FicAlert! PoT> Roses (Ohtori/Shishido) NC-17 very
Title: Roses
Writer: Everlind
Wordcount: 2860
Characters: Shishido, Ohtori
Pairing: Silver Pair
Rating: Very, very NC-17
Warnings: pure smut, PWP
Summary: Seduction at its finest.
Disclaimer: The Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi. This story is based on characters and the universe of The Prince of Tennis, no money is being made from it.
Author's Notes: Okay, so I badly wanted to have Pygmalion done for Choutarou's birthday.. but I just didn't make it. The story is too damn long and I have too damn little time. Seeing as Choutarou's basically sexually frustrated and confused all over the place in that verse, I decided to let him have some nice, uncomplicated sex with the object of his desires… That and I just wanted to write wall!sex, okay?
Many thanks to nerdish (as always for holding my hand and alphaing) and amyused (for betaing and alphaing and doing an awesome job ♥ ).
*Special:* Number 023 'Lovers' for the Big Table of Doom
♥♥♥HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHOUTAROU♥♥♥
Roses
It's like he can't help himself.
Like part of him, a part he wasn't aware he even had, has stirred to sit up and take notice of the look in his partner's eyes. Suddenly it's almost easy to tilt his head just so -revealing the pale column of his throat and knowing with absolute, thrilling confidence that those eyes are on him. Knowing that the look in them is almost dangerous, definitely dark and edged. Hungry.
Shishido doesn't really think of himself as very handsome, not really, despite all his big talk towards the contrary. All his vanity went when he took scissors to his long hair, scattered the strands in the dirt. Now he's average and healthy looking, which is okay by him. But when Choutarou looks at him like that it makes him feel like the single most beautiful person on the whole damn world.
It's the tuxedo.
Or, well, that's what started it.
And while he's teased Choutarou in public, it never was like this. A place where he knows Choutarou can't do a damn thing about it for hours yet -Atobe's wedding reception. And never like this, tormenting him with it, slowly and relentlessly driving him absolutely mad with it. And never keeping it up when there's a tinge of anger in those eyes, born from frustration at knowing he's being baited and completely helpless against it.
It's not just seducing him. It's taking Choutarou's desire, playing on it and turning it against him.
When he finally does deign to look his partner in the eye he can see him shiver even as his eyes burn in accusation. And dark promise.
Just you wait. They say.
Bring it. Shishido lifts an eyebrow.
And then walking past him, failing to brush against him by the merest whisper and then showing Choutarou his back. Angling the slant of his shoulders so the nape of his neck is vulnerable, pale and smooth against the black of his collar and the dark edge of his hair. Knowing without a doubt that Choutarou sees it, aches over it, hard and ready in those nice prim dress slacks.
Powerful.
That's how it makes him feel.
The ballroom is bathed in golden candlelight. All the gold filigree, crystal chandeliers and marble is a bit too opulent for Shishido's tastes. Not the mention the extravagant number of red roses everywhere. The sort with lavish, velvety petals, like thick, rich fabric and as big as his palm. Their scent is thick in the air. Almost but not quite too much.
Atobe is still lost on the dance floor somewhere, cradling his new wife lovingly and looking for once completely flabbergasted at his own damn luck. The rest of the team is scattered. Shishido knows Jirou is asleep under the buffet table -not accidentally he suspects, as that's where Bunta is stuck taking care of the desserts. He's pretty sure Oshitari and Gakuto are scandalizing everybody by having loud, vocal sex in the bathroom and both Hiyoshi and Kabaji are leading their own lady loves through the slow dance. And he last saw Taki buried under a pile of females dying to know who did his nails.
Shishido traces the edges of the dance floor, trying to hide his smile. Knowing that Choutarou is right behind him, that his eyes are on him, seeing how the fabric moves over his back, slips over his thighs. Eventually he stops under the pretense of choosing another drink.
"Want another?" he asks, looks casually over his shoulder, lashes lowered.
And starts in surprise when Choutarou is suddenly crowding him from behind, close enough he can feel the heat of his body. "Stop it," he whispers, lips nearly ghosting against the shell of his ear.
God. Fuck. The heat of his breath is unbearably good and Shishido knows he's pushing it when he sort of bears his throat against it, inviting. "Stop what?" he murmurs back.
Choutarou doesn't touch him, doesn't do anything but inhale, smelling him. Shishido knows they're both thinking the same thing and he breathes in deep, too. Choutarou smells clean. Like his aftershave and freshly pressed clothes. There's nothing he wants more to press his mouth over him, rub their bodies together, lick the sharp tang away until it's just him. Dammit.
Over the curve of his shoulder he can see Choutarou draw his lip in with need, suck it, eyes narrowed and positively furious. Shishido smiles at him.
"I'm warning you," Choutarou hisses. His bottom lip is gleaming wet from having been in his mouth and it's enough to make Shishido's body go tight with arousal in response. He doesn't bother to hide it, lets it show on his face as he looks up at him. For a heartbeat Choutarou's face is nearly a snarl and then his hand clamps him by the scruff of his neck and drags him away.
