ACHING | NANAMI KENTO ᯓ★
PAIRING: detectivem!reader x detectivef!reader
SUMMARY: in the suffocating depths of a missing child’s case, two unraveling detectives cross a line with each other to escape an unspoken ache creeping within.
TAGS: affair (brink of divorce nanami cheating), mentions of missing and dead kids, sexual tension, slight derogatory language to addicts, heavy angst, heavy dialogue, slow burn, plot with smut, quickie-like sex, finge ring, unprotected p in v sex
WC: 6k (hefty, hefty, hefty)
It had been almost two weeks, and the kid still hadn't been found. No leads, no concrete evidence, no reliable witnesses, no nothing.
You were drowning in a sea of manila folders, notes, and crime scene photographs that were starting to blend into one blur. Every day began to look the same: burning questions from the kid's parents, unpromising witness statements, and staring at the only tangible piece of evidence.
A red toy car. Left in the weeds of a lake found right next to a crack house. The mother swore in a fit of tears that he always carried it in his jean pocket.
You were stressed to say the least, but you had the tiny, fucked-up convenience of carrying this dead weight with your partner, Kento Nanami, who you knew from all your years working together, was a ticking time bomb.
He had only about two days left before he lost his mind, barged into that crack house after hours and demanded answers with fists. But he'd leave with nothing—just bloody knuckles and a loss of dignity he swore by. And you would be left covering for him.
It was rare for him to lose his composure, but working through these last few cases, you wouldn't blame him.
The precinct wasn't helping, either. The smell of stale coffee burned your nostrils every morning. The banter from other detectives working slop cases you would've solved within hours made you resentful of your squad. And the mocking facade of the sun illuminating the murky photographs of linked missing kids on your desk just channeled gurgles in your stomach you couldn't ignore.
And for your partner, for as great of a detective he was, his heavy sighs and the rhythmic thud of his fist slamming against his desk every half hour or so across from you, just served as reminder for how you were nowhere near solving this thing.
And that just pissed you off.
"If you're gonna keep slamming your fist like some dumbass judge that forgot her gavel, do it somewhere else," you hissed, not taking your eyes off of the photograph.
"And if you think staring at those photographs until your retinas burn gets us anywhere, then you're just as callous as you are useless."
If he was a simply new partner, you would've already lunged across the desk at the harshness of his words, but you knew him long enough to know this was an anger that wasn't directed at you. It was the same anger that rose from years working late shifts in either of your cramped cars, scanning every boulevard, hoping something worthy of evidence would fall on your laps, or a crime scene would just play out in front of you. And then when none of it occurred, it was dealing with the suffocating proximity of another failed night, just for the rush of his adrenaline to slow down the second his eyes lingered on you for a second too long.
You grabbed all of your case files with one quick swipe and stuffed it into your leather bag with an aggressive force that tore the edge of a folder. "I'm gonna go because if I don't, I may end up knocking your head off your shoulders."
You gave him one good look, eyes glared. "And I'm frankly not in the mood for a new partner."
He didn't stop you. He just adjusted his glasses and tightened his jaw, his eyes tracking the movement of your mouth before he went back to typing on his keyboard. He muttered something about how the time was steadily ticking and being far behind.
You stormed out of the precinct, opting for your apartment that reeked of old takeout and cheap printer ink.
You had printouts pinned to your living room wall, strings of cheap yarn connecting a picture of the lake to the mugshots of local dealers around the city. Your eyes burned, and the constant swig of beer down your throat was failing to fill the actual thirst you needed quenched. It just increased the unsettling ache deep in your chest as the familiar stream glided down and rested in your stomach.
The ache was hollow, growing bigger and becoming more distracting each time you left the precinct. Even on supposed good days—visiting your parents, playing tag with your nephew and niece amongst the muddy soil, the ache would knock upside your chest, stopping you dead in your tracks. You would just stare at them, until the ache told you it was okay to move. To be.
The photograph of the red toy car near the lake was pinned smack-dab in the middle. You were staring at it so long, the red had started to bleed into the grass around it.
Then came the knock.
It wasn't frantic, but loud and bold enough to tell you that whoever it was knew exactly who they were looking for.
