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Mikey is a monster. He’s well aware of this fact. It hasn’t bothered him in years. It hasn’t bothered him since Takemichi left.
It’s a little more complicated now that Takemichi is back.
Mikey doesn’t know what prompted his return—he doesn’t actually think he cares. All he knows is that suddenly Takemichi was kneeled at his feet, tears in those beautiful eyes, and a hand clutching at his pant leg.
He had begged Mikey to let him stay by his side. Spewing all sorts of confusing shit about how he promised to never leave and they’d be together.
Mikey gives him exactly what he asked for.
The anklet is sleek. Streamlined to lay almost flat against Takemichi’s skin. He has the range set from the locked balcony to the exact line of the front doorway. Where hall tile becomes the apartment's hardwood.
Mikey will receive a blaring alarm on his watch and phone if Takemichi ever steps out of bounds. He had adamantly ignored Kakucho’s look of distinct discomfort at the idea. He doesn’t get a say. None of his executives do. Takemichi isn’t theirs. He is Mikey’s and Mikey’s alone.
He goes to great lengths to secure his belongings. Takemichi just happens to be more precious than most.
The anklet is blissfully silent for months. Months of Takemichi falling asleep in Mikey’s arms—exactly where he belongs. Months of Mikey coming home to freshly cooked meals, a wide smile on Takemichi’s face. Months of the anklet sitting in the peripheral of Mikey’s vision.
He wonders, sometimes, in the deep of the night, if he deserves to keep Takemichi cuffed and caged like a bird with clipped wings. He wonders if Takemichi resents him underneath it all.
He wonders if he resents himself.
By morning none of it matters. The anklet stays on. And it always will. There’s no late night doubts strong enough to change that decision. Even if Mikey doesn’t deserve Takemichi’s joy and life—when has the universe ever given Mikey what he deserves? He’s had to take everything for himself. He’s had to fight for it tooth and nail, clawing his way through the darkness in his own mind. And even then the universe has done nothing but take and take and take from him.
So Mikey will take Takemichi. And he’ll keep him exactly where he is. Locked in Mikey’s top floor suite with a phone that only dials Mikey’s own, a book case of revolving books, and a wide television with a few select—very purposefully void of internet capabilities—games to keep himself entertained.
The line he hasn’t crossed, though—he hasn’t touched Takemichi. Not in the hungry way he wants to, the one that feels like it’s going to eat him alive. Whenever Takemichi crawls into bed, curling up against him. Whenever Takemichi slides up against his side on the couch, messy black hair against Mikey’s shoulder and neck.
He’ll take Takemichi’s hand, he’ll caress his cheek, run fingers through his hair, embrace him, and press gentle kisses to his head—but he won’t touch . He won’t grab or take. It feels like the last shred of decency in his bones.
So Takemichi stays locked in the tower with chaste contact, and the fleeting company of executives ordered to keep an eye on him if Mikey goes far enough to feel nervous while he works. And the anklet stays silent, untested.
***
Mikey sits on the side of the bed as he finishes buttoning his shirt. The blankets shift behind him when Takemichi sits up with a groggy sigh.
Mikey turns his gaze just in time to find Takemichi stretching his arms above his head, a large yawn on his lips. His oversized sleep shirt slips when his arms come back down. The collar falls to reveal his collarbone and shoulder. It takes everything in Mikey not to crawl over, push him down and bite the skin.
“G’morning,” Takemichi says. His voice is thick with sleep, rubbing at his eyes. If Takemichi weren’t an angel in human form Mikey would consider that he was doing it on purpose. Being so adorable and pliant just to torment him.
“Feel free to go back to sleep,” he replies, instead.
Takemichi hums. There’s more shuffling before his chest meets Mikey’s back, arms winding around him.
“When do you get home?” His voice is little more than a whisper beside Mikey’s ear. It sends a shiver down his spine, fists clenching. He lifts an arm to card his fingers through Takemichi’s hair. Smug warmth blooms in his chest when Takemichi leans into it with a pleased hum.
“Not sure. Likely late.” He scratches lightly at Takemichi’s scalp. “Lots of little things to attend to.” He keeps it vague. Takemichi hums and doesn’t press it.
“I’ll keep dinner warm.” He turns to Mikey’s jaw, lips ghosting over the curve. Mikey tries not to let his breath audibly hitch as he jerks his head away. It’s easier if he keeps the illusion of distance.
He stands, carefully extracting himself from Takemichi’s grasp. Takemichi is sprawled out on the mattress, blankets falling just below his barely-clothed ass and tangled in his legs. The anklet is a striking dark against Takemichi’s skin and the sheets. His eyes are still half lidded.
It would be so easy to just yank his head back by the hair. To sink his teeth into that shoulder. To grab at him until he was mottled with black and blue. To make him scream and cry and beg for more.
Mikey lets out a shuddering breath as he leans forward. The kiss to Takemichi’s forehead is quick and painstakingly gentle. Almost disappointing.
He steps back and away from Takemichi. Keeps him out of reach.
“I’ll see if anyone is available to come check in on you,” his voice is horribly clipped—stiff and sharp. He’s supposed to be better than this. He’s supposed to be invulnerable. But his Achilles’ heel lays before him, looking radiant and tempting in the morning sun.
Takemichi nods without words. A small, almost bashful, smile spreads across his lips.
