Pikame fic: Experiment in Pr0n
Title: Like A Fresh Battery
Fandom: Johnny’s Entertainment
Characters: PiKame, implied (AkamePi)
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: not mine, and no profit is made.
Summary: “If I’m easy, then what does that make you?”
.
.
.
Somebody’s always left to pick up the pieces. When something happens, when things go shit, when somebody leaves. Somebody else is always, always left behind, to pick up the pieces - no matter how unsalvageable the remains. *Especially* the unsalvageable remains.
Being left behind - why that should be him, he wonders.
“That’s because you’re easy.” Yamapi says. Bitter, bitter, black coffee without sugar. His hands on Kame’s hips are firm, but not bruising. Always a gentleman.
In contrast, Kame has no qualm about dragging the sharp tips of his nails down Yamapi’s back, leaving uneven red lines in their tracks.
“If I’m easy, then what does that make you?”
He feels Yamapi’s lips forming a line against his neck, too jagged to be a smile. “Someone you don’t want to be, but can’t help being.”
Using his hold on Yamapi’s back as a leverage, he turns them over, until he’s straddling Yamapi’s waist, Yamapi’s hard length slapping his asscheek.
From this angle, Yamapi’s smirk is unmistakable. “You really hate it when you’re not in control, do you?” he reaches up, but Kame catches his hand instead, and pins it to the floor. Cold, cold floor, because they’re not pretentious - or deluded - enough to use the bed, to act like whatever this thing they’re indulging in is more than. Well. Indulgence.
In the wake of those being left behind. General mourning. Taking comfort in whatever’s left, even when halfway through, whatever turns into whoever. Unintended collateral damage. Because when you leave? You don’t turn back. Ever.
Selfish bastard.
Their hands are of the same length, Kame realizes. But where Yamapi’s are paddled with light muscle beneath hard calluses, his own are bony and sharp, making them look more delicate than they really are. Deceiving, even when they’re not meant to be.
“I loathe it.” Kame agrees. “But at least I *can* admit it out loud. Which is more than I could say for you, Mister.”
Yamapi laughs. Then nearly chokes in his haste to prevent himself from producing sounds as Kame bites down on his left nipple. Hard. And then he licks it up real slow, dragging his tongue across the small, peaked nub, and sucking it into his mouth until he could feel the rumble deep in Yamapi’s chest with his lips.
“Tease.” Yamapi groans, arching up, his cock slapping Kame’s asscheek with every arch of his hips.
“You’re not supposed to enjoy it, you know.” Kame chides him, before bending down to give Yamapi’s right nipple the same treatment. Lifting his own hips slightly, he reaches between his legs with his free hand to stroke along Yamapi’s hard length, fondling his balls delicately, feeling the pressure build along Yamapi’s cock.
Yamapi lets out a sound, something between a groan and a laugh, a hint of bitterness still evident in his voice. “I find myself doing things I’m not supposed to lately.” A fingertip touches Kame’s jaw, forcing him to look up. The smile Yamapi presents him with is nothing short of painful. “Like being here.”
Kame ducks his head, letting his bangs fall like a curtain, hiding his face from view. Halted for a moment, he stares at Yamapi’s chest; but it’s smooth, barely chest hair there, slicked with Yamapi’s sweat and Kame’s spit. It’s smooth, with no blood dripping on it, which means the pain he feels - like his chest is split open, like his heart is being ripped - is only in Kame’s own head.
He withdraws the hand pinning Yamapi’s and uses his forefinger to poke into the dip in between Yamapi’s chest. Yamapi looks on, the barest hint of intrigue in his eyes.
“You say the nicest things.” He hums into Yamapi’s abdomen, even as his forefinger drags the sharp end of its nail down, following the trail of Kame’s kisses, leaving angry red mark in its way.
Yamapi’s sharp hiss makes him look up; On Yamapi’s face is the world’s poker face. Kame would totally give him an award for it, if it’s not for the timing. The fact Yamapi feels the need to *call* his poker face at all is a scream onto itself.
