An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
hello to the 3-4 yamai enjoyers here! I wrote a little thing for a ship that currently has my tits in a chokehold and wanted to share.
You're My New Religion
Kiryu Kazuma x Yamai Yutaka
Explicit
1.7k words
fic is also located below! thanks for reading 💚
Every few seconds, a ray of dusky light from the setting sun flits in through the window of the steadily moving taxi and slices up the features of Kiryu's relaxed face. His mouth and bearded chin remain in the shadows, but his eyes and the top of his nose become bathed in a molten golden glow that highlights the chocolate depths of his irises, his deepening crow's feet, the few faint freckles that kiss the apex of his cheeks. He's a little bit old and a little bit weathered, more than a little bit drunk at the moment, but he's also the loveliest sight Yamai has ever beheld.
…Perhaps that's an exaggeration.
Like Kiryu, Yamai is also more than a little bit drunk and, in his inebriated state, the world around him appears softer, gentler. The very edge of his vision is hazy and he almost feels warm, no doubt a result of being crammed in the backseat of a vehicle with Kiryu, a man made of blood and muscle and heat, a man who commands his surroundings by simply existing.
He is indeed lovely, and the alcohol coursing through his system and settling into his bloodstream encourages the thought to take hold rather than inhibit it. Yamai feels a sudden ridiculous compulsion to say it outloud, but, despite the few glasses of neat bourbon he drank throughout dinner, he's not that far gone.
So instead, he lets his body communicate what his mouth, his muddled mind, cannot. He reaches out to cup Kiryu's flushed cheek, then thumbs at the slightly puffy bag beneath his eye. Yamai recalls reading somewhere years ago that the skin here was extraordinarily thin and delicate, and he's reminded of that now as he strokes his thumb back and forth. He becomes enamored with the thought of pressing his lips over and over again to the wrinkles he finds there, but the sound of Kiryu's chuckle breaks his moment of transfixion.
“Are you searching for something, Yutaka?”
I've already found it.
The sentiment springs to Yamai's mind unbidden, and he halts it before it can escape his mouth. He narrows his eyes and clears his throat instead.
His hand, however, remains on Kiryu's face.
“I'm just making sure you're still awake, Kiryu,” Yamai drawls, swiping gently at his upper eyelid, teasing him. “It's past your bedtime, isn't it?”
Kiryu huffs out a little laugh through his nose and reaches up to curl his fingers around the ones currently poking at his eye. He lowers their hands onto the seat cushion in-between them but doesn't immediately withdraw, letting his fingers linger on Yutaka's for a few languid seconds before squeezing and releasing them.
Save for the soft murmuring of the cab driver's radio and the muffled din of vehicles sharing the road with them, the remainder of the ride back to their place is mostly silent but that suits Yamai and Kiryu just fine - neither man is very partial to idle talk, especially in the presence of someone they don't know.
***
Yamai licks the taste of whiskey straight from Kiryu’s lips the moment they’re over the threshold of their place, shoes kicked off and door shut tightly behind them. Kiryu responds in kind with a low moan, tongue inching forward until it tangles with his partner’s. Yamai can only allow it for a moment until he has to pull away and look at the glistening visage of Kiryu’s lips, wet and dark like an eager cunt. Without a conscious thought in his inebriated brain, he lifts his hand to skim his pointer and middle fingers along Kiryu’s bottom lip before sinking into the moist heat of his mouth.
Kiryu laps boldly at his fingertips before sucking him down, his moan shifting into something more guttural and desperate. It lasts mere seconds before Kiryu drops to the ground, the crash of his knees causing minor shockwaves through the tile beneath them. Yamai begins to protest weakly, more out of habit than anything else, but Kiryu is already pawing at his belt. One moment, he's tugging Yamai’s cock free from its confines and the next, he's mouthing hungrily at Yamai’s groin, licking at the tacky precum beading along his slit, sliding the “o” of his lips up and down his rigid shaft.
"K-Kiryu, you don't need to do this,” Yamai chokes out, but he thinks he might actually whine if the warmth of Kiryu's mouth suddenly goes absent from his cock. Kiryu just doubles his efforts in response, swallows Yamai's length over and over again like he's starving for it. He does eventually cease his ministrations for a moment, pulls off Yamai's cock to slur, "Let me. I like the way you taste.”