“Text me what you feel like eating.”
Mikey nods curtly before he turns. He grabs for his phone and wallet on his way out of the bedroom.
Sanzu waits just outside the front door, hands locked behind his back and head bowed. Neither of them greet the other. He follows as Mikey heads for the elevator.
Some days it’s easier than others to be content with just keeping Takemichi locked away—for him and only him—and some days it feels like the ultimate punishment. It seems today is going to be the latter.
All of his executives can tell throughout the day by his emanating frustration and biting remarks. They give him a wide berth.
***
They’re in the middle of some mundane check-in when the alarm goes off. Mikey sits in the car beside Rindou in the driver’s seat, watching Sanzu and Ran disappear into the building—it’s a nightclub, if he remembers.
At first he’s confused. He’s never heard the noise before. Rindou turns to him with a baffled frown. It isn’t until he realizes his watch is vibrating does it click.
He yanks at his sleeve to see the electronic watch face.
Takemitchy - Status: Disconnected
Icy dread floods him. After months of peace and silence he had forgotten this was even a threat. Takemichi is trying to escape.
“Is that–“ Rindou cuts his own question off.
“Tell those two to call Takeomi for a pick-up,” Mikey commands.
Rindou swallows heavily before he nods once, a sharp movement. The car is started in the next second, Rindou slamming his foot into the gas. He just barely manages to get out the voice commands to send his brother a text, jaw clenched.
Mikey grips his phone in hand. The location on Takemichi’s phone places him at the apartment.
Disconnected . Not “out of bounds” but disconnected. It isn’t a simple matter of Takemichi accidentally taking a step too far when opening the door. It isn’t a blind spot by the balcony door or in some corner of the apartment Mikey could have forgotten. The anklet was taken offline, and Takemichi’s phone was left behind.
He toggles over to the camera feed. There aren’t any inside the actual apartment, it was too much of a security risk just to have one in the hall. It shows nothing. Mikey doesn’t know if his mind is playing tricks on him or if there’s some hiccup in the camera feed. Something like looping it back wouldn’t be too difficult with access to the building’s system.
The horror builds.
Takemichi doesn’t have access to the building’s system. But each of his executives do.
Draken always used to tell him he jumped to conclusions too quickly. But Draken isn’t here. Draken is off with the man Kokonoi keeps tabs on, living the life he was always meant to—sans Emma.
So Mikey has to wonder where loyalties lie.
Does Kakucho value his childhood friend more than Izana’s brother?
Does Kokonoi value the nostalgia of their youth over the man he swore himself to?
Has Takemichi always had someone on the outside? Biding his time?
Mikey hisses a curse under his breath.
There’s no possible way for Rindou to drive fast enough. They’re across town and already at risk of being pulled over. Rindou is an excellent driver, taking turns fast enough to leave a passenger’s stomach four blocks behind them.
Yet it’s still too slow. Every second spent driving is another second he can feel Takemichi slipping through his fingers again.
Was the anklet not enough? Does he have to physically chain Takemichi down? It isn’t beneath him to do so.
If Takemichi is so keen to break promises made without prompting then maybe it calls for more drastic measures.
Mikey spends the entire short—but still painfully long—car ride fuming. He nearly snaps the car handle off its hinges before the car has even formally stopped. Rindou doesn’t dare try to stop him.
He storms his way through the lobby. Staff and residents alike all part for the man on a warpath, leaving him a wide aisle to the elevator. Rindou stays in the car, taking the unspoken hint that if Takemichi has left the building they will be hunting him down immediately.
He keeps his thumb jabbed into the top floor button the entire elevator ride, teeth clenching into a frustrated snarl.
The elevator lets out a cheery beep as the doors slide open. The hall is eerily silent. There’s only two doors, one to Mikey’s apartment, and another that leads into the stairwell. It’s locked from the stair-side. Mikey curses himself for not locking both sides. To hell with fire hazard and safety protocol.
The door to Mikey’s apartment shows no signs of forced entry. It isn’t kicked off its hinges or cracked at the lock. It sits closed just as he left it, perfect and pristine the way it always is when he knows Takemichi will be there waiting for him. He makes quick work of unlocking it before throwing the door open. It bangs against the entryway wall with a loud noise, definitely leaving a dent. The umbrella stand topples over, wooden frame clattering against the tile of the doorway flooring.
The apartment is dead-silent. The kitchen just to the right is empty. There’s a recipe sitting open on the marble island. The living room beyond that is also empty. As is the far hall. Through the open bedroom door he can see that there, too, is void of any presence. Mikey steps into the kitchen, eyes scanning the room. There’s a small flash of reflection against the wall, trembling.
“Mitchy.”
There’s a beat of silence before a head of messy black hair peeks over the kitchen island. Wide blue eyes meet his over the marble. Takemichi sighs audibly, standing shakily. There’s a kitchen knife clutched in his hand. He places it on the island counter, shoulder sagging with relief.
“Mikey…” he breathes. “You scared me.”
Mikey lifts his wrist, displaying a red icon on his watch.
“Why did your anklet go off?” he asks. He can hear the accusation in his own voice. It makes Takemichi flinch, but he doesn’t back down. Mikey steps around the counter, approaching Takemichi with deliberate steps. He narrows his eyes as Takemichi’s face goes blank.
