Fever Hot

“Munakata?”

Silence.

“Reisi?”     

Silence.

Mikoto sighs and pockets the spare key to Reisi’s apartment as he makes his way inside. He toes off his shoes and sets his jacket on the sofa. His eyes survey the empty apartment, loneliness seeping into his bones as cold would if it could. The windows still have their curtains drawn and there isn’t light music playing softly as usual. It’s absolutely silent.

Mikoto frowns as he makes his way towards the bedroom. It’s unlike the Blue King to sleep in, even on the weekends, so Mikoto knows something is wrong. Reisi didn’t answer any of his calls or taunting texts, both last night and this morning. Mikoto can excuse last night, it was common for Reisi to work overtime being the overachiever that he was. But he can’t excuse this morning, it’s Sunday and Reisi’s off day.

Mikoto expects silence to greet him when he opens the door to Reisi’s bedroom, but what he gets instead are loud labored breaths and pained groans. He steps quickly and quietly inside, stepping towards the bed where he finds the Blue King sprawled out and tangled in his sheets, face flushed and body shivering, overtaken in fever.

Mikoto sighs out his concern and sits next to the Blue King, frowning when even from there he can feel the heat rolling of Reisi in waves. He leans over Reisi’s prone body, cups a flushed cheek, and brings their foreheads together. “Hmm,” Mikoto grunts, eyes filled with worry at just how hot Reisi feels.

Mikoto stands up slowly and tucks Reisi’s blankets more securely around him before he leaves the room.

-

“King! Who knew you’d care so much to actually call-“

“Oi, Totsuka, how do you get someone’s fever to go down?”

“Hm? Why? Who’s sick? I’ll take care of them, just bring them to HOMRA!”

“…”

“King?”

“…Munakata.”

“Aww…”

“Tatara…”

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t help it, our King is worried about his beloved. Has he drunk anything yet? Has he eaten yet?”

“Ah.”

“Umm, did you place a cool rag on his forehead?”

“Ah.”

“Has he taken medicine?”

“Ah.”

“And it’s not going down?”

“No.”

“Mmm…well…”

“Tatara, is there any way I can bring his fever down or not?”

Mikoto heard Tatara sigh. “Well, I’ve heard that…well I’ve never done this, but it might…”

“Tatara.”

“You could sleep with him.”

“How is sleeping next to a sick person going to heal them?”

“No…No I mean, you could…have sex with the Blue King.”

“…”

“Like I said, I’ve never tried this method out before, but apparently an orgasm helps lower a person’s fever…”

“…and you’re sure this will bring his fever down?” Even Mikoto, whose usual answers were single-syllabic and indifferent, couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

Tatara heard his king sigh and grumble, “…Munakata…always making things difficult…,” before the dial tone sounded.

“Aish! This King! Not even saying a goodbye! Or a thank you!”

-

Mikoto runs his hand through his hair as he observes a sleeping Reisi. Things would be easier if he was awake so Mikoto guesses that his first move should be waking the Blue King. He approaches the bed hesitantly and carefully sits on the edge. Mikoto was planning on running his hand through Reisi’s navy locks, but instead he ends up gently tracing a flushed cheek, damp with sweat.

“Mmm…” Reisi starts to stir, turning into Mikoto’s touch. Mikoto sees him trying to open his eyes, eyelids fluttering slowly as they open with difficulty. Reisi’s eyes remain unfocused for several seconds, disoriented from restless slumber.

“Mikoto? Wh-what…?”

“Just trust me. Relax.”

Reisi’s eyes widen slightly in comprehension before his pink cheeks turn scarlet, the sight making Mikoto swallow drily. Reisi may be the Blue King, but he’s exquisite in red, in Mikoto’s color. Mikoto hopes this actually works.

-

Reisi looks completely relaxed, his dark eyes peeking through half-open lids. The Blue King looks at Mikoto with expectation, as in what Mikoto is doing for him is nothing more than what he’s entitled too. . It makes Mikoto chuckle softly, a low purring vibrating from his chest at Reisi’s arrogance.

