Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This is your fault.”

His back feels like a wildfire’s passed over it, like the sun is still beating down on him from two inches away. He’s lying on his stomach in a hotel room in Hawaii with cold washcloths on his shoulders and under his thighs, and his useless boyfriend is snickering at him from the other bed.

This is the worst vacation of Kurusu Akira’s life.

He’s been sunburnt before, but not like this. Never like this. He did everything he was supposed to— had Ryuji slather him with sunscreen, reapplied every four hours and after splashing around in the water— and yet he’s still managed to get himself laid out and useless for the rest of the day. And it’s only the second day! He’s going to have to deal with this tomorrow, too. It’s an awful thought, and he moans and buries his head a little further into his arms.

“Ain’t my fault you fell asleep in the sun after eatin’ all those ice pops, man,” Ryuji says airily. Akira slits his eyes open— he can barely see him over the curve of his arm in the dim light of the room. (He’d shut all the lights off and closed the blinds in protest. The sun is a horrible, horrible thing.) “Poor Kurusu, two days in Hawaii and he’s already red as a lobster!”

In his defense, he did eat a lot of ice pops, and Ryuji’s lap was very comfortable to rest his head on. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but Ryuji should’ve woken him up!

“Why else do you think I wear long pants all the time?? I have sensitive skin.” He’s not whining. He’s not. He’s very justifiably frustrated and in pain. “This is such bullshit. I’m in Hawaii and I can’t go anywhere because when I move I feel like my skin is gonna tear in half. I’ve got sand in my asscrack. I’ve got salt crusting on my neck.”

“Gross, man.” He can hear the grin in Ryuji’s voice. If he could, he’d get up and beat him in the face with a pillow. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

“Hey, fuck you. Change my washcloths.”

“Again? I just wet ‘em down.” There’s a creak, and what he can see of Ryuji disappears from his vision, only to be replaced by cool fingers on his neck. He jumps at the touch and groans just a bit. “Damn. You really are toasty.”

“I told you. Please,” he adds guiltily after a moment, ignoring the burn in his neck as he turns to look at Ryuji fully. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. You didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t your fault.” He’s had worse in the metaverse, infinitely worse, long lines ripped across his stomach and down his back, limbs crushed, body burnt, frozen, shocked, horrified. It’s shameful that a little (okay, a lot) of sunburn is what it takes to send Akira into bitchfits.

“You’re fine, it’s no big.” The wet cloths on his back disappear, but Ryuji’s fingers linger, petting gently up and down the line of his spine. “I’ll turn the AC down a lil more. Think Mishima’s gonna be back anytime soon?”

Akira shakes his head. “Think he went to the other side of the island to dolphin-watch or something.” Something Akira had been interested in before all this happened, before he staggered up to Kawakami hanging off of Ryuji’s shoulders and told her in no uncertain terms that he’d be staying behind.

She’d laughed at him. Right in his face! What sort of teacher laughs at her students like that?!

...he’s doing it again. Damnit. He groans again and drags his pillow closer, shoving his face into it. “Why d’you ask?”

“Well, if he ain’t comin’ back, you should take your shorts off.”

Akira blinks. “Huh?”

“Well, it can’t be comfortable havin’ the waistband rub up against your sunburn, right?” It’s a nonchalant suggestion even as his cold fingers trace soft, gentle patterns on his back, like getting naked in front of Ryuji wouldn’t be a big deal. It...might be a big deal? Sure, they’re dating, but they haven’t gotten that far yet; shirts have come off, and pants have come down, but the full nude?

He bites his lip.

It would feel good though.

“Fine,” he says, and lifts his hips upward, preparing to shimmy awkwardly forward to reach the ties of his swimsuit. Before he can move his arms, though, Ryuji’s fingers curl into the waistband. He squawks in surprise and flops back to the bed. “Ryuji!”

“I’m helping!” Ryuji says defensively, his hands trapped under Akira’s hips. He wiggles his fingers lightly. It makes Akira’s stomach swoop and his dick perk up excitedly, and he feels his face get hot for reasons that have nothing to do with sunburn. “Get up again, let me help. You don’t wanna move your shoulders.”

He really doesn’t. But now that Ryuji’s fingers are trapped beneath him, there’s very little margin of error. He doesn’t know how he feels about having his whole dick out, just...right there. With Ryuji’s hands. Right there.

He needs to stop thinking about this like yesterday.

Ryuji’s fingers tap against his hipbones again. “C’mon, dude, just prop yourself up again. I don’t wanna yank and hurt you.”

“Uuuuuuugh. Just….fine. Okay.” He does, swallowing as he scoots his butt up a little higher than before in the air, and Ryuji’s hands are gentle as he slips the still-damp shorts down to his knees. “Don’t look.”

“At what, your pasty-ass ass?” There’s the lightest brush against it— it could be the air churned by the fan. It could be the shorts. It’s probably Ryuji, and that shouldn’t be exciting, especially now and here—

God, he can’t be thinking about this, he’s buck-ass naked and already more worked up than he really should be—

But….why not now and here? It’s a location they’ve never been and might not ever be again. There’s a locked door between them and the rest of the world. Sure, MIshima has a key, but Mishima’s miles away.

While he’s thinking, Ryuji eases the shorts off the rest of the way. “I’ll go hang these up on the shower rod, ‘kay?”

“Kay,” Akira mumbles, and buries his flaming hot cheeks in the curve of his arm again. He feels so vulnerable.

“An’ I’m gonna go down to the courtesy center ‘n see if they have anythin’ for sunburns. Y’want something from the vending machine?”

“Not hungry. Thanks, though.” Ryuji’s footsteps head towards the door, and he adds “wait, take my room key! I’m not getting up to let you in.”

“Got it.”

It’s quiet with Ryuji gone. Akira doesn’t think he likes it.

The air, while nice, is getting a little chilly. His bare back aches with both the heat and the cold, something he hadn’t known could happen until now. It feels weird to have his whole butt just… out to the world. It feels weird that this is how he’s spending his school vacation.

