Archive of Our Own

There was nothing in the weather report that would've led Swansea to believe the skies could hang so dreary and gray the day he set foot in Los Angeles.

Raindrops run in diamond-slick lines down the red face of a stop sign as he idles at the corner in his rental car, stomach still churning over the half cup of coffee he'd been too anxious to drink that morning. He checks his eyes in the visor's mirror: bright blue faded, bags heavy from lack of sleep, and crow's feet much deeper than they were five years ago. Sixty-two going on eighty; unrecognizable even to himself. He can only imagine how pitiful he must look to others—those poor few cursed to glimpse him at all.

The wiper blades give a stuttering squeal across the windshield, and, frowning, he casts his gaze to the passenger seat.

Not a single hibiscus grew in the state of Kansas. Or, that's how it had seemed to Swansea, after scouring every market and flower shop within twenty miles of home. In the end, he settled on a nice paper bouquet—pink with white around the edges, tied up in a pretty yellow ribbon. Something that would "live forever," according to the woman who sold it to him. She hadn't mentioned anything about them being waterproof. 

Swansea pushes the thought aside and gives himself one final look. He fixes his gray hair, straightens the cuffs of his sweater, hooks a finger into his dress shirt to tug at the collar buttoned tightly at his throat. Good as it's going to get. 

Shifting into gear, he rolls down the street and stops in front of the house that bears a number so engraved in his memory, he could find it with his eyes closed, despite never having beheld its beauty. And it is quite beautiful, larger than his with a stylish brickface and tall windows, and a curved driveway spacious enough to fit at least three cars. He's definitely not in Kansas anymore. Though the pink convertible with its "I BRAKE FOR BIKINIS" bumper sticker makes him smile as comfortably as if he were.

Swansea shuts off the car and does his best to shield his bouquet from the afternoon drizzle while he makes his way towards the door. He rings the bell, fidgets with the yellow ribbon at the thump of approaching footsteps. He can leave. Run. Get back on that plane and spend another five years trying to forget. There's nothing stopping him. He'll never know.

The footsteps grow closer; sweat beads at Swansea's temples. Slowly, the door swings open, and a long-lost face appears on the other side. 

He's just as gorgeous as Swansea remembers. 

His hair is longer now, half pulled back into a ponytail while the rest gently kisses his shoulders—not frosted at the tips but its natural, lovely brown. His tanned skin glows in spite of the clouds, and his collarbones peek above the low-cut neck of his cream-colored sweater, bringing a tingle to Swansea's lips. But it's those eyes that Swansea recalls the most, dark and wondrous and still brimming with stars behind their shocked expression. Mouth agape, he stares at Swansea, and Swansea flashes him a shy smile.

"Hey, Daisuke," he says. "It's been a while."

Daisuke's lips tremble closed. The stars in his eyes flicker, but before Swansea can speak another word, he throws his arms around him and squeezes tight, tears pouring out against Swansea's shoulder. "Swansea," he sobs. "Swansea—"

"Shh— it's OK." The warmth of Daisuke's body floods his memory as Swansea smooths a hand over his back. "Don't cry, Sunshine. I'm right here."

Willful as ever, Daisuke cries louder, a hiccupping weight in his embrace. "P-Please—Swansea—"

"C'mon," Swansea coos. "Let me see yer pretty face."

Little by little, his cries become sniffles, his arms loose, slipping away. "You—" He scrubs one eye with his fist. "It's really you."

Swansea reaches to thumb a tear from Daisuke's cheek. "Yeah," he whispers, and drags it over that cute mole he so dearly loved to kiss. "It's me."

"Wh-What—" Daisuke's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see ya," smiles Swansea. "Just like I said I would."

They stand below the overhang while the rain patters around them, each drop another call for Swansea to take him in his arms, hold him, kiss him, erase those years of heartache that had followed Swansea wherever he went. He cups Daisuke's cheek and gazes into his eyes, searches for a sign, a blink of hope. 

Then, softly, Daisuke closes a hand over his. And when he smiles back, it shines so bright, not a cloud in the sky could darken it. "I'm so happy," Daisuke says. "I missed you so, so much."

Swansea's heart breathes a sigh of relief. "I missed you, too. I—"

"Daisuke?" From inside the house comes the call of a woman's voice, accompanied by a question in Japanese. As hard as Daisuke had tried teaching him, Swansea was always too clumsy to learn, and what little he does know is far too precious to be spoken to anyone but the man he loves. Daisuke turns and yells something back, Swansea's name a cheerful ring, foreign among the rest.

When he spins towards Swansea again, his grin is blinding. "C'mon!" He clasps Swansea's hand and tries to tug him into the foyer. "We gotta catch up!"

Swansea digs his heels in, casts Daisuke a nervous look. "I—um, I was thinkin' maybe we could talk somewhere else?" He attempts to keep his eyes fixed on Daisuke, though even a blind man could see the disapproving shadow of Daisuke's mother glaring from down the hall, her arms folded across her chest as though to cage her heart from saying what it truly thinks of him. Swansea wouldn't argue that he deserves it.

"Oh." The smallest frown flashes across Daisuke's face before he quickly breaks into another grin. "Yeah, that sounds awesome, actually. I know this great café, like, super-delicious lattes and cakes and stuff. We could split a tiramisu."

Swansea smiles. "I'll drive."

"'Kay, just gimme a sec." Stepping inside the house, Daisuke slips his shoes on and grabs a nearby umbrella, so eager to join Swansea on the porch, he nearly forgets his keys. He shuts the door behind him, locks it, then turns to Swansea. "Ready!"

"I'm just out front. Black car."

"Black? I thought your favorite color was yellow?" Daisuke teases, popping the pink umbrella over their heads.

Swansea snorts. "Are you kiddin'? The last thing I need is someone tryin' to hail me like a taxi."

"You mean you don't wanna be the one driving people crazy for a change?"

"If I did that, you'd be out of a job, wouldn't ya?"

Daisuke's sweet laughter is a song that stretches across time and space. "Good thing there's plenty of people hiring."

They stop at the passenger door and turn to face each other like two lovers under the umbrella's pink canopy. Swansea looks up at Daisuke, blushes. "I got ya somethin'."

A gentle smile glows in Daisuke's eyes as he accepts Swansea's rain-sprinkled bouquet. "Thanks, Swansea," he murmurs. "I love them."

Swansea shows Daisuke a smile every bit as bright. "I hoped you would."

The first year they were apart, Swansea wrote to Daisuke almost every day. Plain paper, while the notes Daisuke sent back had cute borders and lines to keep his emotions from running together like the ones Swansea spilled with reckless abandon across the page. Swansea had joked about being "old-fashioned," but there was something in Daisuke's handwriting that made the distance between them easier to bear. He'd sit at his desk in the garage and read Daisuke's messages again and again. Run his fingers over each slanted letter, trace the five-pointed stars dotting every lowercase i, and feel their love twinkle inside his heart. That starlight never faded, even after Swansea had set his pen down for good.

Now that Daisuke is here, though, he'd give anything to find those words that had once gushed from his mind like a fountain of ink and passion.

They're seated at a booth by the window, safe and dry in the arms of warm white lights, the scent of winter spice and pastries fresh from the oven. Cozy is how Daisuke had described the place, but Swansea would call it close— narrow rows of tissue box-sized tables that compress his gut and barely have enough surface area to accommodate two mugs and a plate of tiramisu. Daisuke's knees are slotted between his, hands within reaching distance of his face, should he feel the desire to reacquaint himself with the wrinkles his fingers once knew all too well, gliding gently as the raindrops over the window glass.

His cheeks pinken as he watches Daisuke calmly sip his latte, foam-kissed lips glistening when he sweeps his tongue out and licks his smile clean. "Don't like your drink?" Daisuke asks.

