Make Your Mark - Japanese entertainment? - NC-17
Title: Make Your Mark
Author: anamuan
Rating: NC-17ish (yes again)
Word Count: 1,903
Pairing: Horikita Maki/girl!Miyavi
A/N: for M for services rendered. This definitely takes the cake for ‘pairing I never thought I’d write.’ inexplicable genderswitch.
Everyone thought Maki had a crush on Yamapi. During Nobuta, during Kurosagi, during the movie version a year later. Everyone thought she had a thing for Yamapi. He was nice, sure, but truth was she wasn't interested in him, even if he did have breasts. He wasn't exactly her type.
Maki scanned the room under the pretense of taking a sip of her drink. Over by the other bar, there was a skinny girl with a brightly colored mohawk. Lithe figure, slim hips, all tattoos and leather. That, now that was her type. Maki knocked back her drink and started across the floor. Time to make a move.
It was easy to ease over to the girl's side. The hair made her easy to keep track of, even in the swirls and eddies of the crowd. Up close, Maki could see her piercings too: several in each ear, an eyebrow ring, a nose ring, and--Maki tried not to lick her own lips--a lip ring. There were things she wanted to do with that already.
Forcing her eyes away from the way the metal looked through the girl's lip, she took a closer look at the rest of her. Close up, she looked a lot like Miyavi. Long, clean lines, the cut of the hair, the piercings, the tattoos. But it couldn't be, and here particularly was where Maki's attention caught and held. The girl's long, smooth legs running up to the black leather skirt, and under her white tank top, the outline of small, pretty breasts. Maki hid a smile. Oh, yes. Just her type.
Maki caught the girl looking back at her, watched her eyes sweep up her body, catch on her cheeks and chin. Maki smiled at her. Watched her expression change, just that touch that showed she was interested too.
"Buy you a drink?" Maki asked off-hand as she slid up to the bar. She preened a bit (privately) when the girl didn't turn her down. She wasn't the kind of girl whose name you asked, so Maki didn't. The girl told her one anyway: Yami. Maki was sure it was a fake, because no one named their darling baby girl darkness, but she let it slide.
Maki thought about giving her a fake name in turn when Yami asked, but another look at those lips, and she changed her mind. Maki wanted to hear the girl screaming her real name.
"Maki, huh? Anyone ever tell you you look just like Horikita Maki?" Her voice was lower than Maki had expected, but it was light and easy, used to people and the things they did.
Maki laughed. "Yeah. I get that a lot." If the girl thought there was anything suspicious about her smile, she didn't say anything.
Maki didn't give her a chance to think about it too hard before nodding toward the dance floor. When Yami stands up, Maki pushes away from the bar, dragging her out into the crowd with her.
The best way to describe Yami was graceful. Her lithe, wiry limbs moved to the beat like the beat had been made for her. Maki had been with enough dancers to know the girl wasn't trained, wasn't a professional, that the only dancing she did was for fun. Nevertheless, when she moved, it was like the music was just pandering to her whims.
Maki would have described herself as anything but graceful. She was small. She had her delicate features. But when she danced, she never tried for grace. She went for sexy. Fast and hot and dirty. The fuck in the bathroom, the one you thought you were using until she smirked and you realized she'd been the one using you. Maki used the music like that too, hard and hot and fast and totally without pretense.
Yami didn't seem to have any complaints with Maki's style. She pressed up against Maki's back, letting Maki grind back against her to the beat. Three songs later, the crowd closed in more tightly around them, and Maki turned around to face Yami, pressing up against her front instead and looping her arms around Yami's neck. Yami slid a leg in between Maki's and Maki moved in closer, riding Yami's thigh on the dance floor.
Maki pulled Yami closer in the crush of moving bodies, pulled her head down and hovered for a moment over her mouth. Hot breath caught on sweaty skin, mingling in the space between their lips. And then Yami closed the distance, making quiet, breathy noises Maki couldn't hear over the thumping bass, but could feel vibrating against her chest as she licked her way into Yami's mouth. The metal of Yami's lip ring was cool against the heat of her mouth, and the contrast sent a shiver to skitter along the edges of Maki's nerves.
Yami pulled Maki closer by the hips, changed the angle a bit so she could rub against her while Maki's hips rolled on Yami's leg and her breath hitched in Yami's mouth. Yami asked, "Wanna get out of here?" and Maki knew Yami could feel her against her leg, damp with sweat and excitement. Maki had a flash of Yami's long limbs tangled up in sweaty sheets, her brightly coloured hair against pillows. It wasn't even a question.
"Yes," she answered, and they left the club together.
