
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3851983.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Katekyou_Hitman_Reborn!
  Relationship:
      Dino_Cavallone/Hibari_Kyouya
  Character:
      Hibari_Kyouya, Dino_Cavallone
  Additional Tags:
      Developing_Relationship, Topping_from_the_Bottom, Past_Rape/Non-con,
      Light_Bondage, Panic_Attacks, Dom/sub_Undertones, Emotional_Baggage,
      Emotionally_Repressed, Lack_of_Communication
  Series:
      Part 2 of Restraint
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-29 Words: 5045
****** Questions ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Dino doesn’t know how Kyoya knows his room number, doesn’t bother
     attempting to ask when he knows he’ll just get a flat stare and a
     barely-raised eyebrow as answer." Dino puts his time to better use
     than asking questions Kyoya won't answer.
Dino has to admit that by all the logic of his life so far, this has been
going too well.
It’s been days now that he’s been scoping Kyoya out, holding the other’s gaze
longer than he needs to, letting his smile linger far longer than is necessary
for a simple taunt. And Kyoya’s been responding in kind, stepping in closer
with a grace that whispers intention, fitting his knee between Dino’s so his
thigh presses high and intimate against the blond’s leg even as the silver of
his tonfa swings dangerously close to Dino’s face. Their training has become as
much foreplay as it is fight, the two of them working themselves close and then
pivoting away like they are playing out some intricate dance, until Dino was
certain of response when he leaned in close against Kyoya’s hair and murmured a
suggestion about his hotel room low enough for Romario to at least feign
ignorance.
He had been ready for a glare, or a scoffing laugh, or maybe the hard crack of
metal against his skull or his teeth. But Kyoya had just cut his eyes sideways
at him, tipped his head like he was considering, and when he said, “Okay” in a
tone of complete boredom he had turned his head so the exhale came hot at the
corner of Dino’s mouth, and Dino was left instantly and painfully hard.
The drive back to the hotel was nearly-silent, Romario’s usual easy
conversation cut off by the unusual second passenger in the car, and of all the
things Dino wants to do with Kyoya he doesn’t think idle conversation is high
on either of their lists. By the time they pull up in front of the glass-
fronted building Romario has invented an excuse to be elsewhere, and Dino is
flushing pink with anticipation and self-consciousness, and Kyoya...is smooth,
moves easy out of the car and for the front door like he’s been here before,
and all Dino can do is trail in his wake. He doesn’t know how Kyoya knows his
room number, doesn’t bother attempting to ask when he knows he’ll just get a
flat stare and a barely-raised eyebrow as answer. He puts his time to the
better use of fishing his keycard out of his pocket so he has it ready in his
hand when Kyoya pauses in front of the door and glances back for him.
Dino wasn’t sure how to proceed once they’re inside. The room is maid-tidied,
the sheets on the bed pulled neat and the pillows straightened, but otherwise
it looks lived in, boots in the corner and a jacket thrown over the chair and
if he had expected a visitor he would have cleaned up better before he left,
but--
That’s when Kyoya turns on him, takes a half-step forward like he’s cornering
Dino against the just-shutting door and leans in to press his mouth to the
blond’s. Dino’s thoughts blow away, dust in a high wind, all his composure
giving way to the heat of Kyoya’s mouth. Kyoya kisses like he fights, quick and
clean and efficient, a whip-quick move of tongue and teeth at Dino’s lips
before he’s pulling away, moving across the room and towards the bed before
Dino has a chance to react.
“Hey,” Dino says from the door, feeling shaky and off-balance and strangely
like he’s the one still in middle school. “Hey, wait, are you sure you…?”
Kyoya pauses by the edge of the bed, the steel grey of his eyes dragging down
the open edge of Dino’s jacket and back up, an instant once-over that leaves
Dino feeling stripped bare and hotter than ever. “Did you change your mind?” is
what he says, the words turning into a taunt more than a sincere question, and
while Dino is still staring in shocked-still silence Kyoya reaches for the
bottom of his vest and pulls it up over his head without so much as blinking.
There’s the drag of dark fabric, a flick of motion as the other shakes his hair
free, and then the vest is dropping to the floor and there’s just Kyoya, the
white of his shirt looking almost translucent and strangely indecent without
the cover of his vest.
“You don’t have to stay,” Kyoya suggests, turning to step towards the window as
he slips his tie loose of his collar. “I can appreciate this suite alone more
effectively than I can with you.”
