VKC/VME SECRET SANTA FIC 2018 [REPOST]
Couldn’t find it in the tags, so reposting! Let me know if you see it orz
Gift recipient: @foliefolio
This is for the wonderful Folie!! (Whose writing sustained me almost single-handedly since the end of the anime 😭) I can’t put into words how nerve-wracking writing this was, especially since I’ve had a ton of fic planned out that have gone unpublished for like...3-4 years?? Anyway, I guess this is finally my foray into ‘posting’ for VKC....and what better way to do it than to write for my idol ✨ !! I love you so much Folie, and I hope this suits your tastes. (And feel free to say if it doesn’t!!! I had a bunch of other ideas, and have another idea draft written out 😂) You’ve been such a big inspiration to me for the past ~16 months ❤️ I hope I can keep reading your writing for a long time to come!!! (Especially Vatican fics ehehe) And above all, I hope your holidays went wonderfully!!✨
(and if you didn’t see this yesterday, I’m sorry it’s late!!!!!!!)
The prompt was pretty open, and suggested some seasonal touches such as
Christmas in Rome, night, gold, bells, cold, etc. I think I used most of them to be honest! There is quite a bit of ahem, non-2019-tumbr-appropriate content, so be warned (I was rather careful with the vocabulary though *shrugs*). Actually, 3/4 of it is priests doing the do, with lots of gratuitous Hiraga family mentions (JIN IS CANNON AND I LOVE HIM).
[I guess I’ve never really posted publicly above my love for VKC, but I am a die-hard HiraRobe (esp. bottom Roberto) lover. Roberto will eventually cry (before/during/after or all 3) when they consummate their relationship 100%. I don’t think I did my thoughts of them justice here, and if I ever manage to publish again, there will definitely be more angst ; __ ; (There also needs to be more weirdness/religion too.) My current biggest thing is Vatican politics, and the logistics of priests in relationships despite their vows, how they make moral justifications and types of penance etc.etc. which I did not go into almost at ALL, so yeah...]
Tumblr formatting is not ideal, so this will probably go up on AO3 once I get a chance to edit. I have a ton of miscellaneous commentary too, so that’ll probably be there as well.
Sorry for the long preface, onto the actual gift! [Couldn’t find the read more button, I’m sorry :’) ]
***
The winter wind is cold and brisk, blowing across the balcony and permeating the thin blanket draped around Roberto’s shoulders, useless against the frigid air. He cannot hold back a shiver, then another, and he desperately wishes for some form of heat.
The door slides open and shut behind him with a click, bringing no respite from the chill. Hiraga, then? Both his brother and his father are asleep in the room behind him. Roberto had been nodding off on the sofa himself, but despite the late hour, it’s time for him to go and give the family some privacy.
Hiraga would be against that; luckily, Roberto can try to convince him out here, in the relative privacy of the balcony. Only God will be their witness – and perhaps, the smoker in the hotel across the way if he stays out much longer.
“Roberto,” Hiraga murmurs at his back, arms wrapping around his middle and firmly anchoring themselves around his torso.
Perhaps it is not time for this particular discussion then. Maybe, Roberto can allow himself to indulge for a few minutes.
But alas, nothing with Hiraga ever seems to go according to plan. For Hiraga’s hands are already beginning to wander, and with them Roberto’s composure is already starting to break.
“Hiraga,” Roberto begins, train of thought nearly derailing when a fingertip purposefully flicks against a hardened nub. He supresses a sigh. “Isn’t this a little…”
Tasteless? Improper?
Ryouta is on the other side of the balcony door, in their room; so is Hiraga Jin –
(kind, wonderful Hiraga Jin who had spoken with him about opera for hours at length, only pausing for a second when Roberto shuddered, expression falling, at the mention of Puccini
who had followed Rossini, Verdi
and before that,Weber, Wagner and Wetz
and Jin had been delighted to find Roberto knew even obscure German composers
“Ah, I suppose no Tosca for you then, Roberto-kun,”and when Roberto smiled back weakly, almost in apology,
“That’s alright,” he murmured consolingly. “I can’t say I’m very fond of Madama Butterfly myself.”)