Plus, he’s still kinda hard, and shifting against the bed to get more comfortable makes him grind right into the towel beneath him. Maybe...if he just….but no, if he rolled over onto his side and tried to do anything it would hurt like a bitch, and there’s no guarantee he’d finish before Ryuji got back. Plus, no way to dispose of the evidence. He’ll just have to wait it out, and maybe Ryuji will bring him more wet washcloths and he can shove one down there to cut the rowdy thoughts off at the base.

He doesn’t get to ruminate for too long; maybe he dozes off, because he doesn’t hear the door open or Ryuji come back in until those nice chill fingers are back. He groans and leans into the touch, enjoying the way it feathers down to his hips and back up. “That was fast.”

“Can’t leave my best guy just hangin’, can I?” Ryuji asks, sounding pleased. “Got some...ah-loo veerah lotion and some wet wipes for you. Looked it up on the way down, and they’re sposed to help. Want me to—”

“ Please,” Akira all but groans. “I will do anything if it makes this feel any better.” And having Ryuji’s hands on him sounds more and more attractive by the moment.

It’s really sinking in. They’re alone, solidly so, for a large chunk of time. They don’t have to worry about the attic’s open floor plan, or Ryuji’s sweet mother offering them drinks. Maybe they do have time to get up to something.

Now, what’s the best way to finagle Ryuji’s hand onto his cock….

Ryuji laughs at him. He’s been doing that a lot this trip. But he also starts spreading cool gel on his shoulders moments later, startling a noise out of Akira that he instantly regrets. “Feel good?”

It does. It really, really does. The gel is dense and cool, and it soothes wherever Ryuji spreads it all along the worst of his burns, the tops of his shoulders and his shoulder blades. He shivers when Ryuji gets to the divot above his hips and starts smoothing back upwards.

His arms get wiped down one at a time with the wipes. It’s instantly cool and refreshing, and Ryuji only lingers long enough to get both sides, letting Akira snug his face back into them as soon as possible. His calves get the same treatment; Ryuji tucks his hand between Akira’s thighs and moves them apart for better access, and whether by accident or design the backs of his knuckles brush against his balls.

He’s hard enough now that he’s throbbing, that he wants to squirm for a little relief, but that’ll give him away instantly. He twirls a lock of hair around a finger and pulls, letting the slight pain distract him.

Behind and to the side of him, he hears Ryuji pull another wet wipe out of the container. “So,” Ryuji says, and there’s a note in his voice that makes Akira want to raise his head, but he’s just so goddamn worked up that it’s too much effort. “Still got sand all up in your bits?”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters grumpily, then twitches when Ryuji rests the wipe on one of his buttcheeks. “I think if I was moving, it’d chafe.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” Ryuji’s voice is so airy and nonchalant that it honest-to-god takes Akira a moment to register when he runs a wipe down through the crack of his ass. When he does, though, he tries to jerk upright.

“ Ryuji!” he hisses, scandalized, but Ryuji’s free hand rests cool and heavy at the back of his neck, weighing him down, and his other hand is...still running the wipe between his cheeks, and it feels weird as fuck.

But it doesn’t feel... bad.

It’s hugely intimate in a way they haven’t even tiptoed around, a fact that has Akira’s shoulders up around his ears in embarrassment. He just... went for it, just like that, honest to god just slipped his (wet-wipe-covered) fingers down to touch him— and touch him, and touch him, changing wipes, doing it again, like it’s not even a big deal, like they’ve been doing this on the regular, like the most they’ve done hasn’t been quick and dirty handjobs under his stifling bedcovers.

He thinks he makes a noise or two that he can barely hear over the blood pounding in his ears and cringes even harder.  But Ryuji just rubs tiny circles on his neck with his thumb and coaxes his hips up a little more with the other hand, folding the wipe and swiping again. And again.

And again.

It’s rhythmic. It’s hypnotizing. It’s weird, and it’s intimate, and Akira’s shivering at every touch. He almost manages to stay quiet until Ryuji dips the wipe down a little more, swiping it across his balls and drawing another involuntary noise out of him. “Feel any better?” Ryuji asks, barely above a breath, as he switches to a new wipe and runs it across him agonizingly slow once more.

Akira doesn’t trust his voice. He makes the effort to nod, if only so Ryuji won’t stop, but it’s wasted when he does anyway.

And where he stops, it… It...feels like his thumb is pressed against his rim, nothing but the thin wipe between them.

Akira feels an involuntary shudder run all the way down his body, feels his cock twitch hard where it’s trapped between his stomach and the towel beneath him.

Feels Ryuji press, just a bit, and can’t stop a moan from escaping in time. He bites down on his forearm, his shoulders tucked up around his ears a little further. God, he’s blushing so hard he doesn’t know how he has anything left to be hard with, but he’s also so hard that he doesn’t understand how he can be blushing this much.

“Akira,” Ryuji says, low and gravelly and sounding like he does when Akira has a hand around them both. “Can, um….” His thumb presses down a little more firmly, an offering and a query. “I mean...we’re never gonna get a better moment than this...no Mona, a locked door… I, uh, didn’t just get these— I mean, y’know, America sells some pretty crazy things in their vending machines...”

They haven’t talked about it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t something Akira thinks about. Constantly. On a daily basis. Ryuji between his legs, Ryuji inside him…

“Do it,” he says before he can overthink it, then a little louder. “ Do it. ”

Ryuji groans. “Oh, hell. Okay. Alright. Okay. I— I got you.”

There’s the snap of a pop top; the wipe gets discarded and something cold and sticky touches him— Ryuji’s finger again, but lubed. “Can you— here, prop yourself up a little more,” Ryuji coaxes with a hand under his thigh, and he mourns the loss of pressure on his cock as he lifts his hips, but then Ryuji’s rubbing his finger around and across him and it feels so weird as he breaches in, feels so weird but not bad, not at all.

