Work Text:
It had been dark in Makoto’s room, lit only by the golden evening sunlight filtering through his shoddy blinds. Makoto shifted awkwardly, seemingly unable to decide whether or not he should go ahead and get onto his bed beside him, and Byakuya stood tall off in the center of his small bedroom, trying not to think too intently on his surroundings; Makoto’s dingy house, the dirty clothes scattered haphazardly onto the ground, the drool stain left on his crinkled pillow cover. It was for the best just to focus his attention on the figure shifting uncertainty before him.
“Uh,” Makoto started, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck, and Byakuya suppressed the urge to pin him onto the bed himself. He was taking his time, and Byakuya’s skin was tingling in something that surely wasn’t anything akin to anticipation. Makoto turned to look at the tv, instead of at him. “Would you feel better if I turned something on in the background? I’m sure I don’t have as many channels as you, but…”
Byakuya grumbled softly, and Makoto paused in his reaching for the remote to look back at him. “No. You’re going to get distracted.”
Makoto smiled at that. Byakuya sneered. “Ah, ok. You’re worried I won’t give you my full attention? I’m sure I can do that much.” The playful air in his voice irritated him. He wasn’t fond of his sudden leap in confidence. It made his cheeks burn, and finally he took a sweeping step forward to push Makoto onto the bed since he was having so much trouble doing it on his own.
Makoto made some horribly unbecoming yelping noise as his feet lost contact with the ground. The bed creaked beneath their sudden, shared weight, and Byakuya felt his heart surge. He rather enjoyed the feeling of having Makoto below him- it itched some spot deep in his brain to feel him, warm and squirming, trying to settle into a comfortable position between his chest and the bedsheets. He was like some helpless prey struggling below him, or like some eager man waiting for him to allow him to sink into some distant world of pleasure, away from the monotonous office work he had been dreading attending to this morning, now long forgotten in a rush of hushed words and shuffling feet. The feeling of his bare skin brushing against his own was fantastic, and it made him shiver, and he needed to get his clothes off of him right away.
He enjoyed the way Makoto let him detach himself from him to start working at his tie without a word, the way his eyes were already so wide and blown out, the way he was looking at him, as if-
“Ah, you… You’re looking at me so intensely…” Makoto’s breathless voice pulled him out of his focused state, and his hands were suddenly feeling far more cumbersome and clumsy than he was accustomed to. “Have I ever told you…” and he stumbled over his own breath for a moment, “How good you look, when you get so focused in on whatever you’re working on?” His cheeks were dusted pink, and his olive eyes couldn’t bring themselves to meet his, instead flitting down to zone in on his slender fingers working at the fabric between them. “...It’s a little uncanny to see you look at me that way.” He wasn’t sure what to think of the implication that he was working on him. But that was just a reminder of what this all was, really- hardly any different from any of the other countless duties he might divert his attention to throughout the day, and that thought helped him to steady his hands.
Byakuya felt his stomach flip. “Stop talking,” he said sternly, pulling the tie harshly from his neck and working furiously at the buttons keeping him from Makoto’s chest. He could hear Makoto swallow before a nervous trill of laugher spilled from his lips.
“Yeah…. Just, ha, like that…”
-
He wasn’t entirely sure what occurred, but it seemed Makoto had managed to best him during some brief lapse of judgment with some dirty commoner trick, because somehow now he was entirely on top of him.
“You’re gorgeous,” Makoto breathed, and he had never heard his voice sound quite like this before, so soft and labored and hushed, said so close up against his ear that he could feel the warmth of his breath and the ruffle of his hair. The way he said it, so genuinely and passionately, with so much conviction- it was hardly unfamiliar. It was the way he spoke to everyone, it was the way he lived his life, and it was so-
To hear it said just for him made his heart flutter in a way he was hardly accustomed to. He tried his best to quash the feeling, stuff it away deep inside some crevice of his consciousness, so he wouldn’t have to think about it so prominently, but he couldn’t quite stop Makoto’s words from echoing in his head. They were warm and far too comforting, and he almost felt like his brain could melt out of his ears, and he despised how elated his body felt to be hearing something he knew without a doubt to be true uttered from someone like him- from him.
