(Untitled)
OOFURI KINK MEME
Please feel free to make prompts, anything goes, so don't be shy to request! Noting that the meme doesn't run on solely the requesters but also the writers, so we encourage any writer(s) to start filling in requests. Don't be afraid to write even if you aren't a pro writer, just give it a shot!
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Please feel free to make prompts, anything goes, so don't be shy to request! Noting that the meme doesn't run on solely the requesters but also the writers, so we encourage any writer(s) to start filling in requests. Don't be afraid to write even if you aren't a pro writer, just give it a shot!
Anon Commenting : ON | IP Logging ( Read more... )
Why does it seem like nobody likes Tousei enough to write for them? There is a dearth of Kazu/Jun/Riou in this meme! T.T This fill is my small attempt to spread the Tousei love =) Even though I’m not confident of anything I’ve written here, from basic premise to characterization (How do you characterize characters who are barely written/drawn?!), I felt that if nobody’s going to fill those Tousei requests, then I might as well try to do something about it.
[Warnings: Angsty, oversensitive and totally slutty Junta, plus angsty, childish and incoherent Riou. Also an asshole of a Kazuki. Weird logic, weirder psychoanalysis and even weirder ideas. Plus a writer who is completely new to LJ and to the Oofuri fandom. If you can handle all that, please feel free to read. Feedback of any kind would be greatly appreciated! ^^]
Now that the rant and warnings are done with, let the fill begin ;)
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Junta gasps and whimpers, sounds that only feed the younger boy’s arousal. The dark-haired pitcher writhes under his friend, his catcher, his partner. His knees grip Riou’s waist tightly as his hands fist the sheets; his eyes are screwed up - with pain? or pleasure - as Riou enters him. Every action, every expression screams want.
But he never says the words.
When they come later, Junta first, Riou shortly after, Junta’s shout is wordless.
xXx
Riou wonders when they stopped talking.
Everything had been wonderful before the Nishiura game. The three of them - Riou, Junta, Kazuki - had been happily discussing plans for the evening. Perhaps dinner at a family restaurant, a minor celebration for their first-round victory.
Then they lost the game. They, the A-seeds, the former champions, kicked out of the tournament by a bunch of upstart first-years from a new school. For the next week, Tousei’s baseball players retreated into their shells, licking their wounds. The news of Nishiura’s subsequent wins was met with barely more than apathy. Their summer was over. No matter what happened to those who had beaten them - whether they went to Koushien or were knocked out in the next round - that didn’t change the fact that this baseball season, for them at least, was over.
At last, the players got themselves together again. They returned to the fields and resumed training, but with the third-years bowing out much earlier than predicted, there was a scramble to reorganize the team. And to heap insult upon injury, they were soon greeted by the news that Nishiura had been defeated in the fifth round by Bijou, by a cruel margin of five runs. Junta’s expression had been so stark it scared Riou - it made him feel guilty for seeing so raw an emotion.
It was after practice that day that Riou first kissed Junta.
Kazuki didn’t see them. He wasn’t there. He had never shown up at the grounds at all after the Nishiura game. Riou was sure that Roka had talked to Kazuki, resulting in the defeat of Nishiura, but didn’t bother to ask. His brother wasn’t the best of conversationalist. In any case, Kazuki had, to all effects and purposes, walked out of Riou and Junta’s lives.
Because really, what is there in common between the three of them apart from baseball? Leaving baseball was nothing different from leaving them. Riou’s mind knows that Kazuki has the university entrance exams to study for, and understands that he wouldn’t have given up baseball for anything less than these exams whose results effectively decide one’s future. Yet the younger boy’s heart cannot shake off the niggling feeling that he has been abandoned by Kazuki, and from the lost look on Junta’s face, he isn’t alone.
Riou is Junta’s new catcher. Every time he puts on the protective gear, he feels a dull ache, remembering that Kazuki has worn this same gear countless times these past years. And whenever he meets Junta’s eyes, Junta on the mound and Riou in the catcher’s box, he can see that Junta feels the pain too. Only, Junta’s pain is a sharp blade in the ribs.
Sometimes, Riou sees Kazuki from afar at school, across the hall, in the corridor in the next block. Kazuki never looks his way, at least not while he is watching him. Riou knows that Junta watches Kazuki too. He sees the parched look on the pitcher’s face, and wonders if Kazuki used to touch Junta the way Riou does now.
They stopped talking, Riou thinks, when they started using touch to convey their feelings rather than words.