"Nah, it's good," Swansea answers. "It's just—"

"Still stuck on space coffee, huh?"

Swansea lowers his eyes to the mug in front of him, the latte's hand-drawn heart a wisp of its former glory. "...Yeah," he says, and picks it up for another sip. It's sweet, like the artificial sugar packets Daisuke would hoard in his bunk, lips sticky candy pressed to Swansea's in the dark nighttime hours. Swansea wonders if they taste the same, if Daisuke might let him try, were he to ask nicely.

He sets the mug down and looks at Daisuke smiling in wait, his dimples tugging at the tangled knot that's become Swansea's tongue. "You—You look good, Daisuke."

Daisuke's cheeks pinch cuter as his grin broadens. "I'll never look as good as you do in that sweater."

Swansea wishes he could say the navy blue was his first choice, but the orange exuded the charm of a traffic cone, and while the yellow-striped seemed to suit him best, he wasn't about to lose even more sleep worrying if Daisuke still had a thing for fat old bumblebees. "I almost left the hotel wearin' a tie, too," he laughs. "Felt like I was gonna choke."

The same suffocating tightness creeps in when Daisuke leans forward and reaches one hand across the table. Gentle fingers brush below his chin, graze his throat. Daisuke pinches the top button of Swansea's collar and delicately pops it open, lingering just long enough to leave Swansea breathless once he sits back again.

"There," he says. "Now that's the Swansea I know."

Five years, five trillion turns of the clock couldn't change a thing about Daisuke. He's still the ray of sunshine that warms Swansea's Earth, the cake to his coffee, bitter no more.

His fingers twitch with yearning, a need to thread themselves through Daisuke's, to release the emotions trapped behind his lips. But Daisuke lifts his fork instead, sinks it not into the depths of Swansea's heart but the piece of tiramisu before him. "How long are you staying?" He asks Swansea.

Swansea shrugs as casually as the situation will allow. "Dunno. Room's paid for a few days, at least."

"We should hang out! We could catch a movie, or go to the park, or the zoo, or there's this amazing brunch place that makes the best pancakes. Y'know, since you were always complaining about how flat they were on the Tulpar." All but giddy, Daisuke stuffs his mouth full, though it doesn't stop him from gushing on. "Oh, and you gotta see the sunset over the ocean. It's so much prettier than it is on a window screen."

"I'm not scared of the sunset anymore. When I stand on the beach, and look at it now, I don't see a cracked sky, just you there with me, holding my hand until the stars come out." Swansea had blinked his glassy eyes at Daisuke's words, and seen it for himself, far away at first, then close enough to capture in his palms. Warm, like Daisuke's touch. Bursting with color, like the hibiscus shirts Daisuke always wore over his Pony Express uniform. So beautiful no bouquet could make up for the fact that Swansea should have been there, living a life he'd never regret.

He frowns at the paper flowers sitting by Daisuke's hand. "I'm sure ya have plans already," he says. "Places to be with yer friends. Girlfriends." Because what girl wouldn't throw herself at the poster boy for their miraculous rescue, whose attractive face filled half the magazines at the checkout register, flanked by headlines proclaiming BRAVERY IN DEEP SPACE and CRASH SURVIVOR RECOUNTS HIS HARROWING ORDEAL.

Daisuke merely continues eating, as though the word is little more than a plain entry in a boring dictionary. "I mean, I have girls Mom wants me to be 'friends' with," he explains. "But I don't care about them. While you're here, I just want it to be us."

He shoots Swansea a cocoa-dusted smile, and Swansea would kill to throw caution to the wind and kiss him then and there, proud as he feels to be the sole object of Daisuke's affection. He smirks, picks up his fork. "This brunch place, they got blueberry pancakes?"

"With whipped cream and powdered sugar."

"Sounds like a date."

Daisuke giggles, raising his mug for a sip. Beneath the soft glow of incandescent bulbs, his silver rings gleam bright and cheerful, indifferent to Swansea's broken vow to replace them someday with a band of gold. "So, when did you get back from your last haul?" Daisuke asks.

He doesn't have the heart to tell Daisuke there hasn't been a haul since Pony Express went belly-up and left them to die in an asteroid field. Just years upon years of toiling at the shipyard, keeping his hands busy with anything and everything that wasn't paper or pen. He slips a bite of cake into his mouth, in hopes it will make the lie more palatable. "Couple months."

Daisuke scrunches his brow. "Why didn't you write to tell me you'd be coming? What if I moved, or was on vacation or something?"

"There were some things I needed to sort out first," Swansea replies, in a low, gentle tone. "When the time came, I figured I'd just take my chances."

Daisuke's voice is soft, cautious. "What kind of things?"

"As of two weeks now, I'm officially divorced."

"Oh." Gaze sinking, Daisuke worries his lower lip between his teeth, then looks hesitantly up at Swansea. "How did that go?"

It came with tears, went with bitter accusations. Swansea was scum, selfish, stupid to throw thirty years of marriage away just so he could be some skank's sugar daddy. What could that slut possibly give him? Sex? Sweet-talk? Shallow promises of unconditional love aimed at sorry old men with weak convictions? It made Swansea's blood boil to hear his wife and kids speak of Daisuke as though they knew things that Swansea didn't. As if they'd been the ones cradling Daisuke in their arms, comforting him, vowing to keep him safe when all hope was lost.

Tossing him aside when the mood struck.

Swansea folds his hands around his lukewarm coffee cup, and says, with a quiet sort of guilt, "About as smooth as you can guess."

Daisuke frowns. "...Sorry."

"Shit happens," he shrugs. "It's just life."

"Did you get custody of Bea? Like, did you have to go to pet court?"

The question is innocently adorable, so like Daisuke that Swansea can't help but crack a smile. "Yep. Hired a canine attorney and everything."

"Really?"

He chuckles. "Nah. She's all mine. Ex ain't gonna miss walkin' her in the dead of winter, and the kids are already out of the house, so."

"Good." Daisuke smiles, mug raised. "That makes me happy."

He's playing this game again. He thinks Swansea has forgotten what it looks like when he's upset—the slight pinch between his brows, the quiver at the corners of his lips. Discomfort in smiles, anxiety in words, ready to talk the ear off an elephant if it means not leaving an atom of space for the tears in his heart to escape. Swansea has stood outside that wall before; he never wants to go back.

He looks at Daisuke hidden behind his mug, and asks, "You apply for school like you were thinkin' about?"

Daisuke lowers his drink just enough to beam above the rim. "Yep! Just finished community college. I've been checking out a couple schools around the area, missed the deadline for spring semester, though. For graphic art, not engineering. Sorry."

"No such thing as 'sorry'," jokes Swansea. "You were so bad at wirin' circuits, I almost threw ya a party when you finally got one right."

Daisuke sets the mug on the table, so there's nothing to stand in the way of his grin. "Couldn't've done it without you, Boss."

His eyes always shone the brightest whenever Swansea praised him. At work. In bed. A smile that shimmered with stardust, precious in the palm of Swansea's hand. "Well, ya might not have been a rocket scientist, but you gave it yer all. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their student."

Daisuke pouts. "You didn't get any interns after me, did you?"

"Jealous?"

"Hell yeah."

Laughing, Swansea stabs at a piece of their cake. "You were my first and last." His everything. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope you didn't waste your skills on another transport company."

"Nope. Said I'd get a job once I graduated. It got Mom off my back, but I know she's checking the calendar every day." He shakes his head. "Probably has a whole folder of boring applications ready to go."

"Gotta start somewhere." Swansea lets the cake melt on his tongue, luscious as the first kiss, and the countless ones that followed. "Ain't yer birthday comin' up soon?"

Daisuke's face glows excitedly. "You remembered?"

"Twenty-five. One of the best years of my life. After the year I met you."

