Current mood:	tired
Entry tags:	arc: brand new endings, char: izumi kousuke, char: mizutani fumiki, fandom: ookiku furikabutte, type: fic

[ficlet] Ookiku Furikabutte: Home, Not to Stay

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Izumi/Mizutani (mention of Abe/Izumi)
Disclaimer: Oofuri is the brainchild of Asa Higuchi.
Continuity: Brand New Endings
Notes:Partly posted as ninja-fic here, where it got a 'doodle' (she says) from explodinguterus. ♥

Izumi had woken up before the sun and left the half-empty pack of cigarettes -the entirety of his and Abe's common property- on the floor, along with the underwear he'd had no desire to put on again after his shower. Taken the longish commute home at a good pace, neither stalling nor rushing the reunion with his own bed, which was bigger and less crowded and smelled of nothing but detergent. Stopped for a minute to watch the sun glitter over the trees that lined his apartment complex.

All to find someone standing in front of his mailbox when he finally entered the building, ready to add a few hours of sleep to his night. A someone so familiar his heart jumped to his throat and he stopped dead in the middle of the hallway: light brown hair and old sweatpants and the sharp lines of shoulderblades through the threadbare T-shirt that Izumi had once worn to bed for weeks, when curling up with it had been his single indulgence in an unwanted crush that was sure to fade as soon as the next game came along.

When they'd first started with the kissing and fumbling, he'd wondered if Mizutani knew why it had taken him four months to get his T-shirt back. But if he was wearing it here, a fist clenched on something Izumi could easily guess the nature of, probably not.

Walk away, he told himself, the words ringing harsh and loud among jumbled half-thoughts. You were ready to let go last night. Nothing's changed. Go take a walk in the park for half an hour, and when you come back you can pick up your spare key and move on like normal people do.

A door slammed somewhere above, making Fumiki jump and glance furtively at the stairs, his whole body poised to flee. He remained like that for a long few seconds before relaxing minutely, his attention coming back to the mailbox bearing the name of Izumi's brother.

Walk away. You know what's happening here. You don't need the visual.

Fumiki's shoulders heaved when he took a deep breath, then a single step before stopping again, almost cringing away from the row of metal boxes.

He'd already left and come back so many times in the past years that Izumi might as well have installed a revolving door on the flat. But if he was here now, still hesitating over cutting things off cleanly, then maybe there was room for another 'back'.

Izumi took the steps quickly, sneakers silent on the carpet, and had one hand on Fumiki's shoulder and the other splayed on warm skin under the untucked T-shirt before he was even noticed.

Fumiki stiffened, and Izumi seized the opening to nip at the side of his throat, hearing nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He'd been running, probably all the way from home; sweat and soap and something undefined combined into a smell that was both heart-thumping and comfortingly familiar.

"Kousuke..." It might have been a protest. If so, it wasn't strong enough to have any effect. Not this time, when he'd run all the way here to deliver something he might as well have sent. Not when he was unsure and painfully desirable and here, when his body was leaning into the touch -still familiar after weeks of absence- and his voice shook around Izumi's given name.

I broke my promise, Izumi realized suddenly as his fingers slid under the sweatpants and boxers to curl around Fumiki's hip. It wasn't something to feel guilty about, not when it had been issued years ago in completely different circumstances, but the fact remained that he'd said I won't do anything with Abe unless you're here as well and made it a lie.

His back still bore the raw marks of Abe's nails and he was so tempted to say it, just to see how Fumiki would react. Just to see if it would hurt: I asked Takaya to fuck me hard and fast not twelve hours ago, and I almost forgot about you. But how much was 'almost' worth now, when he was wrapped around Fumiki in broad daylight with no intention to let go, when he knew he'd get himself thrown out of the apartment if someone walked in on them and was finding it hard to care?

"I can't," Fumiki stuttered between minuscule whimpers even as he was leaning back, opening himself to every touch. "Kousuke, I can't, I have a-"

"I don't care," Izumi interrupted, his hand sliding from Fumiki's shoulder, tracing the muscles down his bare arm to wrap around his fist, clench it harder around the metal. If it was too tight, if the bumps and edges broke the skin to leave an indelible mark, then... all the better. At the very least it made Fumiki whimper, lean just a little further in, expose more of his throat to Izumi's mouth.

