(Fic) Calico Gold
Smutz for Suz!
Calico Gold
Kotetsu had tossed him out of their place again, sulking, and smelling so good, so Izumo was more than a little frazzled, ear tips furred as he clawed - not knocked - at Genma's door. Aoba was on a mission, and Izumo didn't feel up to being with Kurenai or Suzume, they were both so much older and didn't have Kotetsu's enticing scent.
So Genma.
Besides, Genma was sort of nice, he didn't try touching Kotetsu more than was proper other than to shake him (and izumo) by the scruff of his neck, scold them about being annoying fluff balls, and toss him out the window.
"Yo," Genma said, leaning on the door frame, long shirt rumpled and buttoned up haphazardly. he looked touselled and languid, and if Izumo hadn't been able to smell absolutely no trace of musk, human or otherwise, on Genma, he would have thought the man'd just been fucked.
But he wasn't; Genma just had that warm sleep-glow and a hint of Raidou's scent, which meant he'd probably stole Raidou's blankets or clothing to sleep in again.
"What's up, furball?" Genma tongued his teeth like he was tonguing his senbon, but all Izumo could see was a lazy grin, and sharp canines.
It made Izumo want to bite him. Bite and make him submit and open that mouth in a sharp cry of yowling submission...
"furball? You okay?" Genma's voice, with a golden thread of concern, made Izumo start and realise that he was leaning in towards genma. And actually, Genma wasn't that tall - just about the right height for him to bite at his throat.
"I'm fine," Izumo said, and realised that his voice had taken on a throaty purr.
"Huh." Genma rose an eyebrow and stepped back. "If you say so. You're not looking your usual fuzzy self. Get your tail in here and I can scold you for clawing up my couch."
Izumo nodded, not quite trusting his voice.
Genma only had time to turn around and then Izumo was slamming him into the ground, growling, biting hard at the scruff of his neck, making him submit.
"Hey!" Genma started to say, but Izumo was digging his claws into his arms, and oh it'd be good if he fought, Izumo wasn't in the mood to be gentle.
"Fuck, furball, what's..."
Izumo's teeth closed on genma's neck, growling, canines pressing, and Genma hissed, reacting to the dominance, the scent, and Izumo's eyes narrowed, pleased, with the growing, muskier scent Genma was emitting.
"Fuck," Genma murmured, and shifted, and Izumo growled louder, trying to pin him. "Dammit, it's uncomfortable like this, the rug's rucked up under my armpit... god, teenagers..."
Genma shifted, bucked, and twisted around and now Izumo was face to face with Genma, who was, of all things, smirking at him.
"There now, that's more comfortable," Genma said, and there was a smooth, whiskey burr in his voice, and his hand was sliding down Izumo's back, curling to his flank. "You know," he said, almost rhetorically, "I was starting to think I was losing my edge, what with not getting jumped by teenage fluffballs everytime I turned around from my door."
"Shuddup," Izumo hissed, and his gaze sharpened, and yes, those were claws on Genma's arms, his ribs, pricking dangerously, and Genma shut up, with an insolent look on his face.
Izumo bit his mouth. Hard.
Genma wasn't wearing long pants, and as he arched, Izumo felt Genma's tail squirm up his leg, teasing him, and Izumo could feel the man moan, moan into his mouth and Izumo pushed forward, biting and sucking and the kiss turned wet as Genma let him in, just as enthusiatic as he was insolent.
He tasted like honey, whiskey and bloody chocolate, all wrapped up in one slinky package, and he was nothing like Kotetsu, nothing at all like him, but Izumo didn't care at the moment.
"Mmm, furball, you got talent..."
"Din't I tell you to shut up?" Izumo hissed, and lashed at him, shredding the shirt and leaving five thin red lines across Genma's ribs, and Genma groaned, writhing under him. Izumo would have almost thought that the proper show of dominance was putting Genma in his place, but Genma still was smirking, light coloured eyes slit-pupilled with his ears flattened into his hair , and he was leaning back on his elbows with his head tilting back, long throat bared and begging for bites, and he was letting Izumo do it. His tail, the bastard, was tickling up the back of his thigh, and while Genma's mouth was bruised and wet and red, he was still smirking like he was the arrogant head of their group, and it drove Izumo insane.
He ground down against him, hard, harsh, and frankly, proceeded to rip the rest of Genma's clothes off.
***
Being with Kotetsu was nothing like this. With Kotetsu, it was all sound and fur and desperate cries, wet and pain and pleasure and heat, and over in less than fifteen minutes with shredded sheets and Kotetsu attempting to pick pillow-stuffing from his hair.
Genma, on the other hand... he smelled nothing like queen. On the contrary, he was all tom, slipping smooth and liquid under him, writhing slow like a honeyed dance, and his eyes, oh his eyes, kept smirking at him, and his mouth was a smug, lean curl against Izumo's shoulder, even as Izumo scored lines down his ribs, his arms.