– Jin who has shown nothing but tremendous kindness to Roberto from the moment they met in the train terminal. Jin, who Roberto has only known personally for less than twenty hours and is desperately trying impress, and keep face in front of him at the very minimum.
(Jin, who had smiled at Roberto with as much kindness as either of his sons after a single conversation; who had welcomed him into the family – immediately, as Roberto would find out from the paperwork he would receive a few weeks later – Jin, who had insisted Roberto call him by his given name, insisting that any other title would be too stuffy and that one “Hiraga” was more than enough.)
(And Hiraga, his lovely partner Hiraga, had made an undecipherable expression upon realizing he was now the only one being referred to by surname.)
Ryouta and Jin are only separated from them by a glass door; Hiraga’s delicate hands are currently worming their way through the layers of blanket and underclothes to Roberto’s skin and he can’t—
“Hiraga…!”
We can’t, Roberto needs to tell him, not here. No matter how much his body desires, blood thrumming through his veins at the proximity he has barely had enough days to get used to, if at all–
since Hiraga kissed him on the stroke of midnight as the crowds on the television in front of them began screaming in celebration, soft mouth pressing against Roberto’s frozen smile, still with surprise and fear, buried underneath the building euphoria –
since Hiraga took his bare hand a day later, telling him “My family is coming to Italy to celebrate with us; won’t you join me?” And Roberto hadn’t known what to do with the burst of adrenaline that sent his heart pounding loud enough to drown out Hiraga’s soft explanations of travel plans and cheap hotel rooms post-holiday season –
since Hiraga had shown up at his door at 5:50 in the morning, dressed casually but smartly as he usually did on their days off together, taken one look at the circles under Roberto’s eyes and dragged him back to bed (where they had laid together and Roberto hadn’t managed much rest at all when they were forced to rise or be late to Rome) –
since touching Hiraga to his heart’s desire became allowed, and now Roberto feels the precarious grip on his self-control he has clung to all this time begin to slip.
“Roberto…” comes Hiraga’s voice, cutting quietly through the night air. Rome is much more crowded than the Vatican. Booking a room on an upper floor has its advantages, Roberto muses in an attempt to distract himself from the warmth and pressure at his back. The night view is rather enchanting, what with the colorful array of lights spreading out in the distance.
“Roberto..!” Hiraga calls more insistently this time, startling Roberto out of his reverie. He is not accustomed to being ignored, and Roberto must apologize. A kiss to his spine signals that he is forgiven. Roberto lets out a sigh in response.
“Bend down please,” Hiraga murmurs at his back, and Roberto reflexively complies. As he slowly hunches over the railing, Hiraga’s lips find the back of his neck. Roberto shivers, not out of cold alone. Each kiss leaves a trail of ice in its wake, as Hiraga makes his way down the slope of one shoulder, then the other. His fingers are occupied with Roberto’s buttons, and as they slowly come undone, more and more skin is revealed to the biting wind, immediately covered by Hiraga’s eager mouth. After some time, Hiraga begins to tire of this, and slips both arms under Roberto’s shirt. He cannot supress a whimper.
Thus spurred on, Hiraga’s hands come to rest on his bare chest, caressing him lightly. Still, there is intent behind each stroke, and as one hand flits over his hardened nipple, the other slips lower, stroking the curves of Roberto’s torso and muscles as it descends down his stomach.
“…ah… Hiraga, w-wait…” Roberto stifles a gasp as a fingertip brushes the skin along his waistband.
Don’t stop, he contradicts himself internally. Please don’t let go of me. He wonders if Hiraga can hear him anyway, intuiting his desires, but reluctantly, Hiraga’s hands do come to a halt before pulling away entirely.
“Nnn…!” Roberto lets out unintentionally. The movement of Hiraga’s arms has caused the blanket to shift, leaving his upper body uncovered, bare from the shoulders where Hiraga had worried at the skin with his lips. They are only apart for a few moments, though it is enough for a sudden draft to send him shivering. Hiraga struggles with something behind him.
“It’s alright,” Hiraga soothes, “It’s alright. Roberto.” He returns with the blanket, fumbling to wrap it snuggly around the two of them together. Roberto begins to find this struggle endearing as his bare skin is covered once more, although Hiraga’s comfort takes priority. He twists around slightly intending to take over, but Hiraga’s palms come to rest on his shoulder blades, stopping him halfway.