He smiles against Yamapi’s skin. It’s not a nice smile.
Never con a conman.
“Keep teasing me, and I might start thinking you mean it.” Yamapi says. His voice sounds breathless, but his eyes are clear and dark and much too sharp.
“What a tragedy, I know.” A snap, out before he could even think about it.
He balances himself on his knees, legs spread, as he prepares himself; a hand on Yamapi’s stomach to keep his balance, and the other on Yamapi’s slick cock, angling it toward his hole. It’s already loose, from the two slicked fingers Yamapi’s prepared him with earlier (always the gentleman), but still he winces when the head finally slides in - more from the surprise feel of it rather than the pain. He takes his time, adjusting himself, getting himself used to the feeling, while Yamapi’s eyes burn onto him all the way.
A hand settles itself on his hip; no pressure, but not so casual either. He glances at Yamapi. Sees the bitter end of his smirk fade into mirth. “Careful there, love.”
Mock pet names that feel like a slap.
Kame blinks. Realizes just where he is, what he is trying to do. Grits his teeth, and then slams all the way down, until he’s sitting on Yamapi’s hip, Yamapi’s balls pressing into his ass. Lets out a hiss, and swallows down his discomfort. Feels Yamapi’s hand on his hip tightens for a second, before loosens up again, like that second never happens.
Tries to smirk back. “Concerned, are you?”
He lifts himself again, though not letting go, before slamming himself down. Up, down. Up, down. Sets a rhythm. Hard and fast, just like he wants it. Feels Yamapi’s cock brush up against his prostate again and again, chasing away the discomfort fast and giving way to pleasure.
And then Yamapi sits up. Puts his other hand around the back of Kame’s shoulders, and moves. By the time Kame blinks up at him, he’s on his back, Yamapi towering over him, and is in the process of hooking Kame’s leg over his shoulder, his hard length still inside Kame all the way.
Kame’s smirk widens.
Gotta love a multitasker.
Then Yamapi starts to move, his brows furrow in concentration, and his thrusts are experimental at best. Testing the waters. Tasting. Mmmm.
Kame wonders if he could ask him to eat him out later.
When Yamapi seems to find his rhythm, it’s Kame’s turn to get annoyed, because Yamapi moves with such careful precision and deliberate slowness that drives Kame absolutely mad. Before long, he’s gonna turn into a puddle of squirming and shuddering gloo, and nobody wants that.
Except Yamapi, that is.
So he hooks a hand over Yamapi’s nape and pulls him down, whispering right to Yamapi’s ear, “Giving a snail a run for its money, are you?”
He hears him chuckle, before he feels the rough surface of Yamapi’s tongue swipe across Kame’s eyelashes.
Kame splutters. “That’s disgusting!”
Yamapi’s laugh sounds genuinely amused this time. “Watch and learn, Young Padawan.”
“I hate Star Wars.” Kame says with feeling, trying his best not too squirm too much.
Yamapi snorts. “Sure you do, Young Padawan.”
Now he’s just being deliberately annoying. Kame bites back a groan when Yamapi hits that sweet, sweet spot inside him, before cursing him in three different languages when instead of hitting it again, Yamapi withdraws and lingers at the entrance, not moving.
“I swear if you didn’t move right about now I’m going to do something to you that you’d regret for the rest of your fucking life--”
He could feel Yamapi’s smug smirk even without opening his eyes. “Impatient, are we?”
“Yama-urgh.”
Then Yamapi picks up his pace, thrusting in earnest, and Kame has to bit back a groan every time Yamapi manages to hit that special, special spot. His hand moves to his own neglected cock, but Yamapi slaps it away.
“Let me.” And then it’s Yamapi’s hand on his cock, pumping him in time with his thrust. Before long, they’re both biting back a groan at their release, with Yamapi lasts barely a few seconds after Kame.
