Work Text:
Bésame mucho is playing.
Bésame mucho is playing, and it means the same thing it always does. Ever since that one practice, those couple of hours where all the mental tides turned for Suzuki—but he supposes for Sugiki as well—Bésame mucho only means one thing.
Suzuki smugly bites his lip as the notes of the song mix with the sound of his breathing, and he tilts his head to the side so that Sugiki has full access to the warm skin of his neck. Sugiki briefly hums against his neck in gratitude before he starts doing what he came there to do: devour Suzuki.
Suzuki already knows he’ll wake up covered in bruises tomorrow, strewn all across his body but across his neck especially. Sugiki, whether he likes to admit it or not, has a thing for that part of Suzuki’s body; at least more so than he does for the other parts of it.
Suzuki absolutely fucking loves it. He loves showing himself to the world, loves showing off that he belongs to someone and that there’s someone who belongs to him. He loves the fact that everyone can see what he gets up to.
His manager and make-up artists always work themselves into a frenzy to cover it up, buying package after package of concealer and foundation and itchy powder to match his exact shade, over and over and over again. Suzuki just keeps on shamelessly showing up with fresh purple marks even on the places where his clothes have no chance at hiding them. He doesn’t want them to be hidden.
He doesn’t really get the fuss about it, anyway. Everybody with some or other interest in professional dance by now knows that Sugiki and Suzuki are rivals on the dance floor but lovers behind the scenes.
Everyone knows—or can at least imagine—what they get up to when their competitions finish, yet all the articles are about how beautiful it is that they don’t let their personal situation impact their efforts on the dance floor. On the contrary, really.
It’s that Suzuki also doesn’t think it necessary to share his entire life with the world; otherwise he would have loved to tell everyone every little detail about what goes down in those hotel bedrooms post-competition.
It’s not like covering up the hickeys will hide what everyone knows to be true already anyway. In fact, Suzuki thinks it would be good PR. But alas, he is not the one who decides; they’ve told him that over and over again.
Now trying to get them to change their minds has lost its fun a little, so the only thing he does is that he just keeps showing up with his bruises and enjoys seeing them freak out about trying to cover it all up.
Suzuki feels Sugiki’s firm erection rub against his leg as the other man fixates his lips onto one singular spot after letting them travel around a little. Suzuki thinks it must be some kind of Pavlovian reaction at this point, because the mere feeling of Sugiki’s breath on his neck sends a rush of blood to his already hardening cock and another one of pure, unfiltered horniness throughout the rest of his body.
“Ah,” he moans when Sugiki starts licking and sucking the same way he always does it, starting in the same area he always starts; surrounding a specific mole in Suzuki’s neck. It’s a place Suzuki has always liked a little bit less on himself, but Sugiki seems entranced by it every time.
So, really, who is Suzuki to complain?
When Sugiki seems content with the first spot, he moves on to the next, and then to the next, and then to Suzuki’s Adam’s apple, at which the latter can’t contain a gasp. He is only met with the feeling of Sugiki’s teeth against his skin from the other man’s smile before he continues what he was doing.
Sugiki knows how to get to him. Sugiki knows it better than anyone else has ever known it. Even better than Suzuki himself sometimes. That, he supposes, is a major consequence of falling in love: finding out it’s possible to be known so entirely and thoroughly by someone else, that it exceeds even the way you know yourself.
It’s wonderful. It’s strange. Sometimes, it’s a little terrifying.
Now, it’s exhilarating.
Suzuki’s hands fly up to Sugiki’s hair when his lips find that one overly sensitive spot on the other side of Suzuki’s neck as where his mole is; the one place Sugiki always saves for last.
Sugiki has a system, in that way: he always starts at the same point and ends at the same point, but with each new round of hickeys there’s a different pattern, like the stars in the night sky forming thousands of constellations with one another.
Sometimes it makes Suzuki feel like a canvas, completely blank and smooth before he lets Sugiki have his way with him. Sugiki, who uses his own body for his art; Sugiki, who then unleashes a whole different kind of artistry onto his partner.
Sugiki spends some extra time on that sensitive spot, Suzuki trying not to writhe beneath him in pleasure and absolutely failing at this task. He knows it only makes Sugiki happy, anyway, to see what Sugiki is able to do to him, what Sugiki is able to make him feel.
Then suddenly Suzuki’s neck is left out in the cold, the chilly air in their bedroom a world of difference compared to Sugiki’s hot breath, the warmth of his tongue, the heat of his desire for Suzuki.
