|Chocolate the sixteenth
||[Jul. 19th, 2007|11:08 pm]
Title: Hora! BOOM BOOM!
Notes: PWP. Shortish. I had a perfect mental image. I'm also feeling a little emo right now, so comments would be appreciated.
Yasuda Shota is, after all, human.
He has human feelings, desires and urges, the latter of which are sometimes uncontrollable, what with him being only human and all.
Three hours of watching his boyfriend practicing the dance for Zukkoke Otokomichi in full costume drove him to such uncontrollable urges. Well, maybe a little bit controllable, because he managed to wait until the rest of the group were out of the dance studio before slamming the small singer up against one of the mirrored walls and kissing him.
After a couple of minutes they broke for air. Subaru sighed in that almost girlish fashion he’d perfected lately (it never failed against the guitarist), grinned wickedly and tried to push Shota back. Yasu wasn’t having any of that. Resorting to unfair tactics, he nipped harshly at Subaru’s collarbone and knew immediately he didn’t have to worry about another battle for dominance.
Subaru was utterly pliant in his arms as Shota kissed him again. Subaru watched them in the mirrored far wall, watching as Shota’s hands clutched at his skirt and dragged it up, watching as his lower half (and decision to go commando) was exposed, and getting incredibly turned on by it all.
There was a sudden fumbling between them, and Subaru’s first thought was that Shota had gone commando too. The second didn’t even manage to become a whole word before it was gone. His legs were lifted off the ground, and he wrapped them around Shota’s hips so he wouldn’t fall. He realised Shota’s intentions when the familiar warmth pressed against his hole, damp with probably no more than spit, and then it wasn’t really just an intention anymore.
The singer could only gurgle helplessly as Shota drove into him. Shota decided he wasn’t getting enough air for his exercise and parted lips, breathing heavily against Subaru’s neck and leaving him free to watch on the far mirror. Subaru watched himself bobbing up and down on Shota’s thrusts with detached amusement, Shota’s hips pivoting just like they did in the Zukkoke Otokomichi dance, and - oh god - it was good.
Shota felt Subaru’s limbs tighten around him, and that combined with the older male’s delicious tightness around his cock made him go faster. The singer was mumbling now, trying desperately not to get vocal when listening ears might hear, but almost delirious from the pleasure and the indecency of it all. His limbs tightened to near tetanus and he broke down into sobs against one of the guitarist’s broad shoulders. Reluctantly, he hit his peak and slumped. Shota was only seconds behind, his orgasm leaving him with just enough strength to lower them both gently to the ground.
For a few minutes, neither of them said anything, content to lie on a convenient gym mat and stare at the ceiling while they got their breath back. Then, as was fairly typical, Subaru was the first to speak.
“You know, one day they’re going to wonder why our dry cleaning bill is so high.”