Release by cuethe_pulse, La Corda d’Oro, list 1 #1
Title: Release
Author: cuethe_pulse
Fandom: La Corda d’Oro
Claim: General
Pairing: Ryoutarou Tsuchiura/Len Tsukimori
Theme List: 1
Theme: 1-Pent up frustrations
Rating: NC-17
Description: Slash
Disclaimer: La Corda d’Oro and its characters do not belong to me.
They don’t hate each other. Not really. But it’s easy to pretend to, when they need it.
“You busy?” The guys in the soccer team won’t look at me anymore; they call me Beethoven. I hate it.
“No. Come in.” My parents left again; they won’t be back for five months. I hate it.
Their annoyances, their grievances and frustrations, their problems of the day-week, month, however long it’s been since they last did this-grow inside of them, mounting more and more with each step up to Len’s room. They manage to rein them in for the first several minutes, when all Ryoutarou does is hold Len against his closed bedroom door, when all Len does is curl a leg around Ryoutarou’s thigh.
They don’t kiss. They don’t want to. Kissing is for people who are content with each other, with themselves, with the world around them. And they aren’t content. Not right now, anyway. Maybe they’ll kiss later. Right now, they bite. Len marks the skin of Ryoutarou’s neck; Ryoutarou drags his teeth along the shell of Len’s ear. It’s a step closer to where they’re headed; a step closer to what they-possibly-feel guilty asking each other for, but do, because they need to, because they need it, because somehow they need to unleash the more unsavory feelings inside them, the feelings they try to suppress around everyone else.
Len’s hip bumps Ryoutarou’s, trying to urge the pianist forward, toward the bed, but Ryoutarou pushes him back and the first of many minor battles for dominance ensue. Ryoutarou wins this one; he’s physically stronger, they both know, and he likes to use that to his advantage. Being able to one-up the prideful violinist is always a treat, even in these situations. Especially in these situations.
He has Len pinned against the door and he considers ripping the other boy’s probably-pretty-expensive shirt. He’s only done it once before and, sure, the guy hadn’t even looked at him for about a week, but the angry sex had been awesome and the look on Len’s face had been more than worth it.
“Don’t.”
He doesn’t, instead marveling briefly at how Len knew what he was thinking about. It’s moments like these that make him wonder if maybe they mean more to each other than just a way to release. But he doesn’t wander about it for long, because if that is the case, he doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s kind of clueless when it comes to things like that.
The shirt comes off unharmed, but he’s less gentle in his treatment to the pants. He concentrates less on actually getting them off and more on just managing to get his hand inside of them. Len jerks into the touch, though there’s protest written on his face. He likes to get to the bed before things go this far. But he doesn’t complain-not this time, anyway-because he’s desperate for this and Ryoutarou’s hand is rough and he likes it.
Ryoutarou brings their bodies closer; he presses his forehead against the door, over Len’s shoulder. His hand continues to work at Len’s arousal, and he shudders as the violinist slides one hand up the back of his shirt, as his other hand squeezes Ryoutarou’s erection through his slacks. Needing more, he reaches down to undo his pants with his free hand. He struggles slightly as he tries to push them and his boxers down, scowling and flushing faintly at Len’s amused chuckling; he silences him with a particularly hard tug on his cock, and groans in appreciation when Len’s hand wraps around his hard, pulsing flesh.
The things that brought them together today seem so much farther away when they’re like this, when they reach this point. Just by being pressed up against the door together, skin on skin, it feels like those problems-the soccer team, parents, the world-are being herded toward the edge of a cliff and they’re so close to falling off, they just need one more push, one more pull, one more groan or grunt or gasp, one more thrust, one more tug, and they’re gone, spilling over their fingers.
They shiver, staying where they are for a moment or two or three, catching their breath. And then they look at each other and maybe they consider kissing each other, but they think of another problem, another annoyance-grievance-frustration, and Len frowns and pushes Ryoutarou, hard, toward the bed, and they begin again.