Yami pulled Maki towards a love hotel down the street. Fast and convenient, she said, and Maki couldn't really argue. It wasn't like she could take the girl home with her, an hour and a half across town, to have sex in a bed across the hall from her parents' bedroom. It wasn't the parents thing that stopped her, or the potential damage to her sweet and innocent image--it was the time. Maki wasn't prepared to wait that long. She wasn't sure she was prepared to wait for Yami to get the keys to room 307. Maki did, just barely, and Yami was no help at all.
It was a short wait, fortunately, and they'd barely gotten the door shut (Maki was never more grateful for automatic locks) before Maki was pushing Yami down on the bed and climbed over her. Yami's neck arched to catch her mouth, and her hands traced idly over the small of Maki's back, where her shirt had ridden up just a little. Maki was hot, hot and desperate, hot all over, desire boiling low in her stomach strongly enough she could taste it in the back of her throat.
Maki traced the tattoos up Yami's arm from her wrist, tongue flicking out over each stamp in her skin. Maki pulled off Yami's shirt hungrily, greedily. She loved the tattoes. All lines of text, automatic poetry inscribed in her skin. It was like a roadmap, a way to navigate all the glorious skin laid out before her. Yami made pleased, breathy noises every time Maki's teeth grazed her or her tongue flicked out over sweat-damp skin, and the sounds sent more coils of heat through Maki's body.
When Maki got her shirt off, she discovered Yami had a belly ring as well. It drove her almost as crazy as the lip ring. Yami wriggled out of her black skirt, hips moving in a slow, performer's roll, then broke character as she scrabbled desperately at Maki's clothes, getting her shirt bunched up around her armpits, caught on her chin and tangled with her hair, then leaving Maki to deal with the shirt while she skipped the skirt altogether, pulling Maki's lace panties down her legs until Maki could kick them off.
Maki pressed Yami down by the shoulders and kissed her, tongue playing with her lipring as Yami pressed up against the soft skin of Maki's belly. Maki kissed down the line between her breasts, down to where the soft skin of her stomach stretched over hard muscle, down to tug the belly ring gently with her teeth. Yami hissed and arched up into the contact, so Maki tugged again, harder, pulling a groan from Yami this time.
Yami pulled her back up then, pushing her over onto her back and sliding straight down her body. Yami just pulled her skirt up and put her head down and sucked and Maki arched her back and cried out. She couldn't roll her hips up into that hot mouth because Yami held them down (just to be a tease, Maki was sure). Maki compromised by threading her fingers through that rainbow of hair, not pulling, just holding her head in place, keeping her where she wanted it.
Maki's own hair was curling and sticking to her face with sweat. Little cries were falling from her lips with every flick of Yami's tongue on her clit. She felt like she was breaking apart, but it wasn't good enough because she wanted the taste of Yami on her tongue as she came.
She pulled at Yami's shoulder and panted, "Swing--ah--your legs--ah--around" through a mouth slack with pleasure until Yami got the picture and did. The position wasn't ideal, because Yami was so much taller than Maki--she had her back hunched so Maki could reach--but Yami was so wet she was practically dripping. When Maki started lapping up all the leaking juice, Yami started making desperate noises into Maki's cunt, hard little grunts with each roll of her hips. The sound and the feel and the taste was the last thing Maki needed to push her over the edge, her whole body clenching and her head falling back and a long keening whine being dragged from her lips.
When Maki could focus again, Yami had twisted around to kiss her, and the taste--her taste--in Yami's mouth made her shudder and remember her job wasn't done yet. She urged Yami up until she could reach Yami's pussy, breasts hanging at the perfect height above Maki's head. Yami's breath stuttered in her chest as Maki sucked on a nipple, and her hips rolled down against Maki's clever fingers, one hand circling her clit and the other working inside, until Yami came around her fingers and threw her head back and screamed Maki's name. Just like Maki had wanted ever since she saw her with her tattoos, and her hair, and that captivating lipring.
Yami collapsed on Maki in a heap of sweaty limbs and sated, shaky breathing, and it was with a supreme sense of satisfaction that Maki drifted off to sleep.
Maki woke up and Yami wasn't in bed next to her. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head and screamed. Pulling Yami's skirt up over his slim hips was a definitely male, definitely not Yami Miyavi look-alike. He'd already pulled her white tank on and was smoothing it out over his stomach. The way he tongued his lipring made Maki think that he really was Miyavi, but no, that wasn't possible, and where did Yami go, leaving this male version of herself in her place?
"You- you- you-" Maki sputtered in shock, trying not to look too obvious as she scanned the room for her shirt and for something that might work to throw at his head.
"Yami had to leave," Miyavi smiled at her. "But she wanted me to tell you she had a good time. Maybe you'll run into her again."
