Fic - Man With a Movie Camera - Chapter Six (2/2)
Title: Man With a Movie Camera
Group: Nightmare / Sendai Kamotsu
Pairings: Ruka x Yomi, Ruka x Ni~ya, Hitsugi/Sakito (platonic?), + Sendai
Genre: Sex comedy
Ratings: PG-13 - NC-17
Chapter Six, part 2: Ruka finally gets Yomi home, and proceeds to get his opinion on monogamy across in no uncertain terms.
Again, mild S&M warning!
Part 2
“Thought I was banned from your flat,” remarked Yomi, raising his eyebrows as they finally arrived at the drummer's apartment. Ruka reached past him and unlocked the door, tugging it open and pushing his singer inside.
“You're on probation.”
“Thanks so much,” said Yomi, sarcastically, stalking (as far as anyone with such little legs could stalk) through the kitchen into Ruka's spotless living room and giving the place a curious once-over for any changes made since the last time he was allowed in. He had just opened his mouth again, perhaps to make some comment on the new rug, when the drummer's arms went around his waist from behind, a foot tripping him up by the ankles and sending him tumbling to the floor, where he could examine the pattern in great detail.
“Oww! What the-” exclaimed Yomi, sounding genuinely shocked (and a little muffled) as Ruka thumped down to the carpet next to him, pinning him down with a knee in the small of his back before he could try and turn over. Yomi made an attempt to speak, but Ruka set one hand to the back of his head roughly and shoved his face down into the soft nap of the rug. Without wasting a second, Ruka unsnapped his own belt and yanked it awkwardly through the loops of his jeans, enjoying the sensation of his prostrate singer beginning to struggle crossly beneath him. He grabbed Yomi's arms and tugged them up behind his back, using the belt to lash them securely together. So far, so good: Ruka had always wanted to do this to one of his partners, and Ni~ya was far too strong and wary to let him get even this far; but Yomi, ahh, he'd been so easy to get the jump on, and he looked perfect. The drummer moved his leg, shifting to straddle Yomi's hips heavily, hand running in a satisfied caress up to the vulnerable nape of his neck.
“...Well,” said Yomi in a stunned kind of voice as Ruka's fingers moved across his skin, “this is all very nice. But if I may ask...” He writhed around so he could peer up at Ruka with one eye, incidentally causing some very pleasant friction to certain parts of his captor's anatomy in the process. “...What the bloody hell is it is aid of?”
“Wouldn't you like to know?”
“...Yeah, I would, actually!” Yomi winced as Ruka's fingers found one of his earrings and pulled sharply, still struggling in vain to free his arms.
“One word,” growled Ruka. “Infidelity.”
“Excuse me?” The smaller man had obviously decided he was feeling more amazed than freaked out: he ceased fidgeting and stared at his assaulter in mixed disbelief and amusement.
“You. Dating.” Ruka didn't feel like explaining any further, but he supposed he should, since Yomi wasn't exactly quick on the uptake at the best of times. He aimed a light cuff at the side of his singer's head to relieve his annoyance, mouth curling upwards at the glare he got in return: there were huge objections Yomi could be making to this treatment (Ruka was perfectly aware that this wasn't the orthodox or approved way to have an argument), but he wasn't saying anything; that had to be a good sign.
“I don't want you to,” he added, hand tight and possessive once again on the back of Yomi's neck. “You're with me. Not anyone else. Get it?” Yomi's mouth dropped open incredulously.
“You're saying this to me?” he demanded. “With your track record?!”
“That's different,” retorted Ruka, logically. “That's Ni~ya-chan.”
“I know it's different.” Yomi wriggled again, to no avail. “But it's still not fair! And I suppose Ni~ya gets to do whatever the hell he likes?!”
“'Course,” said Ruka, looking surprised at the idea of their bassist doing anything else. “He's Ni~ya-chan.”
“Hah!...ahh...” Yomi's sarcastic huff was abruptly cut off as Ruka's knee dug viciously into the back of his hip.
“That's enough out of you,” the drummer decided, arousal pricking him at the sound of his friend's moan. “You're going to lie there and I'm gonna do whatever's necessary until you take this in.” He leaned down, letting his lips brush Yomi's ear and lowering his voice to a rumble. “And then I'm going to fuck you.” He felt a shudder ripple through the man below him.
“What if I don't want to?” protested Yomi.
“Do you want to?”
“...Yes!”
“Well then,” Ruka murmured. And, “you need a lesson.” He pushed a hand into Yomi's thick hair, tugging lightly. Yomi pitched up against him defiantly.
“Bring it on.”
“It's going to hurt,” said Ruka happily, getting chills of anticipation at the prospect of finally playing with his singer to his heart's content. Yomi snorted scornfully, then gave one of his dirty little giggles.
“I can take it!”
“Oh, good.” Ruka clenched his hand, dragging Yomi's head back to enjoy the arch of his neck and his indignant, pained exclamation. When he got a look at his face, however, the younger man was grinning, and Ruka couldn't help cracking a momentary smile himself: it was always a surprise to him, when he was busy focusing on Yomi's miniature, basically helpless body, just how sexually aggressive the mind inside it could be. That was a good thing, of course, up to a point; but tonight Ruka intended to bend all his efforts to letting Yomi know who was boss, and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.
He raised himself up just enough to turn Yomi over roughly onto his back; the singer winced as his own weight came to rest over his bound arms, and made a determined if friendly attempt to bite the caressing thumb that Ruka was running over his lower lip. Ruka snatched his hand back fast and the next second it connected with Yomi's cheek, not hard enough to bruise but enough to raise red finger marks on the singer's shocked face.
“Ow!” exclaimed Yomi. “No rules?!”
“Don't need any.” Ruka raised an eyebrow at Yomi's dubious expression. “Don't you trust me?” The younger man gave him a long, considering look, left cheek burning.
“...You know I do.”
Ruka bent to kiss him, relieved, and Yomi answered it, his lips hot and passionate against the drummer's. But this wasn't helping him get his point across, thought Ruka; so he broke the kiss abruptly and set both hands to Yomi's shirt, ripping it open and sending buttons flying off in every direction. He'd always wanted to do that, too. He ran his hands gratuitously down his torso, revelling in the nervous shivers his fingers were raising on Yomi's skin.
“So cute,” crowed Ruka, prodding fondly at his prone singer's little stomach.
“Mm...zip it!” Yomi growled, exhaling softly as Ruka shuffled down to kiss him below the navel. “...You want flat as a pancake and perfect, go screw Sakito!”
“No.” Ruka kissed him again, then dug his long nails deliberately into the soft flesh, making Yomi jerk beneath him and eliciting a sharp whine of discomfort. “I like you just like this.” So saying, he dragged his hands downwards, leaving bright trails against the pale skin of Yomi's hips as he grasped the waistband of his jeans and drew them off.
“Do I absolutely need to be naked for this lesson?” demanded the singer, Ruka having deftly removed his underwear along with everything else.
“If I had my way you'd be naked for everything.” Ruka pushed himself between Yomi's legs, ignoring his friend's breathless laugh and sliding both hands beneath his thighs to give his ass a familiar pinch. Yomi was getting hard already, he noticed, and smirked darkly; he wondered how long that would last. If anything, though, his expression seemed to excite the smaller man: Yomi curled his legs around him and pushed as close as he could get without the use of his arms. Ruka decided he was having way too much fun right now, and, gratifying as it was to see what an effect he had on his singer, decided it was probably time to step things up.
“Come on,” he snapped, grabbing Yomi by the hair (he was finding he had a distinct fetish for this, despite the very weird face it turned out Yomi made when he was being hurt) and pulling him up, snaking his free arm around his little waist and manoeuvring him until he was tucked securely against his body. Ruka kept a tight hold on his wriggling friend with one hand, reached out with the other and, in one impatient movement, swept everything off the surface of the nearby kotatsu (the neat-freak part of him railed against this, but he was horny enough not to listen), clearing the low table and dumping Yomi face-down across it.
Yomi gasped as his chest hit the wood, and turned his head to glare up at Ruka, his breath coming fast and nervous. But the drummer was rooting around in the debris that was now scattered across the floor and paying him no attention other than to shove him down with one hand when he attempted to get up.
“Can't you at least untie me?” he complained. “I'm not gonna go anywhere, Ruka, honestly!”
Ruka just sniffed at that and made a grab for something, and came up brandishing a rolled-up copy of Autosport. He saw Yomi eyeing it with a strange expression, which turned out to be an attempt not to get the giggles.
“Seriously?” Yomi said, raising his eyebrows, such as they were. “I'm not a dog, Ruka, I haven't been chewing the furniture!”
“Well, you need punishing all the same.”
“That's not gonna hurt much,” commented the singer, sounding both amused and a tiny bit relieved.
“Yes it will.”
“Really now.” Yomi grinned; he wasn't taking this seriously at all, thought Ruka, disgruntled, so raised the magazine and aimed it at his friend's ass with more force than he might have otherwise. “Aahhh...!” Yomi bit back the sound, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut at the impact; it had clearly stung a lot more than he had imagined. Ruka smiled delightedly.
“See?”
“Oww!” moaned Yomi, self-indulgently. “You git!!”