Author: cuethe_pulse
Fandom: La Corda d’Oro
Claim: General
Pairing: Ryoutarou Tsuchiura/Len Tsukimori
Theme List: 1
Theme: 1-Pent up frustrations
Rating: NC-17
Description: Slash
Disclaimer: La Corda d’Oro and its characters do not belong to me.
They don’t hate each other. Not really. But it’s easy to pretend to, when they need it.
“You busy?” The guys in the soccer team won’t look at me anymore; they call me Beethoven. I hate it.
“No. Come in.” My parents left again; they won’t be back for five months. I hate it.
Their annoyances, their grievances and frustrations, their problems of the day-week, month, however long it’s been since they last did this-grow inside of them, mounting more and more with each step up to Len’s room. They manage to rein them in for the first several minutes, when all Ryoutarou does is hold Len against his closed bedroom door, when all Len does is curl a leg around Ryoutarou’s thigh.
They don’t kiss. They don’t want to. Kissing is for people who are content with each other, with themselves, with the world around them. And they aren’t content. Not right now, anyway. Maybe they’ll kiss later. Right now, they bite. Len marks the skin of Ryoutarou’s neck; Ryoutarou drags his teeth along the shell of Len’s ear. It’s a step closer to where they’re headed; a step closer to what they-possibly-feel guilty asking each other for, but do, because they need to, because they need it, because somehow they need to unleash the more unsavory feelings inside them, the feelings they try to suppress around everyone else.
Len’s hip bumps Ryoutarou’s, trying to urge the pianist forward, toward the bed, but Ryoutarou pushes him back and the first of many minor battles for dominance ensue. Ryoutarou wins this one; he’s physically stronger, they both know, and he likes to use that to his advantage. Being able to one-up the prideful violinist is always a treat, even in these situations. Especially in these situations.
He has Len pinned against the door and he considers ripping the other boy’s probably-pretty-expensive shirt. He’s only done it once before and, sure, the guy hadn’t even looked at him for about a week, but the angry sex had been awesome and the look on Len’s face had been more than worth it.
“Don’t.”
He doesn’t, instead marveling briefly at how Len knew what he was thinking about. It’s moments like these that make him wonder if maybe they mean more to each other than just a way to release. But he doesn’t wander about it for long, because if that is the case, he doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s kind of clueless when it comes to things like that.
The shirt comes off unharmed, but he’s less gentle in his treatment to the pants. He concentrates less on actually getting them off and more on just managing to get his hand inside of them. Len jerks into the touch, though there’s protest written on his face. He likes to get to the bed before things go this far. But he doesn’t complain-not this time, anyway-because he’s desperate for this and Ryoutarou’s hand is rough and he likes it.
Ryoutarou brings their bodies closer; he presses his forehead against the door, over Len’s shoulder. His hand continues to work at Len’s arousal, and he shudders as the violinist slides one hand up the back of his shirt, as his other hand squeezes Ryoutarou’s erection through his slacks. Needing more, he reaches down to undo his pants with his free hand. He struggles slightly as he tries to push them and his boxers down, scowling and flushing faintly at Len’s amused chuckling; he silences him with a particularly hard tug on his cock, and groans in appreciation when Len’s hand wraps around his hard, pulsing flesh.
The things that brought them together today seem so much farther away when they’re like this, when they reach this point. Just by being pressed up against the door together, skin on skin, it feels like those problems-the soccer team, parents, the world-are being herded toward the edge of a cliff and they’re so close to falling off, they just need one more push, one more pull, one more groan or grunt or gasp, one more thrust, one more tug, and they’re gone, spilling over their fingers.
They shiver, staying where they are for a moment or two or three, catching their breath. And then they look at each other and maybe they consider kissing each other, but they think of another problem, another annoyance-grievance-frustration, and Len frowns and pushes Ryoutarou, hard, toward the bed, and they begin again.