FIC: KHR, Haru/Yamamoto/Ryohei kink meme prompt
For the kink meme prompt: Haru, with either/both Yamamoto and Ryohei, doing nude figure drawing.
Words: 1060
Pairing: Haru80, Haru33, 8033 Everybody gets to perv on Ryohei
Warnings: Porn references, oblivious but not really jocks, lazy writing
Notes: All characters property of Akira Amano.
Yamamoto stretches, arms folded behind his head, hips jutted forward. He grins, and the afternoon sun shines on his white teeth, his bare skin. His completely, totally, head-to-toe bare skin. “Haha, how’s this?” he calls out.
“Perfect, just hold it!” Haru replies. She’s clutching a sketch pad and a set of charcoal pencils, but part of her just wishes she’d just brought a camera.
“Hey, I’m feeling EXTREMELY left out over here! How’s my pose?” Ryohei yells, flexing the kind of muscles Haru’s only seen in late night pay-per-view movies. Not that she’s ever watched those, or anything. Haru’s a good girl. She was just curious, that’s all.
“P-perfect,” she says again, desperately clamping down on the ‘HAHI!’ that threatens to break out. She’s here for an art project, and that’s all. Just some nude figure drawing. She’s just going to spend the next hour or two staring at the most smoking hot bodies she’s ever seen, which just happen to belong to two of Tsuna-san’s best friends, who were surprisingly quick to shed their clothes for her. And that’s all. Just a completely normal, mundane sort of thing, not at all something that makes her want to tackle one (or better yet, both) of them to the ground, and act out one of those late night movies she was just curious about. Maybe Amazon Women From Mars, pt. 1. Yeah, that one was good.
See, perfectly innocent.
And for a while, that’s the truth. Despite the fact that she’s blushing hard enough to give herself an aneurysm, and her entire thought process consists of ‘ehehehehehe,’ Haru manages two passable sketches of both Yamamoto and Ryohei, though certain…anatomical features are more detailed than others. In fact, it’s going so well that Haru’s beginning to think she might want to go to art school someday, to learn about form and color and composition. Visions of waving a sketchbook at men and forcing them to strip dancing through her head, Haru doesn’t notice Ryohei start to fidget.
“I am EXTREMELY bored,” he says. “Can I move yet?”
“No.” Haru replies absently, shading Yamamoto’s inner thigh.
“But this pose is totally not awesome enough! You won’t get the FULL EFFECT of my muscles!”
“Haha, what do you mean?” Yamamoto asks, still dutifully in position.
“Watch this!” And Ryohei turns to the side, stretches out long, muscular thighs and gives a full-body flex. It could have ended there, with Ryohei posing like a cover model for Playgirl and Haru surreptitiously wiping a bit of drool from her chin, if Yamamoto hadn’t gone into Competitive Mode.
“Yeah, that’s pretty nice,” he says, “but let me show you this one.” The swordsman turns around, showing off the hard lines of his back, and grins over his shoulder. Haru can’t help the ‘Hahi!’ that springs out, but neither of her models seem to notice. In fact, Ryohei, frowning slightly, seems to be staring at Yamamoto’s ass.
“That is pretty EXTREME,” he says, “but let’s see you do this!” Bounding to the other side of the room, Ryohei wraps his arms around the leg of a table and drags it back to where Yamamoto is standing. Then, grimacing and making a series of EXTREMELY MANLY noises, lifts it over his head and holds it there.
“Wow,” Yamamoto laughs, “I don’t think I can do that. But I can do this.” and, still facing the other way, he bends over backwards, hands flat on the ground and head somewhere around his calves. He winks at Haru. “Nice, right?” he says.
Haru agrees.
“That is definitely EXTREME TO THE LIMIT! Have you ever been in a circus?”
“Haha, no. Well, except for this one time, when I got to ride an elephant.” The boys laugh, and Haru, who has been silently observing (and enjoying) the show, realizes something very special is happening. She can see the way they’re smiling at each other, a little dazedly, the way their eyes are lingering on each other for slightly too long, the way they’re both a bit too red in the face, even for people who are respectively bending over backwards and hefting a table over their heads. It’s called the Best Friends Become Something More scenario, and it’s one of Haru’s favorites. Forget the camera; she should’ve brought a film crew.