He surrendered himself so easily. Hedonist, someone had said once, but it wasn't quite right. Fumiki didn't go out of his way to seek pleasure; he was just lousy at resisting it, whether it came from hot water after a long day or whipped cream or sex.

From there, it wasn't easy to avoid the conclusion that at the end of the day, he went back to the best provider. But that wasn't what mattered. Here, now: Izumi's fingertips sliding along the crease of Fumiki's thigh, fluttering eyelids and parted lips and the rising speed of their heartbeats. That was all there was. Thought didn't have a place here.

Only, neither did they. Forget evicted: if they got caught here they were going to get themselves arrested. So Izumi reluctantly pulled away, took his hands off skin and fabric, stepped back.

Fumiki whirled around, eyes wild and nervous. "Ah, I..." He couldn't make himself look at Izumi yet, but that would come back.

It always did, given time.

It was Fumiki who let them in, and the tinkle of the key atop the shoe rack followed them to the bedroom.

It was stupid to let him in so easily, only stopping at the side of the bed long enough to toe their shoes off. It could only bring bad things to watch Fumiki like this, drink in the sight of him spread out on Izumi's bed as if that was where he belonged. Because it wasn't. Fumiki wanted things from life that weren't to be found here, with him, in this oversized flat that wasn't quite home. Sooner or later he'd stop coming back, and Izumi had no reasonable explanation as to why he wasn't cutting his losses already instead of trying to tip the scales back in his favour.

Although it probably had to do with the way the scent touch taste of him still made all of Izumi's higher brain functions stop, until nothing was left but more and precious and stay.

Izumi Kousuke: always the mature kid, so reasonable, so down-to-earth.

What a laugh.

If any of that was even remotely true, then shouldn't the silly school crush have been dealt with by now? Shouldn't his heralded common sense provoke more than a passing afterthought when it came to Fumiki?

Knowing all that, he'd already knelt -such an adequate position- on the bed, straddling Fumiki's thigh, a hand flat on the strip of naked skin where the T-shirt had been pushed up to feel the slight rise of his stomach.

There was a moment's pause before Fumiki took a shallow breath and reached for him with an unsteady hand. Izumi didn't even think before he took hold of his wrist and brought it to his mouth, closing his eyes so that for a moment he was aware of nothing but the taste of sweat against his lips. And there was the pulse under that, a direct link to Fumiki's heartbeat.

Izumi took his time. Licked up Fumiki's wrist and pushed his shirt further up inch by inch. Traced every line on his palm with the tip of his tongue and trailed his nails up his stomach. Pressed his lips against each and every fingertip and splayed his hand over Fumiki's heart.

He was so focused that he almost missed the other hand rising to touch him and only caught it just before contact. He leaned over to pin Fumiki's wrists about his head; the message was anything but subtle, but it did the work. Fumiki's hands stayed in place when Izumi kissed a path along his arm, to his shoulder and down his chest, pushing the t-shirt up and over his head even as he moved further down, licking and kissing patches of skin in a way that would have induced anyone else to squeal in nervous laughter but only made Fumiki groan and arch into the touch.

He knew this body so well. How to touch, where to kiss. How his thighs twitched and his fingers grasped at fabric or air until he was fully hard. Hard and willing and begging for everything Izumi could give – and a little more than that.

But as long as they were touching everything was fine, so Izumi hooked his fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged lightly, making Fumiki raise his hips in a conditioned response.

He was naked within seconds and damn but he looked fantastic like this, t-shirt bunched at his wrists, fingers clutching at the blanket, arms trembling with the effort of self-restraint.

There was only one thing missing.

"You're awfully silent," Izumi breathed against the goosebumps on the inside of Fumiki's arm as he moved back up to grab blindly under the unused pillow. He got something between laughter and a sob for an answer, which was all the confirmation he needed. He smiled against Fumiki's hair before moving back down, along his ear, his jaw. "Just keep breathing." I'll take care of the rest.

"Not easy," Fumiki choked, stretching under him, exposing his throat, letting his spread twitch further open as Izumi settled between them. Izumi's raw chuckle was muffled against his stomach, and it made Fumiki moan and it made him shiver and there was no way, no way Izumi would be able to keep control of the situation like this.

He took a deep, calming breath as he sat back on his heels, and unbuttoned his shirt with fingers that lacked their usual agility, all the while aware that Fumiki was staring, brimming with impatience as the shirt slid down Izumi's arms. His tongue flicked over his lips when Izumi unbuckled his belt, pulled the buttons of his jeans open one by one to reveal his own erection, his thumb wiping at the precum almost by accident.

