Work Text:
Slinging my briefcase on the coffee table, I plopped down on the couch. The quiet settled, an equilibrium of noise became a constant hum: the trilling of pigeons perched upon pipes, the buzz of so many appliances I'd suddenly unlearned to filter out. White noise: inoffensive, ever present, ever low. Rubbing heavy lidded eyes, a ray of evening light escaped the curtains and settled upon my face, warming my hollowed cheeks. So much to do, I thought. The floorboards creaked, the floor was dirtied with mysterious light smudges and remnants of ash, blown off the checker themed ashtray. The dishwasher was clean, the dishes piled on the plywood counter tops and the cutting boards were left to soak up any liquids that may have been left atop of them. Dreadful, the thought of walking in there and witnessing the pigsty that we'd made. Even more so, touching those plates and cups. God forbid any mold colonies had begun overtaking the kitchen. It's their place now.
Except it's not. I still had to sort them out, and mop the floors, and change the bedsheets. Things tend towards disorder. It's the natural state of the world. We like to stay at the lowest possible energy, keep life simple and hassle free. And after an exhausting day of unfulfilling classes and grunt work, the last thing I wanted to do was organise. A knock echoed along the walls of the living room. Turning to face the direction where it was coming from, I realized it was just the drizzling rain, starting up again. It dripped down slowly at first, then began pouring down, pelting on the glass, forming currents similar to the ones on car windows in a mechanic car wash.
The evening rush of traffic glistened through the mist and rain covered windows. Red lights and car headlights like christmas decorations against the sea of blue-grey roads and sky. It felt damp and humid and hot. Stuffy, despite it being October. Global warming, I groaned. Taking off my jeans, I slipped on some sweat pants, fixated on the sight of my scars, winding around my thighs. Both white and pink alike, they lay flat against pale skin. I was rarely ever proud of myself, but this was one of the things I'd regretted most.
Koki would always tell me how they were beautiful. Something to be proud of; you lived through the bad. To me, it felt like a reminder; you were bad. It felt like I'd made a promise to remember just how sick I was and I'd made it in blood, carved it into my skin. I was ruined. I had ruined my body. Lying on my back, I rolled down my sleeves and sighed. What an exhausting day. And watching the trees shiver, I wondered, where even was Kokichi? Glancing at the clock, I noted he should've been home an hour ago. Lying in my lap, ranting about something while he ignored the movie playing on the TV, looking up at me with his adorably round eyes in my stolen shirt or hoodie. He was probably hungry, maybe stuck in traffic, maybe at a meeting, but definitely cold. Always cold. He'd put his hand in the pocket of my hoodie and another in his own, complaining about how holding my hand on it's own felt too cold because the "air surrounds it and sucks the warmth awayyyy". He'd curl up in my lap like a cat, purple hair messy and uncombed brushing against my thighs, my forearms, soft and fine. A picture of softness: vulnerable, trusting.
I only knew how much I missed him while he was gone. Working, away from me, from our home, my heart lay heavy in my throat. When would I see him? He'd come home and we'd hug and eat dinner. But imagining him being busy did make me smile to myself: his neatly trimmed nails, his pressed suits and cream blouses, the way he'd part his hair and style it. He looked so...sexy. Strands of hair tucked behind his ears, the top two buttons undone, his collarbone peaking out, sharp and enticing. So assertive, intelligent, witty. He knew what he was doing, and he did it well judging by how he closed so many deals and basically funded our entire life up until now. I did feel guilty, not bringing anything to the table. But I wouldn't bother him with my insecurities. It's not like he ever had enough free time anyway.
I heard the door unlock as a pair of shoes clattered to the ground; there he was.
"Hey Koki, I missed you," I came out into the hallway, watching him place his things on the ground and slam the door shut.
"Shumai!" He jumped into my arms, grabbing on to me as though it had been way longer than just a day.
"How was your day? Are you hungry because we still have some stuff in the fridge?" I asked walking to our bedroom and letting him open the door.
"No, I'm not hungry, and my day was so fucking exhaustinggg," he groaned.
"Tell me about it," I set him down on the bed, sighing and laying down myself.
"Literally I'm so sick of working every day until God knows when doing things I mostly don't given a shit about," he unbuttoned his blouse.