Shishido stumbles, trying to turn around correctly, but Choutarou is nearly lifting him clear off the ground. "What the- hey!" he snaps.
Out of the ballroom and into one of many polished hallways. Some people give them curious looks and then a sharp, swift turn into some sort of niche -out of sight. Choutarou spinning him and pushing him back sharply. The wall is cold against the skin of his neck and wrists and unyielding when Choutarou shoves him into it more firmly, pressing him flush between it and his body.
"I told you," he says, planting two hands next to Shishido's head and bearing down on him with all the righteous anger of someone pushed beyond his limits.
There's nothing playful about him: brows furrowed, expression forbidding. Dressed in that nice, prim suit it makes him look… well, fucking hot. It's always been like that, anger makes him burn, seems to flip a hidden switch that takes away all the kindness, the air of deference, the ever-present distance. Replaces it by something primal but contained and all the more alluring because of it. You can catch a glimpse of it when they play for real, when it's just the all-consuming need to dominate their opponents, or each other. But even then it's not as… hungry as it is now. Between just the two of them Choutarou is perfectly himself, balanced between those two opposites.
But this is a part of him, too.
Shishido breathes, swallows.
Choutarou leans in, hovers his mouth over his, just out of reach and looks at him. Just looks at him, eyes narrowed and challenging.
This just isn't fair, Shishido thinks bitterly. And then he remembers who started it: he did. And he intends to finish it. It's the barest shift, so that he leans more at a more languid angle, back hollowed, head tipped back against the wall and staring right back at Choutarou, eyes lidded lazily. Lets his lips part ever so slightly.
That does it. Choutarou eyes barely flicker towards his mouth. Then he doesn't kiss him so much as devour him. He bites him first, right over his lips, pinching them. Teeth sharp and stinging before he opens his mouth warm and rough over his.
Big hands slide down the wall to touch his jaw, nearly cradling it as he eases Shishido's face up so his mouth his right under his. It warm, rough and slick when Choutarou licks his lips apart and he lets him do it. Lets him taste him, like drinking him through the kiss, tongue sliding through his mouth before drawing back to nip at his bottom lip, kiss it, warm and moist before letting those hands slide lower. Fingers drag down his neck, cup his shoulders and then stroke down his chest until they find his hips. Then he reaches back to cup Shishido's ass, hitching him up and forward a little.
Shishido can feel him through his vest and dress shirt, hard, nearly painful as he presses against his stomach. He hisses into Choutarou's mouth and their eyes snag for a moment, dark and frantic.
Some part of him knows they're still in public, barely out of sight, not even hidden. Anyone could see. Here, where some of the most powerful women and men in Japan are gathered to witness one of the most paramount unions of the year. Really, he couldn't care less. Can only allow his head to fall back and his thighs to part when Choutarou grinds into him. It's all he can do to keep from moaning when Choutarou flexes against him, forcing him to stand on the tips of his toes to accommodate the difference in height.
Choutarou takes off his pants, hands impatient on the buttons and the zipper, angry as they bunch around Shishido's ankles because he forgot the shoes. Despite the heat of the moment and the very real possibility of Choutarou tearing them in his ire, Shishido has to laugh, breathlessly. Keeps laughing until Choutarou savagely pulls them off, nearly yanking Shishido off his feet, laughing until Choutarou has him naked from the waist down, large hands curling around the backs of his thighs before lifting.
The drag of the wall against his tailbone burns as Choutarou picks him up, but the powerful swell of muscle in Choutarou's shoulders is beautiful. As is the dizzying contact of Choutarou against him, his cock hard and searing even through his pants. Shishido wraps his legs around his waist, tucks his head in the curve of Choutarou's neck to finally get rid of that cologne, the taste stinging on his tongue as he licks it off.
Somehow Choutarou manages to undo his fly and free himself with only one hand and Shishido held against his front. No lube, nothing, just the two of them. Shishido sucks Choutarou's fingers, laving his tongue against them and making sure Choutarou knows what he's thinking of sucking instead. Breathes against his mouth as those slick fingers push in and out of him, breathes Choutarou breathing into him, lips occasionally catching as they lean their foreheads together.
Shishido wants to stroke himself, slake the edge of his desire some, but it's all he can do to hold on. Against his thigh he can feel Choutarou hard and ready, wet enough to leave a streak of it against the crease of his right buttock as he pulls out his fingers and steadies himself. As soon as he can he moves both hands to Shishido's hips to lower him slowly, not because he's being careful, but because it's driving Shishido insane.
The wall grates against his spine under their combined weight and there's even harsher teeth on his neck as Choutarou sinks into him. Shishido claws at Choutarou's shoulders in desperation, wants him to move. In retaliation Choutarou's fingers dig into his buttocks, spreading him wider until a small, thick noise escapes him despite himself.
A flash of white teeth, victorious. "Shh," Choutarou says into his mouth, covers it with his own to swallow the rest of the sound.
Shishido has nothing, can't move with Choutarou's fingers clutching bruises into his ass as he holds him pinned in place on his cock, can't even make any noise, can't even bite his need into Choutarou's skin. So he uses his hands, all he's got left, to grab a handful of Choutarou's fair hair, slicked back so nicely, wind it between his fingers and force his head back to snarl at him.