“Let me please,” he chastens. Who is Roberto to say no?
“Alright,” he allows. He strains to keep still, as his instincts urge him to turn around, to take Hiraga into his arms and keep him there indefinitely. If only, if only…
Hiraga’s fussing continues on, and Roberto’s left hand is captured by both of Hiraga’s during the struggle, right hand bracing them both against the railing. Their entwined limbs are somehow even colder – an uncomfortable cold Roberto cannot shake off when Hiraga’s fingers glide away to continue tucking the sheet elsewhere. He struggles to shake his hand free – an attempt to bring it up to his lips and warm it with his breath – but when his hand emerges from the tangle, Roberto’s eyes immediately zero in on the metal band settled snugly around his finger.
Behind him, Hiraga has stilled; finished fiddling with the blanket then, or waiting for Roberto’s reaction? A quick glance tells him that the sheet is stretched taut around his chest, already beginning to slide down and bringing his unbuttoned shirt with it.
Hiraga is a priest; he has, then, undoubtedly attended the same classes Roberto has, and Roberto aches, aches, to believe that not even Hiraga would mistake the significance of putting a ring. on someone’s. left.
(ring finger)
He desperately wants to see what expression Hiraga is wearing at the moment, but his partner’s face is currently buried between Roberto’s shoulder blades, showing no signs of emerging. His own face must look something scary, for Roberto can feel himself start to tear up, wind attacking him mercilessly and deepening the ache.
Roberto struggles to rotate his upper body, disturbing Hiraga’s careful wrapping and unsettling his hiding spot. With this new angle, his hip is digging into the metal bars of the railing. Roberto pays it no mind, cupping Hiraga’s cheeks and bringing their gazes level. Hiraga is flushed, eyes darting left and right before slowly looking up at Roberto through his long lashes. His chin is lowered, and he is biting his lip. Goodness, how many times must he be told not to, Roberto thinks with a level of fondness. He reaches out to free Hiraga’s poor lip with his left arm, and both of their eyes are drawn to the shining ring. Hiraga lets out a deep breath.
“I,” Hiraga falters, looks away. “Is it… alright now? That is, to…” His voice is soft from embarrassment, but hope shines through in his gaze, drilling holes into Roberto’s breastbone. Roberto cannot tear his eyes away. He gently calls for Hiraga’s attention, and Hiraga jerks his head up, making eye contact. Roberto can spot the moment Hiraga begins to panic, eyes dilating in alarm – after all, Hiraga has always been weak to crying, and Roberto has felt the urge to bawl building since that precious celebratory kiss.
“Yes,” Roberto breathes, somewhat tearfully. “I could never say no to you.”
Hiraga makes to wipe Roberto’s eyes, but pauses halfway. Roberto can only hold still, anticipation rising with each passing second…… until Hiraga raises himself on his toes to kiss the corner of his mouth, fisting the fabric pooled at Roberto’s waist.
***
Hiraga’s lips flutter around the shell of Roberto’s ear, and he whines, softly. He can feel Hiraga, pressing into his hip unashamedly. He craves it, has been craving it maybe since they began their partnership, when Roberto began to feel like the hole in his chest could possibly be filled by the presence of this wonderful man.
But right now, they’re outside and clearly visible to anyone who might happen to be watching. The alternative is a room containing the two people he wishes to impress the most, Hiraga’s family. There is no escape.
And what about preparation? He hasn’t, oh heavens, hasn’t cleaned, has nothing to ease the slide of Hiraga inside of him, and what if it chafes? Hiraga would hurt, and they’d never attempt it again out of fear, and maybe regret –
And what of their respective positions? Caught up by the mood, Roberto has forgotten – or purposefully put aside, as he can never truly forget – what of their vows? Hiraga has told him, the moment reality and dread set in after the midnight kiss, that the Church and God are separate; that God will forgive them this, will grant them this much, that love is beautiful in all forms. He’d quoted scripture and philosophies en masse and while Roberto had been struggling to wrap his aching head and heart around them, daring to hope, he’d forgotten to consider why Hiraga had done so much research. Now, it was all coming back to bite him. Not yet, his heart whimpers. We can’t, not until – until what? Will discussing his deepest fears quell the clamour in his heart, the noise that has refused to subside through time and effort?