“Jesus christ, Kyoya,” Dino blurts, and he’s stumbling across the room without
pausing to kick his boots free. They’re too loose, the trailing laces tripping
him up as they haven’t all afternoon, but Kyoya’s turning back and dropping his
tie and Dino’s reaching out without thinking, fitting his fingers into silky
dark hair and pressing the heat of his palms against sharp-lined jaw. Kyoya’s
eyelashes shift, hang heavy over his eyes like he’s hesitating, but when Dino
leans in to kiss him again his response is immediate, the scrape of teeth
against lips and the friction of his tongue against the roof of Dino’s mouth
like he’s been doing this his whole life. There’s a hand fisting at Dino’s
collar, a forearm coming up to press against his collarbone, and when he
stumbles back the edge of the bed catches the inside of his knees, collapses
him breathless against the mattress. And Kyoya’s following, bearing him down
like his lesser weight is going to successfully hold Dino in place and
smirking, a twist to his mouth as much mockery as it is pleasure. Dino’s body
doesn’t seem to care which of the two it is; he’s rocking up, his hips moving
of their own free will to press against the hot inside of Kyoya’s thigh, and
when Kyoya draws back it’s enough persuasion for Dino to follow, to drag his
hands free of the not-tight-enough hold so he can grab against the crisp white
of Kyoya’s shirt.
“I’m the teacher here,” he reminds, grinning so wide at his own teasing that
it’s hard to fit the words out past the tension at his lips. Kyoya has good
balance, far better than Dino can usually manage, but under the circumstances
their position is more an advantage to Dino than anything else. He can tip his
weight sideways, drop Kyoya over to fall on his back across the bed, and before
the other has time to recover Dino is on him, their proximity allowing him to
get far closer than he would have been able to in a true combat situation.
At first it’s just kissing, Dino’s fingers drawn to the tantalizing soft of
Kyoya’s hair and the curve of his waist through his uniform shirt rather than
anything more than that. But when Dino sucks at Kyoya’s lip the other grabs at
his shirt, like he’s trying to pull him in by force, and instinct takes over
long enough for Dino to drag his hand loose so he can close his fingers tight
at Kyoya’s wrist and drag his hold free.
“Don’t you ever take it easy?” he’s asking, half-laughing as he pushes Kyoya’s
arm up above his head to hold him down.
It seems reasonable, given the position they were in before, just part and
parcel of their usual interactions turned hot and sensual. He’s not expecting
the way Kyoya’s knee crushes in against his leg just above his kneecap, or the
swipe of the other’s free hand at his face like he’s sincerely attempting to
claw at Dino’s eyes.
“Woah,” and Dino’s catching that hand too, pushing it back to Kyoya’s shoulder
and out of range of his face. “Hey, can’t we slow down a little for this? I’m
not that into getting beaten up, you know.”
“Get off me,” Kyoya hisses, and all the confused amusement in Dino’s blood
turns to ice at the sound of the other’s voice. He blinks, clears the haze of
desire from his eyes so he can see reality instead, and it’s only then that he
realizes that Kyoya isn’t looking at him anymore, is staring off past his
shoulder with his eyes wide and teeth bared like he’s a cornered animal. His
face is white, completely bloodless with a terror Dino has never seen in all
their training, and his motions are getting stronger, so violent Dino has the
passing thought he might manage to dislocate his shoulder or break a wrist if
it would mean getting free.
It’s only a moment, the span of a heartbeat enough time for everything to sink
in; then Dino is letting go, stumbling back and off the bed until he does trip
on his laces and falls heavily to the floor. He doesn’t even throw his hands
out to catch himself; he’s holding them up, instead, offering his palms and the
pounding pulse at his wrists for Kyoya as the other surges forward like a
spring loosed from its bounds, skids across the floor to slam Dino back to the
carpet so hard he can feel his head recoil from the impact as his vision goes
white.
“Sorry, sorry!” Dino’s blurting, offering apology even as his thoughts skip
hazy and dizzy from the fall. “I won’t do it again, I’m sorry, I didn’t
realize.”
It’s strange to see the awareness come back into Kyoya’s features. In the space
of a blink his eyes are back in focus, in the gap of a choked-off inhale the
murderous tension in his shoulders relaxes. A knot of true fright in Dino’s
chest gives way, as death eases off to slightly less immediate than this
second.
