Archive of Our Own ^beta

The darkness of the night turned everything cold.

A chill permeated the prison, seeping into the walls and through the floor. The air was stagnant and stabbed deep into the flesh of those who were not equipped for the biting cold. Those frigid sort of nights would leave most in their beds, huddled up under blankets for warmth. John surely sought warmth, but went searching for it in other places, as he clutched a small bouquet of dying flowers. A pathetic gift, but he would do anything to grow closer to the man pursuing Mikoto. All for Mikoto's sake, he thought. Everything is for Mikoto's sake alone.

He stood, rigid, in the hallway leading to Fuuta's room. Every couple of seconds, he would reach out a hand to knock, before pulling back, biting his lip. He felt no trace of fear, but something held him back, some sort of regret gnawing from inside him that told him he could not have Fuuta. Fuuta did not belong to him. He would force the thoughts away with hastily-made promises that he was only acting in Mikoto's best interests, that everything he did was for Mikoto's benefit, including this. Mikoto was a coward, so I will have to initiate, he would tell himself.

Before he could so much as work up the nerve to knock, the door swung open, revealing Fuuta's disheveled figure from the doorway. He blinked slowly, sleepily, through his working eye, the other covered still by an eyepatch. "Huh? What the hell are you doing here?" Fuuta asked. "It's the middle of the night. Go back to bed."

"Ah, actually, I have something for you." As the words escaped John's lips, he felt his stomach churn. He played his part well, the perfect actor on a tumultuous stage, but waves of guilt continued to batter away at him, threatening to knock him down entirely. He was not Mikoto, and Fuuta did not belong to him.

John held out the flowers he clutched tightly in his hands, practically thrusting the bouquet at Fuuta. As Fuuta took them, John noticed the state they were in. Crushed and withering, tied together with a torn piece of Mikoto's clothing, a haphazardly-made gift, presented to someone deserving of far more. John bit his lip.

"What's gotten into you?" Fuuta inquired. "Showing up at ass-o-clock in the morning for this? You could've waited."

John whispered a sarcastic "you're welcome," before he could stop himself. So much for pretending to be Mikoto. His voice sounded so uncharacteristically him.

Fuuta tilted his head. Such a gesture did not feel right coming from Mikoto. Fuuta thought back to the single night they spent together, gentle and loving, yet distant all the same. Mikoto always kept his distance. Fuuta reached a hand out, placing it slowly on John's head, as if petting a skittish stray. When John ducked out of Fuuta's way, Fuuta's suspicions were confirmed.

"Thanks, I guess... John."

John lunged at Fuuta, teeth bared. He narrowly missed Fuuta's fingers as the shorter man pulled away, leaving John nipping violently at the air. Fuuta forced a smile, shy and subtle. "I'm not upset. Be grateful."

"It's your fault, brat. I was showing kindness on 'my' behalf, and you just had to ruin it."

Fuuta's face reddened, only slightly, but enough for John to perk up at the sight. "These were from Mikoto? Really?"

"Of course," John lied through gritted teeth. "Who else would they be from?"

"You."

John closed the distance, snatching the flowers away and throwing them to the ground. Before he could crush them underfoot, Fuuta shoved him into the nearby wall. Normally, his strength would be enough to keep him upright, but John was caught off-guard, falling backwards with ease. "Quit overreacting. Do I look like I'm upset?" Fuuta asked.

"Overreacting? Watch your tone, brat, or I'll—"

"Can you be quiet? People are trying to sleep," Fuuta interrupted, placing a finger to John's lips. John sank his teeth into Fuuta's flesh. "Do you always bite this much?"

John gripped the collar of Fuuta's shirt, pulling him closer, enough for their eyes to meet, for their noses to touch. "I could do so much worse to you," John hissed, his breath tickling Fuuta's skin. A shiver ran down Fuuta's spine.

He furrowed his brows, brushing off the lingering feeling of arousal. "Huh? Shut up, before I crush these myself. It's a half-assed gift, anyway."

Hurt flooded into John's mind, overwhelming his senses. His fingers twitched, his nerves were alight. His thoughts ran wild, impulses and unwanted urges threatening to consume him. Images flashed behind his eyes: Fuuta's body, bloodied and crumpled on the ground, Fuuta's neck, snapped cleanly, Fuuta, Fuuta, Fuuta. All John could think of, see, breathe was Fuuta. He would never, could never belong to me, came his thoughts. I want him. I hate him. I need him. They ping-ponged back and forth, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Mikoto would hate me for this.