Hiraga bites down, drawing Roberto out of his spiralling thoughts. His ear stings pleasantly, Hiraga soothing the bite with tiny licks. Not wanting his dismay to be noticed, Roberto turns fully away, grasping the rail with a quiet click from the ring. If Hiraga has noticed anything, he stays quiet, only pressing even closer, throbbing length nudging the backs of Roberto’s legs.
Ah.
What if he took me like this?
And Roberto imagines Hiraga, slick between his thighs, hidden from any prying eyes by the folds of the sheet carefully draped around their waists. He visualizes the slide, smooth and warm, and aches in empathy. He’d have to cover his face, hide his expression, his tears borne from enjoyment and desire. He keens softly, and Hiraga’s arms tighten around his torso.
“Roberto,” Hiraga pants, breathing rather heavily. “Let me see your face please.”
And Roberto’s plans go out the figurative window
.“…Alright,” he swallows, grasping the blanket and desperately trying to compose his expression while Hiraga manoeuvres him eagerly until they are face-to-face. He ducks his head, and Hiraga takes the opportunity, pushing forward until their lips meet tenderly in their first proper kiss of the night.
It does not last nearly long enough. Roberto is left to savour the taste of Hiraga on his lips as Hiraga’s mouth wanders, destination clearly in mind. Roberto’s body takes this moment to remind him that a certain areahas been lacking attention; with a cry, his lower body jerks forward when Hiraga’s teeth brush the spot where jaw meets neck. His front, bulging prominently, hits something – Hiraga’s leg? – and he rushes to apologize.
“Ah..Hiraga! I’m sorry—ahh!” Unbothered, Hiraga continues to move lower, shifting his stance until they are touching, chest to groin to thigh. Roberto can’t help but moan at the pressure, their hardness aligned as much as possible with their differences in height.
Hiraga rolls his hips forward, lips buried in the crook of Roberto’s neck. Roberto presses his face to Hiraga’s hair. He cannot stifle the outpouring of groans and embarrassing noises he is producing in the face of such intense pleasure.
“Ngh, aah… Hiraga, Hiraga, Hiraga…” Hiraga’s name is a litany of pleas on Roberto’s lips. Hiraga shudders in euphoria, rubbing their hips together. Calling his name in return.
“Roberto...!” Hiraga pulls away, and the feeling of loss on Roberto’s neck is palpable, but then Hiraga presses their foreheads together and the pang is instantly soothed. Hiraga’s hand scrabbles with the too-tight front of Roberto’s pants.
“May I? Please, I, oh, please allow me this…” he pleads, and Roberto has hardly breathed his assent before Hiraga is reaching into his undergarments and pulling him out rather hastily. But it’s enough, more than, even.
“….Ah!” Roberto exclaims, head falling back. It’s been a very, very long time since he has touched himself this way; as little faith as he held in his own lifestyle, something about living up to Hiraga’s ideals (or so he imagined) had prevented him from indulging in this particular pleasure, at least in his conscious moments. In his sleep, he might be graced with Hiraga’s warmth only to regret his weakness in the morning, then spend days repenting. Or, he would find himself absently wondering about the stretch of his jaw when contemplating food, imagining the sensation of something inside him when cleaning the bidet (or using it). He’d promptly banish these thoughts, face flushed and guilt building, but. It was impossible to repress his sinful desires for long before they would surface, often at the most inconvenient of times.
However, now he is keenly feeling the aftermath of abstaining. The pleasure is all-consuming. His body is ready to give in, limbs wound up tense, focus narrowed in on the tightness and particular sensation of Hiraga’s fist. But he cannot give in, not without giving something in return, not without seeing the rapture he is experiencing reflected in Hiraga’s own self.
“Let me,” he rasps, fumbling towards Hiraga’s own straining erection. Hiraga sighs in response, pushing up into Roberto’s palm the moment he is freed. His free arm searches out Roberto’s, and Roberto starts as Hiraga winds their fingers together, jostling the cool metal around his ring finger already warming up in response to Hiraga’s touch. Hands clasped, they tug on each other frantically, racing to completion yet not awaiting the finish.
