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Catch Me When I Fall	By : Tcharlatan Category: > Die/Kyo Views: 959 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. I do not personally know any of the members of Dir en grey, and do not profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
For all my bravado on the way out of Kaoru’s place, it’s taken over a week for me to find the time to do anything with the “kit” he gave me. Between photoshoots, interviews, the final stages of recording, shooting promotional videos, Christmas parties, and meetings for the planning phases of our next tour, I haven’t had the time or the energy to breathe, let alone indulge myself in experimental masturbation. I have jerked out a couple more quick ones in the shower thinking about Die, though, and I did take some time on Monday to watch the pornos Kaoru gave me. Both have only exacerbated the situation. Particularly the former; I can hardly look at Die anymore without part of me wondering what he looks like naked, or how he’d feel against me. If he really wants me back. If this will break us completely.
It’s taken everything I have not to come clean with him and just hope for the best if it turns out he does want to sleep with me. I can’t stand how strained things are between us now; I’m constantly questioning his motives, questioning my own motives, and I just want to lance this festering wound in our relationship and bleed out the infection of uncertainty. After talking to Kaoru, it feels like all of the affection I’ve felt for Die over the past few years – all of my devotion to him as a friend, as a brother sharing in my life’s dream – has been shifting into something new and terrifyingly intense as I start to see him under a new light. Something I can barely identify, let alone define. Only the fear of losing him completely has kept my tongue still thus far.
[You know what it is.]
[It’s always been there, just fucking accept it.]
But the weekend is here now, and I have the entire day to myself, free of appointments or plans besides a nice, long session of pleasuring myself. I’ve taken the most thorough shower of my life, including shaving and trimming every hair on my body that I can even halfway justify grooming. Music is playing overhead – instrumental, heavy and just fast enough to get me riled up, but not so much as to be distracting. I’m naked as the day I was born, and the lube and dildo are sitting innocuously on the bedspread, waiting to defile me. I lay out beside them, legs kicked out wide, and sigh happily as my hands slide lazily over my chest. Gods, I’ve needed this…
I close my eyes and let Die fill my mind once again. He surfaces there so easily anymore; it’s hardly an effort to bring up a passable phantom of my latest fixation. The things that I’ve actually experienced before are clearest, I just have to alter the memory a little bit to fit the fantasy until I bask in the scent of his cologne tinged with his unique musk, the slide of his skin against mine, the way his body moves and how his hair falls over his face. Others, I have to guess at, relying entirely on my imagination to provide the taste of his sweat and the sound of his moans, but in the end, my every sense is entangled with the ghost of Die.
As always, my vision begins with that goddamned kiss. His hair brushes against my cheek, followed by the press of a broad hand with long, calloused fingers. Stubble rasps against my chin, soft lips seal against my own, and I taste his preferred brands of beer and cigarettes. This is comfortable, safe, and I savor the now-familiar flutter in my chest. I know that I enjoyed that kiss, so it’s a good starting point before I push into newer territory.
His phantom form – hard and flat and heavy with undeniable strength – settles over me, surrounds me, and I shudder a bit. I think this is a big part of what makes me nervous about being with Die. Physically, he’s significantly larger than I am, and the thought of being belly-up beneath him feels like submission to a baser part of my nature. My imagination prods at that fear, exploring it, the ghost of those perfectly straight teeth brushing possessively over my throat as an inaudible growl rumbles in my ears, and I hear myself snarl back in response. It feels like a sacrifice, almost, like I’m giving away control.
But then I smell that cologne again, and I find that it relaxes me a bit. It’s Die, not just some random guy trying to exert power over me. Sex is about bonding, giving entirely of oneself in the exchange of pleasure and trust, and I… I don’t mind giving so much of myself to him, I think. I believe, deep in my core, that I can lay supine beneath him, my every weakness exposed and laid bare, and know that he won’t kick me as so many others have. Comprehending that level of faith in another human being is entirely new to me, and I find that it’s almost sort of… exciting, in a way. Maybe it doesn’t have to be a sacrifice? Does there have to be control involved, anyways? Just because I’m underneath him doesn’t mean we’re not still equals, does it?
[No, it doesn’t have to.]