John forced Fuuta away from him, flipping him and slamming him loudly against the wall in return. He dug his nails violently into Fuuta's hair, tearing at the red-orange strands as he sunk his teeth deep into Fuuta's skin, leaving him bloodied and bruised as he bit at him in a frenzy. "Mine," John growled under his breath. "Mine, all mine."

Fuuta's breath caught in his throat. John was frantic, trapping him against the wall and tearing away at him like a feral dog. He wanted to stop John, to apologize, but he could not force a single word to leave his lips. Fuuta instead clawed at John's back, clinging to him like a life preserver.

"Ah... what the hell... is wrong with you...?!" Fuuta panted. "I get it, I'm sorry, can you... dude, calm the fuck down!"

"Shut your mouth, before I shut it for you." John yanked Fuuta's head back, further exposing his neck. He dug a knee into Fuuta's crotch, eliciting a whine from the redhead. A satisfied grin spread across John's face. "More of that," he breathed. "I like that."

When Fuuta went silent, John eased up. "That's what I thought," he whispered. Fuuta trembled in John's grasp. His head spun with desire. John was impulsive, animalistic in his display of love, but it drove Fuuta mad in ways he knew nothing of. Loopy and disoriented, he took John by the hand and led him into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. The flowers remained abandoned at the entrance, crushed underfoot by the desperate pair.

"You're letting me have you?" John asked as he threw Fuuta onto the floor. "You're letting me make you mine?"

"Will Mikoto mind?"

John kneeled next to Fuuta, eyes dark and hungry. "This is all for 'my' sake. 'I' will surely praise me when I am through. 'I' have no choice. You belong to 'me,' so I can have you, too."

Any hint of regret had left John's thoughts completely as he pinned Fuuta to the ground, running on pure adrenaline. In truth, John wanted to hold back. He wanted to stay away from Fuuta. Fuuta belonged to Mikoto, not to him. Yet, his urges won, and he continued to gnaw away at Fuuta's neck and shoulders, all tongue and teeth, soothing any wounds left behind and leaving a trail of blood and saliva in his wake. His knee sat still between Fuuta's legs, daring him to grind against it.

Fuuta relented, panting desperately as he gained friction. John was utterly insatiable like this, as violent and possessive as he may be. Fuuta was all too familiar with John's aggression, but he spoke only of Mikoto, he acted only with Mikoto in mind. Fuuta was relieved. For once, John seemed to be thinking of himself.

John was surprisingly quiet as he claimed Fuuta, head tucked in the crook of his neck. Fuuta pulled him close. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he allowed himself to feel John's teeth sinking into his skin, his knee at Fuuta's groin. With each cry from Fuuta, John went further, hands roaming up Fuuta's torso and clawing at his skin. "You're loud," John muttered, still buried against Fuuta. "You're hurting my head."

"Whose fault... do you think that is...?!" Fuuta gasped. John dug his knee in further, forcing a moan from Fuuta. His pants were wet with precum.

"'I' have treated you too kindly in the past," John replied. "You're so whiny, brat. I'll shut you up."

John sat up, lidded eyes trained on Fuuta's reddened face. John's eyebags and tousled hair paired perfectly with the blood staining his chin and the drool forming at the corner of his mouth. The room seemed to spin behind Fuuta's eyes. John, in a daze, leaned in, close enough to kiss Fuuta. He gripped Fuuta's chin and slammed his lips against his, tongue crashing into Fuuta's mouth and forcing its way inside. Fuuta gasped and struggled for air as John relentlessly kissed him, letting up only to take shallow breaths.

Their tongues fought for dominance, their breaths mingled. John tasted metallic, like blood, in Fuuta's mouth. He cupped the back of John's head, pulling him closer, until their bodies were pressed against each other. Fuuta could feel John hardening against his leg.

Once John had his fun, he pulled away, panting and dizzy. Thoughts of guilt flooded his mind as he stared at Fuuta, lips and teeth caked in his own blood, his eyes wide. John nestled against Fuuta's neck once more, lapping at whatever fresh blood remained. "Can I have you?" he whispered. His breath was warm against Fuuta's skin. "I can have you, right? You're mine, tell me you're mine."