“Sorry,” he says again, as Kyoya lowers the hand he had raised to land
somewhere unreasonably tender on Dino’s body. His other hand is still splayed
wide across Dino’s collarbones, the full weight of his body holding the other
down, and Dino has no interest in appearing as anything other but completely
nonthreatening in this moment. “We can stop, it’s okay, it’s fine.”
Kyoya blinks. There’s a tinge of color coming back to his always-pale cheeks,
now, something approaching human warmth flushing at his lips. He’s breathing
harder than he should be, still recovering from the grip of -- whatever that
was, that just happened -- but Dino isn’t dumb enough to comment on it
directly. He just lies still, passive and completely submissive and more than
half-expecting Kyoya to climb off and leave the hotel entirely.
He’s not expecting the arrogant toss of the other’s head, the sneer audible in
his voice when he says, “I never said anything about stopping.” He shifts his
weight, the knee between Dino’s legs that had been a threat moments ago
becoming a suggestion, now, gliding up higher slowly enough that by the time he
bumps the inside seam of Dino’s jeans the other’s body is tentatively
reconsidering interest again.
“That’s fine too,” Dino agrees, maybe a little faster than he should. But
Kyoya’s shirt is clinging to his shoulders, the fast pace of his breathing is
making his pulse flutter visibly hard against his throat, and Dino is only
human, after all, and he’s been thinking about this every night since he
actually met his difficult student.
The speed of his response is not lost, judging from the way Kyoya’s smile slips
wider up one side of his mouth. “As expected,” he says, speaking like he’s
forming the words for his own consideration, and then he leans in and Dino’s
lingering concern dissolves under the distracting heat of Kyoya’s mouth on his.
The other is still pushing, the force feeling the harder for the floor against
Dino’s back, but even under the aggressive drag of his tongue Dino can’t feel
any of the pain he knows probably should correspond to this treatment. He’s too
anxious with want, instinct telling him to worry about the fallout after the
fact, and when slender fingers wind in under the weight of his belt he’s not in
any state to put up an argument, much less a fight.
It’s an awkward angle; Kyoya’s hand has to press flush against the dip of
Dino’s hip to fit under the other’s waistband, the belt draws tight against the
unexpected strain of a hand fitting under it. But there are fingers against
Dino’s bare skin, tracing out the dip running along the crease of his hip and
thigh, and then Kyoya’s fingers are dragging over him, feeling out the line of
his cock as it swells into complete attention under the friction. It’s a slow
process, more exploratory than deliberately sexual, but there’s no real
deliberation needed for Dino’s breathing to hitch faster; he’s starting to
tremble just from the thought of it, the awareness that it’s Kyoya’s hand
skimming against his head and down to brush over the weight of his balls as the
tension in his stomach forms itself into a groan in his throat.
Kyoya’s expression doesn’t change, either during the motion or at the sound
that skips high as it spills from Dino’s throat. He just traces out against the
other, presses his fingertips in against the firm-flushed skin and the ridge
along the head of Dino’s cock, and then he’s sliding his hand free, tipping his
head to the side like he’s decided on something.
“You’ll do,” he says, like Dino has passed some sort of entrance exam. The
realization makes Dino choke on his inhale, the sound turning into a shocked
protest as he starts to sit up until he blinks and realizes that Kyoya is
actively grinning now, his smile gone wide enough to make him look dangerous
instead of model-pretty. The realization that he was being baited -- that Kyoya
was teasing him -- would take Dino’s breath again, if the bright of that smile
wasn’t enough to finish the job already.
“You’re terrible,” Dino protests, dropping back to the floor so he can stare at
the ceiling and try to remember what it was to feel like he could breathe
normally. “I don’t know why I decided to start this.”
“I certainly have no idea,” Kyoya says, his tone as flat with disinterest as it
always is. “You do have lube and condoms, I hope.”
“Yeah.” Dino doesn’t ask how much experience Kyoya has, doesn’t ask where he
got it; that’s never a good question with anyone, least of all with someone
apparently on a hair-trigger for murderous self-defense and enough years
younger than Dino to make the question condescending. He just gestures,
instead, lifts a hand to point at the drawer beside the bed. “In there.”
