Chapter Text
Nagi pushes the door to his apartment open, the soft whine of the hinges echoing in the otherwise quiet space. His feet drag as he enters, the exhaustion from hanging out with Isagi and Bachira still clinging to him. He hadn’t wanted to go—he never does—but they insisted, and now all he wants is to collapse into his bed and forget the outside world exists for a while. He’s annoyed. He hardly even thinks twice about the door being left unlocked. Did he forget to lock it when he left?
He doesn’t turn on the light.
He doesn’t need to. He’s too tired—just wants to peel off his jacket, collapse in bed, and maybe sleep for twelve hours straight. Too much noise, too many people, too much time spent pretending to care about conversations that never matter.
The apartment is still and quiet.
Nagi trudges in, shoulders slumped, still grumbling about the time he just wasted hanging out with Thing One and Thing Two. Now, he feels drained. He kicks his shoes off, barely making it into the hallway before sighing again. All he wants is the comfort of his bed, silence, and YouTube. And Reo.
Reo, who told him yesterday that he’d be busy most of the day, since he was attending a bunch of board meetings at his father’s office, but would try to finish early and make time in the evening. But with the lack of texts from the heir on his phone, Nagi assumes Reo is still busy and will finish too late.
It’s the only reason Nagi bothered to stay at Isagi’s for so long—Reo would feel guilty if Nagi left and spent the evening alone in his apartment.
Then he notices them.
Reo’s shoes. Neatly placed by the door.
Nagi peers down the hallway. The bedroom door is cracked open just enough for a faint light to spill across the floor. His chest tightens. The exhaustion vanishes.
He rounds the corner to his room and freezes.
There, sprawled across his bed, is the center of all his recent thoughts—Reo.
The sight of him instantly pulls Nagi’s focus. Nagi’s brain begins to buffer—he feels an error message, a lagging video game, like the wifi to his brain has been abruptly cut, like he’s entered a garage with no cell service, and his brain cells are no longer receiving signals to compute. Error— not computing. Restart?
When he reboots, he registers one thing at a time, as to not overload his clearly overheating mainframe.
Okay, for starters. Reo is here. Nagi’s heart flutters happily. Reo is here , here to see him. He missed Reo. He hasn’t talked to Reo today, but Reo is here now.
He inhales deeply. Okay, next . Reo is asleep. Asleep? It makes sense, he’s probably tired after working all day. Nagi wants to nap with him. Although, Reo says it isn’t good to nap in the evenings.
Reo’s a hypocrite sometimes, he huffs internally.
Next . Reo’s face looks impossibly cute, his features soft in the dim light of the room. Violet hair spills onto the pillows effortlessly, and Nagi thinks he could be an angel. Or a fairy. He thinks Reo could be a fairy. Reo deserves wings.
Next . He’s wearing one of Nagi’s oversized hoodies, the kind that swallows him whole. The sleeves hang a little too long on Reo’s arms—hands half hidden, one curled against his chest, the other tucked near his chin. The hoodie’s bunched up a little at the waist, revealing the dip of his hips. The hem barely kisses the tops of his thighs, hitched up high from how he’s twisted in the blankets. One leg is bent, tangled in the duvet, the other sprawled out. His mouth is slack and soft, one cheek squished against Nagi’s pillow, hair messy and haloed around his head. His lashes are thick, his breathing slow, chest rising and falling underneath the dark fabric. One bare shoulder peeks from the stretched collar.
A strange warmth unfurls in Nagi’s chest, the kind he tries to ignore. His mind doesn’t listen. (It never does. Not when it comes to Reo. Not when it comes to sweet, naive, beautiful Reo.)
He’s not used to seeing Reo like this—vulnerable, relaxed, and looking like he belongs right here in his space. So entirely unguarded. So utterly defenseless.
Mikage Reo, a prince of his own right who keeps everyone at arm's length, behind his castle walls, only ever stepping onto the balcony to wave at the gathering subjects. That Mikage Reo, curled up and laid bare in Nagi’s bed, lips parted and lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, the picture definition of warm, intoxicating, inviting. Temptation .
He doesn’t know how long he watches. Doesn’t know when the desire kicks in—whether it’s instant or a slow, unbearable buildup that starts in his chest and melts down to his fingertips. All he knows is that he wants to touch him.
He wants Reo.
He wants him so badly it hurts.