The shock of it subsides quickly enough, because Sugiki’s back to focusing on Suzuki’s own mouth again, their lips clashing together and moving in sync as if they were dancing. Suzuki thinks he can feel a wet spot on his leg from where Sugiki’s cock must have already leaked some pre-come; and then he doesn’t think about anything anymore, because Sugiki’s hand has trailed downward and closes itself around Suzuki’s own cock.
He moans into Sugiki’s mouth reflexively, not able to keep in anything that wants to come out and not wanting to either.
Sugiki continues kissing him as if nothing’s happening, but he starts to move his fist up and down Suzuki’s shaft, and Suzuki can feel Sugiki’s lower body move to create just the tiniest amount of friction.
Suzuki would gladly give that to him too, but he’s known Sugiki longer than today. The way Sugiki is with his dancing is the way he kind of is with everything. He takes the lead, he has control, he decides what and when and how.
Suzuki, of course, has his own ideas about that and doesn’t hesitate to let Sugiki know; but with this, he wants Sugiki to stay how he is, wants Sugiki to dominate him in all ways he can think of.
Today he wants him to, anyway—there’s many a day where Suzuki feels his lover’s spirit bleed into him, many a day where he bends Sugiki over whatever they have in reach and fucks him like there’s no tomorrow.
The intensity of their kiss slowly gets lost a little and then Sugiki takes his hand off Suzuki’s cock to sit up on their bed. He watches Suzuki for a few seconds before he nudges Suzuki’s legs apart and sits down between them on his knees, draping Suzuki’s legs over his own thighs. He’s as close as he can be without entering and Suzuki already feels his hole clench at the mere idea of having Sugiki inside, filling him up the same way the glint of a gold medal does.
Something like that, anyway. Suzuki thinks he probably shouldn’t think about it too much, before he proves Pavlov right once again and ends up on the first place podium sporting a massive hard-on. He does have some class, alright?
Sugiki starts jerking Suzuki off again, then, intently making eye contact with the man under him. Suzuki’s breaths increase a little at the sensation, at the feeling of being looked at in such a way. Of being devoured only by someone else’s eyes.
Then Sugiki opens his hand a little and pushes his own cock into it as well, his thumb hooking around it before the shafts make contact. Sugiki is still looking, Suzuki is still looking back, and Sugiki resumes his movements as if nothing is happening.
Suzuki can only grin widely.
Sugiki’s composure starts falling a little as he jerks their cocks in tandem, the tips touching each other every time his hand is at its highest point. He’s biting his lip and moaning under his breath and Suzuki feels the fire inside him burn wildly, feels it set his nerves ablaze and feels it travel from here to there to anywhere.
His breaths get shallower as the pressure builds and builds, as it becomes harder and harder to lay still and to keep what’s coming out of his mouth somewhat in check. Suzuki involuntarily starts to close his eyes, and he’s really almost there, and oh God, and then suddenly it’s gone.
Or it’s not gone, but Sugiki’s hand is, the feel of Sugiki’s warm erection against his own. Suzuki opens his eyes again, left teetering on the edge of the ravine he was about to collapse into; but unlike in the movies the ravine is one he wants to be taken by, and the feeling of more and more of his fingertips finding their grip on the edge only makes him wish for the opposite.
It’s not long, though, that Suzuki has to mourn the absence of his lover and the captivating release that he was just denied. Sugiki’s already nudging Suzuki’s legs upward to create access to his ass, and almost before Suzuki knows it, a slick finger slides inside.
It happens with all the ease in the world. This is not tonight’s first rodeo, hardly; Sugiki’s already taken his sweet time with working Suzuki loose, long bony finger after long bony finger, until Suzuki was almost begging for them to be replaced by Sugiki’s cock and he was still denied it.
Sugiki only does that when he has something big in store, and Suzuki’s almost bursting at the seams with his need to find out. But he knows asking won’t get him anywhere, and he also knows the element of surprise will elevate whatever it is to yet another level.
When Sugiki apparently deems Suzuki still ready enough for him to carry on his way to whatever he has come up with, he lines up his tip with Suzuki’s hole. The sensation of that alone is enough to transport Suzuki back to the edge of that ravine, but hardly so much so that he manages to throw himself over it—and the real fun is only just starting, so he better hold out for a little longer anyway.
Suzuki breathes out as Sugiki sinks into him, deeper and deeper until his entire length is buried inside of Suzuki’s body and they are the closest they can ever be. Sugiki stays like that for a few seconds, starting into Suzuki’s eyes like he can see the entire universe in them, and then he starts to move.