Then, confusion blooms in those big blue eyes.
Takemichi has never been a good actor. The sincerity of the expression strikes Mikey like an arrow. A spike of doubt.
“It what?” Takemichi asks. His eyes dart down below the Island counter, to the anklet.
Mikey stalks toward him. Takemichi watches him approach, blinking at him like a deer in headlights. He doesn’t make any move to back away or run.
When Mikey reaches for him he doesn’t flinch away. Even as Mikey grabs his hair, yanking at it, Takemichi simply gasps. His eyes go fuzzy as his mouth parts, clutching at the side of the island counter.
“What happened?” Mikey growls. Takemichi lets out a quiet whimper.
“I- I didn’t try to leave,” he swears.
“It didn’t go off for a boundary violation,” Mikey tells him, still unrelenting in his grip. He twists just enough for Takemichi’s knees to buckle out from under him, bringing him lower than Mikey. “It disconnected,” he tries again. “So what happened, Mitchy?” The nickname tastes like a sweet poison. I coats his tongue and burns on the way down.
“I don’t–“ Takemichi gasps again, he collapses to his knees, blinking up at him. Tears form in his eyes, spilling out down his cheeks. Whether it’s from fear, pain, or something else entirely—Mikey cannot tell. “I don’t know.”
Mikey lets him go all at once.
“Bed.” The word is clipped. Non-negotiable. Takemichi nods, a hand rubbing at the back of his head. He stands on shaky legs when Mikey steps back, head ducked as he scurries to the bedroom.
Mikey takes a moment to breathe, teeth grinding.
He makes sure to close the front door before he joins Takemichi, sending off a quick “Go back without me” to Rindou. He tosses his phone onto the coffee table and kicks his shoes off as he passes on his way to the bedroom door. He closes that door behind him as well.
Takemichi has placed himself on the bed, bare leg folded under him while the one with the anklet is extended towards Mikey. His shoulders hunch against his hands propping him up against the mattress. Most of his tears have been wiped away, a tell-tale damp spot at the collar of his shirt giving him away. His eyes track Mikey, intent, like he’s afraid to blink.
Mikey brings a knee to the end of the bed, leaning into it as he grabs Takemichi’s ankle. He yanks the other man out from his own balance, knocking him flat against the mattress with a quiet yelp. He twists Takemichi’s ankle to get a view of the device.
A red “out of battery” notification blinks at him. He glares at it, lip curling up. The charge is supposed to last for an entire year.
There goes his day, he supposes—as though it wasn’t decided the moment the alarm went off in the first place.
He drops Takemichi’s leg before reaching under his shirt. There’s a small golden chain around his neck, a singular locket pendant beside a key. He pulls the necklace up over his head and off his neck. The key is a small chip that slots into the side of the anklet, letting it click open. It falls from Takemichi’s leg and onto the bed.
Takemichi’s eyes go wide as Mikey looms over him. He takes Takemichi’s jaw in his hand, pressing down just hard to elicit a short gasp.
“Don’t move.” His voice is flat. Takemichi nods as best he can with his face held firm. Mikey watches him for a moment more, searching for any sign of deception. When he finds none he lets go and pulls himself back up.
The anklet will take hours to charge and Mikey isn’t chancing anything. He plugs it in atop the dresser, glancing up into the mirror to find Takemichi watching him. There’s a question clear in his eyes, but he stays silent. Stays exactly where he has been instructed to.
“I’m going to stay here today,” Mikey starts, eyes darting back down to the anklet. He turns, leaning back against the dresser as he unbuttons his sleeve cuff. From his peripheral he can see Takemichi shift slightly. “Make sure nothing happens.” The unspoken is clear. Make sure you don’t run.
“I’m not going to try anything.” Takemichi’s voice is quiet. Verging on something wounded. Like the implication that he would even think to run pains him as much as it does Mikey. Mikey lifts his eyes to Takemichi. The space between them, from dresser to bed, is tense.
“I’m not risking it.”
Takemichi scowls then, a look of genuine irritation.
“So, what?” he asks, sitting up properly. “You’re just going to stand there watching me all day.”
Mikey shrugs.
“I could.” He unbuttons the other cuff. If he’s going to be home all day there’s no use looking professional. “Or I could force a sleeping pill down your throat. Or I could tie you to the bed.” He offers them up as threats, but when he looks back up he finds Takemichi’s wide eyes on him, face flushed a brilliant red. Blue eyes dart away as Takemichi ducks his head.
Mikey freezes, watching the other.
“Is that what you want?” He keeps the question in the tone of his threats rather than the genuine inquiry underneath it. The plea. Do you want me? Please want me.
“Is that what you’d like to do to me?” Takemichi asks instead of answering properly. He glances up at Mikey through dark bangs.
He imagines pinning Takemichi down, pill on the tip of his fingers. He imagines prying those lips open for him, making Takemichi gag and cry until he swallows around his fingers—Mikey’s other hand around his throat to feel it go down.
He imagines Takemichi bound, helpless and restrained, pulling against his bindings as he begs for Mikey. Begs for anything Mikey gives him.
He imagines Takemichi taking it all, and still smiling at him afterwards. Still calling his name in the sweet way he does. Still curling up into Mikey’s arms.
“You have no idea what I want to do to you,” he admits.