Reisi whimpers when Mikoto curls his fingers. The Red King never wastes a moment, every movement done with purpose. On every third thrust of his fingers, Mikoto makes sure to curl them, pressing hard against Reisi’s prostate. This isn’t about him this time, but Reisi. Okay, well it is usually all about Reisi but that’s because Mikoto loves to spoil him (not that he’d ever admit that).

“Mikoto, wait-ah! Stop! I’m going to-nng!”

The Red King directs his gaze to Reisi, eyebrow quirked. “Are you hurt?”

“W-what? No-hah!”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, but-“

“Then why should I stop?”

“Because-hnng! Stop t-that!”

Reisi’s thighs tremble from where they lie parted. He grabs Mikoto’s wrist, hand shaking and pulls, withdrawing Mikoto’s fingers from his body. The both of them jolt at the loss of equilibrium, before the moment is broken by Reisi, who slaps Mikoto’s hand to the side, and then presses his own to the bulge in Mikoto’s jeans. 

“What are you doing? Stop that! Lay back down!”

“Are you actually turning me down?”

“You’re still sick and I’m doing this for your benefit!”

“You know stressing out a sick person lowers their immunity further so you should just comply with my demands!”

Both Kings glare at each other, not backing down. Mikoto’s scowl softens slightly when he feels the heat emanating from Reisi’s body, his breathing sounding strained. He sighs in defeat, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

Mikoto practically tears his shirt in his haste to remove it, hands moving to help Reisi with his belt and jeans. He removes unnecessary clothing quickly, reasoning to himself that the faster he got to it, the faster Reisi’s fever would tone down and he could go back to sleep.

Mikoto slicks himself up quickly (Reisi’s heavy glare to hurry up is enough incentive) and presses forward slowly, not stopping until he’s sunk all the way in. Reisi’s hands are clenched in the sheets and his legs are hitched on Mikoto’s hips. Their breaths are starting to come out faster, speeding up in anticipation.

Reisi’s body is warm and pliant beneath him, his head is tilted and neck fully exposed. Reisi looks unhurried, but Mikoto knows better, can see the glare forming from under Reisi’s lashes, can feel him pushing his hips into his, a silent get on with it. Mikoto chuckles quietly, even weakened by fever Reisi still manages to appear like he is the one in control.

Mikoto spreads Reisi’s thighs further apart, pulling and pushing out and in slowly, attempting to ignore the tight-slick heat around him, tempting him to thrust harder, to go faster. Mikoto’s thrusts come and go like the tide, they drag sensually, softly, pushing back into him with the force of a wave, sensation rippling through him like water.

Even now, tired and sick, Reisi still manages to find ways to gain back some form of control. He wraps his legs around Mikoto’s waist, arching up to urge the other’s body closer. It’s something Mikoto is used to, Reisi’s controlling personality. No matter how far off he is, or how close, Reisi gives out just as many orders, cluing Mikoto in vocally or physically, as he does moans. 

Mikoto isn’t sure when Reisi’s eyes fell closed, but he’s only just noticed now. Dark lashes lie softly on Reisi’s cheeks, quivering like sakura petals in a gentle breeze, the Blue King’s face an open book of expression.

Reisi’s reactions spark up Mikoto’s spine, tearing a low groan from his throat. Reisi’s breath is coming in quick pants and his whines are choked off and desperate. His hands tangle in the sheets, his knuckles strained white from his tight grip. His legs are spread obscenely for Mikoto just as his back arches perfectly into a bow, flush high on Reisi’s cheeks, perspiration beading at his forehead and slowly trailing from his temples in clear crystal pearls.

Mikoto never wavers in his pace, neither fast nor slow, but steady. Just enough pressure that the thrusts against Reisi’s prostate aren’t gentle enough to be teasing, but soft enough that the Blue King slowly falls into a delirium not fever induced.

Mikoto is never ready for how Reisi reacts. No matter how long they’ve been together, no matter how well Mikoto knows Reisi and his reactions, he’s never prepared. All of the laid-back calmness in the Red King is leeched from his body when he gazes down at Reisi. Reisi with fair skin and clean lines, all sewn together with lithe muscle. His open mouth can’t seem to close before another reverberation bubbles forth from his throat to burst into sound at the seams of his lips.