Their conversations now are either baseball-related or simple things like whether they should get ice cream on the way home. Superficial.
They never talk about what they are doing, when Junta slides off his shirt with agonizing slowness, when Riou runs fascinated hands over the dark-haired boy’s torso and back, when they kiss softly, deeply, hungrily. They never talk about Kazuki. Riou tried, a few times, but Junta would change the subject, walk away or just ignore the remark. In the end it is Riou who gives up.
They never talk about why.
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He is afraid of what the answer might be.
Junta, perhaps, is afraid to have to answer.
And so they neither ask nor answer. For without a question, there need never be an answer.
Not that Riou is in much doubt. The convenient bottle of lube and pack of condoms in the bedside drawer are hints too clear to be missed. Coupled to the way Junta doesn’t seem in the least awkward, Riou can’t help but think that Junta was much too experienced for the copper-haired boy to be his first.
He imagines Kazuki bending over Junta, pushing his legs apart just as Riou now does. He wonders if Kazuki was the one who had taught Junta to beg with his eyes, his body, his face. He wants to know why Kazuki had left this amazing, beautiful, captivating person.
Junta never asks out loud for his touch. He does it a thousand different non-verbal ways. Junta’s deep blue eyes are the most expressive eyes Riou has ever seen. A change in the light of his eyes, a glance towards him or away; combinations with certain postures, the angle of his head, the set of his shoulders give him a huge range of silent vocabulary. Now, later, kiss me, hug me, hold me, give me a shoulder to lean on, all these and much, much more.
Riou thinks himself honored to be privy to Junta’s wordless communication. He is the only one who is given these signals. For the moment, at least.
Eventually, Junta will need him less. Riou knows Junta wants his touch because he wants to forget, about Kazuki or about baseball or about losing, Riou is not sure. But as time passes the pain will decrease, and thus so will the desire to forget, the need for distraction. If not that, then Junta might find someone else as a distraction, or not need the distraction because Kazuki has returned to him. Whatever the case, Riou knows that their current arrangement is transient, as fleeting as a cherry blossom. And therefore he wants to enjoy it to the maximum while he still can.
He wonders, just for a moment, if he hates Kazuki for possessing Junta even when not physically present, even when it is Riou who embraces their dark-haired companion.
xXx
Practice is over. The Tousei players are leaving in twos and threes. Riou watches Junta emerge from the shower area, waiting, hoping…
The pitcher catches his eye and tilts his head slightly. Riou nods at once, resisting the urge to bounce around the clubroom in a victory dance. They leave together, heading for the dormitories.
“Today’s practice was good,” comments Riou, trying for casual conversation. “Ne, Jun-san?”
“Mm. You finally managed to catch my forkball.” Junta smiles. “On the twentieth attempt today, I think.”
Encouraged, Riou pouts. “It’s only been three weeks since I started catching for you! I bet -“ He stops short, shocked at the near miss. I bet Kazu-san wasn’t much better. “I bet I could catch your sinker by next week!” he rushes to cover up his error.
“Oh? I look forward to it.” The older boy doesn’t seem to have noticed; the small smile still touches his lips and his face is relaxed. “Did you see Coach rip apart Aoki for talking to his girlfriend during practice?”
“Yeah!” Riou jumps onto the chance to change the subject. “I thought Coach would lose his voice, yelling like that. Or end up in hospital.”
“It’s not good to be distracted,” says Junta fairly. Junta is always the reasonable and logical one. Or, more accurately, Junta is the reasonable and logical one as long as they are doing nothing sex-related.
Riou decides that it probably isn’t the best idea to get aroused when they’re having a nice, safe, normal conversation. A conversation that might have taken place whether Kazuki was with them or not. A conversation between good friends and nothing more.
He doesn’t know if he really wants to go back to being good friends and nothing more, even if that means Kazuki is part of their lives again. He doesn’t want to think of having to let go of Junta, of not touching Junta again.
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Riou only has the time to deposit his bag on the floor before Junta slides his arms around his waist. The catcher twists around to face him. In the stark, unforgiving fluorescent light outside in the school grounds, Junta’s deep blue eyes glow with desperate hunger.
The first time he had seen that look in Junta’s eyes, Riou had intended to hug his friend. Just a hug, to hopefully comfort and soothe the pain that was evident beneath the hunger. But the pitcher had turned his head and caught his lips in a kiss. Their first kiss, and the door that had led to so much more.