Reo shifts in the bed, eyes fluttering open slowly. At first, he blinks at the ceiling, disoriented, before his gaze locks onto Nagi in the doorway. “Nagi?”
“Yeah,” Nagi says softly. “It’s me.”
“You’re back,” he murmurs, voice thick with drowsiness, but still somehow playful, the kind of smile that makes Nagi’s pulse spike unexpectedly. The sound of his name from Reo’s lips nearly undoes him.
Nagi’s throat goes dry. His heart races, and his stomach flips, that familiar pull in his chest impossible to ignore. Reo looks so good like this. His tousled hair, the way the hoodie falls off his shoulder just enough to tease, the soft curve of his neck, the dip of his collarbones, deep enough to drink water from—all of it sends a flood of thoughts through Nagi’s mind, thoughts he can’t stop.
He looks perfect. God, Nagi wants to touch him. Just run his fingers over his sides and fit them into the grooves of his ribs, pull him close, feel the heat of his skin under this hoodie—Reo is soft, so soft everywhere.
Nagi swallows hard, feeling his pulse spike as his body reacts before his brain can catch up. His hands itch at his sides, wanting to touch, wanting to feel.
Reo shifts again, stretching lazily, and the hoodie rides up his thighs just enough for Nagi’s mind to spiral even further. The thought of sliding his hand under the fabric, feeling the smoothness of his skin, pulling a gasp from Reo’s mouth, makes his breath hitch.
Reo stretches again, the motion slow and deliberate, his body arching beneath the hoodie, causing the fabric to ride higher. The sight of his full expanse of bare legs and the soft dip of his stomach makes Nagi's restraint wear thin.
He tries to focus on anything else—the silence in the room, the hum of the refrigerator in the other room—but it’s impossible. All he can think about is Reo.
Reo yawns and slowly pushes himself up, blinking a few times as if still trying to shake off sleep. Nagi wants to eat him.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Reo apologizes, his voice still thick with sleep. “You were taking forever, so I just got comfy. Guess I was more tired than I thought. Hope you don’t mind.”
Nagi swallows. “Don’t mind.”
“You okay?”
That’s what he asks.
That.
As if Nagi isn’t kneeling by the edge of the bed trying not to drag him down and kiss him until the question leaves his mouth.
Reo tilts his head. Blinks again. “You’re staring.”
“You’re wearing my clothes,” Nagi murmurs.
Reo gives a soft, confused laugh. “You always say I can.”
“You’re in my bed.”
“Oh. I thought,” Reo sits up a little, shifting toward him, smooth, bare legs folding under him. “Uh, do you, like, want me to go?”
Nagi is going to murder Isagi the next time he sees him. Somehow, this is entirely his fault. How many minutes had he wasted with those idiots when he could have been here, with a sleepy Reo, soft and pliant in his bed. Reo, laying here, with the door unlocked. Oh , something black and green and ugly and dangerous bubbles up in Nagi, the anger that had faded upon seeing Reo flaring again, a match thrown into a bonfire pit.
“You didn’t lock the door,” Nagi says, in lieu of an answer.
Reo blinks slowly. “Huh? Oh. Sorry. I was tired. Thought I did.”
You didn’t. Reo is too trusting. Too careless. You fell asleep in my bed like it was yours. You wore my clothes like it means nothing. You let yourself be vulnerable like it was safe.
“Someone could’ve broken in.”
“Hm? It’s just you, though.”
And that’s the thing.
It was just him. And Reo trusted that—enough to fall asleep in his bed, in his clothes, limbs bare, throat exposed, laid completely open.
“Nagi?” Reo’s lips quirk inquisitively, tone lazy, familiar. “Are you seriously just standing there staring at me? That’s creepy, you know.”
His voice is teasing—light and unbothered. The kind of voice you only use with someone you think you understand. And maybe that’s what finally pushes Nagi over the edge.
In a second, he’s over Reo, pushing him down against the bed, the sheets rustling beneath them. His hand, the one that’s not being used to balance, snags both of Reo’s dainty wrists and pins them over his head, faces suddenly too close, breaths mingling in the charged air between them. He swings a leg over Reo’s hips to trap him from trying to sit up.
Reo stiffens, eyes going wide.
“Nagi—?” His voice falters, surprise flashing across his face.
Nagi’s grip on Reo’s wrists tightens just enough to make him feel it, to make sure he knows he can’t move, not unless Nagi lets him. It’s not rough, but it’s firm. Possessive.
