Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shogo had never been one for grand gestures or sweeping declarations, but there was something about Ugetsu Murata that made him want to rewrite the rules. It started innocently enough—a chance meeting in London, courtesy of Mafuyu’s flight over from Japan for Given’s surprise European gig. Shogo, fresh off a grueling training session with football, had tagged along to the afterparty at a dimly lit pub near the venue, still buzzing from the raw energy of the set. Ugetsu, nursing a pint amid the haze of cigarette smoke and lingering amp feedback, had lingered a little too long during that first handshake, his gaze tracing the broad lines of Shogo’s shoulders like he was appraising a rare artifact. And when Shogo, in a moment of carelessness, lifted his shirt to wipe sweat from his brow amid the pub’s humid chatter, Ugetsu’s breath had hitched. Abs like carved marble, a testament to years of pounding the pitch and relentless discipline. Ugetsu’s attraction was immediate, visceral—always had been for men who wore their beauty like a weapon.

They weren’t dating. Not officially. But the hookups? Those had become a ritual, a secret rhythm that pulsed between them whenever their schedules aligned—Shogo’s practices bleeding into evenings, Ugetsu’s rehearsals running late into the night at the local orchestra hall. Shogo was patient, determined. One day, he told himself, he’ll see it. He’ll say yes. For now, though, this was enough—the heat, the hunger, the way Ugetsu looked at him like he was both salvation and sin.

Tonight, in the dim glow of Ugetsu’s flat, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked streets and half-empty ale bottles from the corner off-licence, Shogo found himself pinning Ugetsu against the door the moment it clicked shut. Their mouths crashed together, urgent and unyielding, tongues tangling in a familiar dance. Ugetsu tasted like the bitter hop of craft beer, sharp and intoxicating, and Shogo drank him in deeper, one hand fisting the front of Ugetsu’s shirt.

“Missed this,” Shogo murmured against his lips, voice low and rough, the innocent smile he flashed to the world nowhere in sight. Here, in this shadowed space, his eyes burned—predatory, thirsty, stripping Ugetsu bare before a single button was undone.

Ugetsu laughed, a breathy sound that vibrated between them. “Liar. You just missed the view.”

Shogo didn’t deny it. He shoved Ugetsu backward toward the bedroom, their bodies colliding in a tangle of limbs until the backs of Ugetsu’s knees hit the edge of the bed. Shogo pushed him down onto the rumpled sheets, the mattress dipping under their weight. Ugetsu propped himself on his elbows, eyes gleaming as Shogo straightened up, fingers hooking under the hem of his own shirt. He peeled it off slowly, deliberately, revealing the hard ridges of his abs—taut from endless drills on the local pitch, glistening faintly under the lamp’s warm light. Ugetsu’s gaze raked over him, unashamed, a slow smile curling his lips. God, he’s beautiful, Ugetsu thought, that familiar pull
tightening in his chest. Shogo’s face was all sharp angles and boyish charm in public, but here? Here, he was a storm.

Shogo descended again, capturing Ugetsu’s mouth in a bruising kiss before trailing his lips down the column of his neck, teeth grazing just enough to elicit a shiver. His hands roamed lower, palming the growing bulge in Ugetsu’s jeans with a firm, teasing rub. Ugetsu arched into the touch, a soft groan escaping him. “Fuck, Shogo…”

The words were a spark. Shogo’s fingers made quick work of Ugetsu’s belt and zipper, yanking the denim down along with his boxers in one fluid motion. Their mouths met again, the ale’s tang lingering like a shared vice. Shogo’s kisses grew worshipful as he mapped Ugetsu’s body—chest, collarbone, the sensitive dip of his hip—before latching onto one nipple with his tongue, swirling and sucking until Ugetsu’s breath came in ragged hitches. His free hand toyed with the other, pinching just hard enough to draw out a gasp.

“You’re too good at this,” Ugetsu panted, fingers threading through Shogo’s red hair. Most of his past lovers had grumbled about his passivity in bed, the way he lay back and let them do the work. But Shogo? Shogo thrived on it, his enthusiasm a quiet fire that made Ugetsu feel seen, wanted, without the weight of expectation. It was disarming, this eagerness to give.

Shogo’s mouth ventured lower, lips brushing the coarse trail of hair leading downward. He wrapped a hand around Ugetsu’s length, stroking once, twice, before leaning in to take him fully into his mouth—wet heat enveloping him in a slow, deliberate suck. Ugetsu’s head fell back against the pillows, a whine building in his throat. At the same time, Shogo’s other hand slicked a finger with spit, circling Ugetsu’s entrance before pressing inside, curling just right to brush that spot that made stars burst behind Ugetsu’s eyelids.

