Work Text:
Kanata doesn’t apologize.
it’s not as if he thinks that when he says or does something incredibly stupid that it was the right thing to do, or that his pride gets in the way of him wanting to make up with you after a fight. it’s because he doesn’t know how to. he can’t form the words because no one’s ever said them to him. he doesn’t understand them, as if those three syllables were a different language entirely from his own.
Kanata doesn’t apologize.
not verbally, at least.
but you can tell he wants you to know that he regrets what he did after every argument; you can feel it in the way he pins you to the mattress, plowing into you from behind.
it’s always from the back after you fight, and you’ve come to understand that it’s because Kanata doesn’t want to look into your eyes and see any lingering hurt. he’s not supposed to be the one that hurts you, he’s the one that protects you. or, at least, that’s what he thinks he should do. so, the possibility that you might lock eyes and he would see an ounce of pain in yours that he caused was almost too much for him to bear.
instead, his hands wrap around your wrists, smashing your palms against the mattress as his slender frame rubs against your back, allowing you to feel every inch of his hot, sweat-soaked skin when he thrusts. his face is buried in your nape, and will occasionally dip between your shoulder blades to nip and kiss the area, leaving his signature in love bites across your flesh. your nails dig into the sheets, and you mewl into the pillow you’re chewing on. you can feel all of the passion and love he has for you poured into his fucking, but it’s almost not enough. you want to look up at your lover, and see the crimson tint his otherwise pale complexion takes on. you want to see the way his lavender eyes go hazy and heavy-lidded when you clench around his cock just right, and hear his faint, vulnerable whimper he lets out when he cums that you know only you have heard.
“K—“ you crooned, arching your back to give him a better angle, pushing yourself into his fervent rutting. your head rolls against your shoulders, tilting back, trying to catch a glimpse of him. his unruly, lilac tendrils were damp and sticking to his own face, and to yours as he nuzzles close to your cheek, panting and grunting in your ear, “baby, kiss me…” you plead with him for just a little taste, your lips parted, jaw hanging slack and your eyes unfocused.
instead of answering you, Kanata grunts and nests his face into your neck, where he kisses and sucks and nibbles on your pulse point as his hips slap against your ass in rapid, needy thrusting. he keeps uttering your name, whining it in between his ragged breaths, squeezing both of your wrists until your fingers are tingling. you can tell that he’s right on the edge, chasing his elusive high deep into your core, his sensitive tip twitching and throbbing as it daubs at your inner nerves. your stomach knotted up, as if he’d conjured a sudden orgasm for you out of thin air, and you croak in happy submission when it takes hold.
“Oh, fuck, K!”
Kanata wraps a gentle fist around your nape and guides your face back into the pillows, shushing you breathlessly as he does so. you know why— you could be so damn loud when he fucked you like this, and Kanata was a jealous man. the thought that any of the skeazy neighbors could hear your angelic screams of ecstasy through the shitty, thin walls of his apartment in the slums filled him with rage.
it was only after you’ve settled, trembling with aftershocks, that you feel him pull out with a long, shaking moan. your body reacts, too, butt pushing itself into the air to try and follow the cock that had abandoned you, but you roll over on to your back, panting and staring at the ceiling as he sits back on his knees.
for a moment after pulling the full condom off and tossing it in the wastebasket, he just sat there, staring down at his own legs and the twitching, satiated cock that lay over one thigh, his palms against them as he sucks in breath after heavy breath.
you look at him, and smile, albeit a bit sad for your lover. you would have to be the one to speak first, you knew that.
“Babe, c’mere.” you croon and open your arms, which is an invitation he gratefully and silently accepts, slithering right into them. laying his head on your chest, he avoids your eyes, even when you run your fingers through his wet hair and murmur softly, “It’s okay. I forgive you. I love you.”