Right But Not Correct (DDS/X, O'Brian/Subaru)
The second porn_battle repost. It, um, kind of got out of control. But I am damned proud of it.
This fic is a companion piece to mithrigil’s brilliant Aneurysm, specifically the epilogue, and should be read in context of that. The ‘verse is hers (and CLAMP and Atlus’s), I just play in it.
Right But Not Correct. DDS/X crossover, (Heat) O'Brian/Subaru. 2500 words, NC-17. SPOILERS FOR DDS2.
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?
2022.10.29.
Subaru has to cut his visit short. He has a thousand apologies prepared for the necessity, a thousand English “sorry”s and “I deeply regret that”s and “if you will excuse me”s, and he stammers them all out breathlessly, one after the other. He keeps his hands behind his back or crammed into his coat pockets so the researchers at the Karma Society won’t see his fists trembling, the fabric of his gloves stained with sweat.
Once he’s in one of the bathrooms, white surfaces scoured and stripped of any trace of color, he leans over the sink, grips the marble basin, and suppresses the need to retch.
This is not his place. This is not his world. But he inhabits it now, and the ghosts of dead children cling to his skin, a film he can’t dispel. His gloves leave crude smudge marks on the basin, oil and perspiration. The mirror reflects the overhead fluorescents back into his eyes, multiplies the glare tenfold. There are eyes on him: electronic, supernatural-
-human.
In the mirror, he sees one of the stall doors creak open another few centimeters. Brown eyes, or the reflections of them, lock on his. His lab coat is the same white as the walls. Subaru doesn’t need to glance at the laminated ID badge pinned to his lapel to identify him.
“O’Brian-san,” he says. He uncurls from his hunched position only to bow again.
“Angel told us you were getting out of here today,” O’Brian says. He crosses to the sink next to Subaru’s, lathers his hands and forearms with soap, rinses them, squeezes more soap from the dispenser and repeats the process.
“I am, yes,” he says. “Regrettably, family business called me home.” It’s the polite answer, the answer that isn’t one.
O’Brian switches off the taps; the last few drops of water hit the basin with a series of soft plinks. “That’s probably for the best.”
“Yes.” Subaru tears his eyes from the mirror, from the image placed in opposition to himself. “I think you are correct about that.”
O’Brian’s shoes squeak against the tile. “I can show you how to get to the entrance, if you want,” he says. “It’s easy to get lost in here.”
“I have noticed.” Even Subaru’s smile feels old, old and tired and worn even if his face no longer betrays such things, no longer indicates the passage of time. “You are a good man, O’Brian-san.”
“I’m not.” O’Brian looks down, turns away and rips a length of paper towel from the dispenser, rubs it briskly over his hands. “But-thanks.”
A shadow passes over O’Brian’s face, a translucent hand caressing his cheek. He shivers.
“My apologies,” Subaru says. “I believe my presence draws them out.”
O’Brian’s fingers trace the path of the ghost’s touch. “Them. Right. Normally I’d be skeptical, I think I’m still a skeptic by the standards of this place, but here…”
“You explore-” Subaru hesitates. What you should not is tempting, but he doesn’t need to voice that. “You explore the realm of the divine, and you are not accustomed to thinking in those terms.”
“This isn’t what I signed on for.” O’Brian rubs the back of his neck. He still grips the damp paper towel in his other hand, wads it up in his fist.
“Which part, O’Brian-san?”
He shakes his head, mute, then swallows. “All of it, I think.”
“I understand.”
“You know,” O’Brian says, “I think you do. That’s why you’re going home early, isn’t it?”
Subaru nods.
“Did Angel ask you to leave?”
“The decision was hers to make, yes,” Subaru says. “But I am-relieved she made that choice.”
O’Brian’s smile twists, parodies itself. “Lucky you.”
“You have not considered leaving, O’Brian-san?”
“No,” he says, leans back against the mirror, outlined by his reflection. “I can’t. I’m part of this.” His fist clenches around the sodden paper towel as his eyes drift half-closed. “Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?”
The words are significant, Subaru knows, but their context eludes him.
“First Corinthians, verse one, chapter twenty,” O’Brian explains, shakes his head. “I always hated Paul.”
“You are religious?”
“No.” O’Brian’s words bite through the air. His fist raps against the mirror, slides down its surface until it rests centimeters above where Subaru’s hand rests on the marble basin. His reflection grazes the edge of Subaru’s. “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t pull his hand away. “Your job, you must-you must believe in something, I just can’t anymore.”