Reisi just wants to cum. He’s wound up, Mikoto’s got him wound up tight, and he can’t wait to fall. Fall over the precipice and desperately drown into pleasure. “C’mon, harder, please, please…”

Reisi’s head is thrashing from side to side, navy locks spilling onto the pillow like ink. He’s sick, he’s tired, and he just wants to cum. Is it so much to ask? “…please, ‘Koto please. I-hnng…”

Mikoto grunts in frustration. He doesn’t want to be so rough with Reisi because he’s sick and doesn’t need to be recovering from anything else but that. But the pleas that fall from the Blue King’s lips are surely sin and he’s having trouble not giving into temptation.

Reisi’s mewls whine high and his hips spasm erratically. Mikoto can feel it. Can feel the tension wound so high in Reisi, feels desperation coming off of him in waves. Can feel the order in the pinpricks of pain on his arm as Reisi squeezes his bicep warning, silently commanding him to get on with it. The Red King holds Reisi’s hips in place, controlling their movement. He continues his ministrations with his languid pace, deliberately thrusting in a way that has his cock head constantly striking Reisi’s prostate heavily.

Mikoto senses when Reisi is impossible close, he’s continuously trembling, his hips squirm, and he purposefully clenches around Mikoto.

Reisi moans high when he cums. There’s fire burning through his blood and flames igniting his nerves. He bursts in thick white lines across his stomach, back arched, thighs quivering, and toes curled, drool glossing his lips like morning dew. Mikoto knows that he will never see anything more beautiful than Reisi in the throes of orgasm. It makes Mikoto’s head and heart burn deliciously, knowing that he caused this, knowing that he’s caused Blue King Munakata Reisi to abandon his etiquette and collected demeanor. Knows he’s the only one to mess him up, mess him up real good.

Reisi pants harshly against Mikoto’s lips as he languidly comes down from his climax. Whines are pushing their way out from his mouth as Mikoto pushes back in. His arms can do nothing more but grasp onto Mikoto’s shoulders, his hold tightening every time Mikoto comes back into him. Reisi is a little sore and very sensitive, but that doesn’t stop him from tilting his hips up, meeting as many of Mikoto’s thrusts as he can, writhing in Mikoto’s arms when his cockhead rubs against his prostate.

Mikoto pants against his collarbone, his head buried in between the juncture of Reisi’s neck and shoulder. One of the Blue King’s hands finds its way up to thread into Mikoto’s red mane, pulling at a sharp entry that alerts Reisi to the Red King’s incoming climax. Mikoto groans and his thrusts lose rhythm. He knows he’s close, he can feel it tingling on the surface of his skin, in his blood, teasing him. A few more thrusts and he knows he’ll be gone, he just needs something-

The hand in his hair pulls hard, while Reisi’s other hand shoves itself down to grab Mikoto’s ass so that on his next thrust in he can’t pull back and has to stay inside Reisi who’s clenching down on him so hard that Mikoto never had a chance. Mikoto’s orgasm hits him like lightning, striking suddenly and all at once. It shocks a loud moan from his throat that caresses Reisi’s neck, small kisses peppering shortly after, as Mikoto cools down.

Reisi shivers as Mikoto pulls out gently, the heat of his body following Mikoto out. He feels better than before, much better really, but he’s still sick, still sweaty, and now sticky. He’s too exhausted to move and sighs in relief when Mikoto cleans him up and pulls the blankets back over him, his eyes more closed than open. He feels more than sees Mikoto brush his bangs back from his forehead and before Reisi can muster the energy to open his eyes, Mikoto’s lips are at his forehead, on his eyelids, on his lips, before he moves his face to the side, nuzzling Reisi’s cheek.

The gentle affection floods heat into Reisi’s body, from his head to toes, causing him to suspect his fever is rising again-

“Oi.”

Reisi’s eyelids flutter, struggling to open.

“If you’re not well by morning, I’m going to let HOMRA loose on the city tomorrow.”

Reisi is wrong. It’s not his body’s temperature on the rise, but his temper.