In, and out, and circles rubbed soft and slow on the back of his neck; he Ryuji’s breaths coming as shallow as his own, and his heart pounds hard enough in his chest and ears that he feels like it might just pop out. It’s not immediately sexy, there’s no fireworks, no stars, no moans falling out of his mouth like rain, but knowing it’s Ryuji behind him, Ryuji touching him, running his hand down his back and spreading him apart just a little more, Ryuji inside of him—

— and then Ryuji pulls all the way out and nudges him with two. “This okay?”

“ Yes,” he groans, strained and breathless, and whines without meaning to as Ryuji presses in again. It’s so weird , it shouldn’t be this hot, it shouldn’t feel this good, but he’s panting, trembling, drooling onto the towel beneath his hips, and god he wants a hand on his cock but he wants Ryuji to keep holding him down and fingering him more.

And then Ryuji crooks his fingers and presses down harder.

Akira jerks forward with a shout.

The noise he makes is needy and cracked, broken and begging, and Ryuji swears above him and does it again. And again, and again, and again, a slow repetitive thrust that drags against his insides and feels like the five most potent handjobs he’s ever had all bound into one spot, and he’d never imagined it would be like this, this warm fluttering in the pit of his stomach intensifying with every slick slide in and out.

This has to be how he dies. This has to be what heaven feels like, whimpered noises and trembling legs and blood pounding in his ears hard enough that he can barely hear Ryuji swearing.

Tremors racking up and down his spine, and a third finger easing inside of him; driving his head into the mattress as he yells, as Ryuji pins him down, holds him firm and steady as he drives him out of his goddamn mind , as that heat in his stomach grows and grows until it’s blinding, until it’s a wildfire, until he’s burning, shaking out of his skin, biting into his forearm, yowling like some sort of goddamn cat in heat, but there’ll be time to be embarrassed later, because now—

Oh, now —

—he wriggles around, not caring how his shoulder scrapes painfully against the sheets,  shoves his hand down and barely gets his fingers around his cock before he’s yelling, coming across his fingers in ropes and spurts, leaving his hand and stomach slick and his mind blissfully empty and his ass— also empty, as Ryui pulls out and swings himself up on the bed.

He barely registers the slick, frantic noise from behind him, or the hungry, frantic groan Ryuji makes, before there’s...wet.

On his butt.

He’s still floating, still coming down from his high, still gulping for air like he’s just run a marathon; his shoulder aches fiercely, so he wipes his sticky hand on the towel beneath him and brings it back up until his arm doesn’t hurt anymore. He feels like he’s been packed with cotton. Everything is soft and blurry and warm.

Ryuji swipes another wet wipe across the curve of his back and his butt. Akira groans when he makes him raise his hips so he can get Akira’s stomach wiped down and take the gross towel out from beneath him. He wants to slap at Ryuji’s wrists and tell him to enjoy the afterglow, but honestly? It’s worth it, especially when Ryuji curls up beside him and lets him rest half on top of him.

It’s nearly five minutes after that that Akira rouses himself enough to ask, bewildered, “Did you come on my ass?! ”

Ryuji makes a long drawn out humming noise from where his face is mashed into the top of Akira’s head. “Mmmaybe?”

“Gross.”

“Sorry. It was kinda hot at the time.” It was, but it’s not like Akira’s going to admit that out loud. “At least I wiped it off?”

“I appreciate that.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Akira bursts into loopy giggles. He can’t help it, he’s still tingling with the aftershocks, still almost dizzy with the endorphins, he’s got his naked junk pressed against Ryuji’s still-clothed thigh somewhere down there, he just had the orgasm of his life — he’s allowed to be a little out of it.

Ryuji kisses the side of his head again, lingering with his lips pressed against his temple. “How’s your back and shoulders feelin’?”

Honestly, Akira hasn’t thought about them in the last ten minutes, so that’s definitely improved. “Still sore, but better. That aloe vera gel really worked. Thanks.” He scrunches his nose up. “Kinda sticky though. And I’ve definitely still got salt in my hair, but—”

“Y’wanna take a shower?”

“Eh…”

“I’ll put some more of that stuff on your back after,” Ryuji says with a wicked note in his voice. “Mishima shouldn’t be back for another few hours, yeah?”

Sometimes Akira hates the inconveniences of being a teenage boy. Now is not one of those times. He swallows, feeling his face starting to heat up again. “Well, if you put it like that…”

Chapter Text

They shower.

The bathroom is big and spacious, definitely big enough for two, though maybe not for two getting as rowdy as they are— pinching and fake-slapping, tickling, touching, elbows going everywhere. Akira just wants to have his hands on Ryuji’s skin; he’s still all giggly and jittery like a fucking elementary school girl, still feels tight and energized as a live wire, and Ryuji— he shoots Akira a slightly guilty, slightly excited look as he shucks his pants off, his cock already a stiff, hard line again in his neon underwear.

It’s a mouthwatering sight, the slope of Ryuji’s tanned shoulders and back, his toned calves leading up his thighs to that fucking bright green waistband pinning him in place as obvious as a beacon. Ryuji in his regular clothes is fine; Ryuji naked is excellent. But Ryuji half-bared like this, turning away almost shyly, one hand hovering down as if to try and hide how turned on he is?

Akira’s filing that away for spank bank material for ages.

He gives Ryuji his privacy— Akira’s still naked anyway, so he steps into the shower and turns it on, cringing away and hissing as the cold water hits his sensitive skin. It takes a moment to warm up, a moment he spends pressed against the back corner listening to Ryuji laugh at him, and it takes a moment or two of fiddling before he gets it to a temperature he can stand and a pressure that isn’t painful.

Lukewarm is good. Lukewarm water presses down on him like a gentle hand and he sighs in contentment. “Hand me the shampoo, will you?” he asks. “I left mine on the counter and there’s no way I’m gonna use theirs.”

