Beginning This; Spirit/Stein; Table 1; 13 January/The Beginning
Title: Beginning This
Author: kkscatnip
Pairing/Rating: Spirit/Stein, NC-17
Theme: #13, January/The Beginning
Disclaimer: Characters != mine
Warning: The boys are underage! Shouldn't bother you unless you're really looking for it or are very bothered by that kind of thing, but here's your warning nonetheless.
A/N: Big, huge thankses to: nanakibh for encouraging me to write this and sopakun_ale for looking this over for me /no1
"Stein?" Spirit asks, voice soft and curious in the darkness that is their shared dorm room.
It's the trial period, the Make Sure You Don't Hate One Another period before they move into an apartment-dorm, and their first night of it besides. Stein has never slept with anyone else in the room; he wonders if Spirit has. He finds the sound of another person's breath while he's trying to sleep (and the idea that the other person, while he hears theirs, is hearing his) unnerving, and at the same time utterly enthralling.
"Stein," Spirit says again, a hiss more than a question this time. "You are not asleep."
"I'm not," Stein agrees, surprised when the sound of his own voice is loud against the quiet of the room.
"It's cold."
Stein blinks at the words, wondering exactly what Spirit expects him to do about it. But even in the short three days they've been together so far, Stein has already picked up on the fact that Spirit talks endlessly, usually with very little response from Stein, so he only says, "yeah," and waits for Spirit to continue.
He's surprised when Spirit doesn't. No, not a word comes from the weapon. Only the sound of fabric sliding over fabric in the dark, and the scuffle of too-long pajama pants over carpet, and a soft exhale that is most definitely not from across the room where Spirit should be.
"Um," he says, sitting up quickly, but Spirit's already lifting the blankets, and Stein's half-hearted agreement becomes whole-hearted at the rush of cold air against his bare skin. Because, while Spirit wears long pajama pants and a long-sleeved pajama top, Stein wears his underwear. He hisses, not waiting to see what in the seven hells Spirit is doing, and jerks the blankets out of Spirit's hands and back around himself.
"It's cold," he says, with feeling, only half wondering why Spirit felt the need to show him exactly how cold it is. Mostly he's just shivering--even if he's got the blankets back, it's too late. All his body heat is gone and he's stuck waiting for it to come back.
"That's what I said," Spirit agrees, tone such that Stein can practically hear the grin in the words.
Stein just glares at him on principle. It doesn't matter if Spirit can't see it.
"I, um. Was thinking. Since it's so cold, we could... share?" Spirit sounds different now, warm amusement gone cold and unsure.
Stein thinks that it does make sense, to share when it's cold, and can't see why Spirit should be so afraid of asking, so he just agrees. And lifts the blankets, scooting toward the wall a little so that nobody is hanging off of the bed or anything.
There's no rush of immediate warmth when Spirit slides under the blankets, but it is less cold.
And there is another person's body in very close proximity to his own. Stein's never been one to be close to people in a casual sort of way, and even if this isn't exactly casual it is happening now and he's sort of stuck with it.
Which, is okay, because he thinks maybe he could get used to it. It's enthralling, the same way listening to Spirit's breath across the room was. But better now, because not only can he hear Spirit's breathing clearer, he can feel it too--when Spirit's chest rises with the inhale, and the sensation of warm air over skin on the exhale.
"Better?" Spirit murmurs. And there's the warm rush, sweeping over Stein's body like a wave at the sound of Spirit's voice so close and so--intimate.
Stein nods his head a little, cognizant of the fact that Spirit cannot see it but not caring one bit. He--is sort of developing a problem and doesn't really want to speak for fear of his voice cracking or something. He's not at that age yet, but after hearing Spirit's voice crack at odd times he's becoming paranoid about the day when his own will do the same.
"I'll take that as a yes," Spirit says, tone going toward amusement again. Stein can feel him moving under the blankets, but when Stein opens his mouth to say something there's the sudden press of cold fingers against his lips. "Have you ever done this before?"
Stein has no idea what this is, so he's going to say no, but his voice is caught in his throat and he just ends up shaking his head. The fingers on his lips move downward, a chilly trail from lips to chin, neck, shoulder, arm, and finally down to his hand. His wrist, which the fingers encircle and bring closer to Spirit's body.
Unable to see what he's doing in the darkness of their dorm, Stein has no idea where he's touching at first. It's all fabric--Spirit's pajamas--and then suddenly, skin, and he realizes that the scrunchy part is the waistband of the pajamas and that flat thing was a button and this, this smooth warmth, is Spirit's stomach. Skin.
It's enchanting. Not only can he feel the warmth of life under his fingers, feel the blood and the muscle when he presses his thumb like that, but he can also feel the muscle actually contract as Spirit laughs softly and says, "Lower."