“Well I did say.” Ruka gave him another experimental smack, heard him groan between his teeth; that was hot, and so was the way he was pressing himself into the kotatsu in a futile attempt to get away. He trailed a hand over Yomi's behind, which was warm beneath his fingers and looking like it needed a lot more attention. “Once you're sorry, I'll stop. Are you sorry?”
“No,” Yomi panted obstinately. “If...if you can fuck two people, I don't see why I shouldn't!”
“Fine.” Ruka pushed his head down and resumed plying the magazine. He could feel himself getting more and more excited, and was in danger of losing sight of what this was about in the first place: Yomi, who at first had been crying out indignantly, was now whimpering rhythmically into the table-top with every strike, his little body flushed and trembling, and that was pushing all Ruka's buttons, all right.
“Hurts,” Yomi managed, by now sounding fairly contrite. Ruka observed the arch of his back with pleasure.
“You sorry yet?”
“N-no...!” The vocalist's face was flushed, as much as Ruka could see of it, anyway; and he was stubborn. It was quite impressive, really. The drummer, so aroused now that it was difficult to think straight, grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him over onto his back.
“Guess you're not,” he said wryly, observing Yomi's enthusiastic hard-on, his quick catches of breath. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. “Maybe you need some time to think about it...”
Leaving Yomi lying there, he heaved himself to his feet and dragged his tshirt over his head, the cool air-con a pleasant breeze against his excited skin. He made short work of the rest of his clothes, and became aware of Yomi's lascivious stare; he knew the younger man liked looking at him, and apparently even a thoroughly bruised bottom couldn't dampen his ogling.
“Well, don't just lie there looking useless,” Ruka growled, making his singer jump. He slid one hand behind Yomi's head and tugged him forward onto his knees. “Get busy while you're thinking!”
Yomi tipped his head back to look up at him, wide-eyed and innocent. Ruka knew it was a total charade, but this was still his number one favourite position to find himself in, pretty much ever; and now Yomi's arms were tied and he was looking all tiny and helpless...well, it was just perfection.
“...Is this what you're after?” murmured Yomi, leaning up and forward to press his lips against Ruka's stomach. Ruka grasped his hair.
“Close.” He pushed Yomi's head firmly in the desired direction, sighing happily when the vocalist complied, as always, without argument. Remembering the horrific difficulties he had to go through every time he wanted Ni~ya to give him head, it seemed to Ruka that his singer was practically a saint in this department. Yomi's pretty lips parted easily, and then Ruka was shivering all over despite the heat with both the physical and mental pleasure of the act.
“Mmf...” Yomi was, in this as in everything else, extremely vocal, but in these circumstances the drummer was delighted to hear his voice, especially when it sounded like he was enjoying himself. Being so small it had taken him quite a while to reach a decent standard of proficiency, but Ruka had enjoyed every minute of the process; and now that he had picked up exactly the right angle and the right technique, Yomi might have been custom made for him.
“...You're doing fine...” Ruka assured the younger man, fingers still threaded in his hair to control the pace. Yomi gave another moan of effort: without the use of his hands he was having to work harder, but the sight from above more than made up for it, in Ruka's opinion, as did the movements of his musical tongue.
Yomi broke off to breathe, letting his lips glide over the head of the taller man's cock.
“You ready to forgive me yet...?” he asked in a soft, hoarse voice, giving Ruka one of his weird, sweet smiles.
“Not quite yet,” gasped Ruka, sounding annoyingly undignified but wanting back into the warmth of Yomi's mouth without delay. Another second and heat surrounded him again, making him groan and close his eyes as Yomi allowed his head to be drawn forward until his lips brushed the base of the drummer's erection. He set one hand under Yomi's chin, feeling his throat work busily, to keep him still while he began to move himself, wanting it deeper, faster than his singer was capable of on his own.
Yomi's moans went up a key, eyes screwed shut in a fierce frown of concentration. Ruka was more than aware that this was not being a particularly thoughtful partner, especially when the guy on the receiving end had no way to defend himself; but he knew, and had learned from, the sounds Yomi made when he was genuinely distressed, and he wasn't hearing them right now. It seemed the smaller man was viewing everything Ruka did tonight as a personal challenge and would suffer anything rather than say he was sorry. Well, that was just peachy as far as Ruka was concerned.
“Faster,” he growled, feeling the swift, tight exhilaration that told him he was close to the edge. Yomi did his best to oblige, his mouth suddenly hotter, wetter - Ruka had no idea how he was doing it, but he wasn't about to complain - spreading his short legs to give himself a more secure stance as his friend's grip on his jaw tightened. Ruka felt his tongue drag a long line up the underside of his cock, and looked down to see Yomi gazing up at him encouragingly. And that was that: Ruka dug his nails into Yomi's scalp, holding him still, and let his orgasm rush through him, an incredible sense of relief after all the tensions of the day.
Yomi's dark eyes widened, looking extremely surprised and very disapproving: Ruka wouldn't let him pull his head back until he was done, something he never usually bothered with; he was usually so happy at being allowed to come (without the ages spent wheedling necessary when he was with Ni~ya) that he'd make no complaint if Yomi chose to do a sly spit, provided he didn't make a point of it. But tonight the drummer was not in the mood to do him any favours, and held onto him tight so that it was either swallow or suffocate.
Ruka eventually let him go, chest heaving, watching him cough and blink giddily and slump down into a sitting position.
“Oh,” he said blissfully, dropping to his knees after his panting singer, “...you are...fucking marvellous.” He tilted Yomi's chin up (he'd have bruises where he'd been holding him so tightly, but Ruka couldn't bring himself to regret any part of what had just happened), kissing him hard and gratefully. It took Yomi a long time to gather the willpower to tear his lips away.
“Bastard,” he rasped, feelingly, eyes watering and mouth bruised a delicate shade of red. He scrunched his little face up in an exhausted scowl. “You are just the rudest bloody...” He trailed off, gulping in another breath.
“You're all right?” asked Ruka, hand running soothingly up the length of his spine. Yomi nodded weakly.
“I said I could take it...” he muttered, leaning into Ruka's hand as it rose to cup his cheek. “...I can.”
“Still?” Ruka looked unconvinced; he enjoyed hurting Yomi, sure, but only as long as he didn't actually hurt him... Well, you know what I mean. His singer gave him a nervous glance.
“There's more?”
“Oh, more,” replied Ruka, who was getting his second wind and was quite ready to go another round now that he knew his partner was all right. And without further ado he picked Yomi up, slung him across his shoulder and strode out of the living-room.
“Careful!” Yomi squawked indignantly as Ruka hefted him higher. “I'm not a bloody bag of rice!” Ruka gave him a quelling slap on the ass with his supporting hand, making him yelp and squirm about as it connected with the already red skin. That was no problem, though: yet another thing Ruka loved about his vocalist was how compact and easy he was to carry; it was very convenient, like Yomi was the sexual equivalent of Travel Scrabble.
“There,” Ruka grunted, and threw him down on the bed, which was wide and sturdy and perfectly apt for tormenting badly-behaved singers on (unlike the scene of their first tryst). Yomi gave another yelp, landing on his arms: Ruka, that day, had decided to dress somewhat like a rock star instead of an out-of-work yanki picking up his laundry on the way home from pachinko (his normal casual style if left to his own devices), and his belt was studded with little conical spikes that bit into Yomi's arms and the skin of his back through his shirt, despite the soft bed-covers.
“Owww,” said Yomi, piteously, giving Ruka the puppy-dog eyes. The older man didn't notice this, however, being engaged in rummaging around in one of his drawers; he vaguely heard Yomi complaining, but that was only to be expected (god forbid Ruka should be attracted to an appropriately submissive partner; then again, the fight was half the fun). He finally found what he was looking for and slammed the drawer shut, making Yomi twitch at the sound and look round, gaze quickly dropping to what he had in his hands.
“Oh, you can fuck right off!!” Yomi yelled at the top of his voice, scrambling as best he could to the other side of the bed. Ruka cringed at the volume (this room was next to the connecting wall), dropped the very scary, very phallic, very bright pink object he was holding, and turned back to his wardrobe, snatching up the first cotton scarf to hand and twisting it into a thick rope. “Dream fucking on!!” continued Yomi, sliding awkwardly off the covers. Ruka caught him with one hand, dragged him back up, and sat on him, holding the scarf out determinedly.
“You're too noisy. Open up.” Yomi gave him a furious glare and clamped his lips together resolutely. Ruka sighed. “Or you could just say you're sorry and that you'll do whatever I tell you from now on, and we can forget this whole sordid evening.” He was banking on Yomi refusing this offer, and was not disappointed when his captive shook his head mutely, eyes flashing. Ruka gave him a radiant smile, and reached out to pinch the tip of his cute little nose between thumb and forefinger. Yomi wiggled about beneath him for a few seconds, then lay very still and stared up at him accusingly. Ruka waited patiently: Yomi, being a full-time singer and excellent part-time blow-jobber, had a fairly impressive lung capacity, but he would have to breathe sooner or later.
By the time Yomi gave up he was scarlet in the face and looked just adorable; but it had to happen, and eventually he opened his mouth to gulp in air, eyeing his waiting friend resentfully. Ruka pounced, pushing the fabric swiftly between Yomi's teeth and pulling the scarf into a tight knot at the back of his head. Yomi gave him a muffled snarl, and that was cute too, coming out of that tiny body. Ruka gave him an affectionate kiss over the gag.
