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“You don’t wanna watch anything?” Wuyang calls out from his living room, twirling around a cold bottle of beer in his free hand while his right one occupies the remote. It’s late at night, and while Wuyang would’ve preferred to game with his fellow agent and roommate, Mizuki seemed like he had other plans. That being, standing around in the kitchen while brooding so deeply that Wuyang was starting to feel chills rush down his own back. He just wants to spend some time with his roommate. Having no missions to attend to becomes excruciatingly boring after some time, when there’s nothing to pass the hours with.
Well, that’s a lie. There’s plenty here to embrace the free time with. Wuyang’s taken a liking to the leisures as of lately, often watching endless television or playing whatever games had been added to their emulator. But he’s ran through more shows than he can count and mastered as many levels as his brain could manage, and yet, his roommate had never put aside a lot of time for the two to hang out together. Mizuki interests Wuyang to no end — all the Water College student wants to do is learn of his secretive past and finally get in on an interesting, depthful conversation with him. But he supposes the universe has other plans, as usual.
“No, I’m waiting for my drink to cool,” Mizuki replies, stuck right in the middle of the kitchen, staring at his scalding cup of tea. A soft groan leaves Wuyang’s lips, and he perks up over the couch, looking at Mizuki and waving the remote in his direction with a muscled arm. A blue tank top clings to his torso, along with a pair of grey sweatpants that generously hug at his legs. Mizuki’s got something similarly comfortable on. A black t-shirt with black shorts. Wuyang wishes he had something to toy with in his mouth, because it sure as hell feels empty right now.
Jeez, what is he thinking? He’s way too in over his head.
“Well you don’t gotta stand around in the kitchen while you do it! Come on, let’s put something on,” Wuyang says with an overtly cheery grin on his face as he waves the remote around a little, turning his body back to the television so he can see the screen. As he surfs through whatever vaguely interesting media is on the tens of streaming services that Overwatch was subjected to purchase, he can faintly make out the distinct noise of Mizuki’s feet against the floor. This is one of the rare moments in which the older doesn’t have any of his equipment or regular outfit laden onto himself, which is preferable for Wuyang. It gets kinda annoying to hear that massive chain clink everywhere, sometimes.
“That movie was confusing,” Mizuki mumbles as he comes up behind the slightly ratty couch that Wuyang’s splain out across, and Wuyang feels the pillow behind him dip just a little when Mizuki rests his elbow into the cushion. The Devil Wears Prada had just come up on the screen. Mizuki’s knowledge in films surprises Wuyang — he glances over at him with raised brows.
“You’ve seen that movie?” Wuyang asks in response.
“Yeah. I mean, I was forced to by Kiriko. Said that Juno got her into it. They both had this weird Meryl Streep obsession for a while. I never really saw the hype, though. Is an actress from that long ago actually still interesting? And the ending was annoying. Andy should’ve kept that job. What, does she wanna stay poor in the city her entire life?”
The words seem so natural as they tumble out of Mizuki’s lips, and his face seems unbothered while he speaks, piercing green eyes glancing over his lithe fingers. He’s not wearing his gloves. Wuyang would be more focused on staring at the expanse of his hands if it wasn’t for his intense focus on Mizuki’s speech. Their relationship hadn’t been more than quick smiles and nods and whatever they had gotten up to in the previous hour for quite some time, and now Mizuki was casually dumping all the knowledge he had on some random Western film from way before either of them were even conceived.
Maybe he is in over his head.
“…What?” Mizuki says, and that single word breaks Wuyang out of the daze that he had been tossed into. Wuyang blinks a few times, big brown eyes trying to regain understanding of the situation. Then he awkwardly laughs a little, itching at a spot on his neck.
“No, nothing. I just, uh, wow! I’ve never heard you talk about something in so much… detail, before.”
“Is it surprising that I like something?” Mizuki retorts, but the small smile that etches into his usually flat features doesn’t fail to make Wuyang’s heart flutter. The taller man comes around the long expanse of the couch, hand brushing over the armrest as he seats himself to the left of Wuyang. By now, Wuyang’s laid down over the couch cushions, but he sits up a little so as to not be completely laid out next to the other.