Author: anamuan
Rating: NC-17ish (yes again)
Word Count: 1,903
Pairing: Horikita Maki/girl!Miyavi
A/N: for M for services rendered. This definitely takes the cake for ‘pairing I never thought I’d write.’ inexplicable genderswitch.
Everyone thought Maki had a crush on Yamapi. During Nobuta, during Kurosagi, during the movie version a year later. Everyone thought she had a thing for Yamapi. He was nice, sure, but truth was she wasn't interested in him, even if he did have breasts. He wasn't exactly her type.
Maki scanned the room under the pretense of taking a sip of her drink. Over by the other bar, there was a skinny girl with a brightly colored mohawk. Lithe figure, slim hips, all tattoos and leather. That, now that was her type. Maki knocked back her drink and started across the floor. Time to make a move.
It was easy to ease over to the girl's side. The hair made her easy to keep track of, even in the swirls and eddies of the crowd. Up close, Maki could see her piercings too: several in each ear, an eyebrow ring, a nose ring, and--Maki tried not to lick her own lips--a lip ring. There were things she wanted to do with that already.
Forcing her eyes away from the way the metal looked through the girl's lip, she took a closer look at the rest of her. Close up, she looked a lot like Miyavi. Long, clean lines, the cut of the hair, the piercings, the tattoos. But it couldn't be, and here particularly was where Maki's attention caught and held. The girl's long, smooth legs running up to the black leather skirt, and under her white tank top, the outline of small, pretty breasts. Maki hid a smile. Oh, yes. Just her type.
Maki caught the girl looking back at her, watched her eyes sweep up her body, catch on her cheeks and chin. Maki smiled at her. Watched her expression change, just that touch that showed she was interested too.
"Buy you a drink?" Maki asked off-hand as she slid up to the bar. She preened a bit (privately) when the girl didn't turn her down. She wasn't the kind of girl whose name you asked, so Maki didn't. The girl told her one anyway: Yami. Maki was sure it was a fake, because no one named their darling baby girl darkness, but she let it slide.
Maki thought about giving her a fake name in turn when Yami asked, but another look at those lips, and she changed her mind. Maki wanted to hear the girl screaming her real name.
"Maki, huh? Anyone ever tell you you look just like Horikita Maki?" Her voice was lower than Maki had expected, but it was light and easy, used to people and the things they did.
Maki laughed. "Yeah. I get that a lot." If the girl thought there was anything suspicious about her smile, she didn't say anything.
Maki didn't give her a chance to think about it too hard before nodding toward the dance floor. When Yami stands up, Maki pushes away from the bar, dragging her out into the crowd with her.
The best way to describe Yami was graceful. Her lithe, wiry limbs moved to the beat like the beat had been made for her. Maki had been with enough dancers to know the girl wasn't trained, wasn't a professional, that the only dancing she did was for fun. Nevertheless, when she moved, it was like the music was just pandering to her whims.
Maki would have described herself as anything but graceful. She was small. She had her delicate features. But when she danced, she never tried for grace. She went for sexy. Fast and hot and dirty. The fuck in the bathroom, the one you thought you were using until she smirked and you realized she'd been the one using you. Maki used the music like that too, hard and hot and fast and totally without pretense.
Yami didn't seem to have any complaints with Maki's style. She pressed up against Maki's back, letting Maki grind back against her to the beat. Three songs later, the crowd closed in more tightly around them, and Maki turned around to face Yami, pressing up against her front instead and looping her arms around Yami's neck. Yami slid a leg in between Maki's and Maki moved in closer, riding Yami's thigh on the dance floor.
Maki pulled Yami closer in the crush of moving bodies, pulled her head down and hovered for a moment over her mouth. Hot breath caught on sweaty skin, mingling in the space between their lips. And then Yami closed the distance, making quiet, breathy noises Maki couldn't hear over the thumping bass, but could feel vibrating against her chest as she licked her way into Yami's mouth. The metal of Yami's lip ring was cool against the heat of her mouth, and the contrast sent a shiver to skitter along the edges of Maki's nerves.
Yami pulled Maki closer by the hips, changed the angle a bit so she could rub against her while Maki's hips rolled on Yami's leg and her breath hitched in Yami's mouth. Yami asked, "Wanna get out of here?" and Maki knew Yami could feel her against her leg, damp with sweat and excitement. Maki had a flash of Yami's long limbs tangled up in sweaty sheets, her brightly coloured hair against pillows. It wasn't even a question.
"Yes," she answered, and they left the club together.