I “feel” the teeth at my throat slide up to nibble at my earlobe – a reward for my trust – and my hands begin a more directed journey over my chest, stimulating flesh I imagine him to be touching. One threads through the hair over my cock and tugs a little, just enough to tease, to make me shiver and buck my hips a bit. I’m not all that difficult to excite, I think; already I can feel my blood rushing south. Beautiful.
The other hand rubs a thumb languidly just around the edge of my left nipple, and a whispery moan escapes me in response. Very few of the women I’ve been with have ever really done anything about it, but I fucking love having my nipples played with. It sends a delicious little shock straight to my groin and I like to imagine Die would exploit that mercilessly if we were ever together. I take my sweet time teasing myself before pinching the little nub between my thumb and forefinger.
“Nnnh! Die…” I murmur.
I can’t believe how good his name feels on my tongue. I moan louder now, panting as “his” hand slides over to tease and pinch at my other nipple. Fuck, I’m really losing myself into this mess, aren’t I? I don’t know what I’m going to do if this doesn’t work. I don’t know if I’ll be able to just let it go even if I can’t stomach the thought of being fucked by him – or, worse yet, if I can, but he has no interest in me in sober daylight. Just one little kiss, one drunken collision in the snow, and I’m pretty sure I’m falling for him so hard that I’m not convinved I won’t break when I inevitably hit rock bottom.
Should I be surprised at how quickly this has all come to me?
[Only because you’re blind to what might make you happy.]
Shouldn’t it take longer to fall in love with someone?
[Longer than all these years?]
But… isn’t this new…?
[Don’t be stupid.]
“Die’s” hand pulls me out of my reverie with explicit mischief in mind, moving out of my pubic hair to drag teasing finger tips ever-so-lightly down the length of my cock. I arch my hips up, trying to get more solid contact, but the hand just moves with me, and I groan in self-indulgent frustration. Gods, I wish he would just touch me! Stop teasing me and just fucking touch me!
“Die! Unh… please…!”
Shit… I don’t even know if I’m bitching about him or my fantasy anymore…
Whatever. They both need to fucking touch me before I go crazy.
It’s as good a time as is ever going to be. I open my eyes and let go of myself to reach out for the bottle of lube, snapping it open and letting a big glob of it spill out over my fingers. It’s… thinner than I had expected it to be, and so slippery it’s almost kind of gross. I halt my restless panting just long enough to swallow back a nervous little lump in my throat, bending my legs up a bit. Closing my eyes, retuning to my fantasy, I reach down to press the tip of one finger against my opening. Weird, weird, it’s weird. I whine a little, and the feeling only gets weirder as “Die” presses inward, sliding the single digit all the way in. It doesn’t… hurt at all – it’s going in pretty easily, actually, for all that it’s a tight fit – but it’s a completely alien sensation that makes my toes curl and my breath hitch up in my throat.
I feel myself starting to balk a little bit, so close to losing my courage because this is just so strange. But my phantom-Die is there, his scent and his heat washing over me and steadying my nerves with the memory of that too-sweet kiss. For him. I’ve come this far, I can do this for him. Even just for the possibility of him. It’s not all that unpleasant, anyways, now that I’ve had a minute to adjust to the feeling, and the finger starts to slide in and out a bit experimentally.
Not unpleasant at all.
“He” pulls most of the way out and lines up a second finger with the first, pushing both in slowly. There’s a little bit of a stretching feeling now, and “Die’s” free hand moves back to my cock to distract me from it. That weird feeling from just around my entrance is starting to feel almost… kind of good, in a very unexpected way. It’s not mind-blowing or anything, but the friction is pretty nice as the fingers push in as deep as they possibly can, so I guess I-
“UNH!”
Holy shit, I don’t even know what just happened, but suddenly I’m arched off the bed like I just electrocuted myself, and it surprises the hell out of me. That, that felt good. “Die” presses his fingers in again, searching… there!
“Nnnnn! Oh, gods…”
I kind of lose myself for a minute, absolutely enraptured with the fantasy of Die fingering me and completely blown away by how good it feels. The spot “he’s” hitting makes my hips jerk instinctively, my dick rutting mindlessly up into the air, and it’s fucking amazing. The most disgustingly self-indulgent moans and grunts push out of my throat as I roll my shoulders back and splay my legs wider to give “Die” better access.