When he regains back his breaths, he looks at Yamapi, who’s moved away and now splayed by his side; but Yamapi’s gaze is far away, seeing something that Kame’s not supposed to see-if not for the fact that he also feels the same loss. There’s a space between them, in the shape of a person. A person who managed to walk away from them, twice.
“Do you think he’s gonna remember us?” the question is out before he could even think about it.
Yamapi barks a laugh. Sharp, mirthless. “Oh yes. Of course he would remember us. Even if it’s just to compare us to his new bed partner.” The smirk he launches Kame’s way lacks in heat, missing its teeth, like a useless blunt knife - threatening, but only in appearance.
“I envy him.” Kame says. Surprising himself with the full honesty of the sentence.
Yamapi turns his face to him. Grins wide, like he means it. “Who doesn’t?”
An ocean of things left unsaid. Wonder when they’re gonna stop swimming there.
Kame blinks, real slow. Watches Yamapi watching him. Then smiles a wry smile. “Right. I’d better go, then.” He makes to stand, but a hand on his wrist prevents him. He glances down at the owner of the hand. “What?”
“Stay.” Yamapi shakes his head. “You could. If you want.” He clears his throat. “It’s late.”
Kame’s smile widens, but there’s nothing warm in it. “Fortunately, I know when I’m not wanted.” Gathering up his clothes and the remains of his dignity from the floor, he tries to don them up, before searching for his satchel.
“You’re not-“
Kame shuts him up with a finger. “I’m nobody’s replacement.” He looks Yamapi in the eye. “Just like you’re not supposed to settle for second best.”
Something…unidentified crosses over Yamapi’s eyes for a second, before it’s replaced with a hard look. “This isn’t-“
“Please stop.” Kame says loudly, drowning out Yamapi’s voice. “Better save us both the heartache, don’t you think?”
It’s not each other that we want.
Kame tries to smile, and from the stupefied look and the way Yamapi bites his lower lip to stop himself from speaking, at least the smile manages to appear genuine for once.
“Goodbye.”
He closes the door behind him. Leans against it for a second as he sighs.
Someone’s left behind to pick up the pieces.
He’s getting tired of that role real fast.
.
.
.
end
Fandom: Johnny’s Entertainment
Characters: PiKame, implied (AkamePi)
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: not mine, and no profit is made.
Summary: “If I’m easy, then what does that make you?”
.
.
.
Somebody’s always left to pick up the pieces. When something happens, when things go shit, when somebody leaves. Somebody else is always, always left behind, to pick up the pieces - no matter how unsalvageable the remains. *Especially* the unsalvageable remains.
Being left behind - why that should be him, he wonders.
“That’s because you’re easy.” Yamapi says. Bitter, bitter, black coffee without sugar. His hands on Kame’s hips are firm, but not bruising. Always a gentleman.
In contrast, Kame has no qualm about dragging the sharp tips of his nails down Yamapi’s back, leaving uneven red lines in their tracks.
“If I’m easy, then what does that make you?”
He feels Yamapi’s lips forming a line against his neck, too jagged to be a smile. “Someone you don’t want to be, but can’t help being.”
Using his hold on Yamapi’s back as a leverage, he turns them over, until he’s straddling Yamapi’s waist, Yamapi’s hard length slapping his asscheek.
From this angle, Yamapi’s smirk is unmistakable. “You really hate it when you’re not in control, do you?” he reaches up, but Kame catches his hand instead, and pins it to the floor. Cold, cold floor, because they’re not pretentious - or deluded - enough to use the bed, to act like whatever this thing they’re indulging in is more than. Well. Indulgence.
In the wake of those being left behind. General mourning. Taking comfort in whatever’s left, even when halfway through, whatever turns into whoever. Unintended collateral damage. Because when you leave? You don’t turn back. Ever.
Selfish bastard.
Their hands are of the same length, Kame realizes. But where Yamapi’s are paddled with light muscle beneath hard calluses, his own are bony and sharp, making them look more delicate than they really are. Deceiving, even when they’re not meant to be.
“I loathe it.” Kame agrees. “But at least I *can* admit it out loud. Which is more than I could say for you, Mister.”