Reo gasps, soft and breathy. His back arches a little. His legs shift beneath the weight of Nagi’s body.
“You didn’t lock the door,” Nagi repeats, voice lower now, heavier.
Reo stares. “You already said that.”
“You could’ve let anyone in.”
“But it was just you,” Reo counters.
Nagi’s heart stutters.
Yeah. Just me.
Just me and the unbearable urge to press you down into this mattress and make sure you never forget whose bed this is. Whose hoodie you’re wearing. Whose skin you trust so easily.
“I could’ve been anyone,” Nagi says again, trying to get Reo to listen, understand why it’s—
His grip on Reo’s wrists tightens slightly—not painful, just secure. His other hand skims down, finds the narrow dip of Reo’s waist and holds him there, pressing his body into the sheets.
“But I knew it was you?” Reo replies, confused, gaze swimming with concern. He’s worried about Nagi. In his position, pinned down and open and defenseless, he worries about Nagi .
Of course Reo trusts him—completely, thoughtlessly, to the point of recklessness. Because Reo doesn’t understand. Doesn’t see how easily Nagi could take everything he’s giving without ever asking. How easily Nagi could break him open and make him beg and he still wouldn’t say no.
“Nagi—seriously—what happened? Are you okay?” Reo pushes, and that’s the worst part—he sounds genuinely concerned. Gentle.
Nagi’s fingers flex.
He leans in more, close enough that Reo’s nose brushes the curve of his cheek, that the air between them disappears entirely. His hand at Reo’s jaw slips into his hair, fingers weaving through the soft strands with slow, aching care.
Reo doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop him.
Instead, he tilts his head a little. Accidentally.
Exposing more of his throat.
Like he’s inviting it.
And maybe he is. Maybe it’s unconscious. Maybe he’s just trusting— so trusting it’s dangerous. But Nagi sees it for what it is: permission.
Or maybe not permission. Just openness. Willingness.
That’s worse.
So much worse.
Because Nagi wants —wants so much he can barely breathe.
He presses his lips to the curve of Reo’s throat this time. Not a kiss, still not quite. Just contact. Warm and full and lingering.
Reo shudders.
“Nagi,” he says again, soft. “What’s—”
“Don’t talk.”
The words are quiet, almost apologetic.
But they leave Reo stunned.
He goes silent.
Still.
He stares up at Nagi with wide, bewildered eyes, and still — still —he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t see how the hem of his shirt is bunched beneath Nagi’s palm, how the slope of his neck is damp from Nagi’s breath, how every inch of this moment is vibrating with something desperate.
“I’m fine,” Nagi says finally, voice low and dangerous and shaking. “You just make it really hard sometimes.”
Reo blinks. “Hard to what?”
Nagi doesn’t answer.
Because how is he supposed to say hard to keep my hands off you ? Hard to act like I’m not completely gone for you?
His head dips lower. His mouth finds the edge of Reo’s jaw, then the soft place beneath his ear.
Reo shivers.
“I,” he breathes out, “don’t understand what you’re doing.”
Yeah. That’s the worst part.
That’s what makes Nagi’s breath hitch, his hands shake, his control snap tighter around the leash he’s gripping by the teeth.
Reo lets him touch him like this—lets him pin him down and press his body flush against his own—and still doesn’t know what Nagi means by it.
Doesn’t realize how easy he’s making it. How dangerous it is to offer this much of himself without even thinking about it.
“You should be more careful,” Nagi murmurs, lips brushing against Reo’s neck. “You shouldn’t fall asleep like this. In my bed. Wearing my clothes.”
“Why not?”
Because I want you.
Because you make it so easy to forget I’m supposed to be good.
Nagi’s hand slides down, brushing the curve of Reo’s hip, fingers slipping under the hem of the hoodie. His grip on Reo’s wrists never loosens.
Reo’s breath stutters.
But he doesn’t tell him to stop. He just lies there—and lets Nagi have him.
Reo’s wrists are still pinned above his head, caught easily in one of Nagi’s hands—Nagi doesn’t even have to try. And Reo just stays there. Breathing unevenly. Not struggling. Not even tense. He blinks up at him, dazed and confused, mouth parted, cheeks pink. He squirms a little—just a shift of his hips, restless, unsure.
“Nagi,” he says again, softer this time. “Why are you,” his voice trails off. He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Because Nagi’s mouth is on his throat.
