Magic of Mistletoe -- Gravitation (Eiri/Shuichi) "Christmas Lights" sidestory
Title: Magic of Mistletoe
Fandom: Gravitation
Pairing: Eiri x Shuichi
Rating: NC-17, to be safe, although the sex is mainly implicit.
Disclaimer: Gravitation and its characters do not belong to me.
A/N: “When the Christmas Lights Aren’t Bright Enough” Universe. Takes place the evening that follows the end of Part Seven.
Everyone went to bed early on Christmas night. If asked, they’ll say it was because the day had been long and wonderful and exhausting, but in reality, it was an unspoken gift, a token of respect for their hosts. They knew the couple needed some time together, alone, to commemorate the rekindling of the relationship-that-almost-died.
The door closed with a soft click and Shuichi took a deep breath before turning to look at his husband. Eiri was avoiding his eyes and Shuichi could see the tension in his stiff shoulders as he hesitated a moment before reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
“Wait.”
Eiri looked up, meeting the singer’s gaze with uncertainty. Smiling reassuringly, Shuichi approached him and began undoing the buttons himself. On each stretch of flesh revealed, he pressed a single, soft kiss. Eiri let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Shuichi’s lips touched the skin directly above his navel. Shuichi lingered there, on his knees because his legs had gone weak the moment Eiri’s chest had been exposed to him, his hands coming to rest on the waistband of Eiri’s pants. The tips of his fingers traced the zipper and he leaned close, pressing his cheek against Eiri’s stomach so he could feel each shiver that went through the other man’s body as he slowly tugged the zipper pull down. He sighed as Eiri’s fingers sifted through his hair, and then winced when the writer pulled, tugging his head back so their eyes could meet.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said, keeping his voice steady despite the way his heart was pounding. “One kiss under the mistletoe and we’re back together?”
“It was more like six kisses, actually.”
Rolling his eyes, Eiri continued, “It just seems too simple.”
“Well,” Shuichi mused, standing and slipping his arms around Eiri’s neck, “I think we deserve a simple solution for once.” He pressed their lips together for one soft, brief moment, before pulling away and asking, a bit breathlessly, “Don’t you?”
Eiri didn’t answer, not in words, not with his heart feeling so close to bursting, but he took a step forward and Shuichi caught on, backing up until his legs hit the foot of their bed. He released his hold on the writer’s neck and lay back on the bed, tugging his Christmas sweater over his head as he went. Eiri followed, holding himself up on his elbows to keep their bodies from completely touching.
“C’mon, Eiri,” Shuichi coaxed, sliding his arms around the writer’s waist to press his palms against the bare skin of his back. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“Shut up,” Eiri growled, leaning down to nip at the singer’s neck.
Shuichi arched into the attention and the bites trailed along his throat and collarbone, teeth making the lightest of marks that vanished in seconds. Shuichi refrained from begging him to bite harder, rougher, like he used to. He was still amazed they’d gotten this far; if Eiri wanted to take his time, Shuichi wasn’t going to push him.
Eiri’s lips made their way back to Shuichi’s and the singer gasped into their kiss as his pants were tugged down and chilled air caressed his lower body. Shivering, Shuichi reached over to the bedside cabinet, fumbling with the drawer and rummaging through its contents until he found a tube of strawberry-flavored gel, cold with neglect. He pressed it into Eiri’s hand, slightly fearful when he hesitated before taking it.
“Shuichi, are you sure this-” He paused; Shuichi’s fingertips traced the outline of his neck muscles as he swallowed. “I don’t want this to be something we forget or toss aside tomorrow morning when-when the phone rings or you think of what a bastard I’ve been these past years.”
“Eiri…”
“It can’t be this simple, can it? We’re in counseling, you want a divorce, don’t tell me that can all be fixed by a fucking commercialized plant!”
Shuichi slipped his hand around to hold on to the back of Eiri’s neck, fingernails digging in slightly to keep the writer from moving away. He pulled him down close, their bodies touching, their hearts hammering heavily in their chests. Shuichi spoke softly, lips brushing the shell of Eiri’s ear: “No. No, I guess it isn’t that simple. But can’t we pretend that is? At least, for now? Now…I don’t want a divorce. I stopped wanting a divorce, really, after everything you said about my singing. How could I divorce someone who loves me so much?”
“I never said that,” Eiri whispered hoarsely, though the protest was more instinctive than anything.
“But you do.” Shuichi turned his head, nuzzled against Eiri’s cheek. “You do love me. That’s why you never let me divorce you. Oh, Eiri, why didn’t you just say-”
Eiri moved, before Shuichi could stop him, and kissed him, hard-a searching, longing, wanting, toe-curling, heart-flipping kiss that Shuichi had spent days, weeks, months missing. Shuichi clutched at the body above him, kissing back with all the passion he’d been unable to ever feel for anyone else.
“Ah!” He gasped and jumped when suddenly slick fingers pressed tentatively against his entrance. He pushed against those timid digits, encouraging. Eiri’s face burned hot as he buried it in Shuichi’s neck, biting almost compulsively at the skin and driving his fingers in to the knuckle when the singer arched against him with a needy whine. “Now, Eiri, please!”