Now, unlike that first time, it is Riou who leans in to claim the lips that are parted in a silent plea. Junta slides his tongue across the younger boy’s lower lip on his way into his mouth, making a soft sound of appreciation when Riou sucks briefly on the lithe muscle. The copper-haired boy then explores the pitcher’s mouth as though he has never done so before, while their hands wander, first over, then under, each other’s clothes.
Three weeks is not nearly enough to temper Riou’s fascination with his new freedom to touch Junta. He is still awed that he is able to embrace his friend like this, as though they are lovers.
Riou doesn’t know if he is in love with Junta. Intrigued by, yes; obsession wouldn’t be too strong a word. But he isn’t even sure of what love is, what that strange passion that defies all reason is, because he’s never felt it before. He is almost certain, however, that Junta is in love Kazuki. The dark-haired boy, normally so detached and coolly objective, had been crying when they first kissed, that day when the coach had told them Kazuki had officially retired from baseball. It was only after that that Riou started to see that wild, irrational need in Junta’s eyes.
Yet when Junta looks at him with so much desire, the truth doesn’t seem to matter; he can trick himself into believing an illusion of love.
Hardness presses against his leg. Junta’s face is flushed; his arms circle Riou’s neck as he rocks slowly into the catcher’s thigh. Fuck me, his actions demand, but what comes from his lips are only harsh breaths. Riou ducks his head to capture Junta’s lips again in a swift kiss before maneuvering them to the bed. It’s not that they’ve never had sex against a wall or on the floor; it’s just that a bed is undeniably more comfortable, even if it does mean more laundry the next day.
They are naked by the time they reach the bed, though Riou cannot remember when exactly they had discarded their clothes. Junta refuses to let go of the younger boy even after lying down, so Riou trails his lips on the pitcher’s jaw, ears, neck, collarbones. On impulse, he sinks his teeth into the muscle between neck and shoulder, making sure it is on Junta’s left so that his pitching arm was unaffected. Junta gasps and twists under him, his hands scrabbling against Riou’s back. But he still does not voice a coherent word.
Riou licks and sucks at the bite, determined to leave a mark. He isn’t sure why it’s so important. Junta isn’t likely to be happy with it, but Riou finds he doesn’t care as long as he brands Junta as his.
The pitcher’s body arches ecstatically as Riou brushes aroused nipples with teasing fingers. Junta wraps his legs around the younger boy’s waist, forcing their erections together. Involuntary moans escape them both, and Junta rocks his hips again, insistently. Hurry up and fuck me.
Tonight, for some reason, Riou is feeling oddly rebellious. He doesn’t want to just obey, as much pleasure as obeying these orders is. A part of him is demanding that he take the initiative for once. It’s been clamoring for the past few days. This time he gives in.
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Junta clamps his mouth onto the back of his arm, just in time to muffle a scream. Riou has never given him a blowjob before, though he has received a fair few from the older boy. There isn’t any particular reason for it, as far as he can tell, and with the way Junta is reacting to being blown, Riou will definitely do this again. Junta bucks hard into the catcher’s mouth, and his free hand grasps handfuls of copper hair. In spite of Riou’s inexperienced, fumbling technique - should he use teeth? would they hurt? - it isn’t long before the hand gripping his hair clenches tight enough to uproot several strands. He recognizes the reflex; it is one he employs himself. He hangs on for a moment longer, and releases Junta just as the older boy comes.
Warm, sticky liquid splatters over his face and chest, exactly as he had aimed for. He blinks the pale seed from his eyes and searches the dark for Junta’s face. The pitcher is deeply flushed from his climax, but his expression is one of guilt and horror. Trembling fingers reach for Riou’s face; lips as unsteady as those fingers frame the beginnings of an apology, but no sound comes out.
“Jun-san,” whispers Riou, catching those outstretched fingers with his own. “Jun-san… it’s okay.”
The pitcher shakes his head vigorously, apparently still overcome with shame for coming all over his friend. It is too demeaning an act for him to reconcile himself to. Riou closes the gap between them, holding the dark-haired boy gently. “Jun-san, I wanted that to happen,” he insists, and to prove his point he wipes semen off his cheeks and licks the stained fingers. Junta stares, incredulous. “I wanted it, because… just for a moment, it makes me feel like I belong to you.” The words tumble from his mouth, unpremeditated, yet somehow Riou knows they are true as soon as he hears them.
Junta looks away, hugging himself. Wiping the remaining seed from his face, Riou realizes that the light in the dark-haired boy’s eyes is too bright to be natural. “Jun-san, why are you crying?”