[Yes, you could learn to love this.]
A loud, jarring bell chimes from my bedside table and I choke out a garbled curse, startled by the sound. I look over and see that my phone’s screen is lit up (can’t see who’s calling from this angle, but I don’t give half of a shit right now) and it’s vibrating itself in a slow circle as it rings. It’s my day off, damnit! Releasing the grip my left hand had had on my erection, snarling at the break in my fantasy, I swing clumsily at the cursed thing until my hand hits the screen and shove it off the table. It’s blessedly silent when it hits the floor and I relax back into my pillow, closing my eyes again. Where was I?
“Mmnnnh…”
Oh right. “Die’s” hand closes around my cock once again, demanding my attention and setting up a clumsy sort of rhythm pumping as the fingers of the other hand push in and out of me. My voice echoes around my bedroom in a jerky, broken cacophony of needy moans and gasps of Die’s name. “He” feels (smells, sounds, tastes, looks) so good around me, over me, inside me, want for more than fantasy makes my chest ache fiercely even as “he” pushes a third finger into me.
“Die! ANH, Die, more! Gods, please, more…”
I can almost imagine his voice, murmuring my name as he looks down at me with that smile – so sweet, so smug, making me whine for more. There’s that stretch again, but I don’t care, I just want more of that filling, more of that friction, more of that electricity pushing through me. I cry out as the hand on my dick tightens convulsively, digging my feet into the bedspread and arching up, straining for more, trying to find the void that’s keeping me from release to fill it, so close at hand but somehow out of reach. I need more, damn it, more, more, more, of something, I don’t know what, but I need it. Gods, it just feels so damn good.
My bedroom door slams open with an echoing crash and I scream a little, sitting bolt upright.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU HEARTLESS PRICK?!”
…
Holy shit, that’s Die.
Die is in my room, I’M NAKED AND DIE IS IN MY ROOM!
I scramble to pull the covers up over myself, heart in my throat, panting wildly and probably bruising my face with the force of my blush. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”
Fuck, FUCK! This is so goddamn embarrassing! Oh gods, did he see what I was doing? FUCK! How is it I can’t have one damn day to myself to jack off in peace?! Shit, I think he put my bedroom doorknob through the damn wall! And did he just call me a prick?! What’s his fucking problem?! What the fuck is going on right now?!
He looks absolutely pissed, stalking over to the bed and shoving his phone in my face as he hisses, “You think this is fucking funny, you piece of shit?! You think you can just play with people like this, like it’s SOME DAMN JOKE?!”
I have to cross my eyes a little to see the screen. It’s… a picture of me, my name above it, and a little digital timer underneath it, reading just over five minutes and counting. The option to “End Call” is a big red button on the bottom. He’s… on the phone with me?
“What… what are you talking about?” I demand shakily. Somewhere, just out of reach, I know that that screen is telling me something very bad.
He growls, “Who told you I liked you?”
I open my mouth a little, but I don’t know how to answer that. He… he likes me? I was right? Hope’s jagged edges press a little further out in my chest, flexing broken-glass wings. Maybe all he wants me for is a tumble in the sheets, but to even get that much…
“You know what? It doesn’t even matter! I can’t believe you of all people would sink this fucking low! I came over to see what I had done so damned wrong that made you avoid me all week, but even if I’d known you were a homophobe, I never thought you would be such a fucking bastard about it!”
Wait, what? What did I do?! How am I a homop- Phone.
He’s on the phone with me. How can he be on the phone with me if I’m not on the phone?
…
Oh shit, no!
Eyes wide, I lean over to peer over the edge of my bed at where my phone landed. I think I might be sick. There’s Die’s face, staring up at me from the screen, with a little timer and an “End Call” button, damning me with a cheerful glow. I answered it when I pushed it off the nightstand earlier, and he… oh gods… Die heard me masturbating! And he thinks I was doing it to tease him?! I don’t even know which is worse. I look up at him, absolutely mortified, and struggle to find words to explain myself.
