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The first time it happens, it's New Year's Eve. Or, well — it's past midnight, so it's technically the first day of the new year already, and Adachi is slightly tipsier after the work holiday party than he meant to be. Kurosawa doesn't look much better; there's a pink flush spreading across his high cheekbones as they emerge from the Toyokawa building together, breath billowing out into the cold air. Adachi's so preoccupied with staring at Kurosawa's face that he doesn't hear Kurosawa calling his name until he reaches out and grabs hold of Adachi's wrist.
Adachi, comes the familiar voice in his head, deep and smooth, and Adachi jolts. "Yes!" he says, eyes snapping up to Kurosawa's warm gaze. "Sorry!"
"There's nothing to apologize for," Kurosawa says aloud, the corners of his mouth rising. "It's just that the trains aren't running anymore, so it'll be difficult for you to get home. Want to take a cab back to my place?"
"Yes," Adachi agrees, relaxing. Since Christmas, he's stayed the night at Kurosawa's more often than he has at his own apartment, which has been new and exciting. Part of him still feels a bit like he's intruding, but the running commentary from Kurosawa about how happy he is that Adachi's there has done a lot to soothe that fear. They've come a long way since October.
They get ready for bed together, moving around each other in the changing room with relative ease. The silk pajama set that caused Adachi so much turmoil in the fall feels familiar against his skin now. His heart still pounds a little when Kurosawa slides underneath the sheets with him, but his pulse evens out soon enough.
Adachi doesn't remember falling asleep, but in the middle of the night he wakes up to find their legs tangled together and Kurosawa's body hovering over his. Their sleep shirts are gone, tossed aside somewhere in the urgency of the moment, and Adachi's body arches up against the downward press of Kurosawa's weight, almost of its own volition. For an excruciatingly fleeting second, Adachi's cock slides against the hard line of Kurosawa's thigh, hips tilting helplessly, and he makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat.
"That's it, Adachi," Kurosawa murmurs. The honey-sweet sound of his voice slips past the curve of Adachi's ear and pools in his gut. "Just like that." Two heartbeats later, Kurosawa reaches down and tugs hard enough that Adachi can hear silk ripping, and then there's a warm, broad hand palming Adachi through his sweat-drenched boxers, squeezing so tight that it's impossible for Adachi not to thrust up and immediately—
Adachi jolts awake with a loud gasp, heart caught in his throat, eyes cracking open. Bright light is filtering in through Kurosawa's windows, and outside he can hear Kurosawa humming as he prepares breakfast. When Adachi glances down at himself, his shirt is fully buttoned and his pajama bottoms are extremely intact; in fact, the sheets barely seem mussed. He swallows around the lump in his throat and presses his hot face between his hands, trying to steady his breath. Had he just had a very vivid dream? That happens to people sometimes, right? After all, Adachi is dating a very handsome man and sleeping in his bed now; surely this kind of reaction is just natural. He shouldn't worry. With time, it will probably go away on its own.
It does not go away on its own. In fact, it takes two more separate occurrences for Adachi to figure out what's actually going on. In his defense, he hasn't shared a bed with someone else with any sort of regularity, so it's not as though he has very many data points to work with. For better or for worse, he's reverted back to his natural state of being: bumbling along and learning as he goes.
The second time, a week into the New Year, happens on the company's annual weekend trip to Hakone. During the day, they get to explore the town and admire the views of distant Mount Fuji; on Saturday afternoon, they visit the shrine at Lake Ashi and take photos beneath the torii. In the evening, the ships on the lake are all decorated with lights and lanterns, bobbing brightly in the dark. They have dinner at the onsen ryokan and then soak in the hot springs until their fingertips turn pruny. Adachi spends a lot of time tracking the rivulets of water dripping down Kurosawa's neck and blushing when Kurosawa notices him staring.
When the heat gets to be too much, Adachi pulls himself out of the water and dries off. They were all given sets of flannel yukata to sleep in, and Kurosawa finds him fumbling to wrap the obi around his waist. "Adachi," he says, eyes creasing as he slings his hair towel around his neck. "Let me help."
Adachi is keenly aware of Kurosawa's closeness as he fastidiously fastens Adachi's yukata and tucks the obi in properly; he's even more keenly aware of it when they lie down to go to sleep in the same room, lined up neatly along the tatami mats with four of their other coworkers. That's probably why Adachi dreams what he dreams about: illicit kisses behind sliding doors, naked dips in the hot springs, rolling across the thick blankets and mapping Kurosawa's collarbone with his mouth. Kurosawa's hands, reaching up past the hem of Adachi's yukata, unwrapping him from the layers of fabric like a gift, and spreading warmth wherever he touches.
When he wakes up this time, the sweet ache in his stomach lingers through breakfast. On the train back to Tokyo, Kurosawa sits next to him and surreptitiously winds their hands together. Adachi squeezes his fingers, and a rush of Kurosawa's pleasure flits through his head before it's replaced by the briefest flash of Kurosawa's palm pressed flat against Adachi's thigh beneath a familiar yukata. Adachi presses his cheek against the cold glass of the train window, breathing out slowly, and thinks, oh.
The next time Adachi sleeps over at Kurosawa's apartment, three days later after a late night at the office, he manages to stay awake until Kurosawa has already nodded off. Once he's listened to Kurosawa's even breath for long enough, he wiggles around to look at him: the soft swoop of his hair, the plush pink of his lips, the delicate sweep of his eyelashes.