For a moment Fumiki looked like he was about to say something, but he let his head roll back instead, clenching his eyes shut.

He was so tempting like this, legs spread and raised and not a hint of shame about what he wanted - but he'd have to wait. Wait and want and yearn because Izumi was nowhere near ready for this to be over. He took hold of the foot on his left shoulder, massaging the ankle with his thumb almost distractedly, then closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the bone. Fumiki moaned impatiently, but his hands remained in place.

The sight made Izumi's breath catch in his throat, which was strange really because he'd seen Fumiki like this so many times, in all possible states of dress and a creative array of positions. Yet it always gave him pause, made his mouth dry from everything he could never bring himself to say.

He flipped the cap of the tub open and closed his eyes, lashes brushing against pale skin. He moved further up, his mouth staying on the inside of Fumiki's leg as his fingers went everywhere else, pushing and pressing and rubbing. Fumiki whimpered when fingertips slid between his cheeks, and that might just have been the sweetest sound ever. Izumi lowered his body as he went, letting Fumiki's legs move further up his shoulders until he was laying down on the bed, nuzzling at the crease of Fumiki's thigh, fingers moving slowly inside him.

There was no sound but that of their breathing, loud and heavy in the stillness of the room, until Izumi bent his fingers just the right way and Fumiki arched off the bed with a wordless cry, the head of his cock leaving a wet trail on Izumi's cheekbone.

"Ah..." he sounded vaguely embarrassed, but mostly breathless and eager, so Izumi crawled up his body until he was pressing him against the mattress, their faces closer together than they'd been since their last separation. Fumiki didn't need any further encouragement, and his tongue darted out to lick Izumi's cheek clean. He didn't stop there, dropping butterfly kisses on the side of his face. Izumi pulled away when he reached the corner of his mouth and slid off him, refusing to let himself be swayed by the way Fumiki's mouth looked when he pouted in frustration.

Except he'd never been able to resist, not since the first tentative kiss years ago, so he nudged at Fumiki's hip and whispered "roll over," so low he might not even have been heard.

It was more than enough. Fumiki complied slowly, languorously, like every movement was designed to make Izumi's blood boil.

If he'd been able to talk, Izumi could have told him he really didn't need to resort to putting on a show. No man with a pulse could have refused him. Izumi only managed to stall long enough to nuzzle against the small of his back, massage the back of his thighs and twirl the tip of his tongue against the tailbone until Fumiki sobbed a "Kousuke, please."

As much as Izumi wanted to take the time to worship every inch of his back (or maybe leave marks, dark red on smooth skin to make a claim he wasn't sure he had a right to), he was reaching the limit of his resistance. When he pulled back, Fumiki hoisted himself further up, spread and inviting like every inch of him was begging to be fucked; and so Izumi provided.

Hot and tight and fantastic– the words remained even after the sensations faded from his skin, but they were nothing against the real thing, especially after weeks alone. And Fumiki was moaning as Izumi slowly slid in, without pause of break in the rhythm until his fly was pressed rough against sensitive skin.

"All right?" he asked, breathless from the sensation and the sight and too much emotion, although he wasn't sure what he'd do if the answer was no.

"More," Fumiki whispered, his face buried in the pillow even as his lower body pushed back against Izumi's. "Please, more, I..."

There were going to be marks. Every button of Izumi's jeans would leave dents and bruises and no matter how careful he was, Fumiki would be feeling the sting of it for hours, if not days.

It wasn't a deal-breaker. At least not for Izumi, and the moans escaping Fumiki's throat with every thrust never spelled stop. So Izumi kept going, his eyes roving over Fumiki's body and the arch of his back and the tension in his shoulders until the moans turned to whimpers turned to sobs and non-verbal pleas. Izumi was beyond words as well, aware of nothing but Fumiki's presence and the spots where their bodies touched and the way their voices mixed and the slow burn building in his thighs.

Fumiki was begging for more, harder, faster, more friction, and Izumi delivered by moving a pillow under him before pushing, relentlessly stroking Fumiki's erection against the rough surface of the pillowcase as his hand slid up to rub at the nape of his neck, thumb tracing kanjis that Fumiki was too far gone to understand.