He dips his head, slow, deliberate, and drags his lips down the column of Reo’s neck. He doesn’t kiss—just grazes. Skin to skin. A warm slide of breath that makes Reo flinch and suck in air through his teeth.
“Too easy,” Nagi mutters against his pulse, nuzzling the skin and making Reo whimper. “You make it too easy.”
Reo shivers. “I don’t—”
“—you don’t get it,” Nagi finishes for him. “ Believe me , I know.”
He drags his mouth lower. Across the hollow of Reo’s throat, where the fabric of the hoodie is stretched too tight. He nudges it aside with his nose, lips brushing skin. His free hand flexes against Reo’s waist, gripping harder—just enough for Reo to feel the shape of Nagi’s palm, the heat of it, the strength behind it.
He presses down just slightly, and Reo breathes out, chest arching instinctively. Nagi smiles against his skin.
“Why are you shaking?” Nagi murmurs.
“I’m not,” Reo denies, voice high.
“You are,” he lifts his head and looks down at him.
Reo’s eyes are wide. His cheeks flushed. His lips parted and damp from where he’s been breathing too hard. The hoodie’s still bunched up high, exposing long bare legs and the curve of his hip bones, and the sleeves are still too long, swallowed up past his wrists where Nagi holds them in place.
“You don’t even realize,” he whispers.
Reo blinks up at him. His brows draw slightly. “Realize what?”
That you’re mine , Nagi wants to say.
That I’ve been waiting for you to give yourself to me. That you make it impossible to hold back. That the way you trust me—like this—makes me want to ruin you sweetly, until you know I’m yours.
But he doesn’t say it.
Instead, he presses his mouth to Reo’s throat. Soft. Deliberate. His lips skim the skin, feather-light, as he breathes him in.
Reo shivers beneath him. His legs fall open just slightly. He doesn’t fight. Doesn’t flinch. He’s pinned beneath Nagi like it’s natural, like he belongs there, wrists tucked neatly together in Nagi’s grip, his legs shifting slightly where they’re trapped in the sheets.
Nagi could do anything to him.
And Reo would let him.
Because he trusts him. Because he’s soft and sleepy and open, and still doesn’t see what’s happening. Doesn’t realize the way Nagi’s heart is pounding, the way Nagi’s body is strung so tight with need it’s a miracle he hasn’t shattered already.
Reo swallows hard. “Nagi—?”
Nagi presses his lips lower. Just a brush—along Reo’s jaw, the hollow of his neck, the spot where his pulse thrums against the skin. He doesn’t kiss, not properly. Just lingers, tasting the heat of Reo’s skin with the barest drag of lips.
Reo lets out a shaky breath. His thighs shift again. Delicate, sensitive bare skin brushes Nagi’s hips. His wrists flex in Nagi’s grip, but not to pull away—never to pull away.
It’s surrender .
He’s giving himself over.
And he doesn’t even know it.
“You shouldn’t do this,” Nagi murmurs, barely a whisper against his skin. “You shouldn’t let me touch you like this if you don’t understand.”
Reo blinks up at him, dazed. His cheeks are wine-colored now. “Nagi, seriously, I don’t—understand what?”
God .
Nagi stares down at him—at his wide, confused eyes, the way his thighs part slightly with every breath, the way his mouth trembles faintly like he doesn’t know what he’s asking for.
“You,” Nagi says, “drive me crazy.”
Reo’s brows furrow slightly. He doesn’t speak. Just watches him with that same soft, open confusion.
Nagi’s body presses closer. Their hips touch, skin to skin under the hoodie. His free hand finds Reo’s waist, fits there perfectly, his thumb skimming the edge of his ribs. He can feel how small Reo is beneath him—how much smaller he’s become in comparison. There was a time they were eye to eye, shoulder to shoulder.
But not anymore.
Nagi is taller now. Broader. His arms bracket Reo’s body like a cage.
And Reo—so fast, so proud, so lean, so sharp—is soft under him.
“Nagi,” Reo says again, flustered now, eyes searching, voice unsteady. “Why are you—why are you looking at me like that?”
Because I want you, Nagi thinks. Because I’ve always wanted you.
“I should stop,” Nagi says. But he doesn’t move.
His thumb strokes a slow line across Reo’s side under the thick fabric of the hoodie. Reo makes an involuntary noise that sends all the heat in Nagi’s body downward.
“Nagi,” he whispers, “I trust you.”