Wuyang ponders this question for a moment, bringing a finger to his chin as he makes an exaggerated gesture of wonder.
“Mmm… sort of,” he replies. Mizuki’s brow furrows a little, but it’s just as playful as Wuyang’s previous expression, and this makes Wuyang’s stomach spin so hard that he might puke. “Hey, don’t give me that look! I don’t mean it in a bad way.”
“What do you mean, then?” Mizuki hums, his voice a low tone which vibrates a little within his throat. His arms cross over his chest, and Wuyang’s gaze politely averts from what he wants to stare at more than anything in the world at this very moment.
“I just mean..” Wuyang starts off. He passes a glance over to Mizuki’s face, before letting his gaze dart down to his hands. They’ve curled a little politely into the center of his lap. “You don’t talk a lot. About, like, specific things. You make jokes and stuff, but… I dunno. I guess it’s been hard to learn more about you. And I.. want to! You know? Cause you’re my roommate, and my friend. I mean, I think we’re friends, so...”
The words feel idiotic as they come out of Wuyang’s mouth, and he tongues at the inside of his cheek, still daring not to look Mizuki in the eye. He shouldn’t have gotten so specific, nor so emotionally sensitive in the moment, but how could he help himself when presented with such an open question? What was previously a light hearted joke feels as if it’s morphed into a heavy, thick soup of tension, weighing down the air that fills the space between the two.
A few seconds pass by before Mizuki speaks again.
“No, I understand that. Um.”
Wuyang braces himself to peek over at Mizuki, and the older man’s eyes are glued to his own lap despite the trailer that had begun to loop of The Devil Wears Prada on the television screen. His face is frozen, like his tongue’s unsure of which way to move. All that Wuyang wants to look at is how the slightest twinge of crimson flush paints his pale features as Mizuki talks once more.
“Yeah. We’re friends. And I’m sorry that I don’t talk a lot about myself in the way that you want. But.. some things just, stay hidden. They don’t come out. Maybe because they shouldn’t come out.” Mizuki’s voice drops to a low hiss the longer he talks for, and Wuyang can see his fingers dig into the left armrest of the couch. He has the feeling there’s more pain in Mizuki’s life than he’s been letting on. That there’s something horribly agonizing that Mizuki allows to eat away at him silently, without regard for a lighter perspective.
“But I don’t want to make you upset. You’re my friend. You know, I like you the most. Out of anybody in our entire roster.”
The sudden bluntness that Mizuki utters makes Wuyang’s head spin, and his eyebrows fly up in shock as his jaw drops. He can’t control the heat that spreads across his face. He should, because that was nothing more than a compliment from somebody that was his friend. Wuyang is abysmal at bluffing his reactions.
“Oh. That… that’s really nice, wow. Thank you, Mizuki…” Wuyang murmurs, that same smile never falling off his face, twitching at his cheeks. “I like you a lot too. It’s always fun to go on a mission with you. You’re funny, and you care about the people around you. And…”
The water wielder shrugs a little, pulling at the thick cotton fabric of his sweats.
“Maybe that’s why I wanna learn more about you. Cause I like you that much.”
His voice is soft and gentle as he talks, and his words linger in the air, hanging there for both of them to take them in. Wuyang toys with his bottom lip for a moment, then he looks back up at Mizuki from where he’s seated on the couch. It’s not a confession — even though the words sound like anything but that statement. Or maybe it is. Wuyang’s feelings are unnecessarily hard for him to work through. He’s only ever been interested in one other person in his life, and once they learnt of his crush, they were too disgusted to look at him again. That was enough traumatic relationship experience for Wuyang to bear with.