“Then tell me.” The reply is immediate. There’s a challenging fire in Takemichi’s eyes. One that’s more rare these days. The one that stole his heart, body, and soul all those years ago. “Tell me what you want from me. Tell me why you haven’t already taken it-“ Mikey cuts him off as he stalks forward. He clasps his hand over Takemichi’s mouth, fingers digging into either side of his cheek. Takemichi squeaks with a surprised jump but makes no move to pull away.
“Don’t say that,” Mikey growls, leaning in close. He can feel his own darkness in the way Takemichi’s eyes widen. “If I took what I wanted you’d hate me. You’d be clamoring to escape here every day. You’d flinch at my touch.” He feels Takemichi go deathly still under him. “Don’t say things that tempt me to take it anyways.” Yet he still doesn’t look scared. He still doesn’t try to scramble away from Mikey. He just stares up at him, like anything Mikey is saying is normal. He pushes Takemichi down, grip still firm on his face. His knee lands between Takemichi’s legs, just ghosting under his crotch.
Takemichi squirms. His hands stay at his sides, grasping at the blankets beneath him.
“If I could, I would have broken your legs,” Mikey starts. He feels it come over him like a tidal wave. He takes dark satisfaction as Takemichi’s noise of surprise as the world seems to narrow into just them surrounded by a void. “I would keep you right here in this room, waiting all day for me to come home and fuck you. I would keep you collared and tied down. I would brand my name into your skin. You’d live for nothing but my cock. I would have you beg and scream for it.” He doesn’t say that the biggest thing keeping him from acting on it is that he doesn’t trust anyone—not even his executives—enough to leave him under anyone else’s care. He doesn’t trust them not to find Takemichi just as tempting as he does.
The words sit in the air between them, settling like sinking rocks. The world around them bleeds back into focus. Mikey pulls his hand away, slow and hesitant, to run a frustrated hand through his hair.
There’s angry red marks on Takemichi’s cheeks where Mikey’s fingers clamped down. His chest heaves with quiet pants, bottom lip trembling.
He’s ruined it. He’s ruined everything. Takemichi will want to leave him now and he’ll have to keep him here kicking and screaming. He must fear Mikey now. He can feel the easy intimacy of Takemichi’s touches slipping through his fingers-
Then, just as quickly as it was tamped out, the fire in Takemichi’s eyes is back. He rocks his hips down, pointedly against Mikey’s thigh. He’s hard.
Mikey stares, frozen in shock—awe.
“Please.” Takemichi’s voice is a gasping moan. Like something from Mikey’s dreams. “Manjiro…” he reaches for Mikey, tips of his fingers snagging on the bottom of Mikey’s shirt. He has both of Takemichi’s wrists in one hand with a swipe of his arm, falling back over Takemichi to pin his hands above him. Takemichi lets out a desperate moan, rocking harder against Mikey’s thigh.
“Did that turn you on?” he asks. There’s a cruel edge to his voice, one that seems to have Takemichi shuddering. It hits Mikey with a stab of unhinged delight. He watches Takemichi squirm under him. He brings his free hand up to Takemichi’s jaw, threateningly close to his throat. He feels Takemichi’s responding moan thrum against his palm. “Do you want that?” He feels breathless at just the idea. “Do you like me locking you away? Keeping you for myself?” Takemichi’s strangled whine is answer enough. Mikey cuts it off with a bruising kiss. It’s messy, all teeth and pent-up need. He bites down on Takemichi’s bottom lip until he tastes blood. Takemichi jolts under him, falling into a long moan. Mikey can feel the moment he goes fully pliant under him. The moment Takemichi hands himself over.
Mikey pulls off all at once, sitting back up. He ignores Takemichi’s noise of startled distress—such a cute noise—in favor of unbuttoning his shirt. He watches Takemichi as he peels his shirt off, a small trickle of blood smeared across the other’s lips, eyes glossy with tears. He keeps his arms above his head, obedient.
He’s everything Mikey has known he has the potential to be. It feels like a final victory. Takemichi is his. After years of yearning turned bitter and dark, here Takemichi is.
Mikey reaches for Takemichi’s shirt next, tugging at it until it’s up over his head. He twists the fabric until it’s knotted around Takemichi’s wrists.
Blue eyes follow his every movement, glued to Mikey’s face. Usually, when he imagines this—imagines holding Takemichi down, imagines finally making Takemichi his—there’s fear in those eyes. Fear he can’t swap out for anything no matter how hard he tries, like his brain has always been screaming that Takemichi would never want him. Would never want this.
The reality is so much better.
Takemichi’s eyes glitter in something like wonder at the man above him. There’s so much—too much—affection in them. Mikey has to wonder if he’s dreaming, if he’s just seeing what he wants and blinding himself to anything else.
He dips down, cutting off his own thoughts with another kiss. Takemichi meets him in the middle, craning his neck. Mikey trails his hands down Takemichi’s bare chest, swallowing the hitched breaths of the man below him. The taste of blood still lingers. When Mikey’s hands reach Takemichi’s waist he tightens his grip enough to pull a gasp. Takemichi’s waist haunted his teenage years, the memory had haunted the entire time of their separation, and now Takemichi’s waist has been haunting him up close. His fingers dig in hard enough to bruise.
“Mine,” he says against Takemichi’s lips, voice low. He feels every inch of the shiver that curls up Takemichi’s spine.