He snorts a laugh. "C'mon, Swansea. You can't mess with me like that. I'm not a dumb kid anymore."

"Yeah." Swansea's smile is bittersweet. "Yer really grown up. Feels like it was just yesterday we were celebratin' yer twentieth."

They fucked fast and rough in the blazing sunset, lounge door wide open, as a parting gift to anyone unlucky enough to pass by. Swansea had Daisuke pinned to the sofa, his body hot, mouth reeking of peppermint. Paper party hats jostled atop their heads, flesh slapped louder with each thrust. Daisuke's tears burned a hole into Swansea's shirt collar, full of helplessness, the fear that any moment could be their last.

He sees those clouds brewing in Daisuke's eyes now, held back by a soft smile, a sweep of hair behind his ear. "I, um—I promised to cook for you, remember?" Daisuke asks. "I said I'd make you a real dinner, when we got home."

When they realized they'd never get home; when the days blurred into an ocean of despair, it was the one thing that kept them going. Bland soup became lovingly-crafted ramen, stale rations Swansea's famous paella. They'd fall asleep in their separate bedrolls, and tell each other about their dreams when they woke, stirring saucepans and sprinkling spices, a candlelit table set for two. An opportunity Swansea wouldn't dare pass up. 

"Yeah," he sighs, and imagines running his tongue over Daisuke's savory-sweet lips. "I've been lookin' forward to it ever since we landed. Nothin' would make me happier than sharin' a homecooked meal with ya, Sunshine."

The corners of Daisuke's lips twitch again, but this time his smile grows heavy, falling to a frown before Swansea's eyes. "Hey, Swansea?" He murmurs down at his cup. "Can I ask you something?"

Swansea feels his stomach clench. "Shoot."

"Did you get divorced because of me?"

Swansea looks at the cake crumbs on the plate between them. He looks at Daisuke's empty hands, at his lonesome face, fragments of the treasured things he'd left behind. "I got divorced because I wanted to be with you," he breathes.

Daisuke huffs, shameful and sad. "So, I'm a homewrecker. I ruined your family."

"Daisuke, you know that's not true," he gently presses. "We fell in love. We dragged ourselves out of hell together on that ship, and it changed us. I can't go back to the person I used to be." 

Silence settles like a weight on their shoulders. Swansea thinks; Daisuke sits with his head bowed. An eternity passes before his lips part, and Daisuke softly says, "I'm still in therapy, y'know. Kinda pathetic, huh? Five years later and still having nightmares. Can't eat sometimes, can't even drink a beer with my friends. I'd give anything to feel like my old self again."

"I'm sorry," Swansea says, though he knows it's too little too late.

"I told my therapist about you. We talk a lot about how I can move forward from the crash. And—" Daisuke's voice falters. "And she asked if I thought it was worth holding onto your letters."

The crack in Swansea's heart splits wide open. "Daisuke, I—"

"I couldn't throw out a single one. Even if I never saw you again, I could at least have a piece of you for myself. And, someday, I'd learn to accept that it was enough." 

He raises his eyes to Swansea, a wistful plea held in their depths. "Did you keep any of the ones I sent?"

Swansea had always thought himself careful. He bought a PO Box, kept the key in his pocket at all times. Never gave his family reason to believe that the ashtrays he emptied in the kitchen trash held a vice more scandalous than his stubborn tobacco addiction. He frowns at Daisuke, whispers, "No."

A lone tear rolls down Daisuke's cheek as he blinks. "Do you still love me?"

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Sweeping the tear away with his knuckles, Daisuke casts his gaze to Swansea's paper bouquet, exhales through his lips, and brushes his pinky along the curve of one hibiscus petal. "Then…can we go someplace else?"

The dim light of his cheap hotel room has never felt so inviting. 

Daisuke's lips bloom like flowers kissed by a gentle rain, soft and dewy, offering themselves up to the tenderness of Swansea's kiss. He tastes of sugar, of cream, of a love that overflows Swansea's cup, and Swansea holds him delicately in his arms as they stand by the curtained window, too devoted to spill even the smallest drop. 

"I never stopped dreamin' of this," he sighs, before Daisuke's breath fills his lungs, and his tongue presses inside his mouth once more. His hands are warm against Swansea's weathered face, his kiss sunlight after the storm. They drink in their loneliness with prayer-drenched lips, speak their worship with needy whimpers and slow, grinding hips. Swansea has been hard from the first touch, each rub of their clothed erections another beautiful memory that he hopes to reawaken. He slides a palm under Daisuke's sweater and drags it up his spine, smooth, hot skin prickling beneath callused flesh. Daisuke mewls, drawing back, and grasps the hem in both hands. The sweater comes off quickly, tossed to the floor in a pale, woolen heap. 

He's somehow more beautiful than he was five years ago. 

A flicker of toned biceps and tanned skin blinks before Swansea's eyes in the split second their bodies are apart, Daisuke eager to pull him back in, to meet his lips in another lazy kiss. One arm looped around his waist, Swansea glides his free hand up the expanse of Daisuke's chest, along his neck and under his jaw, thumb grazing the mole by his right eye.  

"God," he murmurs, as he pulls away just far enough to glimpse Daisuke's face. "Yer the prettiest thing I ever seen."

Daisuke's lashes flutter when he turns to place a kiss to Swansea's palm. Then, with a soft sigh, he's draping his arms over Swansea's shoulders again, threading his fingers through Swansea's hair and tilting his head to the side so he can guide Swansea to his neck, sensitive and just begging to be marked. 

Swansea draws a patch of skin into his mouth, and sucks hard. 

Let his mother know that Daisuke will always be his. 

Another. And another. Wet kisses along the side, teeth sunk into the juncture where neck meets shoulder. There's a small mole there, one of many constellations mapped by the heat of Swansea's lips, the tip of his tongue. He kisses it, gives it a teasing lick. Listens to Daisuke's voice echo like sweet, tinkling chimes.

"Mmm… Swansea…"

He clutches a fistful of Swansea's sweater, and twists tightly, tugging out a plea that Swansea reads loud and clear.

Prying himself from Daisuke's embrace, Swansea reaches back and pulls the sweater over his head, lets it fall to join Daisuke's on the floor. His fingers fumble to undo his cuffs while Daisuke helps with the front, thumbs lingering on each button, breath hot where it ghosts across Swansea's lips. "You look like you dressed for a date," he says, and Swansea can hear the smile in his voice. "Did you meet someone?"

Swansea laughs as he pops the first button at his wrist. "Bet you'd love to know."

"I hope he was hot."

Swansea answers by parting his lips to welcome Daisuke's tongue into his mouth. 

The next button comes easier, the urge to roll his shoulders swooping in while Daisuke is busy untucking his shirt so he can get at the bottom two. They pop without a hitch, and Swansea doesn't waste a second shrugging the crisp fabric off, his undershirt not far behind. Daisuke tugs him closer with a hand on the back of his neck, rubs his round, hairy belly, and squeezes one of his flabby pecs.

"You're still squishy."

Chuckling, Swansea flicks his tongue playfully across Daisuke's lips. "Always liked that about me, didn't ya?"

"Everything about you is sexy."

"Should lend ya my readin' glasses. Help ya see better."

"I bet they make you look a billion times sexier."

Their kisses grow deep and thirsty as their hands roam. Daisuke teases his thumb over Swansea's stiffening nipple, Swansea trails his fingertips down the bumps in Daisuke's spine. His palms settle on Daisuke's peachy ass and yank their hips together, knocking a yelp from Daisuke's lips.

"Off," he rumbles, and hooks his thumbs below the waistband of Daisuke's jeans. 

Daisuke turns his head to kiss the corner of Swansea's mouth. "Not yet."