Kyoya doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look back at Dino; he just moves, rocks up
onto his knees so he can reach out and pull the drawer open. Dino doesn’t try
to sit up or move them to the bed; he just stays still, sprawled out on the
floor and with the worst boner he’s had all week while Kyoya pulls out the
bottle and a foil-wrapped condom from the as-yet unused box Dino brought with
him.
Dino’s not expecting the toss when it comes, the packet arcing through the air
to land just below his collarbones even though he doesn’t get his hands up in
time to block it. “Put that on,” Kyoya orders without turning, gets to his feet
and sets the bottle back down so he can start unbuttoning his shirt.
At least it answers the question of positions. Dino wasn’t sure, would have
been willing to cede his mild preference for topping for the gratification of
fulfilling any number of imagination-hazy fantasies, but it’s good to have some
indication of how this is going to go. He sits up, shrugs his jacket off to
fall to the floor behind him, and finally takes the time to draw a leg up so he
can work his boots off his feet. It should be a quick process, a simple matter
of tugging one and then the other off so he can peel his jeans off his legs,
but he makes the mistake of glancing up at a flutter of white fabric and gets
his gaze in focus just in time to see Kyoya’s shirt slide free of his shoulders
like feathers falling free of invisible wings.
He’s beautiful. Kyoya is always beautiful, has been stunning since the first
moment Dino saw him, but this is something else, the shift of shoulders under
pale skin completely absent any touch of the sun. He’s not even bruised, no
hint of dark injury or red-lined cut to mar the curve of his spine from the
plane of his shoulders down to the top edge of his slacks.
Dino doesn’t realize he’s staring, doesn’t realize he’s frozen still and
shocked with one boot in his hands and the other still on his foot. He can
barely think to breathe, can’t recall where he is or what he’s doing, and then
he looks up and Kyoya’s smirking at him, the dark line of his eyelashes
interrupting his gaze into something hot and sensual. He doesn’t speak aloud,
doesn’t look away; he just stares right back, holds Dino’s attention so
completely the other can’t look down even at the telltale down of a belt buckle
coming open or the click of a zipper unfastening. It’s not until Kyoya himself
looks away, down at the slacks slipping off his hips so he can step free, that
Dino can blink and take in the flex of the other’s legs as he moves, the cream-
white at the inside of Kyoya’s knees and the casual elegance of his foot as he
draws it free. The slacks are folded, laid carefully across the bed, and then
he’s pushing at his boxers too, stripping himself down to skin before Dino has
had a chance to catch his breath. There’s no trace of self-consciousness, only
a passing hint of amusement at Dino’s interest; it’s not a show, no part of
this is for Dino’s benefit, it’s just a necessity for the conclusion that has
been too long in coming.
“Are you going to be ready?” Kyoya asks without looking at Dino, his words flat
and bored like he doesn’t care about the answer, and that’s enough reminder.
Dino looks down, flushes warm with realization, and then he’s fumbling his
boots off, struggling with the fastenings at the front of his jeans while he
tries very hard to not listen to the click of the lube coming open or the
slick-damp sound of wet fingers catching on each other. His zipper jams
halfway, leaves him dragging uselessly at the metal tab, and then there’s the
soft noise of movement and he can’t help but look up again.
Kyoya’s dropped to his knees, one hand still holding the bottle but fallen
nearly forgotten at his side, his wrist making a clean angle with his forearm
that would catch Dino’s attention if not for what his other hand is doing. Dino
can’t actually see -- the angle is wrong, all he can catch is the strained
angle of Kyoya’s arm as he reaches around behind himself -- but he can imagine,
can look at the hard line of Kyoya’s cock or the faraway haze in the other’s
eyes and can more than picture what the other is doing. There’s not much
reaction on his features to give it away; Dino can’t actually tell when he gets
his fingers inside himself, there’s none of the faint flinch of sensation he
usually sees on his partner’s faces. There’s just calm, distant consideration
like he’s seeing past the hotel wall and out to the shadowed haze of the
falling night, and Dino doesn’t know what Kyoya’s seeing but he knows that
what he’s looking at is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
He wants to touch. His jeans are still caught at his hips, his zipper only
half-down and his t-shirt still clinging to his shoulders, but he reaches out
anyway, abandons consideration of his own clothes and the hard ache of heat
underneath to lean forward, stretch his fingers to reach for the flushed pink
of Kyoya’s cock. He’s burning to the touch, radiant-glowing against Dino’s
fingertips, and Dino’s leaning in closer, hunching over his knees and reaching
to wrap his fingers around Kyoya and stroke over him, when there’s a sharp
inhale, telltale enough to make him go still even before the forgotten hand
comes up to push his touch away.