You dragged yourself from off the carpet and to the door. The detective in you forever leading your next step, you looked out the peephole, and your breath instantly caught in your throat.
Nanami.
You unlocked the door and pulled it open. Your head peeked outside, turning left and right down the breezeway before looking at him. He towered over you, like always. The smell of his woody cologne mixed with tobacco and the rain immediately filled the doorway.
Your eyes scanned him. On decent days, he managed to keep his hair pristine, but on days where the air tasted like grime, and the city was beating the hell out of you two, his strands, like now, casted a curtain over his forehead. There were dark shadowed rain drops on his shirt. His top two buttons were undone, revealing only a sliver of his chest above his loose tie.
He didn't look at you right away. His hazel eyes drifted right past your shoulder, taking in the chaotic mess of the case plastered all over your living room walls, the cheap yarn, and the stale takeout containers on your counter and spread across your floor, before finally landing back on your face.
Before you could open your lips to ask him why he was here, he beat you to it.
"She changed the locks," he admitted softly, jaw tightening as the finality of his words hung in the muggy air, carried by the wind. "I guess solving a case where a seven-year-old could either be dead or pleading for his life matters less than missing a marriage counseling session."
"C'mon Nanami," you sighed, leaning against the doorframe. You didn't know his wife much. You had only seen her at annual holiday parties held at the precinct. She was fairly nice, but you could tell by the lightness in her walk and the wide smile she championed, Nanami wasn't going home and telling her the details about the grim reality you two knew far too well. A grimness that tethered you and Nanami far too close. "She just—”
"Your eyes…" He interrupted, eyes narrowing slightly.
Your brows furrowed. "What about them?"
"They look like mine," he finished, stepping a fraction closer. His gaze dropped to the dark circles under your eyes, trailed down to your lips, and then rose to lock with yours again.
"Like shit?" A breathless huff escaped you.
"Exactly that."
A light chuckle passed between you, the brief amusement fading as soon as it came. Drips of rain from the leaky gutter above you filled the silence. Your eyes watched as a droplet landed on Nanami's jaw, tracing a path down his neck and to his exposed chest, resting at his collarbone.
You felt a droplet land on your bare legs. You didn't bother trying to pull down the hem of your long-sleeve button-down, even though it only fell to your thighs, just covering the boy shorts underneath.
It wasn't like he had never seen you dressed down before. Only God knew how many nights you two had spent together in cramped cars in the late hours of the night. The countless nights taking your hair tie out for your hair, freeing your coils to fall at your shoulders, or removing your button-down, only to reveal a tight tank top that failed to hide the color of your nipples. You were past modesty.
"Come inside," you broke the silence, moving back and allowing him to step into your apartment.
"Chinese, okay?" he asked, pulling his phone out to dial. His eyes drifted past you, locked onto the printouts scattered across your wall. "Seems we have a long night ahead of us."
You closed the door behind him, shutting out the impending storm. And when the food finally arrived, and you clinked your Hennessy bottles together over the files, working the case was back on.
"Now we know Watkins' alibi doesn't add up past midnight," you muttered hours later, the end of the pen sitting tightly between your teeth. Your fingers traced along the rough fibers of your carpet. Documents were scattered all over the floor; your eyes traced over each one.
You pressed your finger on the snapped shot of a car on the highway. "He claimed he was across town, but a traffic cam caught his rusted sedan heading toward the lake road around one that morning." Your eyes trailed to Nanami's face. His face was scrunched, focusing closely on the shot presented to him.
You turned your attention to the next opened document, releasing the pen from your lips. The pen hit the file with a sharp snap. "And look at his old juvenile sheet from ten years ago. His first arrest was for a break-in on Reese Farmer's street."
Nanami leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing up against your arm as he propped himself up using his elbow as a rest on the carpet. There was a pregnant pause as he continued examining, the gears in his head moving as fast as his eyes moved between the two files. "Do you think these cases tie?"
"They could…" You trailed off, examining the documents scattered across your floor. "The crime scenes are at the same lake…but the escalation doesn't add up." You shook your head, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.
"We found Farmer's body in the lake, and this one…" your finger pointed to the photograph of the red toy car plastered on your wall. "For Matthews, we just have some car he played with."