Byakuya elected to bite his tongue, certainly not because he didn’t trust what might come out if he tried to respond. His cheeks were flushed and his lungs were aching with the effort of keeping his breath steady.
It felt strange to hear him say something like that. Certainly an odd thing to hear from a coworker. A friend, Makoto might have called him, although he hated how the word sounded in his mouth. It was far too juvenile. It hardly seemed to express whatever connection they shared. He hardly knew how to classify whatever it was that they were, although Makoto had assured (teased) him that he only felt so adverse to calling him his friend because he was so stuck up, because he’d never allowed himself to rely on others before. He’d said before that he had a stick up his ass, and he had always considered that an idiotic phrase. (And it seemed almost ironic, given their current circumstances.)
This was hardly any different from any other countless transactions he had completed throughout his life, anyways. He hated the way he was losing control of his breath, the way it came in uneven, uncontrolled huffs, the way sweat rolled down his perfect skin, warm and tingling despite the cool air in the room. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and he much preferred doing this with someone he trusted as much as Makoto, instead of whatever faceless women he had always imagined himself with, when he had let himself think about anything like this in the past.
This was much better than that. Even the feeling he had gotten from considering asking Makoto to do something like this in the first place filled his stomach with some relatively more bearable fluttering as opposed to the heavy rock of dread that he had become so accustomed to. Some pressure in his pants, some warming of his cheeks he couldn’t quite rid himself of. He still hated the way the idea lingered in his brain, the way it reminded him of his mortal body and its terribly mortal needs. He supposed something like this was inherently more vulnerable than his typical interactions with others, but that hardly changed what any of this was.
Makoto was making some unseemly whining sort of noise on top of him, low in his throat and syrupy and so addicting he felt his eyes fight to flutter shut to help him hear it better, to soak up each little tremor in his voice. To do whatever he could to encourage it, to make him feel just the slightest bit better, to bring him just a little further out of his mind.
And it was far easier to view it that way. He was merely performing a service for Makoto, providing him with some little sliver of relief from long, stress filled days that dragged on for much longer than seemed possible, without any end in sight- and really, someone like him deserved that much, at the least. Both of them did. As alluring as he found the dark bags forming underneath his eyes, or the increasingly unkempt nature of his hair, he hated far more the idea that his Makoto might be wearing himself so thin, if only because he knew how crucial a role in the world he had made for himself, if only because his slacking off would only mean more headache for him. There was nothing worse than incompetence, in overestimation of one’s abilities without the capability to follow through.
…He hardly considered Makoto incompetent. He was one of the only people he felt reasonably confidently could walk in stride with him, and there was some foreign pit living somewhere inside of him when he thought too deeply about what had been thrust upon him in the wake of everything, which was horribly childish, for someone like him, because he knew he was capable of all of this and more.
So he had no issue helping him take the edge off, especially not when he was doing much the same for him. He dug his perfect fingers into him, into his shoulder, and grabbing firmly onto his hand, and every time he felt Makoto’s grasp tighten, however minutely, he could feel his heart lurching violently in his chest, threatening to spill out in some pathetically undignified noise, some ugly sob spilling out of his lips. He was terribly glad that Makoto was so rash, that he had lurched forwards to press his lips against his own before they were able to talk it through, before he could specify if it was on the table at all, because it was much less hassle to busy himself kissing into the other’s mouth instead of deciphering what someone as enigmatic as him was thinking. And with his lips occupied, Makoto hardly had any more opportunity to open his mouth and say anything that would make his head spin, that would make him lose the upper hand against him he fought so hard to maintain.
He was pressing against him so firmly now, moving back and forth so desperately, and something deep in his brain tingled pleasantly at the sight of him losing control like this on him, in using his body to chase his own pleasure, in doing something so animalistic and selfish. He was glad to see that he had accomplished his goal enough to allow him to stop thinking so much, at the least, and it was excruciatingly good to allow the other to take control of him like this, to be used and held so tightly. He was rubbing firm little circles against the bare skin of Byakuya's hip with his free hand.
“...So good… You’re… ah,” and he was hardly happy to feel Makoto’s mouth pull away from his own, to have that pleasant pressure and heat taken from him without warning, if only because it meant Makoto would spew more nonsense that made his heart churn in the way he hated so much. He was bouncing above him rhythmically, and every little movement was so mesmerizing, so blurry between the tears clouding his vision, the physical response from what his body was feeling so intensely. The weight on top of him, securing him, pressing him down, the warm legs caging him in, and he could feel a pathetic noise he could hardly hold back threatening at the back of his lips.