Forget taking things slow, they thought as fingers retracted and slim, rock star legs spread and clasp. Since when had they been ones to go slow? They’d always tackled their rollercoaster of a love-life head on, brakes off, full speed ahead.
They had, at least, before they’d gotten comfortable in California.
Eiri had no more skeletons hiding in the closet to dig up and get over. Shuichi, with Eiri’s vows and a ring on his finger, had nothing else to prove. They had a son to think of, to worry about, to kiss on the forehead every night. Things had slowed down. Things had cooled off.
But that, they decided with the first uncontrollable thrust inside, was going to change.
It didn’t take them long to get into it, to remember just the right places to touch, and sayings about riding bikes flitted through their passion-addled minds before getting lost in the jumbled mixture of want and holiday joy and lust and confusion and hope and neither of them even owned bikes in their childhoods and they’d probably end up breaking themselves if they tried to ride one without training wheels and-
“Eiri, yes!” Shuichi tossed his head as far back as his pillow would allow, hands clawing desperately at the writer’s back, a move he’d accidentally discovered halfway into their relationship when he hadn’t known Eiri responded so well to pain. He almost regretted doing it when his husband redoubled his efforts; he was already too far gone, they both were, it’d been so long. But he didn’t try and fight it. He clenched his legs tighter around Eiri’s waist and moved his hands to grip at silken blonde tresses as he brought Eiri’s mouth to his for a brief, brush of a kiss before the singer was reduced to panting, “I love you,” like a long-forgotten mantra, against his husband’s lips.
The words were stitches on Eiri’s near-broken heart and he wanted to return them-his desire to speak his feelings had never been so strong-but he was beyond the point of speech He squeezed his eyes shut at the tell-tale sound of Shuichi’s breath hitching, and held the singer’s body close as passion overtook them both and left them clinging to one another, trembling with aftershocks and dry, silent sobs.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the night, but both stayed awake for a long while, simply allowing themselves time to remember just how good it felt to hold each other, to touch each other, to breathe in perfect synchronization. Idly, Shuichi decided that in the morning he would fish his wedding ring out of his sock drawer before calling his manager to talk about hiring a new choreographer, preferably a female. And Eiri thought about that pretty woman he and Hiro had left at the bar on Christmas Eve, and wondered if, wherever she was now, she was as happy as him. He doubted she was, though, and smiled a little. And Shuichi smiled, because he smiled, and kissed him, and thanked God and Buddha and whoever cared enough to listen for bikes and houseguests and mistletoe.
Fandom: Gravitation
Pairing: Eiri x Shuichi
Rating: NC-17, to be safe, although the sex is mainly implicit.
Disclaimer: Gravitation and its characters do not belong to me.
A/N: “When the Christmas Lights Aren’t Bright Enough” Universe. Takes place the evening that follows the end of Part Seven.
Everyone went to bed early on Christmas night. If asked, they’ll say it was because the day had been long and wonderful and exhausting, but in reality, it was an unspoken gift, a token of respect for their hosts. They knew the couple needed some time together, alone, to commemorate the rekindling of the relationship-that-almost-died.
The door closed with a soft click and Shuichi took a deep breath before turning to look at his husband. Eiri was avoiding his eyes and Shuichi could see the tension in his stiff shoulders as he hesitated a moment before reaching for the buttons of his shirt.
“Wait.”
Eiri looked up, meeting the singer’s gaze with uncertainty. Smiling reassuringly, Shuichi approached him and began undoing the buttons himself. On each stretch of flesh revealed, he pressed a single, soft kiss. Eiri let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Shuichi’s lips touched the skin directly above his navel. Shuichi lingered there, on his knees because his legs had gone weak the moment Eiri’s chest had been exposed to him, his hands coming to rest on the waistband of Eiri’s pants. The tips of his fingers traced the zipper and he leaned close, pressing his cheek against Eiri’s stomach so he could feel each shiver that went through the other man’s body as he slowly tugged the zipper pull down. He sighed as Eiri’s fingers sifted through his hair, and then winced when the writer pulled, tugging his head back so their eyes could meet.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said, keeping his voice steady despite the way his heart was pounding. “One kiss under the mistletoe and we’re back together?”
“It was more like six kisses, actually.”
Rolling his eyes, Eiri continued, “It just seems too simple.”
“Well,” Shuichi mused, standing and slipping his arms around Eiri’s neck, “I think we deserve a simple solution for once.” He pressed their lips together for one soft, brief moment, before pulling away and asking, a bit breathlessly, “Don’t you?”
Eiri didn’t answer, not in words, not with his heart feeling so close to bursting, but he took a step forward and Shuichi caught on, backing up until his legs hit the foot of their bed. He released his hold on the writer’s neck and lay back on the bed, tugging his Christmas sweater over his head as he went. Eiri followed, holding himself up on his elbows to keep their bodies from completely touching.
“C’mon, Eiri,” Shuichi coaxed, sliding his arms around the writer’s waist to press his palms against the bare skin of his back. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“Shut up,” Eiri growled, leaning down to nip at the singer’s neck.