Mizuki is calm and collected and yet, his sparkle doesn’t dim even as he fights on the battlefield. He’s calculated with his shots, lithe and dexterous and ready for any challenge. He’s perfectly toned and muscled in all the right places, and he can hold down somebody with about a thousand tons of force with just the use of his chain while sending a blade straight through their throat. And he’s funny and creative with quips when Wuyang needs to be cheered up, and a million more positive comparisons that he can’t think of.
“Do you like men, Wuyang?”
That’s not the reply that Wuyang thought he was going to hear. He chokes on his spit, and does his absolute best to hold back an exclamation of disbelief.
“What? I- Uh- Um-“
“It’s okay if you do. But I just wanna know. I think it’s something we should clear up before we go any further with this conversation.”
He’s speaking like it’s so formal and not an absurdly out of place question to throw in Wuyang’s direction. But maybe it isn’t. Even though Wuyang hadn’t entirely intended for his speech to go in the way that it did, it had. Mizuki’s face is calm and expectant, and he remains poised where he sits as he waits for Wuyang to reply.
Wuyang’s face is beet red. He stumbles over an answer a few seconds later.
“I- Yes? I- I… do. Uh. I don’t see what this… what this has to do with the conversation, though.”
Mizuki hums a little, and Wuyang thinks he’s going crazy when the older man scooches a few inches closer to him. His breathing gets all funny, and his lungs feel like they’re tightening inside of his chest when their sides brush up against one another The knot in his throat can’t be swallowed as Mizuki leans in, his eyes lidded and Wuyang’s as wide as saucers.
“Well, you like me, Wuyang. You just said that,” Mizuki replies as casually as if he’d been discussing the weather or what he had for lunch earlier that day. Wuyang laughs in an uncomfortably high tone for his registrar, and his thighs press together as his brain searches for a comprehensible response.
“Yeah. I-I did, but.. but I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like-“
“Aah. Are you sure?” Mizuki frowns, and his face is so gorgeous without that big mask to cover up all of his perfect features. As Mizuki talks, his hand brushes against Wuyang’s arm before he rests his palm on the broad expanse of his shoulder. It doesn’t move, it just stays there, stagnant. But the contact is still fiery hot, and more than enough to set Wuyang’s senses alight. “Cause I’d be really upset if you didn’t mean it like that.”
Wuyang’s voice dies out meekly in his throat. He’s so embarrassing. So easy, that he doesn’t do anything at all as Mizuki’s hand starts to move, leaving his shoulder and trailing his warm pale fingers down Wuyang’s chest. The sudden derailment of the serious conversation should bring back some memory of it to Wuyang — he needs to say something and get it back on track, anything — but the touching is too good, and Wuyang is too nonconfrontational to really interject with a topic of that caliber. All he can do is simply whimper as Mizuki’s fingers slip under the blue fabric of his tank top.
Eventually, he finds his words, as Mizuki’s fingertips gently rub circles into the mass of his left pec.
“Y-You want me to like you like that?” Wuyang stammers as a pathetic excuse for a reply. He feels heat simmer deep below in his gut as Mizuki’s fingers run over the hardened bud of his nipple, and his breath catches sharply in his throat.
“Do you think I’d be touching you like this if I didn’t want that?” Mizuki’s expression is morphing into one of snide, and he overextends his bounds for a moment, pinching at Wuyang’s sensitive nipple. A sharp cry is wrenched from Wuyang’s lips, back arching and hands coming up to push at Mizuki’s hand. Mizuki retaliates with his free one, snatching Wuyang’s wrists and pulling them up over his head, where they push into the soft cushions of the couch. He tuts in disapproval, shaking his head as if he were scolding an immature child. “Come on, Wuyang. Tell me.”
“O-Okay,” Wuyang replies briskly, and his cock is hardening dangerously fast in his sweatpants. His mouth is overflowing with saliva. He tries not to drool over himself as he talks, unable to look away from Mizuki’s piercing gaze which smolders into the back of his head. “I- aah- I like you.. yeah, I-I really like you, Mizuki.. nnh!”
