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Ainosuke wishes he could say that he was different, when he was a kid. That, when his aunts beat him, he was telling himself that he’d never do that to someone else. That from the get-go he understood the difference between love and abuse. He wishes he could be such a poster child of mistreatment and rising above it like that. There’s a lot of lies he’s told, but that’s not one of them.
-
The shower is perfectly hot as Ainosuke steps into it, helping Langa in behind him. He’d considered drawing a bath, but that was before his strikes broke skin, and he knew too well that soaking wasn’t good for new wounds like that. It’s better to shower. Langa’s hair is already stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat. In his room, Ainosuke hadn’t seen all of the teeth marks on his arm from where Langa had been biting himself throughout the night, but they’re plenty clear as he’s tugging him close by that hand.
He can remember biting the inside of his mouth as his aunts showed him how much they loved him. It’s as clear as if it was yesterday, and yet foggy like he’s looking through the bathroom mirror to see it. Sometimes it feels like it didn’t even happen. Then, it feels like it’s all that ever happened.
He presses a kiss to the divots on Langa’s wrist. There will be quite the assortment of bruises, tomorrow. It’s almost unfair that these most visible ones aren’t even directly from him. Not that he can blame him. It’s not Langa’s fault that he doesn’t strike his forearms; he’s sure he’d take pain anywhere Ainosuke would give it to him, at this point. Langa doesn’t even flinch as the water washes down his certainly-sore body, letting Ainosuke guide him under the main showerhead.
There’s so many things Langa doesn’t flinch at that he should. It would be far more concerning to Ainosuke if it wasn’t to his benefit. Finally, someone who can handle all of him; someone who doesn’t seem inclined to tap out before he’s done, someone who practically dares him to hit harder because Langa takes everything as a challenge when it comes to Ainosuke. Even things Ainosuke would shy away from. If he brings it up, even jokingly, Langa wants to try it. A welt the shape of his belt buckle proves that quite well. With anyone else, Ainosuke would say he should’ve been gentler with it, but Langa is different. Langa is perfect . Langa loves him, and he makes sure Langa knows that he loves him back so, so much, even if neither of them ever say the words.
Ainosuke pours shampoo into his hands before he starts working it into Langa’s hair. Up close like this, there’s nothing to distract him from the slight redness of Langa’s face as his eyes close. He’d thought he might be worked to sobbing tonight, but he was wrong. Instead, he’s shaking in Ainosuke’s arms, buzzing like an alarm. His eyes are closed as Ainosuke lathers the shampoo in his hair, fingers massaging his scalp until it’s clean. He tips Langa’s head back, guiding it underneath the spray so that his face won’t get covered in shampoo. Langa’s lips part slightly as he moves under Ainosuke’s guidance. A less impulsive man might’ve just let that happen. But Ainosuke leans down and kisses him, keeping it light and quick if only so that he doesn’t end up getting soap in his mouth.
Even though he’s sure it would be normal to, Ainosuke doesn’t feel guilty over hurting Langa. Not even after breaking his skin from it; he’d only really been gentler after that because he doesn’t want to stop being able to skate with his Eve. Some people feel guilt over their lack of guilt, but he doesn’t get that either. Why should he? Langa all but begged to be in this shape. He could’ve signalled for it to stop at any time, but he chose not to. No, he chose to let Ainosuke show him how much he loves him.
Ainosuke squeezes water out of Langa’s hair before working conditioner into it, combing through to make sure he’s not missed any spots. Langa’s eyes open, piercing even though he’s tired. He doesn’t even have to say anything for Ainosuke to switch places with him. He knows exactly how much shampoo to use from the memories of Ainosuke teaching him how to do things right. A bit more than usual is needed tonight; the hairstyle he wears as Adam takes a bit more time to wash out than how he usually slicks his hair back. It’s nice, he’s discovered, to see Ainosuke with all of his airs of grandeur faded out to something quiet. Langa likes touching him when they’re in this calm moment; it’s like he can entertain the idea of the two of them being normal, even though he wouldn’t want their relationship to be any softer than it is. At least having been at S tonight gives him a convenient reason to be sore. Nobody needs to know that the bruises he has aren’t all from falling during a beef.
He doesn’t dare linger on the scars on Ainosuke’s body when he washes him, usually. It seems taboo, somehow. He’d done it once—it was an accident, he’d thought there was something on Ainosuke’s skin and so he tried to scrub it away. Ainosuke didn’t say anything about it. He doesn’t make that mistake again. Instead, he lavishes attention on the hands that struck him, whether on their own or with an implement. After the shower, he’ll massage lotion into them; for now, he presses kisses to them once he’s rinsed the soap off. Ainosuke, hair drenched in conditioner, smiles as he looks down at him. He knows Langa doesn’t see it. He lets himself be turned around by hands on his hips, adjusting as needed for Langa—still shaking—to wash every inch of his body.
