Random my loveprize in viewfinder stories.

All i'm living for by A_Kid_Named_Hiro

You're falling.

Down, down, down, even though you're already sitting; all labored breath and a messed up head. There's bile lodged somewhere in the back of your throat and you're falling, drowning, sinking, into lonely, ugly darkness.

There's a pain in your chest that feels a lot like the pain in your shoulder, like the bullet in his shoulder and the pain in your heart when you watch the Russian shoot him, helpless and horrified.

He's falling, bleeding, not breathing, dying, oh god oh god oh god you don't even believe in god and why would you when he isn't here to save you from drowning in your own darkness.

This is death and pain and a sea filled with emptiness and it's cold so cold and you're —

Warm.

Sudden, blinding warmth. You blink. Once. Twice. Ten fucking times and it isn't a dream, a hallucination, wishful fucking thinking.

He's here, staring at you, hazel eyes wild and desperate and so fucking relieved.

And then, he's all over you. "Asami," he says, in a voice that cracks like he's laughing, like he's crying, like he's furious and ecstatic and alive. "Asami, Asami, Asami," he chants, as if he's trying to wear out the sound and the syllables of your name.

There are so many things you want to say. You're angry. Why is he here? Why have you been away from him for so long, what the fuck were you possibly thinking, isolating him, you can't believe Fei Long drugged you, that sneaky son of a bitch, you'll have to thank him later because Akihito is here Akihito is right now Akihito is kissing the everloving fuck out of you.

You kiss him back and it's the greatest feeling in the world. It feels like you've been drowned and dead and all the air's rushing into your lungs, filling you with blood and breath and so much warmth.

Distantly, you hear the sound of whirring blades. Someone's voice. The pilot. Yes. You're in a helicopter. You're airborne. You don't care. None of it matters. Nothing matters except Akihito, in your lap, in your arms, kissing you like some desperate, starved thing.

His backpack falls to the floor. His hoodie joins it seconds later. You help him out of his pants, his underwear, his shoes. You leave his socks on. He rips your shirt, buttons skittering to the seat, to the floor like spare change.

His gaze falls to the bandages around your chest and he freezes. "You're hurt," he says. Heartbroken. Then, "Who?" Livid.

Your breath catches at the sight of him. The flush on his cheeks. The grim set of his mouth. The fire in his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," you say, because it really doesn't. "They're all dead."

You saved my life.

Akihito looks at you like he understands. He kisses your bandage, over the spot where your heart lurks beneath, beating, beating, so frantically beating.

He's here, he's here, he's here.

Then, he crashes his lips against yours. Angry. Needy. Ravenous. He bites your bottom lip.

You bite his tongue. The taste of his blood. His life. Your life. It's all the same. He has saved you over and over and over. He's saving you now.

"Akihito," you growl against his snarl. "I can't wait any longer."

And it feels so much like déjà vu. Didn't you say this once, in a moment when you were as desperate for him as you are now?

He stares at you and everything you feel, everything you want, is echoed in his eyes, his face, his body. He reaches for the button of your dress pants. Unfurls the zip, works you out of your boxers.