But Yomi's attention had been drawn back to the highly incriminating sex aid lying next to him on the bedspread. He scowled.
“Mmfmhmfmfmfmmhmf?!”
Ruka translated this as 'why the hell do you have one of those?!', and beamed at him ominously. “It pays to be prepared,” he told the struggling vocalist. “I knew you'd slip up one of these days and I'd get to play with you properly.”
“Mmmmf-fmm!!”
From the look Yomi was giving him, Ruka didn't need to bother translating what that meant. He scooped up the lube from where it had fallen to the floor, and closed in.
“It won't hurt,” he reassured his friend, smoothing a skilful palm along the shaft of his cock (he was still hard, just about, so Ruka supposed the experience couldn't be too unpleasant). Yomi's eyes fluttered closed and he let out an ambiguous little sound as a finger slid inside him. Ruka watched him more carefully than usual, logging every expression as he opened him up: now his singer couldn't speak (oh blessed occasion), he knew it was essential to keep an eye on him. He slipped one arm around Yomi's waist, relieving his supporting limbs of some of their burden; Yomi sighed gratefully through his nose, and Ruka leaned in to give him a friendly nip beneath the ear. The smaller man's hard-on was looking much more perky now, and he was beginning to move his hips experimentally against Ruka's ministering hand.
When Ruka removed his fingers and began to ease the long silicon toy into him, Yomi didn't complain; he just froze and gave an unsure, questioning whine, his eyes very wide. Ruka supposed the feeling was probably strange, even unnatural, but he was sure Yomi was adventurous enough to at least try and get used to it now it was there. He pressed it deeper slowly, nudging his friend's legs further apart to make it easier and bending to kiss his neck.
“It's okay, right?” he whispered against his skin. Yomi shifted his hips nervously, a soft moan escaping him as the angle changed; he pressed himself against Ruka, and nodded quickly. Ruka kept going, loving every change of expression on Yomi's face as the sensations washed through him. Once he thought his friend had taken as much as he reasonably could, being so tiny, he stopped, running his hand comfortingly along Yomi's tense leg. He decided he should probably let him get used to it, and spent the intervening minutes conducting a gentle assault on Yomi's nipples with his tongue and his teeth; given how many years they'd had to get used to being fiddled with, Yomi was still surprisingly sensitive here, and Ruka could play him like an instrument, coaxing a whole series of melodic sounds out of him (though rather incoherent thanks to the gag).
Once Yomi was gasping blissfully through the fabric of the scarf and pushing himself greedily into Ruka's hands the drummer kissed him again and, while he was distracted, slid his fingers down and flicked the inconspicuous switch on the base of the toy. Yomi jumped like he'd just been given an electric shock, and Ruka was very glad he'd had the forethought to gag him as a heartily amazed cry tried to escape.
“Mmmf!” exclaimed Yomi, looking panicked as the vibrator, for such it was, began to move slowly inside him. Ruka grinned at him and pushed the hair back off his damp forehead. It was well worth the purchase just to see the look on his face right now.
“You like?” Yomi gave Ruka an incredulous glance and shook his head frantically, arching up into his touch with a desperation that belied his protests: he was harder than ever, shuddering beneath Ruka's lips, the pulse racing in his neck as the drummer bit him again. Ruka looked smug, and deservedly so, as he closed his lips over Yomi's throat to leave a deliberate mark. He set one knee between his friend's trembling legs and leant over him so that all he could feel was Yomi's skin against his own, sliding his hand between their bodies to encourage his singer's erection along.
“A little more,” he whispered persuasively, his low voice almost lost beneath Yomi's increasingly urgent moans and the electric noise of the toy inside him. As it turned out, Yomi didn't need a lot of persuading, Ruka being an artist with his hands as well as his lips: another minute and he was coming, leaving both of them sticky and gasping for breath.
“Mmhnf?” said Yomi plaintively, chest heaving. Ruka, who was licking a long, ravishing stripe up to his belly button (apparently his cleaning compulsion didn't extend only to housework), paused and considered him narrowly. Then,
“No,” he rumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I'm still not done with you...”
Yomi shot him a horrified, disbelieving look, then ran out of energy and dropped his head back, his miniature toes curling against the bed-sheets as the intense sensations continued to attack his over-stimulated body. Confident that he wouldn't be able to go anywhere, Ruka left his unhappy vocalist to himself and wandered through to the kitchen, grabbing himself a drink of water and collecting anything else that looked entertaining along the way.
By the time he returned to the bedroom Yomi had got some energy back, and had embarked on what was probably a swearing marathon, though it was hard to tell through the gag. He made a spirited attempt to kick Ruka, but that just ended in a resigned whimper as the vibrator shifted inside him. Ruka kissed him consolingly, petted his cinnamon-tinted hair for a minute, then rummaged around in the covers until he found the plastic clothes-pegs he'd grabbed as he left the kitchen.
“This might hurt a bit,” he admitted in Yomi's ear, flicking one of his nipples into hardness (they always had been, and remained, Ruka's favourite part of the body; he never got tired of them). “But you've had worse.”
Ignoring Yomi's warning noise of protest he rolled the sensitive nub between his fingers and then clipped the peg securely over it. Yomi twisted violently beneath him for a second, then went completely still, working through the feeling and trying to decide whether it was more like pain or pleasure, and how he ought to be dealing with both it and the toy still vibrating away between his legs. While he was handily quiet, Ruka repeated the action so that both nipples were trapped between the plastic jaws of the pegs.
“Nnnh!” managed Yomi, skin glistening with the effort of keeping himself together as Ruka gave one peg a curious flick and the other a quick twist. He slid both hands covetously down his singer's small waist, fingers brushing tantalisingly against his erection; by now Ruka was hard again too, spurred on by Yomi's pained little face and enthusiastic body.
Not wanting to stop now that he was on a roll, the drummer sat back on his heels and felt about on the bed for more of his makeshift punishment devices. He held two of them up for his friend to see.
“Which do you like?” he demanded, feeling generous. Yomi's eyes darted from the hairbrush to the white candle; he shook his head emphatically. “'Neither' is not an option,” Ruka informed him. Yomi just looked away, apparently too exhausted to make a decision or even attempt to argue about it. Ruka was pleased: if his vocalist was finally getting worn down, maybe he'd get his apology after all. “All right,” he said pleasantly, and tossed the hairbrush across the room, reaching over to the bedside table for his lighter.
Yomi's eyes were drawn like magnets to the flickering flame; Ruka could feel the heat of it, spiralling up into the air-conditioned room. He gave the smaller man a reassuring pat.
“Everything's gonna be okay,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. Yomi didn't look convinced, and his worry was soon vindicated as two droplets of molten wax splashed onto the skin of his stomach, making him whimper and jerk up against Ruka's restraining hand. Ruka knew it hurt (he had done this to himself before, by accident, while plastered), and was careful to keep the candle lifted high as he moved it across Yomi's skin, so that the wax would have time to cool a little from burning point before it hit.
At first, Ruka wasn't sure whether his singer would be able to cope: Yomi was tossing his head against the rumpled pillows, his tied arms straining against the belt with each splash of hot liquid, and didn't look very happy at all. Then, as Ruka watched attentively, he began to quieten down, having used up his energy for the moment, and his cries subsided into soft moans.
By the time the candle had made its way down to the sensitive flesh of his calves and inner thighs Yomi was almost completely silent, the only sounds his harsh breaths and the vibrator and the ensuing rustle of his body against the bed. Ruka glanced up from his painstaking little torture, and noted with interest that the younger man had begun to cry, but that he didn't even seem to notice it himself: Yomi's dark eyes were half-closed, suffused with tentative pleasure, and looked like they were gazing right through him. Ruka, fascinated, left off what he was doing and snapped his fingers in front of Yomi's face. No reaction. He smoothed a hand down his singer's body, and was rewarded with a slow arch into his touch. Hmm.
“Hey.” Ruka gave Yomi's hard-on a firm squeeze and caught a swift inhalation of breath; but other than that, nothing. That was interesting; maybe he had finally found the key to getting Yomi to shut up for once in his life. Mind you, it was quite a lot of effort to go to just for some peace and quiet...
He took another long look at his spaced-out friend: apart from the tears, Yomi seemed quite happy in whatever space inside his head he had retreated to. Ruka wondered what it was like in there, and, more pertinently, how you went about waking him up. He blew the candle out and set it on the bedside table before returning to his inspection. A pinch of the ear brought no response, and neither did a sharp bite to the inner thigh, other than to make Yomi shift indulgently against him. Very strange.
Eventually, Ruka resorted to the tried-and-tested method of a glass of cold water in the face. That did the trick: Yomi spluttered for a moment, then his gaze sharpened and focused on Ruka. A few seconds later it turned amazed and desperate as the realisation of what was happening hit him again; he made a frantic little noise, glaring down at the gag. Ruka, wanting to make sure that he was really all right before he did anything else, slid a finger beneath the fabric and tugged it roughly out of his mouth.
“That was very interesting,” Ruka told him. “Where did you go?”
“...I don't like this,” Yomi blurted out, after he had heaved in a gigantic breath. Ruka raised his eyebrows and slid a hand down the curve of his jaw.