It’s small, slow thrusts at first, as if Sugiki is barely moving inside of Suzuki; but soon they increase in intensity and Suzuki’s moans form an entire orchestra, in and out and in and out; two and three and four and two and three and four.
“Ah, fuck,” Suzuki brings out, Sugiki’s own moans melting into the sound of Suzuki’s voice. “Please yeah, just like that—”
It’s as if the words motivate Sugiki only more, because he increases the power in his hips again and then Suzuki’s entire body feels like it’s on fire.
The feeling of every little place where his back rubs against the sheets, every bead of sweat forming on his forehead, every cold metal link of his necklace against his hot face from where it ended up after all the rough movements—it all seems magnified in tenfold and oh, he’s at that ravine again, and he wants to let himself be swallowed up entirely by the darkness of desire beneath.
And then it stops again. Or Sugiki slows, and the feelings subside a little, and then Suzuki is able to think a little clearer again when it all comes to a stop. Sugiki’s still inside him but doesn’t move. They’re both panting and their eyes are fixated on the others’, Suzuki really starting to wonder what the hell it is that Sugiki is planning on doing with him tonight.
Sugiki’s eyes travel from Suzuki’s down toward his neck, probably admiring what’s already showing of his own work—then they travel more and more down, sticking to Suzuki’s toned abs, to the trail of black hairs from his navel down to his pubes, to his straining erection and the drops of precome that are sliding down the length.
“Close your eyes,” Sugiki says then. Suzuki follows suit.
Sugiki slowly starts to move again, two and three and four and two and three and four, and just when the first moan is about to leave Suzuki’s mouth, something happens. Suzuki feels the cold metal of Sugiki’s rings against the skin of his throat, just before Sugiki closes his hand around it.
Suzuki’s eyes fly open and he’s met with Sugiki’s again, who’s looking at him intently while resuming his rhythm. Suzuki tries to breathe but, naturally, feels restricted, and a surge of panic shoots through him. It’s only barely rivaled by another surge of buzzing energy under his skin, by the sense that Sugiki really can control everything about him, down to very last breath he takes.
But the panic of the situation and his body’s instincts take a step forward, and so Suzuki’s own hand flies up to grab Sugiki’s wrist, squeezing it firmly so Sugiki loosens his grip and then removes his hand.
Suzuki coughs without really needing to, again a response of his body that he seems to have no control over whatsoever. For the first time it seems to really dawn on Sugiki what he just did, and the look on his face at the aftermath can only be described as dread.
“I—” he brings out, his voice hoarse from the small amount of talking and the large amount of moaning he’s been using his vocal cords for. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I—I got carried away, I—”
Sugiki doesn’t have to finish his sentence for Suzuki to know exactly what he was thinking about.
That night in Blackpool, that night with the wine and the broken glass and Sugiki’s hand around Suzuki’s throat for the first time. It’s so long ago now that Sugiki kind of forgot it happened, but here they are again, in the same position.
Though Sugiki’s eyebrows are furrowed together in concern, Suzuki sees in him the same man as he saw that night on the other side of the world; his determination to get what he wants, his desire to dominate over whatever he can, his yearning to be the best; how much he wants to be on top, in competition but evidently also in a physical sense.
He sees how all those feelings and desires and wants and needs culminate sometimes and turn into something unexpected, something that lashes out like a monster in a horror movie does from a dark closet or the space under a bed no one dares to look at.
Suzuki doesn’t reassure Sugiki. Doesn’t say that it’s okay, doesn’t tell him not to worry.
All he says is, “do it again.”
For a split second Sugiki somehow seems more horrified by the fact that Suzuki wants him to repeat his actions instead of the fact that it happened in the first place, but then that horror turns into something else entirely when he sees the fire burning behind Suzuki’s eyes.
Sugiki doesn’t start thrusting again like he did just now, but instead he slowly brings his hand up to Suzuki’s throat again, caressing it slightly. His fingertips move over the places where he sucked hickeys into the skin earlier, and Suzuki shivers at the hints of pressure he leaves here and there.
Then Sugiki, still inside of Suzuki, places his hand around Suzuki’s throat without putting real pressure on it. This was probably a better place to start, but Suzuki finds himself wonder if it ever would have gotten that far hadn’t it been for a heat of the moment decision.
In any case, he trusts Sugiki. He trusts him with his life, and while he usually says that because that’s just what people say, now it’s taking on a different meaning. But he trusts Sugiki, he trusts that he knows what he’s doing and he trusts that he’ll stop if Suzuki wants him to.
