Akame fic
Title: Avalanche
Pairing: Akame
Rating: R
Word count: 1 672
Disclaimer: This has never happened, there is no money being made here and no harm intended.
Concrit: Oh, feel free. I ain't got no beta baby.
Summary: Coming home is an avalanche of sorts. But that doesn't mean things change.
Notes: I wasn't going to keep this title. I don't like how stuffy and pretentious it sounds. But I couldn't think of anything better. And I don't like how I couldn't keep my sticky hands off the fluff despite my good intentions. So there.
Jin shows up on Kame’s doorstep one night, without so much as a text message in advance. Kame’s alone and exhausted. Jin’s worn around the edges, frazzled and sunburnt, slumping yet slightly breathless and pent up. He looks tired. But good. So good. Better than he’s looked for years. Kame doesn’t say a word. Jin takes a step forward into the apartment, closing the door Kame’s opened behind him, a sweet familiar scent trailing up Kame’s nose. The car key Jin’s holding in his hand clinks against the door handle and for a second, when he turns around and notices their proximity, Jin seems surprised Kame hasn’t moved. Jin opens his mouth as if to speak, which is why Kame’s not prepared for him leaning forward, pressing his chapped lips against Kame’s. It’s the first time Kame’s kissed anyone since February. Since New York. Since Jin’s tongue slid silkily against his, leaving a taste of coffee in his mouth. Since Jin said “I’ll see you soon” (the big fat liar) in English before waving goodbye. Kame feels foolish. He calculates the amount of lips Jin’s kissed since New York, tries to disregard the number he comes up with and shivers when Jin sighs into his mouth and breaks the kiss. He straightens up. Kame still hasn’t moved a muscle, hasn’t kissed him back or spoken. And Jin bends his head down, blatantly disappointed. Hair falls over his eyes, silky bangs covering up his knotted eyebrows. His flickering eyelashes. His half-open mouth and tensing jaw. It’s Jin, Kame thinks stupidly before kissing Jin’s frowning mouth.
The key falls to the floor as Jin delicately cups Kame’s face. Kame fists his hands deep into the fabric of Jin’s oversized sweater, pulling more of Jin closer to his body, a desperate sound slipping from the corner of Kame’s mouth. Jin doesn’t taste much of anything this time around. Jin trails a hand up his back under the t-shirt and it’s there again. It’s the heady sensation of Jin’s fingers against Kame’s skin. He gasps helplessly. Jin bites Kame’s lower lip and dips his other hand below the waistline of Kame’s jeans.
It’s been months. Kame has avoided thinking about it but it’s been months, and once Kame takes a step backwards, a vague notion about the direction of his bedroom, they tumble to the ground.
Jin falling on top of him on the floor is quite painful. He lets out an absentminded sound of discomfort but doesn’t let Jin speak when he levels himself up on his elbows above Kame, looking mildly concerned but mostly turned on, eyes glazed over. Instead Kame quickly captures Jin’s mouth with his own again. And again. He wants Jin’s skin, exposed for his itching fingers, and he wants it now. Yet he can’t seem to get enough of kissing him while pulling his sweater up over his back, nails scraping against skin to make up for the bruises he’s going to earn himself for letting Jin top while having sex on the floor.
Kame wants it to go on forever. In the end he comes from the feeling of having Jin on top of him again. Having his overwhelming presence fill up the same room Kame’s in. Jin bites at his collarbone and grinds his hips against Kame’s, all fluid-like motions and burning breaths, just like Kame remembers him. He climaxes with his jeans still on, one hand clawing uselessly at the floor, the other buried deep in Jin’s tangling hair.
For hours they just stumble around in the apartment, communication in grunts and gasps and a constant exchange of fluids. It would have been disgusting if it wasn’t exactly what Kame wanted. And needed.
Jin’s sweat staining Kame’s skin, Jin’s legs sliding slickly against Kame’s; Kame leaving a trail of saliva on Jin’s shivering collarbones before finding a nipple with his scraping teeth, milking a whining sound from Jin, a rapture of writhing limbs; Jin letting out something of an anguished shout when they’re fucking on the bed, Kame’s bent legs tensing and trembling as Jin’s seed fills him.
Speaking as a perfectionist, he wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Tadaima” is the first thing Jin says to him after coming back from America. They’re in Kame’s claustrophobic shower, crammed close together and not really getting much done in terms of washing. Kame doesn’t know what to say. He’s been waiting to hear that from Jin since the day he left. He ends up holding the showerhead directly over Jin’s head. Jin flails and sputters predictably. Kame laughs until his chest starts to hurt and turns his back on Jin when he realizes he’s crying. “Baka,” Jin mutters sullenly, pressing up against Kame’s back while reaching for the shampoo, smearing his wet hair against Kame’s cheek. It’s second on the list of things Kame’s been longing to hear Jin say to him.