“Well you did just now. And I think you still do. Look.” He twisted the younger man's chin, forcing him to look across the room. Yomi stiffened: Ruka, after delving around for something to silence his singer with, had left the wardrobe door open, and the long mirror on its inner face was reflecting them both perfectly. Ruka saw Yomi take in the sight of himself, aroused and panting with the pegs quivering on his nipples and with tear tracks on his flushed cheeks. His bandmate stared at his reflection for a long moment; then, to Ruka's delight, gave a shuddering sigh, leaning back into his touch, and if anything harder than ever. Hah. Saki was right, Yomi was a little pervert; seeing himself like this was obviously just icing on the cake.
“All right,” said Yomi, with a catch in his voice, though Ruka couldn't tell if it was from humiliation or arousal. “All right. I'm sorry...”
“Wow.” Ruka was thrilled, but did his best to look nonchalant upon hearing the word; he hadn't been at all convinced, as things progressed, that Yomi would cave in, and the sound of it was sweet.
“...I won't see anyone else,” the vocalist continued, arching back into Ruka's eager hands, the scent and warmth of him making his drummer shiver. “I don't need anyone else... Just you.” Ruka thought that, reading between the lines, this probably meant that since he could get Yomi off better than anyone else (certainly better than any girl), the singer thought he might as well put up with the whole possessive, inconvenient package that came with him. Well, as long as he got what he wanted, Ruka could live with that.
“That's a good boy,” he murmured triumphantly.
“So please,” continued Yomi, shifting tiredly beneath him, “please let me go now...” Ruka gave his damp cheek a chiding pinch, and ran a hand down his body to twist the vibrator inside him, making his friend clamp his lips together over a sharp whine.
“I haven't finished yet.” He curled his fingers around Yomi's hard-on pointedly. “And neither have you.” The singer gave him a hesitant look, and Ruka wondered just what it was that he was afraid to say.
“...The first time we did it,” managed Yomi eventually, tears still welling, although he still didn't seem aware of it, “you told me...you loved me!”
“I did?” Ruka asked, suddenly panicked; he had no memory of it at all, couldn't remember anything but how hard he had tried to hold himself back, and the pleasure of finally being inside his tiny friend after so many years; the rest of it was a complete blank.
“Yes,” Yomi sniffed, taking the opportunity to gulp in more air while the gag was out of his mouth. Ruka dropped his head to kiss his damp shoulder.
“Well...I do.” He closed his eyes. “I love you.” That might explain the jealousy, he thought; it was so obvious now! His singer writhed beneath him in pain and frustration.
“...Then act like it!”
Ruka gave him an adoring, predatory smile, relieved at finally having a name to attach to the seething mess of emotion Yomi was capable of inspiring in him. He leaned forward, lips meeting Yomi's tauntingly and chest brushing the clips biting down on his nipples, making him whimper and twist helplessly.
“I am.”
“Aahh... You really are a sadistic son of a bitch...!” exclaimed Yomi, leaning up tentatively for another kiss.
“Yeah,” Ruka murmured, dizzy with happiness as the smaller man's tongue brushed his. “But you love me anyway. Don't you. Don't you.” Yomi closed his eyes, but gave him a grudging nod; Ruka pressed their foreheads together appealingly. “...Wanna see this through to the end?”
“...All right...nng!” Yomi's voice trailed off into a moan as Ruka twisted sharply at the left peg.
“Good.” The drummer gave him one more affectionate kiss, then moved to replace the gag against his friend's inevitable noisiness. Yomi clamped his lips together stubbornly, but Ruka just smiled down at him, slapped him lightly across the face, then slipped the cloth back into his mouth as he opened it to exclaim indignantly.
Yomi sighed in heartfelt relief as Ruka finally switched off the vibrator and eased it out of him, brushing hardened wax from his thighs at the same time; the soft skin where it had landed was pink and burning hot, but Ruka thought it was nothing that wouldn't be better in a couple of days.
When Ruka entered him, unable to wait any longer, Yomi groaned blissfully; having been well prepared by the dubious pleasures of the toy, it didn't hurt him, and Ruka could tell he was so close to coming that anything he did right now would most likely be received with grateful approval. He wrapped an arm around Yomi's back, supporting his weight, and began to move, biting his own lip at how good it felt; well, the smaller man always felt good, but tonight, with the promise of exclusivity he'd just dragged out of him, the feeling was phenomenal.
“Love you,” he whispered harshly, rapturously, as Yomi's short legs twined around him. With his free hand he tugged the two pegs off his singer's nipples, and was surprised and enchanted at the way Yomi cried out and tightened up around him as the blood rushed back to the abused flesh.
Yomi pressed a hot cheek against his temple, and Ruka sped up. He had never really bothered holding himself back with Yomi, not since that first time (he hadn't exactly succeeded then, either), but tonight it felt different, with his bound friend completely at his mercy. Ruka knew himself perfectly well, and was aware of his cruel streak; now, though, as he gazed adoringly at Yomi's intoxicated little face, he was thankful for it, if it could both get him what he wanted and cause his singer this much pleasure.
He noticed that Yomi had turned his head away and, without stopping, followed his line of vision: Yomi was watching the mirror again, observing them both hazily. Ruka grinned briefly; if he'd known this was one of his kinks, he'd have put it into play before now.
“You look like a little whore,” he whispered experimentally into Yomi's ear, and felt his shiver and the way he began to move more energetically against him. Hah, dirty talk too; he should have guessed. He changed up to top gear; he knew neither of them would last much longer.
Yomi didn't even need touching this time: the combination of Ruka's cock and their reflections and the afterglow of pain was enough, and he yelled into the gag and came between them, turning his head at the last second to meet Ruka's eyes fiercely. Ruka, always determined to have the last word, held out a little longer, but the sight of Yomi beneath him like this was too much; he let himself go in a moment of pure dark ecstasy, and didn't even care for once that his friend was looking right at him and could see what a stupid face he made when he came.
“...You are fucking amazing,” Ruka gasped, snaking both arms round his singer and burying his head in his chest. Yomi was gasping beneath him, breath rasping in his throat.
Ruka wasn't sure how long they lay there; he thought his brain might have checked out for a while, because when he noticed his surroundings again the singer was nudging him sharply with a knee and making pointed, uncomfortable little noises. Ruka leaned up on his elbows and reached behind Yomi's head, picking at the knot of his gag, which had tightened itself up during all the struggling. He finally got it undone and pulled the fabric away.
“Motherfucker!!” yelled Yomi at once, his voice hoarse from his muffled protests and his eyes red with weeping. “Undo my arms! Undo them right fucking now, it hurts, you bastard sonofabitch, it hurts!!”
Ruka clapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him again; it was unbelievable, the volume his vocalist could maintain, even after all this. He rolled Yomi over hurriedly and unbuckled the twisted belt, freeing his arms. Yomi whimpered as they fell to his sides, and Ruka considerately began to rub them, getting the circulation flowing. Yomi quietened down marginally, and Ruka moved to his back, lifting the remnants of his shirt to massage the smooth skin, which had been deeply marked by the pressure of the spikes on his belt.
“That feel better?” he asked, leaning down to kiss the back of his neck. Yomi mumbled into the pillow tiredly.
“Oww...Fucking...inconsiderate...jerkoff son of a whore...!”
“I love you,” said Ruka solemnly, his hands moving in soothing circles over Yomi's spine.
“Yeah, yeah...and I love you, you sadistic wanker...”
“And from now on you're all mine, right? Nobody else's.” Ruka didn't care how much Yomi swore at him; it was water off a duck's back, now that he had what he wanted.
“Like you'll leave me the energy to do anyone except you...” Yomi rolled onto his side, and allowed himself to be kissed. “Anything else, Your Majesty?”
“Yeah,” murmured Ruka, worn out and so happy he thought he might burst. “I want the spare key to your flat.”
“What? Why?” Ruka pecked him sweetly on the cheek.
“Because I've never heard anyone shout so loud in my entire fucking life. And you've made a complete mess of my house. I'm banning you again.”
Yomi opened his mouth furiously, and Ruka leaned in and kissed it. Yomi shut up, and he smiled beatifically. This might just have been the most marvellous day of his life.”
“There, you see?” says Giga, practically swooning in his seat over Ruka's incredible domly manliness or whatever the hell it is. “What a guy...” He peers at me. “...Are you okay?” he asks conscientiously. “I know Ruka can be a bit overwhelming for some people...”
I start to speak, then stop. And think. This is very strange: I have some dehydration and a mild headache, but other than that I think I feel...all right. All right! I just sat through an entire story about Naito's drummer, wannabe Marquis de Sade, and I feel all right! I hear myself give a hysterical laugh. I've done it; I've finally done it: I've broken through the (psychological) pain barrier, and I am now unshockable! God, this is so...so liberating.
Giga is looking at me strangely, and no wonder, but I don't care. I am so ready for whatever they hit me with next: the dirtiest, perviest, most illegal Chiba shenanigans Sakito can dream up, the most shockingly graphic porn-fest Ni~ya can invent. I can deal with it. I'm ready. Bring it on!
**************
Ruka. He's a self-centred bugger!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it; I quite enjoyed writing it! Apparently it's actually impossible for me to write a fic without at least one kink chapter. And if there's going to be kink there's bound to be Ruka XD
Am going to see L'arc next weekend, hence the Ken insert. Love Ken, he is a hilarious man!
Next chapter will be Satty and Fullface, and more kind of fluff.
Thanks for reading, as always!
