Summary: Kubota and Tokito want the same thing. It's getting there that isn't easy.
Fandom: Wild Adapter
Spoilers and/or Warnings: Light bondage. Through volume five.
Title, Author and URL of original story: Inclination by inksheddings
Notes: Many thanks to my beta, midnitemaraud_r, for doing this for me, even when sick. You're the best.
It's inevitable, Kubota thinks. The way his heart thumps, his skin feels, his lungs breathe as if for the first time, overshadowing his time with Komiya in seconds. From the moment Tokito first wakes up and looks at him, wide-eyed and distrustful, Kubota knows there's something between them.
Kubota doesn't worry about how long it'll take, doesn't waste his time thinking about the weeks, the days between when they met and when they'll undoubtedly part.
He doesn't want to.
Tokito's smiles are bright, untouched by the many things that taint Kubota. It's one of the things that draws Kubota close to him, makes him want to reach out and touch. Yet he holds back, patient, unhurried, for the right time.
The sick thing is, Kubota knows, that he's glad that his arm is broken because it means that Tokito was touching him, unmindful and without mercy. For those few moments, Tokito was in his arms, invading every inch of his space. He wants it more now than ever before.
For all the wanting, it takes forever to get that close again. He looks up at Tokito, at his offered hand, and wonders if now he'll get what he knows he's needed all this while.
He does and he doesn't. Tokito is unintentionally cruel in this regard, and it makes Kubota's skin crawl for want of him. Tokito will sit close, but not close enough. They'll touch, but casually. Kubota meets each heated gaze sent his way, but Tokito will always look away first, head down, blushing.
The anticipation makes it better, Kubota thinks, lets him know it's worth it. Anything worth anything is never simple, takes work. All the things that come easy to him (gambling, lying, stealing, killing, breathing) haven't meant anything to him at all.
Then it happens, almost.
"Kubo-chan," Tokito breathes into his skin, touches him with a reverence he doesn't deserve. "I want—," he stutters out, unable to voice anything else.
They're in a tangled mess on his bed (their bed) and they're touching and kissing and rubbing, and Kubota can't remember ever feeling this alive in his entire life.
He wants to take the glove off, he wants to feel the fur and claws and every part of Tokito on his skin. He hates there's any barrier between them at all. Kubota just wants to lose himself inside of Tokito because there's everything wrong with him, and everything right with Tokito, and he can't even imagine existing without him anymore.
"Don't," Tokito pants, eyes half-wild, and grips Kubota's wrist with his gloved hand, holds him down, even as his hips are moving. The sharp jolt in his arm is a counterpoint to the warmth curling throughout his body.
He doesn't care if every part of him is broken under Tokito's hands so long as he never stops touching him.
It's when he moans, equal parts pain and pleasure, that Tokito pauses, stares at him with undisguised horror. He's out of the bed and across the room before Kubota has a chance to move, to stop him somehow.
"Sorry, Kubo-chan," Tokito says, pleading. "I didn't…I can't…Ugh…I'm just…" He breaks off, unable to voice anything, and hurries quickly into a t-shirt and jeans. The door slams shut and Kubota is still on the bed, body still tingling with sensation.
Moments later, he sits up, breathes, and lights a cigarette. He wants to go find Tokito, drag him back, but he doubts he'll find him, not until he wants to be found. So Kubota finishes smoking, closes his eyes, and strokes himself, imagining Tokito's clawed hand around his cock, and comes.
That night, Tokito returns home at two in the morning, but stays in the living room, playing games. Kubota lies awake in bed, waiting, waiting, waiting.
Tokito pretends to have fallen asleep on the couch when Kubota "wakes" to make breakfast. Kubota smiles, but doesn't acknowledge the truth between them. He's not sure what exactly he should say, or how to bring it up at all. He's too used to not having any words at all, too used to them dying in his throat, that sometimes he wonders why he bothers talking at all. Except that Tokito always listens, even if it's just so he can call Kubota a pervert in reply.