Yami pulled Maki towards a love hotel down the street. Fast and convenient, she said, and Maki couldn't really argue. It wasn't like she could take the girl home with her, an hour and a half across town, to have sex in a bed across the hall from her parents' bedroom. It wasn't the parents thing that stopped her, or the potential damage to her sweet and innocent image--it was the time. Maki wasn't prepared to wait that long. She wasn't sure she was prepared to wait for Yami to get the keys to room 307. Maki did, just barely, and Yami was no help at all.
It was a short wait, fortunately, and they'd barely gotten the door shut (Maki was never more grateful for automatic locks) before Maki was pushing Yami down on the bed and climbed over her. Yami's neck arched to catch her mouth, and her hands traced idly over the small of Maki's back, where her shirt had ridden up just a little. Maki was hot, hot and desperate, hot all over, desire boiling low in her stomach strongly enough she could taste it in the back of her throat.
Maki traced the tattoos up Yami's arm from her wrist, tongue flicking out over each stamp in her skin. Maki pulled off Yami's shirt hungrily, greedily. She loved the tattoes. All lines of text, automatic poetry inscribed in her skin. It was like a roadmap, a way to navigate all the glorious skin laid out before her. Yami made pleased, breathy noises every time Maki's teeth grazed her or her tongue flicked out over sweat-damp skin, and the sounds sent more coils of heat through Maki's body.
When Maki got her shirt off, she discovered Yami had a belly ring as well. It drove her almost as crazy as the lip ring. Yami wriggled out of her black skirt, hips moving in a slow, performer's roll, then broke character as she scrabbled desperately at Maki's clothes, getting her shirt bunched up around her armpits, caught on her chin and tangled with her hair, then leaving Maki to deal with the shirt while she skipped the skirt altogether, pulling Maki's lace panties down her legs until Maki could kick them off.
Maki pressed Yami down by the shoulders and kissed her, tongue playing with her lipring as Yami pressed up against the soft skin of Maki's belly. Maki kissed down the line between her breasts, down to where the soft skin of her stomach stretched over hard muscle, down to tug the belly ring gently with her teeth. Yami hissed and arched up into the contact, so Maki tugged again, harder, pulling a groan from Yami this time.
Yami pulled her back up then, pushing her over onto her back and sliding straight down her body. Yami just pulled her skirt up and put her head down and sucked and Maki arched her back and cried out. She couldn't roll her hips up into that hot mouth because Yami held them down (just to be a tease, Maki was sure). Maki compromised by threading her fingers through that rainbow of hair, not pulling, just holding her head in place, keeping her where she wanted it.
Maki's own hair was curling and sticking to her face with sweat. Little cries were falling from her lips with every flick of Yami's tongue on her clit. She felt like she was breaking apart, but it wasn't good enough because she wanted the taste of Yami on her tongue as she came.
She pulled at Yami's shoulder and panted, "Swing--ah--your legs--ah--around" through a mouth slack with pleasure until Yami got the picture and did. The position wasn't ideal, because Yami was so much taller than Maki--she had her back hunched so Maki could reach--but Yami was so wet she was practically dripping. When Maki started lapping up all the leaking juice, Yami started making desperate noises into Maki's cunt, hard little grunts with each roll of her hips. The sound and the feel and the taste was the last thing Maki needed to push her over the edge, her whole body clenching and her head falling back and a long keening whine being dragged from her lips.
When Maki could focus again, Yami had twisted around to kiss her, and the taste--her taste--in Yami's mouth made her shudder and remember her job wasn't done yet. She urged Yami up until she could reach Yami's pussy, breasts hanging at the perfect height above Maki's head. Yami's breath stuttered in her chest as Maki sucked on a nipple, and her hips rolled down against Maki's clever fingers, one hand circling her clit and the other working inside, until Yami came around her fingers and threw her head back and screamed Maki's name. Just like Maki had wanted ever since she saw her with her tattoos, and her hair, and that captivating lipring.
Yami collapsed on Maki in a heap of sweaty limbs and sated, shaky breathing, and it was with a supreme sense of satisfaction that Maki drifted off to sleep.
Maki woke up and Yami wasn't in bed next to her. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head and screamed. Pulling Yami's skirt up over his slim hips was a definitely male, definitely not Yami Miyavi look-alike. He'd already pulled her white tank on and was smoothing it out over his stomach. The way he tongued his lipring made Maki think that he really was Miyavi, but no, that wasn't possible, and where did Yami go, leaving this male version of herself in her place?
"You- you- you-" Maki sputtered in shock, trying not to look too obvious as she scanned the room for her shirt and for something that might work to throw at his head.
"Yami had to leave," Miyavi smiled at her. "But she wanted me to tell you she had a good time. Maybe you'll run into her again."