“Roberto…” Hiraga exhales, smiling up at him. The city lights aren’t bright enough for Roberto to make out his eyes with their usual clarity, but they shine nonetheless. Hiraga is beautiful no matter where he is, Roberto reflects, and he leans in to capture that beauty for a fleeting moment.
Hiraga kisses enthusiastically, all lips and tongue, and Roberto is content to let himself be kissed, thoroughly. Were this the private fantasy of his dreams, or the corner of his mind he dares not allow his mind to wander, he would take Hiraga’s jaw in hand and show him delicacy. Gentle, slow, yet warm… except, crouching on this freezing balcony, Hiraga is his only source of warmth, and Roberto desires his heat from his toes to his mouth to the depths of his core.
It is, he considers with what little sanity that remains, all too much. Hiraga has barely had his hands and lips on him, and Roberto is already at his limit, approaching climax at an alarming rate; he cannot spare anymore thoughts for the eyes that might be on them, whether it be the smoker from the hotel across the way, or even innocent Ryouta, who would surely come to resent him should he catch the two of them in such a compromising position. Roberto defiling his precious older brother –
The sudden glare that blinds him even through his half-closed lids is regrettably not due to their climaxes.
Roberto pulls away, however reluctantly, from Hiraga’s demanding kisses, letting go of Hiraga (to their mutual dismay) in order to lift the blanket even higher. He squeezes their entwined hands in apology; thankfully Hiraga does not respond by tightening his hand where it rests around Roberto.
The least he can do is shield Hiraga’s body from sight, as he scrambles for a way to do damage control, although the situation is not promising. Against him, Hiraga is pliant but confused as he tries to figure out where Roberto’s attention has gone. It takes a few, loaded moments before his attention is directed to the room behind him.
By fault of pleasure or exhaustion, Roberto is not sure, his eyes take what feels like minutes to adjust. What had seemed blinding a few moments before is only a small lamp, mounted next to an empty armchair where Ryouta had curled up for the evening despite the inviting bed beside him. Jin takes up half of said bed now, spread out on top of the sheets and still in his day clothes. He doesn’t seem to have moved from where Roberto had last seen him before heading outside, unsure if pulling the blankets up around him would be too much, or. Well. All the more he should leave them be, before he intruded too much, Roberto had reasoned, then promptly fled to the balcony.
Roberto stiffens as he spots Ryouta exit the bathroom, rubbing his eyes blearily and looking very much half-asleep. More or less relaxed, Hiraga leans against his chest, exuding more calm than Roberto feels as Ryouta climbs onto the bed and settles in next to his father. They observe silently for a little longer, perhaps bound by some mutual understanding built after years of partnership, watching him slip deeper into sleep. The lamp is left forgotten.
Hiraga is the first to break the silence, laughing softly. He turns back to Roberto, looking pleased.
“Roberto,” he begins. “Shall we head inside? So you don’t fall ill.”
How he is so unruffled when they were nearly caught in the act, Roberto cannot fathom. Still, he would hate to ruin the moment, to burst the bubble with whys and what ifs. Steeling himself, he leans in to rest their heads together. Moving their coupling into the room where Hiraga’s family is sleeping is unthinkable, and the inevitable end to their encounter if they do go inside hurts just as much. Hiraga’s hand is hot and fidgeting around him, and a distant part of Roberto is ashamed that his erection has not flagged in the slightest.
Not yet. I don’t want this to end yet.
“Hiraga,” Roberto tells him. “Please…don’t stop.” And with that, Roberto gently grabs Hiraga’s length, bringing them together; the heat of them combined is electric. He can hardly keep his eyes open wide enough to take in the details of Hiraga’s beautiful face: eyelids fluttering, mouth gasping, bangs sticking to his face with what must be a cold sweat.
“Roberto…hnngh…” Hiraga groans, letting go and allowing Roberto to take care of bringing them over the edge. Roberto is infinitely grateful that Hiraga, intentionally or not, takes the blanket in hand briefly before allowing his free hand to roam around Roberto’s bare chest once more. It’s much warmer without the slick from their pre-cum freezing in the breeze.
