PoT: Brittle
This started as the beginning for kateriya's Tezuka/Atobe epic that never did get finished....
Brittle
by omi
Atobe buried his face into the 1,040 threadcount sheets adorning his bed and moaned lowly as his partner thrusted into him. Rutting like animals, was how his father would put it, if he ever saw his one and only precious son going at it in his room. And with another boy to boot. As for what his mother would say... Atobe smiled humourlessly at the thought. But they were not there, were never there, and there was a lot to be said for this particular means for getting rid of stress.
Atobe caught his breath when his partner thrusted right there, yes, god, yes, just there, harder, faster, more... No thought, only reaction. The body knew what it needed, what it craved -- to be filled, to be touched, to be taken. The heady mix of pain and pleasure and someone within him, pushing, fingers clenched white against his hip. There were no sounds within the room for the next few minutes, apart from the slick of skin against skin, of soft panting and moans.
A final thrust, a last bucking of hips against butt, another hard jerk against his cock and then it was over. He came, then the other, shuddering as the familiar feeling crashed over his body, and his dick pulsed and spurted, spreading his seed against the no-longer pristine sheets. His partner pulled out of him slowly, and fell down beside him wordlessly, their bodies no longer touching.
Atobe laid like that for a moment, savouring the final vestiges of his orgasm, before lazily turning over to fulfil the tedious, if necessary, social obligations of tonight's encounter, the expected steps to the usual dance.
He posed automatically as he turned, knowing full well the devastating picture he made with all that lightly tanned skin against the pure white bedlinen. "Ah..." He drawled slowly, his hand coming up to run along the lovely planes of his partner's face, pushing the long damp locks of hair away from his face. "You're getting better at this, Shishido-kun."
His team mate stiffened at the words. Eyes narrowed and glinted. "Better?" A hint of temper sparked in Shishido's eyes. "What, do you grade us for sex, like you do for tennis, Buchou?"
Atobe's mouth curved upwards in open amusement. Poor Shishido. Poor contrary, contradictory kitten, who wanted so badly to be taken but whose pride refused to let him be the bottom without at least a token display of temper. So he obliged, making one of his perfectly insufferable remarks, so that the other can respond with anger and they dance these same old steps again.
He rose in a long fluid predatory motion and captured Shishido's wrists in a tight punishing grip. He loomed over the other boy, eyes studying the spark of defiance, of tightly hidden desire within Shishido's eyes. "Don't worry about it. Ore-sama would show you how it's done." He drawled against the other's ear.
Shishido jerked upwards in half-assumed fury. "I hate you," he hissed, twisting helplessly in Atobe's grip. "I--" Atobe's mouth covered his, effectively swallowing the remainder of Shishido's words. Their mouths met and tangled in a bruising kiss.
That he would win was a forgone conclusion. Atobe kept it up, angling for dominancy that was always his. He knew the exact moment when Shishido gave in, the smallest murmur against his lips, when his entire body softened, gave up the fight and simply relaxed into the inevitable.
Arousal took over, and Atobe expertly set about the familiar task of answering the call of their bodies.
Atobe sprawled across the wide expanse of his bed an hour later, watching with lazily hooded eyes as Shishido moved about his room, gathering bits of discarded clothing before vanishing into the sybaritic comforts of his attached bath room. He reached for a waiting cloth to clean the worse of the mess off. Shishido, he knew, would not come back into the room. He would simply make his way out to the already waiting driver and car, and go back to his own house, his own life.
Atobe told himself he didn't care as he wiped himself off. After all, he was the one who set the boundaries of their coupling -- what they had couldn't even be considered a relationship -- in the first place.
He threw the cloth down onto the floor. The servants would come in the next morning after he had left for school, to discreetly clean up all vestiges of his nocturnal activities.
He climbed under his covers, mulling over his perfectly appointed life as he waited for sleep to descend. He has everything. Looks, power, riches, intelligence, pretty bedpartners... But he had to admit, perhaps it might be nice to occasionally wake up to the sight of another person in his bed.
The Hyoutei captain allowed his mind to drift away, imagining a perfect bed mate, a perfect lover... Someone who wouldn't need games, or protestations as a prelude to sex, someone who would stay with him after... Someone whom he would want to wake up to in the coming morning...