Shuichi arched into the attention and the bites trailed along his throat and collarbone, teeth making the lightest of marks that vanished in seconds. Shuichi refrained from begging him to bite harder, rougher, like he used to. He was still amazed they’d gotten this far; if Eiri wanted to take his time, Shuichi wasn’t going to push him.
Eiri’s lips made their way back to Shuichi’s and the singer gasped into their kiss as his pants were tugged down and chilled air caressed his lower body. Shivering, Shuichi reached over to the bedside cabinet, fumbling with the drawer and rummaging through its contents until he found a tube of strawberry-flavored gel, cold with neglect. He pressed it into Eiri’s hand, slightly fearful when he hesitated before taking it.
“Shuichi, are you sure this-” He paused; Shuichi’s fingertips traced the outline of his neck muscles as he swallowed. “I don’t want this to be something we forget or toss aside tomorrow morning when-when the phone rings or you think of what a bastard I’ve been these past years.”
“Eiri…”
“It can’t be this simple, can it? We’re in counseling, you want a divorce, don’t tell me that can all be fixed by a fucking commercialized plant!”
Shuichi slipped his hand around to hold on to the back of Eiri’s neck, fingernails digging in slightly to keep the writer from moving away. He pulled him down close, their bodies touching, their hearts hammering heavily in their chests. Shuichi spoke softly, lips brushing the shell of Eiri’s ear: “No. No, I guess it isn’t that simple. But can’t we pretend that is? At least, for now? Now…I don’t want a divorce. I stopped wanting a divorce, really, after everything you said about my singing. How could I divorce someone who loves me so much?”
“I never said that,” Eiri whispered hoarsely, though the protest was more instinctive than anything.
“But you do.” Shuichi turned his head, nuzzled against Eiri’s cheek. “You do love me. That’s why you never let me divorce you. Oh, Eiri, why didn’t you just say-”
Eiri moved, before Shuichi could stop him, and kissed him, hard-a searching, longing, wanting, toe-curling, heart-flipping kiss that Shuichi had spent days, weeks, months missing. Shuichi clutched at the body above him, kissing back with all the passion he’d been unable to ever feel for anyone else.
“Ah!” He gasped and jumped when suddenly slick fingers pressed tentatively against his entrance. He pushed against those timid digits, encouraging. Eiri’s face burned hot as he buried it in Shuichi’s neck, biting almost compulsively at the skin and driving his fingers in to the knuckle when the singer arched against him with a needy whine. “Now, Eiri, please!”
Forget taking things slow, they thought as fingers retracted and slim, rock star legs spread and clasp. Since when had they been ones to go slow? They’d always tackled their rollercoaster of a love-life head on, brakes off, full speed ahead.
They had, at least, before they’d gotten comfortable in California.
Eiri had no more skeletons hiding in the closet to dig up and get over. Shuichi, with Eiri’s vows and a ring on his finger, had nothing else to prove. They had a son to think of, to worry about, to kiss on the forehead every night. Things had slowed down. Things had cooled off.
But that, they decided with the first uncontrollable thrust inside, was going to change.
It didn’t take them long to get into it, to remember just the right places to touch, and sayings about riding bikes flitted through their passion-addled minds before getting lost in the jumbled mixture of want and holiday joy and lust and confusion and hope and neither of them even owned bikes in their childhoods and they’d probably end up breaking themselves if they tried to ride one without training wheels and-
“Eiri, yes!” Shuichi tossed his head as far back as his pillow would allow, hands clawing desperately at the writer’s back, a move he’d accidentally discovered halfway into their relationship when he hadn’t known Eiri responded so well to pain. He almost regretted doing it when his husband redoubled his efforts; he was already too far gone, they both were, it’d been so long. But he didn’t try and fight it. He clenched his legs tighter around Eiri’s waist and moved his hands to grip at silken blonde tresses as he brought Eiri’s mouth to his for a brief, brush of a kiss before the singer was reduced to panting, “I love you,” like a long-forgotten mantra, against his husband’s lips.
The words were stitches on Eiri’s near-broken heart and he wanted to return them-his desire to speak his feelings had never been so strong-but he was beyond the point of speech He squeezed his eyes shut at the tell-tale sound of Shuichi’s breath hitching, and held the singer’s body close as passion overtook them both and left them clinging to one another, trembling with aftershocks and dry, silent sobs.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the night, but both stayed awake for a long while, simply allowing themselves time to remember just how good it felt to hold each other, to touch each other, to breathe in perfect synchronization. Idly, Shuichi decided that in the morning he would fish his wedding ring out of his sock drawer before calling his manager to talk about hiring a new choreographer, preferably a female. And Eiri thought about that pretty woman he and Hiro had left at the bar on Christmas Eve, and wondered if, wherever she was now, she was as happy as him. He doubted she was, though, and smiled a little. And Shuichi smiled, because he smiled, and kissed him, and thanked God and Buddha and whoever cared enough to listen for bikes and houseguests and mistletoe.