“Just—” Sugiki says, his hand unmoving. “If you want me to stop, kick me, scratch me, I don’t know. I’ll stop. Right away.”
“Oh, if this kills me, I’ll make sure you’ll never hear the end of it,” Suzuki says in an airy manner, but at the expression on Sugiki’s face he doubles down a little and then nods in accordance.
When Sugiki stays still, Suzuki decides that his lover needs an extra push, and that he’s more than willing to grant it to him. “Go on,” he whispers.
Sugiki closes his eyes for a second before the insecurity of the situation starts to slide off him like a veil from a bride on her wedding night, and slowly Suzuki feels the pressure on his throat increase. Slowly he feels his trachea moving under the force Sugiki is applying, slowly he feels his carotids beat frantically in the now constricted space that is the inside of his neck.
Slowly he feels how it’s getting harder to breathe, and how it’s fine at first but how it gets uneasy later; and how that unease is coupled with a feeling of lightheadedness that’s somehow so delicious that Suzuki doesn’t want it gone.
But the one thing he can’t rule over is his own nervous system, and all the alarm bells are ringing: he needs air and he needs it now, he needs that hand to leave, he’s going to die if—
Sugiki removes his hand at the increasing gasping sounds coming out of Suzuki’s throat, and then Suzuki can breathe again, his lungs filled with air and oxygen and life. The rush of that, the rush of being so close to another edge and then getting away from it, of feeling the life return to him… Suzuki already thinks he could get addicted to that feeling.
“Fuck,” Suzuki brings out. “That was so hot.”
Sugiki looks a little taken aback by that, but then he grins. Suzuki can only grin back.
Slowly Sugiki starts to move inside of Suzuki again, and the smouldering coals are once again set on fire. Sugiki eases them both into the next step by keeping to his rhythm a bit longer before he places his hand on Suzuki’s throat again, his thumb digging into the soft skin beneath the angle of Suzuki’s jaw.
And then there’s the pressure again, in combination now with Sugiki’s thrusts and Suzuki’s moans and therefore also Suzuki’s already limited supply of breath. Suzuki feels his heartbeat stagger as the lack of oxygen starts affecting his body, as it starts activating all the biochemical pathways made specifically to try and avoid death by suffocation.
If Suzuki had the capacity to he would have wondered if maybe Sugiki was also feeling for his pulse there under his jaw, but in between the rhythmic thrusts and the lightheadedness and once again that intrinsic reactionary feeling of his body that something isn’t going how it’s supposed to, he doesn’t wonder, doesn’t think.
He only gasps when Sugiki’s hand leaves his throat again and a fresh flow of air makes its way to his bronchi, and there’s that rush again, that adrenaline kick at surviving something that he wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for the situation they were in; if it weren’t the case that this was all happening on purpose, if it weren’t the case that Suzuki actively feels himself getting harder again at the thought of Sugiki’s control over him.
Sugiki seems less amused.
“You’re supposed to let me know—” he starts sternly, before he manages to catch himself. “I just mean that I have to go off of what I see and what I feel your body doing, but fuck, I’ve read about this, okay? People have actually died doing this!”
Suzuki stares at him for a second before he lets out a breathy laugh, his throat feeling a bit rough from the pressure. Sugiki’s slipped out of him and he feels weirdly empty because of it, but he knows that sooner or later they’ll be back exactly where he wants them to be. That’s just the way it works with Sugiki—it never takes much for Suzuki to drag him back.
“Don’t laugh!”
“You’ve read about this? How long have you wanted to do this for?”
Sugiki squeezes his eyes shut again for a second before he answers. “A… a while now. Erotic asphyxiation. The intentional restriction of oxygen to the brain for the purposes of sexual arousal.”
“You would think I knew what it was,” Suzuki says, pretending to be deep in thought. “Considering you’ve just done it to me multiple times. Considering I’m literally bursting at the seams from how close I am.”
He means for it to be joking, but the last part is so true that—well, that he almost can’t breathe, and something in Sugiki’s expression changes at that. Suzuki sees that fire again, sees the fact that Sugiki doesn’t truly want to stop either if Suzuki doesn’t.
“Okay, okay, but—promise me. Please. Just promise me you’ll stop me if I go too far.”
“Hey,” Suzuki says, recognizing the vulnerability in the way his lover speaks the words. “Truly, I’m not trying to die here. But it’s fun and I like it and—well, I just love everything you do to me, everything you’ve ever done.”