“You’re such a diva. You spend more time worryin’ about your hair than Ann does.” Instead of a bottle slapped into his palm like a baton, the curtain twitches open and closes behind him, and Ryuji’s hand comes up to touch the back of his neck. “Hold still.”

Akira does, closing his eyes against the shower spray, and is immediately rewarded by a cool drizzle of shampoo onto the crown of his head. “Hey, wait, hold on, you gotta make it all foamy in your hands first,” he complains.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, that’s how you get better coverage and cleansing.”

“Huh. Alright.” There’s a lewd-sounding splurt and a few moments of slick noises, then Ryuji’s hands sink into his hair. “Like this?”

“Mmm. Get it way down into the scalp.”

“Like that?”

“Yeah.” It comes out as more of a sigh than a word, but Akira can’t bring himself to care. The feel of Ryuji’s fingers working the shampoo into his scalp in small, even circles, tugging his hair this way and that...it’s blissful. It feels so nice, soothing and exciting at once, and he coughs to stifle a groan when Ryuji tugs again enthusiastically. “Easy.”

“Sorry. Your hair’s all tangled.” The circles turn to finger-combing, working the shampoo all the way out to the ends and separating the strands at the same time. “You’re like a dog.”

“Huh?”

“You like to be pet. Bet if you had a tail it’d be waggin’.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Ryuji doesn’t answer, combing his hair back from his face with both hands. “Go ahead ‘n rinse.”

As he does he watches Ryuji scrub his hands through his own hair, quick and brisk, then reach for the bar of soap sitting in the holder on the wall. His hand snaps out fast to grab it first, grinning at Ryuji from under his soaked bangs. “Let me do something for you, at least. You’re making me feel inadequate.”

“I— I mean, sure, I guess,” Ryuji shrugs. He bites his lower lip as Akira steps out of the spray, already lathering up the soap between his palms.

He loves touching Ryuji. He always has, since Ryuji first let him. There’s something so unspeakably great about being close to another human like this— dialed up to 11 now, with nothing but water and foam between them. His hands slide slick over Ryuji’s shoulders and chest, pointedly rubbing his palms across Ryuji’s nipples just to watch him squirm a bit. Another quick lathering gets him enough to rub across Ryuji’s abs and sides, back up to his armpits (Ryuji squirms again, and Akira has to fight the urge to tickle him).

“Want me to turn around s’you can get my back?” Ryuji asks, the faintest hint of hoarseness in his voice. He’s trying so hard to pretend he’s not hard enough to bump into Akira’s hip at every moment. It’s precious as all hell.

“Nah,” Akira says, and sinks to his knees in front of him. Ryuji’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Let me finish up your front first.”

Both of them know where this is going, but it’s fun to pretend they don’t for a little while. Akira very innocently soaps up both of Ryuji’s calves, fingers lingering across the soft skin at the back of his knee, then up his thighs and the back of his butt, scooting close. There’s a fine tremor running through Ryuji every so often, especially when his fingers linger along the sensitive insides of his thighs and the jut of his hip bone.

He takes his time lathering his palms now, working up a handful of froth before he takes the base of Ryuji’s cock and strokes down it, firm and businesslike. Ryuji makes a choked sound; his hand shoots out to grab the handicap bar before his feet slip. “Akira…”

“Yeah?” Akira grins up at him, slit-eyed against the water falling on his head and smug as all hell. “You okay?”

“Mmm.” He watches Ryuji swallow, watches him wet his lips, and twists aside just long enough to let water sluice over Ryuji’s bottom half. “Are you, uh…”

“Do you want me to?”

“I mean, hell yeah, but…”

“But? I’ve already gotten it nice and clean for me—” Akira leans in and opens his mouth just enough to touch the flat of his tongue to Ryuji’s cock, enjoying the gasp from above and the twitch against his lips. “Not doing it would be a waste of everyone’s time.”

He licks a long stripe from head to balls, and Ryuji’s complaints dry up in a heartbeat.

Akira’s never given head from this angle before, and he takes a moment to try and figure it out. He’s not really tall enough on his knees to do much of anything, and if he slipped...that’d be bad. He anchors himself on Ryuji’s thighs and focuses on licking light and teasing around the head, his free hand cradling Ryuji’s butt.

He’s so responsive. Always has been, and it’s so gratifying to hear Ryuji breathe his name, barely audible above the hiss of the shower. It’s so good, feeling him shake when Akira dares to take him into his mouth fully and suck. He knows the noises Ryuji makes when he’s feeling good, but the acoustics of the shower take them and twist them, amplify them, until all he can hear and feel and taste as he loses himself to the stretch is Ryuji, all around him.

That is, until Ryuji taps his head sharply and then grabs him by the hair, easing him off. “Akira, Akira, fuck, you gotta— you gotta hold on, man,” he’s saying, his beet red blush spreading down to his shoulders. “I’m gonna— hell, man, I’m gonna slip and choke you.”

Akira scoots back in response, patting the bottom of the tub sharply. “Sit down, c’mon, c’mon,” he demands, “hurry up and just let me—”

“ Fuck,” Ryuji groans, and he’s barely got his ass on the floor before Akira’s shoving his way between his knees again, splayed out on his stomach now with his legs kicked up behind him, waving back and forth as he takes Ryuji into his mouth again.

This angle is so much easier to work with, and like this Ryuji’s free to let go, to bury both his hands into Akira’s hair and try (and fail) not to thrust up into his mouth. This angle makes it easy for him to add his hand into the mix, stroking over all the parts he can’t reach with lips and tongue, and like this it’s almost embarrassingly simple to make Ryuji yell as he spills into Akira’s mouth.

He swallows, of course. It would be rude not to. And the way Ryuji’s eyes fixate on him when he does, hot and full of want? That’s just a bonus.

They dry off, tumble back into the bedroom, and fall asleep in Akira’s bed just long enough to wake up ravenous; by that point it’s dinnertime and Akira’s feeling ambitious enough to put his shirt back on. It hurts, but it’s manageable, and it keeps him distracted enough that he doesn’t even think of the time they spent that afternoon until later, when the lights are off and he’s naked in his sheets again and Mishima is snoring on the other side of the room.