Forward to chapter seven
Back to chapter five
Group: Nightmare / Sendai Kamotsu
Pairings: Ruka x Yomi, Ruka x Ni~ya, Hitsugi/Sakito (platonic?), + Sendai
Genre: Sex comedy
Ratings: PG-13 - NC-17
Chapter Six, part 2: Ruka finally gets Yomi home, and proceeds to get his opinion on monogamy across in no uncertain terms.
Again, mild S&M warning!
Part 2
“Thought I was banned from your flat,” remarked Yomi, raising his eyebrows as they finally arrived at the drummer's apartment. Ruka reached past him and unlocked the door, tugging it open and pushing his singer inside.
“You're on probation.”
“Thanks so much,” said Yomi, sarcastically, stalking (as far as anyone with such little legs could stalk) through the kitchen into Ruka's spotless living room and giving the place a curious once-over for any changes made since the last time he was allowed in. He had just opened his mouth again, perhaps to make some comment on the new rug, when the drummer's arms went around his waist from behind, a foot tripping him up by the ankles and sending him tumbling to the floor, where he could examine the pattern in great detail.
“Oww! What the-” exclaimed Yomi, sounding genuinely shocked (and a little muffled) as Ruka thumped down to the carpet next to him, pinning him down with a knee in the small of his back before he could try and turn over. Yomi made an attempt to speak, but Ruka set one hand to the back of his head roughly and shoved his face down into the soft nap of the rug. Without wasting a second, Ruka unsnapped his own belt and yanked it awkwardly through the loops of his jeans, enjoying the sensation of his prostrate singer beginning to struggle crossly beneath him. He grabbed Yomi's arms and tugged them up behind his back, using the belt to lash them securely together. So far, so good: Ruka had always wanted to do this to one of his partners, and Ni~ya was far too strong and wary to let him get even this far; but Yomi, ahh, he'd been so easy to get the jump on, and he looked perfect. The drummer moved his leg, shifting to straddle Yomi's hips heavily, hand running in a satisfied caress up to the vulnerable nape of his neck.
“...Well,” said Yomi in a stunned kind of voice as Ruka's fingers moved across his skin, “this is all very nice. But if I may ask...” He writhed around so he could peer up at Ruka with one eye, incidentally causing some very pleasant friction to certain parts of his captor's anatomy in the process. “...What the bloody hell is it is aid of?”
“Wouldn't you like to know?”
“...Yeah, I would, actually!” Yomi winced as Ruka's fingers found one of his earrings and pulled sharply, still struggling in vain to free his arms.
“One word,” growled Ruka. “Infidelity.”
“Excuse me?” The smaller man had obviously decided he was feeling more amazed than freaked out: he ceased fidgeting and stared at his assaulter in mixed disbelief and amusement.
“You. Dating.” Ruka didn't feel like explaining any further, but he supposed he should, since Yomi wasn't exactly quick on the uptake at the best of times. He aimed a light cuff at the side of his singer's head to relieve his annoyance, mouth curling upwards at the glare he got in return: there were huge objections Yomi could be making to this treatment (Ruka was perfectly aware that this wasn't the orthodox or approved way to have an argument), but he wasn't saying anything; that had to be a good sign.
“I don't want you to,” he added, hand tight and possessive once again on the back of Yomi's neck. “You're with me. Not anyone else. Get it?” Yomi's mouth dropped open incredulously.
“You're saying this to me?” he demanded. “With your track record?!”
“That's different,” retorted Ruka, logically. “That's Ni~ya-chan.”
“I know it's different.” Yomi wriggled again, to no avail. “But it's still not fair! And I suppose Ni~ya gets to do whatever the hell he likes?!”
“'Course,” said Ruka, looking surprised at the idea of their bassist doing anything else. “He's Ni~ya-chan.”
“Hah!...ahh...” Yomi's sarcastic huff was abruptly cut off as Ruka's knee dug viciously into the back of his hip.
“That's enough out of you,” the drummer decided, arousal pricking him at the sound of his friend's moan. “You're going to lie there and I'm gonna do whatever's necessary until you take this in.” He leaned down, letting his lips brush Yomi's ear and lowering his voice to a rumble. “And then I'm going to fuck you.” He felt a shudder ripple through the man below him.
“What if I don't want to?” protested Yomi.
“Do you want to?”
“...Yes!”
“Well then,” Ruka murmured. And, “you need a lesson.” He pushed a hand into Yomi's thick hair, tugging lightly. Yomi pitched up against him defiantly.
“Bring it on.”
“It's going to hurt,” said Ruka happily, getting chills of anticipation at the prospect of finally playing with his singer to his heart's content. Yomi snorted scornfully, then gave one of his dirty little giggles.
“I can take it!”
“Oh, good.” Ruka clenched his hand, dragging Yomi's head back to enjoy the arch of his neck and his indignant, pained exclamation. When he got a look at his face, however, the younger man was grinning, and Ruka couldn't help cracking a momentary smile himself: it was always a surprise to him, when he was busy focusing on Yomi's miniature, basically helpless body, just how sexually aggressive the mind inside it could be. That was a good thing, of course, up to a point; but tonight Ruka intended to bend all his efforts to letting Yomi know who was boss, and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.
He raised himself up just enough to turn Yomi over roughly onto his back; the singer winced as his own weight came to rest over his bound arms, and made a determined if friendly attempt to bite the caressing thumb that Ruka was running over his lower lip. Ruka snatched his hand back fast and the next second it connected with Yomi's cheek, not hard enough to bruise but enough to raise red finger marks on the singer's shocked face.
“Ow!” exclaimed Yomi. “No rules?!”
“Don't need any.” Ruka raised an eyebrow at Yomi's dubious expression. “Don't you trust me?” The younger man gave him a long, considering look, left cheek burning.
“...You know I do.”
Ruka bent to kiss him, relieved, and Yomi answered it, his lips hot and passionate against the drummer's. But this wasn't helping him get his point across, thought Ruka; so he broke the kiss abruptly and set both hands to Yomi's shirt, ripping it open and sending buttons flying off in every direction. He'd always wanted to do that, too. He ran his hands gratuitously down his torso, revelling in the nervous shivers his fingers were raising on Yomi's skin.
“So cute,” crowed Ruka, prodding fondly at his prone singer's little stomach.
“Mm...zip it!” Yomi growled, exhaling softly as Ruka shuffled down to kiss him below the navel. “...You want flat as a pancake and perfect, go screw Sakito!”
“No.” Ruka kissed him again, then dug his long nails deliberately into the soft flesh, making Yomi jerk beneath him and eliciting a sharp whine of discomfort. “I like you just like this.” So saying, he dragged his hands downwards, leaving bright trails against the pale skin of Yomi's hips as he grasped the waistband of his jeans and drew them off.
“Do I absolutely need to be naked for this lesson?” demanded the singer, Ruka having deftly removed his underwear along with everything else.
“If I had my way you'd be naked for everything.” Ruka pushed himself between Yomi's legs, ignoring his friend's breathless laugh and sliding both hands beneath his thighs to give his ass a familiar pinch. Yomi was getting hard already, he noticed, and smirked darkly; he wondered how long that would last. If anything, though, his expression seemed to excite the smaller man: Yomi curled his legs around him and pushed as close as he could get without the use of his arms. Ruka decided he was having way too much fun right now, and, gratifying as it was to see what an effect he had on his singer, decided it was probably time to step things up.
“Come on,” he snapped, grabbing Yomi by the hair (he was finding he had a distinct fetish for this, despite the very weird face it turned out Yomi made when he was being hurt) and pulling him up, snaking his free arm around his little waist and manoeuvring him until he was tucked securely against his body. Ruka kept a tight hold on his wriggling friend with one hand, reached out with the other and, in one impatient movement, swept everything off the surface of the nearby kotatsu (the neat-freak part of him railed against this, but he was horny enough not to listen), clearing the low table and dumping Yomi face-down across it.
Yomi gasped as his chest hit the wood, and turned his head to glare up at Ruka, his breath coming fast and nervous. But the drummer was rooting around in the debris that was now scattered across the floor and paying him no attention other than to shove him down with one hand when he attempted to get up.
“Can't you at least untie me?” he complained. “I'm not gonna go anywhere, Ruka, honestly!”
Ruka just sniffed at that and made a grab for something, and came up brandishing a rolled-up copy of Autosport. He saw Yomi eyeing it with a strange expression, which turned out to be an attempt not to get the giggles.
“Seriously?” Yomi said, raising his eyebrows, such as they were. “I'm not a dog, Ruka, I haven't been chewing the furniture!”
“Well, you need punishing all the same.”
“That's not gonna hurt much,” commented the singer, sounding both amused and a tiny bit relieved.
“Yes it will.”
“Really now.” Yomi grinned; he wasn't taking this seriously at all, thought Ruka, disgruntled, so raised the magazine and aimed it at his friend's ass with more force than he might have otherwise. “Aahhh...!” Yomi bit back the sound, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut at the impact; it had clearly stung a lot more than he had imagined. Ruka smiled delightedly.
“See?”
“Oww!” moaned Yomi, self-indulgently. “You git!!”
“Well I did say.” Ruka gave him another experimental smack, heard him groan between his teeth; that was hot, and so was the way he was pressing himself into the kotatsu in a futile attempt to get away. He trailed a hand over Yomi's behind, which was warm beneath his fingers and looking like it needed a lot more attention. “Once you're sorry, I'll stop. Are you sorry?”