Yamai has to grit his teeth and dig his fingertips into the meat of his thigh as a precaution after hearing Kiryu’s admission; he's certain he'll cum all over Kiryu's face if he doesn't distract himself from the electricity that courses through his body upon processing those words. As much as Yamai wants to let Kiryu continue to indulge, as much as he enjoys the perfect moist heat of Kiryu's mouth, he doesn't think he'll last long at all if he continues to get sucked off.
I need to cum with Kiryu.
The haze in his mind is tinged with liquor and lust and it makes him feel a little sluggish, but this thought shoots through him like a bullet. He stops the bobbing motion of Kiryu’s head with a gentle hand on each of his cheeks and slides his cock free of Kiryu’s mouth. Yamai then kneels on the floor to join his partner there and takes a quick second to savor the sweet, drunken look of confusion on Kiryu’s face before leaning into him and joining their lips together in a kiss, saturated with spit and the taste of his own cock and alcohol. Although it was obvious Kiryu was enjoying deepthroating Yamai, he acquiesces to their kiss easily and eagerly, sucking on his tongue instead and swallowing Yamai’s rumbling groans of pleasure.
Yamai knees protest how hard the tile is beneath them and he’s suddenly mindful that he and Kiryu might be too old to be doing this on the floor, but that certainly doesn’t stop them from kissing like they’ve just discovered each other for the first time, like they’ll both cease to exist if they ever part. They remain joined at the mouths even as Kiryu starts to slide Yamai’s jacket from his shoulders and Yamai begins tugging at Kiryu’s belt buckle. Yamai’s got his pants and boxers slid partway down his sweaty thighs when Kiryu pulls back and breathes against Yamai’s lips.
“Yutaka, I need you.”
Yamai's heart hurdles itself into his throat and begins to pound wildly as if it's been set free after being caged for a lifetime.
Kiryu's words feel like some sort of salvation for Yamai. Although this isn't the first time he's experienced such rapture in Kiryu's presence, the feeling still tears through him and devastates him. Without any semblance of conscious thought, he pushes his lover down to the ground where he lands on his back with soft oomph and an even softer little laugh. Yamai doesn't even register that though, too preoccupied with fully removing Kiryu's bottoms then spreading his knees so he can fit himself in between Kiryu's legs. He impatiently tugs his own pants and boxers down a bit further so he can align his naked cock with Kiryu's.
“I'm yours, Kiryu,” Yamai gasps as he takes them both in his large hand and starts to stroke. “I have been for a long time.”
Kiryu moans at this and grinds upwards, trying desperately to increase their friction, the static the two of them are generating together. Yamai takes this as a hint to release his hold on them and to meet Kiryu's motions, to grind down and hump him. He manages to hold himself up for just a few hard thrusts before he collapses on top of Kiryu who swiftly wraps his arms around his back and cradles Yamai's hips with his strong thighs. He squeezes Yamai to his chest as they frot, runs a hand through the hair at the back of his head as he kisses wherever he can reach. Yamai feels Kiryu's lips on his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, and the thin skin of his eyelids - a tender mimicry of how Yamai was touching Kiryu during their taxi ride earlier.
It's impossible for Yamai to last long when he's like this, when he feels so deeply devoted to Kiryu, when it's difficult to tell where one man ends and the other begins. He cums, makes a mess of himself and the man underneath him, and it's obvious Kiryu follows closely behind with how he pushes up with one last mighty thrust, mouth torn open with a thunderous moan.
The two of them take the minimal time needed to catch their breaths before they're kissing again, softer this time, quieter, yet deep and sensual. Their skin is tacky with drying sweat and cum, but neither can be bothered to get up immediately.
The bliss only lasts for a few moments though, before their mutual aversion to any sort of unsavory sensation on their skin kicks in.
“We’ll get stuck this way if we don't get up and take a bath soon,” Yamai sighs after reluctantly ending their kiss. He slowly props himself up on his knees, giving his muscles a bit of time to recover from the frantic motions they just endured.
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Kiryu's teasing question is punctuated with a goofy little smile, the one he tends to show off only in the company of loved ones, the one that mirrors the man he is beneath his scrunched brow and steely exterior.
Yamai doesn't immediately answer, doesn't think he's capable of doing so without collapsing right back on top of him and giving into his compulsion of praising every last bit of Kiryu despite their state of dishevelment and inebriation.
Instead, he rises unsteadily to his feet and finishes undressing before offering a hand to a still-smiling Kiryu.
“I suppose I wouldn’t mind it,” Yamai responds dryly after a beat.
He’s not quite ready to admit he’d cling to Kiryu like a disciple clings to their god.