“Hey, that table looks pretty heavy, want some help putting it down?” Yamamoto says, standing up and walking towards Ryohei.
“My back is in EXTREME pain.” The boxer replies.
“Haha, let me get the other side.” They lower the table to the ground, Ryohei wincing, and Yamamoto says, “Those are some pretty impressive muscles. Boxing must be really good for you, huh?”
“It is EXTREMELY AWESOME TO THE LIMIT, but baseball is pretty EXTREME too. Your legs look really nice and defined, I bet you’re fast.”
“Well, I’m pretty good,” Yamamoto says with a sheepish grin. “But you could probably keep up with me.”
“I would EXTREMELY like to try!” They’re standing closer now, knees and elbows bumping, and Haru holds her breath, thinking ‘kisskisskisskisskiss.’ Instead, Yamamoto smacks his forehead.
“Oops!” he says, “I forgot. We need to pose, so Haru can draw us.” He throws an arm around Ryohei’s shoulders, presses close enough for their hips to touch, and looks at her. “This okay?” He asks, grinning.
“Well…” Haru says, sensing a very interesting opportunity, “it might be a little better if you put a leg around Ryohei too.”
“Haha, ok!” Yamamoto says, and Haru doesn’t miss the way his eyes darken, or the sharp, knowing edge to his grin.
“Hey, what can I do?” Ryohei yells, always eager to try something new.
“Maybe a hand in Yamamoto’s hair?” Haru offers innocently.
Ryohei does it, and, watching two gorgeous men wrap themselves around each other at her command, Haru comes to a decision. “Don’t move!” she shouts, running from the room. Yamamoto blinks as the door slams, and turns to his companion.
“So,” he says, “seen any good games lately?”
Two minutes of enthusiastic sports talk later, Haru’s back, red-faced and panting, a battered camcorder in her hands.
“Hey, what’s that for?” Yamamoto asks, still draped around Ryohei and in the middle of explaining the importance of a good shortstop.
“Is it some kind of new EXTREME art project?”
“Yes,” Haru says, grinning wickedly “we’re going to make a movie.”
Words: 1060
Pairing: Haru80, Haru33, 8033 Everybody gets to perv on Ryohei
Warnings: Porn references, oblivious but not really jocks, lazy writing
Notes: All characters property of Akira Amano.
Yamamoto stretches, arms folded behind his head, hips jutted forward. He grins, and the afternoon sun shines on his white teeth, his bare skin. His completely, totally, head-to-toe bare skin. “Haha, how’s this?” he calls out.
“Perfect, just hold it!” Haru replies. She’s clutching a sketch pad and a set of charcoal pencils, but part of her just wishes she’d just brought a camera.
“Hey, I’m feeling EXTREMELY left out over here! How’s my pose?” Ryohei yells, flexing the kind of muscles Haru’s only seen in late night pay-per-view movies. Not that she’s ever watched those, or anything. Haru’s a good girl. She was just curious, that’s all.
“P-perfect,” she says again, desperately clamping down on the ‘HAHI!’ that threatens to break out. She’s here for an art project, and that’s all. Just some nude figure drawing. She’s just going to spend the next hour or two staring at the most smoking hot bodies she’s ever seen, which just happen to belong to two of Tsuna-san’s best friends, who were surprisingly quick to shed their clothes for her. And that’s all. Just a completely normal, mundane sort of thing, not at all something that makes her want to tackle one (or better yet, both) of them to the ground, and act out one of those late night movies she was just curious about. Maybe Amazon Women From Mars, pt. 1. Yeah, that one was good.
See, perfectly innocent.
And for a while, that’s the truth. Despite the fact that she’s blushing hard enough to give herself an aneurysm, and her entire thought process consists of ‘ehehehehehe,’ Haru manages two passable sketches of both Yamamoto and Ryohei, though certain…anatomical features are more detailed than others. In fact, it’s going so well that Haru’s beginning to think she might want to go to art school someday, to learn about form and color and composition. Visions of waving a sketchbook at men and forcing them to strip dancing through her head, Haru doesn’t notice Ryohei start to fidget.