You lowered your finger, letting it hit the carpet in defeat. An exhale left your nose. Your mind flashed between multiple pictures at once. Some from the Farmer case, photographs of the missing children on your desk, your niece and nephew, and the current case pleading you to solve it. "Paint the picture for me because as far as I know, the junkie who killed Farmer is already doing a life stint."
"Exactly. A junkie. A pawn. A pawn just used for a bigger game." Nanami looked up at you. His eyes trailed past you, examining the yarn pinned to your wall. "Think about the timeline. Farmer's case went cold the second Jennings' signed his name next to the confession. There were no details about how or why he killed that kid."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as his jaw tightened. "And then—we—some protectors we are—closed the book." He met your gaze again, an amused huff escaping him. "The bosses got their headlines, and everyone stopped looking at the lake."
You digest his words, only responding with a huff. You weren't naive to think this was happening purely for no reason. But you didn't want to believe it. That something cruel could plant itself into the soil of the city, and manifest into—
"Shit," He muttered under his breath. "This city is just turning into a meat grinder we can't stop." He shook his head, scouring at the documents beneath him.
"But this kid—Matthews…and Farmer…" You could tell the thought was losing him as his lips kept opening and closing. He groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose again.
"It's not just Watkins…he's probably just a damn clean-up crew to an entire puzzle."
A sudden coldness trailed down your arms.
"A fucking puzzle—great. Always a puzzle," you scoffed, letting your back hit the ground. Your hands covered your face, but all you could see was red.
"Do you need to step away?" Nanami asked. Your palms were still buried over your face. "It doesn't help you sit in this shit all day."
You moved your hands from your face. That familiar impulse of lunging at him from his words rushed your mind. But it faded as soon as your hands rested against the plastic of another file near you, the snap of you finger hitting it echoed in in your ear. Maybe you did sit in this shit all day.
"What's better?" You asked lowly, more rhetorical than anything. "Pretending it doesn't exist when I go home? Sleeping on it?"
You turned your head and reached for the Hennessy bottle beside you. "Or do I wait for it to hit me out of nowhere and barge into a crack house in the middle of the night? Claim it was for the greater good to the Lieutenant?"
You didn't hear an answer. You weren't expecting one.
You lifted the bottle, tilting it to pour the contents over your resting head and down your throat, but you felt a tug pulling it back down.
Your eyes snapped from the bottle to Nanami. His jaw had finally slackened. He held a sympathetic gaze towards you, hand firm around the bottle.
"Sit up," he murmured. "You'll choke."
"I would rather do that right now."
He snatched the glass from your grip, setting the bottle down on his opposite side. You groaned as he reached under your arm, pulling your reluctant body back to reality.
"I wouldn't." There was a slight tug of a smile on one side of his mouth, quickly gone as it came.
You sank back down beside him on the floor, your arm brushing against the fabric of his button-down. You wrapped your arms around your legs, securing your thighs close to your chest.
Although hours had passed, the sound of rain hitting the windows echoed throughout the space. Two weeks, and here you lay, still trapped in a sea of manila folders and photographs. Here, anchored by your partner.
"Do you ever get the feeling this is it?" you asked into the dark, chin resting against your knees. Your eyes were fixed on the image of the red car pinned to the wall.
"This?" You could feel the weight of his gaze pressing into the one side of your face. "I'm not following."
"Y'know…this," you muttered, a shiver trickling at how soft you sounded. "We close one file, the city replaces it with two more dead ends. We work it, We spend months pretending our badges make a difference, ignoring that the world isn't this shitty, and then we start again on Monday. Again and again."
"It's what we signed up for, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but…" You let your knees drop slightly, turning your head to face him. His gaze was already locked on yours. You tapped a finger against your chest.
"I didn't sign up for the ache…this cave in my chest that just sits there whether we solve a case or not." You swallowed the sob that wanted desperately to break your voice. "I can't fucking stand it, Nanami. I can't run from it."
His eyes narrowed slightly at the admission, tracking the way your teeth clenched together. His gaze drifted down to the forensic report sitting beneath your bare foot. He leaned in, close enough for you to smell the woodiness of his cologne around his neck, and gently slid it from under your foot, tossing it away from you.