- - - - -
“Have you noticed how we keep on having the exact same conversation over and over again?” Jin said in an even voice into the darkness. “We’ve had the same conversation for a whole year now.”
Kame blew out air through his nose and turned on his side, facing away from Jin. “I still don’t see why you have to leave.”
“But this is my point. All we ever do is work. And I’m so tired. I keep thinking ‘I’ll work hard’ but what’s the use when you’re always around, out-shining me?”
“Selfish,” Kame muttered and fisted the sheet in front of him until his hand started to ache.
“So what if I am? Don’t you ever just want to get away? Ne, Kazuya, don’t you ever wish for things to change?” Jin asked, a fingertip tracing patterns on the back of Kame’s neck.
“No,” Kame answered stonily.
- - - - -
Morning finds Kame alone in bed. He’s not quite sure yesterday really happened until he follows the trail of clothes out the doorway and spots him smoking by a window in the kitchen, jeans falling off his naked hips and sunlight trying to abate his goose bumps. For the longest moment Kame stands rooted to the spot.
Growing up, it had been a common statement that Jin looked good. People would constantly inform him as if anxious Jin would think differently. As if Jin of all people needed to hear that. And Jin would blush and act according to custom and eventually it would turn into an offhand knowledge Jin felt assurance in. Kame could see it in the way he moved and talked. Jin was well aware his looks were above average. But sometimes Kame wishes people would have held their tongue. That it wouldn’t have been a thing that’d been practically beaten into Jin when there were other traits you could choose to compliment him for. Especially on days when Kame sees Jin reduce himself to shards of all that he is. Jin can get so insecure it seems stupid to Kame. And he absolutely hates the way Jin at times obviously thinks that looking good is all he ever will excel in.
Standing there, watching Jin mix smoke with sunrays, Kame wants to tell him You don’t look good, you’re beautiful. There’s a difference.
Eventually Jin notices Kame and turns to him. “Ohayou,” he says, peering. Kame finds himself blushing at Jin’s voice, remembering the reason for its hoarse quality. He makes breakfast but hardly minds when eating turns into fucking on the kitchen table.
Days later they’re in a hotel room somewhere Kame’s quite honestly lost track of, Jin’s fingers lazily stretching him. He’s let go of the nervous edge in his voice, unfitting and awkward.
“Do you like that?” he asks in a low tone, a rumbling sound in Kame’s ears, settling somewhere deep in his body. “Is that good?” They’re all rhetorical questions Kame doesn’t feel inclined to answer. Instead he twists and moans, chases the sensation of Jin’s soft lips distracting him from any possible pain. Jin securely clutches at a hip and slips another finger inside.
“Feels good?”
“Am I hurting you?”
And Kame wants to laugh, wants to say You’re always hurting me. He grasps for Jin, finds a shoulder and tugs urgently.
When Jin’s lips finds Kame’s he opens his mouth eagerly, lets Jin dip his tongue in to meet Kame’s. Somewhere in the middle he goes slack jawed as Jin pushes into him. His questions down to singular words. “Good?” he says into Kame’s neck.
“Jin,” Kame pants. “Jin, just give it to me. I want it.”
“I want it,” he says and Jin lets go of his restraint.
It’s harsh and near-painful and Kame thinks he’s been missing this, he’s been waiting for this and he’s been longing for this. It’s been days and almost weeks that Jin’s been back now but Kame keeps touching him to reassure himself. Keeps thinking I've missed you, like it’s something he could say out loud without consequences. Then, when he’s on the edge, not quite sure if he can take it anymore, yet just as uncertain he wants it to end, Jin smoothes Kame’s hair back from his face; a distractingly gentle gesture that makes Kame still. Jin’s eyes meet his and he asks “Just like that?” and gives a firm thrust that makes Kame’s thoughts go disjointed. “Just like that,” Kame slurs and Jin thrusts again. Kame flings an arm over his face and comes, sticky streaks of seed soon getting smeared onto Jin’s stomach as well.
“Kazuya,” Jin grunts when he buries his head into the sheets right next to Kame’s head. “Uh, Kazuya,” as warmth fills him thickly and sweetly, Jin’s faintly trembling weight settling on top of him. Kame buries his nose in Jin’s hair and thinks of being without Jin. Thinks of how they keep picking up seamlessly break-up after break-up . They’ve done it before and Kame fears they’re going to keep on doing it until some unfathomed disaster inevitably splits them apart.
It won’t last, he thinks. It’s perfect. But it won’t last.