Yamapi laughs. Then nearly chokes in his haste to prevent himself from producing sounds as Kame bites down on his left nipple. Hard. And then he licks it up real slow, dragging his tongue across the small, peaked nub, and sucking it into his mouth until he could feel the rumble deep in Yamapi’s chest with his lips.
“Tease.” Yamapi groans, arching up, his cock slapping Kame’s asscheek with every arch of his hips.
“You’re not supposed to enjoy it, you know.” Kame chides him, before bending down to give Yamapi’s right nipple the same treatment. Lifting his own hips slightly, he reaches between his legs with his free hand to stroke along Yamapi’s hard length, fondling his balls delicately, feeling the pressure build along Yamapi’s cock.
Yamapi lets out a sound, something between a groan and a laugh, a hint of bitterness still evident in his voice. “I find myself doing things I’m not supposed to lately.” A fingertip touches Kame’s jaw, forcing him to look up. The smile Yamapi presents him with is nothing short of painful. “Like being here.”
Kame ducks his head, letting his bangs fall like a curtain, hiding his face from view. Halted for a moment, he stares at Yamapi’s chest; but it’s smooth, barely chest hair there, slicked with Yamapi’s sweat and Kame’s spit. It’s smooth, with no blood dripping on it, which means the pain he feels - like his chest is split open, like his heart is being ripped - is only in Kame’s own head.
He withdraws the hand pinning Yamapi’s and uses his forefinger to poke into the dip in between Yamapi’s chest. Yamapi looks on, the barest hint of intrigue in his eyes.
“You say the nicest things.” He hums into Yamapi’s abdomen, even as his forefinger drags the sharp end of its nail down, following the trail of Kame’s kisses, leaving angry red mark in its way.
Yamapi’s sharp hiss makes him look up; On Yamapi’s face is the world’s poker face. Kame would totally give him an award for it, if it’s not for the timing. The fact Yamapi feels the need to *call* his poker face at all is a scream onto itself.
He smiles against Yamapi’s skin. It’s not a nice smile.
Never con a conman.
“Keep teasing me, and I might start thinking you mean it.” Yamapi says. His voice sounds breathless, but his eyes are clear and dark and much too sharp.
“What a tragedy, I know.” A snap, out before he could even think about it.
He balances himself on his knees, legs spread, as he prepares himself; a hand on Yamapi’s stomach to keep his balance, and the other on Yamapi’s slick cock, angling it toward his hole. It’s already loose, from the two slicked fingers Yamapi’s prepared him with earlier (always the gentleman), but still he winces when the head finally slides in - more from the surprise feel of it rather than the pain. He takes his time, adjusting himself, getting himself used to the feeling, while Yamapi’s eyes burn onto him all the way.
A hand settles itself on his hip; no pressure, but not so casual either. He glances at Yamapi. Sees the bitter end of his smirk fade into mirth. “Careful there, love.”
Mock pet names that feel like a slap.
Kame blinks. Realizes just where he is, what he is trying to do. Grits his teeth, and then slams all the way down, until he’s sitting on Yamapi’s hip, Yamapi’s balls pressing into his ass. Lets out a hiss, and swallows down his discomfort. Feels Yamapi’s hand on his hip tightens for a second, before loosens up again, like that second never happens.
Tries to smirk back. “Concerned, are you?”
He lifts himself again, though not letting go, before slamming himself down. Up, down. Up, down. Sets a rhythm. Hard and fast, just like he wants it. Feels Yamapi’s cock brush up against his prostate again and again, chasing away the discomfort fast and giving way to pleasure.
And then Yamapi sits up. Puts his other hand around the back of Kame’s shoulders, and moves. By the time Kame blinks up at him, he’s on his back, Yamapi towering over him, and is in the process of hooking Kame’s leg over his shoulder, his hard length still inside Kame all the way.
Kame’s smirk widens.
Gotta love a multitasker.
Then Yamapi starts to move, his brows furrow in concentration, and his thrusts are experimental at best. Testing the waters. Tasting. Mmmm.