“No,” Yomi panted obstinately. “If...if you can fuck two people, I don't see why I shouldn't!”
“Fine.” Ruka pushed his head down and resumed plying the magazine. He could feel himself getting more and more excited, and was in danger of losing sight of what this was about in the first place: Yomi, who at first had been crying out indignantly, was now whimpering rhythmically into the table-top with every strike, his little body flushed and trembling, and that was pushing all Ruka's buttons, all right.
“Hurts,” Yomi managed, by now sounding fairly contrite. Ruka observed the arch of his back with pleasure.
“You sorry yet?”
“N-no...!” The vocalist's face was flushed, as much as Ruka could see of it, anyway; and he was stubborn. It was quite impressive, really. The drummer, so aroused now that it was difficult to think straight, grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him over onto his back.
“Guess you're not,” he said wryly, observing Yomi's enthusiastic hard-on, his quick catches of breath. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. “Maybe you need some time to think about it...”
Leaving Yomi lying there, he heaved himself to his feet and dragged his tshirt over his head, the cool air-con a pleasant breeze against his excited skin. He made short work of the rest of his clothes, and became aware of Yomi's lascivious stare; he knew the younger man liked looking at him, and apparently even a thoroughly bruised bottom couldn't dampen his ogling.
“Well, don't just lie there looking useless,” Ruka growled, making his singer jump. He slid one hand behind Yomi's head and tugged him forward onto his knees. “Get busy while you're thinking!”
Yomi tipped his head back to look up at him, wide-eyed and innocent. Ruka knew it was a total charade, but this was still his number one favourite position to find himself in, pretty much ever; and now Yomi's arms were tied and he was looking all tiny and helpless...well, it was just perfection.
“...Is this what you're after?” murmured Yomi, leaning up and forward to press his lips against Ruka's stomach. Ruka grasped his hair.
“Close.” He pushed Yomi's head firmly in the desired direction, sighing happily when the vocalist complied, as always, without argument. Remembering the horrific difficulties he had to go through every time he wanted Ni~ya to give him head, it seemed to Ruka that his singer was practically a saint in this department. Yomi's pretty lips parted easily, and then Ruka was shivering all over despite the heat with both the physical and mental pleasure of the act.
“Mmf...” Yomi was, in this as in everything else, extremely vocal, but in these circumstances the drummer was delighted to hear his voice, especially when it sounded like he was enjoying himself. Being so small it had taken him quite a while to reach a decent standard of proficiency, but Ruka had enjoyed every minute of the process; and now that he had picked up exactly the right angle and the right technique, Yomi might have been custom made for him.
“...You're doing fine...” Ruka assured the younger man, fingers still threaded in his hair to control the pace. Yomi gave another moan of effort: without the use of his hands he was having to work harder, but the sight from above more than made up for it, in Ruka's opinion, as did the movements of his musical tongue.
Yomi broke off to breathe, letting his lips glide over the head of the taller man's cock.
“You ready to forgive me yet...?” he asked in a soft, hoarse voice, giving Ruka one of his weird, sweet smiles.
“Not quite yet,” gasped Ruka, sounding annoyingly undignified but wanting back into the warmth of Yomi's mouth without delay. Another second and heat surrounded him again, making him groan and close his eyes as Yomi allowed his head to be drawn forward until his lips brushed the base of the drummer's erection. He set one hand under Yomi's chin, feeling his throat work busily, to keep him still while he began to move himself, wanting it deeper, faster than his singer was capable of on his own.
Yomi's moans went up a key, eyes screwed shut in a fierce frown of concentration. Ruka was more than aware that this was not being a particularly thoughtful partner, especially when the guy on the receiving end had no way to defend himself; but he knew, and had learned from, the sounds Yomi made when he was genuinely distressed, and he wasn't hearing them right now. It seemed the smaller man was viewing everything Ruka did tonight as a personal challenge and would suffer anything rather than say he was sorry. Well, that was just peachy as far as Ruka was concerned.
“Faster,” he growled, feeling the swift, tight exhilaration that told him he was close to the edge. Yomi did his best to oblige, his mouth suddenly hotter, wetter - Ruka had no idea how he was doing it, but he wasn't about to complain - spreading his short legs to give himself a more secure stance as his friend's grip on his jaw tightened. Ruka felt his tongue drag a long line up the underside of his cock, and looked down to see Yomi gazing up at him encouragingly. And that was that: Ruka dug his nails into Yomi's scalp, holding him still, and let his orgasm rush through him, an incredible sense of relief after all the tensions of the day.
Yomi's dark eyes widened, looking extremely surprised and very disapproving: Ruka wouldn't let him pull his head back until he was done, something he never usually bothered with; he was usually so happy at being allowed to come (without the ages spent wheedling necessary when he was with Ni~ya) that he'd make no complaint if Yomi chose to do a sly spit, provided he didn't make a point of it. But tonight the drummer was not in the mood to do him any favours, and held onto him tight so that it was either swallow or suffocate.
Ruka eventually let him go, chest heaving, watching him cough and blink giddily and slump down into a sitting position.
“Oh,” he said blissfully, dropping to his knees after his panting singer, “...you are...fucking marvellous.” He tilted Yomi's chin up (he'd have bruises where he'd been holding him so tightly, but Ruka couldn't bring himself to regret any part of what had just happened), kissing him hard and gratefully. It took Yomi a long time to gather the willpower to tear his lips away.
“Bastard,” he rasped, feelingly, eyes watering and mouth bruised a delicate shade of red. He scrunched his little face up in an exhausted scowl. “You are just the rudest bloody...” He trailed off, gulping in another breath.
“You're all right?” asked Ruka, hand running soothingly up the length of his spine. Yomi nodded weakly.
“I said I could take it...” he muttered, leaning into Ruka's hand as it rose to cup his cheek. “...I can.”
“Still?” Ruka looked unconvinced; he enjoyed hurting Yomi, sure, but only as long as he didn't actually hurt him... Well, you know what I mean. His singer gave him a nervous glance.
“There's more?”
“Oh, more,” replied Ruka, who was getting his second wind and was quite ready to go another round now that he knew his partner was all right. And without further ado he picked Yomi up, slung him across his shoulder and strode out of the living-room.
“Careful!” Yomi squawked indignantly as Ruka hefted him higher. “I'm not a bloody bag of rice!” Ruka gave him a quelling slap on the ass with his supporting hand, making him yelp and squirm about as it connected with the already red skin. That was no problem, though: yet another thing Ruka loved about his vocalist was how compact and easy he was to carry; it was very convenient, like Yomi was the sexual equivalent of Travel Scrabble.
“There,” Ruka grunted, and threw him down on the bed, which was wide and sturdy and perfectly apt for tormenting badly-behaved singers on (unlike the scene of their first tryst). Yomi gave another yelp, landing on his arms: Ruka, that day, had decided to dress somewhat like a rock star instead of an out-of-work yanki picking up his laundry on the way home from pachinko (his normal casual style if left to his own devices), and his belt was studded with little conical spikes that bit into Yomi's arms and the skin of his back through his shirt, despite the soft bed-covers.
“Owww,” said Yomi, piteously, giving Ruka the puppy-dog eyes. The older man didn't notice this, however, being engaged in rummaging around in one of his drawers; he vaguely heard Yomi complaining, but that was only to be expected (god forbid Ruka should be attracted to an appropriately submissive partner; then again, the fight was half the fun). He finally found what he was looking for and slammed the drawer shut, making Yomi twitch at the sound and look round, gaze quickly dropping to what he had in his hands.
“Oh, you can fuck right off!!” Yomi yelled at the top of his voice, scrambling as best he could to the other side of the bed. Ruka cringed at the volume (this room was next to the connecting wall), dropped the very scary, very phallic, very bright pink object he was holding, and turned back to his wardrobe, snatching up the first cotton scarf to hand and twisting it into a thick rope. “Dream fucking on!!” continued Yomi, sliding awkwardly off the covers. Ruka caught him with one hand, dragged him back up, and sat on him, holding the scarf out determinedly.
“You're too noisy. Open up.” Yomi gave him a furious glare and clamped his lips together resolutely. Ruka sighed. “Or you could just say you're sorry and that you'll do whatever I tell you from now on, and we can forget this whole sordid evening.” He was banking on Yomi refusing this offer, and was not disappointed when his captive shook his head mutely, eyes flashing. Ruka gave him a radiant smile, and reached out to pinch the tip of his cute little nose between thumb and forefinger. Yomi wiggled about beneath him for a few seconds, then lay very still and stared up at him accusingly. Ruka waited patiently: Yomi, being a full-time singer and excellent part-time blow-jobber, had a fairly impressive lung capacity, but he would have to breathe sooner or later.
By the time Yomi gave up he was scarlet in the face and looked just adorable; but it had to happen, and eventually he opened his mouth to gulp in air, eyeing his waiting friend resentfully. Ruka pounced, pushing the fabric swiftly between Yomi's teeth and pulling the scarf into a tight knot at the back of his head. Yomi gave him a muffled snarl, and that was cute too, coming out of that tiny body. Ruka gave him an affectionate kiss over the gag.
But Yomi's attention had been drawn back to the highly incriminating sex aid lying next to him on the bedspread. He scowled.