Pairing: Akame
Rating: R
Word count: 1 672
Disclaimer: This has never happened, there is no money being made here and no harm intended.
Concrit: Oh, feel free. I ain't got no beta baby.
Summary: Coming home is an avalanche of sorts. But that doesn't mean things change.
Notes: I wasn't going to keep this title. I don't like how stuffy and pretentious it sounds. But I couldn't think of anything better. And I don't like how I couldn't keep my sticky hands off the fluff despite my good intentions. So there.
Jin shows up on Kame’s doorstep one night, without so much as a text message in advance. Kame’s alone and exhausted. Jin’s worn around the edges, frazzled and sunburnt, slumping yet slightly breathless and pent up. He looks tired. But good. So good. Better than he’s looked for years. Kame doesn’t say a word. Jin takes a step forward into the apartment, closing the door Kame’s opened behind him, a sweet familiar scent trailing up Kame’s nose. The car key Jin’s holding in his hand clinks against the door handle and for a second, when he turns around and notices their proximity, Jin seems surprised Kame hasn’t moved. Jin opens his mouth as if to speak, which is why Kame’s not prepared for him leaning forward, pressing his chapped lips against Kame’s. It’s the first time Kame’s kissed anyone since February. Since New York. Since Jin’s tongue slid silkily against his, leaving a taste of coffee in his mouth. Since Jin said “I’ll see you soon” (the big fat liar) in English before waving goodbye. Kame feels foolish. He calculates the amount of lips Jin’s kissed since New York, tries to disregard the number he comes up with and shivers when Jin sighs into his mouth and breaks the kiss. He straightens up. Kame still hasn’t moved a muscle, hasn’t kissed him back or spoken. And Jin bends his head down, blatantly disappointed. Hair falls over his eyes, silky bangs covering up his knotted eyebrows. His flickering eyelashes. His half-open mouth and tensing jaw. It’s Jin, Kame thinks stupidly before kissing Jin’s frowning mouth.
The key falls to the floor as Jin delicately cups Kame’s face. Kame fists his hands deep into the fabric of Jin’s oversized sweater, pulling more of Jin closer to his body, a desperate sound slipping from the corner of Kame’s mouth. Jin doesn’t taste much of anything this time around. Jin trails a hand up his back under the t-shirt and it’s there again. It’s the heady sensation of Jin’s fingers against Kame’s skin. He gasps helplessly. Jin bites Kame’s lower lip and dips his other hand below the waistline of Kame’s jeans.
It’s been months. Kame has avoided thinking about it but it’s been months, and once Kame takes a step backwards, a vague notion about the direction of his bedroom, they tumble to the ground.
Jin falling on top of him on the floor is quite painful. He lets out an absentminded sound of discomfort but doesn’t let Jin speak when he levels himself up on his elbows above Kame, looking mildly concerned but mostly turned on, eyes glazed over. Instead Kame quickly captures Jin’s mouth with his own again. And again. He wants Jin’s skin, exposed for his itching fingers, and he wants it now. Yet he can’t seem to get enough of kissing him while pulling his sweater up over his back, nails scraping against skin to make up for the bruises he’s going to earn himself for letting Jin top while having sex on the floor.
Kame wants it to go on forever. In the end he comes from the feeling of having Jin on top of him again. Having his overwhelming presence fill up the same room Kame’s in. Jin bites at his collarbone and grinds his hips against Kame’s, all fluid-like motions and burning breaths, just like Kame remembers him. He climaxes with his jeans still on, one hand clawing uselessly at the floor, the other buried deep in Jin’s tangling hair.
For hours they just stumble around in the apartment, communication in grunts and gasps and a constant exchange of fluids. It would have been disgusting if it wasn’t exactly what Kame wanted. And needed.
Jin’s sweat staining Kame’s skin, Jin’s legs sliding slickly against Kame’s; Kame leaving a trail of saliva on Jin’s shivering collarbones before finding a nipple with his scraping teeth, milking a whining sound from Jin, a rapture of writhing limbs; Jin letting out something of an anguished shout when they’re fucking on the bed, Kame’s bent legs tensing and trembling as Jin’s seed fills him.
Speaking as a perfectionist, he wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Tadaima” is the first thing Jin says to him after coming back from America. They’re in Kame’s claustrophobic shower, crammed close together and not really getting much done in terms of washing. Kame doesn’t know what to say. He’s been waiting to hear that from Jin since the day he left. He ends up holding the showerhead directly over Jin’s head. Jin flails and sputters predictably. Kame laughs until his chest starts to hurt and turns his back on Jin when he realizes he’s crying. “Baka,” Jin mutters sullenly, pressing up against Kame’s back while reaching for the shampoo, smearing his wet hair against Kame’s cheek. It’s second on the list of things Kame’s been longing to hear Jin say to him.