Makoto was holding onto his hand so tightly, and for some stupid reason the sight of his hand in his own was grounding, to see their fingers alternated, long and pale and perfect framed by shorter freckled covered in little nicks and scratches, and to watch his fingers twitch and pull on his skin. Byakuya had always taken good care of his fingers, perfect nails and smooth soft skin maintained to perfection, just as with any other part of his body, although it seemed Makoto hardly took the same effort. His fingernails were uneven and too short and his skin was torn and picked at, although he hardly minded as much as he felt he should have. He felt some strange urge to kiss at his hands, to count his freckles with his tongue and lick and suck at every irritating imperfection, or to feel its palm hot against his bare chest.
He glanced up at the hand not interlaced with his own, just barely visible out of the corner of his eye, ghosting up against his scalp, curling far too gently into the hair growing right above his ear. He wished he would pull at it. He was certain he would, if he asked for it.
He hesitated for far longer than felt characteristic of himself, although time seemed to be passing in some strange, warped way, and Makoto pressed his hand close to his head so that he could scratch at his scalp gently, and somehow that was enough to pull a pathetic moan from his lips.
Makoto smiled, something genuine and wobbly through the sweat dripping down his face, and his fingers continued on brushing softly against his head, and he hated the way that the contact made all the tension in his shoulders fade. “...You don’t need to force yourself to be quiet, you know,” Makoto huffed softly. “I… ah, really enjoy hearing you… You don’t need to try to hold back… a-around me.” Even in his breathlessness, there was a familiar conviction in his voice, and it felt like far too much of an intimate thing to say, for what they were, but he supposed that was much the way Makoto was. It was so like him, to want to encourage whoever he was with like this. He surely wouldn’t want to think a stranger was holding back for his sake, either. Even so, now that the dam was broken he could hardly be bothered to stop the stream of noises coming out. “Mm… I love… the sound of your voice, you know? Sounds… so pretty…”
“Makoto,” He said, and he hated how wrecked his voice sounded. “Shut… stop-” and he was cut off by some truly unseemly sound from his own mouth as Makoto hit something especially sensitive deep inside of him, and he suddenly felt so painfully vulnerable and shaky and aware of what he was letting Makoto do to him, and he knew deep in his brain that none of this meant anything, and yet it felt like far too much all at once to be held and fucked into and told he was beautiful over and over again, and every nerve Makoto touched was on fire and-
Makoto’s hot mouth against his own was a balm to his racing thoughts, and he pressed his fingers into his skin and tried to pull him closer against him, and he was far too overwhelmed in a way he had never been in his life to think too deeply about allowing his own hips to rock back up against him. It was truly a horrible thing, how having Makoto so near to him relieved so much of the tension whirling inside of him, and so it was some small relief to let himself stop thinking and indulge in the feeling of his body pressed against his own, the praises rolling over him. The attention made his cheeks run hot, and the thumb tenderly brushing against his cheek made them burn.
“...Oh, wow…” Makoto’s breathless words blew warm against his face, and he tried to keep his eyes open so that he could focus still on the freckles scattered across his gleaming face, or catch another glimpse of the pretty eyes looking back at him so intently-he was looking at him far too softly, and he had seen countless people look at him like he was something to be awed, but something about the way his eyes caught his own- he had never had anyone look at him like that before, and it made him dizzy, and it made him hungry. He felt much like he was in some sort of haze, like none of this was real, and without thinking he leaned back in for another kiss.
Because he could hardly tell what was about to come out of his mouth at any given moment anymore, and not because he liked the feeling of Makoto’s soft lips against his own, eager and slightly too clumsy, so careful and intentional and shaky, like he was trying so hard to treat him gingerly, like he was still trying to figure out exactly what he was doing. It was perfect.
He suddenly leaned back slightly, just enough that his nose was pressed against the side of Byakuya’s, that he was looking eye to eye with him, from far too close up, and Byaukya’s world was nothing but a sea of speckled olive green, framed by long lashes that tickled against his face.
