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The windowpane shivers and rattles as the two men crash into it, sending laughing curses up to chase after the pigeons that they’d startled skyward from their metal perch outside. Elbows are banged, shirts are caught on the hungry splinters of old wood that line cold glass. Katsuya moans something that is more sound than function; the words are silk, and desire, they sound like they should be food to be savored. David's long fingers dig through dark hair and his palms set to cool glass as he pushes his mouth against Katsuya's—it isn't to quiet him, but to see if maybe there is a taste to those vowels.


David body is long and demanding; Katsuya must tilt his head up, he has to arch his back to keep from freezing by proxy, too close to the coming New York winter pressing against the outside of the window. There's a tug-of-war here, a shift of power back and forth that follows the way their hips move. David is like no one he’s had before; he is not quite a gentleman, he not wait-and-see. He fucks aggressively, with clear relish—Katsuya pushes, David pushes back. The high bones of their hips will be bruised tomorrow, matching morose watercolors.


Fingers grab at tight muscles, scoop around the long curve of an ass, trousers bunching under Katsuya's fingers. His strategy shifts and without a belt, a zipper is little match for tenacity. Skin sticks better to skin and so he takes control of the shift of David's movement, trying to force the other man to his rhythm, to play his game. It doesn't last long. He doesn't assume it will.


Hands pull from hair and strands that catch under fingernails tug and snap, inspiring another word that gets eaten like all the others, caught and tasted by a wide, eager tongue. Through the grind of underwear their cocks line up and slide—there is no friction despite the demand of muscles. Katsuya's fingers tighten but can't hold on when David drops; the wood flooring barking at his knees, thirsty. Bruises are the price of worship; for David the sting of pain is pushed away, given up to a higher cause. He wants Katsuya to break, not away from him but for him. He wants to see every one of the doctor’s seams pop and unravel.


Slacks are yanked at and yield completely. Briefs tug at skin and the tiny, soft hair of Katsuya's upper thighs and he catches a breath with his teeth. For a moment David watches as long-fingered hands float like they've been let loose from their moorings. Then Katsuya’s back arches and his shoes squeak as his legs shift. One arm stretches up and fingers slip against glass with no purchase before twisting into thick, soft curtains. Higher still rod and screws protest but hold while the other hand searches for an anchor against a warm skull.


Buttons are worked open, slowly. The wait is calculated; David feels the shake of the window through the warm, damp skin of Katsuya's stomach. His nose is pressed to soft, fine skin from navel to crotch—it smells like soap and spice, or the air after the rain. David wets his lips, the motion impulse and then just as nails graze his scalp his lips are wrapping around hot flesh, already wet so that he can take immediate and full advantage of the smooth, waiting cock.


The thick, warm flesh jumps in his mouth and the curtain rod groans again but this time there is an echo. The groan of Japanese nearly overwhelms the straining hangings and David swallows at his mouthful, taking advantage of lax fingers. Saliva is thick and gathers where his lips meet Katsuya’s abdomen, threatening to spill over. Against the back of his throat the head of the man’s cock is hot and thick and leaves a not quite unpleasant taste when he pulls away.


Katsuya tries to press forward, his hips wanting to follow that sloppy mouth, but a hand is around his hip with a thumb digging into muscles and he falls back with a grunt. He tries again, needy, again expecting to be opposed and so instead the sudden give and sink into a wet suck takes him so off guard that his whole body stiffens and surges with the sensation. His balls draw upward, throbbing a sharp ache that is mirrored by the pulse in his palms because his hands have curled into fists around fabric and hair. When David doesn't pull away the feeling builds to a physical tremble; Katsuya is on his toes, both of his hands gripping as if they will keep him from coming apart. Later his palms will show the pale pink crescents of his own fingernails. His chin tilts up as his eyes close tight; he tries to control the roar flushing his veins and choking in his throat.


The grip around hips is lazy now; David has given up trying to keep the man from muzzling him completely. His knees complain in stinging voices, his cock screams for attention with each shift of his body that brings it in contact with cotton that is increasingly damp. Fingers move and grope over lean, trembling thigh muscles, leaving a map through sweat. There is nowhere more to go but David leans closer, his nose again brushing short, dark hair, and offers swallows so full and broken that they’re nothing but a flutter of muscle around Katsuya's cock. Still, approval comes in the form of a breathless grunt from above and the slow coating of vicious, salty liquid on the back of his throat. In hot crevices Katsuya's body is clenched and damp; David's fingers slide and part flesh. This is his ace—an answering flutter in the body before him and he only has to brush a trembling ring of muscle to earn his victory; the cock on his tongue jumps and gives a single telling throb before his throat is filled, the orgasm warm and viscous. There is too much too fast to swallow it all. David drags a sharp breath through his nose and takes what he can; the rest dribbles from the corner of his mouth and falls toward the floor.


Finally he looses Katsuya and wipes at his lips but untethered the man sinks down toward him, into his lap and against his mouth. Katsuya kisses away the taste of himself with teeth and tongue and his hips find a rhythm that is clearly not for his own benefit. A rough breath is pulled from David’s chest and the bed makes a hard line against his shoulder blades as they both fall back. Katsuya is heavy and warm and good. David grabs at the body moving against him, grinding a deep, delicious pressure against his still-aching, weeping cock and all he can do is stiffen and draw Katusya in close order to ruin the fine clothing still left between them with a prolonged and greedy shiver.


Neither of them are keeping score.