But now he’s gotten a taste for it and spends the night curled around his pillow imagining Ryuji in its place, remembering the slick-slide-stretch, the pressure that made his head spin and his mind fuzz out, and instead of sleeping he spends the night pent up and miserable.

He’s cranky as all hell when he gets up the next morning, enough so that Mishima avoids his eyes after one cheerful sentence too many. He corners Kawakami at breakfast, and tells her in no uncertain terms that he’ll be staying behind in his hotel room again today.

“Honestly, Kurusu,” she sighs, looking over his burnt shoulders and neck with a practiced eye, “it’s like you’ve never so much as stepped foot in the sun before. Did you even put sunblock on at all?”

“Of course I did,” he says, hissing as she pokes her finger into his shoulder. “Be careful, that hurts! That’s the last thing I need right now.” One of her massages has always been the thing to set him right after long days in Mementos, but he thinks if she laid hands on him now he’d scream like a little girl.

She knows it too, from the curve of her lip and the sparkle in her eyes. There’s no way either of them would risk saying anything, not in a place like this, but there’s a shared moment that leaves Akira definitely at a disadvantage. “So you’re planning on spending your vacation in paradise alone in your hotel room?”

“Well,” he starts, and is immediately interrupted by Ryuji coming up to his side, his face a grimace.

“Kawakami-sensei, I can’t find Hirata-sensei anywhere,” he groans, laying it on way too thick. “I’ve got this awful stomach ache, kept me up all night, I don’t think I can go anywhere today…”

Kawakami’s eyes dart between the two of them. Ryuji chooses that moment to put a hand very gently on the small of his back.

Busted.

Her eyes light up. Her lips curve up, very slightly, and she opens her mouth.

Akira meets her dead-on and mouths “Zip it, Becky”.

Like hell is he getting into this here and now. Like hell is she gonna get in the way of him and a full unoccupied day with Ryuji and without chaperones.

He’s gonna get so lei’d.

It’s not like he was expecting her to quiver in fear of his rad comeback, but he wasn’t expecting her to break into ugly laughter either. She folds over at the waist, barely muffling her guffaws into her sleeves, and when she rises back up she has to wipe tears from her eyes. “So that’s how it is, huh?” she says mirthfully. Akira bites the inside of his cheek to keep stoic as Ryuji looks at him questioningly. “That’s a shame, Sakamoto. You need to be careful about what you eat and drink around here. Don’t think I didn’t see you pig out at the buffet yesterday morning. Kurusu, keep an eye on him; I’ll tell Hirata-san that you’re...indisposed.”

He does not like the way that word sounds coming out of her mouth, not with that wicked glint still in her eyes. If their situation wasn’t the way it was, if they were any normal pair of student and teacher, he’s sure his and Ryuji’s (hypothetical) exploits would be the talk of the faculty for the rest of the trip.

But they’re not, and Kawakami is a good woman. The most she does is shoot him a wink that makes him shift uncomfortably and turn on her heel.

“The heck was that about?” Ryuji asks, watching her go. He’s got a bunch of bread rolls wrapped in a napkin tucked into his free arm.

Akira shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. What’s with the bread?”

“Well…” He ducks his head and scratches the back of his neck, managing to look sheepishly endearing. “Yesterday we both got pretty hungry, right? Figured it’d be nice to have a pick-me-up after.”

It shouldn’t strike him as romantic, but it is. It’s also hilarious. A gesture that’s half sweet, half charming, half phantom thief, and all Ryuji. “Nice,” he says, and grins. It’s still early, but… “Do you want to head up now?”

“Hell yeah, man,” Ryuji grins at him, wide and warm enough to send heat spiraling into the pit of his stomach.

He stops at a vending machine on their floor to pick up a couple of drinks; no reason to get dehydrated, right? Ryuji compliments him on his quick thinking, and he’s sure he’ll be grateful for it later, but honestly all he wants to do right now is shuck off all his clothes and get Ryuji’s hands back on him (and in him.) They only have so much time left in Hawaii, and Akira wants to make the most of it.

All that awaits back home is an open-plan attic and a sweet, nosy cat-friend. Neither of those things are great for getting intimate.

Akira fumbles with the door key card for a moment, juggling the water bottles a little clumsily. It doesn’t help that Ryuji’s tucked himself right up behind him and is trailing his lips from the back of his neck up to his ear. “Can you— do you mind?” he mutters, laughing despite himself.

“Keep goin’,” Ryuji answers; Akira can all but hear the shit-eating grin in his voice, and the sound of the key card clicking home and the door unlocking has never been so sweet. They tumble inside all but wrapped up in each other, and it seems like only moments pass before Ryuji bowls him backwards onto the bed, dumping their foodstuffs onto the nightstand with no care or decency in his urgency to get their mouths on each other.

If yesterday was slow and heated, today is quick and frantic; Akira knows what’s waiting for him now and wants to chase the sensation, wants Ryuji back inside of him— and maybe, if Ryuji’s up for it...Akira’s had one of the condoms that Dr. Takemi keeps offloading onto him in his wallet for less than a week, and his fingers felt so good yesterday Akira can’t even imagine what his cock would feel like.

The thought grabs hold of him with iron claws and he groans into Ryuji’s mouth, grinding up into his stomach. He’s already hard, just at the thought of Ryuji’s hands on him. It’s a little pathetic. At least Ryuji seems to like it, from the way his hands slide down to the small of Akira’s back, pulling him up harder, letting him get that sweet, sweet friction as he maps out the inside of Akira’s mouth with focused dedication.

Friction is good, but hands would be better. He wants out of his pants like yesterday. Wriggling against Ryuji just nets him a groan, so Akira wraps both legs around his hips to anchor himself and lets his body drop just enough that he can get his hands in between them and unzip his pants. “Oh, hell yeah, ” Ryuji breaks away just long enough to breathe into his ear, his mouth dropping to nip underneath Akira’s jaw. “C’mon, yeah, get ‘em off.”