Adachi would never describe Kurosawa's face as particularly tense, but in sleep, it possesses a rare kind of serenity. He looks so peaceful like this. Watching him, it seems crazy that underneath the calm surface, Kurosawa's imagination might just be running wild.
There's only one way to find out. Adachi takes a deep fortifying breath, closes his eyes, and wraps his hand around Kurosawa's wrist.
Immediately, it feels as though Adachi's been tossed into a furnace and left to burn, his entire body drenched with phantom sweat. In the dream — and of course it must be Kurosawa's dream, he was an idiot not to have realized before — Adachi is spread out across his bed in nothing but his underwear. Even that flimsy piece of fabric is slowly being peeled off by Kurosawa's patient hands. Once Kurosawa has flung it away behind his shoulder, his gaze trails up the length of Adachi's torso as his mouth dips down toward Adachi's crotch. When his lips are a centimeter away from the leaking head of Adachi's cock, he locks eyes with Adachi and murmurs, "Can I?"
Adachi cannot tell whether it's the dream him or the real him that says, "Yes," but he knows that he means it either way.
Abruptly, before Kurosawa's mouth can actually connect, the dream bubble bursts. Adachi opens his eyes to find Kurosawa blinking blearily at him through the darkness of his room. "Adachi," he croaks, rearing back a little. "Are you alright? Was I snoring?"
"You were having a dream," Adachi says faintly. "I could — feel it."
"Ah," Kurosawa says, suddenly wide awake and deathly serious. "I didn't think — I wasn't sure if your powers worked like that."
"Me neither."
A long beat of silence. Kurosawa grimaces. "I'm sorry, I'll go sleep outside—"
"No!" Adachi says roughly, unprepared for his own vehemence, and has to clear his throat. "No, it's okay. I don't mind." Kurosawa opens his mouth to say something, but Adachi raises a swift hand to cover it. "I don't want you to go."
At the end of December, after the fireworks on Christmas Day, they had come back to this very apartment hand in hand. Kurosawa's mind had been buzzing with so many thoughts that Adachi had trouble isolating any of them, but after some back and forth, they had agreed to meet each day as it came. Adachi had known then that Kurosawa didn't want to pressure him into anything, had wanted to protect him, had understood implicitly what Adachi could barely even put into words. Adachi had come to rely on his telepathy to understand the world around him and the people in it; it would be hard for anyone to give that up and go back to a mundane life of reading between the lines.
"I — I know I asked you if we could take things slowly," Adachi says now, trying to find the right words. "But I think I've realized — I want all those things, too. All the things you keep dreaming about." He inhales deeply, holds it, and then lets it out again all at once. "I care about you more than I'm scared of things changing. And I don't want to make decisions out of fear anymore. I want to do things because I want to do them."
The smile that spreads across Kurosawa's face seems to light up the whole room. Adachi isn't sure who moves first, but between one heartbeat and the next, they're kissing, longer and harder than any of the kisses they've shared before this. Kurosawa's tongue traces Adachi's lower lip and leaves a trail of fire in its wake. Adachi loses track of his sense of direction; the next time he pulls away for breath, he's somehow ended up in Kurosawa's lap, hips rocking forward so that the hard lines of their cocks rub against each other through the slippery fabric of their pajamas.
"Oh," Adachi says, high and thready, heart pounding in his rib cage. He straightens up too quickly and almost falls back, off balance, but Kurosawa manages to bring his arms around Adachi's waist in time to keep him where he is. Adachi rocks his hips again, feeling a thrill of satisfaction spark up his spine when Kurosawa groans. He braces his palms against Kurosawa's chest and slides them down toward the hem of his pants, plucking at the waistband. "Can I?"
"Please," Kurosawa murmurs, "whatever you want." Clumsily, Adachi reaches past the layers of fabric and untucks Kurosawa, flushed and hard, from his underwear. For a minute, he just looks at Kurosawa's cock, breathing shallowly. When his thumb brushes up the shaft, a bead of precome wells up from the tip, and he can feel Kurosawa's hips twitch beneath him.
Adachi swallows around a mouthful of saliva. After some fumbling, he uses his left hand to pull himself out of his pajamas and his underwear, shivering a little when cool outside air hits his bare skin. "You too," he says, and Kurosawa exhales sharply before curling his palm around Adachi's cock. A shock of pleasure unfurls in Adachi's stomach. Before long, the space between them fills with long sighs and bitten off moans. Kurosawa tilts his head back and bares the long, pale column of his neck as they stroke each other to completion. At the moment of Adachi's climax, he can't help tipping forward and pressing his lips to Kurosawa's pulse, feeling the surge of shared pleasure coursing between them one last time.
There's no great thunderclap from above in the split second between the past and the future. There's only the sound of Kurosawa's groan, rumbling through every place they're touching; there's only the shaking as he comes too, striping across Adachi's knuckles.
Adachi slumps forward and closes his eyes and just exhales into the quiet aftermath, spent and sleepy. Kurosawa shifts beneath him and tilts him onto his side, hand rubbing soothing circles into Adachi's lower back.
"Adachi," Kurosawa says, after their breath slows. He brushes his mouth across Adachi's jaw, peppering kisses down his throat. "Can you still hear what I'm thinking?"
Aside from the static in his ears from a well-earned orgasm, there's nothing else. "No," he says, a bit wistful, "but I'm glad." A beat later, he opens his eyes again and grins. "I'll miss your sexy dreams, though."
Kurosawa laughs, eyes dancing in the dark. "I guess we'll just have to make them all come true, then," he says, voice full of promise, and leans down to kiss him again.