Subaru’s chest doesn’t seize, because there’s nothing left there, but a dull ache worms its way through his stomach. “You do not need to apologize for that.”
Water dribbles from the faucet, drips into the drain. Neither of them speaks.
“I should throw this out,” O’Brian says, gesturing to the paper towel still wadded in his hand.
“If you will allow me.” Subaru stretches his hand forward to receive it, and O’Brian obliges; the heat from his fingers sears Subaru’s skin, even through the gloves. The touch…
O’Brian’s fingers curl slowly around his wrist. The paper towel falls, drops to the floor.
“I will pick it up,” Subaru says, and “No, I’ll get it,” O’Brian replies, and they both stoop to retrieve it, they seize the towel at the same moment and their fingers are clasped around it, around each other, and Subaru’s palm sweats. They rise, but they don’t let go.
Subaru stares at O’Brian, breath shallow, head-not reeling, he’s too old for that, but his face is heating, the back of his neck’s flushed and all the hairs on it are standing at attention, alert, awake.
“I don’t even know,’ O’Brian murmurs; there’s a sharp intake of breath, Subaru and O’Brian in tandem, and then O’Brian’s lips cover Subaru’s, grind into them, Subaru’s lips part at the pressure and O’Brian’s tongue-hot, flicking at the corners of his mouth like a tongue of flame. His mouth tastes nothing like cigarettes, it’s mouthwash instead, mouthwash and saliva and soda. Subaru clings to O’Brian’s lapel with his free hand, fists the cloth. Is he going to keep his gloves on for this?
O’Brian pivots him around and pushes against him, grinds with his lips, torso, hips until Subaru’s backed up as far as he can go. The back of Subaru’s head collides with the mirror, skids and thumps along it until O’Brian’s fingers knot in his hair, twist, hold him still or still enough. O’Brian presses his mouth to Subaru’s again, harder this time, apprehension swallowed and consumed by something else, the stubble on his chin scraping against Subaru’s jaw. The angle’s awkward, or at least it isn’t what Subaru’s used to, he doesn’t have to tilt his head back to reach O’Brian’s lips, doesn’t have to balance on the balls of his feet. O’Brian’s hands release Subaru’s hair, trail down his neck, the pads of his fingers pressing into his veins -Subaru thinks of his pulse being taken but the gesture’s not the same, there’s no calculation in the way O’Brian’s thumbs trace Subaru’s collarbones. It’s rough, unmeasured, unrefined, but it draws a shiver from him all the same, makes his breath hitch.
“There?” O’Brian’s voice cracks with-with the heat of what they’re doing, and the fact of it sinks in, sends a thrill shooting through Subaru’s hands: what they’re doing.
His throat runs dry. It’s the right sensation, or close enough to it, a good approximation, it’s where he should be touched and it’s where he’s being touched. It’s right, but it isn’t correct.
The sound that escapes his lips isn’t a yes and isn’t a no either, only a soft ha, barely voiced at all.
O’Brian jams the sides of his hands into the base of Subaru’s neck and drags him in for another kiss; the sound Subaru makes at that is half-gasp, half-croak, muffled by the press of O’Brian’s lips. His teeth catch Subaru’s lower lip, tug on it, and Subaru stutters out a moan, he can’t help himself, he hasn’t-this, not in-
O’Brian’s lips travel to Subaru’s neck as he kisses a path down to the hollow of Subaru’s throat: fast, imprecise, almost sloppy, so young. He pushes his thigh between Subaru’s leg, grinds in time to the rhythm of his kisses. He’s not careful with Subaru, he bites and scrapes his teeth up Subaru’s neck and sucks and explores, he’s rough but not enough to hurt so Subaru gasps “Harder” and the action, the physical action after that is right even if the sensation isn’t and won’t be.
His hand finds the back of O’Brian’s neck, grips it. The friction between his legs mounts, gathers-ah-he holds on as tight as he dares, whispers “yes” and doesn’t know if it’s in Japanese or English, but O’Brian understands and pulls him away from the mirror, backs him up until the basin of the sink digs into his lower back and makes him arch, lean, go almost prone with O’Brian pressing down on him, his fist tugging on the collar of Subaru’s shirt and holding him up.