“Trying,” Akira grunts. It’s harder than it looks, especially with Ryuji doing his best to distract him with hands and lips and teeth and tiny breathy noises that just make him fumble even more, especially when Ryuji grabs onto his ass with both hands and thrusts against him, a facsimile of what Akira really wants that startles a hiss out of him. He retaliates by switching targets.

Ryuji’s pants are much easier to get open from this angle, and the groan he makes when Akira works his hand up to grind the heel of his palm against his hard-on through his underwear is nothing short of sinful. “Akira— that’s not, not gettin’ your pants off—”

“More fun though,” he says around a groan as Ryuji nips him a little too enthusiastically. “Holy shit—”

“Sorry, sorry—” His tongue laves over the spot a moment later; it shoots a bolt of lightning straight into Akira’s dick and he moans. The sound is louder than it should be in the dead air of the hotel room; he feels Ryuji pause, his lips stilling, his hands freezing in place.

Then he leans back.

“Hey,” Akira objects, but only weakly, because a moment later Ryuji’s got his pants down around his knees. “Oh. Here—” He moves his legs apart just wide enough for Ryuji to get them off the rest of the way, and wriggles free of his shirt as Ryuji takes the opportunity to strip his own pants off as well.

Pulling Ryuji back down to him is so much more satisfying when they’re pressed chest-to-chest with nothing in between them. He’s combusting everywhere Ryuji’s bare skin touches him, and when Ryuji grinds down against him he can feel him hard and hot. Ryuji’s tongue on his skin, his lips sliding down his jaw and neck and collarbone, his teeth scraping across Akira’s nipple— god, it’s all so good. How have they gone so long without doing this? How are they gonna go back to not doing this all the time?!

“Ryuji,” he groans. “C’mon, I wanna—”

“You wanna?” His lips don’t leave Akira’s chest, his tongue hot and wet, and if Akira doesn’t get something inside him right now he’s gonna come as is and be really grumpy about it.

“Please.”

That’s the magic word, apparently, because it gets him stripped down to nothing in a hot second, Ryuji tossing his boxers to the other end of the bed and running a quick hand over his cock and down his thigh. He feels so much that he yelps, trying to buck into the touch before it leaves, already quivering even before Ryuji pulls the bottle of lube from the pocket of his discarded pants and touches him again.

It’s different than yesterday. He knows what to anticipate now, and Ryuji doesn’t disappoint, teasing his fingers over his rim over and over and over again until he’s leaking precum onto his stomach, until his breaths are nothing more than high, tight panting, until his hips buck upward fruitlessly looking for stimulation, for something, anything.

“D’you think you feel good enough to—” Ryuji says  low and rough, one hand tugging his calf up to hook around him. His back is sore, but it doesn’t hurt as much as yesterday; he flings his legs over Ryuji’s thighs, lets him haul his hips up, and god he feels so exposed but this way Ryuji can get his hand around him with his fingers still inside, and this way Akira can hook his heels around his back and pull forward, buck up against him, uncaring that every bit of his expression is on display—

— and Ryuji freezes, all motion stilled, leaving him dripping, aching for friction.

What the fuck.

“Ryuji?!” he bitches more than asks, trying to shove against him, trying to get him to move again, but suddenly Ryuji is a flurry of motion, pulling his fingers out, throwing the rucked up sheets over Akira’s whole body, scrambling back into his pants and slamming the nearest pillow over his crotch as he paws for the manga he left on Akira’s bedstand last night. When Akira tries to look and see what’s happening, his head gets pressed gently into his pillow.

Not two seconds later, the door clicks open.

“Akira~” Ann’s trilling voice sails into the room.

Oh fuck. Thank god for Ryuji’s quick thinking. His face burns— he’s naked in the same room as Mishima and Ann . “Hey, keep it down,” Ryuji says lowly, as if they weren’t just inches away from getting real down and dirty with each other. How the hell can he keep that composure??

“--Oh, is Kurusu sleeping?” Mishima’s voice comes from behind, making him grit his teeth. “We were just coming to see if he was planning on going out to the beach again this afternoon.”

“I just wanted him to hold my stuff on the boardwalk,” Ann says, and he can hear the grin in her voice. Hold her stuff, his ass. She’d wanted to play dress-up. Joke’s on her, he’s not going anywhere.

What the hell. They were supposed to be leaving on the bus to the other side of the island, he’d double checked the times himself just before he went downstairs for breakfast!

“Thought you both were goin’ off on the thing?” Ryuji says from above him. Thank you, Ryuji. “Wasn’t that s’posed to leave like ten minutes ago?”

“They had an issue with the buses,” Mishima says. The other bed creaks like he’s thrown himself across it, and he starts talking about something. Akira’s not listening, too busy fuming. What the fuck. They were supposed to be gone all day. He was supposed to have his alone time. He was about to breach the subject that maybe Ryuji could take his—

— And—

— God, Mishma is still talking—

—Nope. No. He dealt with Kawakami, he’s not gonna deal with Mishima cockblocking him. Thank god his phone’s in close reach; he slides it over under the covers and starts stealth texting Ann.

>>from: akira
Ann dont respond out loud dont say anything if they ask what up tell them youre texting shiho or smth

>>from: ann
Akira, what? I thought you were asleep?? Whats going on

>>from: akira
Ann listne to me i will give you SO MUCH MONEY if u and mishima go away and leave us alone i swear to GOD

>>from: ann
Akira, nooooo, i’ve already got to spend all day with him D: whats wrong???

>>from: akira
i will buy you so many crepes. i will take you to harajuku and buy you literally anything you want.

>>from: ann
damn. You’re really laying it on thick arent you? Just tell me whats happening!!