Genma liked it rough, maybe, Izumo didn't know. All he knew was that he had so much time to think, to see, to admire the shift of muscle under Genma's skin, skim his hands down, even as he bit at Genma's shoulder, his neck, his ear, make him moan and arch and fucking writhe. Kotetsu'd never moved like that for him. Of course, he'd never really let him have time to - hot and fast as everything was, governed all by hormones. This... This was...
Genma was like moving sunshine, only more decadent, molten like candlelight, spilling on the shredded rug, eyes half lidded and darkened amber to the point of cognac, and he spread his legs for Izumo like a wanton whore and teased at Izumo's thighs with his fucking tail.
Izumo would have made Genma lick him, suck him off, because gods that mouth was sinfully good, bruised and wet and nearly bleeding from Izumo's teeth - I did that, I made him look like that, fuck - but Genma's tongue was a rasp, and it'd fucking sandpaper skin right off, and while Izumo had claws and ears and a bit of a bob-tail, he didn't have protective fur down there and anyway Genma was handing him a tube of lube.
Lube made everything slick and cool and it felt different, really, because suddenly the friction wasn't hot and dry, but smooth and gliding. But even so, Genma was still hot, tight, and clamped down on him, as Izumo pressed in and he finally hooked the man's knees over his shoulders and shoved.
Genma's resultant yowl almost made the tea cups on the coffee table rattle - no, wait, that was Genma's flailing, and the way the man's claws caught on the sofa upholstry dragged in a sharp, ragged rasp, and Izumo grinned, dark and green, and thrust again.
Genma's claws raked down his back, and Izumo bristled, snarled, and started to fuck him hard enough that the rug scrunched up, slid across the floor, and Izumo could slam Genma into the couch, fuck him till he was stunned, bite his collarbone and do it again.
And now Genma was covered in a slight sheen of sweat, musk and arousal strong in Izumo's nose, on his tongue, and Izumo swiped his tongue over one of Genma's nipples, a clawed mark, and purred at how he yowled, writhed.
The coffee table skidded as Izumo shifted, trying to get a better angle, because damn was Genma hot, so fucking hot and tight it was driving him crazy, heating up along a riff in his spine, and Izumo clawed at the couch, at the floor, getting better purchase and proceeding to pound Genma into yowling oblivion.
***
Raidou came home to find the door ajar, and nearly walked into the coffee table. The little chuunin - whom he's seen Genma toss out the window - was rutting Genma, and they were both making enough noise to sound like fifty cats being stepped on.
"Fuck," he muttered, eyeing the lashing tail, the sleek fur and the clawed carpet. "I'm not getting another rug, Genma!"
Calico Gold
Kotetsu had tossed him out of their place again, sulking, and smelling so good, so Izumo was more than a little frazzled, ear tips furred as he clawed - not knocked - at Genma's door. Aoba was on a mission, and Izumo didn't feel up to being with Kurenai or Suzume, they were both so much older and didn't have Kotetsu's enticing scent.
So Genma.
Besides, Genma was sort of nice, he didn't try touching Kotetsu more than was proper other than to shake him (and izumo) by the scruff of his neck, scold them about being annoying fluff balls, and toss him out the window.
"Yo," Genma said, leaning on the door frame, long shirt rumpled and buttoned up haphazardly. he looked touselled and languid, and if Izumo hadn't been able to smell absolutely no trace of musk, human or otherwise, on Genma, he would have thought the man'd just been fucked.
But he wasn't; Genma just had that warm sleep-glow and a hint of Raidou's scent, which meant he'd probably stole Raidou's blankets or clothing to sleep in again.
"What's up, furball?" Genma tongued his teeth like he was tonguing his senbon, but all Izumo could see was a lazy grin, and sharp canines.
It made Izumo want to bite him. Bite and make him submit and open that mouth in a sharp cry of yowling submission...
"furball? You okay?" Genma's voice, with a golden thread of concern, made Izumo start and realise that he was leaning in towards genma. And actually, Genma wasn't that tall - just about the right height for him to bite at his throat.
"I'm fine," Izumo said, and realised that his voice had taken on a throaty purr.
"Huh." Genma rose an eyebrow and stepped back. "If you say so. You're not looking your usual fuzzy self. Get your tail in here and I can scold you for clawing up my couch."
Izumo nodded, not quite trusting his voice.
Genma only had time to turn around and then Izumo was slamming him into the ground, growling, biting hard at the scruff of his neck, making him submit.
"Hey!" Genma started to say, but Izumo was digging his claws into his arms, and oh it'd be good if he fought, Izumo wasn't in the mood to be gentle.
"Fuck, furball, what's..."
Izumo's teeth closed on genma's neck, growling, canines pressing, and Genma hissed, reacting to the dominance, the scent, and Izumo's eyes narrowed, pleased, with the growing, muskier scent Genma was emitting.
"Fuck," Genma murmured, and shifted, and Izumo growled louder, trying to pin him. "Dammit, it's uncomfortable like this, the rug's rucked up under my armpit... god, teenagers..."
Genma shifted, bucked, and twisted around and now Izumo was face to face with Genma, who was, of all things, smirking at him.