"None of us can," he said softly, resting his hand atop your knee.
An empty container of lo mein tumbled off the edge of the coffee table, spilling a stray plastic fork onto the floor. Neither of you moved to pick it up.
"So you feel it too?" you asked, your voice barely a rasp.
His thumb stopped rubbing against your knee. He didn't pull away, but his palm covered the bone. His grip tightened, just enough to not hurt you.
You lifted your head to the photograph of the toy car pinned to your wall. It was already pressing into you.
"I feel it when I look at my niece and nephew," you whispered in a rush."I played tag with them the other night, and it was like…I didn't even see them as kids anymore. I just saw future victims." Your eyes trailed to your feet, wiggling the toes between the rough fibers of the carpet.
"I see them as the victims we fail before we even get the dispatch. I look at Farmer, Matthews—and all they are—are victims of a world they didn't even ask to be in."
You winced, realizing you're just rambling now.
A sudden, violent crack of thunder rattled the cheap glass of your apartment window, followed by a quick flicker of the lights.
Nanami didn't move away from the noise or the flicker. His eyes remained focused on you, gaze dropping to your mouth.
"I felt it with my wife," he admitted softly. His thumb rubbed across your knee again, the digit massaging the bone underneath your skin. "A lot different from how you're feeling it, but…I felt it."
His eyes drifted upwards to your still ceiling fan.
"I felt it when she would touch my hand, and all I could think about was how the crime scene was still on my fingers, and I would infect her with it if I didn't pull away. I felt it when I would come home to a clean house, and all I could feel like was the one mess she couldn't just sweep away."
He shrugged.
"She said to me one night…" He trailed off, a dry laughter vibrating in his chest. "She said I let you know me far more than I let her. She claimed I let you inside."
Your heart thumped roughly as the storm outside raged on, washing over the roof in a deafening roar.
"And what'd you say?"
He shook his head, eyes still locked on the fan. Your gaze was pressed into the sharp line of his profile, heart hammering enough against your chest so hard that it felt like it could yank an answer out of his mouth. But Nanami remained still, no sense of urgency to tell you.
"I opened the fridge, and I grabbed a beer," he said, admission leaving him in an exhausted breath.
"That's it?"
He turned to you, his hazel eyes steady and unwavering at your question ghosted in shock.
"I was never a good liar."
"That's why I always do the talking in the Lieutenant's office," you murmered, a faint smile pulling at your lips, but your heart didn't exactly beat to the humor.
"Right," he huffed, bowing his head down. A stray strand of his fell forward.
"I vowed a long time ago to never lie to her. I honestly think our marriage ended right there. Right there in that kitchen."
"Do you really think it's over?"
"My marriage?" he asked.
You nodded, your chin shifting against your knees.
He reached for the beer next to him and took a swig, savoring the taste of it by sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.
"I know I plan to be a detective for a very long time."
The finality of his words hung in the cramped chaos of your space. He had chosen the job. He had chosen it over his peace of mind, his marriage, the unspoken ache buried in his chest, and all of it caused you to swallow down the painful ball that crept in your throat.
"So tell me, do you feel the ache right now?" He asked, setting the bottle down.
Your eyes flicked to where he set it near his foot. Reaching out, your fingers brushed his as you snatched it, taking a sharp, burning gulp straight from the mouth of the bottle.
Nanami let out a breath, amused. "That's my–"
"Why'd you come here?" You cut him off, slamming the glass down, though you weren't upset. "You could've gone anywhere. You have friends—family. But you came to my doorstep. Why?"
He looked at you, and the distance between you suddenly felt nonexistent. You hadn't even realized his hand had long drifted past your knee, resting right under your thigh.
"I don't feel it when I'm with you," he confessed in a whisper. "Not so much, rather."
The confession from his lips had only brushed your nose. But it felt like it had cupped your face. You realized there, amongst the shared chaos, through the suffocating proximity, he had chosen not only the job, but you.
You didn't break the gaze. You couldn't.
"Kento," you called, unsure if it was a plea, a question, or an answer.