And then Fumiki screamed, low and broken, and Izumi pressed himself against his back, feeling every muscle flex under him as Fumiki came. He let every twitch course through his own body before rolling off, aching with need but too drained to do anything about it.

There was nothing but stillness for a moment, then Fumiki propped himself on a trembling elbow, bent over Izumi to press a close-mouthed kiss to his lips as his hand slid down his body to grab the base of his cock, pushing the condom up and off on the first stroke.

Izumi couldn't have resisted if he'd tried. He parted his lips under the kiss – finally- , pushed back against the hand stroking him, and came within seconds. They kept kissing even when his body had stilled, mellow and lazy until they slowed to a halt and Fumiki rolled away, yawning.

Izumi resisted the instinct to grab him, and occupied his hands by maneuvering the blanket over them, creating a wall of fabric between their bodies.

"Sorry," Fumiki said between yawns. The sheet slid down, baring his shoulder, and Izumi had to tear his eyes away from the edge between fabric and skin. "I haven't been sleeping well."

It was an oddly satisfying thing to hear. "Take a nap. I didn't sleep much either."

He'd said it innocently enough, but he was watching Fumiki too carefully to fail to notice the minuscule stiffening of his shoulders. His mind raced as he tried to think of something to say to dispel the sudden tension, but Fumiki rolled over before he'd found anything, throwing an arm around him with a sigh.

"Nap sounds good," he blew on Izumi's shoulder, and sort of melted against his side. His breathing evened out within minutes, any tension left in his body seeping away. It felt like the situation required for Izumi to stay wide awake and watch his lover sleep until either he woke up or the sun set, but his body was spent and refused to cater to melodrama's sense of property. Reflexes set in easy now, and the position was comfortable, familiar; everything home was supposed to be.

---

It was noise that woke him up, that of the shower spray being turned off and the door to the bathroom opening again. The sense of lazy comfort snapped away as Fumiki walked in to pick his underwear from the floor, quick and silent. Izumi watched the clothes slide back on, Fumiki getting further away with each layer.

Leaving again so soon. Maybe he had made his choice, after all.

Izumi closed his eyes when Fumiki turned his way, pretended to still be asleep even as he tried to listen past his own heartbeat to follow Fumiki's movements in the room.

Then a weight settled on his side of the bed, and there was a hand on his shoulder. Relief washed over him as his eyes fluttered open.

"I have things to do at home." Soft but not apologetic, merely a statement of fact.

"Okay..." Izumi yawned and pushed himself up, still waiting for something conclusive. He walked Fumiki out by the scenic route, through the living and dining room – pathetic really; it was only half a dozen steps longer- until they were standing at opposite sides of the open door, neither of them knowing what to say.

This sort of awkwardness had happened so many times before, they should have known how to deal with it by now.

"So, I'll be going, then," Fumiki stuttered, looking at his feet.

Izumi nodded and made a non-committal noise; then there was nothing but the click of the latch, and the piece of metal still on the corner of the shoe rack.

Izumi closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, pushing all the air out until his lungs hurt. Breathing in felt too much like a sob, but the fall stopped there. When he looked at the key again he could pretend it had no particular significance, and put it up on a free hook of the key cupboard with a steady hand.

There were... things to do. Dishes from yesterday's lunch, studying he couldn't push back much longer. The bathroom could use a scrubbing, and sooner or later he'd have to visit his parents. There were more than enough things to focus on.

So many that the bell ring made him jump. He stood in place for ten seconds, then whoever was outside started knocking on the door and he ran.

Fumiki was just a little out of breath, his eyes just a little too wide. "I forgot," he started, and glanced at the now empty spot where he'd dropped his key on their way in. "Oh."

Forgot? Forgot?

"Here," Izumi said numbly, pointing at the cupbard. "I was just tidying up." Fumiki hesitated for a moment before he took the key, giving him furtive glances that were eerily reminiscent of Mihashi.

"Can I..." he coughed and looked down, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Stay over? Tonight?"

Still dumbstruck by too many consecutive upheavals, Izumi didn't answer immediately.

"Ah, I know you've got classes early tomorrow, so..." His babbling was such a grounding sound sometimes.

"It's fine," Izumi forced himself to say, his voice colder than he would have liked. "You can come back."

A few more episodes like this, and his heart was likely to give out before he reached twenty-five. Still, for this – for the relief in Fumiki's eyes and his blinding smile and the promise of later– he could believe it was worth it.

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