Mizuki’s smile spreads further across his face. The confession visibly warms his heart. He pulls his hands away from Wuyang, and Wuyang sags into the couch for a little before he’s taken aback as Mizuki places his newly freed hands on his face, pulling him in for a kiss. His lips are thin and soft and perfectly warm. It’s uniquely tender for the situation they’ve landed themselves in, and Mizuki’s fingers stroke Wuyang’s undone locks for the briefest of a second, tongue flitting at the inside of his mouth. Then he’s pulling away, and Wuyang’s heart is buzzing so fast in his chest that he might keel over and die right now. He stares into Mizuki’s piercingly green eyes, his own brown ones blown out and full of wonder.
“You mean that?” Mizuki’s voice rumbles low in his chest, and Wuyang sags into the couch as he feels his knee press into his hardened crotch. His cock is so hard within his pants, straining against the confines of his sweats like it just might burst out if he’s left alone any longer. All that he can manage is a shaky uhuh, teeth digging into the bottom of his rosy lip so hard he tastes iron on the edge of his tongue.
Mizuki grows silent after Wuyang’s confirmation. It pierces the room, spreading throughout the space that separates the two and sending Wuyang’s nerves alight. He worries he had done something wrong. Gone too far, said too much when usually, he tries not to. His parents had always been cross with him whenever he’d overshare. Wuyang wants to slap himself across the face and hope that the pain stings long enough for him to regret his actions.
But then he talks again, softly whispering into Wuyang’s ear, “I like you like that, too.” And as his knee presses further into Wuyang’s clothed dick, the gasp that the younger man lets out might as well be pure music to his ears with how he reacts in return.
Mizuki attacks Wuyang’s neck with the ferocity of a skilled predator. His teeth graze along the pale, unmarked skin, before delving in and scraping at his throat. Wuyang whines wantonly as Mizuki’s canines gently pierce his skin, hands rushing up to curl into Mizuki’s snow white locks. Sinful thoughts invade his mind, and yet, they intrigue him to no end. They even pique his interest, if he will. With the kind of situation he’s gotten himself into, the curious part of him wants to see how far he can push it.
“So,” Wuyang starts, shuddering between breaths while Mizuki nibbles and bites at his neck, the older man having replaced his knee with his palm so he could better massage Wuyang’s covered cock. “You wanted this for a a- aaahn- a while then, huh? Haah-“
“Maybe.” The response is as casual as if he’d been discussing what he had for breakfast yesterday. Mizuki’s tone is sturdy and kept, so unlike the mess that Wuyang’s had devolved into not too long ago. “Maybe I’ve been into you for a while. Maybe ever since we got placed together in this room, I couldn’t stop thinking about grabbing you and fucking you into your mattress. Or the couch. Or the floor.”
Whatever snarky words Wuyang wants to say dissipate from his lips the moment Mizuki stops speaking. The admission is so shockingly raw and real and dirty. A choked gasp leaves his mouth at the thought of all of that coming true. Mizuki plowing into him on every foreseeable surface of this entire bedroom, fucking him until his voice is hoarse and his lungs are squeezed out of every inch of air and all he can do is cum over and over again until he forgets how to in the first place.
“But then you started talking about Juno. That kinda killed it. I mean, she’s nice. Don’t get me wrong. But you and her? Together? I never would see that. Not in a million years,” Mizuki finishes off his thoughts. He pulls his head away from the crook of Wuyang’s neck, the once porcelain skin now dotted with mottled purple bruises that paint his throat like a mosaic. The fluttering feeling within Wuyang’s chest sinks at Mizuki’s words. He looks at him, all dazed and confused and still flustered from his lascivious actions.
“Juno?” Wuyang splutters. Why are they even talking about her right now? Or thinking about her? They had one date ages ago, and it ended up falling through when the woman had confessed to him that she was actually aromantic, alongside asexual. Was Wuyang upset at the outcome? Obviously, for some time. But then she had vanished from his mind as the days went along, and now it virtually meant nothing to him at all.