Stein's lips curve into a smile at the word. He toys with the idea of not obeying, but decides that there are too many unknown factors. He still doesn't know what this is, although he's sort of getting an idea, and he doesn't know exactly what Spirit expects and his brain is sort of becoming clouded by interest, pounding in his head like the pulse of his blood.
He moves his hand lower.
Spirit's breath hitches, catching on the inhale when Stein's fingers catch on the elastic waistband of the pajama pants, wooshing out all at once as Stein finally just pulls the pants down and out of the way. Spirit doesn't wear any boxers underneath, and it's skin that Stein touches when he investigates lower.
It's like before, warmth and muscle, but different. Warmth and hardness and muscle, and a shape that is both familiar and alien. Spirit's voice, familiar, but alien when Stein presses the heel of his hand against Spirit's skin. Spirit's hard skin. Spirit's cock.
Stein licks his lips, enjoying the vulgarity of the thought. Of the action, the rubbing and the little jerk-and-moan that Spirit gives.
"Like this?" he asks, because he wants to hear Spirit's voice more.
"Y-yeah," Spirit says, his voice cracking on the word. Familiar, yet alien, husky and low: "More, Stein."
Stein obeys, twisting his hand and wrapping all four fingers around Spirit's shaft. It doesn't exactly fit--Spirit's too wide or Stein's fingers are too short--but he gives it his best shot, squeezing and rubbing in little motions as Spirit's hands find Stein's shoulders. His fingers dig in, pinpricks of pain that only make Stein rub harder, faster, until Spirit's gulping in breaths like he ran across town and still ended up late to class, hips jerking with needy urgency in time with Stein's rhythm.
All at once Spirit goes still, making a choked sound. He can feel Spirit's shaft pulsing, and after that there's warm wetness oozing over Stein's hand. Stein stares down at the darkness, transfixed by the stuff. He's read about orgasms and semen--he's far too curious about everything not to have--but he's never seen or felt any before and. And it feels kind of like blood. Really thick blood. It tastes nothing like blood, though, he finds when he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes, so the illusion is shattered.
But. He realizes, feeling Spirit's form trembling with the aftershocks, hearing his labored breathing, that he did this. He's responsible for making Spirit like this. And he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this sort of thing.
As soon as he figures out what this sort of thing is, anyway.
Author: kkscatnip
Pairing/Rating: Spirit/Stein, NC-17
Theme: #13, January/The Beginning
Disclaimer: Characters != mine
Warning: The boys are underage! Shouldn't bother you unless you're really looking for it or are very bothered by that kind of thing, but here's your warning nonetheless.
A/N: Big, huge thankses to: nanakibh for encouraging me to write this and sopakun_ale for looking this over for me /no1
"Stein?" Spirit asks, voice soft and curious in the darkness that is their shared dorm room.
It's the trial period, the Make Sure You Don't Hate One Another period before they move into an apartment-dorm, and their first night of it besides. Stein has never slept with anyone else in the room; he wonders if Spirit has. He finds the sound of another person's breath while he's trying to sleep (and the idea that the other person, while he hears theirs, is hearing his) unnerving, and at the same time utterly enthralling.
"Stein," Spirit says again, a hiss more than a question this time. "You are not asleep."
"I'm not," Stein agrees, surprised when the sound of his own voice is loud against the quiet of the room.
"It's cold."
Stein blinks at the words, wondering exactly what Spirit expects him to do about it. But even in the short three days they've been together so far, Stein has already picked up on the fact that Spirit talks endlessly, usually with very little response from Stein, so he only says, "yeah," and waits for Spirit to continue.
He's surprised when Spirit doesn't. No, not a word comes from the weapon. Only the sound of fabric sliding over fabric in the dark, and the scuffle of too-long pajama pants over carpet, and a soft exhale that is most definitely not from across the room where Spirit should be.
"Um," he says, sitting up quickly, but Spirit's already lifting the blankets, and Stein's half-hearted agreement becomes whole-hearted at the rush of cold air against his bare skin. Because, while Spirit wears long pajama pants and a long-sleeved pajama top, Stein wears his underwear. He hisses, not waiting to see what in the seven hells Spirit is doing, and jerks the blankets out of Spirit's hands and back around himself.
"It's cold," he says, with feeling, only half wondering why Spirit felt the need to show him exactly how cold it is. Mostly he's just shivering--even if he's got the blankets back, it's too late. All his body heat is gone and he's stuck waiting for it to come back.
"That's what I said," Spirit agrees, tone such that Stein can practically hear the grin in the words.