Hiraga’s hand wanders up to Roberto’s right cheek, pulling him back in for another kiss. He licks into Roberto’s mouth, tongue wandering up and down teeth, along the roof of his mouth, and twining their tongues together.
The intensity of it all brings Roberto right back to the precipice he had been teetering on the edge of not long before. It’s all he can do to keep stroking them, although admittedly Hiraga thrusting against him is doing much more than the periodic buckling of his own hips.
“Hiraga, Hiraga…” he whispers into the kiss, and Hiraga sucks Roberto’s tongue into his mouth. “Nnn…”
When Hiraga pulls away, Roberto follows. The next words he speaks are against Roberto’s lips.
“Roberto,” Hiraga forces out. “Please.” His voice takes on a deeper timbre, lower than Roberto has ever hear from him. It’s incredibly attractive, just as much as the near-growl that comes out next.
“Please,”
“call my name.”
Roberto’s heart lurches.
(And oh, if this hasn’t been building all day, since he’d caught Hiraga staring at them wistfully)
(“Here, Roberto-nii-san!” “Thank you Ryouta-kun.”)
( “Has Kou been giving you much trouble, Roberto-kun?” “Not too much, Jin-san. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Right, Hiraga?”)
( “Onii-san, your expression is scary…”)
A swell of affection rises in him, and Roberto presses his lips to Hiraga’s ear before he whispers, “Kou.”
The effect is instantaneous; Hiraga cries out, jerks his hips into Roberto’s hand, and squeezes Roberto’s other palm. The ring digs into his skin, and the reminder that Hiraga had gotten him a ring paired with the sudden, aggressive crash of lips on his is enough to knock enough awareness into him.
Oh, Roberto thinks, feeling somewhat removed. This isn’t a dream.
He’s embracing (making love to?) Hiraga for the first time; the thought consumes him, sends his eyes watering, and his body chooses that moment to give in.
***
Roberto is vaguely conscious of Hiraga calling his name during his release. When Hiraga captures his lips once more, softly this time, he feels himself returning to the present.
Hiraga pulls away gradually.
“Have you come back to me yet?” he murmurs, and the words are endearing enough that Roberto kisses him again, and again, until his cooling body interrupts, and he must pull away to stifle a sneeze.
“Oh, Roberto,” Hiraga says dreamily. Roberto stares at him. “You were so beautiful when you came.”
Roberto cannot help the flush that rises to his cheeks, his ears, and quite possibly his neck too. The tears he has been holding in all night decide to overflow, much to his embarrassment.
“Aah, uuuu…” Roberto turns his head to the side, extricating his left hand from Hiraga’s grasp to cover his face. Surprisingly, Hiraga lets him, and does not startle at the sight of his tears. Instead, he wraps both arms around Roberto’s waist and holds him close.
It’s warm.
What is also warm – and somehow still not deflating – is Hiraga’s member, still grasped in Roberto’s grip with his own, softening and growing oversensitive, length.
Hiraga has not come yet.
Staring at the crown of Hiraga’s head, Roberto’s muddled mind reaches this conclusion much too slowly. Mustn’t it be painful? Why hadn’t he said – this is Hiraga, selfless to a fault. Of course he hadn’t said anything.
Roberto must take care of him. It’s partially a selfish desire: what face would Hiraga make, trembling in the arms of ecstasy? How would his limbs tense, back arch, expression contort? Would he come with Roberto’s name on his lips, begging for a kiss, or for release? Roberto needs to find out.
“Hiraga,” he says, letting go of them at last. Hiraga whimpers, face still hidden in Roberto’s chest. “Hiraga,” he tries again, this time moving to release Hiraga’s tight grip around his back. Hiraga does not give.
“Yes yes,” he wants to laugh, but settles for pressing a kiss to Hiraga’s hair part, then suddenly drops to his knees.
Hiraga’s hands, now left grasping at empty air, immediately find purchase in Roberto’s curls.
Roberto takes a second to look up at him, framed by several lights from surrounding buildings and the clear night sky. Hiraga has always looked lovely, but this view of him, hair and clothing disheveled, zip opened and framing his aching hardness, staring down at Roberto with eyes filled with something he desperately wishes is love, this view of him is nothing short of angelic.
