over him. His epicene beauty is undeniable to many, but for him it was his Achilles' heel. Every scar a painful souvenir of unknown faces. He was broken and broken again. His only source of self validation was the reassurance of those who pay for him.
Akaashi scurried behind him until his hip hit Bokuto's table by the wall. There were lots of openings for him to escape. But his body could not move. He was surprised himself upon catching his breath hitch when Bokuto approached him cautiously. It was all too familiar.
"Are you okay?" Bokuto asked. His hand hovers as if reaching him. For the past few weeks of sleep deprivation, it was only now that he felt exhausted and weak. Akaashi wanted to shrink in this claustrophobic space. He wanted to scream. But he could only feel the smooth surface of the wall. He stared at the bed and for once—other than his own—had it looked inviting and warm.
"I don't want to be with anyone," Akaashi said instead. He stared at Bokuto's feet, toes sinking against the carpet from where he stood. Akaashi then looks at his own. He swipes his arm against his nose. It must've been cold. He could feel himself drop.
"Then I will wait for you. I don't care how long it takes." Bokuto declared. There was still a careful distance between them. He refuses to look him in his eyes, countless of mishaps could befall in the detriments of trust. Akaashi guffawed bitterly and shook his head.
"I'm still not marrying you"
He took every bit of his energy to stay composed. It was odd to see Bokuto in such a steady manner, he was a man in motion. When Bokuto smiled, fireworks would flare up behind him.
"Tell me what you need and I will give it to you."
"For what reason do you think I would need your money?" The bed was the only image he could envision. Akaashi's head spiraled but he resisted the urge to faint. Every second he blinks, his body writhed in agony.
"I didn't mean money."
Akaashi didn't feel the hard ground hitting him. Instead, his entire body was lifted off the ground and planted on the soft bed where he lay motionless on the softness enveloped in his shivering figure. A warm blanket was carefully tucked around his body.
He felt the shifting of the sheets as Bokuto lay beside him, pulling him closer. The strength of his scent was unfathomable; he could only subdue to the sweet familiarity of piousness and danger. Akaashi relents on Bokuto stroking his hair, where he closes his eyes and finally steadied his breathing.
"Were you so unloved?" Bokuto whispers as he plants gentle kisses on his forehead. The tenderness of his biceps and chest almost lulled him to sleep. You're wrong, Akaashi wanted to say. But his mouth stayed languid in his face when his drowsiness permeated.
When Akaashi first met Bokuto, he was a capricious man. Childish but mature, bold yet fragile. He was a man of authority, but also a man of patience and innocence. Instead of a one night stand, he asked him out on a date at the new restaurant for lunch the day after that. Akaashi never understood his intentions; it was always almost something else.
If sex isn't what he wanted then what is it that he needed? Every client he met wanted the same thing from him. But Bokuto was different. It was his fickleness that captivated him, but also irked him.
A few months ago, Bokuto proposed to him, only for Akaashi to reject him. Akaashi was brash and stolid, sharp remarks were no stranger to Bokuto. He expected he'd leave, only for their relationship to remain placid and stronger. Bokuto was always giving him something, which is odd for Akaashi. It overwhelmed him, angered him even. Bokuto, a prestigious man, looking at a lowlife like him with kind eyes and sincerity. He didn't deserve it, Akaashi didn't deserve him.
Before Akaashi could succumb to sleep, Bokuto's breathe tickled his face—hot and airy—as he redundantly asked his last statement. He could faintly feel Bokuto rubbing his thumb against his cheek. They were rough and calloused. And warm.
Akaashi's hands grope on Bokuto's neck impulsively, interlocking his fingers on his nape. It was the first time Akaashi felt safe in someone's arms. He was too tired to speak, but Bokuto embraced him and didn't press any further. As Bokuto mumbled sweet nothings into his ear, Akaashi finally gave into his fatigue.
Teach me, he wanted to say. Teach me how to love.