The pitcher starts, then quickly dashes away the telltale droplets, turning to glare at the younger boy. Riou smiles as brilliantly as he knows how. After a moment, Junta lets out a huff and drapes his arms over Riou’s shoulders. The copper-haired boy shivers involuntarily but agreeably as Junta draws circles on his back with callused fingertips. He doesn’t know whether to be pleased at Junta’s affectionate gesture, or to be disappointed that his friend doesn’t act as he would probably have before the Nishiura match - with a solid cuff to his head and an admonishment for being a sappy idiot.
For one fleeting, horrible second, Riou wonders if the person hugging him now is the same Jun-san he’s known for so long. The person that had been standing beside him on the other side of the door, and the person embracing him here on this side of the door - are they both his Jun-san? If not, which is the real one?
A hand strokes his cheek, and Riou looks up to meet Junta’s deep blue eyes. That steady gaze somehow warms him, not with the wild fire of passion, but with the gentle warmth of sleeping puppies and hot home-cooked meals. They’ve gone through hell and high water in the years spent together - Riou, Junta, and yes, Kazuki. This is his Jun-san. The people on each side of the door are one and the same. The only difference is that the person outside is weighed with rules and expectations, while the one inside is free.
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The slow, deep kisses become sloppy, but definitely more passionate, as the seconds tick past. Their lips don’t always make contact; sometimes their tongues flick to odd areas like the nose or cheek, but this doesn’t seem to matter because by now Riou is stroking both his neglected and Junta’s renewed erections.. They maintain eye contact, just barely. Riou is certain that looking Junta in the eye while fisting him is at least seven times hotter, mostly because Junta’s eyes are honest even if the rest of him is not, and he can almost see the waves of pleasure his ministrations spark off in the older boy.
Suddenly Junta grips Riou’s hand, stopping him from stroking. Riou finds himself pouting like a child at the denied contact. Before he can complain about it, though, the pitcher pushes his shoulders backwards, down towards the mattress. He considers resisting, but the older boy is both strong and determined. Only after he’s flat on his back and Junta is kneeling over him does the thought strike him that maybe, just maybe, Junta’s planning to take him this time and not the other way and oh god he’s totally not mentally prepared for such an eventuality.
“Jun-san -“ What are you doing? Why are you doing what you’re doing? He couldn’t ask. Those questions should have been asked long ago; now it was too late. Riou clenches his fists, trying to ignore the completely unnecessary ripple of fear passing through his body.
The dark-haired boy shifts his weight, and now his knees are on either side of Riou’s torso, the legs folded under as he rests his buttocks just below the younger boy’s hips. Their arousals press together, and Riou stifles a groan. He is well and truly trapped under the pitcher, but for some reason he’s getting extremely turned on despite the sneaking undercurrent of apprehension. Junta bends down, bringing their chests together as he kisses the copper-haired boy again. The movement increases the pressure against their erections, further stoking the already stifling heat, and Riou automatically reaches down to give them both more friction -
Junta catches his hands, his iron grip a testimony to his endless training as a pitcher. He shakes his head when Riou stares pleadingly at him. No touching. Riou sighs windily and relaxes, realizing the futility of resistance in this situation. He tenses up again fairly quickly, though, when Junta prods his kiss-swollen lips. Puzzled, he opens his mouth to inquire, and the calloused fingers slip in.
With supreme effort, Riou quashes the urge to cough. He remembers that they often use saliva as makeshift lube when nothing else is readily available. It seems like he’s really going to get taken by his friend - he knows it’s hypocritical of him to feel so victimized, especially when Junta’s been taken by him so many times already, but he can’t help it - and as he really can’t do a thing about it, he might as well just get on with it. As he swirls his tongue over and around the digits in his mouth, he wonders why they’re going with this option when there’s lube only an arm’s length away in the bedside drawer.
Deep blue eyes watch him intently as he sucks on the fingers. The intense gaze makes Riou feel oddly shy. Junta usually closes his eyes for most of the time they spend having sex. Perhaps it’s due to the switch in positions… The younger boy pushes the thought away for consideration at a more appropriate time and focuses instead on his current task. That’s the callus for a slider, that one for a straight fastball, this other one probably from a sinker…
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The dark-haired boy is sitting back up, leaning on his heels and on Riou’s pelvis. His arm stretches back and down, putting his hand out of the younger boy’s vision. The cooler part of Riou’s mind, the one concerned with physics and anatomy, dispassionately informs him of what Junta is doing. The other, passion-hazed part of his mind, the one currently in control, refuses to register the fact. He watches spellbound as Junta’s back arches, his eyes tight shut as the muscles of his arm tense, and there is a familiar, lewd, squelching sound. The pitcher groans, the sound shuddering through his lips, and as that damning sound repeats, he raises himself slightly off the copper-haired boy. Now the catcher has a very clear view of Junta’s movements, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen a more erotic sight.