He commits the view to memory as he leans forward to nuzzle Hiraga’s shaft.
“Roberto…” Hiraga sounds dazed. Roberto’s tongue darts out to lick along a protruding vein, and Hiraga’s hips buck forward.
“Roberto!” But Roberto gives him no time to apologize. He takes the head – that had only nudged his cheek – into his mouth, and sucks. Hiraga hisses, fingers tightening in his hair.
“R-Roberto…it’s aaah… so w-warm…” Hiraga stutters, hips moving erratically. Roberto’s hands reach up from where they grip Hiraga’s thighs to trace his protruding hipbones. Remembering himself, Roberto’s dominant hand dips down to cup, then gently tug on Hiraga’s balls. Hiraga sighs. They are already wound close to his body; is he close? More than likely, Roberto assumes.
While Hiraga has been surprising him left and right recently, the idea of Hiraga getting himself off frequently enough to build up a decent amount of stamina is still improbable, at best. Roberto mulls this over while taking Hiraga further into his mouth, redirecting his line of sight low enough to ensure his lips stayed folded over his teeth.
Hiraga is part of the science division, and Roberto would not be surprised at this point if their personal doctrine concerning abstinence is less strict than what is expected by the Church. For ah, health reasons, perhaps. After all, the human body is designed for periodic release and tension does build up.
But Hiraga is not good at taking care of his own needs, Roberto muses as he bobs his head. Hiraga cries out his name above him. Occasionally perchance, but Hiraga touching himself with any degree of frequency is about as unbelievable as Hiraga having a wedding night… and Roberto’s pace falters as the band on his finger grows unbelievably heavy.
Hiraga strokes through Roberto’s hair, and it serves as a reminder to concentrate on his task. Thoughts of how Hiraga gets himself off, and what Hiraga’s intentions are should be saved for later, in the privacy of his home. Or, ah, bed.
Roberto makes a questioning sound, almost as if to say does it feel good? and Hiraga groans before telling him yes, of course--oh!.. yes, very much so--ahhh...
If only he could take him all the way down, Roberto despairs, but his jaw is already nearing its limits. He swallows in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure – but this must feel incredibly good, as Hiraga’s hands clench in a vice grip. His hips pick up the pace and Roberto keeps himself still as to let Hiraga take his pleasure.
Roberto, Roberto, Roberto…..
Hiraga calls out his name over and over, and Roberto wishes for this to last just a little longer.
Hiraga’s hips stutter, and Roberto takes over as best he can, until he can taste Hiraga’s release pouring down his throat. He comes rather silently, Roberto notices, staring up at the long line of Hiraga’s throat. His expression is hidden by his chin and his hair, Roberto observes regretfully. Either way, he is still the most beautiful sight Roberto has ever laid eyes upon.
He keeps his lips fastened around Hiraga until he has emptied himself. Roberto gently licks him clean before pulling off and swallowing the load. He stays on his knees, staring up at Hiraga and gently stroking his legs until Hiraga comes back to himself, looks down at Roberto in awe and tugs on him lightly until Roberto gets to his feet.
Hiraga leans against him as Roberto wipes first his hand, then Hiraga’s softening shaft with the dirtied blanket. Hiraga’s warmth is akin to a fire, and Roberto basks in it (being outside shirtless in January means it is most likely his sense of temperature that is off). He won’t regret anything if he gets sick, although maybe if either of them had had more presence of mind, they would have made better use of the now-sticky blanket. Hiraga takes hold of a corner to wipe up the small smear he made under Roberto’s eye.
Roberto tries to tidy them up as best he can, tucking them carefully inside their underwear, closing buttons and zippers and hiding skin once more. And combing through hair (or at least Hiraga’s; with the way Hiraga had been tugging on his own, he’s not sure he can face the damage without a mirror or two). He leaves his shirt half-buttoned, only for the way Hiraga’s gaze lingers (dare he say, appreciatively).
Thus groomed, Hiraga leans in to kiss him. Roberto quickly reaches up to place three fingers on Hiraga’s lips.
“Nn?” Hiraga looks up at him in surprise, thrown off.