“How-” O’Brian’s voice is hoarse. “Do you-do you have a plane to catch, or-”
“No,” Subaru says, doesn’t get the chance to say anything else because O’Brian kisses him again, want and hunger and ache bubbling to the surface; he doesn’t mask it, doesn’t bother, lets it show in the way his fingers grip hard enough to bruise, in how ragged and hoarse his breath becomes. Too close, close enough to burn, to sear, but-he’s vulnerable, too, like this, he isn’t-it’s different than it’s been, it’s never been like this-
Does he want it to be like this? Should he?
O’Brian’s hand, tugging at his pants, pushing them down, slipping under the waistband of Subaru’s boxers and-Subaru jerks back, slams his hips into the sink and groans.
“Fuck,” O’Brian says, “I thought you-”
“Do it.” His hands don’t burn at all. Not even a prickle, a twinge. The air rushes out of him and it’s all he can do to choke out a “please.”
“Like this?” O’Brian asks.
He has to say what he wants, somehow, has to articulate that. He works his lips soundlessly, closes them, turns over so he’s gripping the far side of the sink, staring into the basin, leaning over it and supporting his elbows on it with his back to O’Brian.
There’s a drawn-out hiss. “Oh,” O’Brian says.
Cloth rustles, shifts-Subaru’s going to stain the elbows of his suit and the water plinks into the sink again as though to confirm that-O’Brian says “God” (certain habits are hard to break, Subaru assumes-no, knows) and his hands steady on the backs of Subaru’s thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing in and kneading Subaru’s skin, not the nails. He withdraws his hands, but they return, he-he pushes a finger inside Subaru, slick and slippery with something, the sensation’s not what he’s accustomed to but it’s potent, he burns and gasps and rocks forward.
O’Brian makes a sound at that, too, hoarse and low. He stretches Subaru, slides his finger in and out and curls it and hits-there-and his hand’s warm and the marble is cold and Subaru shivers, bucks forward, soaks his gloves through with sweat, with the water still rimming the basin of the sink.
Another finger, more pressure, more but not enough, even when O’Brian’s hand travels under his jacket, under his turtleneck, pinches the skin under his ribs and grasps tight. O’Brian’s lined up there now, nudging at his entrance, pushing in and yes but it’s still too slow, the world isn’t whiting out in front of him despite what the décor suggests. “Now,” he says, “now, please, onegaishimasu.”
O’Brian groans, rolls his hips forward and Subaru stings with the fullness of it, doesn’t even remember to wrap his hand around himself until O’Brian starts to move but O’Brian’s already thought of that, he gets his hand there, too. Their fingers tangle together again, grasp, almost throttle, but that’s all right, he says as much. The first real thrust sends Subaru toppling into the sink again, almost dashes his forehead against the basin, but that’s all right too, O’Brian’s thumb traces the-the tip of him as apology and he moans, higher than he meant to. The marble rattles, solid clink after solid clink after solid clink, the water and the weight both. O’Brian’s hand moves fast enough to burn, it’s not Subaru’s pace but he can keep up, keep himself braced and ready for the thrusts, figure out how to shift under O’Brian so each stroke’s angled right. That takes maneuvering, experimentation, sometimes he chooses wrong and he claws at the basin when the dizzying slam of pain hits, but he adjusts, finds something right or close enough to it. Approximation, but that’s all it will ever be.
Faster and faster until the basin wobbles, teeters, they’re going to break it and Subaru doesn’t care-
Coming is almost too easy after that, when O’Brian’s next thrust makes his chin jar against the sink; his jaw rattles and his eyes roll back and his elbows tremble and white fills in the spaces behind his eyes.
He clenches around O’Brian when he comes-that’s enough to draw a ragged breath out of him, a series of low breathy noises more h than sound, and O’Brian keeps rocking in, panting, the sweat from his skin clings to Subaru’s and his grip on Subaru’s hip becomes bruising before it eases, before O’Brian’s motion stills and Subaru-feels what happens, what happens inside him.
O’Brian takes his time when he pulls out, does it slowly, deliberately. Cleaning up is convenient. There are paper towels and a sink and several trash cans, after all. O’Brian doesn’t speak, just wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.
“My break’s over soon,” he finally says. “I should-I guess I have to head back, don’t I.”
“If your job requires it,” Subaru says, “then yes.”
“You think you can find your way out from here?” He presses his lips together, tries to smile. “I don’t want you to get trapped in this place.”
“And I do not wish that for you, O’Brian-san.”
“Too late.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Too late for all of us.”
Subaru nods. He understands. It hurts to, but he does. “If you still wish to accompany me to the door,” he says, “I would not mind.”