"Huh?" Fuuta blinked in surprise. "Sure you can. I don't care."

John's hushed voice settles in Fuuta's mind, more vulnerable than he had ever heard him. "Even though 'I' might mind?"

Fuuta rolled his eyes. "Since when do you care? Do whatever you want."

"What do 'I' usually do with you?"

"Hm? Ah, nothing much. Mikoto is pretty vanilla," Fuuta replied. "Not like we've done much together, anyway."

John considered his options. Fuuta could not help but glance at him, curled up against him, his hair nearly obscuring his shadowy eyes, long lashes adding to his almost boyish appearance. Mikoto was incredibly pretty, and Fuuta could not help but fantasize about him from time to time. In comparison, Fuuta never had any particular thoughts about John, outside of how deeply he annoyed him, so much so that anger would seep into Fuuta and settle in his bones for days after merely talking to him. Now, all he could see was the gorgeous man at his side, messy and bloodied, a faraway look in his eyes, and it made Fuuta wonder if he could fall for John, too.

John trailed kisses up Fuuta's neck, ghosting over his jawline and towards his ear. "Can I go further? Can I have you?"

"You don't need to keep asking my permission," Fuuta huffed. "I said yes, do whatever." John still seemed to hesitate. With a sigh, Fuuta cupped his chin in his hands, gazing into those pretty gray eyes he thought so often about. "Why is the thought of Mikoto finding out holding you back?"

John paused, glancing away. A few seconds passed, the two in awkward silence, before John scoffed and pounced on Fuuta. "Irritating." John pinned Fuuta's hands above his head, kissing him fast and sloppily. "Shut up," he breathed between heated kisses. "That will make me like you more."

"It was... haah... it was an easy question..." Fuuta sputtered and coughed. "Would Mikoto really care?"

"I care," John snapped. "I shouldn't take what belongs to..." He trailed off, shoving himself away from Fuuta. "You're so pushy. 'Do this to me, do that to me.'" He sighed. "How obnoxious."

Fuuta's eye twitched. He grabbed John by the shirt collar, pulling him close once more. "Huh? So I'm the one making things hard for you? It's not my fault you're a fucking coward who won't let himself have his own thoughts and opinions."

That familiar feeling of hurt rushed back to John in an instant. Deep down, he had the sinking suspicion that Fuuta was right, but he could never admit to it. The words died in his throat, all pathetic excuses that were best left unsaid. He wanted to reach out and wring Fuuta's neck, an insatiable anger coursing through his veins, but he forced himself to still, hands curled up into shaking fists that would come to do no harm.

Fuuta took John's hands in his own and placed them on either side of his torso. He nodded as if to give approval, saying, "Try again," as John allowed himself to relax. "Any mention of Mikoto, and we're stopping, got it?"

"I don't take orders from a whiny br—"

"Got it?" Fuuta's voice was low, commanding. With a dramatic sigh, John permitted himself to touch Fuuta, his hands roaming slowly across his body, mapping out every contour. He worked with an intensity, fingers crawling under Fuuta's shirt and digging into his skin. "Good boy." Fuuta smirked.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

John tore Fuuta's shirt off, hands getting tangled in the restraints and layers of fabric. He pulled and ripped and tugged until Fuuta's torso was exposed, leaving Fuuta breathless. He bit his lip and sweat beaded at his forehead as John's teeth sunk into his shoulder. John's attack on Fuuta was brutal, agonizing, and bloody and enough to leave dark bruises on Fuuta's pale skin. John nearly ripped at his flesh, desperate to regain some semblance of control, to make Fuuta submit.

John's lips moved lower in a frantic race across Fuuta's body. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of Fuuta's pants and pulled until Fuuta was completely exposed to John. Every inch of him was at the mercy of the figure trembling above him, mouth stained with blood and saliva, eyes glazed over and unfocused. John was not entirely present, Fuuta knew, but he did not dare try to ground him. Fuuta was thrilled to be submitting to the animalistic whims of a man running on sheer impulse.

John sat up to catch his breath and admire the view. He slipped off his own clothes, leaving them abandoned on the floor, before crawling onto Fuuta and nuzzling against him. "Pretty," he whispered, inhaling Fuuta's scent. "I want you."