The aura that Mizuki gives off screams jealousy. The way his gaze averts Wuyang’s as he looks away, and how his arms cross, now seemingly unwilling to continue with what they had set in motion. Wuyang’s brows furrow in sadness, because it’s as clear as day that Mizuki is obviously envious. Wuyang takes a moment to think, before placing a small hand on Mizuki’s shoulder, pulling him forward until the older man is toppling over his body and the two are face to face once more. Mizuki’s face is smattered with a pink hue of flush, and Wuyang thinks it couldn’t be anything other than fucking gorgeous.
“It was a crush. And it didn’t work out. I don’t like her like that,” Wuyang whispers gently, as if he spoke any louder, his words might just scare Mizuki off into hiding for the rest of eternity. He delicately thumbs over the smooth skin that covers Mizuki’s cheekbones, pulling his face a little closer with his palms. “You don’t have anything to be jealous over, Mizuki.”
Mizuki is slow to respond, and Wuyang feels how his breathing shifts, growing all ragged inside of his chest as Wuyang runs his thumb over his bottom lip. He gives in, sticking out his tongue and running it over the smooth skin of Wuyang’s finger.
“I just— I want you. I want you so fucking bad. Maybe a little too bad. Maybe I want to keep you here away from everybody else and have you be mine. Just mine.”
The thought of that doesn’t sound so bad. Wuyang being Mizuki’s. They can wake up in bed together every day and feel one another whenever they wish, basking in each others warmth before spending all the free time they have together. Mizuki would pay attention to Wuyang. He’d take care of him and ensure that he’d never have anything bad happen to him, and make sure that no matter what, his eyes would stay focused on him. Only him.
Wuyang doesn’t realize that he's giggling, big brown eyes glimmering as he tugs Mizuki closer. Mizuki’s crotch grazes against Wuyang’s, their thickened cocks pressing together and sending off bursts of friction that make Wuyang tingle inside in funny ways. He gazes into those gorgeous, piercing green eyes that he’s grown so accustomed to. Their breaths mingle when he speaks again.
“You can do that.”
Those words seem to send Mizuki into the hungriest spiral he’s ever been thrown through. Mizuki lunges forward, closing the gap between the two and smashing their lips together in a fit of furious ecstacy. He pushes and pulls their crotches against one another, the noise of fabric against fabric only secondary compared to the delicious feeling of their clothed cocks dragging alongside one another. Wuyang throbs desperately underneath the jail cell that is his pair of sweatpants, and yet, he keeps going. He bucks his own hips upwards, sure to keep the rhythm going while their tongues collide in a wet messy dance.
“Just wanna keep you here with me,” Mizuki gasps against Wuyang’s saliva slicked lips. Their mouths are wet and seem to drool against one another when they collide again and again, strands of spit stringing out every time they separate. Wuyang had always thought tongue kissing was relatively disgusting, but in the moment, he was in pure bliss. Mizuki’s hot hard tongue feels like a blessing against Wuyang’s own. He briefly wonders how it would feel wrapped around his cock.
“Then keep me here,” Wuyang whines pathetically. He’s fucking his cock right against Mizuki’s, his dick leaking profusely through his clothing and leaving a large dark wet spot on his sweats. He throbs desperately, and all he wants is to feel more. More and more and more, until he’s bursting at the seams and screaming for mercy. But the delicious friction between the two is pretty good, too. The slickness of Wuyang’s precum spreads over his length and drives him further to the edge. “Keep me here with you. Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours, Mizuki. Make me shut everyone else out and—“
“Holy fuck, you’re gonna make me cum-“ Mizuki cuts through Wuyang’s filthy debauched words with a loud groan, teeth clenching while his hips rut back and forth and do all the work for him. He’s an animal in heat, driven by the forces of nature and the desire to rut against Wuyang until they become one. Wuyang’s chin is glistening with drool as he licks at Mizuki’s lips, sliding his tongue back into his mouth and licking at his insides while he feels his body rushing further and further towards his projected climax.