Now to get back to everyone on the meme. ehe.
This fic is a companion piece to mithrigil’s brilliant Aneurysm, specifically the epilogue, and should be read in context of that. The ‘verse is hers (and CLAMP and Atlus’s), I just play in it.
Right But Not Correct. DDS/X crossover, (Heat) O'Brian/Subaru. 2500 words, NC-17. SPOILERS FOR DDS2.
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?
2022.10.29.
Subaru has to cut his visit short. He has a thousand apologies prepared for the necessity, a thousand English “sorry”s and “I deeply regret that”s and “if you will excuse me”s, and he stammers them all out breathlessly, one after the other. He keeps his hands behind his back or crammed into his coat pockets so the researchers at the Karma Society won’t see his fists trembling, the fabric of his gloves stained with sweat.
Once he’s in one of the bathrooms, white surfaces scoured and stripped of any trace of color, he leans over the sink, grips the marble basin, and suppresses the need to retch.
This is not his place. This is not his world. But he inhabits it now, and the ghosts of dead children cling to his skin, a film he can’t dispel. His gloves leave crude smudge marks on the basin, oil and perspiration. The mirror reflects the overhead fluorescents back into his eyes, multiplies the glare tenfold. There are eyes on him: electronic, supernatural-
-human.
In the mirror, he sees one of the stall doors creak open another few centimeters. Brown eyes, or the reflections of them, lock on his. His lab coat is the same white as the walls. Subaru doesn’t need to glance at the laminated ID badge pinned to his lapel to identify him.
“O’Brian-san,” he says. He uncurls from his hunched position only to bow again.
“Angel told us you were getting out of here today,” O’Brian says. He crosses to the sink next to Subaru’s, lathers his hands and forearms with soap, rinses them, squeezes more soap from the dispenser and repeats the process.
“I am, yes,” he says. “Regrettably, family business called me home.” It’s the polite answer, the answer that isn’t one.
O’Brian switches off the taps; the last few drops of water hit the basin with a series of soft plinks. “That’s probably for the best.”
“Yes.” Subaru tears his eyes from the mirror, from the image placed in opposition to himself. “I think you are correct about that.”
O’Brian’s shoes squeak against the tile. “I can show you how to get to the entrance, if you want,” he says. “It’s easy to get lost in here.”
“I have noticed.” Even Subaru’s smile feels old, old and tired and worn even if his face no longer betrays such things, no longer indicates the passage of time. “You are a good man, O’Brian-san.”
“I’m not.” O’Brian looks down, turns away and rips a length of paper towel from the dispenser, rubs it briskly over his hands. “But-thanks.”
A shadow passes over O’Brian’s face, a translucent hand caressing his cheek. He shivers.
“My apologies,” Subaru says. “I believe my presence draws them out.”
O’Brian’s fingers trace the path of the ghost’s touch. “Them. Right. Normally I’d be skeptical, I think I’m still a skeptic by the standards of this place, but here…”
“You explore-” Subaru hesitates. What you should not is tempting, but he doesn’t need to voice that. “You explore the realm of the divine, and you are not accustomed to thinking in those terms.”
“This isn’t what I signed on for.” O’Brian rubs the back of his neck. He still grips the damp paper towel in his other hand, wads it up in his fist.
“Which part, O’Brian-san?”
He shakes his head, mute, then swallows. “All of it, I think.”
“I understand.”
“You know,” O’Brian says, “I think you do. That’s why you’re going home early, isn’t it?”
Subaru nods.
“Did Angel ask you to leave?”
“The decision was hers to make, yes,” Subaru says. “But I am-relieved she made that choice.”
O’Brian’s smile twists, parodies itself. “Lucky you.”
“You have not considered leaving, O’Brian-san?”
“No,” he says, leans back against the mirror, outlined by his reflection. “I can’t. I’m part of this.” His fist clenches around the sodden paper towel as his eyes drift half-closed. “Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?”
The words are significant, Subaru knows, but their context eludes him.
“First Corinthians, verse one, chapter twenty,” O’Brian explains, shakes his head. “I always hated Paul.”
“You are religious?”
“No.” O’Brian’s words bite through the air. His fist raps against the mirror, slides down its surface until it rests centimeters above where Subaru’s hand rests on the marble basin. His reflection grazes the edge of Subaru’s. “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t pull his hand away. “Your job, you must-you must believe in something, I just can’t anymore.”
