JE ANON KINK MEME
JE ANON KINK MEME!
In other words, porn. Kinky porn.
Anon is on, IP logging is off.
1) Request a pairing / threesome / whatever and a kink
2) No pedophilia, please
3) If you see a request you can answer, do it!
4) Have fun! Pimp this out!
5) This is a JE MEME, so at least one person HAS to be a member (past or present) of JE. Other Japanese actors/ ( Read more... )
In other words, porn. Kinky porn.
Anon is on, IP logging is off.
1) Request a pairing / threesome / whatever and a kink
2) No pedophilia, please
3) If you see a request you can answer, do it!
4) Have fun! Pimp this out!
5) This is a JE MEME, so at least one person HAS to be a member (past or present) of JE. Other Japanese actors/ ( Read more... )
slowly, inside.
He rests there for a long second before Yoko grunts, "rabu...?"
Aiba pushes his finger in to the first knuckle, abruptly. "I didn't know you
cared," he teases, "buta!"
"What's that supposed to--" Yoko shudders when Aiba continues pushing
forward--"tough!"
"Fune," Aiba offers, as preamble to a too-quick second finger. Yoko's hips
push back against his hand, seeking more friction, and Aiba swats at his behind.
"Nemu," Yoko whines, his shoulders tight with tension and his voice tight
with desire.
"No sleeping," Aiba answers, and maybe he's a little closer than he thought because
his cock brushes up against Yoko's ass as he crooks his fingers. The brush of
contact sends a shudder down his spine, and he rocks forward again, experimentally.
"Oi, you lost," Yoko complains, loudly, over his shoulder, "get--on with it, damn
it--"
Aiba sighs. He'd been doing so well, too. He pushes a third finger inside, a
gloriously tight fit that has Yoko's thighs visibly trembling, and after only a
moment or two of slow stretches, Yoko is whining about distracted slowpokes.
"Okay, okay," Aiba snaps, "but don't blame me if you're walking funny tomorrow!"
"There is a lot of talking and not a lot of sexing going on right now, Aiba
Masaki," Yoko manages, just as Aiba pulls his fingers out. The tell-tale crackle of
a condom wrapper is the only sound besides Aiba's heavy breathing for a moment, and
then his cock is entering, slowly. They both take a moment of sweet, blissful
silence. Then Yoko bucks his hips back against Aiba's, and that's Aiba's cue.
"Shit," Yoko manages, shifting from his both hands to his left forearm, his right
hand disappearing under his body, "shit--Aiba--"
"Not right now, please," Aiba says, and Yoko makes a noise that sounds roughly like
the verbal equivalent of vomit.
"I hate you," Yoko gasps over his shoulder, hair sticking to his forehead and his
mouth half-open.
"Uh---uh-huh," Aiba hums, words out of his mind now.
"No, no really," Yoko manages, "I'm--fuck--Masaki--" This spot, right here, when
Yoko can barely remember his own name, that's Aiba's favorite part. It makes his
already-thudding heart do some overtime--delicious, delicious overtime, the kind
that's like stuffing dessert into your already full belly, not, like, a heart
attack. Aiba's fingers tighten at Yoko's hips, just enough to be painful, and Aiba
won't begin to understand Yoko's kinks but the combination makes him come apart, a
low groan falling from his throat as he comes. His body tightens up, his back rigid
and his entrance spasming so tightly Aiba's surprised he doesn't fall apart
himself, right then and there.
He makes himself proud--he holds on for fifteen whole seconds, and then his orgasm
rips through him like a freight train. His knuckles are white around the bones of
Yoko's hips as he falls over the edge, electricity jumping along every nerve, and
when he starts to come down, his hammering heart slowing down to human levels, he
slides forward, falling sideways on his hip and wrapping his arms (and his left
leg) around Yoko's body. He presses his lips to Yoko's shoulder, his eyes
fluttering closed. He's sweaty and tired and spent, too lazy to even tug off the
condom and toss it into the trashcan. (Or, more likely, tie it off and leave it on
the end table, honestly--hey, young man living alone, here!)
"Aiba," Yoko mumbles into his own arm.
"Yokocho," Aiba answers, "what is it?"
"Your turn. Game," Yoko says, and he sounds so pleased with himself Aiba resists
the urge to smother him with a pillow.
Barely, anyway.
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