With his hands lightly gripping Swansea's love handles, he walks him backwards a few careful feet until they reach the edge of the bed, one push all he needs to make Swansea drop to his ass, springs creaking their curses beneath his weight. He's seen this side of Daisuke on occasion—assertive, impatient, eager to take charge. It turns his cock to stone, throbbing and dripping like a faucet by the time Daisuke's knees hit the floor, and his fingers clutch possessively at Swansea's belt. Their eyes lock as he thumbs the buckle and fixes Swansea with a devious smirk.

"Gonna suck you better than your wife ever could."

Swansea grins slyly. "You always did."

He leans back on his hands and opens his legs wide, no shame in his excitement, no sight more seductive than Daisuke licking his plush lips to the clink of Swansea's belt coming undone. "Where do you want me to start?" Daisuke purrs.

Anywhere he goddamn pleases. Swansea laughs, "Surprise me."

Daisuke's eyes flutter closed, and, pressing forward, he lays an open-mouthed kiss on the soft bulge of Swansea's gut. 

The "surprise" turns Swansea to jelly before they've even started.

His head rolls like a rock on his shoulders, heavy as the sighs that tumble from his lips with each kiss. "Ahh… mmm. Could never figure out why you think my fat is so hot."

Daisuke nibbles below his navel, tickles its valley with the tip of his nose. "'Cause it's yours," he hums, fingers now working Swansea's fly open. "And if I rub it enough, I might get a wish."

"Yeah?" Swansea cranes his neck to smirk at him. "What kind of wish?"

He gets his answer when Daisuke yanks his waistband and shoves a hand inside his boxers.

Feeling his touch after so long is heaven on Earth.

Daisuke's palms are softer than they've ever been. His fingers move with gentle admiration, stroking Swansea's shaft and cupping his balls while he watches his face closely, as though seeking the praise that Swansea has always been happy to bestow. "That's good, Daisuke," he coos. "You know just what I like."

Daisuke smiles. "Can I have my wish now?"

"Heh. I'll let ya have whatever ya want."

Swansea chokes back a whimper at the sudden loss of Daisuke's hand, though Daisuke is quick to kiss away the disappointment, lips mouthing over the slit in his boxers as they speak the wish held within. He exhales a steamy breath against Swansea's crotch, then scoots back, reaches for Swansea's right leg and sets his foot in his lap. He begins to untie the laces on Swansea's shiny white sneakers, the knot easily slipping free. "Are these new?" He asks.

"Yep," Swansea grins. "Was savin' 'em for a special occasion. But I figured meetin' ya again was good enough."

Daisuke slides the shoe off and sets it aside, the sock next, fingers a tickle on Swansea's arch. "Same old Swansea." He moves to the other leg. "Bet your cock is still delicious."

"Guess yer just gonna have to hurry up and find out."

Both shoes and socks dealt with, Daisuke rises to grasp Swansea's waistband. "Up," he smiles.

Swansea lifts his hips as he's been told. Shivers, sighs as his jeans and boxers are peeled like the skin of an orange under Daisuke's hungry fingers.

Then, he's completely naked, and happily at Daisuke's mercy. 

The air is cool on his skin, but Daisuke's palms are red-hot, gliding up his thighs so he can curl a loose fist around his shaft. "Oh wow, Swansea," he teases coyly, with an innocent bat of his lashes. "How'd you get so wet?"

Swansea coughs a laugh as Daisuke tugs up to the head of his cock and circles his thumb over the glistening tip. "This smartass pushed me to the bed and—" He stumbles under Daisuke's teasing touch. "—started talkin' about suckin' my cock."

"Mmm… so mean." Daisuke holds his thumb against Swansea's slit while he drags his soft, warm cheek up and down his length. "Did you tell them they better fix it?"

"Can't—" Swansea gasps when Daisuke peeks out his tongue and licks along his throbbing vein. "—tell this kid—" Lips on his head, pursed, parting. "—anyth—"

All words are quickly swept away the moment Daisuke pushes his foreskin back and sucks just the tip of him into his mouth. 

Swansea's head lolls on his shoulders. "Fuck…"

It's even better than he hoped it would be. Countless lonely nights spent stroking off to memories of the past, fantasies of the future, and here Daisuke is, spoiling him rotten. His tongue twirls around Swansea's crown—warm, wet velvet. Lips like pillows, a mouth slick with desire. He pushes forward an inch, retreats. Flicks that sensitive spot just below the head, where Swansea loves it the most. He's savoring him; Swansea won't complain about that. God knows he's wanted this too badly to see it finished so soon. It sends a thrill through his body to think Daisuke has been dreaming of the same thing. 

He forces his eyes open so he can gaze down at Daisuke, his cock now half inside his mouth, disappearing and reappearing each time Daisuke slides back to suck his foreskin over the head. "How's it taste, Daisuke?" He barely finds the breath to ask. "Good as you remember?"

Daisuke looks up with smiling eyes and opens his mouth wide, resting Swansea's tip against his lower lip and tugging slowly, so Swansea can see the precome that beads onto the flat of his tongue.

"Fuck, Daisuke, you drive me crazy." He's already imagining the kind of pearly-white masterpiece he could create. "You really gonna make me beg?"

Daisuke laughs through his nose, and closes his lips around Swansea's head again, no longer teasing but pushing forward, releasing his grip on Swansea's shaft so he can take him to the root, every inch blissfully sheathed inside his mouth.

Swansea groans. "Yeah, that's it. Good boy."

Moaning like a good boy, Daisuke slowly begins to bob, lips tight, hands braced on Swansea's thighs. Swansea wouldn't call himself big or small, but he's thick, with juicy veins that bulge and pulsate whenever Daisuke laps at them. And Daisuke is doing plenty of that, sliding and sweeping and pressing his tongue in just the right places to make Swansea throb even harder.

"Love the way you work that tongue," Swansea rasps. "Ol' Swansea's little cockslut, best head in the galaxy."

Dark brown eyes flicker up at him; a hum of appreciation. Daisuke digs his fingers into Swansea's thighs and slides to the head of his cock, twirling his tongue in circles before shoving forward until Swansea feels his tip hit the back of his throat. Swansea grunts, toes curling and fists clenching.

"Daisuke—take out yer ponytail."

Swansea's cock held deep inside his mouth, Daisuke reaches with both hands and deftly twists the elastic free, so his lush locks cascade down to his shoulders, several strands falling like silken ropes over his forehead. Swansea shifts slightly, and stretches a hand to tuck them behind Daisuke's ear.

"Yer even prettier like this."

He threads his fingers through Daisuke's hair as Daisuke picks up a steady rhythm, one hand moving to fondle Swansea's balls. Little whimpers prick the air, sounds of Daisuke's enjoyment and Swansea's growing desperation. There are stars pushing at Swansea's eyes, heat coiling in his belly. Voices that whisper in his head and fill his hips with the need to thrust into Daisuke's warm mouth, to remember what it feels like to be home.

He twitches upwards, forces himself to heel.

"Daisuke—" He gasps. "Ya gotta stop, or I won't be able to fuck ya."

Swiftly, Daisuke pulls back, releasing Swansea's cock with an audible pop. He smacks his lips together, blinks up at Swansea. "Promise?"

Swansea pets his hair, and smiles. "Yeah. Gonna give it to ya real good."

A smirk flits across Daisuke's face when he grips the mattress and surges upwards to kiss him, tongue soft where it slides against Swansea's lips and into his mouth, to give Swansea a taste of his own desire. "Wanna see me naked?" He turns to whisper in Swansea's ear. 

Swansea sighs, "Like hell."

"Help me, then."

He stands and presents his hips to Swansea, sharp and sleek, their splendor barely hidden beneath his low-cut jeans. Swansea snatches him by the waistband, lips on his stomach and palm caressing his waist. He mouths a path to his navel, where a shiny silver barbell begs to be teased.