“Die, I… oh fuck, Die, I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t mean to… I-I didn’t think the phone had picked up, I… I wasn’t trying to answer it, I wouldn’t…I would never…”
He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at something near my legs with a purely confused frown on his face. I follow his gaze and realize, horrified, what he’s staring at. I grab at the incriminating object, but he’s quicker, picking up that god-awful purple dildo with two delicate fingers, as if it’s completely unsanitary. I suppose for all he knows, it is. I groan a little and hide my face with the covers, completely humiliated. Why can nothing ever go the way I want it to?! This has to be some kind of horrible nightmare; shit just can’t go this wrong in real life.
“What is this?”
A slightly-hysterical laugh bubbles out of me. Stupid Die. What a ridiculous question.
“You’re straight, why do you even have this?”
I would absolutely love to lie to him right now because the truth is too embarrassing to stand, but I just… I can’t do it. Not only because I can’t think of anything better than some sickeningly flimsy excuse about it belonging to a girlfriend, but because I’ve never really been able to lie to Die, and I don’t think now is a good time to start.
“…” My voice is muffled by the blanket, and part of me hopes he can’t hear me properly. “I… was just curious.”
“You… you didn’t answer the phone on purpose?” The anger has drained out of his voice, and he just sounds bewildered.
I shake my head slowly. This is horrible… I think I’m going to be sick. There’s a long pause, crackling with the tensest, heaviest silence I’ve ever experienced, before a hand grabs the front of my blanket and yanks it away from me. I yelp and drop my hands to cover myself.
“Die! What the fuck?!” I snap, shocked by the blatant affront.
Oh gods, his face… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so intense. He drops the dildo and his phone, climbing onto the bed and pushing my legs apart roughly, holding them open with his knees. I panic and try to push him away, but he grabs my wrists and pins them to the wall by my head, staring down at my naked body. This has done a lot to cool my ardor, but I’m still hard, and the insides of my upper thighs are still glistening with streaks of lube where I got a little messy with it. I’m shaking by the time he speaks again, and there might be an angry tear streak or two down my cheeks.
“…You were actually masturbating.”
“Let me go.”
“You were masturbating… thinking about me?”
Gods, I wish he would look up. I wish he would let me go. I wish anything would happen other than what’s happening right now. With him staring down at me like that, his hair is covering his face, and I have no way of knowing what he thinks about this. His voice sounds a little incredulous, but I can’t tell if he’s disgusted or shocked or excited or what. I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Should I confess? Or will that just make this mess worse? I can’t know what to say to him when I have no idea how he’s going to react. The tension builds as the silence stretches on, making it hard to breathe before Die finally breaks under the strain.
“FUCKING TALK TO ME, GODDAMN IT!” He explodes, his grip on my wrists becoming painful.
[Just fucking admit it!]
“Yes!” I snap frantically. “Yes, you bastard, I was masturbating thinking about you, alright?! Now let me go, you’re hurting me!”
It takes him a minute before he seems to realize how hard he’s pressing on me and sits back a bit. I lash out once, slapping him across the face for the offence before pulling my legs back up to shield myself. This is all just too damn much for me. I’m naked and he’s not and he’s way too damn close and way too damn big and he’s violated the sanctuary of my bedroom and I’m feeling incredibly threatened by all the yelling, vulnerable. He has that look on his face again, like that night in the snow, where he’s so goddamn close to happiness but it’s infected by an underlying pain. I don’t understand it. What does he want? How do I keep hurting him without even trying, without even knowing what I’m doing so wrong?!
“You… but you’re… straight,” he whispers, stuck on that point and hopelessly lost.
“Yeah, I thought so too, but that didn’t seem to bother you all that much when you fucking kissed me!”
“I… you remember that?”
…the FUCK did he just say?!
“ME?! Of course I remember it, why the fuck wouldn’t I?! You were the one drunk off his ass! You’ve been pretending to have forgotten this whole time?!”
“I… I thought it would be better if… if we just acted like it never happened…”
I reel back a little. He… he regrets…? That hurts a hell of a lot more than I was expecting it to. Had I really gotten my hopes up so high about this? About the possibility of… us? Fuck, I know better than that! But… it still doesn’t explain anything – the kiss, his sadness, any of it! And didn’t he just say he likes me?!
