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Atsushi giggled as Ryuunosuke pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, leaning easily into the touch. Atsushi’s apartment was quiet, filled with sunlight and the comfort of their well-earned peace. Ryuuosuke’s arms were around Atsushi’s waist, hands resting on the counter in front of him as he fitted his chin onto his boyfriend’s shoulder.
“Hi,” Atsushi murmured, turning to face him, as though they hadn’t been together for the past hour and a half.
Ryuunosuke didn’t respond with words, instead tilting Atsushi’s head slightly with a hand on his cheek, and kissing him. Atsushi hummed contentedly, wrapping his arms around Ryuunosuke’s neck. The kiss was sweet and languid, reflecting the long, lazy afternoon they’d had. After so long fighting tooth and nail to see another day, they deserved this.
Ryuunosuke pulled back, only to tilt Atsushi’s head further and kiss the small space of skin on his neck visible over the turtleneck. Atsushi let him, nearly basking in the affection, until Ryuunosuke tugged the fabric of his high collar down, and began kissing over the scars from the collar he had once worn.
Atsushi shivered, making one small sound, not quite a moan. “Ah…”
Then he froze, hands suddenly becoming firm on Ryuunosuke’s shoulders.
Sensing the shift in his partner, Ryuunosuke pulled back. “Are you alright?” He asked, trying to sound somewhat casual in asking. Atsushi hated when people worried about him.
Atsushi smiled. “Yeah, of course.” He slipped out from between Ryuunosuke and the counter.
Ryuunosuke frowned. This had become a pattern. Atsushi loved physical affection. Some may have found it hard to believe that the Port Mafia’s feared white wraith loved to be cuddled, but it was a reality Ryuunosuke had become quite familiar with in the five months since the Decay of Angels incident had come to a close.
Physical affection didn’t generally come naturally to Ryuunosuke, beyond the occasional hug for his sister or pat on the shoulder from Kunikida, (Dazai had found that out the hard way, repeatedly being shoved off when he threw an arm around Ryuunosuke) but he knew Atsushi thrived on it, and he himself had found a kind of security in closeness with those he cared for.
Despite Atsushi’s need for physical touch, it was a complicated issue for him, Ryuunosuke knew. He often felt Atsushi tense for a moment, expecting to be hurt, before relaxing and enjoying the warmth of contact. It was no surprise he’d have such an instinct, after growing up in that orphanage, and Ryuunosuke understood the mafia hadn’t been easy on him either.
There was something more he’d noticed recently though. They kissed. Of course they did. But it seemed whenever it could become something more, at least on Atsushi's end, he would tense up and pull back. Atsushi loved kissing Ryuunosuke’s neck, his collarbone, his shoulders, his chest. Loved leaving marks all over him. Perhaps some kind of feline instinct to mark his territory. But it never seemed to go the other way.
Ryuunosuke might’ve thought it had something to do with the scars on his partner’s throat, but he had seen those plenty of times, he knew Atsushi wasn’t uncomfortable with them in the same way he used to be. Could it be that he simply didn’t like having them touched? But no, once, in the heat of a more passionate moment, Ryuunosuke’s hands had found their way underneath Atsushi’s shirt, and Atsushi had pulled back from that too.
So it wasn’t anything to do with his neck specifically. Ryuunosuke didn’t want to push Atsushi’s boundaries, but if he was being honest this behavior concerned him. He would, of course, respect it if Atsushi simply wasn’t ready, but that did not seem to him to be the case.
It would be best, he knew, to just ask. But how to do that without making his skittish tiger close off?
“Tiger.”
Atsushi turned, the question clear in his eyes.
“Why do you pull back?” Perhaps not the smoothest words he could have chosen.
He expected Atsushi to brush it off, stammer an excuse and leave, but instead, his partner looked not surprised, but something closer to resigned.
He sighed. “I suppose you would ask that eventually.” He looked impossibly sad about this, as though some great inevitable tragedy had occurred.
Part of Ryuunosuke immediately wanted to take it back. To bring back the carefree, laughing boy from a moment ago. But the larger part of him was curious, too curious to retract the question.
“I’ll show you then,” Atsushi concluded, almost to himself, after a moment of rather tense silence. He grabbed Ryuunosuke’s hand gently, and pulled him into his bedroom. Ryuunosuke frowned, wondering where this could possibly be going as the door clicked shut and was locked behind them.
Atsushi leaned against his bed, not quite sitting. The soft blue comforter wrinkled under his weight. He let out another long sigh, breaking the silence by asking “How much have I told you about my past?”
The question seemed almost rhetorical, existing less to be answered and more for its own sake, as if preparing him for something.
“You grew up in that horrible orphanage where they abused you. Eventually you joined the mafia where Dazai trained you. He was not kind to you either.”
Atsushi seemed almost to laugh at that. “Yeah, I guess that sums it up.” After another pause, he inhaled, reached for the hem of his dark turtleneck, and pulled it over his head. Ryuunosuke’s breathing stopped. Scars covered Atsushi’s torso, from thin, surgical scars on his chest and stomach, overlapping incision lines like graph paper; to rough, discolored burns on his side; to countless stab marks and gunshot scars, undoubtedly from when his regeneration had been too exhausted to heal him.