"Always thought this thing was cute," Swansea smiles, smothering the ring with a moist kiss. "Glad ya didn't grow out of it."

Daisuke chuckles, and strokes the back of Swansea's head. "I almost got something else pierced, too."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Thoughts running wild, Swansea covers every inch of Daisuke's stomach in kisses while his fingers attack the button and zipper on his jeans. Maybe next time he'll do it with his teeth, make Daisuke so unbelievably aroused that he comes inside his pants. Because Swansea has so many plans for next time; today is just the beginning.

He gets Daisuke's fly open, and slides his hands around to cup his ass below the denim. He always wore such silky briefs, with bright colors and cute patterns of flowers and palm trees. Swansea might be tempted to get a good look, if he weren't so eager to greet the pleasure lurking inside them. 

He waits patiently as possible while Daisuke holds onto his shoulders so he can kick his shoes off. And once Daisuke steps back to shove down his jeans and tear at his socks, nothing in the world could keep Swansea's hands from reaching for him again, his heart racing, grin wide on his face.

"Who's wet now?"

Daisuke clicks his tongue at Swansea's cheeky comment, and strokes himself from bushy root to shiny tip, precome oozing over his fingers, water to quench Swansea's thirst. He gazes into Swansea's lustful eyes as he straddles his hips, two slick fingers pressed to Swansea's lips.

Swansea gobbles them up with a loud slurp.

He's always tasted obscenely delicious—sweet like caramel, salty like the ocean breeze. Swansea slips his tongue between Daisuke's fingers, licks along the sides. Feasts until Daisuke is soaked to the knuckles, and his precome mats the hairs on Swansea's belly.

"Mmm…" Humming softly, Daisuke indulges Swansea's sweet tooth another moment before he slides his fingers out and traces Swansea's lips with their tips. "Save your appetite," he purrs. But he knows damn well just how much Swansea can eat.

His arms tighten around Daisuke's waist and pull him flush to his chest, head tilted to devour his throat, his jaw, his neck. Starved. Ravenous. Sucking and biting and marking Daisuke as his. Daisuke clings to Swansea's shoulders as the gasps spill from his mouth, as his hips roll, and his cock rubs against Swansea's, eagerly spreading its slick. He cards his fingers through Swansea's hair and squeezes a hand between their bodies, so he can frolic in the forest of Swansea's chest curls.

"Ohh… Swansea," he moans. "I wanna come on your belly. It feels so good."

Swansea yanks him still, and immediately flips him over onto the mattress. 

"Swansea—" Daisuke giggles his way out of Swansea's arms. "You're gonna hurt your back." A field of ugly flowers blossoms around him when Swansea digs his hands into the tacky bedspread and looms devilishly overhead. 

"Not as bad as I'm gonna break yours," he says.

Daisuke taunts, "Shut up and do it, Old Man." His eyes flash hot, and Swansea snorts.

"Lay yer cocky little ass down, Boy."

With a crack of his palm against Daisuke's thigh, Swansea eases back so his sassy ball of laughter can shuffle to the center of the bed, his head relaxing atop Swansea's pillow, young, firm body stretched out like a centerfold on full display, too captivating for Swansea to even think of turning the page. His lips quirk into a crooked smile as he climbs between Daisuke's legs and pushes them apart with his knees. This is what he's waited for. This is the love of his life. Heart and soul and burning flesh, all at the tips of his fingers. More a part of Swansea than his own self, the last piece he needs to become whole.

He settles on top of Daisuke and caresses his cheek, exhales his unconditional devotion. "Yer gonna kill me with how gorgeous you are."

Daisuke's eyes, his lips smile softly, glowing like the center of the sun with his hair fanned in satin rays around him. "Thought you were gonna be the one fucking me to death."

Swansea shakes his head, "Always such a smartass." And bows to kiss him.

Their mouths crush together in a chain-tight embrace. Sweetness rolls in waves over Swansea's tongue, Daisuke's lips wet with hunger, fingernails digging little half-moons between his shoulder blades. Desperate in a way that Swansea has only seen on the darkest of days. It makes every bone in his body ache.

His hand glides lower, along the column of Daisuke's neck. He wants to believe—tells himself that this is where they both belong. In hickeys and kisses and memories they can scratch out and write over again, love letters to who they once were, and what they've now become. 

"Daisuke," he murmurs, and Daisuke mewls back, closing his hand over Swansea's.

"Swansea—" His breath is sweet, forehead slick, and voice meek. "Touch me."

Gently, he guides Swansea's hand down to his chest, and lays it atop his left nipple—hard as a pebble, and hot with want. Swansea drags his callused palm over it, his low voice grazing Daisuke's lips. 

"Here?"

"Yeah," Daisuke sighs. "Just like that."

He bares his throat to the ceiling as his hand finds the back of Swansea's head, tender strokes encouraging Swansea to kiss the line of his jaw and the sensitive space below. Nurtured by Swansea's touch, his nipple grows even harder, pinched and rolled between thumb and forefinger, a throbbing peak.

"Missed playin' with these cute little nips," Swansea says. "I remember how hot you'd get when I licked 'em."

Daisuke's chest swells and sinks with steady breaths. "Please," he whines. And says no more. 

The tang of salt stings Swansea's lips as he mouths a winding path to Daisuke's chest, across his throat and along his jutting collarbone, down to the tight bud hidden beneath the pad of his thumb. He draws his hand aside and teases feather-light kisses over the tawny halo that surrounds Daisuke's nipple, before pursing his lips and pressing them lightly against the mountaintop. Daisuke sucks in a breath, holds it.

When Swansea sweeps out his tongue, all that escapes Daisuke's lips is a soft, satisfied "Oh."

The sound coils like a warm fist around Swansea's cock.

Another lick draws forth a whimper, a third the breathy call of his name. Daisuke's knees grip Swansea's waist, his hands swim through the sweat on his back, heavy in their need to hold him close, trembling with pleasure while his nipple is lovingly caressed by the point of Swansea's tongue. Swansea suckles him tenderly, and leans on his elbow so he can tweak the other, alternating between the gentle pinches that Daisuke loves, and the rougher ones that Swansea knows will turn his cock into a leaking and twitching mess. 

It does just that when Swansea taps his teeth together, their bodies bound by wet, sticky desire. 

Swansea thirsts for it.

He sucks gently one last time, then leaves Daisuke gasping as he crawls lower. Slick skin beneath his lips, hair tugged and tangled in Daisuke's fists. Daisuke's long cock reaches to his navel, the precome that oozes from its tip giving an even brighter sheen to his metal piercing. Swansea dips his tongue into the puddle, and scoops up a taste. It's Daisuke's flavor, it's his own. A cocktail born out of passion and stirred with love, the most intoxicating drink he's ever sipped. He slurps it up with a greedy kiss, chasing its salty-sweetness to the head of Daisuke's cock, one slow lick more than enough to have it jumping happily.

Daisuke relaxes his hands and whimpers a call for Swansea to feast.

The rumble in Swansea's belly is overwhelming. His mouth waters at the thought of devouring Daisuke's cock, of feeling his throat clench around his head, so eager yet so out of practice. He laps the slick from Daisuke's tip, sucks his foreskin softly between his lips. Lets it pop free, then kisses down the length of his shaft, bathing him in hot breaths that have Swansea half-dizzy by the time he reaches Daisuke's root and nuzzles his nose in the lush pubes framing it. 

He's stopped trimming; Swansea has always liked it better this way. Wild as the nights they stole when no one else was looking, Swansea drunk off anything within arm's reach. Ready to die in that sea of stars, with his lips on Daisuke's neck and his cock inside his ass, and a vow to find him in the next life beating its drum throughout his broken heart.