"There now, that's more comfortable," Genma said, and there was a smooth, whiskey burr in his voice, and his hand was sliding down Izumo's back, curling to his flank. "You know," he said, almost rhetorically, "I was starting to think I was losing my edge, what with not getting jumped by teenage fluffballs everytime I turned around from my door."
"Shuddup," Izumo hissed, and his gaze sharpened, and yes, those were claws on Genma's arms, his ribs, pricking dangerously, and Genma shut up, with an insolent look on his face.
Izumo bit his mouth. Hard.
Genma wasn't wearing long pants, and as he arched, Izumo felt Genma's tail squirm up his leg, teasing him, and Izumo could feel the man moan, moan into his mouth and Izumo pushed forward, biting and sucking and the kiss turned wet as Genma let him in, just as enthusiatic as he was insolent.
He tasted like honey, whiskey and bloody chocolate, all wrapped up in one slinky package, and he was nothing like Kotetsu, nothing at all like him, but Izumo didn't care at the moment.
"Mmm, furball, you got talent..."
"Din't I tell you to shut up?" Izumo hissed, and lashed at him, shredding the shirt and leaving five thin red lines across Genma's ribs, and Genma groaned, writhing under him. Izumo would have almost thought that the proper show of dominance was putting Genma in his place, but Genma still was smirking, light coloured eyes slit-pupilled with his ears flattened into his hair , and he was leaning back on his elbows with his head tilting back, long throat bared and begging for bites, and he was letting Izumo do it. His tail, the bastard, was tickling up the back of his thigh, and while Genma's mouth was bruised and wet and red, he was still smirking like he was the arrogant head of their group, and it drove Izumo insane.
He ground down against him, hard, harsh, and frankly, proceeded to rip the rest of Genma's clothes off.
***
Being with Kotetsu was nothing like this. With Kotetsu, it was all sound and fur and desperate cries, wet and pain and pleasure and heat, and over in less than fifteen minutes with shredded sheets and Kotetsu attempting to pick pillow-stuffing from his hair.
Genma, on the other hand... he smelled nothing like queen. On the contrary, he was all tom, slipping smooth and liquid under him, writhing slow like a honeyed dance, and his eyes, oh his eyes, kept smirking at him, and his mouth was a smug, lean curl against Izumo's shoulder, even as Izumo scored lines down his ribs, his arms.
Genma liked it rough, maybe, Izumo didn't know. All he knew was that he had so much time to think, to see, to admire the shift of muscle under Genma's skin, skim his hands down, even as he bit at Genma's shoulder, his neck, his ear, make him moan and arch and fucking writhe. Kotetsu'd never moved like that for him. Of course, he'd never really let him have time to - hot and fast as everything was, governed all by hormones. This... This was...
Genma was like moving sunshine, only more decadent, molten like candlelight, spilling on the shredded rug, eyes half lidded and darkened amber to the point of cognac, and he spread his legs for Izumo like a wanton whore and teased at Izumo's thighs with his fucking tail.
Izumo would have made Genma lick him, suck him off, because gods that mouth was sinfully good, bruised and wet and nearly bleeding from Izumo's teeth - I did that, I made him look like that, fuck - but Genma's tongue was a rasp, and it'd fucking sandpaper skin right off, and while Izumo had claws and ears and a bit of a bob-tail, he didn't have protective fur down there and anyway Genma was handing him a tube of lube.
Lube made everything slick and cool and it felt different, really, because suddenly the friction wasn't hot and dry, but smooth and gliding. But even so, Genma was still hot, tight, and clamped down on him, as Izumo pressed in and he finally hooked the man's knees over his shoulders and shoved.
Genma's resultant yowl almost made the tea cups on the coffee table rattle - no, wait, that was Genma's flailing, and the way the man's claws caught on the sofa upholstry dragged in a sharp, ragged rasp, and Izumo grinned, dark and green, and thrust again.
Genma's claws raked down his back, and Izumo bristled, snarled, and started to fuck him hard enough that the rug scrunched up, slid across the floor, and Izumo could slam Genma into the couch, fuck him till he was stunned, bite his collarbone and do it again.
And now Genma was covered in a slight sheen of sweat, musk and arousal strong in Izumo's nose, on his tongue, and Izumo swiped his tongue over one of Genma's nipples, a clawed mark, and purred at how he yowled, writhed.
The coffee table skidded as Izumo shifted, trying to get a better angle, because damn was Genma hot, so fucking hot and tight it was driving him crazy, heating up along a riff in his spine, and Izumo clawed at the couch, at the floor, getting better purchase and proceeding to pound Genma into yowling oblivion.
***
Raidou came home to find the door ajar, and nearly walked into the coffee table. The little chuunin - whom he's seen Genma toss out the window - was rutting Genma, and they were both making enough noise to sound like fifty cats being stepped on.
"Fuck," he muttered, eyeing the lashing tail, the sleek fur and the clawed carpet. "I'm not getting another rug, Genma!"