“Byakuya…” He could hardly tell if it was a moan or a question, and he answered by digging his fingers in tighter, and he hoped desperately that he was able to leave some sort of mark. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, and Byakuya hated how coherent it sounded, so Makoto, that he knew almost instantly that the words would echo around in his head for countless weeks to come, so he chose to think about the feeling of Makoto’s hips stuttering against his own. “I’m- ah, Byakuya, I don’t think I can… ah...”
Byakuya hoped, somewhere in his far too distracted state of mind, that the sight of Makoto cumming on top of him would be burned into his mind forever, his ever too expressive face and the perfectly unguarded garble of his name that spilled from his throat, the subtle movement of his legs, the feeling of them quivering around his body- he could hardly remember precisely how exactly he had felt, aside from the bursting, unbearably warm pleasure bursting from him, the fuzzy, pleasant feeling swelling up in his gut- When he blinked his eyes hazily open, however much time later, and his mind was moving slowly, and he felt a pervasive calmness all throughout his body, and his own cooling stomach between his and Makoto’s, where he had happily flopped over on top of him, content and droopy eyed. His arms were wrapped around him, indulging in the feeling of his steady breaths against his chest.
When Makoto finally lifted his head up to look at him, a terribly light, contended chuckle sprung from his mouth- “Ah… You’re smiling.” Makoto’s grin was so soft and sweet, and all for him, as if he wanted anything like that. “In a good mood…?”
Byakuya felt a light huff escape from his lips. “Mm… Stop fishing for compliments.” He ran his hands along Makoto’s sides, back and forth, slowly, and he watched Makoto’s eyes droop. “How are you feeling.”
Makoto laughed softly. “Really good.” He wiggled on top of him, settling further into his embrace. He was stunning, so boneless and content where he perched above him. His coworker. He could hardly imagine doing this with anyone else, but surely that was due to extenuating circumstance. He brought a hand up to run along the edge of his ear. He was warm, and he leaned into the contact like some pathetic little touch starved cat. He was awfully pretty.
Byakuya leaned his head forwards, and Makoto met him for a kiss, far too soft and slow. He found himself surprised at how long Makoto could kiss without pulling away- he was so much smaller, and he always imagined his lungs would protest first, but he found that he was the one retreating breathlessly. He let his eyes flutter open to find Makoto staring back at him, eyes bright and wide and content.
“What are you hoping for?” Byakuya asked, and he hated how fond his voice sounded.
“Hm? Nothing. I’m really happy right now.” His hands absentmindedly kneaded against Byakuya’s chest.
“You’ll hardly be so excited when I try to wake you up for work in the morning.”
Makoto smiled, a melty, wobbling mess. “You want to stay the night?”
Byakuya rolled his eyes. “It’s easier that way, isn’t it? I can drive you to work, anyways. You’re always complaining about the bus.”
“Mm,” Makoto hummed, nuzzling into his chest. “I’d like that.
“Mmhm.” Byakuya brought a hand up to the back of Makoto’s head, pressing him close to his chest so he couldn’t pop up and catch him off guard again. He had a habit of making him say things he surely didn’t mean, of thinking thoughts he knew would be foolish to pursue. Although it was hard to consider this in particular such a foolish desire, at least for the time being, especially with the pleasant fuzzy feeling clouding his head and the warm, steady breaths tickling his shoulder.
He could feel Makoto’s breath slowing gently. Really, he was certain he would regret this all in the morning, when he would feel too achy to walk straight, because of Makoto and his horrible bed, when he would come home tomorrow after work empty handed, to quiet house echoing of the worries of what Makoto had managed to get into on his way back home.
Maybe it was foolish not to define it. He could feel some burning hot feeling swirling around him, and perhaps Makoto had managed to melt away some of the reservations he had felt so tangled up in. Because of course, he felt-
“...Makoto?” His name flowed from his lips so easily, so perfectly, before he had entirely realized he had made a decision.
He was met with nothing but the sound of soft, muffled snores. He must have worn himself out, with his work and the pressures weighing heavy on his shoulders and whatever this had been, to have fallen asleep so quickly.
Byakuya huffed, angling his face down to bury his nose in Makoto’s soft hair. It had been a stupid thought, anyways.