Electricity rakes through him, and even Chikusa can’t tell it’s from the way the sounds coming out of Ken’s mouth that make his heart kick or those rough fingers threatening to bring his legs out from beneath him. The reasoning doesn’t matter so much as the end result, which is him curling into Ken with his breath becoming more ragged by the moment. His fingers slide down to his ribs, nudging the shirt open more, only to twitch to a stop at the order.

“And you were complaining about doing all the work…” Still, it’s not like Chikusa will ever complain at a lack of it for himself. Maybe there’s a little bit of reluctance as he pulls his hand away, but no one can prove anything. His pale skin is already flushed a deep blotchy red, a crawl of passionate color along his throat where Ken has marked his claim and along his cheeks. Batting Ken’s hand away and nudging his legs so that he can move, Chikusa twists around. His palms press along the grit of the wall, lukewarm compared to Ken’s heat, and he glances over his shoulder at him.

“Come on…”