Those words again.
That stupid, dangerous trust that makes Nagi want to sink his teeth into him just to mark him. Just to make sure Reo remembers whose hands he put himself into without knowing the cost.
Nagi’s eyes burn into him, typically ambivalent gaze now stormy and intense, his jaw tight. He’s breathing hard, every inch of him tense, holding back from something violent and overwhelming.
“Reo’s so—you seriously,” Nagi cuts himself off. “You’re driving me crazy . At first, it was okay, I could take it, for you, because I didn’t want to scare you off—but now —now you’re just being cruel , Reo.”
Reo tries to sit up, but Nagi’s fingers tighten, eyes flashing in warning. It’s too late. I’m not letting you go. Not now.
“What? I don’t—I wasn’t trying to,” he starts, stammering syllables between uneven inhales.
“I know,” Nagi murmurs, leaning in until their foreheads almost touch. His hand flexes around Reo’s wrists. “That’s why I can’t even get mad at Reo.”
Reo swallows. His lashes flutter.
“Know what?” Reo inquires with that same soft concern he always has—like even now, like this, he still thinks Nagi won’t do anything. Can’t do anything. Like he’s some gentle ghost who just floats around after him, too torpid to want, reach out and take.
And god, he’s so wrong. Because Nagi wants to take .
“Reo’s so stupid sometimes,” Nagi murmurs, but not unkindly so. His thumb strokes gently over the pulse point at Reo’s wrist. “You think I wouldn’t want to touch you.”
Reo’s breath hitches.
“You think I couldn’t want you like this.”
Those violet eyes widen suddenly. Realization. Finally. “Nagi, I—”
“I could ruin you,” Nagi remarks, voice reverent, like he’s just realizing it himself. “Right here. And you’d let me.”
And that’s not even the worst part.
“You’ve never looked at me like this before,” Reo says softly, voice trembling enough to make Nagi’s grip tighten, possessive.
Of course, he hasn’t. Or rather, he always has. Just not where Reo could see. Because Nagi’s spent so long pretending. So long acting like it didn’t matter. That he didn’t care. Letting Reo do as he pleased with him—all so Nagi could stay within his orbit.
“I have. I do . Reo just never notices.”
“I—huh?” Reo’s pink, plush lips part into a soft ‘o’, as if he can’t believe it. Stupid, Nagi thinks fondly, stupid, stupid Reo. How could you ever think someone would not want you?
“You’re just too pretty,” he says, voice low and a little unsteady. “And too stupid when it comes to me.”
“Then,” Reo begins shakily, but his eyes flash twice, each with something too quick to read. “Then—prove it.”
Nagi crashes their mouths together—not gentle, not tentative, but deep and desperate and aching with all the things he’s buried for too long. His hands pin Reo tighter against the sheets, pressing him down, owning the space between them.
Reo lets out a soft gasp into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut, finally realizing— finally feeling —everything Nagi’s been holding back. The tension in his body melts into the mattress as he gives in, lips parting wider, welcoming the heat of it all.
And Nagi, god—he loses himself in it.
In the taste of Reo, in the way he shifts beneath him, in the sound of his breathing hitching just slightly when Nagi presses in closer. His hands slide from Reo’s wrists to cup his face, gentle for one fleeting moment—before one hand slips behind his head, threading through his hair and tugging just enough to make Reo gasp again.
Nagi doesn’t let up.
The kiss deepens, and it’s messy now—needy, uneven, full of all the tension that had been simmering just beneath his skin. Reo responds with just as much urgency, fingers curling into Nagi’s shirt, pulling him closer like he can’t stand the idea of even an inch of space between them.
And Nagi lets him.
For a moment, he forgets about control. He forgets about restraint. All he knows is the feel of Reo’s body under his, the way he arches just slightly, like he’s trying to match every angle, every shift of pressure. Nagi groans low in his throat when Reo’s thigh brushes up between his—just barely—but it’s enough to make his head spin.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against Reo’s, both of them gasping for air.
“Don’t do that,” Nagi says, voice wrecked.
Reo blinks up at him, dazed. “Do what?”
“Kiss me like that if you don’t want me to lose it.”
There’s a beat. Then Reo’s lips curl into a slow, daring smile. “I do want you to lose it.”
Nagi stares at him like he’s trying to process the words, trying to decide if he should hold back—or finally give in. Reo yanks him back down, making the decision for him.