“Mmfmhmfmfmfmmhmf?!”
Ruka translated this as 'why the hell do you have one of those?!', and beamed at him ominously. “It pays to be prepared,” he told the struggling vocalist. “I knew you'd slip up one of these days and I'd get to play with you properly.”
“Mmmmf-fmm!!”
From the look Yomi was giving him, Ruka didn't need to bother translating what that meant. He scooped up the lube from where it had fallen to the floor, and closed in.
“It won't hurt,” he reassured his friend, smoothing a skilful palm along the shaft of his cock (he was still hard, just about, so Ruka supposed the experience couldn't be too unpleasant). Yomi's eyes fluttered closed and he let out an ambiguous little sound as a finger slid inside him. Ruka watched him more carefully than usual, logging every expression as he opened him up: now his singer couldn't speak (oh blessed occasion), he knew it was essential to keep an eye on him. He slipped one arm around Yomi's waist, relieving his supporting limbs of some of their burden; Yomi sighed gratefully through his nose, and Ruka leaned in to give him a friendly nip beneath the ear. The smaller man's hard-on was looking much more perky now, and he was beginning to move his hips experimentally against Ruka's ministering hand.
When Ruka removed his fingers and began to ease the long silicon toy into him, Yomi didn't complain; he just froze and gave an unsure, questioning whine, his eyes very wide. Ruka supposed the feeling was probably strange, even unnatural, but he was sure Yomi was adventurous enough to at least try and get used to it now it was there. He pressed it deeper slowly, nudging his friend's legs further apart to make it easier and bending to kiss his neck.
“It's okay, right?” he whispered against his skin. Yomi shifted his hips nervously, a soft moan escaping him as the angle changed; he pressed himself against Ruka, and nodded quickly. Ruka kept going, loving every change of expression on Yomi's face as the sensations washed through him. Once he thought his friend had taken as much as he reasonably could, being so tiny, he stopped, running his hand comfortingly along Yomi's tense leg. He decided he should probably let him get used to it, and spent the intervening minutes conducting a gentle assault on Yomi's nipples with his tongue and his teeth; given how many years they'd had to get used to being fiddled with, Yomi was still surprisingly sensitive here, and Ruka could play him like an instrument, coaxing a whole series of melodic sounds out of him (though rather incoherent thanks to the gag).
Once Yomi was gasping blissfully through the fabric of the scarf and pushing himself greedily into Ruka's hands the drummer kissed him again and, while he was distracted, slid his fingers down and flicked the inconspicuous switch on the base of the toy. Yomi jumped like he'd just been given an electric shock, and Ruka was very glad he'd had the forethought to gag him as a heartily amazed cry tried to escape.
“Mmmf!” exclaimed Yomi, looking panicked as the vibrator, for such it was, began to move slowly inside him. Ruka grinned at him and pushed the hair back off his damp forehead. It was well worth the purchase just to see the look on his face right now.
“You like?” Yomi gave Ruka an incredulous glance and shook his head frantically, arching up into his touch with a desperation that belied his protests: he was harder than ever, shuddering beneath Ruka's lips, the pulse racing in his neck as the drummer bit him again. Ruka looked smug, and deservedly so, as he closed his lips over Yomi's throat to leave a deliberate mark. He set one knee between his friend's trembling legs and leant over him so that all he could feel was Yomi's skin against his own, sliding his hand between their bodies to encourage his singer's erection along.
“A little more,” he whispered persuasively, his low voice almost lost beneath Yomi's increasingly urgent moans and the electric noise of the toy inside him. As it turned out, Yomi didn't need a lot of persuading, Ruka being an artist with his hands as well as his lips: another minute and he was coming, leaving both of them sticky and gasping for breath.
“Mmhnf?” said Yomi plaintively, chest heaving. Ruka, who was licking a long, ravishing stripe up to his belly button (apparently his cleaning compulsion didn't extend only to housework), paused and considered him narrowly. Then,
“No,” he rumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows. “I'm still not done with you...”
Yomi shot him a horrified, disbelieving look, then ran out of energy and dropped his head back, his miniature toes curling against the bed-sheets as the intense sensations continued to attack his over-stimulated body. Confident that he wouldn't be able to go anywhere, Ruka left his unhappy vocalist to himself and wandered through to the kitchen, grabbing himself a drink of water and collecting anything else that looked entertaining along the way.
By the time he returned to the bedroom Yomi had got some energy back, and had embarked on what was probably a swearing marathon, though it was hard to tell through the gag. He made a spirited attempt to kick Ruka, but that just ended in a resigned whimper as the vibrator shifted inside him. Ruka kissed him consolingly, petted his cinnamon-tinted hair for a minute, then rummaged around in the covers until he found the plastic clothes-pegs he'd grabbed as he left the kitchen.
“This might hurt a bit,” he admitted in Yomi's ear, flicking one of his nipples into hardness (they always had been, and remained, Ruka's favourite part of the body; he never got tired of them). “But you've had worse.”
Ignoring Yomi's warning noise of protest he rolled the sensitive nub between his fingers and then clipped the peg securely over it. Yomi twisted violently beneath him for a second, then went completely still, working through the feeling and trying to decide whether it was more like pain or pleasure, and how he ought to be dealing with both it and the toy still vibrating away between his legs. While he was handily quiet, Ruka repeated the action so that both nipples were trapped between the plastic jaws of the pegs.
“Nnnh!” managed Yomi, skin glistening with the effort of keeping himself together as Ruka gave one peg a curious flick and the other a quick twist. He slid both hands covetously down his singer's small waist, fingers brushing tantalisingly against his erection; by now Ruka was hard again too, spurred on by Yomi's pained little face and enthusiastic body.
Not wanting to stop now that he was on a roll, the drummer sat back on his heels and felt about on the bed for more of his makeshift punishment devices. He held two of them up for his friend to see.
“Which do you like?” he demanded, feeling generous. Yomi's eyes darted from the hairbrush to the white candle; he shook his head emphatically. “'Neither' is not an option,” Ruka informed him. Yomi just looked away, apparently too exhausted to make a decision or even attempt to argue about it. Ruka was pleased: if his vocalist was finally getting worn down, maybe he'd get his apology after all. “All right,” he said pleasantly, and tossed the hairbrush across the room, reaching over to the bedside table for his lighter.
Yomi's eyes were drawn like magnets to the flickering flame; Ruka could feel the heat of it, spiralling up into the air-conditioned room. He gave the smaller man a reassuring pat.
“Everything's gonna be okay,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. Yomi didn't look convinced, and his worry was soon vindicated as two droplets of molten wax splashed onto the skin of his stomach, making him whimper and jerk up against Ruka's restraining hand. Ruka knew it hurt (he had done this to himself before, by accident, while plastered), and was careful to keep the candle lifted high as he moved it across Yomi's skin, so that the wax would have time to cool a little from burning point before it hit.
At first, Ruka wasn't sure whether his singer would be able to cope: Yomi was tossing his head against the rumpled pillows, his tied arms straining against the belt with each splash of hot liquid, and didn't look very happy at all. Then, as Ruka watched attentively, he began to quieten down, having used up his energy for the moment, and his cries subsided into soft moans.
By the time the candle had made its way down to the sensitive flesh of his calves and inner thighs Yomi was almost completely silent, the only sounds his harsh breaths and the vibrator and the ensuing rustle of his body against the bed. Ruka glanced up from his painstaking little torture, and noted with interest that the younger man had begun to cry, but that he didn't even seem to notice it himself: Yomi's dark eyes were half-closed, suffused with tentative pleasure, and looked like they were gazing right through him. Ruka, fascinated, left off what he was doing and snapped his fingers in front of Yomi's face. No reaction. He smoothed a hand down his singer's body, and was rewarded with a slow arch into his touch. Hmm.
“Hey.” Ruka gave Yomi's hard-on a firm squeeze and caught a swift inhalation of breath; but other than that, nothing. That was interesting; maybe he had finally found the key to getting Yomi to shut up for once in his life. Mind you, it was quite a lot of effort to go to just for some peace and quiet...
He took another long look at his spaced-out friend: apart from the tears, Yomi seemed quite happy in whatever space inside his head he had retreated to. Ruka wondered what it was like in there, and, more pertinently, how you went about waking him up. He blew the candle out and set it on the bedside table before returning to his inspection. A pinch of the ear brought no response, and neither did a sharp bite to the inner thigh, other than to make Yomi shift indulgently against him. Very strange.
Eventually, Ruka resorted to the tried-and-tested method of a glass of cold water in the face. That did the trick: Yomi spluttered for a moment, then his gaze sharpened and focused on Ruka. A few seconds later it turned amazed and desperate as the realisation of what was happening hit him again; he made a frantic little noise, glaring down at the gag. Ruka, wanting to make sure that he was really all right before he did anything else, slid a finger beneath the fabric and tugged it roughly out of his mouth.
“That was very interesting,” Ruka told him. “Where did you go?”
“...I don't like this,” Yomi blurted out, after he had heaved in a gigantic breath. Ruka raised his eyebrows and slid a hand down the curve of his jaw.