“I am EXTREMELY bored,” he says. “Can I move yet?”
“No.” Haru replies absently, shading Yamamoto’s inner thigh.
“But this pose is totally not awesome enough! You won’t get the FULL EFFECT of my muscles!”
“Haha, what do you mean?” Yamamoto asks, still dutifully in position.
“Watch this!” And Ryohei turns to the side, stretches out long, muscular thighs and gives a full-body flex. It could have ended there, with Ryohei posing like a cover model for Playgirl and Haru surreptitiously wiping a bit of drool from her chin, if Yamamoto hadn’t gone into Competitive Mode.
“Yeah, that’s pretty nice,” he says, “but let me show you this one.” The swordsman turns around, showing off the hard lines of his back, and grins over his shoulder. Haru can’t help the ‘Hahi!’ that springs out, but neither of her models seem to notice. In fact, Ryohei, frowning slightly, seems to be staring at Yamamoto’s ass.
“That is pretty EXTREME,” he says, “but let’s see you do this!” Bounding to the other side of the room, Ryohei wraps his arms around the leg of a table and drags it back to where Yamamoto is standing. Then, grimacing and making a series of EXTREMELY MANLY noises, lifts it over his head and holds it there.
“Wow,” Yamamoto laughs, “I don’t think I can do that. But I can do this.” and, still facing the other way, he bends over backwards, hands flat on the ground and head somewhere around his calves. He winks at Haru. “Nice, right?” he says.
Haru agrees.
“That is definitely EXTREME TO THE LIMIT! Have you ever been in a circus?”
“Haha, no. Well, except for this one time, when I got to ride an elephant.” The boys laugh, and Haru, who has been silently observing (and enjoying) the show, realizes something very special is happening. She can see the way they’re smiling at each other, a little dazedly, the way their eyes are lingering on each other for slightly too long, the way they’re both a bit too red in the face, even for people who are respectively bending over backwards and hefting a table over their heads. It’s called the Best Friends Become Something More scenario, and it’s one of Haru’s favorites. Forget the camera; she should’ve brought a film crew.
“Hey, that table looks pretty heavy, want some help putting it down?” Yamamoto says, standing up and walking towards Ryohei.
“My back is in EXTREME pain.” The boxer replies.
“Haha, let me get the other side.” They lower the table to the ground, Ryohei wincing, and Yamamoto says, “Those are some pretty impressive muscles. Boxing must be really good for you, huh?”
“It is EXTREMELY AWESOME TO THE LIMIT, but baseball is pretty EXTREME too. Your legs look really nice and defined, I bet you’re fast.”
“Well, I’m pretty good,” Yamamoto says with a sheepish grin. “But you could probably keep up with me.”
“I would EXTREMELY like to try!” They’re standing closer now, knees and elbows bumping, and Haru holds her breath, thinking ‘kisskisskisskisskiss.’ Instead, Yamamoto smacks his forehead.
“Oops!” he says, “I forgot. We need to pose, so Haru can draw us.” He throws an arm around Ryohei’s shoulders, presses close enough for their hips to touch, and looks at her. “This okay?” He asks, grinning.
“Well…” Haru says, sensing a very interesting opportunity, “it might be a little better if you put a leg around Ryohei too.”
“Haha, ok!” Yamamoto says, and Haru doesn’t miss the way his eyes darken, or the sharp, knowing edge to his grin.
“Hey, what can I do?” Ryohei yells, always eager to try something new.
“Maybe a hand in Yamamoto’s hair?” Haru offers innocently.
Ryohei does it, and, watching two gorgeous men wrap themselves around each other at her command, Haru comes to a decision. “Don’t move!” she shouts, running from the room. Yamamoto blinks as the door slams, and turns to his companion.
“So,” he says, “seen any good games lately?”
Two minutes of enthusiastic sports talk later, Haru’s back, red-faced and panting, a battered camcorder in her hands.
“Hey, what’s that for?” Yamamoto asks, still draped around Ryohei and in the middle of explaining the importance of a good shortstop.
“Is it some kind of new EXTREME art project?”
“Yes,” Haru says, grinning wickedly “we’re going to make a movie.”