A/N: I am in love with this pairing, I seriously am.

Warning: not worksafe.

Disclaimer: Hotaru Odagiri and all associated companies are the rightful owners. This work is in no way associated with them, no copyright infringement is intended with this, and no profit is being made from this.

Control

It's hot; that night when they find each other again. Hotsuma burns Shuusei's skin with his touch, marking him anew, but not like that first time. This time his touch will not leave visible marks, only a memory of them. He wants Shuusei to realise – finally, fully – that he will not resent those scars, not anymore. That he doesn't want Shuusei to go, that he doesn't weigh him down with his presence as a reminder for his own misdoing once upon a time. He wants Shuusei to understand this, to feel this, to remember this forever.

Shuusei is breathing under him: slow and measured breaths because he's still uncertain about Hotsuma's intentions, about how truthful his friend is with what he's said and what he's doing. He can't deny the mesmerising quality the touch has on him, though. And he certainly can't ignore the way Hotsuma claims him inch by inch. He's hot and only slightly uncomfortable, and still very much doubtful, but the message is clear – he is wanted here, needed; so much so that it actually hurts somewhere deep inside. Because Shuusei has been wrong to think that Hotsuma… That his closest friend would see his presence as punishment. And Shuusei reaches out to touch that cheek, to trace that jaw-line, and feels how tense he is. He can't help but smile. Hotsuma, he realises, is still very much afraid. Afraid that he could lose control again and commit the previous burning rampage all over again.

"Hotsuma," Shuusei says quietly and his friend looks at him – a little desperate, a little lost. "You don't have to."

Hotsuma shakes his head and it's clear that he has to. He has to prove this to, perhaps, himself. He's not going to repent anymore. He's going to try and live with it, making up for the pain he's caused in his own way, on his own terms.

"Hotsuma," Shuusei tries again, but forgets what he'd wanted to say because Hotsuma is running his hands over his shoulders, tracing those scars in a belated attempt to soothe them. And he looks at them, touches them, and this time he doesn't have that desolate expression from all the previous times. No, he looks… determined. Regretful, but only a little.

"I'll make it up to you," he promises in a whisper that's barely audible. It could as well have been just a light breeze from the open window.

Shuusei would have said that he doesn't have to, but he's done it so many times before that the words seem quite meaningless by now. He's still touching Hotsuma's face with one hand, his other arm resting on the pillow behind his head. Hotsuma is slow, patient, gentle and in control. He takes his time, perhaps too much time to show just how serious he is with his promises. So it is no wonder that Shuusei grows bored with it. Bored, just a little annoyed, and more impatient than he'd like to admit, even to himself.

"You're afraid of losing control," he says, as Hotsuma places light kisses along the edges of his scars – it's as if he's afraid to touch the marred skin, afraid that he could invoke the old pain. He knows that Shuusei is right, but he won't comment on it, won't admit the obvious because – and this he assumes with a good deal of righteousness – that is his wont to admit or deny any aspect of himself.

Therefore suddenly finding himself under Shuusei comes as a surprise. Shuusei leans over him, amused just a little, but entirely too much for Hotsuma's comfort.

"Don't be." The whisper is sweet and enticing, like the kiss his friend presses on the side of his neck. "I'll control you."

And then Shuusei is holding him down; he can do this easily – Hotsuma had allowed himself to forget that this young man once withstood his destructive flame and came out only scarred, not burnt to a crisp. And he's smiling, smiling so softly now, but it's all a deception.

Shuusei pins Hotsuma's hands down and positions himself over Hotsuma's hips. They're still only half-naked, lost nothing but their shirts and shoes and insignificant articles of clothing like that.

"Shuusei," Hotsuma manages in sheer wonder. "What are you…"

"What you can't," his friend throws back with that light smile that twists Hotsuma's insides into knots because he's finally realised and, at the same time, taken an insult at that insinuation. Hotsuma glowers, but it doesn't last for Shuusei moves on his hips, pressing down. One slow motion downwards, back up, down again, and Hotsuma pushes his hips up against Shuusei's and he finds no shame in writing on the bed, secure in his friend's grip.

For a while there's only that, and their remaining clothing draws tight around them; the air is suffocating, especially for Hotsuma who hasn't felt like this – so torn up, so blissfully lost – for nigh eternity. Shuusei does something with Hotsuma's hands and, belatedly, the latter realises that Shuusei has used the blanket to create a makeshift binding for his hands. It keeps Hotsuma restrained (though not so much that he couldn't break free; at this point he doesn't even want to try), and gives Shuusei one free hand to operate with. He puts it to immediate use, too, getting Hotsuma's trousers open and then Hotsuma is already lifting his hips off the bed to help him get the garment off. Shuusei smiles at him sweetly and Hotsuma responds with a lopsided grin.

Shuusei leaves his trousers and pants half-mast, and Hotsuma doesn't even protest because the pressure of Shuusei's hand is wonderful and welcome. He throws his head back, breathing in time with Shuusei's strokes because he thinks that otherwise he might lose it right there. And he doesn't care that his moans are wanton and audible and that he's begging for more, faster. Shuusei doesn't give him what he wants, just like always.

"Patience," he whispers somewhere near Hotsuma's ear and it must be just his desire-clouded mind, but Hotsuma thinks he'd sounded wicked just then.

The movement is slow and torturous, but just as Hotsuma is willing to try and make a jab at how Shuusei isn't doing any better than he'd been just a moment ago, when his hand leaves him and he has to stifle a gasp at the loss. His gaze finds Shuusei's hand and doesn't look away from it anymore. He watches as his friend undoes his trousers and pushes them down, his underwear following suit. And he definitely can't look away when Shuusei strokes himself the same way he's just touched Hotsuma, and damn it, Hotsuma can still feel that touch. Just seeing that rhythmical motion and hearing Shuusei breathe so heavily against his ear is enough to make him writhe in desire. He's not above begging, too.

Shuusei nibbles on his earlobe and lets go of himself to run that hand across Hotsuma's chest, rubbing his right nipple and lightly brushing the left one before it returns down between their hips. Shuusei shifts his position again so that they're lined up perfectly and the next thing Hotsuma knows is that Shuusei is holding them both, rubbing them both, and Hotsuma strains against his hold, choking out a strained gasp. Whatever control he'd still retained is lost at this moment and he tries to somehow find a way to move against Shuusei to intensify every action, to make him go faster, to speed the process along. But his friend doesn't let him. He'll give him his release on his own terms.

When Hotsuma finally comes, Shuusei keeps going. He lasts longer, and Hotsuma's breathing has already slowed down when Shuusei reaches his release. He lets go of the makeshift bondage around Hotsuma's hands and leans on his elbows, catching his breath. His eyes are closed, lips parted, and his sweaty forehead comes to rest on Hotsuma's shoulder.

It takes a bit of fumbling to free his hands from the blanket, but once it's done, Hotsuma pulls Shuusei on top of him. It doesn't matter to him that they should clean up; he just wants Shuusei close. And, he decides with a small grin, maybe this time he'll get Shuusei to finally take a bath with him.