“Well you did just now. And I think you still do. Look.” He twisted the younger man's chin, forcing him to look across the room. Yomi stiffened: Ruka, after delving around for something to silence his singer with, had left the wardrobe door open, and the long mirror on its inner face was reflecting them both perfectly. Ruka saw Yomi take in the sight of himself, aroused and panting with the pegs quivering on his nipples and with tear tracks on his flushed cheeks. His bandmate stared at his reflection for a long moment; then, to Ruka's delight, gave a shuddering sigh, leaning back into his touch, and if anything harder than ever. Hah. Saki was right, Yomi was a little pervert; seeing himself like this was obviously just icing on the cake.
“All right,” said Yomi, with a catch in his voice, though Ruka couldn't tell if it was from humiliation or arousal. “All right. I'm sorry...”
“Wow.” Ruka was thrilled, but did his best to look nonchalant upon hearing the word; he hadn't been at all convinced, as things progressed, that Yomi would cave in, and the sound of it was sweet.
“...I won't see anyone else,” the vocalist continued, arching back into Ruka's eager hands, the scent and warmth of him making his drummer shiver. “I don't need anyone else... Just you.” Ruka thought that, reading between the lines, this probably meant that since he could get Yomi off better than anyone else (certainly better than any girl), the singer thought he might as well put up with the whole possessive, inconvenient package that came with him. Well, as long as he got what he wanted, Ruka could live with that.
“That's a good boy,” he murmured triumphantly.
“So please,” continued Yomi, shifting tiredly beneath him, “please let me go now...” Ruka gave his damp cheek a chiding pinch, and ran a hand down his body to twist the vibrator inside him, making his friend clamp his lips together over a sharp whine.
“I haven't finished yet.” He curled his fingers around Yomi's hard-on pointedly. “And neither have you.” The singer gave him a hesitant look, and Ruka wondered just what it was that he was afraid to say.
“...The first time we did it,” managed Yomi eventually, tears still welling, although he still didn't seem aware of it, “you told me...you loved me!”
“I did?” Ruka asked, suddenly panicked; he had no memory of it at all, couldn't remember anything but how hard he had tried to hold himself back, and the pleasure of finally being inside his tiny friend after so many years; the rest of it was a complete blank.
“Yes,” Yomi sniffed, taking the opportunity to gulp in more air while the gag was out of his mouth. Ruka dropped his head to kiss his damp shoulder.
“Well...I do.” He closed his eyes. “I love you.” That might explain the jealousy, he thought; it was so obvious now! His singer writhed beneath him in pain and frustration.
“...Then act like it!”
Ruka gave him an adoring, predatory smile, relieved at finally having a name to attach to the seething mess of emotion Yomi was capable of inspiring in him. He leaned forward, lips meeting Yomi's tauntingly and chest brushing the clips biting down on his nipples, making him whimper and twist helplessly.
“I am.”
“Aahh... You really are a sadistic son of a bitch...!” exclaimed Yomi, leaning up tentatively for another kiss.
“Yeah,” Ruka murmured, dizzy with happiness as the smaller man's tongue brushed his. “But you love me anyway. Don't you. Don't you.” Yomi closed his eyes, but gave him a grudging nod; Ruka pressed their foreheads together appealingly. “...Wanna see this through to the end?”
“...All right...nng!” Yomi's voice trailed off into a moan as Ruka twisted sharply at the left peg.
“Good.” The drummer gave him one more affectionate kiss, then moved to replace the gag against his friend's inevitable noisiness. Yomi clamped his lips together stubbornly, but Ruka just smiled down at him, slapped him lightly across the face, then slipped the cloth back into his mouth as he opened it to exclaim indignantly.
Yomi sighed in heartfelt relief as Ruka finally switched off the vibrator and eased it out of him, brushing hardened wax from his thighs at the same time; the soft skin where it had landed was pink and burning hot, but Ruka thought it was nothing that wouldn't be better in a couple of days.
When Ruka entered him, unable to wait any longer, Yomi groaned blissfully; having been well prepared by the dubious pleasures of the toy, it didn't hurt him, and Ruka could tell he was so close to coming that anything he did right now would most likely be received with grateful approval. He wrapped an arm around Yomi's back, supporting his weight, and began to move, biting his own lip at how good it felt; well, the smaller man always felt good, but tonight, with the promise of exclusivity he'd just dragged out of him, the feeling was phenomenal.
“Love you,” he whispered harshly, rapturously, as Yomi's short legs twined around him. With his free hand he tugged the two pegs off his singer's nipples, and was surprised and enchanted at the way Yomi cried out and tightened up around him as the blood rushed back to the abused flesh.
Yomi pressed a hot cheek against his temple, and Ruka sped up. He had never really bothered holding himself back with Yomi, not since that first time (he hadn't exactly succeeded then, either), but tonight it felt different, with his bound friend completely at his mercy. Ruka knew himself perfectly well, and was aware of his cruel streak; now, though, as he gazed adoringly at Yomi's intoxicated little face, he was thankful for it, if it could both get him what he wanted and cause his singer this much pleasure.
He noticed that Yomi had turned his head away and, without stopping, followed his line of vision: Yomi was watching the mirror again, observing them both hazily. Ruka grinned briefly; if he'd known this was one of his kinks, he'd have put it into play before now.
“You look like a little whore,” he whispered experimentally into Yomi's ear, and felt his shiver and the way he began to move more energetically against him. Hah, dirty talk too; he should have guessed. He changed up to top gear; he knew neither of them would last much longer.
Yomi didn't even need touching this time: the combination of Ruka's cock and their reflections and the afterglow of pain was enough, and he yelled into the gag and came between them, turning his head at the last second to meet Ruka's eyes fiercely. Ruka, always determined to have the last word, held out a little longer, but the sight of Yomi beneath him like this was too much; he let himself go in a moment of pure dark ecstasy, and didn't even care for once that his friend was looking right at him and could see what a stupid face he made when he came.
“...You are fucking amazing,” Ruka gasped, snaking both arms round his singer and burying his head in his chest. Yomi was gasping beneath him, breath rasping in his throat.
Ruka wasn't sure how long they lay there; he thought his brain might have checked out for a while, because when he noticed his surroundings again the singer was nudging him sharply with a knee and making pointed, uncomfortable little noises. Ruka leaned up on his elbows and reached behind Yomi's head, picking at the knot of his gag, which had tightened itself up during all the struggling. He finally got it undone and pulled the fabric away.
“Motherfucker!!” yelled Yomi at once, his voice hoarse from his muffled protests and his eyes red with weeping. “Undo my arms! Undo them right fucking now, it hurts, you bastard sonofabitch, it hurts!!”
Ruka clapped a hand over his mouth, silencing him again; it was unbelievable, the volume his vocalist could maintain, even after all this. He rolled Yomi over hurriedly and unbuckled the twisted belt, freeing his arms. Yomi whimpered as they fell to his sides, and Ruka considerately began to rub them, getting the circulation flowing. Yomi quietened down marginally, and Ruka moved to his back, lifting the remnants of his shirt to massage the smooth skin, which had been deeply marked by the pressure of the spikes on his belt.
“That feel better?” he asked, leaning down to kiss the back of his neck. Yomi mumbled into the pillow tiredly.
“Oww...Fucking...inconsiderate...jerkoff son of a whore...!”
“I love you,” said Ruka solemnly, his hands moving in soothing circles over Yomi's spine.
“Yeah, yeah...and I love you, you sadistic wanker...”
“And from now on you're all mine, right? Nobody else's.” Ruka didn't care how much Yomi swore at him; it was water off a duck's back, now that he had what he wanted.
“Like you'll leave me the energy to do anyone except you...” Yomi rolled onto his side, and allowed himself to be kissed. “Anything else, Your Majesty?”
“Yeah,” murmured Ruka, worn out and so happy he thought he might burst. “I want the spare key to your flat.”
“What? Why?” Ruka pecked him sweetly on the cheek.
“Because I've never heard anyone shout so loud in my entire fucking life. And you've made a complete mess of my house. I'm banning you again.”
Yomi opened his mouth furiously, and Ruka leaned in and kissed it. Yomi shut up, and he smiled beatifically. This might just have been the most marvellous day of his life.”
“There, you see?” says Giga, practically swooning in his seat over Ruka's incredible domly manliness or whatever the hell it is. “What a guy...” He peers at me. “...Are you okay?” he asks conscientiously. “I know Ruka can be a bit overwhelming for some people...”
I start to speak, then stop. And think. This is very strange: I have some dehydration and a mild headache, but other than that I think I feel...all right. All right! I just sat through an entire story about Naito's drummer, wannabe Marquis de Sade, and I feel all right! I hear myself give a hysterical laugh. I've done it; I've finally done it: I've broken through the (psychological) pain barrier, and I am now unshockable! God, this is so...so liberating.
Giga is looking at me strangely, and no wonder, but I don't care. I am so ready for whatever they hit me with next: the dirtiest, perviest, most illegal Chiba shenanigans Sakito can dream up, the most shockingly graphic porn-fest Ni~ya can invent. I can deal with it. I'm ready. Bring it on!
**************
Ruka. He's a self-centred bugger!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it; I quite enjoyed writing it! Apparently it's actually impossible for me to write a fic without at least one kink chapter. And if there's going to be kink there's bound to be Ruka XD
Am going to see L'arc next weekend, hence the Ken insert. Love Ken, he is a hilarious man!
Next chapter will be Satty and Fullface, and more kind of fluff.
Thanks for reading, as always!
Forward to chapter seven
Back to chapter five