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Beads of sweat fall between Shouto’s knuckles, pooling only for a moment, before evaporating into a puff of steam. The air around them hangs thick, his other hand grips bruises into Hitoshi’s braced forearm, and they each trade pants and sighs with every rock of their hips.
Shouto drops his forehead onto the arm of the chair, lets his chest hover just above the cushioned seat, and sighs through his teeth—the discomfort of this strange position becoming less and less of a concern as Hitoshi fucks into him harder, pushing him closer and closer to a release.
Shouto’s fingernails threaten to break Hitoshi’s skin, then his pace turns relentless and Shouto’s grip briefly falters. It’s overwhelming, but not nearly enough so for him to break.
It takes a lot to break him.
But even he’ll admit he’s a little lightheaded.
Shouto's knuckles turn white, his grip tightening everywhere, all at once, and just as he begins to feel flames lick up his own right side, he feels Hitoshi's cool palm press against his hip.
Still wound tight, he leans into his touch, and with a single brush from a calloused thumb, Hitoshi slides that hand across Shouto’s torso and pulls him in closer. Shouto releases his grip without hesitation, letting both arms fall slack, then his whole body is pulled back to lay flush against Hitoshi’s chest. Hitoshi’s hips may stutter, but they do not stop.
Teeth clamp around Shouto's earlobe, then they tug, “If you wanted to spar, all you had to do was ask.” Hitoshi says, hushed.
Shouto’s chest heaves, a breathless laugh, and he turns his head to get a good look at the man currently destroying him from the inside-out, but the second he see’s that grin…whatever witty comeback Shouto thought he may have had dies on his tongue.
Sweat-damp lilac bangs cling to the sides of his face, his lips, parted and panting, and the way the light filters in from the kitchen, Hitoshi could easily be mistaken for an angel. Or a god. Shouto feels like he’s losing his mind.
Hitoshi must be able to tell, because just then, his eyes darken, his hold tightens, and with another shuddered thrust, and quick snap of his hips, Shouto’s laugh melts into a groan.
“Right- yeah…hah.” Shouto breathes, gasps, his eyes rolling back in his head as a whine cracks from his ribs. It all just feels so good, so deep, so full—having Hitoshi inside of him just feels correct.
Hitoshi’s chest rumbles behind him, and his quick, powerful, uneven pace slows to something agonizing. Shouto wants to complain—wants to beg for “more”, cry for “harder”, but he doesn’t need to. Because Hitoshi really does know him.
With one more slow drag of Hitoshi’s cock, out and in and out again, and a well-placed kiss behind his ear, Shouto crumbles to pieces. The light around them tunnels to nothing, his skin prickles, the skin of his torso grows warmer, and all at once, his body goes slack and right into Hitoshi’s arms.
He feels so warm. So comfortable. Safe.
Shouto blinks a few times, and a few more times, until slowly, slowly, the shade begins to dissipate, and the familiar light of their living room ceiling slips back into view. Shouto finds himself smiling, quietly heaving, desperate for a chest full of air—but the desperation slows as warm lips trail gently down the column of his neck.
Shouto hums happily.
Hitoshi huffs a laugh into his shoulder, “You liked that, huh?”
“Of course I did, Hitoshi.” Shouto whispers, shrugging. Of course he did.
“You steamed up the place real good, at least.” He chuckles, and Shouto comes to the slow realization that he was the reason it's been so hard to breathe. Humidity born of fire and ice.
“I haven’t had a problem regulating my temperature since high school.” Shouto says, honestly, and Hitoshi’s chuckle is forced into an outright laugh.
Still inside him, he pulls Shouto closer and whispers into the white side of his hair, “Can’t believe I made The Unshakable Shouto lose control like that.”
“I can.” Shouto says, “You’re very good at this, Hitoshi. I’m surprised you haven’t made me, ah, malfunction like that before.”
It is then, Hitoshi malfunctions. The cheek he has pressed against Shouto’s shoulder blade burns, and Shouto quickly and discreetly lowers his temperature to accommodate.
See, totally in control. Unshakable, apparently.
“Wanna go clean up?” Hitoshi mumbles.
Shouto nods over his shoulder, but as Hitoshi’s cock slowly slips out, his body immediately begins to ache from the emptiness. He groans involuntarily, but as Hitoshi quickly slides a hand beneath his legs, and as he hoists Shouto up into his arms, a little bit of that ache subsides. He presses a kiss to the top of Shouto’s head and a little bit more melts away.
By the time they leave the bath, Shouto feels almost whole again. The final piece locks into place when Hitoshi calls in their dinner from the delivery shop downstairs, and Shouto hears three perfect words.
“...Extra noodles, please.”
Hitoshi knows him. Inside and out.