He didn't answer with words, but his hand lifted to your face, gently cupping your cheek the familiar way his words had already. His thumb brushed over your collarbone, right under the dark circles that mirrored his own. His eyes narrowed, irises moving steadily to study your face.
Your eyes closed, completely surrendering to his touch.
You could feel him inch closer to your face, the scent of tobacco and his cologne brushing your nose, sending a shiver down your spine.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered. "You say it, and I will."
The warmth from his palms contrasted the chill within your body. You wanted him closer.
You opened your eyes, shifting from his lips and back to his gaze. His hands were eager, but his gaze remained scrunched, patiently waiting for your call to move.
You said nothing.
His lips crashed into yours with an urgency you've seen before. It was the same touch of urgency you recognized when he dragged your body down instinctively beside him to hover over you during shootouts; the familiar touch when he tugged at your waist, motioning for you to stay close when walking into the unknowns of the city.
His hand wasted no time sliding to the back of your neck, his fingers intertwining with the many, delicate tangles of your coils to tilt your head back and pull you closer into the kiss.
A ragged gasp escaped your throat, instantly swallowed by your partner. He kissed you with a hunger that couldn't be filled, no matter how hard he tried. Your hands trailed to the sharp cuts of his jaw, drinking the gritty taste of the Hennessy lingering on his tongue. Heavy groans filled the room, almost wiping out the sound of raindrops steadily pounding on the windowpane.
The feel of his large, calloused hands set firm beside your waist, instantly lifting and pulling you onto his lap. You could no longer see the wall, the scattered chaos, the lo mein.
Your legs instinctively wrapped around him. You slid your arms around the back of his neck, your fingernails tracing up his undercut into his messy strands. Both of your lips refused to separate, swallowing every heavy breath and grunt forced out of each other.
He pulled away slightly, noses still touching. Your mouth formed a brief pout at the loss of his lips. Your hands fell to each side of his broad shoulders, grip firm and still.
"You okay?" You asked, only mere inches away from his face. His eyes fell to your mouth, trailed past your nose, the dark circles under your eyes, and locked onto your gaze.
He leaned back slightly and removed his glasses, setting them down beside him. His naked, hazel eyes were set on yours again. You briefly studied the short glint in his pupils, finality of the many choices made tonight hidden within them. He cupped your face, the sheer coldness of the wedding band on his finger, ever so noticeable against your cheek.
A shudder ran through his lips. Another choice made, another line crossed, and you swallowd it, drinking in the tremor of his mouth as he pulled you back. He kissed you deeply again, not missing the hunger from before.
He separated and dove straight for your neck, a desperate moan pulling out of you as his lips made contact with your skin. He sucked vehemently against your throat, nails digging into your waist to keep you in place. Your fingers blindly made way to the top buttons of his fabric, loosening each one drastically as his mouth pecked across your jawline.
His hands gripped your hips harshly, pulling you flush against him. Through the thin fabric of your underwear, you felt the rigid heat of him poking up against his trousers.
You let out a sharp cry at just the sheer thought of his size. You thought it about once before when you noticed he had that unbridled walk at the precinct where his bulge just sat mindlessly between his legs, dictating how each step landed, awkward, stiff, or normal. He always carried it with a confidence he was unaware of.
His fingers trailed up your waist, brushing past your breast and hurriedly undid your button-down to the very last thread. He pulled the sleeves down, taking off the shirt with one swift motion. Your body shivered at the newfound coldness until his tongue lapped against your skin once more, bringing you right back to warmth.
He leaned back, the sight of your breast causing a hitch in his throat. Your nipples perked, aching under his drooling stare. You could feel the weight of his dick twitch underneath your shorts.
You lifted slightly off of him, hands trailing to the waist band of your fabric. You tried pulling it down fast, but the cotton caught against the curve of your ass. His hands reached for your underwear, just covering your fingers he as helped you push them over, down your thighs and off your feet.
"Come here," he ordered, voice low and raspy. It was the first words he had said in a while, confirmation that what was unfolding needed to continue.
You didn't hesitate, scooting closer. Your knees hung on each side of his legs, resting on the carpet. Your belly pressed flat against his chest, as the heat of his mouth was near your breast.