He hears its sweet cry, and stretches onto his belly, pressing a kiss to Daisuke's sack before he pushes his legs farther apart. When his eyes catch sight of the small mark high up on Daisuke's inner thigh, they can't help the tears that climb to the surface. "What's this?"

"It's for you," Daisuke says. "I got it where no one else could see."

Swansea feels a tremor in his heart as he brushes his fingers across the swan's gently-curved neck, its body inked in fine lines, wings spread as though reaching to absolve him of his sins.

He begs its forgiveness with a guilty kiss.

"Grab yer legs," he tells Daisuke. "So I can taste yer little hole."

It shouldn't come as a surprise that after all these years Daisuke is still limber as a dancer, having been swayed and bowed and fucked in more positions than Swansea knew existed. Grabbing the backs of his knees, he pulls his legs to his chest so he's bent practically in half, showing Swansea that sweet, special place he dearly adores. His wrinkles are the same shade as his nipples, touched by wispy hairs that stir the closer Swansea draws his lips. He kisses the very center, and feels Daisuke's star pucker as he lets out a moan.

"You were always pretty here, too," Swansea murmurs, with a kiss much damper than the first. "Like a flower, blushin' whenever I tickled yer petals."

And, grazing Daisuke's taint with his nose, Swansea opens his mouth to give him a long lick from bottom to top. 

Daisuke's knifelike gasp could strip the paper right off the walls. "Ohh… Swansea…"

His taste bleeds sweat and memories, the sugar of days past. All the dreams Swansea would chase, now hot and fluttering against the flat of his tongue. Swansea gets his hands under Daisuke's cheeks and lifts so he can bring his face as close as can be, each gentle lick and light kiss drawing Daisuke into a state of relaxation, his hole soaked, softer than a cloud.

"Mmm…" Swansea mumbles, "good," and seals his mouth over Daisuke's smaller one.

Daisuke's cheeks tighten when Swansea's tongue pushes at his center. "Is it too hairy?" He asks. "I don't— mmph— wax anymore."

Swansea smacks his lips together. "Makes it taste even better." He'll happily eat his peach with or without the fuzz.

He picks a favorite wrinkle and strokes it reverently, the others soon envious, twitching to beckon him come hither. Heeding their call, Swansea licks all around, over and between, the delicate ridges pillow-soft on his tongue. Daisuke's perfumed scent wafts thick and heavy, and Swansea drags his nose lower as he breathes in deep, glides back upwards through sweet spit before pursing his lips and sucking Daisuke's pretty flower until it loosens its petals so he can pierce the heart of its bud.

Daisuke's electrifying moan ripples like a current through his tongue. "Ah! Right there."

God, he's even softer on the inside. A snug fit for Swansea's tongue, but Swansea has never been more eager to try. With a grunt, he wriggles deeper into Daisuke's tasty hole and begins to lick at the sides. A flick here, a stroke there. Soon enough, he's fucking him properly, fighting against tight muscle and the wanton moans that make his cock want to burst on the spot.

"Swansea—" Daisuke chokes out his name. "I want your cock— oh god, I need it."

Jerking his tongue out, Swansea licks his lips clean and climbs up to look at Daisuke. "Yeah?" He says, his voice invigorated. "You miss gettin' fucked by my fat cock?"

Glassy-eyed and trembling, Daisuke nods.

"You still touch yerself when you think of me?"

"A-All the time."

"Show me how ya do it."

A rosy blush colors Daisuke's cheeks. He swallows thickly, then carefully releases his legs and digs both feet into the mattress, opening wide. Swansea sits back on his heels, watches with thunder in his veins as Daisuke raises a hand to slip two fingers inside his mouth. His eyes close, he whimpers while he sucks. And once Swansea can see the spit glisten on his knuckles, he reaches down below his balls and rubs both fingertips in slow circles over his pucker. 

Swansea's breath hitches. "Gorgeous. So goddamn sexy."

Daisuke responds with a moan, and strokes his slick fingers up and down. It has to feel good; it looks amazing. Swansea doesn't want to blink, god forbid he should miss a second. His mouth falls open as Daisuke's does the same, now teasing himself with just the tip of his index finger. 'Round and 'round. Spinning like the thoughts in Swansea's head. Images of Daisuke's flushed lips, his breath dripping with pleasure as it spills out between them.

When he pushes inside, Swansea can't tell who gasps louder.

He feels the clench as if Daisuke's finger were his own, sucking and swallowing his every part. His hands hunger to hold Daisuke down, his cock to stretch and stuff and spurt its devotion, until Daisuke is filled with enough of his love to last for all eternity.

Warmth licks at his belly, a fire in his core. "Just look at ya," he says, tongue sandpaper where it scrapes the roof of his mouth. "Sexy little thing, fingerin' yerself for me. Bet you been practicin' for a long time."

His skilled exhibitionist slides his finger deeper, exhaling the sluttiest of moans. 

"Yeah, you like puttin' on a show, don'tcha?"

Rocking his hips, Daisuke's empty hand slides up to lazily tweak his nipple, a fantasy unfolding right before Swansea's eyes. And Swansea is so enraptured, he doesn't notice his nails digging into his thighs until he glances down to see the flesh dimpled beneath them. 

He's been deprived of this for far too long.

His jealous gaze drifts back to Daisuke, moaning and fucking himself on his finger. "You want yer greedy hole to feel extra good?" Swansea asks.

Daisuke bites his bottom lip and gives him a pleading look. 

"Let me help ya with that."

The mattress dips and creaks under Swansea's knees as he reaches for the plastic shopping bag on the nightstand. Thrilled as he was at the possibility of seeing Daisuke again, he hadn't come with the intent to get his dick wet; it was Daisuke's bright idea to stop at the drugstore on their way here, a tempting offer whispered against his lips when Daisuke kissed him before Swansea had the chance to shift the car into drive. Clever where it counts, and horny enough to give him a run for his money—Swansea's aching cock thanks the stars Daisuke hasn't changed in that regard. 

Careful not to soil the paper bouquet beside it, he slips his hand into the bag and fishes out the bottle of lube that Daisuke had generously bought to celebrate their reunion. XXX-treme Size, according to the label; hours of death-defying fun for an old man looking to fuck like his heart isn't one orgasm away from the grave. Though, if the glimmer in Daisuke's eyes is any indication, at least Swansea can rest well knowing his demise will be slow and pleasurable.

He pours a reasonable amount onto his fingers and smears it around with his thumb, lowering his hand to rub their slick tips against the throbbing heat of Daisuke's pucker. "How do ya like this?"

Daisuke whimpers, his lips clamped tight. 

He's adorable when he turns timid. Like a blushing bride about to be deflowered on their wedding night, and Swansea is the lucky fucker wearing the ring. He tickles Daisuke's wrinkles, chuckling when he sees his cheeks grow deep red. "Remember the first night we fucked?" Swansea asks. "You were braggin' on and on about how you stole that surgical lube from Medical, but the second I started rubbin' yer asshole, you got so shy you couldn't say a thing. Just kept makin' these cute little kitten noises and cryin' out my name."

Daisuke digs his fists into the pillow as his hole twitches. "Swansea—"

"Yeah, like that. Sounds pretty when you say it."

"Swansea—" His whine grows louder when Swansea begins to circle his puckered center. "Stop teasing me and just—"

Swansea shuts him up by plunging his middle finger knuckle-deep.

"Oh fuck—" It bursts from Daisuke's lips on a rush of air. "Swansea, ohh…"

"This what you want?" Swansea rasps. "A nice, thick finger in yer hole?"

He keeps his hand excruciatingly still while Daisuke squirms and clenches. "Yours feel way better than mine."

"Yer nice and soft. Tight. I'm gonna enjoy finger-fuckin' ya."

The sentence ends in a gentle curve of Swansea's fingertip, and the next starts at the sound of Daisuke's keening cry.