[Think about it. It only makes sense if he-]
“Just tell me what you want from me!” I growl at him, seething fury rising up over my pain to keep me stable until I can break down in private. “Was it just a joke?! Did you not realize it was me?! Because when you kiss me like that, when you tell me that you like how I fit under you, all I can think is that you want to fuck me!”
He stares at me for a long time and I glare back, panting.
“No,” he murmurs despondently after a while, letting his gaze fall down and to the side. “No, I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“Then why-”
He shakes his head, cutting me off. “I want to wake up with you.”
What? What the fuck does that mean?! I wish he’d quit being melodramatic and just tell me what he me-
“Every day. Just to fuck you… to have a taste of what I want, and never anything more… it would kill me.”
Oh.
[You get it now?]
…Oh.
Well… shit. That takes the wind right out of my sails, and I can’t really be angry with him anymore because… gods, does he mean what I think he means? I can’t think of any other possible meaning for those words. There isn’t one, is there? This is… this is a confession? The puzzle pieces finally fit together – the kiss, the fleeting glances, the butterfly touches – but not the way I had tried to assemble them. And the picture they form is nothing like what I had been figuring on, so much more beautiful than a simple sexual experiment. It’s so hard to believe, but a very big part of me is sick with hope and wonder that that might actually be the case.
“…How… how long have you…?”
He shrugs a little, listless in his desolation. “I don’t know. Forever, I guess? I keep thinking it’ll go away, and I can just be happy being your friend, but… it never does.”
Oh, Daisuke… I can’t stand how sad he looks, how sad he sounds – like he’s just waiting for me to rip him open for having the gall to want more than friendship – but at the same time, I feel like I’m flying. Either this is the cruelest dream I’ve ever had, or Die just told me that he’s been pining after me all these years, that I… I might actually get what I want for once. There it is again, that ache in my chest. Such a sweet pain, resonating with the sound of his voice, and I suddenly recognize it for what it is.
[Yearning, approaching obsession, teasing at the edges of love.]
“Die, I…” Ugh, how do I say this? This all would have been so much easier if he hadn’t fucking barged in on me jacking off. I can’t think straight. I feel small and completely exposed for the first time in a very long while, and I hate it. I swallow and speak carefully, “I wouldn’t mind, you know. Waking up with you.”
His head snaps up again and he stares at me with a terrifying wildness in his eyes – anger and disbelief warring bitterly with hope and want. “Don’t… gods, Kyo, don’t say that, you can’t know what you’re saying.”
…
Oh, goddamn it!
I finally do know what I’m saying – finally, since this whole mess started, I’m actually sure about something – and he fucking doubts me? Fine. I’ll show him the way he showed me, then, in a language he understands. I grab onto his hair to hold him in place, kneeling and leaning forward to kiss him firmly. It’s chaste, the way his was – nothing but the press of lips – though I’m sure it’s nowhere near as sweet, with how riled up I am. I can’t ache or want as tenderly as he can, I suppose, but the message is there nonetheless.
He freezes up, stunned, and I pull back a little bit to stare him down. Does he fucking get it now? Does he see what that poisonous seed he planted in me has blossomed into? I hope so, because after this, I am officially his fucking problem, and there’s no going back. The anger melts out of his eyes, hope and want (and… love? Oh Die, why do you do this to me? How do you do this to me?!) burning it away, and only the barest trace of disbelief clings stubbornly. Good. Finally, we have an understanding. Mutual affection, mutual want; his more firmly rooted than my own, having had longer to accept and adapt to it, mine somewhat fragile and chaotic for its newness, but both sincere and tinged with need.
“Kyo… you…?”
“Yes, Die.”
“You… you really mean…?”
“Yes, Die.”
He just kneels there for a moment, dumbstruck, utterly beautiful in a moment where anyone else would just look stupid, because he can’t be anything else. I lick my lips absently, tasting him there for the second time, and the want I see in him flares wildly. He groans and closes the gap between us again, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other clamps around my waist to crush me against him. This kiss is anything but pure. It’s fierce, intoxicatingly so, not necessarily rough but it feels like he’s trying to swallow me whole, to pull me into himself tongue-first even as he pushes himself into me. It’s nothing like anything I’ve experienced before – not just because he’s not a woman, but because of the emotional maelstrom we had to slog through just to get this far, and because it’s so much more than a simple slide of lips and tongues.