Subaru’s chest doesn’t seize, because there’s nothing left there, but a dull ache worms its way through his stomach. “You do not need to apologize for that.”
Water dribbles from the faucet, drips into the drain. Neither of them speaks.
“I should throw this out,” O’Brian says, gesturing to the paper towel still wadded in his hand.
“If you will allow me.” Subaru stretches his hand forward to receive it, and O’Brian obliges; the heat from his fingers sears Subaru’s skin, even through the gloves. The touch…
O’Brian’s fingers curl slowly around his wrist. The paper towel falls, drops to the floor.
“I will pick it up,” Subaru says, and “No, I’ll get it,” O’Brian replies, and they both stoop to retrieve it, they seize the towel at the same moment and their fingers are clasped around it, around each other, and Subaru’s palm sweats. They rise, but they don’t let go.
Subaru stares at O’Brian, breath shallow, head-not reeling, he’s too old for that, but his face is heating, the back of his neck’s flushed and all the hairs on it are standing at attention, alert, awake.
“I don’t even know,’ O’Brian murmurs; there’s a sharp intake of breath, Subaru and O’Brian in tandem, and then O’Brian’s lips cover Subaru’s, grind into them, Subaru’s lips part at the pressure and O’Brian’s tongue-hot, flicking at the corners of his mouth like a tongue of flame. His mouth tastes nothing like cigarettes, it’s mouthwash instead, mouthwash and saliva and soda. Subaru clings to O’Brian’s lapel with his free hand, fists the cloth. Is he going to keep his gloves on for this?
O’Brian pivots him around and pushes against him, grinds with his lips, torso, hips until Subaru’s backed up as far as he can go. The back of Subaru’s head collides with the mirror, skids and thumps along it until O’Brian’s fingers knot in his hair, twist, hold him still or still enough. O’Brian presses his mouth to Subaru’s again, harder this time, apprehension swallowed and consumed by something else, the stubble on his chin scraping against Subaru’s jaw. The angle’s awkward, or at least it isn’t what Subaru’s used to, he doesn’t have to tilt his head back to reach O’Brian’s lips, doesn’t have to balance on the balls of his feet. O’Brian’s hands release Subaru’s hair, trail down his neck, the pads of his fingers pressing into his veins -Subaru thinks of his pulse being taken but the gesture’s not the same, there’s no calculation in the way O’Brian’s thumbs trace Subaru’s collarbones. It’s rough, unmeasured, unrefined, but it draws a shiver from him all the same, makes his breath hitch.
“There?” O’Brian’s voice cracks with-with the heat of what they’re doing, and the fact of it sinks in, sends a thrill shooting through Subaru’s hands: what they’re doing.
His throat runs dry. It’s the right sensation, or close enough to it, a good approximation, it’s where he should be touched and it’s where he’s being touched. It’s right, but it isn’t correct.
The sound that escapes his lips isn’t a yes and isn’t a no either, only a soft ha, barely voiced at all.
O’Brian jams the sides of his hands into the base of Subaru’s neck and drags him in for another kiss; the sound Subaru makes at that is half-gasp, half-croak, muffled by the press of O’Brian’s lips. His teeth catch Subaru’s lower lip, tug on it, and Subaru stutters out a moan, he can’t help himself, he hasn’t-this, not in-
O’Brian’s lips travel to Subaru’s neck as he kisses a path down to the hollow of Subaru’s throat: fast, imprecise, almost sloppy, so young. He pushes his thigh between Subaru’s leg, grinds in time to the rhythm of his kisses. He’s not careful with Subaru, he bites and scrapes his teeth up Subaru’s neck and sucks and explores, he’s rough but not enough to hurt so Subaru gasps “Harder” and the action, the physical action after that is right even if the sensation isn’t and won’t be.
His hand finds the back of O’Brian’s neck, grips it. The friction between his legs mounts, gathers-ah-he holds on as tight as he dares, whispers “yes” and doesn’t know if it’s in Japanese or English, but O’Brian understands and pulls him away from the mirror, backs him up until the basin of the sink digs into his lower back and makes him arch, lean, go almost prone with O’Brian pressing down on him, his fist tugging on the collar of Subaru’s shirt and holding him up.