Junta’s kneeling on top of him, preparing himself, his manhood inches from Riou’s face. The younger boy notices, dimly, that his legs are spattered with sticky fluid. Had he come just from the visual stimulation? He watches, fascinated and hopelessly aroused as Junta slides in a second finger. The accompanying moan is full-throated; transparent pre-come drools in pale strings from Junta’s neglected member. Riou longs to touch him, to touch himself, but his muscles don’t seem up to the task, liquefied as they are by his climax just seconds before.
Ribs heaving, Junta pulls out both fingers, and replaces them with three. As they slide in, agonizingly slow, he groans again, his shoulders drooping. For a moment he looks like he will collapse, but before Riou can command his passion-melted limbs to catch his friend, Junta’s other hand lands on his chest and pushes the breath out of him. The pitcher supports himself on that hand, thighs trembling visibly as he continues to move those fingers in, out, in, out…
“Jun-san,” Riou says, and now his body is his own again, his arms obey his orders to curl around Junta’s waist. The older boy pauses, fingers half-in and half-out, his mouth open as he pants harshly. Deep blue eyes meet green-hazel, and Riou isn’t sure what he sees in that bottomless gaze. “Jun-san,” he repeats. He doesn’t really know what he’s saying, what he should be saying, but words are forming on their own. “I… please… I want…” I want you, oh god I want you so bad… There just isn’t enough contact; he needs more, more, more -
There is a soft pop as those damnably lewd fingers slip out at last, and Riou realizes that Junta is smiling. It is an odd smile, partly amused, partly sad, and it takes Riou’s breath away because in these past three weeks this is the first time he’s seen Junta wear anything even close to a facsimile of happiness during sex.
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Slowly, painfully, the older boy raises himself up, then presses back down, wringing fresh wanton noises from both of them. Control and orders be damned; Riou shoves himself upwards off his back, throwing his arms around his friend with the single-minded goal to hold on tight and never let go. “Jun-san, Jun-san, oh god Jun-san…” He repeats the name over and over like a mantra, face pressed against his pitcher’s chest. These feelings racing through his dazed brain are too strong, too extreme; they hurt, they burn like brands on skin.
Hands press his chin, forcing him to look up. The dark-haired boy lowers his head to connect their lips in a searing kiss. Riou responds eagerly, vaguely wondering why he feels pain inside despite undergoing such mind-blowing pleasure. Opening his eyes, he realizes that Junta’s eyelashes are wet. It must hurt like hell for him, doing this with no lube but a little saliva and some pre-come. Guilt hovers like a black cloud. He releases one hand from his irrationally tight hold on the pitcher, reaching towards the drawer where the lube is, only to be stopped once more by the older boy. Junta’s eyes are glazed as he shakes his head. Again, he pushes himself up and then slides back down, impaling himself once, twice, on the copper-haired boy’s shaft. Numbing pleasure wipes Riou’s mind blank for several seconds.
When he is able to do something apart from moan and writhe, the younger boy changes his grip on Junta, moving his hands from the older boy’s waist to his thighs so as to better support him. With his help, their pace increases, skin meeting skin rhythmically at first but quickly becoming erratic as they both near their climax, already so close after the extended foreplay. At last the hot pressure in his abdomen explodes and Riou pounds in one last time, shouting as he comes deep inside Junta. “Jun-san -!” You’re amazing, you’re beautiful, you’re so goddamn cute - He wants to say something, anything, but his throat is too constricted.
Junta shudders, convulsing as he too comes and milky fluid spurts over both their bodies. A long moment passes as Riou’s fatigued brain analyzes the scream torn out of the pitcher’s throat. Wordless, again. Something twists inside him, forming a tight knot that burns just below his breastbone. It must be taken care of. But it can wait. For now, he pulls out of Junta and folds his limbs around and against the dark-haired boy, holding him close.
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The older boy makes a soft noise, something between a snort and a chuckle. Junta reaches up to slide a hand into the catcher’s copper hair. He pulls Riou down into a slow, soft kiss, one that makes the younger boy feel as though tendrils of gentle warmth are spreading through his body. It is completely different from the crazed burning of lust or arousal, the wild screech of adrenaline in his veins - this strange melting, this unreasonable ache is new to him. When Junta draws away, the contact petering out into the warm mingling of breath, Riou stares into his mesmerizing eyes, searching. He doesn’t see the desperation they normally hold, or the vague tint of pain that usually lurks in the shadows. It is a new expression - or is it an old one?