“Yours,” he agrees, breathless. “I’ve always been yours.”
Mikey feels as though he’s been doused in gasoline and lit with a match. It burns all the way down.
“I’m going to make you forget you ever had a life before me.” The dam has broken. Mikey wants— needs —to possess all of Takemichi. His every thought, his every reaction, his every expression. Mikey wants them all for himself.
He moves down to Takemichi’s neck, determined to leave as many marks as he can fit. Takemichi jerks and twitches at Mikey biting down. He leaves angry purple marks all the way down to Takemichi’s chest, trailing back over them with his tongue.
He holds Takemichi’s shuddering frame down against the mattress. He revels in the breathy gasps and every spot that makes Takemichi keen. A particularly hard tweak to his nipple has Takemichi’s back arching up into Mikey’s hands with a choked off cry.
He’s lovely.
As he goes lower he can feel the panting rise and fall of Takemichi’s breaths under his lips. His stomach is soft, innocently free of scars like the ones that litter Mikey’s skin.
He yanks at the hem of Takemichi’s sleep shorts, humming in satisfaction as Takemichi lifts his hips for him. It’s a struggle, really, not to just tear them down the seam and be rid of them. The sound of stitches popping still sounds through the room despite his shaky attempts at being gentle. Takemichi makes no comment as his shorts are tossed aside.
“Is this a daily thing?” Mikey asks, running a ghosting touch up Takemichi’s bare thigh. Up to his bare hip. Takemichi screws his eyes shut, the muscle jumping under Mikey’s fingers.
“Yes,” he admits in a breath.
“Do you just walk around hoping I’ll bend you over whenever I feel like it?” Mikey feels like a live wire. Nerves lit aflame.
“M-maybe.”
If he had known Takemichi had been forgoing any form of underwear–
He takes a stuttering breath before he presses down, fingers digging into Takemichi’s skin.
He hauls Takemichi up by the hips, ignoring the other’s squeak of surprise as he’s pulled further up the bed, head actually resting on the pillows. He wraps his hands around one of the metal beams patterned across the headboard without being told. His legs fall open without a word, blue eyes on Mikey with something he can only describe as a dazed hunger.
Mikey swallows, hard, his mouth going dry. He barely manages not to pinch himself—just to check. But if this is a dream he’s more than sure he never wants to wake up. He looms over Takemichi, casting a shadow over him from the light of the window.
He doesn’t care to be gentle as he presses his fingers between Takemichi’s lips. The other’s jaw falls open readily, tongue eager on Mikey’s finger tips. He opens his own mouth, to tell Takemichi to suck. The man under him is following the command before it’s even been made. Like he is just as starved for it as Mikey is. Like he has been aching just as painfully.
He shoves his fingers as far down as they’ll go, shivering at the quiet gagging noise it pulls. There’s fresh tears forming in Takemichi’s eyes, brilliant blue fading out of focus. Mikey wants to hold him down like this forever, wants to watch Takemichi work his tongue over Mikey’s fingers—over his cock—for the rest of their lives.
He’s always believed if he could have Takemichi just the once then he could die a happy man. But he knows now that’s the opposite of the truth. Now that he sees the other splayed out under him, looking wrecked before Mikey has even properly touched him—he knows he won’t ever be satisfied. He won’t ever get enough.
He is slow to remove his fingers, letting them slide out of Takemichi’s mouth while the other chases them weakly with a quiet whine. Mikey wonders if it’s possible to get drunk on another’s fingers, or if Takemichi is just so much more perfect for him than he could have ever imagined.
“Shh, be good, now.” He leans down, replacing his fingertips on Takemichi’s lips with his own. Takemichi keens into the kiss, letting Mikey’s tongue press in. His only response to Mikey’s fingers trailing down his body is pushing his own legs wider, an obscene and silent plea for something Mikey is more than happy to give him.
He’s always been torn, in his imagination, between teasing Takemichi until he’s writhing, or making him scream. He’s now realizing it may never actually be a choice.
His finger pushes in far too easily. Takemichi sucks him in without resistance, grinding his hips weakly against the intrusion. The second finger goes in much the same, pulling a quiet sigh from Takemichi. Mikey pulls away, arching an eyebrow at him.
“Do you fuck yourself when I’m not here?” The question is barely a breath.
Takemichi freezes, eyes going wide as a brilliant blush floods his cheeks. Guilty.
Mikey’s heart lodges in his throat. Something wickedly warm spreads through his limbs at just the thought. He has to know. Does Takemichi finger himself in the shower? Does he have toys hiding around the apartment?
“Do you think of me?” Is what he asks. He curls his fingers. Takemichi gasps.
“Yes!”
“Tell me,” he demands. He presses his fingers in as deep as they’ll go before drawing them back out. When he pushes back in, it’s with a third. He meets the first hints of a stretch—so he goes faster.
“I-“ Takemichi seems to struggle for the words, hips jolting with Mikey’s movements. “You…you leave and I can’t- I can’t take it. I pretend you stayed in bed to fuck me.” The words come spilling out in a jumble that Mikey is all too eager to work out.
“Is that what you want?” Mikey presses on. “For me to neglect work just to fuck you stupid?” He angles his wrist harshly, hitting the bundle of nerves he’s been avoiding.
“Yes!”