“Me too,” Wuyang sobs out. “I can’t take it anymore- aah-“
“Cum with me,” Mizuki demands. It’s anything but a request. His tone is harsh and forceful, and he pulls away from their messy makeout so he can grip Wuyang’s throat in his prosthetic hand. His fingers are cold and hard, and they provide the perfect temperature contrast against the hot bruises that linger on Wuyang’s skin, squeezing at his neck and depriving his windpipe of its necessary oxygen. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Wuyang breathes out. He can’t think. “Yes. Yes.” He’s getting closer, careening towards his finishing point, his cock throbbing so hard as it slides against Mizuki’s—
“You’re gonna cum?” Mizuki taunts.
Wuyang can’t handle anymore.
“Yes! I’m gonna- I-“
He’s gasping for oxygen, but Mizuki’s hand tightens around his throat and Wuyang throws his head back in defeat. Salty hot tears are sticking to his red blotchy face. His eyes roll back, pleasure encroaching over his form and sending his nerves alight with every sense imaginable as his wet cock pulses once more—
“Cum,” Mizuki snaps. “Fucking do it.”
“AAH-“
Wuyang is floating in the air as he finishes. It starts at his core and explodes outwards throughout his body, engulfing every part of him, washing over his form and dulling away any other sense that dares to exist. All that he thinks, sees, breathes, and feels is pure hot pleasure, his toes burning and his back arching while he spurts his load out into his boxers.
He did it. He listened. He was so good for him, and he finished.
All for him.
For Mizuki.
His lungs are the first thing he begins to feel again, as they expand and contract with large gasps of cool air that fills them whole. Wuyang blinks himself back into existence, his mind all hazy and groggy as he tries to make sense of the situation around him. But now, all he can feel is the hot sticky mess that has engulfed the entire expanse of his boxers, alongside some of the crotch of his sweatpants. Actually, a lot.
Wuyang had been so deep in his own throes of pleasure that he had yet to realize that Mizuki had also finished. The older man’s fists are gripping into the cushion behind Wuyang’s head, his chest heaving as he desperately inhales and exhales for air that he had lost during his own orgasm. It’s then that Wuyang is faintly aware of the fact that Mizuki’s own orgasm had bled through the confines of his pants, seeping into Wuyang’s.
The room is silent for a few moments, save for the repeated hectic breathing that fills the air. Mizuki allows his head to drop into the crook of Wuyang’s shoulder, and the younger stares up into the ceiling, mind thinking of nothing at all while he waits for his roommate to come to his senses. Eventually, he does.
“…You shake when you cum,” Mizuki hums gently, his chest rumbling with his words.
“Yeah? And you screech.” Wuyang is a liar. He wasn’t even aware when Mizuki had finished. But judging by Mizuki’s reddening ears and the way he digs his face further into Wuyang’s shoulder, the more right he believes he is. Wuyang laughs warmly, pulling Mizuki up by his own shoulders so he can gaze into those gorgeous, sweet, piercingly emerald irises.
“By the way. I don’t think keeping me here for the rest of my life would be very logical. Or safe. Or… healthy,” Wuyang begins. The small smirk on Mizuki’s face isn’t lost as he continues. “But I’ll give you the next best thing. Be my boyfriend?”
“Wow.” Mizuki’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and Wuyang’s worried for a moment that he had yet again spoken too soon. But the laugh that erupts from his chest moments later quickly shuts down all of Wuyang’s delusional anxieties. “Didn’t think you’d just up and ask me that, but… but yes. Yes, I think I’d like that.”
Wuyang’s heart swells in his chest. He grins brightly, pulling Mizuki forward again in order to smooch his cheek passionately. Mizuki’s arms wrap tighter around his muscled torso in response.
“…Can we stay here for a bit longer? I don’t wanna shower.” Mizuki eventually speaks up again after a few quiet moments.
“Yeah. Me neither. Let’s get our downtime in now,” Wuyang replies.
“Mm. Told you I like you, water boy.”
The shower was dealt with later. It could wait. What the two had in store for one another, however, could not.
For the rest of this night would be anything but downtime.