“I, I just…” Roberto does not know how to put this into words without embarrassing himself even further. He settles for pointing at his throat. “Swallowed..”
Expression determined, Hiraga reaches up with unexpected strength, pulling Roberto’s fingers away and sticking his tongue inside Roberto’s mouth. He licks him more thoroughly than before, and Roberto is helpless to stop him, mind blank.
“It’s alright,” Hiraga tells him as he pulls away, wiping a suspicious wetness off his bottom lip with his thumb. (Roberto doesn’t want to know.) “Of course I don’t mind that. I love you.”
In the silence, neither of them expect the second deluge of tears of the night. Ashamed, Roberto prays for the earth to swallow him up. Maybe then, he can spend eternity contemplating Hiraga’s revelation, or giving thanks for this encounter. And then plead for a second.
Hiraga leads Roberto, sobbing silently, inside. If the constantly-changing temperatures don’t make him sick, maybe dehydration will. He decides to turn a blind-eye to the blanket dumped on the floor between the empty bed and the wall – he does not have the energy to deal with it now.
It is only when Hiraga pulls Roberto into his lap on the unoccupied bed that Roberto remembers his resolve to leave the family their privacy. It quickly crumbles faced with the stream of uninterrupted tears. Roberto is quick to hide his face in Hiraga’s arms.
Hiraga strokes his head for as long as it takes Roberto to reign himself in. When his shoulders cease their trembling, at last Hiraga speaks:
“Roberto? Did I do something wrong?... Have you, come to hate me?”
Roberto’s head snaps up immediately.
“No!”
He takes a deep breath, and reminds himself to speak quietly as to not wake up the rest of the room. Hiraga’s face is already showing signs of relief.
“Of course not,” he continues in a whisper. “How could you think that? I,” and here Roberto pauses. This is not the ideal place to confess. Hiraga deserves much, much more than a sobbing mess and a soiled sheet on a cold balcony in an unfamiliar room, but. But.
Hiraga has given him so much today. (A confession, a ring, an experience of family. A hand, a mouth, and pleasure Roberto could never put into words.) It’s not fair to keep him waiting still.
“I love you more than anything,” Roberto confesses to him quietly. “I will never, ever come to hate you. I promise.”
Hiraga smiles up at him, eyes glittering. “I know!”
That throws Roberto off. “Eh?”
Hiraga’s grin is infectious. “You told me earlier, when you, ah…” Hiraga’s eyes dart over to where his brother and father lie sleeping. He meets Roberto’s eyes, blushing slightly but with a playful smile. Roberto cannot believe his ears.
“I did?” Hiraga nods happily. “Ah. I see. How unfortunate,” Roberto continues. “I had hoped to remember at least that much.”
Hiraga nestles up to him, seemingly unphased. “It’s alright. I’d be happy to hear it again.”
And with that, every unsettled feeling in Roberto’s heart is swept away.
(I love you, he whispers, and will continue to all night, face hidden in Hiraga’s hair.)
Hiraga wipes away the wet streaks that adorn his face. They take a blanket from their own bed to cover Jin and Ryouta, lost in slumber. The lamp is switched off. The used blanket is adequately hidden, and Roberto washes his face while Hiraga dries his hands. Roberto runs his fingers through his hair, though it is likely a lost cause.
Once they’re done, Roberto allows Hiraga to tug him into their own bed with no complaints. He embraces him tightly.
“Hey,” Roberto whispers to him. “Let’s go buy your ring soon, alright?”
“Make,” Hiraga corrects sleepily, and Roberto is once again sent reeling. He holds Hiraga as he falls asleep, whispering promises of love, and tries to pray, to offer what thanks he can to God for this blessing.
(The next day is truly just as exciting: Jin and Ryouta wake up disoriented but happy when they see the couple embracing in their sleep, Roberto discovers that his ring is gold – he won’t find the inscription within until they get home – and Hiraga gets flustered when Roberto calls him “Kou” in front of everyone. Hiraga gets teased about his new, form-fitting wardrobe much to Roberto’s delight, Jin tries to teach them all about adoption processes and family registries in Japan – to everyone but Hiraga’s confusion – and Roberto nearly damages something when he finds several red marks covering his nape, in plain view despite his shirt collar.)