The gentle kiss, that night in the snow, had spoken of his love, even if I hadn’t fully understood what it meant at the time. This one is screaming to me the depths of that affection, the desperation with which he has wanted and despaired for what he believed could never be. I give back to him with everything I have, maintaining my death grip on his hair, telling him that I want this. That I want this and I want him – all of him – and that it scares the hell out of me because I don’t fully understand it, but I can’t and I won’t let it go. That all I know for sure is that his pain kills me inside, and that the thought of being what makes him happy makes me feel like hope’s glass wings are tearing their way out of my flesh and damned if I can’t fly for him.
[Finally…]
When we finally break apart for air, he’s shaking with something that could be laughter or tears and I’m so glad to not be completely confused anymore that all I can do is smile and butt my head against his chest. I’ve been so lost since that first kiss – unsure of myself, of him, of everything – that finding an anchor in him is the purest relief. I never really thought I’d feel this way, but now that things have settled down a bit, it’s kind of… nice having him looming over me like this, surrounding me. I still feel a little vulnerable, anxious in the face of what’s happening and how I feel, but now it’s almost okay because he’s sort of shielding me, in a way.
For a while, we sit there in silence, clutching one another with enough force that we’ll probably be a bit bruised come morning. My music winds itself down to a heavy silence and the setting sun straining through poorly-drawn curtains turns the whole room fiery orange, but still he holds me. I get the feeling he’s not going to let go any time soon. I don’t mind.
“Were you really going to use this thing, thinking about me?” he murmurs eventually, voice gone soft with wonder.
“Mnh?”
What’s he looking a- oh, goddamn it. That fucking dildo! Shit, I’m still naked, aren’t I? Naked and hard. I blush and mutter somewhat diffidently, “Yeah, I was.”
“…” He sits back and shifts his weight side to side a little, eyes flickering back and forth between my eyes and my groin. “Do you still want to?”
I shiver a little and feel my dick throb in response. “Y-… yeah…”
“…Can I help?”
Oh gods. Even if I hadn’t already been hard for him; even if I hadn’t already decided that hell with it, I really want to sleep with him; even if I hadn’t had three weeks of build up to prepare for this possibility, I think I would have given him anything he wanted in this moment. Hell, if he’d asked me to bed with him that night in the snow the way he’s asking this now, we could have done without all this dancing around one another, because I’d have done it in a heartbeat. His voice is just so husky with want, and his eyes are dark with so much hope and love and lust, I couldn’t deny him even if I wanted to.
I find myself nodding, and catch myself before I can appear too eager. “But!”
He jerks to a halt halfway to leaning into me, looking unsure. “But?”
“Only if you undress first.” If I’m going to be naked, so is he.
He isn’t deterred in the least by my condition. He rises up on his knees, shrugging out of his jacket easily and letting it drop to the floor. I watch, fully enraptured, as layer after layer of clothing is peeled off one by one, exposing him to me in stages. Fuck, he’s just so damn… masculine. All broad shoulders and rangy limbs dusted with fine hair, straight, square hips melding seamlessly into a flat, hard chest. He’s already half-hard, his cock jutting heavy and red from a neatly-trimmed thatch of black hair. And in spite of myself, I can’t help but think he’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.
When he’s completely bare, he pulls me against himself, swallowing my gasp in another kiss as he lays me back down. I’m shaking as I kiss him back – from nervousness and excitement and sheer mental and emotional overload – my hands tentatively exploring his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He’s bolder than I am, perhaps needier or simply more experienced, his palms smoothing eagerly down my sides to grab my hips, grinding himself against me slowly, making us both moan into one another. Part of me is a little freaked out by the feel of his dick sliding against mine, the rest of me is fucking reveling in it. It’s hot and it’s hard and the flesh of it feels like nothing that’s ever touched me before, a completely unique friction that does horrible things to my ability to form rational thoughts.