“Ah—ah—fuck, Shogo—” Ugetsu’s voice cracked, hips bucking involuntarily. “More—please, more—”

Shogo obliged, hollowing his cheeks to take him deeper, his finger thrusting in tandem, adding a second when Ugetsu’s pleas turned desperate. “Nngh—yes, like that—oh god, don’t stop—ah-ah- Shogo—” The moans spilled out unchecked, raw and needy, Ugetsu’s usual composure fracturing under the onslaught. His thighs trembled, one hand clutching the sheets while the other guided Shogo’s head, not pushing but holding on, as if letting go might shatter the moment.

Shogo pulled off with a wet pop, his own arousal straining against his jeans, but he ignored it for now. He looked up, chin slick and eyes dark with want. “Ready?”

Ugetsu’s chest heaved, a lazy, sated smile breaking through the haze. He nodded, voice husky. “Yeah."

Shogo reached for the nightstand, fumbling for the drawer. “Where’s your condoms?”

Ugetsu’s hand caught his wrist, stopping him. “We can do it raw. If you’re good with that.”

Shogo paused, searching Ugetsu’s face for any hesitation. There was none—just that wicked, inviting curve to his lips. Shogo said nothing, but the heat in his gaze intensified. He spat into his palm, slicking himself as he shoved his jeans down, freeing his cock—thick and flushed, already leaking. Positioning himself between Ugetsu’s spread thighs, he guided the tip to that prepared entrance and pushed in slow, inch by inch, the tight heat yielding around him like a vice.

Ugetsu’s moan was a shattered thing, low and throaty. “Ahh—fuck—so big—nngh—” His nails dug into Shogo’s shoulders as he bottomed out, the stretch burning sweet and overwhelming. “Move—please, Shogo—ah—yes—”

Shogo groaned, burying his face in the crook of Ugetsu’s neck, inhaling the salt of his skin. He started with shallow thrusts, building rhythm, each one dragging deeper, harder, until their hips snapped together with a lewd rhythm. The bed creaked under them, the room filling with the slap of skin and Ugetsu’s unraveling cries: “Harder—oh shit—right there—ah-ah- don’t you dare stop—feels so fucking good—”

Deeper still, Shogo drove in, angling to hit that bundle of nerves with precision. Ugetsu’s mind blurred at the edges, thoughts dissolving into sensation—the fullness, the friction, the way Shogo’s body caged him in, solid and unyielding. He couldn’t let go, wouldn’t. Shogo was the anomaly in his life of fleeting connections, the one who saw the cracks—the manipulations, the petty cruelties, the ghosts of bad decisions—and stayed anyway. Accepted. Wanted. No judgments, no demands for change. Just this: raw, honest need.

Ugetsu’s hands roamed, cupping Shogo’s jaw as their rhythm built, until impulse took over. His palm cracked against Shogo’s cheek—a sharp slap that echoed in the quiet room.

Shogo froze mid-thrust, lifting his head to stare down at him, breath ragged. Surprise flickered in those hungry eyes, but beneath it, something darker—curious, ignited.

Ugetsu just smiled, unrepentant, that devilish glint returning. He slapped again, harder this time, the sting blooming across Shogo’s skin. “Come on. You can take it.”

The air shifted, charged. Shogo’s grip tightened on Ugetsu’s hips, bruising, as he seized Ugetsu’s wrists in one massive hand and pinned them above his head against the headboard. “You want to play rough?” His voice was a growl, thrusts resuming with punishing force—deep, relentless, each one jolting Ugetsu up the bed. “Then beg for it.”

Ugetsu laughed through a moan, arching into the dominance. “Ah—fuck yes—more, Shogo—harder—make me feel it—nngh—please—”

The pace turned brutal, Shogo’s control fraying as he chased release, the slap of their bodies a frantic crescendo. Ugetsu’s cries peaked—“I’m—ah-ah—Shogo, coming—fuck, yes—!”—his release spilling hot between them, clenching around Shogo like a fist.

Shogo followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural curse, spilling deep inside—raw, unmarked, claiming. He collapsed forward, their sweat-slicked bodies entwining, breaths mingling in the aftershocks.

For a long moment, they lay there, tangled and spent. Ugetsu’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Shogo’s back, the slaps forgotten in the haze.

Shogo lifted his head, pressing a soft kiss to Ugetsu’s temple—the predator sated, the boy returning.