“I’ve got you,” Raidou said, rough-edged. “You can take more. I know you can.”

“You got—a lotta faith in me,” Ryouma managed, getting the words out in broken, bitten gasps. His grip was bruising-tight on Raidou’s shoulders, yanking like Ryouma wanted to climb up into him—or like he wanted Raidou down, hauled closer. Long legs wrapped around Raidou's hips, heels pressing into the backs of Raidou's thighs. "I'll take it," Ryouma gasped, glassy-eyed. "Give it to me, let me come. Please."

Not yet.

The rush of affection went back-to-back with the urge to strip Ryouma down further, push him harder, force him right to the edge and hold him there. Broken was good, shattered was better.

There was no room for self-deception in a shinobi’s world. Raidou could look his own shadows in the face and own them—had to own them, if he didn’t want someone to turn them against him. Ryouma wanted to give; Raidou wanted to take.

He tightened his grip around Ryouma's cock, and drove into him, hitting the angle that made Ryouma clench and yell, head dropping back against rumpled pillows. Nails dug into Raidou's shoulders with a sting that felt purely good. He found his rhythm again—fast, then faster, until the bedsprings squeaked and the headboard shuddered against the wall. Until Ryouma was incoherent beneath him, hands scrabbling against the back of Raidou’s neck, words coming out in shards. Please, please, oh god, please—

When Raidou changed his grip, slick fingers sliding up the length of Ryouma’s cock, Ryouma keened.

“If you come,” Raidou rasped, “I’m going to fuck you through it.”

Ryouma barely looked like he’d heard that. His eyes were half-closed, cheeks flushed hectic red. He gasped when Raidou gave him a rough stroke; groaned when Raidou stopped. The bare stretch of his throat was completely undefended.

Dangerous killer, laid wide open.

Raidou leaned down and bit him hard on the join between neck and shoulder. Ryouma yelled, eyes flying wide, and arched up, trapped by the cage of Raidou's arms. Raidou didn't even have to say come for me—Ryouma just went, and the nerve-burning clench almost took Raidou with it, as Ryouma's whole back almost came off the bed.

Wet warmth broke over Raidou's knuckles, splattered Ryouma's lean stomach. Raidou didn't give Ryouma a grace second to catch his breath or even spiral back down; he went harder, and took what he wanted.

When he came, a few moments later, he bit Ryouma again and lost himself to the beautiful, shattered sound his teeth yanked out of Ryouma's throat.

It took a long, long moment for Raidou to fall back into himself—longer than it should have. And when he did, he found himself lying on Ryouma's heaving chest, wondering when the hell his elbows had given way. Ryouma still wasn't with it, which Raidou took as a sign of a job well done.

Carefully, he freed himself.

Ryouma's hands tightened once on the back of Raidou's neck, a pleading noise slipping out of his mouth. Raidou hushed him, dragging a quick, soothing hand through the sweat-spiked black hair, and gathered wits and sense enough to deal with the condom and grab the cloth again, now mostly cold. He wiped the mess from Ryouma’s stomach, cleaned himself and his hands, tossed the cloth back into the bowl, and went to the tiny kitchenette to fetch two glasses of water. He drained one, set the second on the bedside table, and climbed back onto the bed, hauling Ryouma into his arms.

Ideally, they’d be under the covers, but the room was warm enough, and Raidou’s blood was still hammering in his veins—though starting to calm now, slowly.

He got Ryouma settled on his chest, rubbing one hand over the tattooed, sweat-slick shoulderblades, and waited for Ryouma to come back to him.

“Hope you’re a cuddler,” Raidou murmured.