However, Tokito is so obviously relieved at his silence, he decides not to say anything at all. There's always tonight, he thinks…always the too small bed, and the way their limbs twine out of habit and necessity. Like Kubota, words aren't what Tokito trusts most anyhow.
The day is a blur of Kou's shop, delivering woks, large crowds, and takoyaki stands.
"It's time for bed, I think," he says, more than ready for a repeat of last night with a better ending.
Tokito ducks his head, grips the controller just shy of too tightly, and shakes his head. "I just want to play for a while longer. You go, I'll be in soon," Tokito lies, as if his vehemence will make it more believable.
Shrugging, Kubota turns toward the room, wondering how long it will take for Tokito to realize there's nothing he can do to Kubota that he wouldn't welcome, invite, beg for unashamedly.
Two days later, (after two nights with more of the same) he sends Tokito off to the arcade with two pockets full of hundred yen coins, and heads in the opposite direction.
The shop is small, not even close to tasteful, and a place Kou's sent him on more than one occasion. Kubota takes a moment to imagine taking Tokito into a place like this, picturing the blushing, flailing, and yelling before he would inevitably dash out, calling Kubota a pervert loud enough for the block to hear.
He ignores the dildos—Tokito would kill him—even though he finds the temptation to tease nearly irresistible, bypasses the paddles, and ignores the scary fake vaginas, and finds what he's looking for.
Handcuffs. Not the cheap kind with fake fur. He wants them sturdy, made of steel, and undeniably binding. And, on a whim, he grabs a blindfold before heading off to pay.
Tokito is skittish as ever at bedtime. Some part of him wishes this weren't necessary. Another louder part of him not only knows it is, but prefers it this way. If it works, then he'll always have Tokito without reservations or restrictions. He'll have Tokito as he's meant to be, uncontrollable, raw, and beautiful.
The sound from the fighting game Tokito is playing is a ridiculous soundtrack to his preparations. Still, it's so very Tokito that it's perfect. Kubota strips, slips between the sheets, and opens the bag from the store. He places the handcuffs in his lap and puts the blindfold in the bedside table, for later…if this is successful. The temptation to hide the key somewhere is strong, but it's pointless. If Tokito wants to, he can destroy the handcuffs effortlessly with his hand.
He picks up the handcuffs, runs his finger along the curves, then cuffs one end to the headboard, and the other on his own wrist. Kubota shifts in the bed until he's just comfortable enough, and waits. And waits. He smiles and thinks idly of that last cigarette he should have had before bed.
When Tokito comes in, it's everything and nothing that he expects. Kubota was ready for the anger, for the protests, and even the blatant arousal, but what he can't prepare for is the sight, the feel of Tokito climbing on top of him, deliciously naked, and handcuffing his good hand to Kubota's.
The taste of leather from Tokito's glove is on his tongue. He tugs it off with his teeth, flinging it off to the side as he tries not to come from the rush of this alone. The headiness of feeling the trust between them is almost as powerful as the feeling of Tokito's hands—both of them—on his naked skin.
"Kubo-chan," Tokito pleads, touching everywhere in fleeting movements. "I don't know…tell me what to do."
"Whatever you like," he replies, taking every sensation in, storing it away. "Anything, Tokito."
The kiss that follows is sloppy, wet, and without the slightest hint of finesse. It's the best kiss he's ever had. Tokito follows it with more, on his lips, his neck, rutting helplessly against him all the while.
"I…" Tokito pants out, "I need…" And then Tokito stills, comes against his thigh. He looks up at Kubota sheepishly, blushing as he stutters, "I…it just. You…um."
Kubota smiles, takes his free hand and guides Tokito's right hand down to his cock. He stares at them, one clawed, one normal, as they stroke him together, and comes moments later.
"I didn't hurt you," Tokito whispers later on, when the lights are off and they're both curled together between the sweaty sheets. There's awe in his voice that makes Kubota's stomach clench.
He wants to say, it's okay if you did. He wants to say, I'm yours; you can do anything to me and it's okay. He wants to say, if I'm to break, I want it to be at your hands. Instead, he says—praying all the while that kotodama continues to evade him—"No, you didn't…you wouldn't."