It’s Ainosuke’s turn, then, to care for Langa. He starts at his neck and makes his way down his chest, taking his time to appreciate the feeling of Langa’s body through the washcloth. He cleans his arms, picking them up and stretching them out; it’s almost like a cool-down after a workout, the way he moves him. The same is true of his legs; Ainosuke doesn’t kneel for him to wash his feet, he just keeps Langa steady with a hand on his lower back while the other washes his raised leg, holding him steady against his own body. Indulgently, Langa rests his face in the crook of Ainosuke’s neck. It’s like that, their bodies pressed together so close that they could’ve crumpled a paper between them, that Ainosuke feels Langa flinch as the washcloth runs over what must be one of the more raw patches of skin on his upper thigh. He knows it’s not one of the spots that drew blood. Those are all higher up. He still lightens his touch, though, since he can’t see exactly what he’s doing. After he sets Langa’s leg down, he just stands there and holds him for a moment longer than he needs to, gently rubbing his lower back.
He knows the nature of their relationship. Langa comes to him for pain, and he is more than eager to inflict it upon him, merciless met with such willingness to endure whatever he desires. But he can’t help the part of him that he didn’t expect: he likes comforting Langa afterwards. It’s something he didn’t do before he met him. It’s foreign, and strange, and he tries to not show how awkward he sometimes feels with it. He hopes his silence comes across as controlled focus. If it doesn’t, he hopes it at least comes off as anything other than the awe that truly causes it. Maybe that’s the core difference, at the end of the day, between who he is and who he is when he’s Adam; Adam proclaims his feelings brashly and loudly. Ainosuke does sometimes, too, but it’s so much harder to do over the pouring water in the aftermath of affection. He could never tell Langa how caring for him makes him feel. He can’t even begin to try and find a way to explain that, back when his aunts loved him, and back when only he loved himself, he was the only one who dealt with the messy affair of cleaning up what that love meant. There’s no way to say that he loathes the idea of Langa having to do the same.
It’s easier to hope that it comes off as something almost equally true, instead; he doesn’t like the idea of Langa leaving him to shower. Why would he? Especially when the alternative is so much better. Getting to touch every inch of Langa’s body, washing away the mess he made of him, admiring the way he willingly bends to every touch like it’s a dance that Ainosuke is leading him in. Watching over their time together as Langa grows more confident with touching him, so teasing and sensuous even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s perfection.
It’s the ideal way to say goodbye, usually.
Tonight is a bit different. Tonight—or whatever remains of the night, and likely some of the morning—Langa is going to fall asleep on Ainosuke’s bed. Neither of them have responsibilities that they need to rush to tomorrow. It’s a rare treat, and one Ainosuke has every intention of savouring. Maybe that’s why he keeps holding Langa long past when he usually would’ve let go. He feels hands, tentative, slide around his back. Ainosuke lets them, and they’re slowly joined by arms, Langa’s touch contouring to the shape of him as he stays fit against his body. Langa sighs, no sound coming from it that can be heard over the rushing water, but Ainosuke feels it warm against the dampness on his neck. A pleasant shiver glides down his spine. That breath coaxes Ainosuke to indulge him for another moment. To indulge both of them.
He still pulls away, though, turning Langa so that he can wash his back. All it takes is a slight nudge to Langa’s shoulders and he bends forwards, holding onto a grab bar so that he doesn’t slip and fall. For this, Ainosuke kneels. He needs to see the welts, the bruises, the broken skin on Langa’s ass. All of the blood has washed away already, leaving just raw skin that already shows bruises. He can't wait to see how they'll look in the morning. Tenderly, aware of how much it hurts to wash skin like that, Ainosuke cleans his injuries. Langa stays patient for him, holding still and taking slow breaths as cloth drags across his skin; Ainosuke is thorough to the point of punishing, nearly, dedicated to insuring that he doesn't miss a single speck of Langa's body. He stands to rinse his hair of the conditioner, picking up a secondary showerhead to take time rinsing off his ass. Langa stiffens when the water first directly hits broken skin, twitching away from it.
"I'm sorry," Langa murmurs, clenching his jaw as he corrects his posture back to how it had been.