His hands trailed to your inner thigh, one palm lay firm against your leg to secure you, and the other teased at your folds, tracing right along the slit.
"Tell me to stop," he muttered again, his lips brushing against your nipple.
"Please don't," you gasped, looking below at his hair, fingers intertwining with his blonde strands.
At your word, he pushed a mere finger inside of your coveted walls. Your breath hitched at the feel, muscles instantly tightening around him. Your fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth closed over your nipple, licking the sensitive tip with a slow stroke of his tongue. You twitched viscerally at his work, a helpless sound escaping your lips.
He pushed a second finger inside, stretching you further. His other hand pushed your thigh away, keeping you completely open for him.
"God, look how I have you," he murmured, his fingers moving at a slow pace inside of you, curling right at the spot that drew your head back in pure ecstasy. He continued hitting the part of your insides that had you squirming until your forehead fell to his shoulders, your exhausted pants hot against his ear. "All pretty and wet for me," he muttered.
"Just hold on to me," he whispered, still focused on stretching you out.
Your nails dug into the side of his shoulders as your teeth carved into the side of his neck. A groan escaped his lips at the sharpness of your bite, but his fingers remained relentlessly pressed against the spongy part of your insides.
"I-I feel so close," you cried out in his ear, tears brimming your lashes.
He picked up his pace, curling his fingers at the exact spot he figured out made your knees buckle. You screamed out, hands clinging at his neck as the climax washed over you. He continued slipping in and out of you until the tremors in your legs subsided.
You lay there leaned against his shoulders, coils fallen over your head and the weight of his chest the only thing holding you. You couldn't think even if you tried.
Your eyes shot to the sound of a clk, watching as he unfastened his belt beneath you, sliding it off from around him.
You sat back, your ass pressed against his legs as you sat in front of him. You were breathing heavily, flutters still in your stomach from your climax. Your eyes trailed to his face.
He looked undone, cheeks red as heavy breaths escaped his lips. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off the sharp lines of his heaving chest and stomach.
You were used to your partner composed. Every move he made was with a calculated finesse that counteracted your fierce edge—that's what made you great partners. But the way his fingers unzipped his pants with a shakiness that you could tell was upsetting him by the look on his face, it was new to you.
You crawled closer to him, resting your hands over his trembling fingers. Your eyes never left him, pulling down the metal with an ease that steadied him. He pressed his lips to yours, taking a deep breath into your mouth. You slipped your fingers at his waistband, pulling both of his trousers and briefs down. His veiny, dick sprang free, brushing up against your stomach.
"I need you on me," he whispered against you. "Fuck, I need you now."
You took a look at his eyes again. They were hooded with a desperate need. Dark circles were still under them, and yet with all of the want within them, they still looked like yours.
You lifted yourself, your hands on his shoulders to support you. His hands stayed firm at your waist.
A subtle shudder fell from his lips as you sat, slowly taking all of him at once. You winced at the burning stretch, hands trailing around his neck to anchor you.
"Christ," he groaned once your thighs met his hips.
The sensation hit you all at once. His girth stretched your walls with an addictive burn that filled your stomach with a heat.
Neither of you moved. Sweaty foreheads pressed together, your hot breaths hit each other in synchronized bursts. He cupped your face, settling a quick peck amongst your lips. You could feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.
You moved first, shifting your hips in a slow, torturous grind. You bit your lip, suppressing the loud cry that already threatened to fall. He rolled his head back, his nails digging into your waist as your hips continued rotating against him.
"Just like that," he moaned lowly, diving for your neck. "Don't fucking stop," he whispered against your throat, sending a shiver down your spine.
Each grind had your eyes watering. The sheer pressure of his dick inside of you made your walls flutter around him. You let out a loud moan, your clit rubbing against his pelvis just right. You dropped your head to his shoulders, keeping your grind slow and rhythmic.
"God, you're so tight," he uttered. His hips inched upwards. The tip of his dick was pressed at the familiarized spot, causing a short cry to fall from your lips. He fully wrapped his arms around you, fabric from his sleeves scratching your bare back. He began to slowly bounce you up and down on him.