Fuuta let out a breath he did not know he was holding in. "Sure." John took that as an invitation to do as he pleased, and resumed his descent along Fuuta's torso. His teeth grazed Fuuta's sensitive skin, dipping lower and lower, until his mouth was against Fuuta's thighs, the sharp pain an assault on the smaller man's senses. Fuuta almost regretted ever giving John permission to act as he wished, as he buried himself in Fuuta and sucked hungrily. He almost regretted it. Almost.

Each touch elicited a sharp inhale from Fuuta. He clung to the floor for support, as if that could stop the sensations of pain shooting through his thighs like daggers. This would surely leave a mark. A warmth coiled in Fuuta's gut, the heat rising quickly and suddenly. John must have noticed something was amiss. He spread Fuuta's legs with ease, placing a kiss at his stomach. That sweet smile he gave Fuuta when he lifted his head was anything but genuine. "Condescending bastard," Fuuta muttered.

When he was finished, John practically climbed Fuuta, nails raking up his body in an agonizing crawl. John leaned over Fuuta, staring down at him with a deadpan expression. "Do you want me to put it inside?"

"H-Huh?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

John furrowed his brows. "I thought you wanted it."

"I—" Fuuta sighed to himself. "I do, just... people don't word it like that! Just... just fucking get it over with!"

"Plenty of people word it like that," John nonchalantly replied. "I'm a university graduate. I've seen a lot."

"That doesn't make it sexy, you— shit, fuck, what is wrong with you?!"

Fuuta bit back a scream as John forced his legs up and thrust roughly inside of him, no warning, no prep, no protection. He was average, but with Fuuta's general inexperience, he could not simply take John without prior preparations. "Ah, you can't... that isn't... fuck, at least prep me next time!"

"Forgot," John answered. Fuuta briefly considered biting him in response, a form of payback, of sorts, but any lingering insults or ideas quickly left his mind as John began a steady rhythm. Fuuta wrapped his legs around John's waist, rocking against him, quiet moans escaping his lips. He started off slow, steady, and Fuuta began to assume that John would continue at that pace. Fuuta was used to Mikoto taking his time and being gentle with him. He nearly forgot that he was under John instead of Mikoto, that was, until John picked up the pace.

John fucked hard and fast. To him, sex was a base instinct he had to satisfy, and he found himself going on autopilot. Fuuta saw stars behind his eyes as a jolt of pleasure and pain shot through him. The ceiling blurred and warped above him, John's tired eyes in the corner of his vision, trained on him. John said nothing, but Fuuta could hear the grunts and sharp breaths that escaped his bloodied lips. In comparison, Fuuta could not keep his mouth shut. Loud moans rang out from deep in his chest, each more pathetic than the last. John thrust into Fuuta like an animal in heat, rough and messy and desperate. It drove Fuuta mad with desire.

"Don't stop," he panted. "Haah... Harder, please, harder...!"

John perked up at Fuuta's cries. "If you say so," he murmured, Fuuta's words a challenge to him. He sped up, not enough to lose his rhythm, but enough to make Fuuta uncomfortable. John knew it worked when he heard Fuuta choke back a sob.

"Fuck... never mind, fuck you! That's... you're too..." A loud moan escaped Fuuta's lips. Tears pricked in his eyes. He clung to John for support, raking his nails along his back, earning a hiss from the other man. John looked at Fuuta as if he were a piece of prey. Salivating and heaving, John continued his ministrations, blindly chasing orgasm. He could feel himself getting close, though the sensations were unfamiliar to him. His ragged breathing echoed through Fuuta's ears, a soft melody of gasps and whines as John got closer.

"Am I allowed to...?" John asked cautiously.

"What did I say?" Fuuta retorted. "Any mentions of Mikoto, and—" He was cut off by another hard thrust and an immediate wave of pleasure. John smiled in satisfaction.

"That's better," he said. "I like it when you're quiet. I like when you're attentive."

Fuuta tried to protest. Each time the words left his mouth, however, they turned into piercing whines. John refused to let up even for a second. He continued to grind against Fuuta until he felt dizzy and breathless. He let out a final groan, spilling into Fuuta without warning. Fuuta gasped and moaned at the sudden foreign sensation of being filled. He was still not used to this, not experienced enough to do anything more than collapse to the ground and take pleasure in the feeling as he reached his own climax. John seemed incredibly disoriented in comparison, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He held himself in place, but his arms trembled, threatening to give out at any moment.