Ryuunosuke had always known that Atsushi would be scarred, but nothing prepared him for seeing the complete history of suffering written over his partner’s body. One question rose to the surface, over the stormcloud of his thoughts.
‘How much of this was Dazai?’
How much suffering had his own mentor inflicted on his lover?
Atsushi himself was tense, as if anticipating a blow, brows drawn, eyes firmly on the floor. After a moment, either his courage or his need to know Ryuunosuke’s reaction won out, and their eyes met once more.
Whatever disgust he was expecting to see, he did not find. Ryuunosuke’s expression was soft, pushing his thoughts of his teacher away for the moment. He could deal with that later, as of now, his tiger needed him.
~-~
Ryuu took slow, careful steps towards him, clearly searching his face for signs of fear. Seemingly finding none, he cupped Atsushi’s cheek in his hand.
Atsushi was tense. He couldn’t help it. All these months of denying the touches he so desperately wanted, because of this. Because he was broken, and because it had been Ryuunosuke’s mentor who’d done it. He’d known Ryuunosuke would want to see eventually, but he couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear his partner knowing how much Dazai had ruined him.
But there had been no judgment in Ryuunosuke’s eyes. No disgust at his weakness, or his scarred body. Only care. Only regret that he had been through so much pain.
Then Ryuunosuke held his face, and kissed it. His cheek, his nose, the corner of his mouth. “This is what you didn’t want me to see?” His partner whispered. “You’re beautiful.”
Ryuunosuke didn’t seem to mind his lack of a response. He gently took the shirt Atsushi had not realized he was holding so tightly, and tossed it towards the foot of the bed. His lips brushed down Atsushi’s jaw, pressing a firmer kiss to his pulse point. Atsushi felt his legs lifted onto the bed, and in a moment Ryuunosuke was hovering over him, his head on the pillow, his partner’s hands bracketing his neck.
Atsushi was trapped. His instincts were screaming at him. Why had he let himself be put in this position? Why had he taken his shirt off? He could still feel Dazai’s hand on his throat as he strapped the collar on. The collar that would stay in place, reminding Atsushi every waking moment of the monster he was. Dazai’s hand on his arm, holding him down as Mori cut into him again and again and again. Mori’s hands, cold and precise, taking him apart. The director's hands, dragging him by the hair, throwing him in the cage, bringing that hot poker closer to his yet-unblemished skin, holding his head under water as he thrashed, uselessly, punishing him for things he did not do and for nothing at all.
“Are you alright, Tiger?” Ryuunosuke asked, voice so, so soft. “Could you open your eyes for me?”
Atsushi realized his eyes had shut. What a pathetic freeze response, as if that would protect him from anything.
But his partner was asking. No one had ever asked Atsushi before hurting him. He opened his eyes, seeing Ryuunosuke’s gentle face. Everything in him screamed to say no. To get away, grab his shirt and never let anyone catch him so weak again. But his partner was asking. And being so gentle with him. What if it could be ok? What if it could be different?
He could still feel those hands on him. Dazai’s and Mori’s and the Director’s. But he could feel Ryuunosuke’s now, too. Ryuunosuke’s hand in his as they entered Atsushi’s apartment earlier that afternoon. Ryuunosuke’s hand in his hair, not tugging or dragging, but brushing. Ryuunosuke’s hand on his waist when they were in the detective agency's office, knowing Atsushi still got nervous around Dazai sometimes. Ryuunosuke’s hand grabbing his arm, pulling him upright after a breakdown in his bathroom, saying ‘Try again.’
What if it could be different this time?
There were others too, when he thought about it. Other gentle touches. Chuuya’s hand patting his shoulder after their day’s training. Kyouka’s hand linking their pinkies together as they walked somewhere. Michizou’s hand clapping his back after a mission. Gin’s hands on his shoulders, arms wrapped around him when they’d all been reunited. Ichiyo’s hand pressed over his when they’d heard the news about Mori’s death. Hirotsu’s hand resting on his shoulder. Years ago, Oda’s hand ruffling his hair.
It could be different this time. It had been different before.
His heart hammered in his chest like a frightened animal, but there was a desperate, crying longing underneath that. A longing for the kind of love he knew Ryuunosuke would give him.
Ryuunosuke was still awaiting his response. Atsushi nodded, knowing his throat was too tight to speak. He hoped it would be enough. His lover, as always, understood. Atsushi let his head fall back against the pillow, bearing his scarred neck as Ryuunosuke leaned down to kiss it.
The scars had never been particularly sensitive, but they felt unbearably so as Ryuunosuke pressed his lips to each one as far around Atsushi’s neck as he could reach. Then he felt a nip, gentle, as if testing to see his reaction. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he had detected, Ryuunosuke sucked a mark, just above the band of scars. Then another, above that. And another, and another.