Tenderness.
Riou’s chest feels oddly tight. Don’t look at me like that, he wants to say. Like I’m a lost puppy. Like I’m your little brother. Like we’re twelve years old again. I want you to look at me like… like you look at Kazu-san…
Silent it may be, but it is the first time he has honestly admitted that desire to himself. And he thinks that perhaps this is why he hurts inside - because he still isn’t certain if Junta is looking at him and seeing him, Riou, and not a shadow of Kazuki.
“Jun-san…” Look at me, at nobody but me…
He swallows, around a lump that has appeared from nowhere. “Jun-san, we - that is, I - “ Why must you make me feel like this?
Junta smiles, the same simultaneously amused and sad smile as before. He presses a finger to Riou’s stuttering lips and shakes his head. At the same time, he curls himself more securely into the circle of Riou’s embrace, eyes sliding shut. The unsaid message is clear - there is no need for talking, because everything can wait until morning. The younger boy considers protesting at this very passive course of action, but finally lets it go. He’s got no energy for any kind of serious discussion, for one, and if he’s exhausted, Junta must be much worse off. And…
As long as nobody asks, as long as nobody needs to answer, they can continue to drift in this grey area, believing in illusions and self-constructed visions. They can live in the moment without caring about past or future. They can be secure in the knowledge that since there is no truth, there are no lies either.
The truth would probably hurt. But lies would hurt too, if not just as much, then more than the truth. What is left?
Nothing.
Wordless, undefined, indistinct. Nothing said, nothing to be used for or against, nothing to topple their precarious balancing act.
Is that what Junta is thinking of, in his self-imposed ban on words during intimacy? Perhaps. But he will not ask, because that would defeat the purpose of this entire elaborate exercise in evading reality.
All the same, Riou cannot ignore the feeling that tonight, something changed. His understanding of Junta is different. Maybe Junta’s understanding of Riou is also different from what it was an hour ago. Mindless need to warm tenderness. It is a drastic change, and deserves contemplation. Why did it happen? What does it mean for them?
It deserves contemplation, but not now. It can wait until morning. Sleep weighs heavy on the catcher’s eyelids; from the deep, steady rise and fall of Junta’s ribs, it has already claimed the older boy. Riou sighs, giving in to its magnetic pull. He will think about all this later, in the morning…
xXx
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I LOVE YOU ANON
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I LOVE YOU TOO, BOTH OF YOU! KAZUJUNRIOU LIVES. Thanks very much for commenting :)
I only realized the italics weren't coming out around part 4. GAH.
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Just as an aside, I can make whole stories just out of one scene, but once I try to do longer multichapter stories I always burn out towards the end. There's the good and the bad, I guess. =/
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That aside, this was mostly inspired by the doujin Good-Bye Days by G-chou and scanlated by Azusa-hime. I’ll be the first to admit that a large portion of the beginning (i.e. before the smut) is a prose twin of the more significant scenes of the doujin, but without all that as an introduction the rest wouldn’t have made any sense. I really, really wanted to see them go a little further than that XD I originally intended this to be pure angst, but then I felt so bad for the characters that I just had to put in a change for the better. O.o This also happens to be my first attempt at angsty sex… :-X Since this is in Riou’s POV, I’m leaving the reason for Junta’s turnaround behavior to his and thus your imagination. Unless of course I end up writing the aforementioned companion in Junta’s POV, in which case I will explain Junta’s (my) rationale. Heh. ;D
I hope I’ve done the characters justice, despite the insufficient ‘data’ on them in the form of fics and doujins. Data is my security blanket, just as it is for Abe, Kazuki and Roka DX Working without it was quite a daunting exercise. T.T
Please let me know what you think about this - areas for improvement, which parts were absolute crap, whether I should try for more or stick to fandoms I know better. Anything, everything, come and whack me with it!
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The first thing I read was 'They hadn't talked in ages' and then suddenly he was cornholing him. Wtf. Urk. Long fic is long.
HOLY CRAP. BEAUTIFUL. I can't even tell the difference. Maybe I've been reading too many of your crack fics. You've really improved! A big step from your lime! (and previous smut) Aw dude. This fic.
WAS AWESOME.
(Yeh, I just sorta revealed that I 'stalk' you.)
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