Takemichi wails, back arching off the bed as his grip on the headboard goes white-knuckled. His eyes are out of focus once again, tears spilling down the sides of his cheeks.
Mikey feels ravenous. He wrenches his fingers from Takemichi, ignoring the cry of protest.
“Turn over.”
It takes Takemichi a moment to process the request, blue eyes blinking up at him. But when he does he’s quick to obey, carefully flipping himself onto his stomach to keep his hands on the headboard. He spreads his legs out, knees digging into the mattress.
Mikey bears down on him, chest pressing into Takemichi’s back as his fists black curls in one hand. He yanks the other’s head back, teeth against the shell of his ear. He rolls his hips against Takemichi’s ass, strained fabric of his slacks sliding along skin. It does nothing to relieve the tension coiled in his stomach.
“So you’ll be a good little whore for me now?” he asks. Even to himself he sounds breathless.
“Yes.”
“You’ll open your pretty little legs whenever I want?” Another roll of his hips.
“Yes.”
“Let me fuck you until you’re sobbing? Until you can’t even think?”
“Yes.”
His other hand grabs at Takemichi’s ass, thumb pressing against his—Mikey’s now, he thinks with satisfaction—hole. Takemichi whines under him, squirming against his weight.
“You’ll be my good little cock slut? Wait here at home for me to get back and stuff you full?” He pushes his thumb in to the knuckle.
“Fuck, please!”
Mikey sits up on his knees, pulling off Takemichi. The other man shivers, a visible tremble down his back. He looks perfect. Face against the pillows, arms bound, ass pushing up into the air searching for anything Mikey gives him.
He unbuttons his pants, barely bothering to push the fabric down to his thighs, just enough to release his cock.
Takemichi is visibly struggling not to squirm. A sight Mikey finds he quite enjoys. He reaches forward, smoothing his hands over Takemichi’s ass. Another thing that’s haunted him. It fits perfectly in his hands. Perfect for squeezing.
He lifts a hand and brings it down with a sharp clap.
Perfect for smacking.
Takemichi jolts with a wordless cry, thighs shaking. The impact leaves a red handprint on Takemichi’s skin. A perfect sight.
He leans back over the man under him, cock dragging against his lower back, to speak into his ear.
“No more fucking yourself. You get it from me or you don’t get it at all,” he all but growls the words. Takemichi nods shakily. “You’re mine.” He bites down on the flesh of Takemichi’s shoulder. He can already tell it will leave dark marks.
“Yes,” Takemichi repeats himself. It’s Mikey’s new favorite broken record. Takemichi handing himself over. Agreeing to everything Mikey demands from him and still offering up more.
“I’m going to make sure you never want anybody but me,” Mikey whispers against Takemichi’s skin. He wants it all. He wants to see just how much Takemichi is willing to hand over. He wants his very soul.
Takemichi shudders.
“Please…” Takemichi turns his head, face still pressed into the pillows. One teary blue eye stares up at Mikey, a desperate plea in it. “Manjiro please…fuck me.”
Mikey feels himself twitch against Takemichi’s ass. Takemichi can clearly feel it too judging by the way his eyes flutter shut for a moment, hips pushing back against Mikey.
“I got you, love.” Mikey presses a short kiss to Takemichi’s cheek. The salt of his tears makes Mikey’s head spin. He snakes his hand up Takemichi’s spine, following every ridge before he clamps it down on the back of Takemichi’s neck. He gives a single squeeze—a promise—before he’s sitting back up, letting his hands rest on Takemichi’s waist.
Then, he realizes the lube is across the room. Tucked away in a dresser drawer. He briefly debates pros and cons. One side vastly outweighs the other.
He leans down to press a quick kiss to Takemichi’s back.
“You can be patient for just another moment, can’t you dear?” He asks.
Takemichi makes a wordless noise. Somewhere between annoyed and affirmation.
Mikey all but launches himself at the dresser, kicking his pants off as he goes. From the corner of his eye he catches the now yellow blinking light of the anklet. Still charging.
He yanks open the drawer, shuffling socks around until he finds it. It had been bought just in case . But Mikey never thought he’d actually get to use it.
He is back to Takemichi’s side in an instant, peppering apology kisses down his spine while he uncaps the lube with one hand. He can’t seem to coat himself fast enough, sitting up with his cock in hand. He already feels dangerously close to coming from just Takemichi’s prone form.
But he can’t wait any longer.
He’s spent twelve years longing for the man spread out before him. He’s spent months so close, within arm’s reach but stopping himself.
Takemichi’s breath hitches as Mikey leans over him, one hand on his waist, and one hand at the base of his cock.
It’s Heaven. His hand can never again compare. Neither can his dreams.
He gets his answer, as to whether Takemichi has any toys, almost immediately. He can feel the stretch in the way Takemichi tightens around him and he gasps underneath him.
“You’re so good for me,” Mikey whispers. He presses in slowly, placing kisses against the back of Takemichi’s neck. He owes Takemichi at least that.
At least, he thinks he does, until Takemichi whines loudly—an impatient noise—and rocks back against Mikey.
“What is it, baby?” He asks, lips on Takemichi’s skin. He sees Takemichi’s grip around the headboard frame flexing.
“Please,” his voice is barely audible over the thundering of Mikey’s pulse in his ears. “Faster-“
Mikey snaps his hips forward. He can’t help it.