"Still know where yer sweet spot is, don't I?" Swansea smiles.

He presses Daisuke's button again—lightly, enjoying the noises Daisuke makes, how he can't seem to close his lips long enough to form Swansea's name. But Swansea can hear its melody buried at the back of his throat. He just needs someone to play the right notes. 

Slowly, he pulls his finger back. Gently, he slides in again. Daisuke is slick with lube and hot with lust. He's the picture of beauty, painted by Swansea's hand, and Swansea presses his palm to Daisuke's taint, using the leverage he has to probe deep inside his ass. Daisuke gasps; his trembling lips come together. 

"Swansea—another."

So greedy. Swansea could never forget the joy of being hugged by Daisuke's body, whether caught in an innocent embrace, or enveloped in something wet and syrup-sweet. His ass is a glove fit for Swansea alone, the thought bubbling with jealousy alongside Swansea's pride.  

He pulls out completely, and presses back in with two of those thick fingers that Daisuke craves. 

"Ah!" Daisuke's head arches into the pillow. "Good."

Swansea can think of a few ways to make it better.

He clasps his hand behind Daisuke's knee as Daisuke had done earlier, and bends his leg back so he can watch him swallow and spit out his fingers. Quivering walls, swollen rim, stretched and squelching and fucking soaked. Swansea stirs him up with deep thrusts, unable to tear his gaze away.

"Such a sweet hole for me to play with," he murmurs. "Has anyone else been inside here?"

Daisuke whimpers. "N-No. Just toys."

"Wish I could see that. This hot little mouth stretched around a fat dildo. Moanin' my name as you fuck it. Gettin' yerself ready to swallow my cock."

He bites his lip, clenching tighter around Swansea's fingers. "M—More."

"Already?" Swansea laughs. "You want it that bad?"

Helplessness glazes Daisuke's pretty eyes, a break in his voice. "I want you, Swansea."

His rim snaps shut when Swansea pulls out to grab the bottle of lube beside him. He's not nearly slick enough to split Daisuke with three fingers, at least not his size. They're rough, callused from decades of hard work, but the perfect texture to trail goosebumps over Daisuke's skin, have his hole puckering once Swansea lowers his hand to tease his sensitive little wrinkles. And when he squeezes his fingers close together, and carefully slides them inside, Daisuke serenades him with such delicious moans, Swansea doubts any songbird could compare. 

"Oh god— there— Swansea—"

He's stretched almost as wide as Swansea's cock. His balls are drawn tight, stomach slick from all the precome Swansea has been coaxing out of him. He'll come with Swansea's fingers in his ass; Swansea will come just from watching Daisuke's face pinch and pout each time he deliberately misses his prostate. He really is gorgeous, and Swansea would steal every star in the sky and wrap them in a twinkling bouquet, if it means Daisuke will be his forever. 

Daisuke is whimpering loudly now, the same word over and over. "Please—Please—"

"You want me inside you?" Swansea gently asks.

Swallowing, Daisuke blinks his tear-damp eyes. "It's all I've ever wanted."

He should be smiling. That sorrowful frown twitching its way across Daisuke's face should be a beaming grin, but all it does is feed Swansea's guilty conscience. Tease me. Joke with me. Call me old and fat and tell me how much you love me for it. Say you forgive me, so one day I can forgive myself.

He eases his fingers out, and bows to kiss Daisuke's forehead. "Relax for a second," he says. "I'll get ready."

His cock has been dripping for some time now, thighs sticky in the middle, skin glazed by a crystal sea. Swansea slicks himself up slowly, gazes on while Daisuke pulls his legs to his chest and begs with those pretty brown eyes. Time crawls by; Swansea is leaning forward. He's guiding the tip of his cock to Daisuke's hole, and he's sinking inch by inch and moan by moan until he bottoms out to the lovely music of Daisuke's endless gasp.

Swansea is inside him; after five lonely years, he's finally inside, and it's the most wonderful feeling in the world.

"Ah— Daisuke," Swansea groans, swaying his hips. "You feel so—" 

Good is the sorry description he'd wanted to use, had the wind not been knocked out of him by Daisuke clamping his legs around his waist. 

"Don't stop," pleads Daisuke, in a voice that cracks like glass. "Fuck me, Swansea. Please, fuck me." 

His arms tug at Swansea's back as he tries to crush their bodies into one, unaffected by the weight, the bulging gut trapping his cock between them. Lowering himself, Swansea kisses Daisuke softly.

"I love you," he whispers, and slowly begins to move.

Wave after wave of exquisite heat throbs with the slide of Swansea's cock. Daisuke is hope, he's life. The sun and the rain and the soil in which Swansea yearns to lay his roots. He buries his face in Daisuke's hair and raises his hips until only his crown remains squeezed tight. Gives them both a moment to breathe, to cherish, before he sinks down again, a quiet groan pushing through his lips. 

"You like it?" He asks.

Daisuke's chest is slick against his, gasps radiating a subtle sweetness. "Feels—good—"

"Yeah, it does," Swansea sighs, and smiles. "I'm so happy to be back inside my Sunshine."

He hears Daisuke's soft sounds become softer whimpers as he rocks at a leisurely pace. He'll make this last. He'll fuck him until afternoon turns to dusk, and dusk to the morning light. He needs him like the air he breathes, like the clouds need the sky, the mountains land beneath their feet. Everything he is and was belongs to Daisuke. Lost forever without the warmth of his embrace. 

Their moans ring out as pleasure draws them under. Swansea's belly rolls over Daisuke's cock. His foreskin slides back and forth inside him, dragging along Daisuke's velvet walls with a decadence that almost makes Swansea cry. 

"Ah, yeah—" Swansea grunts, savors the push-and-pull. "Fuck, Sunshine, you have no idea how much I missed this. Bein' with you. Makin' love to you."

Daisuke's hole, his thighs, his body clenches, whimpering against Swansea's shoulder while he digs his nails into his back. Swansea presses forward, eases off, grinds his hips into Daisuke at the peak of each thrust.

"I love ya more than anythin' in the universe," he says. "You mean the world to me. You always will, Sunshine."

Then, above his grunting, comes a soft hiccup. Another. A flurry more. Startled, Swansea shoves himself up to find Daisuke shaking, with tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. 

"Daisuke?" He cups Daisuke's cheek as panic rushes in. "Sunshine, what's wrong?"

"I—I h-h-hate it," Daisuke sobs. "I hate when you call me that. Like we're back on the Tulpar and nothing bad ever happened." 

"I-I'm sorry," Swansea stammers. "I didn't know—"

"You stopped writing. Almost four years, you were gone, and I waited every day praying you'd come for me."

His cock, soft with guilt, slips out of Daisuke. His chest aches, his throat burns in agony at every tear that falls. "Daisuke…"

"Don't say it—" Daisuke's voice cuts like a knife. "Don't tell me you left because you thought I was better off. I'm not some fragile piece of paper you need to protect."

Fresh sobs rack his body as Daisuke throws an arm across his face, but the tears are still there, rolling in rivers through Swansea's mind, drowning his soul in the deepest despair. He glances at the bouquet on the nightstand, yellowed by ugly light. He watches Daisuke's heart break and mourns the love of a man he doesn't deserve, grasps at bittersweet memories of a happiness he'll never forget. 

He feels those joyful moments start to slip through his fingers, and sadly murmurs, "No. What I did was all for myself."

Daisuke sniffles, slowly lowering his arm, and blinks up at Swansea, red-rimmed eyes and salt-stung cheeks pleading for an answer. Swansea takes a deep breath, steadies his trembling heart.