Ainosuke can tell that Langa is expecting some sort of retribution; a strike, a temperature change of the water, maybe a harsher setting of spray. Were they out of the shower, he's certain he'd do just that. He'd accept the apology by giving him a chance to do better. Instead, he just carries on like nothing happened. Like Langa hasn't done anything wrong, or unusual, or worth fixating on.
He finishes rinsing both of them off, and brings him over to the sink once they're both mostly dry so that they can wash their faces. His headband is still slightly damp from using it this morning; he knows Langa doesn't think he notices the small smile of pleased surprise on his face as he hands it to Ainosuke, but he notices it every single time. Of course he uses it. He looks absolutely ridiculous, but he uses it every morning and every night when he washes his face. Each time, he thinks of Langa.
-
They lay naked in Ainosuke's bed. The sheets and blankets have already been changed; the clothes Langa came in have already been taken away, as have the clothes Ainosuke wore today. Someone Ainosuke trusts always tends to that, oftentimes while he and Langa shower. It's nice to be able to just collapse into the comfort of a fresh bed. They're under a soft blanket. Langa is practically laying on top of him; he's warm, pressed flush to Ainosuke's side, lanky limbs draped half over him while Ainosuke holds him, both asleep so quickly after a full night. The sun is just starting to rise, beginning rays of dawn blocked by the solid privacy curtains that cover Ainosuke's bedroom windows. It's so peaceful, so quiet.
In his sleep, Ainosuke's touch shifts. He won't remember what he's dreaming about when he wakes, but that doesn't mean it doesn't matter. In an attempt to somehow pull Langa closer—to move him, maybe, away from something or from someone else—he grabs his ass, clumsy but far stronger than he should, nails digging into already-raw skin. Langa wakes and tries to pry himself away on instinct, but that just makes Ainosuke try harder. He's far stronger than Langa is, even unconscious; perhaps moreso, even, since the few reservations he'd have aren't in the forefront of his mind as he clings to him.
The sound of a quiet, bitten-back sob in his ear is what rouses Ainosuke, both of his hands clenched tightly around what he quickly figures out is Langa's ass. He relaxes his hands. Immediately, he feels Langa shift just a bit away from him, and he holds onto him again, dragging him back. "Don't go away, little Langa," he mutters, voice slightly raspy. There are some downsides to the way he talks at S. There are more downsides when he doesn't have someone make him tea afterwards. He remembers having the intention of ordering Langa to make him some last night, but time had gotten away from them.
"Sorry," Langa says. It's a bit of a struggle to talk, with Ainosuke's fingers digging into bruises. "I didn't mean to."
Ainosuke delivers a sharp smack to where he's sure there's already quite a few colours happening. He knows the morning after is always the hardest; all of the adrenaline from the night before being gone allows for the pain to really set in. "Are you enjoying this?" He already knows the answer, as Langa tries to muffle himself. But there's something so exhilarating about feeling a small nod. "Tell me," he says.
"Yes," Langa says in a gasp.
Ainosuke smirks and digs his fingers in again. "Get on top of me."
Langa does as he's told, straddling Ainosuke's lap. It would be more comfortable to slot one of his thighs between Ainosuke's, but this isn't about his comfort, it's about giving Ainosuke however much access he wants to every sore inch of his body. So what if his thighs shake? Ainosuke will hold him where he wants him, and that's what matters.
Ainosuke can feel him trembling against him. 'Merciful' was never a word used to describe him by anyone who really knew him. "Get up and turn on the light," he says, offering one last squeeze before he removes his touch.
Immediately, Langa hurries to obey, stumbling to the bedside table and turning the lamp on. He turns to Ainosuke, who looks at him—albeit squinting, just slightly—in disappointment. Even through his tear-blurred vision, Langa can see that much.
"The room light," Ainosuke says, though part of him is always eager when Langa gives him so many easy excuses to punish him. "I could've turned the lamp on myself."
"I'm sorry," Langa says.
As he turns to go to the lightswitch, Ainosuke admires what he can see of Langa's ass, watching as he moves clearly-sore through the room. "Stop," Ainosuke says when he's nearly to the switch. He smirks as Langa freezes. "Come back here."
Langa returns, confused but not as much as he should be. Ainosuke's whims can be hard to follow; it's one of the best traits about him. He turns around at a simple gesture, listening to the rustling of blankets as Ainosuke sits up.
"Bend forward," Ainosuke says.
"How far?" Langa asks.
Ainosuke grins. "As far as you think you can handle," he says. "Choose wisely."