Takemichi jerks and cries out. It’s muffled against the pillow. And, well, Mikey can’t have that, now can he?
He runs his fingers through Takemichi’s hair before he yanks, forcing Takemichi’s head back. He whimpers at the pull, mouth falling open.
“Are you sure you want me to go fast?” He asks, voice dangerous. Takemichi attempts a nod around the grip in his hair. “Words, love.”
He feels the way Takemichi shudders.
“Please–“ the word is choked out. But it’s so pretty. It’s probably one of Mikey’s favorite words from him. Second only, of course, to– “Manjiro…”
Mikey closes his eyes with a steadying breath. One hand in Takemichi’s hair and the other on his hip. Then, he sits up, looking over the curve of Takemichi’s back. He draws out slowly, almost entirely, before he snaps his hips against Takemichi’s ass. He sets the pace, slow as he pulls out—rough and quick as he thrusts back in. Takemichi’s choked out little noises come in time with Mikey’s hips.
It’s indescribable—to finally have Takemichi under him, to be able to run his hands along Takemichi’s skin, to fuck him. He lets go of Takemichi’s hair in favor of a bruising grip on his waist.
“Make sure I can hear you, baby,” he says. Takemichi obeys, turning his head to rest on his arms rather than fall against the pillows.
“Manjiro…” Takemichi breathes his name like a prayer.
“Yeah?” Mikey rolls his hips, slower and drawing a whine from the man under him. “Tell me how I make you feel.” He wants to hear it. He needs to hear it.
“Good-“ the word comes on a rough exhale. Takemichi is just barely able to keep its shape.
“Just good?” Mikey asks with a slow roll of his hips. Takemichi shudders with something between a gasp and a moan.
“Great,” he corrects. “Amazing- god, fuck.” He hisses through his teeth as Mikey snaps back to a faster pace.
“Best you’ve ever had?” Mikey asks. He digs his fingers into Takemichi’s waist as he leans forward, ghosting his breath over Takemichi’s spine. He feels a spasm in Takemichi’s stomach under his fingertips, just enough warning for him to reach down and wrap tight fingers around the base of his cock. It twitches uselessly in Mikey’s grasp.
Takemichi’s responding sob tells him everything he needs to know.
“Please–“ Mikey can barely understand him. The plea is wobbly and broken at best. He presses a finger to the tip of Takemichi’s cock, pressing teasingly. It’s a cruel kind of serenity to have Takemichi at his mercy. He wants it every day. He leans down to press a soft kiss against the nape of Takemichi’s neck. He savors the drawn out sigh before he bites down.
“You can cum,” Mikey whispers against the indented skin. “I won’t stop until I’m done, though.” He grasps Takemichi’s cock properly, tugging teasingly. It’s Takemichi’s undoing. Takemichi shakes through his release, mouth falling open in a silent cry.
Mikey pauses as Takemichi squeezes around him, gritting his teeth and digging his fingers into the soft skin of his waist. He resumes his thrusts when he’s sure he can endure it, keeping his pace slower.
Takemichi’s legs give out as he buries his face in the pillow under him. Mikey can allow it, if only because he’s too busy admiring the way Takemichi jolts and writhes. The choked out gasps are sweet enough even while muffled.
He shoves Takemichi down by the hips as his own stutter, rhythm faltering. He drops his forehead against the curve of Takemichi’s spine, quickly reaching his own limit. He stills above Takemichi, feeling him squirm as Mikey finishes. They pant in tandem, both coming down. Mikey lets his arms give out, landing atop Takemichi’s back. Takemichi squeaks under the weight, jolting and letting go of the headboard. He bends his arms, reaching his wrists back towards Mikey with a wordless noise of request. Mikey pulls himself up just a bit, yanking at one of the knotted ends of the shirt, letting the makeshift binding unravel and fall to the bed. He ghosts his lips against the side of Takemichi’s neck and buries his nose in the crook between there and his shoulder.
“Mikey…” Takemichi shifts his hips, an abrupt reminder of Mikey’s neglect to pull out. Mikey latches into the skin against his lips, sucking yet another dark bruise.
“You’re not taking back anything, right?” He asks. Takemichi is silent for a moment, head tilting against the pillow.
“No.” His voice is a breath. He struggles to turn around under Mikey, flipping onto his back. They both wince as Mikey’s still softening cock pulls out of Takemichi. He reaches up, grabbing at Mikey’s face, blue eyes intense if not still teary. “I’m never going back on anything I tell you.” He pulls Mikey down, soft lips against Mikey’s. It takes Mikey a long moment to react, but when he does he bears down on Takemichi, tongue demanding and hands grabbing at anything he can reach. Takemichi makes a startled noise at the sudden intensity before he melts, fingers finding a home in Mikey’s hair.
“You’re mine.” Mikey pulls back just enough to speak, lips a hair's-breadth away. “I don’t share and I don’t compromise.” It shouldn’t sound like a plea. He means it to sound like a command, but something about Takemichi has always made him weak.
Takemichi blinks at him before his expression of shock falls into a sweet, half-lidded smile.
“Okay. Deal.” He pulls Mikey back down.