“How-” O’Brian’s voice is hoarse. “Do you-do you have a plane to catch, or-”
“No,” Subaru says, doesn’t get the chance to say anything else because O’Brian kisses him again, want and hunger and ache bubbling to the surface; he doesn’t mask it, doesn’t bother, lets it show in the way his fingers grip hard enough to bruise, in how ragged and hoarse his breath becomes. Too close, close enough to burn, to sear, but-he’s vulnerable, too, like this, he isn’t-it’s different than it’s been, it’s never been like this-
Does he want it to be like this? Should he?
O’Brian’s hand, tugging at his pants, pushing them down, slipping under the waistband of Subaru’s boxers and-Subaru jerks back, slams his hips into the sink and groans.
“Fuck,” O’Brian says, “I thought you-”
“Do it.” His hands don’t burn at all. Not even a prickle, a twinge. The air rushes out of him and it’s all he can do to choke out a “please.”
“Like this?” O’Brian asks.
He has to say what he wants, somehow, has to articulate that. He works his lips soundlessly, closes them, turns over so he’s gripping the far side of the sink, staring into the basin, leaning over it and supporting his elbows on it with his back to O’Brian.
There’s a drawn-out hiss. “Oh,” O’Brian says.
Cloth rustles, shifts-Subaru’s going to stain the elbows of his suit and the water plinks into the sink again as though to confirm that-O’Brian says “God” (certain habits are hard to break, Subaru assumes-no, knows) and his hands steady on the backs of Subaru’s thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing in and kneading Subaru’s skin, not the nails. He withdraws his hands, but they return, he-he pushes a finger inside Subaru, slick and slippery with something, the sensation’s not what he’s accustomed to but it’s potent, he burns and gasps and rocks forward.
O’Brian makes a sound at that, too, hoarse and low. He stretches Subaru, slides his finger in and out and curls it and hits-there-and his hand’s warm and the marble is cold and Subaru shivers, bucks forward, soaks his gloves through with sweat, with the water still rimming the basin of the sink.
Another finger, more pressure, more but not enough, even when O’Brian’s hand travels under his jacket, under his turtleneck, pinches the skin under his ribs and grasps tight. O’Brian’s lined up there now, nudging at his entrance, pushing in and yes but it’s still too slow, the world isn’t whiting out in front of him despite what the décor suggests. “Now,” he says, “now, please, onegaishimasu.”
O’Brian groans, rolls his hips forward and Subaru stings with the fullness of it, doesn’t even remember to wrap his hand around himself until O’Brian starts to move but O’Brian’s already thought of that, he gets his hand there, too. Their fingers tangle together again, grasp, almost throttle, but that’s all right, he says as much. The first real thrust sends Subaru toppling into the sink again, almost dashes his forehead against the basin, but that’s all right too, O’Brian’s thumb traces the-the tip of him as apology and he moans, higher than he meant to. The marble rattles, solid clink after solid clink after solid clink, the water and the weight both. O’Brian’s hand moves fast enough to burn, it’s not Subaru’s pace but he can keep up, keep himself braced and ready for the thrusts, figure out how to shift under O’Brian so each stroke’s angled right. That takes maneuvering, experimentation, sometimes he chooses wrong and he claws at the basin when the dizzying slam of pain hits, but he adjusts, finds something right or close enough to it. Approximation, but that’s all it will ever be.
Faster and faster until the basin wobbles, teeters, they’re going to break it and Subaru doesn’t care-
Coming is almost too easy after that, when O’Brian’s next thrust makes his chin jar against the sink; his jaw rattles and his eyes roll back and his elbows tremble and white fills in the spaces behind his eyes.
He clenches around O’Brian when he comes-that’s enough to draw a ragged breath out of him, a series of low breathy noises more h than sound, and O’Brian keeps rocking in, panting, the sweat from his skin clings to Subaru’s and his grip on Subaru’s hip becomes bruising before it eases, before O’Brian’s motion stills and Subaru-feels what happens, what happens inside him.
O’Brian takes his time when he pulls out, does it slowly, deliberately. Cleaning up is convenient. There are paper towels and a sink and several trash cans, after all. O’Brian doesn’t speak, just wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.
“My break’s over soon,” he finally says. “I should-I guess I have to head back, don’t I.”
“If your job requires it,” Subaru says, “then yes.”
“You think you can find your way out from here?” He presses his lips together, tries to smile. “I don’t want you to get trapped in this place.”
“And I do not wish that for you, O’Brian-san.”
“Too late.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Too late for all of us.”
Subaru nods. He understands. It hurts to, but he does. “If you still wish to accompany me to the door,” he says, “I would not mind.”
Now to get back to everyone on the meme. ehe.