"Y'know," he says, "bein' with you used to plant the craziest ideas inside my head. One day we were foolin' around like a couple of kids in Utility, and the next you were curled up in my arms, wishin' me sweet dreams and kissin' me goodnight. Those dreams I had were so beautiful, I never wanted to wake. They felt so real, it was like I didn't have to. That little seed you planted in me sprouted flowers, and by the time we were back on Earth, it was a whole garden, just waitin' for us to come help it grow. Lookin' at all those colors made me happier than I'd ever been. And it made me scared to high hell."

Confusion creeps into Daisuke's brow, curiosity gently parts his lips. Swansea continues:

"Do you remember the last letter you sent me?"

Daisuke nods.

"It was on this pretty blue stationery, looked like a kid's drawin' of the night sky with stars hangin' from strings at the top. It was so much like you, I was smilin' before I even read it." Nostalgia gets the best of him, and Swansea smiles for a moment, before sorrow reclaims his voice. "You told me how you were thinkin' about the future, about how you wanted to go to college and work hard so you could make everyone proud. 'Just wait until you see how happy I am when we're finally together again,' you said. I saw it, Daisuke. I read those words and I saw us lookin' up at that sky together, watchin' the stars twinkle." 

They're twinkling now, in Swansea's heart. In the tears that cling to Daisuke's lashes, crystal-clear and forever bright. "And then, I saw you leavin'. Because you had the rest of yer life to change yer mind about lovin' an old bastard like me." Swansea chokes as falling stars begin to trickle down the sides of his nose. "I was afraid I wanted somethin' too good to be true. So I stuck with the life I knew. I hurt ya to keep myself safe. I was selfish to disappear without sayin' goodbye. I'm even worse for comin' back and expectin' a second chance. I'm so sorry, Daisuke, but my heart was breakin' too hard to pretend you weren't the only one who could fix it. I just wish I'd trusted ya with it from the start."

His shaky thumb finds a tear that had dripped onto Daisuke's cheek. "You're not fragile, Sweetheart," he breathes. "You're so much stronger than I could ever be."

They stay gazing at each other through the pain and fear. With quiet breaths and tired eyes, and lips that tremble beneath the weight of their emotions. Softly, Daisuke sniffles, and lays a gentle palm on Swansea's cheek. "Swansea—" He whispers, shifting to coil his legs around his waist. "Please."

Swansea delicately replies, "You still want to?"

"Yeah. Like we used to do."

His hand trails from Swansea's cheek down to his chest, his stomach, slipping below to take hold of Swansea's flaccid cock. He tugs, and Swansea feels himself start to swell again. 

He's always amazed by this power Daisuke possesses, as if age means nothing to him, so easily able to turn an old man like Swansea into a young buck again. In less than a minute, Swansea is fully erect, taking his place between Daisuke's cheeks, and sliding his still-wet cock inside him. He holds there, up on his hands, so he can watch Daisuke's eyes flutter, and his mouth open in a gasp. 

"Swansea—you feel perfect."

"You, too, Daisuke," Swansea sighs, and begins to roll his hips. "You're always so good for me. My Sweetheart, the stars in my sky."

Daisuke clasps Swansea's arms as his gasps grow sharper. "Tell me—again—"

"Sweetheart, oh Sweetheart—I promise I'll never leave. I'll take care of ya. I'll live and die for ya. I love you so, so much."

"Love you—Swansea—harder—" His voice plays a sweet melody over the snap of Swansea's hips, the sound of Swansea's heavy balls slapping his flesh in rhythmic beats.

"I'm so deep inside ya—" Swansea grunts. "I wanna—stay like this forever."

"Forever," Daisuke echoes, and reaches for his cock. Before he can close his fist around it, Swansea gingerly grasps his wrist, Daisuke's pulse throbbing under the press of his thumb.

"Please," Swansea says. "Let me do it."

Slowing his thrusts, he takes Daisuke in hand and strokes him firmly. He's slick, hot, moaning on every tug, every drive of Swansea's cock into the deepest parts of him. Angled perfectly to rub right against his prostate.

"Ah—Swansea—"

"Wanna make ya come." Swansea drags out and plunges back in. "Wanna feel it on my skin."

He moans in harmony with Daisuke as those wonderful walls hug his cock. As his pleasure builds and his hand squelches, and Daisuke's heat melts him from the inside out.

"Ya got me close, Sweetheart. You know— ah— how to make a mess of—this old man."

Swansea's thrusts come deep and sharp. He wants to fill him up; he wants to pull out and paint that pretty swan white. He whispers an unspoken promise that he'll do both someday. For himself, and for Daisuke.

He rams hard into Daisuke, gasps for breath when he rocks back and is sucked right in again. "Fuck—" His eyes screw shut. "Daisuke—can I come inside?"

One sweat-slick hand slides over the nape of Swansea's neck as Daisuke tries to tug him down. "Yeah—Swansea—I wanna feel you— ohh—"  

A cry like sirens shakes the body beneath him. Daisuke's back arches, his fingers dig into Swansea's flesh, and his cock—his beautiful, throbbing cock—pulses one shot after another, hot and thick where it dribbles down Swansea's knuckles to drench him in its juicy kiss. And, buried root-deep, Swansea surrenders, pumping every drop and then some, until there's nothing left for Daisuke to take.

Heaving in the aftermath, he opens his eyes, and looks into Daisuke's. 

Daisuke trembles, wets his lips, and quietly sobs.

"I'm here, Sweetheart." Swansea whispers, leaning down to kiss his cheek. "You can cry if you want to. I promise it'll be OK."

"When you leave, I'm coming with you." Rays of sunlight peek through the curtained window, though the words patter soft as raindrops from Daisuke's lips. "We'll do all the stuff we wrote about. We'll move in together. We'll get married. We'll finally have our chance to be happy."

There's a quiver in his voice that makes it sound as if Daisuke is standing with his toes on a ledge, fearful of the fall, yet ready to take the plunge. Hoping Swansea will catch him and hold him close as he's doing now, in a bed that wishes it was theirs, in a room that hates to see them go. Swansea nuzzles his face in Daisuke's hair, breathes in the scent of sweat and longing. "You can't come with me, Daisuke," he sighs, and feels his heart weep where it beats slowly against Daisuke's back. "You've got school to think about, friends and family here."

Daisuke sniffles, body tensing in Swansea's embrace. "But I don't have you here," he cries. "What good is staying if I can't wake up next to you every day?"

"There's no beach in Kansas. I'd hate to take that away from ya."

"Then I'll milk cows or plow fields or chop trees or whatever it is people do there. I don't wanna let you go again. Please, Swansea, I can't."

The room fills with the heartrending thunder of Daisuke's sobs. He's shaking beneath the covers, threading his fingers through Swansea's to squeeze with all his might. Swansea hugs him tighter, and murmurs, just loud enough to pierce the clouds, "I know. That's why I'm movin' to yer neck of the woods. I hear the West Coast's perfect for an early retirement."

One breath at a time, Daisuke's sniffles fade, and when he finally speaks—voice thick with lingering sorrow—Swansea catches a glimpse of hope twinkling in every syllable. "You'd leave your home for me?"

He presses a gentle kiss behind Daisuke's ear. "Daisuke, you are my home."

Images and emotions drift like petals across the sea of Swansea's mind: a house, full of laughter, colors warm against his skin. Sunset gleaming on gold rings, and Daisuke smiling as Swansea plucks one of the flowers that grows within himself and slips it into his hair, their future sealed with the sweetest kiss. 

Swansea's lips tremble as tears well up in his eyes. "I know I can never give ya that time back," he says. "But I can try my best to make what comes after worth it."

Daisuke rolls over so they lie face-to-face. "You don't have to try," he whispers, and takes Swansea's hand to kiss his fingertips. "I'll always be your Sweetheart."

That tender promise stitching the cracks in his heart, Swansea cradles Daisuke's cheek and softly kisses his lashes, drawing back to greet his smile with stardust on his lips.