John forced himself to pull out. His movements were rough and painful. Fuuta stared up at the ceiling. John eventually came into view, hovering over Fuuta, the blood caking his face having dried, drool pooling at his lip. His eyelids felt heavy with each moment he blinked.

"You're so pretty." He slowly ran a hand through Fuuta's hair. "I would have done this more often if I knew you'd act like this."

"Like what?" Fuuta's voice was weak, a barely-there whisper.

"Quiet," John murmured, his head coming to rest in the crook of Fuuta's neck. "Complacent. Let's go again."

Fuuta reluctantly pulled John closer. "Not happening."

"If I pretend to be 'me,' can we go again?" John threw his arms around Fuuta's waist. "Fuuta~ We should go again. I missed you, Fuuta."

"Ew. Shut up." Fuuta forced John's arms off of him. "Mikoto doesn't act like that. Besides, why do you want to get close to me? And don't say it's for Mikoto's sake."

John closed his eyes, thinking back to the motivation behind visiting Fuuta. He had gone out of his way to obtain a gift for Fuuta because Mikoto would never approach him in such a way or be so direct with him. John had not been doing any of it for his own sake, though, selfishly, he wanted Fuuta as well. He wanted to claim Fuuta as his own, to take him in his arms and hold him close until they died, to kiss him and touch him and fuck him senseless. John was hardwired to protect those he loved, and that had come to include Fuuta.

"But I did do it for 'my' sake," John replied.

Fuuta sighed softly. "You wouldn't have sex with me just so Mikoto and I could grow closer."

"No. I was bored."

"That's not— ugh, you're so annoying. Fuck off. Get out of here." Fuuta tried to shoo John away, but he remained curled into Fuuta's side. His eyes slowly opened, and he reached out to touch Fuuta's face, slowly and delicately. Fuuta turned to face him. "What are you doing?" he inquired, unamused.

"Hm..." John placed a finger on Fuuta's cheek. "Pretty thing. I want you, too."

Fuuta's face burned, eyes wide at the sudden touch. "H-Huh?"

"I want to share," John said. "I want to have you like 'I' do."

"Are you that desperate to have sex again?" Fuuta swatted John's hand away. "Fuck, fine, we can go again. Just give me a moment."

John shoved Fuuta onto his back. "That isn't what I'm getting at, brat. Be quiet and listen for once."

Fuuta stilled under John, waiting with bated breath for his reply. John locked eyes with Fuuta. The two were silent for multiple minutes, as hundreds of thoughts ran through John's head. He did not know what he wanted. Loving someone for his own sake, in his own way, felt foreign to him, like a stranger he would often pass by. He knew how to play the part of 'Mikoto.' His own thoughts, his own opinions, were always left abandoned in favor of Mikoto's, each action John took having Mikoto in mind. Loving Fuuta as he wished to love Fuuta seemed fun, exciting, but left John with a deep-seated regret. Who was he to take what belonged to Mikoto?

"Never mind." John said finally. "Let's just have sex again."

"Huh? You're... sure? You didn't have anything else you wanted to say?"

John could not meet Fuuta's eyes. "No," he replied, and met Fuuta's lips with his own.

When John left later that night, Fuuta was exhausted, covered in blood and bruises. He threw on his clothes, not bothering to clean the wounds. He would handle that another time. He leaned against the doorframe as he watched John go. Mikoto was distant, Fuuta knew, and he expected no less from John. John, however, was plenty direct, very willing to engage, yet so isolated in ways that differed greatly from Mikoto. His tired eyes always revealed a look of fear, a lost, confused glint in his eyes that never quite went away, no matter how hard Fuuta tried. It was as if he did not know who he was without Mikoto. Fuuta felt his heart ache.

With a quiet sigh, he gathered the trampled flowers in his hands. John's effort was sweet, albeit misguided. Fuuta did not want John acting solely for Mikoto's sake. For as often as they fought, Fuuta admired John, how he stood up for himself no matter what, how he never showed a trace of fear. Fuuta wanted to have the strength that John had, the strength to regret nothing and carry on. Perhaps it was dangerous to desire such a mindset, but John was an incredibly strong, independent person when he did not place all of his self-worth in Mikoto.

Fuuta clutched the flowers close to his chest. He could only hope that one day, John would come to be honest with him.

The cold air began to seep into Fuuta's skin. He quickly shut the door.