Catching the warm light reflect off of his smooth skin, his bones sharp underneath his skin, his body sleek and somehow long from this angle, I couldn't help but blush. Tossing it to the side, the pearly buttons glimmered softly. He looked down at me, amused. Admittedly, I wasn't one to say anything to him about how I loved his body, but he could tell what I was thinking. And he made sure to let me know, walking closer to me.
"Shumai, what are you looking at?" He teased, sitting beside me.
"Nothing really," I exhaled, biting my inner cheek.
"Are you sure?" He straddled me, pushing me back down on the bed, "you haven't been picturing me on top of you? Maybe doing this?"
He leaned down, hand on my chest, kissing me lightly, letting the tension grow as our lips lingered just centimeters apart. I craned my neck, puckering as he faltered for a moment, pressing himself to me, laying soft lips on mine, running his hand through my hair. The light shone upon us, milky evening blue through the sheer curtain as we got messier. Out of control for once, stealing kisses from my neck, down the length of my esophagus, gnawing on skin, painting his signature. Getting to the collar of my blouse, he looked up, brushing my hair out of my face. I nodded, he began unbuttoning. Ever so slowly, each piece of fabric coming apart as he trailed kisses down my chest.
"I would've rather you started there, how am I gonna cover this up?" I put my hand to my mouth, breathing too loudly.
"You'll find a way, Shu," he interlocked a hand with mine, "you always do."
I flushed; he was right. He pinned my arm next to my face, as I brushed my thumb over his, drawing circles. Licking my nipple he cupped my chest, the tissue hard and firm in his palm. Nibbling on it, he twisted the pink nib, rolling it between his fingers.
"You've been working out," he whispered, drawing a hand to my lower stomach, blouse wide open.
I propped myself up, leaning in to kiss him, his hair in the way.
"I love you," I whispered and he put his lips to mine, arms around my shoulders.
"I love love love you," he repeated, almost into my mouth, in between kisses.
Widening the gap between us, his hands drew their way to my drawstring, looking up as if for permission. I ran my hand through his hair, biting my lip as he pulled them down, slowly. Pressing his lips to my scars, I shuddered, wanting to tell him to stop, but knowing that if I did, I wouldn't connect with him. Closing the distance, I took a deep breath.
"Baby it's okay," he took my hand in his, "if you need me to stop I'll stop."
"Don't stop," I whispered through a tight jaw as he trailed up to my boxers, peeling them off.
"Isn't someone pretty when they're horny," he teased, watching me breathe hard, head pressed against the headboard.
Taking my dick in his mouth, I pressed his head down as he gagged, eyes glistening with tears. He steadied himself and swirled his tongue around me, the tip reddening and burning at his touch. Softly moaning against my palm, I melted under him, every movement leaving me raw. Gasping for air, as was he, trying to suck and breathe at same time. Paradoxically, he managed, hollowing his cheeks around me like a smooth, plush cock sleeve.
"You're doing so well Koki," I murmured, "taking it all like that gets you off."
Sliding his hands up my torso, he stopped at my ribs, drawing his thumbs over each set as I suppressed shivers, ticklish. Taking him by his hair, I flipped him over. Wrestling off his boxers in-between greedy kisses, I dragged my tongue down his lower stomach, teasing.
"I wanna fuck you so bad," I giggled at myself as he smiled and put a hand on my back, letting it trail up my neck.
"So do it," he challenged, half-lidded eyes dripping with desire, "I want you inside me."
I began eating him out, smelling our favourite vanilla soap on him. Pressing a kiss to his thigh, I looked up.
"You prepped," I stroked the smooth skin of his inner thigh, "you wanted to fuck me since you finished work, since you got in your car at least."
"I missed you," he put a thumb to my chin, tilting it up.
"You know I hate repeating myself, but God I love you," I bit my cheek.
"I really love you," he drew me in, kissing me hard, "just one more, and then you can fuck me."
I smiled, then relaxed into the makeout. My hand gently pressed his face to mine as I straddled him, my dick pressing against his abs. He wrapped his arms around my waist, nails clawing at my spine, trailing them along my sides. Pushing him down, I aligned myself with his entrance, slowly pressing in. He exhaled shakily around me, grabbing at my torso. Taking a nipple in my hand, I twisted it as he moaned under me, sensitive.
"Mh, sorry I'm so tight," he breathed deeply, his warm breath against my neck.
"Let's open you up," I began moving, each stroke rougher than the last.
"God," he pressed his lips to my neck, "don't stop."