>>from: akira
ann
ann
listen to me
you are cockblocking me so hard right now you dont even understand
i am so naked and so was ryuji up until like 30 secs before you came in
PLEASE GO AWAY AND TAKE MISHIMA WITH YOU

There’s a muffled noise from across the room. “You okay, Takamaki-san?” Mishima asks.

“Yeah,” Ann says, a little stilted. “Sh-Shiho, uh, just texted me something funny, that’s all! Hahahaha….”

>>from: ann
OH MY GOD
YOU’RE SERIOUSLY NAKED RIGHT NOW??

>>from: akira
DONT YELL AT ME YOURE THE ONES WHO WALKED IN ON US

>>from: ann
AKIRA WHAT IF WE’D WALKED IN ON YOU

>>from: akira
YOU DID
YOU ALMOST DID
ANN YOU WERE ABOUT 2 MINUTES TOO EARLY TO WALK IN ON ME ACTUALLY GETTING FUCKED

>>from: ann
AKIRA!!!!!!!! I DONT NEED TO KNOW THIS!!!!!!!!

>>from: akira
THEN LEAVE
AND TAKE MISHIMA WITH YOU

>>from: ann
WHAT DO I EVEN SAY

>>from: akira
I DONT KNOW
SOMETHING
ANYTHING
ANN IM DYING
THIS IS THE WORST THING THATS EVER HAPPENED TO ME
ANN THE SEX WAS SO GOOD

There’s another stifled noise from the side of the room. “H-hey, Mishima-kun, don’t you think we should go and see if they’ve got the bus situation sorted out? We wouldn’t want to miss them, right??”

“Oh, you’re right! Sorry to chat and run, Sakamoto, but we’ll see you later, right?” Fuck that cheerful voice, and fuck them both for lingering.

>>from: ann
YOU OWE ME SO GODDAMN MUCH, KURUSU
AND I’M GOING TO COLLECT IN SPADES

>>from: akira
COLLECT AFTER 4PM PLS IM GOING TO BE VERY BUSY

>>from: ann
KURUSU AKIRA THERE ARE SOME THINGS A LADY DOESN’T NEED TO KNOW AND THIS IS ONE OF THEM

>>from: akira
SERVES YOU RIGHT TAKAMAKI
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU WALK IN ON A COUPLE OF GUYS BEING DUDES

>>from: ann
I’M NEVER STEPPING FOOT INTO YOUR ATTIC AGAIN
Okay tho but you should’ve seen Ryuji’s face while Mishima was talking lol
Looked like he’d bitten into a lemon and was having a heatstroke at the same time
Wish i’d taken a pic actually can i come back

>>from: akira
only if you want to see my entire dick out

>>from: ann
:thinkeyes:

>>from: akira
and also ryujis

>>from: ann
LMAO NOPE HAVE A GOOD AFTERNOON I’LL MAKE SURE WE CALL FIRST

The door closes and Ryuji flings the pillow from his lap across the room with force. “God damn,” he says, clearly irritated. “Thought they’d never leave.”

“Poor Ryuji,” Akira mumbles into his own pillow, taking deep, measured breaths, “all worked up with nowhere to stick it.”

“I’ll show you where to stick it—” It’s all the warning he gets before Ryuji rolls him over and sticks his fingers right in the sensitive spots, the spaces under his ribs and up by his armpit. He squeals— it’s an incredibly undignified noise but he doesn’t care, all he wants to do is wriggle free but Ryuji’s trapped him with a knee on either side of him, and the only thing he can do to protect himself is thrash until he’s wrapped in the sheet like a blanket burrito and bury his face under his pillow.

Ryuji laughs above him long and loud. His hands stroke down the line of Akira’s covered shoulders, and through the sheets the pressure isn’t too bad. “Is the mood gone?”

It’s a little gone. He’s flagged through the whole “getting walked in on” exchange, though Ryuji’s hands on him helped. “I think you could bring it back if you wanted.”

“Yeah?” The pillow above him lifts, and Ryuji’s lips press against the shell of his ear and the back of his neck. “Let’s try it out.”

Akira grumbles a bit as Ryuji unwraps him bit by careful bit— all that scuffling’s made the ache in his shoulders flare up hot and tight again, and Ryuji makes a solicitous noise as he leans down to press his lips to the reddened skin. Soon they’re back to where they were before, Akira’s legs splayed over Ryuji’s thighs, Ryuji bending over him to kiss him slow and sweet.

He takes his time working Akira back up to full hardness, stroking his palm up and down his length as his other hand pets along the line of his thigh up to his ribs and back. It’s sensual in a way they haven’t really touched before, and soon Akira has to cover his eyes with a forearm, arching up into his hands.

Maybe now would be a good time.

“Hey,” he says, unexpectedly low and breathy. “Ryuji.” He gets an interested noise in response. “Do you wanna...put it in?”

The hands still. Akira peeks out from below his forearm to see Ryuji looking at him like Akira’s just hit him across the head with a cast-iron frying pan. “For real? Do— d’you— you think that’d be okay?? I wouldn’t— I don’t wanna hurt you, or—”

“I want it.” He licks his lips, remembering the fires that had threatened to consume him earlier. “Like...a lot. If you use a lot of lube and go slow…” He bites his lower lip and lets his eyes fall shut. “Will you?”

“Yeah,” Ryuji says, low and heated and full of want. “Hell yeah.”

It feels like an age passes; it feels like barely moments pass. Ryuji fumbles the condom out of Akira’s wallet when he points, tears the foil and peels it out red-faced and grinning, and Akira takes it from him to put it on himself, lingering slow and teasing and loving the way Ryuji says his name like a curse, like a prayer. Ryuji tumbles him backwards, tugs his hips closer, and just grinds his tip against his hole, back and forth, back and forth, pressing in with a hint of force, making Akira gasp, making him try to shove back to no avail.