Kame wonders if he could ask him to eat him out later.
When Yamapi seems to find his rhythm, it’s Kame’s turn to get annoyed, because Yamapi moves with such careful precision and deliberate slowness that drives Kame absolutely mad. Before long, he’s gonna turn into a puddle of squirming and shuddering gloo, and nobody wants that.
Except Yamapi, that is.
So he hooks a hand over Yamapi’s nape and pulls him down, whispering right to Yamapi’s ear, “Giving a snail a run for its money, are you?”
He hears him chuckle, before he feels the rough surface of Yamapi’s tongue swipe across Kame’s eyelashes.
Kame splutters. “That’s disgusting!”
Yamapi’s laugh sounds genuinely amused this time. “Watch and learn, Young Padawan.”
“I hate Star Wars.” Kame says with feeling, trying his best not too squirm too much.
Yamapi snorts. “Sure you do, Young Padawan.”
Now he’s just being deliberately annoying. Kame bites back a groan when Yamapi hits that sweet, sweet spot inside him, before cursing him in three different languages when instead of hitting it again, Yamapi withdraws and lingers at the entrance, not moving.
“I swear if you didn’t move right about now I’m going to do something to you that you’d regret for the rest of your fucking life--”
He could feel Yamapi’s smug smirk even without opening his eyes. “Impatient, are we?”
“Yama-urgh.”
Then Yamapi picks up his pace, thrusting in earnest, and Kame has to bit back a groan every time Yamapi manages to hit that special, special spot. His hand moves to his own neglected cock, but Yamapi slaps it away.
“Let me.” And then it’s Yamapi’s hand on his cock, pumping him in time with his thrust. Before long, they’re both biting back a groan at their release, with Yamapi lasts barely a few seconds after Kame.
When he regains back his breaths, he looks at Yamapi, who’s moved away and now splayed by his side; but Yamapi’s gaze is far away, seeing something that Kame’s not supposed to see-if not for the fact that he also feels the same loss. There’s a space between them, in the shape of a person. A person who managed to walk away from them, twice.
“Do you think he’s gonna remember us?” the question is out before he could even think about it.
Yamapi barks a laugh. Sharp, mirthless. “Oh yes. Of course he would remember us. Even if it’s just to compare us to his new bed partner.” The smirk he launches Kame’s way lacks in heat, missing its teeth, like a useless blunt knife - threatening, but only in appearance.
“I envy him.” Kame says. Surprising himself with the full honesty of the sentence.
Yamapi turns his face to him. Grins wide, like he means it. “Who doesn’t?”
An ocean of things left unsaid. Wonder when they’re gonna stop swimming there.
Kame blinks, real slow. Watches Yamapi watching him. Then smiles a wry smile. “Right. I’d better go, then.” He makes to stand, but a hand on his wrist prevents him. He glances down at the owner of the hand. “What?”
“Stay.” Yamapi shakes his head. “You could. If you want.” He clears his throat. “It’s late.”
Kame’s smile widens, but there’s nothing warm in it. “Fortunately, I know when I’m not wanted.” Gathering up his clothes and the remains of his dignity from the floor, he tries to don them up, before searching for his satchel.
“You’re not-“
Kame shuts him up with a finger. “I’m nobody’s replacement.” He looks Yamapi in the eye. “Just like you’re not supposed to settle for second best.”
Something…unidentified crosses over Yamapi’s eyes for a second, before it’s replaced with a hard look. “This isn’t-“
“Please stop.” Kame says loudly, drowning out Yamapi’s voice. “Better save us both the heartache, don’t you think?”
It’s not each other that we want.
Kame tries to smile, and from the stupefied look and the way Yamapi bites his lower lip to stop himself from speaking, at least the smile manages to appear genuine for once.
“Goodbye.”
He closes the door behind him. Leans against it for a second as he sighs.
Someone’s left behind to pick up the pieces.
He’s getting tired of that role real fast.
.
.
.
end