He slept, dreaming.
***
Brittle
by omi
Atobe buried his face into the 1,040 threadcount sheets adorning his bed and moaned lowly as his partner thrusted into him. Rutting like animals, was how his father would put it, if he ever saw his one and only precious son going at it in his room. And with another boy to boot. As for what his mother would say... Atobe smiled humourlessly at the thought. But they were not there, were never there, and there was a lot to be said for this particular means for getting rid of stress.
Atobe caught his breath when his partner thrusted right there, yes, god, yes, just there, harder, faster, more... No thought, only reaction. The body knew what it needed, what it craved -- to be filled, to be touched, to be taken. The heady mix of pain and pleasure and someone within him, pushing, fingers clenched white against his hip. There were no sounds within the room for the next few minutes, apart from the slick of skin against skin, of soft panting and moans.
A final thrust, a last bucking of hips against butt, another hard jerk against his cock and then it was over. He came, then the other, shuddering as the familiar feeling crashed over his body, and his dick pulsed and spurted, spreading his seed against the no-longer pristine sheets. His partner pulled out of him slowly, and fell down beside him wordlessly, their bodies no longer touching.
Atobe laid like that for a moment, savouring the final vestiges of his orgasm, before lazily turning over to fulfil the tedious, if necessary, social obligations of tonight's encounter, the expected steps to the usual dance.
He posed automatically as he turned, knowing full well the devastating picture he made with all that lightly tanned skin against the pure white bedlinen. "Ah..." He drawled slowly, his hand coming up to run along the lovely planes of his partner's face, pushing the long damp locks of hair away from his face. "You're getting better at this, Shishido-kun."
His team mate stiffened at the words. Eyes narrowed and glinted. "Better?" A hint of temper sparked in Shishido's eyes. "What, do you grade us for sex, like you do for tennis, Buchou?"
Atobe's mouth curved upwards in open amusement. Poor Shishido. Poor contrary, contradictory kitten, who wanted so badly to be taken but whose pride refused to let him be the bottom without at least a token display of temper. So he obliged, making one of his perfectly insufferable remarks, so that the other can respond with anger and they dance these same old steps again.
He rose in a long fluid predatory motion and captured Shishido's wrists in a tight punishing grip. He loomed over the other boy, eyes studying the spark of defiance, of tightly hidden desire within Shishido's eyes. "Don't worry about it. Ore-sama would show you how it's done." He drawled against the other's ear.
Shishido jerked upwards in half-assumed fury. "I hate you," he hissed, twisting helplessly in Atobe's grip. "I--" Atobe's mouth covered his, effectively swallowing the remainder of Shishido's words. Their mouths met and tangled in a bruising kiss.
That he would win was a forgone conclusion. Atobe kept it up, angling for dominancy that was always his. He knew the exact moment when Shishido gave in, the smallest murmur against his lips, when his entire body softened, gave up the fight and simply relaxed into the inevitable.
Arousal took over, and Atobe expertly set about the familiar task of answering the call of their bodies.
Atobe sprawled across the wide expanse of his bed an hour later, watching with lazily hooded eyes as Shishido moved about his room, gathering bits of discarded clothing before vanishing into the sybaritic comforts of his attached bath room. He reached for a waiting cloth to clean the worse of the mess off. Shishido, he knew, would not come back into the room. He would simply make his way out to the already waiting driver and car, and go back to his own house, his own life.
Atobe told himself he didn't care as he wiped himself off. After all, he was the one who set the boundaries of their coupling -- what they had couldn't even be considered a relationship -- in the first place.
He threw the cloth down onto the floor. The servants would come in the next morning after he had left for school, to discreetly clean up all vestiges of his nocturnal activities.
He climbed under his covers, mulling over his perfectly appointed life as he waited for sleep to descend. He has everything. Looks, power, riches, intelligence, pretty bedpartners... But he had to admit, perhaps it might be nice to occasionally wake up to the sight of another person in his bed.
The Hyoutei captain allowed his mind to drift away, imagining a perfect bed mate, a perfect lover... Someone who wouldn't need games, or protestations as a prelude to sex, someone who would stay with him after... Someone whom he would want to wake up to in the coming morning...
He slept, dreaming.
***