Atsushi had never thought he’d feel so pleased with someone else’s teeth in his neck, but with the hand gently cradling his hip, thumb rubbing circles as if to soothe a sting of some kind, with the butterfly-kisses he was being showered with between bites, it hardly registered as pain.
Ryuunosuke continued down his chest and stomach, seeming intent on leaving marks all over him, a kiss over every scar. Atsushi’s hands left his partner’s shoulders, falling uselessly on the bed near his own. There was still that voice in him, the voice begging him to cover himself up, protect himself from the pain that could only follow anything this good. But beneath Ryuunosuke’s worshiping mouth and gentle hands, that voice was growing quiet and distant.
Atsushi let himself slip, time and space fading away from him. Not the way he used to slip back in his cage, to get away from the gnawing hunger and the ache from the bruises, and the biting cold of the chains that circled his wrists and ankles. Nor the way he slipped in the port mafia, when the screams of the people whose lives he had ended, or who he had watched Dazai torture threatened to deafen him.
Back then, Atsushi slipped to be anywhere but where he was. Now, Atsushi let everything else slip. His mind, his name, his past. There was no Port Mafia, no Detective Agency, no missions or battles or ex-mentors. There was only Ryuunosuke’s hands and mouth, mapping his every scar, murmuring praise and reassurance, the specific words of which flew right over Atsushi’s fuzzy mind.
“You’re perfect, so good for me,” he faintly heard, squirming slightly at the words. ‘More,’ he wanted to say. Tell me more, make up for everyone who didn’t.
“You sound so beautiful.” Atsushi became vaguely aware that he was making noise at that, but he couldn’t find it in himself to stop the quiet gasps and whines that were escaping him, or even worry about how pathetic he sounded. Perhaps he could be a bit pathetic for a moment. A bit weak.
He heard a sharp intake of breath. At some point his pants must have been removed, because glancing down, he saw what Ryuunosuke was looking at. The skin of Atsushi’s thighs, littered with sharp, intentional scars. Atsushi forced his mind to start clearing, trying to gain enough awareness back to explain, but Ryuunosuke recovered quickly.
“It’s alright, Tiger. It’s okay, I’m not angry.” He kissed the first scar on his right thigh. “You don’t have to explain anything. I’m sorry you’ve hurt so much.” That last sentence was whispered into his skin, feeling equal parts like a genuine sentiment and a promise. ‘I’m sorry you’ve hurt so much,’ but also ‘I won’t let you hurt like this again if I can help it.’
Atsushi wanted to respond, wanted to say something to assure his partner, but his mind was slipping from him once more and all that left his lips was another rather pathetic whine.
He remembered lying something like this, on Mori’s operating table. The last time he had let someone see him without clothes. Now, lying belly up, completely vulnerable, nothing cut into him. He is held, but not held down. The hands are cool on his heated, flushed skin, but not cold. No one takes advantage of his weakness or the softness of his skin. He is surrounded by his partner, held and kissed and understood and protected.
Atsushi remembered, that first time on Mori’s table, begging Dazai to help him. Dazai hadn’t so much as glanced at him, even as he held Atsushi down. Now, he begged Ryuunosuke, knowing it would be different.
“Please,” he managed through the haze that had overtaken his thoughts. “Please kiss me.”
He hardly had to wait a moment before Ryuunosuke’s lips were on his.
~-~
Ryuunosuke watched as his tiger’s breathing evened out. The tiger was splayed on his bed, entirely limp and boneless on the sheets. The anxiety had bled from his body as he’d fallen apart in Ryuunosuke’s hands. The light scars stood out sharply against his flushed skin. Ryuunosuke nearly held his breath, not wanting to disturb his lover or the faint, faint purring sound rumbling from his chest.
Part of Ryuunosuke, of course, wanted more. To bring his tiger to heights of pleasure he had never yet felt. But there would be time for that. For now, he was more than satisfied to have one of the Port Mafia’s most feared members utterly undone, helpless and content in his arms.
He somewhat regretted not pushing this sooner, letting Atsushi avoid this for as long as he did. Perhaps some part of him was hesitant, not wanting to see the true extent of the damage his mentor, someone who, despite everything, Ryuunosuke respected, had caused his beloved tiger.
How very cowardly.
Well, longer would he hide from his tiger’s past. He cared for Dazai, but this was not something he would ignore. He retrieved his phone from where it lay on Atsushi’s white carved nightstand. He clicked Dazai’s contact.
Me: We need to talk.
He was unsure how this confrontation with Dazai would pan out, but for now, he would take care of his tiger. He brushed his fingers through his lover’s starlit hair, pushing silver bangs out of his eyes. He scratched gently over Atsushi’s scalp, focusing specifically on a spot behind his ear that made the purring grow louder.
He smiled softly, glad the tiger finally felt safe enough to be so soft with him. And he always would be, Ryuunosuke silently swore. As long as he was with Ryuunosuke, the tiger would never have to be so afraid again. At least, not alone.