It’s really hot. He’s back to breathing in fits and spurts as Ryuji grips onto him hard, holds him steady with one hand and braces himself with the other. “I’m gonna put it in,” he says, strained. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“Just go,” Akira whines, “go, do it, c’mon, put it in, plea— ah—”

It’s so thick, a blunt intrusion that makes him swallow his words and his breath, that takes up every last bit of his consciousness, narrowed onto Ryuji pressing in, and in, and in—

“Fuck,” Ryuji mutters, and stops.

No!

“What’re you— why— Ryuji—” He can’t string more than a pair of words together, too busy trying to press back onto him, trying to move— it’s such a— fuck, he doesn’t even have words for it, he just wants it—

Ryuji makes a noise like he’s been punched and doubles over a little, hunching over Akira till their foreheads almost touch. “You’re — you’re real tight,” he hisses, pressing forward a little more. The stretch is exquisite, the burn makes Akira see stars. “Akira, I— I dunno if I can—”

“Try, please, Ryuji, fuck, c’mon—” It’s a meaningless babble of syllables, but the words don’t matter. What matters is Akira wrapping his arms around Ryuji’s shoulders, digging his fingers in as he wraps his legs back around Ryuji’s waist and arches. It gets him just enough traction to rub the head of his cock against Ryuji’s stomach and he bucks again, shuddering. Fuck, it’s good, it’d be better if Ryuji—

Ryuji thrusts into him with a whine, like he can’t help it. “Oh my god,” he whimpers, “ohhh, fuckin’ — fuckin’ hell, Akira, Akira, I’m not gonna last, Akira—”

It’s not like Akira’s any better off!! He digs in with all of his fingers, shoving his face into Ryuji’s neck and groaning as he thrusts short and choppy again. “It’s fine, whatever, just, please, Ryuji, do it, fuck me—”

“I’m tryin’!!” His fingers dig in harder, hard enough that Akira thinks it might bruise, and that thought only makes him hotter, makes his cock pulse against his stomach, makes his eyes roll back, and then Ryuji starts moving in earnest.

When he looks back on the moment later he’ll be able to pick apart the sensation from the act, the jerky motion of Ryuji’s hips from the supernova inside him. Nobody’s first time is perfect; nobody’s first time is anything less than memorable, and Akira’s going to have every second of it engraved on the back of his mind forever.

At some point Ryuji’s hands end up on the bed for more leverage. At some point Akira’s teeth meet the meat of his shoulder as he screams. At some point Ryuji cries out his name, loud enough that it punches all the breath out of Akira’s lungs; at some point Ryuji grabs his face and kisses him, all sloppy tongue and clashing teeth, and it’s the best thing, the greatest thing.

And at some point Ryuji gets the rhythm just right, gets the angle just perfect, gets Akira up to the edge and strings him along it for longer than he ever thought possible as he drags the pillow over his mouth to muffle his cries, and Akira comes harder than he ever has in his entire life.

It’s a trainwreck. It’s an explosion. It’s almost incomprehensible, overwhelming enough that he digs his nails into Ryuji’s back to hold onto him like an anchor, almost afraid that he’ll fly apart in the heat of the moment. He feels Ryuji throb inside of him, hears Ryuji sob out something that resembles his name, and hangs on all the tighter.

Coming down from that high takes an eternity, a blessed millenia of trembling in Ryuji’s arms, feeling his breath catch and release, the moisture leak away from the corners of his eyes, Ryuji’s harsh panting in his ear and his hands so gentle on Akira’s face, his shoulders, cradling his cheeks and peppering kisses over every inch of skin he can reach. He’s shaking too much to reciprocate, to do more than lift lead-weighted arms up to drape around Ryuji’s neck, to keep him as close as he can for as long as he can.

“I love you,” Ryuji tells him hoarsely, his lips on the corner of Akira’s mouth. “Fuck, man, I love you so effin’ much—”

“Me too,” Akira tells him, holding on all the tighter. “Me too. I love you. I love you so much.”

They have to shower again later, after the water bottles have been drained and all the bread rolls consumed, and the dirty condom buried as deep in the trash cans as they possibly can. Ryuji picks him up a hawaiian shirt from the gift shop in the lobby, a hideous coral print with flowers and ferns that feels deliciously light and cool on his skin, and a massive straw sunhat that he presents with the biggest shit-eating grin Akira’s ever seen.

He wears it, of course, even after slathering every inch of his skin in sunscreen twice over.

There’s a pleasant soreness that lingers inside him as he walks along the boardwalk, his shoulders brushing Ryuji’s with every step as they share an ice pop. No one gives them weird looks— or, if they do, it’s because of the sunhat.

Akira doesn’t know if he’s ever been more at peace in his entire life.

“Yen for your thoughts,” Ryuji says, bumping him in the lips with the ice pop kinda lewdly. “You’ve got that face on.”

“What face?”

“The patented Joker ‘I’m thinking about 13 different things at once’ face. Thought I took you too far outta your head for that to happen.” The grin slides more towards a leer, and Akira laughs even as he paps him in the ribs and takes the ice pop for himself.

“Don’t get all full of yourself. You were just as worn out.”

“Hell yeah I was, man! I did all the work!” He looks like a pigeon with his chest all puffed out like that; Akira jabs him in the ribs until he deflates. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself. Just cause you—” He looks around quickly, but there’s no one close enough to overhear. “Just cause you stuck it in and wiggled it around a little doesn’t make you some sorta sex god. You need a lot more practice than that.”

Ryuji hastily arranges his face into mock offense, spoiled completely by the grin he can’t erase tugging at the corners of his lips. “You offerin’ then?”

Akira lets his eyes lid, lets his smile grow until Ryuji’s gaze gets heated. “If you’re good, maybe.” And as Ryuji scowls, he tugs his sunhat a little more firmly down onto his head and grins. “I’d be open to another round. Maybe this time you’ll last longer than—”

“Akira!!”

Now there’s people looking, but only because Akira can’t stop cackling, even when Ryuji steals the ice pop back.

God, he loves Hawaii. This is the best vacation of Kurusu Akira’s life.