“The condom,” Kyoya reminds, and when Dino looks up his eyes are in-focus
again, only an unusual softness at his lower lip to speak to the rhythmic
motion Dino can barely see up his shoulder. The rejection is like electricity,
frustrating and arousing at once, and Dino doesn’t even try to drag his zipper
down farther. He just falls back to the floor, presses his shoulders against
the floor so he can arch his hips up and force his jeans down off his legs. The
waistband catches at his skin, drags burn-red friction against his hip and
scrapes his knuckle raw, but then it’s free, he’s pushing the jeans down and
off his feet and kicking them aside to be forgotten. Kyoya is watching him now,
his mouth curved around a smirk again, but he’s not the only one who doesn’t
care about undressing with an audience. Dino’s shirt is next, a quick drag of
fabric up around his waist and over his head, and then his boxers, the motion
of his tattoo in his periphery startling like it always is when he’s not
wearing a shirt. That leaves him stripped down to bare skin, turning without
waiting to see if Kyoya’s staring so he can ruffle through the scattered
clothing for the foil that has gone entirely missing in the last few minutes.
“You lack efficiency,” Kyoya observes, and that sounds too much like a threat
to Dino’s ears.
“One sec,” he insists, shaking his shirt out for the third time. “Just a
minute, really, I--”
“Dino,” and the use of his name is shocking enough to seize his attention, to
still his motions and bring him turning around to gaze wide-eyed at Kyoya, and
Kyoya’s extended hand, and the packet caught between his fingers. “Hurry up.”
He doesn’t sound hurried. Kyoya still sounds calm, level, steady the way he
always sounds steady during their fights. But his mouth is open, his breathing
visibly if not audibly speeding, and it’s not like he has a monopoly on
impatience. Dino accepts the packet, falls back so he can tear the wrapper open
with his fingers instead of his teeth, and when he rolls the thin latex down
over himself that motion, at least, comes easy with experience. Kyoya’s moving
in over him almost before he’s ready, casting the other into his shadow before
Dino can reach up to steady him, and then elegant fingers are catching at
Dino’s half-raised hands, dragging them up and back to bear them down to the
floor.
“Hold still,” Kyoya orders, sounding as calm as if he’s giving orders to his
disciplinary committee. He’s all dark lashes and soft mouth, from this close
up, but Dino is too shocked-still to move, some instinct in him responding to
that command in spite of all his years of learned leadership. Kyoya pushes
harder at his wrists, the weight crushing bruises in against Dino’s skin, but
he hardly cares; Kyoya’s moving, too, head tipped down to watch what he’s doing
as he shifts, and Dino can’t catch his breath for the tight coil of
anticipation under his skin. If it were him he would move too fast, can feel
his want cresting into anxious peaks under his skin, but Kyoya seems almost
bored, like he’s never experienced such things as nerves or adrenaline at all.
He just moves back, shifts his weight back over Dino’s body so smoothly the
other barely has a moment to catch his breath at the first contact before
Kyoya’s sliding down onto him.
It happens all at once, a single smooth motion as elegant and easy as
everything Kyoya ever does. One moment Dino is halfway through an inhale,
tensing against the anticipation of friction; then Kyoya’s on him, around him,
hot and tight and even with the layer of latex it’s almost too much, Dino’s
arching up off the floor and groaning desperation like he’s begging for
something. Kyoya doesn’t stop until he’s all the way down, his expression still
calm and composed, but his fingers are tightening on Dino’s wrists, pressing in
harder like he’s trying to brace himself. He takes a breath, another, and Dino
is just starting to suspect the pause is more for Kyoya to collect himself than
otherwise when he moves and everything in Dino’s head arcs out and away again.
Dino’s not trying to move to match Kyoya’s rhythm. He’s still not sure what he
did wrong, before, doesn’t want to take control if Kyoya doesn’t want to give
it up, but he can’t help the little instinctive movements of his hips, the way
his body tries to tilt up to catch Kyoya every time he draws up and away.