Stein just glares at him on principle. It doesn't matter if Spirit can't see it.
"I, um. Was thinking. Since it's so cold, we could... share?" Spirit sounds different now, warm amusement gone cold and unsure.
Stein thinks that it does make sense, to share when it's cold, and can't see why Spirit should be so afraid of asking, so he just agrees. And lifts the blankets, scooting toward the wall a little so that nobody is hanging off of the bed or anything.
There's no rush of immediate warmth when Spirit slides under the blankets, but it is less cold.
And there is another person's body in very close proximity to his own. Stein's never been one to be close to people in a casual sort of way, and even if this isn't exactly casual it is happening now and he's sort of stuck with it.
Which, is okay, because he thinks maybe he could get used to it. It's enthralling, the same way listening to Spirit's breath across the room was. But better now, because not only can he hear Spirit's breathing clearer, he can feel it too--when Spirit's chest rises with the inhale, and the sensation of warm air over skin on the exhale.
"Better?" Spirit murmurs. And there's the warm rush, sweeping over Stein's body like a wave at the sound of Spirit's voice so close and so--intimate.
Stein nods his head a little, cognizant of the fact that Spirit cannot see it but not caring one bit. He--is sort of developing a problem and doesn't really want to speak for fear of his voice cracking or something. He's not at that age yet, but after hearing Spirit's voice crack at odd times he's becoming paranoid about the day when his own will do the same.
"I'll take that as a yes," Spirit says, tone going toward amusement again. Stein can feel him moving under the blankets, but when Stein opens his mouth to say something there's the sudden press of cold fingers against his lips. "Have you ever done this before?"
Stein has no idea what this is, so he's going to say no, but his voice is caught in his throat and he just ends up shaking his head. The fingers on his lips move downward, a chilly trail from lips to chin, neck, shoulder, arm, and finally down to his hand. His wrist, which the fingers encircle and bring closer to Spirit's body.
Unable to see what he's doing in the darkness of their dorm, Stein has no idea where he's touching at first. It's all fabric--Spirit's pajamas--and then suddenly, skin, and he realizes that the scrunchy part is the waistband of the pajamas and that flat thing was a button and this, this smooth warmth, is Spirit's stomach. Skin.
It's enchanting. Not only can he feel the warmth of life under his fingers, feel the blood and the muscle when he presses his thumb like that, but he can also feel the muscle actually contract as Spirit laughs softly and says, "Lower."
Stein's lips curve into a smile at the word. He toys with the idea of not obeying, but decides that there are too many unknown factors. He still doesn't know what this is, although he's sort of getting an idea, and he doesn't know exactly what Spirit expects and his brain is sort of becoming clouded by interest, pounding in his head like the pulse of his blood.
He moves his hand lower.
Spirit's breath hitches, catching on the inhale when Stein's fingers catch on the elastic waistband of the pajama pants, wooshing out all at once as Stein finally just pulls the pants down and out of the way. Spirit doesn't wear any boxers underneath, and it's skin that Stein touches when he investigates lower.
It's like before, warmth and muscle, but different. Warmth and hardness and muscle, and a shape that is both familiar and alien. Spirit's voice, familiar, but alien when Stein presses the heel of his hand against Spirit's skin. Spirit's hard skin. Spirit's cock.
Stein licks his lips, enjoying the vulgarity of the thought. Of the action, the rubbing and the little jerk-and-moan that Spirit gives.
"Like this?" he asks, because he wants to hear Spirit's voice more.
"Y-yeah," Spirit says, his voice cracking on the word. Familiar, yet alien, husky and low: "More, Stein."
Stein obeys, twisting his hand and wrapping all four fingers around Spirit's shaft. It doesn't exactly fit--Spirit's too wide or Stein's fingers are too short--but he gives it his best shot, squeezing and rubbing in little motions as Spirit's hands find Stein's shoulders. His fingers dig in, pinpricks of pain that only make Stein rub harder, faster, until Spirit's gulping in breaths like he ran across town and still ended up late to class, hips jerking with needy urgency in time with Stein's rhythm.
All at once Spirit goes still, making a choked sound. He can feel Spirit's shaft pulsing, and after that there's warm wetness oozing over Stein's hand. Stein stares down at the darkness, transfixed by the stuff. He's read about orgasms and semen--he's far too curious about everything not to have--but he's never seen or felt any before and. And it feels kind of like blood. Really thick blood. It tastes nothing like blood, though, he finds when he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes, so the illusion is shattered.
But. He realizes, feeling Spirit's form trembling with the aftershocks, hearing his labored breathing, that he did this. He's responsible for making Spirit like this. And he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this sort of thing.
As soon as he figures out what this sort of thing is, anyway.