A low chuckle. "Ask me," Choutarou suggests, keeping him suspended. Even as Shishido uses his hair to pull, Choutarou strains against it so that it must hurt, leaning in until he can lick the edge of Shishido's lip.
It's shadowed in the alcove, but golden candlelight burns like drops of gold through his shuttered eyes. There's something soft against his cheek, velveteen. Roses, cleverly would around a strip of lace-like marble spanning the wall. Choutarou hitches his hips, just a little, not nearly enough. Scatters petals into Shishido's hair and between their bodies.
"Tell me to fuck you and I will," he murmurs, nuzzling against the edge of Shishido's jaw and voice so soft it's nearly lost against his skin. His fingers are harsh on his buttocks, but his thumbs rub idle circles.
Shishido just bares his teeth at him, slides the second hand into Choutarou's hair and holds him in place to kiss him and that works, works really fucking well, Choutarou's mouth open and warm under his, until he allows him to sink down. Just a little. Enough to hurt, enough to drive him absolutely crazy, enough to feel his partner is close, too hard, too swollen and how the hell is he keeping still?
"Fuck!" Shishido hisses, grip slackening on those pale strands.
A smile, teeth at his jaw. "You sure?"
God.
Shit.
"Yes, dammit, you bastard," he breathes, barely able to finish that before Choutarou pulls him away from the wall and uses Shishido's weight to have him take the last inch. Instead he chokes, forehead thunking against his partner's.
Choutarou kisses his cheek. Slides out, watching Shishido's expression carefully. Shishido can only look down on him, at Choutarou's fierce, beautiful face, the hair on end from his manhandling, lips bruised dark from kissing. Feels the power in the body against his as the other braces to hold them both and simply unable to comprehend that this is happening to him.
Whatever he sees in Shishido's face, it seems that Choutarou decides that it is enough, and begins pumping his hips up in earnest. It's too sharp, too good and too much to do anything but breathe against Choutarou's mouth. Winds his arms around Choutarou's neck, pressing their faces together, loving how their skin catches as Choutarou slides him up and down his cock. He comes when Choutarou kisses him, almost chaste, on his mouth -just a press of lips against his own.
They wobble for a moment as he arches his back, clamping his legs harshly around Choutarou's waist, before the latter manages to balance and tip them into the wall again. More petals rain down, some disappearing down the collar of his shirt. Or sticking in the evidence of his orgasm. Sexy. Suddenly it makes him laugh, because they must look utterly ridiculous.
Choutarou makes a pained noise. Still hard and feeling Shishido shake around him as he snickers.
"Hey," Shishido says, sobering, leaning forward to kiss his chin, nibble at his throat. Brushes some hair from his forehead.
Wordless, Choutarou closes his eyes against the gesture, steadying himself. He sets Shishido down, shaky on his legs, turns and presses him into the wall. Warps an arm around Shishido's waist, laces the fingers of the other hand with those of Shishido splayed against wall. Too sensitive, still winded, Shishido leans his forearms against the cold stone to brace himself. It's deeper, without restraint, Choutarou pounding into him, forehead tucked against Shishido's neck. Teeth at his skin, like holding onto him, pinching and marking and making sure they both know who they belong to.
Choutarou comes, teeth digging into his neck to keep from making any noise, fingers curling through the fabric against Shishido' stomach. Stays there, to catch his breath, releasing Shishido's skin. Kisses it almost apologetically, while stroking up and down Shishido's chest. Pauses for a moment over his frantic heartbeat, as if to capture the rhythm in palm of his hand.
Has to swallow twice before he's able to say: "Happy now?"
Shishido laughs, causing Choutarou to hiss in warning again, still inside him. Shishido just laughs harder. "Very," he answers.
Dressing warrants some grumbling and cringing -Shishido's back hurts, his ass hurts and his neck hurts where Choutarou bit him. That and his shirt is ruined, covered in his own damn mess and his pants hopelessly rumpled. Rose petals everywhere. Shishido plucks them away with a disgusted frown, while Choutarou fishes out a ridiculously fancy handkerchief, the sort meant for decoration rather than actual use -monogrammed and all- and uses it to wipe the back of Shishido's thighs as best as he can. Shishido smothers a grin into his partner shoulder, pretty sure the kerchief was a gift from the latter's father and relishing the fact that he's using the damn thing to wipe his cum off him.
Just as he's leaning over to try and buckle his pants Choutarou touches the mark on his neck. "Sorry," he says. His hair is an absolute disaster; a crossbreed of hair product and frantic pulling and tugging, his mouth livid from being nibbled and kissed.
"No, you're not," Shishido says, smirking, and tries to pat down those wild curls some.
"Hm," he hums, agreeable. Raises his hand to cup Shishido's face for another kiss, softer this time. "Don't tease me again," he adds, as they venture back into the hallway.
Shishido is still too buzzed to care anyone would have to take only one look to know what they've been doing, cares only about Choutarou's large hand at the small of his back, another apology as he gently strokes his stiff spine.
He doesn't say anything.
No use making promises he's not going to keep anyway, right?
-fin-