***
Mikey wakes to a dry throat and the sound of the bedroom door closing. He sits up with a groan, just the slightest hint of soreness in his arms. He squints up at the haloed angel approaching the bed. The rising sun from the large windows lights the room up gold, bouncing off Takemichi’s hair and glinting in his eyes. He carries a tray in his hands, piled up with sweet breakfast foods. There’s a slight limp in his step. Just enough for Mikey to notice.
He accepts the glass of water handed to him, downing half of it before he even attempts to speak.
“Mitchy…” He tilts his head up. Takemichi’s eyes widen for just a moment, and then he dips down to press a quick kiss against Mikey’s lips. It’s fleeting and chaste, but it still swallows his chest in a burning affection. “Sit.”
“Good morning,” Takemichi’s voice is achingly soft as he sits on the side of the bed, leg folded under him. Mikey’s attention follows the movement. His eyes snap to the dresser across the room. The charger sits unplugged, folded neatly over itself. The anklet is nowhere to be seen.
Takemichi seems to sense Mikey’s immediate spike of distress. He climbs the rest of the way onto the bed, flashing a view of the anklet as he sits beside Mikey. The tray sits half-forgotten in Mikey’s lap, dark eyes following the anklet.
“You put it back on.” It’s a statement, the words brimming with a baffled awe. Takemichi stares at the anklet for a long moment.
“Sorry.” He gives Mikey a shy smile. Like there could possibly be anything to apologize for. “Did you want to put it back on?”
Mikey scoffs in disbelief.
“You put it back on,” he repeats.
“I like it.” Takemichi blurts his answer. He turns his leg, like he’s admiring the anklet, even as his face goes beet-red. “I just–” Mikey stays silent, feeling the incoming ramble. “I’ve just been so used to getting scared of things and running away or realizing I’m in too deep and doing anything I can to get out and I…” he paused. “I like having the choice to stay made for me.” His voice grows progressively smaller. “I like…feeling like I’m at my final destination.”
Mikey picks up the tray from his lap, setting it aside to the bedside table. He pulls Takemichi into his lap, the other falling into Mikey’s manhandling so easily. He leans back against Mikey’s chest, head on his shoulder.
“You like being locked up here?” He asks. It’s just a whisper in Takemichi’s ear but he knows the other hears from the way he stiffens just a bit.
“Is…is that bad?”
Mikey stares at the side of his face, watching blue eyes dart anywhere but at him.
“I don’t want anyone else even looking at you. I don’t want you to think about anyone but me.” He buries his face in the side of Takemichi’s neck, closing his eyes. “Doesn’t it scare you?”
He’s met with a thoughtful silence. Even as Takemichi brings a hand up to run fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Mikey feels like he’s the one melting into it now.
“It should,” Takemichi admits. “I should probably be terrified over you wanting to own me. You’re…violently possessive–“ a bit of an understatement “–and I can’t imagine a scenario where you’d lengthen my leash at any point.” He’s right. Mikey tightens his arms around Takemichi’s waist, waiting for the shoe to drop. “It should scare me. It should make me want to run and hide from you.” Mikey hugs him even tighter, a quiet gasp coming from Takemichi. “But I just feel loved.”
Mikey lifts his head. He needs to see Takemichi’s face, needs to know his brain didn’t conjure up the last words as some last ditch effort to break him fully. He finds Takemichi already staring directly at him, blue eyes wide. Hopeful.
“I love you, Manjiro.”
It’s divine. To watch the words form on his perfect lips as he hears them in that sweet voice.
Mikey’s lips part in awe. His eyes burn in an uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation. He realizes what it is as Takemichi’s eyes widen in worry. Tears. He ducks to shove his face back into Takemichi’s neck.
Takemichi struggles to turn in his hold, shifting until he’s facing Mikey, legs wrapped loosely around Mikey’s waist. He cups Mikey’s face in his hands, brushing away slow tear tracks with his thumbs. Mikey leans into the touch, almost in a haze. Takemichi’s hands are so warm, so soft, and so comforting.
“I’ve loved you for so long…” he doesn’t say that it’s warped. It’s distorted and twisted from years of Mikey himself being wrung out and stretched thin. He’s felt it like violent tremor in his fingers. Like jolting awake at night with the need to smash something. It’s not the love it had been twelve years ago—the kind that wanted to hold his hand and go out to ice cream.
“I know,” Takemichi says. He leans in to press their foreheads together. It sounds larger. Like Takemichi is acknowledging the unspoken parts as well, the dark parts. “I’m sorry it took so long. But I’m here now. I’m yours.”
Mikey lets his hold loosen just a bit. Just enough to slip his hands under Takemichi’s shirt. An idea hits him with a startling intensity.
“And if I asked you to get a Bonten Tattoo?” he asks, fingers trailing gently across Takemichi’s lower back. “Put my mark on you permanently?” Takemichi shudders under his hands, breath hitching.
“Anything you want.” The words fall from Takemichi’s lips so sweet and so fast. Like he didn’t even need to think them over. He doesn’t take them back. He doesn’t shy away.
“That, my dear Mitchy,” Mikey brings one hand up, gripping at Takemichi’s jaw. The other pulls him closer, sliding further up his spine. “Is a very dangerous promise.”
“I know,” he says. “I’ll keep this one too. Whatever you want of me, Manjiro. Forever.”
It’s all Mikey has ever wanted to hear.
No one says a word when Mikey calls to tell them he’s taking a two week vacation. And he is not to be disturbed.