- - - - -
“Have you noticed how we keep on having the exact same conversation over and over again?” Jin said in an even voice into the darkness. “We’ve had the same conversation for a whole year now.”
Kame blew out air through his nose and turned on his side, facing away from Jin. “I still don’t see why you have to leave.”
“But this is my point. All we ever do is work. And I’m so tired. I keep thinking ‘I’ll work hard’ but what’s the use when you’re always around, out-shining me?”
“Selfish,” Kame muttered and fisted the sheet in front of him until his hand started to ache.
“So what if I am? Don’t you ever just want to get away? Ne, Kazuya, don’t you ever wish for things to change?” Jin asked, a fingertip tracing patterns on the back of Kame’s neck.
“No,” Kame answered stonily.
- - - - -
Morning finds Kame alone in bed. He’s not quite sure yesterday really happened until he follows the trail of clothes out the doorway and spots him smoking by a window in the kitchen, jeans falling off his naked hips and sunlight trying to abate his goose bumps. For the longest moment Kame stands rooted to the spot.
Growing up, it had been a common statement that Jin looked good. People would constantly inform him as if anxious Jin would think differently. As if Jin of all people needed to hear that. And Jin would blush and act according to custom and eventually it would turn into an offhand knowledge Jin felt assurance in. Kame could see it in the way he moved and talked. Jin was well aware his looks were above average. But sometimes Kame wishes people would have held their tongue. That it wouldn’t have been a thing that’d been practically beaten into Jin when there were other traits you could choose to compliment him for. Especially on days when Kame sees Jin reduce himself to shards of all that he is. Jin can get so insecure it seems stupid to Kame. And he absolutely hates the way Jin at times obviously thinks that looking good is all he ever will excel in.
Standing there, watching Jin mix smoke with sunrays, Kame wants to tell him You don’t look good, you’re beautiful. There’s a difference.
Eventually Jin notices Kame and turns to him. “Ohayou,” he says, peering. Kame finds himself blushing at Jin’s voice, remembering the reason for its hoarse quality. He makes breakfast but hardly minds when eating turns into fucking on the kitchen table.
Days later they’re in a hotel room somewhere Kame’s quite honestly lost track of, Jin’s fingers lazily stretching him. He’s let go of the nervous edge in his voice, unfitting and awkward.
“Do you like that?” he asks in a low tone, a rumbling sound in Kame’s ears, settling somewhere deep in his body. “Is that good?” They’re all rhetorical questions Kame doesn’t feel inclined to answer. Instead he twists and moans, chases the sensation of Jin’s soft lips distracting him from any possible pain. Jin securely clutches at a hip and slips another finger inside.
“Feels good?”
“Am I hurting you?”
And Kame wants to laugh, wants to say You’re always hurting me. He grasps for Jin, finds a shoulder and tugs urgently.
When Jin’s lips finds Kame’s he opens his mouth eagerly, lets Jin dip his tongue in to meet Kame’s. Somewhere in the middle he goes slack jawed as Jin pushes into him. His questions down to singular words. “Good?” he says into Kame’s neck.
“Jin,” Kame pants. “Jin, just give it to me. I want it.”
“I want it,” he says and Jin lets go of his restraint.
It’s harsh and near-painful and Kame thinks he’s been missing this, he’s been waiting for this and he’s been longing for this. It’s been days and almost weeks that Jin’s been back now but Kame keeps touching him to reassure himself. Keeps thinking I've missed you, like it’s something he could say out loud without consequences. Then, when he’s on the edge, not quite sure if he can take it anymore, yet just as uncertain he wants it to end, Jin smoothes Kame’s hair back from his face; a distractingly gentle gesture that makes Kame still. Jin’s eyes meet his and he asks “Just like that?” and gives a firm thrust that makes Kame’s thoughts go disjointed. “Just like that,” Kame slurs and Jin thrusts again. Kame flings an arm over his face and comes, sticky streaks of seed soon getting smeared onto Jin’s stomach as well.
“Kazuya,” Jin grunts when he buries his head into the sheets right next to Kame’s head. “Uh, Kazuya,” as warmth fills him thickly and sweetly, Jin’s faintly trembling weight settling on top of him. Kame buries his nose in Jin’s hair and thinks of being without Jin. Thinks of how they keep picking up seamlessly break-up after break-up . They’ve done it before and Kame fears they’re going to keep on doing it until some unfathomed disaster inevitably splits them apart.
It won’t last, he thinks. It’s perfect. But it won’t last.