Your cheek was pressed into the side of his profile. Your sweat and your tears, maybe his, squished in between your faces. You couldn't hold any of it in any longer, the suppressed moans, groans, and cries, all left you at once each time he guided you down, your drool landing on his shoulder.
"I know, let it out," he groaned, maintaining his punishing pace.
Your walls tightened around him, feeling an intense flutter in your stomach. One bigger than before.
"K-ken-, fuck, I'm gonna c—," you cried out, hugging him tighter against you. He picked up his pace. He gave way from a slow, precise bounce to a desperate spring. His hands trailed to each side of your waist, nails digging bruisingly as he brought you down with more force.
"Just a little more," he murmured into your coils, nails digging into your sides. His hips inched further up, the blunt force of him bottoming you out and grazing your cervix shattered the control he had left. There was no more rhythm.
Heavy groans flooded out of his mouth along with words you couldn't quite understand. All you could comprehend was "Shit," after his thrusts became sloppier.
Your muscles seized violently around him as a breathless sob finally broke past your teeth. After a few more thrusts, you felt him go completely rigid beneath you.
He buried his face into your coils. You could feel his heavy breaths against your ear, his chest heaving against yours as he spent himself inside you.
For a long time, neither of you moved.
The room slowly filled up with the sound of water outside. Papers were scattered, lo mein and bottles flipped over, and the room was colder than before. The heavy rain had long subsided, leaving you two with the remaining sounds of drips that fell from the gutter outside.
His arms fell to his sides, finally releasing you from his tight hold. You lifted your hips, letting him slip out of your wet core. You moved back, ass hitting the carpet again as you found your underwear beside him. You tugged it on, hands shaking slightly.
Beside you, Nanami was already moving, pulling himself back into his briefs and trousers. The sharp clasp of his belt clicking echoed through the room. His movements were hurried, fumbling with the bottom buttons of his shirt.
You reached for your button-down, stretching it over your arms. You wanted to warm up, but you still felt cold. The scent of Chinese food hung inappropriately thick in the air. Your eyes darted to a file near your feet, fingertips etching to just pick it up.
"I should go," Nanami whispered. The words low, but loud enough to hit your chest.
Your eyes shifted to him, glaring at him as a rash heat radiated in your chest. He didn't meet your gaze, eyes locked on the carpet.
"You're gonna just leave?"
He lifted his head, eyebrows furrowed across from you. "What do you want from me right now?" His voice cracked, crease forming between his eyebrows. "A conversation? Aftercare? Another case review?"
The harshness of his words hit your chest forcefully. You rose from off the floor.
"I don't need a damn thing from you," you hissed in a low growl, eyes widening at the full tremble in your legs still. "You're just gonna leave as soon as you got what you came here for, huh? Fuck you, Kento."
"Hey, I didn't—" He stammered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He rose from the floor. You both stood in the middle of a mess, files scattered at your feet.
He zipped up his trousers. "I didn't come here for that," he said, eyes shut as he audibly swallowed. "Believe me."
He let out a sigh, eyes tracing the scattered chaos between you two. You could see the gears in his mind turning as he shook his head.
"But I brought my problems to your door. I gave in, and I fucked my partner—"
"Me too!" You barked, the words ripping out of your throat as you repeatedly pointed to your chest. "Don't talk as if I wasn't there. This was my doing as much as it was yours."
"I know, I'm sorry," he spoke softly, lifting his hands in a surrender. "I'm sorry."
A tear slipped down your face.
You bit your inside lip to stop the next sob from breaking, your shoulders trembling under the heavy cotton of your shirt. His gaze tracked the path of the tear down your cheek.
He closed the small distance between you by a single fraction of a step, avoiding the document near his foot.
"If I leave tonight, you're gonna feel it right?" He asked, his voice in a low register.
"Feel what?"
"That feeling you were talking about earlier. That ache, right here?" He patted his chest, right near his heart.
Your eyes shifted to his hand on his shirt. You trailed up to his face, meeting the same hazel eyes that mirrored yours.
"Will you?"
a/n: big shoutout if you made it to the end. first long fic complete and i’m so happy. thank you so much <3
taglist: @tengensbigtiddies @nanamisleftbuttcrack