I’m so distracted by it, it comes as a complete surprise when two slick fingers rub teasingly over my entrance and I jerk against him with a harsh gasp, breaking the kiss. It’s not the same – for all my fantasy, all my imagination, feeling him actually slide those fingers into me is so completely different from what I was doing earlier that I can scarcely breathe for the intensity of it. He presses his lips against my ear, once, whispering something too glorious for me to comprehend, something that makes my heart quiver and burst in ecstasy. A third digit soon joins the first two, obviously finding me stretched to his liking, and he sits up a bit to watch me, eyes half-hooded and hazy with pleasure, as he twists his wrist, making me buck and moan. Gods, I feel like a fucking virgin again, everything is so new, affecting me so powerfully. I guess, in this regard, I am.
[You could never do this for anyone but him.]
I’m quaking under the strain of my arousal by the time he removes his fingers, picking up the dildo again and slicking lube over it quickly. His clean hand smoothes up my calf, hitching against my thigh and pressing it until my leg is bent up and out, exposing me completely. I fist my hands into the bedspread, panting, and swallow what would have been a very loud moan as he starts to push the rubber into me. It’s so much more filling than either of our fingers had been, brushing and rubbing against so much more of my insides as it slowly presses deeper and deeper into me. My balls ache with the need to touch myself, to just grab onto my dick and fucking jerk myself stupid, but I want so badly for this to last, to savor every last moment I can of Die touching me this way.
“Kyo…” he moans, and I whimper mindlessly in response. “You have no idea… no fucking idea…”
Maybe I don’t, but I’d love to find out. The way he’s looking at me, I feel almost beautiful for the first time in my life, like I’m the most precious treasure he’s ever held, and I pray with every fiber of my being that I never lose that feeling. He starts pushing the toy in and out of me, excruciatingly gentle at first, then slowly ramping up the speed and depth of his thrusts with every moan and gasp of his name he manages to wring out of me. I’m damn near screaming by the time he leans down and chases a trail of sweat with his mouth from my ribs, up along the bottom edge of one of my pecs, then over a nipple. That slick rasp of his tongue is all I need before I’m choking on my own voice, head back in a silent wail as my release splatters all over my own belly and chest.
I’m not sure what possesses me, whether it’s obligation to return the favor or curiosity or just an indefinable desire to make Die feel good, but I’ve hardly caught my breath before I’m reaching out for him. It’s a bizarre, disjointed kind of familiarity when I take his dick into my hand – so like my own, but distinctly not at the same time. It seems to catch him off guard, and he very nearly collapses onto me before he can catch himself as I stroke him. I was right before; his moans are very deep, sinking into me smoothly as the warmth of the afternoon sun and filling me with an indescribable feeling of wonder.
He’s close already, and I marvel at the effect I apparently had on him. His arms strain, braced on either side of me, and indescribable bliss paints his face, molten coffee-colored eyes burning into my own as he thrusts into my hand in a frenzied, uneven rhythm. The sweat-slicked caramel skin between his neck and his shoulder flexes in front of me and I just can’t help myself. I lunge forward and sink my teeth into it, sliding my tongue roughly over his flesh to collect his flavor and commit it to memory. Not enough to break the skin, but it’ll sure as hell leave a bruise; leave my mark on him for a few days. Evidently he doesn’t mind the love-bite in the least – his entire body convulses and he cries out my name when he cums, liquid heat splashing over my abdomen to mix with my own juices.
He falls kind of shakily to one side, and I grunt a little when he lands half on me. He’s all hard, boney angles, it’s swelteringly hot under him, and there’s still a slippery rubber toy inside me, but I can’t be bothered by any of it right now. The smell in here is different than I’m used to after sex and, running a curious finger through the mess on my belly, I find that he tastes different from a woman as well. Weird… but I can get used to it, easily. He lets out a breathy little moaning laugh as I suck on my finger and I look over at him, blushing as I take the digit out of my mouth. Long fingers thread ever-so-gently through my hair and he kisses me again – deep, but languid; passionate, but sweet; promising me this won’t be all there is between us, but it is going to happen and it’s going to be phenomenal – and I sigh contentedly into it.
I don’t know when Die fell for me, what it was about me that tripped him up and set him so off-balance. But while some habits die hard, others are immortal in spite of our best efforts and better judgment, so after all these years, what else could I do but try to catch him?
[Nothing.]
This time, though, I don’t think I mind falling with him.
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Catch Me When I Fall