He watches Langa lean forward, clearly unsure as to what he's going to be doing in this position. He ends up at about a right angle, hands braced on slightly-shaking knees. Like that, Ainosuke can admire the still-forming bruises in the dim light of his bedside lamp. It's not long before admiring with his eyes becomes holding his hips with one hand and poking at them with the other, pressing harder as Langa chokes on a sob. He knows how much Langa needs this, how much he depends on him for the release of emotions that he can't get ordinarily. There's no point in holding back his love, with his Langa. No point in waiting for grander occasions, or for spending time building things up when both of them should be sleeping.
"Hands on the bed," he says. "Unless you think you won't be able to handle this standing up?" He watches Langa adjust, grabbing the side of the bed like he was told. If it was anyone else, he'd be concerned, but Langa is special. Langa is perfect. He stands behind him, pressing his thumbs into those bruises as he watches Langa try to stay upright. "Are you sure, little Langa?" he teases, massaging them. "Last chance to change your mind."
"I can take it," Langa manages to say, keeping his breathing as controlled as he can. He's sure Ainosuke is going to find a way to make that change. He's even more sure when he hears a drawer opening.
Ainosuke selects a leather crop from the variety of implements he has before changing his mind and finding the belt he was wearing the night before. It might be less specialised, but it's familiar, and there's something to be said about keeping everything consistent with what had gotten Langa the bruises he sports in the first place. He gives no warning before hitting Langa with it, letting him be surprised by the pain. "That's for turning on the lamp instead of the light," he says. He's even harsher with the second strike. "That's for it being, while wrong, a suitable substitute."
Fresh tears fall from Langa's eyes, but he refuses to fall, gripping the edge of the mattress as tightly as he can. He can’t fall yet. He’s not ready to.
Ainosuke hits him again. "That's for taking your punishment so well," he says. The fourth strike falls on the edge of broken skin, and Langa cries out. "And your reward," he says. A fifth hit. Langa doesn't fall. A sixth. Langa doesn't fall. A seventh. He stumbles, but quickly corrects. On the eighth, he crumples, his body finally unable to hold in sobs while taking each stroke of the belt in Ainosuke's hands.
"You're perfect," Ainosuke murmurs, setting his belt down. It'll need cleaning again, he's sure, so he doesn't put it back into the drawer. It’s the right choice. There are a couple stripes across Langa’s ass that shine with blood.
Lovingly, he scoops up Langa's body, though he takes a minute to look at the bruises on his arm, scattered and uneven rings from where he'd bitten himself. He drops him on the bed, climbing on top of him. It's not fair that the bruises he gives him should need to be hidden while those he gives himself are so plainly visible. It's not. Even if nobody knows that it's from him, he deserves it. Langa doesn't push him away as he bites right below the corner of his jaw, pulling his skin between his teeth. He's only barely gentle enough to not break the skin. By the time Langa’s stopped crying, there’s quite the bruise worked up there. Ainosuke pulls back, satisfied with his work.
“Ready to sleep again, my little Langa?” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” Langa says. He hadn’t expected to be more exhausted than he was before they went to bed.
Thankfully, Ainosuke turns the lamp off instead of making Langa do it. He curls into Ainosuke’s side just like he had before, head resting on his chest. “Thank you,” he says.
Ainosuke runs a hand through his hair. For a moment—just a flash of a moment, but a moment all the same—he remembers carding his fingers through someone else’s hair, back when he was so much younger than he is now. He tugs just to hear the very Langa response that he gets of a shaky, almost-soundless breath. “Any time,” he says. “I can’t very well have you trying to run off to other people who might not treat you right.”
Langa nods. It doesn’t take him much to fall back asleep, but Ainosuke stays awake for an hour. He doesn’t know why until he realises that he’s so used to showering with Langa after he hurts him that it feels like he isn’t done until he does it.
Something dark settles in his stomach. He’d given Langa what he needed, sure, but only after waking him up by accidentally hurting him. Nothing he gives Langa should ever happen like that; how are they supposed to both be able to savour it if they don't even know it's going on? Lightly, he runs his fingertips across the now-even-more-raw skin of Langa’s ass and thighs; there’s certainly more spots that bled this time. And yet he’s just let Langa go to sleep like a scolded, loved child. It would feel like a knife at his throat if Ainosuke had ever feared dying. Instead, it just feels bad. He’s half tempted to wake Langa up, but it feels like a waste to do so; besides, he’s tired and he’s sure they’ll have to shower again before Langa leaves. The sleep he gets dragged slowly into feels flat, somehow, like it’s been soured. He tells himself, however futile it is, that he’ll feel fine when he wakes up, and, if he doesn’t, then he just needs to drag Langa into another shower.