The way Sugiki’s looking at Suzuki, like he is the most precious diamond on the entire earth, like Sugiki would go through everything and then some just to protect Suzuki—it makes Suzuki feel things he couldn’t even describe if he wanted to.
“I’ll let you know,” Suzuki continues. “Don’t worry.”
Sugiki nods, and Suzuki’s glad that he actually seems reassured. There’s such a brain in that man, sometimes Suzuki doesn’t know how he survives all that thinking.
Dancing at the level that they do, for the audiences that they have—it requires insane amounts of confidence, and Sugiki does have that; but it’s like it picks and chooses when it wants to come out, and when it doesn’t, Sugiki can spends hours and hours stuck on one small, inconsequential thing.
The thing is that in effect, those things aren’t inconsequential anymore, and Suzuki still has to find a foolproof way to help Sugiki through it. He wants to help so badly, wants so badly for his lover to feel like he fits into his skin, like there is a reason he is where he is—but Suzuki simply can not do everything, and it sometimes kills him to think about that.
But now all is well, and Suzuki’s breath voluntarily leaves him as Sugiki sinks into him again, this time immediately picking up a faster pace. There’s something of a final stretch in it, one last thing to get them over that edge they’ve both been yearning for for ages now.
Sugiki’s thumb finds that place under Suzuki’s mandible again, feeling a little in search of his pulse before he puts pressure on his entire hand. Slowly Suzuki’s breath gets strained, his throat making all sorts of sounds every time his lungs move to suck in something, anything.
He gets that kick of lightheadedness again, that rush of adrenaline; in combination with Sugiki’s cock sliding in and out of him, grazing his prostate every so slightly, it’s almost too much to bear already.
Sugiki doesn’t seem to hold back this time, his thrusts fast and powerful and his grip like it was made out of iron. As the pressure inside Suzuki’s balls builds up to an all-time high, he feels himself slipping away ever so slightly, starts to see some black spots at the edge of his vision. His entire face feels a weird sort of tight because of the constriction, the cold metal of his chain where it’s draped over his skin barely tangible anymore, and that’s when he knows it’s enough.
Sugiki’s moaning like he never has, his hand still firmly around Suzuki’s throat, and just when it all gets a little too much and Suzuki readies himself to dig his fingernails into Sugiki’s flesh, Sugiki’s thrusts come to a stop and he lets out the loudest moan yet.
Sugiki's hand flies off of Suzuki’s throat as he comes inside of him, and the feeling of Sugiki’s cock twitching against his prostate is Suzuki’s last fucking straw.
Suzuki explodes, ropes of come shooting out of his cock and onto his stomach, his chest. It’s rejuvenating in the same way that that first rush of air is when the constriction is lifted and that’s when it clicks for Suzuki, that’s when he realizes why and how it works.
The both of them need a considerable amount of time to catch their breath even after their orgasms have subsided, but then Sugiki rolls off Suzuki and painfully stretches his legs.
They lie like that for a while, Suzuki’s cum drying down onto his skin and Sugiki’s trying to flow out of him again—but that’s something he’ll deal with later—before they feel like they can speak again.
“Shit, remind me to never piss you off again,” Suzuki says, and immediately Sugiki swats his shoulder in exasperation.
“Kidding, kidding,” Suzuki laughs, turning his face toward Sugiki’s. He’s beautiful like this, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating his skin where their rays reach, the shadows hiding where they can’t.
Sugiki caresses Suzuki’s cheek with his fingertips, as if Suzuki were something he is scared of ruining. Then Sugiki closes in on him, connecting their lips together in a sweet, tender kiss, nothing at all like the sex they just had.
“I’m glad I got to try this out with you,” Sugiki says when he pulls back, his eyes not leaving Suzuki’s.
“Me too,” Suzuki agrees, draping one arm over Sugiki’s hip in a lazy attempt to get him closer again. “But you can talk to me about these things too, right? Before we actually do them? Don’t you ever think I’m not down to brainstorm new ways to make each other see heaven, babe.”
Sugiki clicks his tongue at that, but there’s a smile too, a smile and a silent agreement.
“Shit,” Suzuki says, suddenly realizing something he probably should have thought about earlier. “This is going to be the worst bruise ever. I’m serious. My entire neck is going to be purple!”
Their laughter sounds through the room, floats away into the wind; it evaporates and condenses itself again, incorporates itself into the millions of little particles in a cloud.
Then it rains down on the world, and it makes new flowers grow.