Fitzgerald/Akutagawa | Mildly NSFW | Sex mentions.
For @fitzgeraldsuggestions and all the other gross people that ship these two assholes. <3
He’d never shared a bed before. Not once. Not even with with parents, not a moment with his sister. Lovers, if he could call fleeting encounters and unlearned names lovers, never stayed the night and neither did he. He preferred it this way. Why prolong something that was merely a means to an end, as if it meant something to him, as if it had substance?
Why complicate a basic human urge with something as ridiculous as sharing?
He’d never shared a bed before. It was… strange. He lay there in the dark in a bed larger than his own in the apartment he and Gin shared, a gargantuan fourposter with diaphanous sheets and pillows stuffed with goose down and golden threads upon golden threads and -
It was silent, and it was strange, and he was not alone.
The warmth of the other pressed against his side and wrapped around him was suffocating, and he was too aware with every carefully-drawn breath how the rise of his chest made them touch more, chest-to-chest so close he’d swear he could feel the other’s heart beat against his breast - yet there was something comforting in that suffocation, in that too-there awareness that made him stay. Made him share.
His breath puffed gold strands from his companion’s face, nearly silver-slick in the moonlight that came through the window. He almost reached out to touch, to brush the strands that fell back into that placid face out of the way - but he’d already shared his body and now this bed and did it make sense to share something more like a too-tender touch in the middle of the night while this insufferable man who made him do all of it slept the rest of it away as if there wasn’t something wrong with this? He did it anyway, because if he was going to do this sharing, he’d do it all the way while the other wasn’t looking.
He’d never shared a bed before. He wouldn’t be doing it again. But he’d do it for the moment.