Kyoya’s not meeting Dino’s eyes; he’s staring at the other’s shoulder instead,
his eyes locked onto the dark pattern of the other’s tattoo like it’s something
fascinating and all-consuming. Dino can see the way his throat is working on
his breathing, the way his eyelashes shift when he shifts to move a little
faster, but he can’t sit up to kiss him, can’t reach out to brace against the
other’s hip or stroke up over his untouched cock or even brush over the faint
sheen of sweat collecting against Kyoya’s shoulder and the  curve of his neck.
It feels good, it feels amazing, the slow steady pressure of Kyoya sliding down
onto him, but Dino’s fingers are curling in against his palms, his hands
falling into involuntary fists over his head like he’s bracing himself for pain
instead of pleasure.
He doesn’t protest, doesn’t even try to twist his hands free of Kyoya’s hold,
but when the other starts moving faster, taking long drawn-out motions like
he’s trying to drown Dino in sensation, there are words spilling up Dino’s
throat, accidental sound formed out of the desperation digging his fingernails
in against his palms.
“Kyoya,” he manages, and that sends a shudder up his spine too, he didn’t
realize he’d sound so wrecked. Kyoya blinks, his eyes drawing up to Dino’s face
at last, and Dino’s blood flares hot, tension collecting the knot of a promise
low in his stomach. He pushes it back in a panic, blurts the rest of his words
like he’s in a race with himself. “Let me touch you.”
Those eyes doesn’t flicker, there’s not a hint of reaction on Kyoya’s features.
There’s something uncanny about how calm he looks, like he’s unaffected by what
they’re doing even though Dino is perfectly able to see how hard he is.
He tries again. “Just one hand.” A tug, gentle just to demonstrate, but Kyoya’s
hand goes tighter to lock him in place. “Just to jerk you off, that’s all, I
promise.”
The movement stills. It’s almost a relief, to have the edge of impending
pleasure recede away; Dino tries to think of it that way, even while his body
tingles under the surge of protesting heat in his blood. Kyoya is staring at
him, eyes too dark and shadowed to read, and for a moment Dino thinks he’s
about to pull away, to get up and walk out entirely.
Then there’s friction at his skin, the give of tight-wound fingers releasing
him, and Kyoya’s hand is bracing just over his shoulder instead while the other
starts moving again. His rhythm is the same as it was, his gaze back at Dino’s
shoulder instead of his eyes, but at least Dino’s hand is free, and that seems
like the closest thing to explicit permission he’s going to get.
He doesn’t try to reach to pull Kyoya down for a kiss, or to feel out the damp
clinging to the other’s skin; he’s not sure what reaction he’d get, and however
much he wants to for himself he did promise. He’s careful instead, slides his
hand down along his own chest to avoid accidental friction, and then he’s
reaching out to close his fingers around Kyoya’s cock and stroke up in a motion
made jerky with the flare of heat under his skin. Kyoya’s head dips down, his
eyes falling shut, and Dino doesn’t wait for more, just starts sliding his
fingers up in time with the movement of Kyoya sliding down onto him. Kyoya
makes a sound, a weird breathless inhale, and Dino can feel his fingers
tighten, nails scraping pressure against the line of the other’s wrist. Dino’s
staring and he can’t stop, gazing wide-eyed and desperate at the top of Kyoya’s
bowed head like he can see anything at all of the other’s reaction, and then
Kyoya takes a sudden sharp inhale that sounds so much like a sob Dino almost
stops in panic. But no, he’s tensing, he’s coming in sticky lines across Dino’s
chest and clenching down in telltale ripples of sensation, and Dino barely
hears the stuttering exhale Kyoya manages before his vision cascades into light
and everything goes warm and blissful. His hips are jerking up again, that
involuntary motion he couldn’t restrain, but Kyoya isn’t complaining; he’s
still drawing tense every few heartbeats, aftershocks shivering through him and
into Dino’s own body, and for a moment they don’t need words to fall into sync
with each other.
Kyoya’s the one to pull away, almost while Dino is still shivering with the
last vibrations of satisfaction under his skin. He has to let his lingering
hold on the other’s cock go in a rush as Kyoya slides off and gets to his feet,
leaving Dino sprawled sticky and pleasure-hazed on the floor.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he announces, steps up over the other and heads
towards the bathroom without another word. Dino’s left to blink at the ceiling,
feeling faintly like he’s been used, definitely like he’s missing some vital
piece of information, and too languid and sated to mind as much as he should.
At least he knows better than to ask.
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