Monday: A Diversion
Standing there, Omi wrapped in his arms and the world narrowed down to the space around them, Ken realized that for the first time in a very long time he felt…right. Just right.
There was no Weiss.
No shell of a boy who had to be perfect. No bloodlusty seeker of someone else’s vengeance.
Just Ken and Omi. It felt good.
Ken dropped his head lower, ( Read more... )
Briefly, Omi's fingers tightened their grip around Ken. Relaxed, and with a hidden look of heightened determination, Omi urged Ken back for his bed.
"We need to talk a little. Then, I... I don't know, Ken-kun! I've never done this before. I don't know what to want." He blushed and was glad his face was still hidden.
"Not that I don't-- I mean, I know what..." Damn it! Damn it all with twenty POUNDS of moldy cheese! How did anyone actually talk about this without stuttering?
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“I have an idea. Let’s not talk for a while.”
Ken continued walking back toward the bed, but at the last second he turned them around so Omi’s knees were against the edge.
“Make you a deal,” Ken whispered, even though they were alone. “I’ll give you a trial run. No strings. You don’t have to do anything, think about anything…if I do it right you won’t be able to think anyway.”
He pulled away to try and catch Omi’s eye. “And if you like it, great. If you don’t, then you just don’t.”
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Not talk for a while? Uh-oh. Omi was not an idiot. He knew exactly what Ken was saying and that was worrisome, because they needed to talk about it first right? But he didn't want to-- if Omi could have it his way they'd never talk about the rest but he thought Ken needed it and--
He blinked and drew in a light gasp, having gotten so lost in his thoughts he'd not even noticed Ken had backed him around so that his knees were against the side of his bed.
He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or a little worried about the phrasing. Trial run. It made him think of something like a sales pitch. Money-back guarantee. That was so... ridiculous and utterly a Ken thing to say.
Dork.
Omi made a weak attempt to answer, and instead a crooked smile was taking over his mouth. The blush was coming back with a vengeance. He awkwardly laughed; there was another surge of anxiety and yet...
"What did you have in mind...?" He ventured.
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Completely up front, as usual. And shamelessly cheating, which was unusual.
It was the one skill he could bring to the…bed…that he was damned proud of.
He saw it as a challenge (after that awful time) and treated it as such, but more importantly, he enjoyed it.
Ken had an unfortunate oral fixation, it was the reason he was constantly licking his fingers while he snacked (and only the damage to his lungs kept him from becoming a smoker).
“You don’t have to do anything but sit back and enjoy. Eh…hopefully enjoy.”
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He realized he was looking down, and hadn't been meeting Ken's eyes for a while. He glanced up at them finally and gave a small nod.
If only his heart would stop racing.
Omi scooted back onto his bed and leaned back, making himself comfortable. On noticing his fingers were faintly trembling, he clenched the waist of his shorts. Stop it, fingers. Not that nervous, not that nervous.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Ken, or didn't think it would feel good, but... what was he getting himself into?
Eyes shut. He swallowed and unzipped the fly.
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“Oi. Omi. I’m not giving you a flu shot y’know.” He joked, nudging Omi on the shoulder so he would lie back.
After that, he focused. It was do or die now. He dropped to one knee in front of Omi, gently massaging his thighs at the legline of his shorts.
“Just let me,” he murmured, placing a kiss where skin and cloth met.
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Omi stopped and reprocessed that thought, and decided right there that he had to be the most insane teenaged male on the face of the planet.
But at least he knew what to expect with a shot, and he wasn't afraid of needles. A dart-handling assassin hardly could be. This...
Omi's eyes widened, and he was pretty sure he actually squeaked as Ken's mouth came so close. Analysis of his psyche went flying out the window, contemplation instead turning to the strange duality of how Ken's warm hands massaging his legs was making him feel more relaxed and more restless at the same time.
Omi grabbed up his pillow and used it as much to gag himself as to hide his hot face. To give himself something to cling to; he could already tell he was going to need it.
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He leaned forward, coming within a hair’s breadth of Omi’s navel, just letting the working hand do its job.
And then the first wave of assault came in the form of butterfly kisses, short, hot licks, and cooling puffs of breath to Omi’s stomach. A bombardment of varying sensations, never in a recognizable pattern, while the other hand kept its steady rhythm of relaxation.
He kept it up, carefully making his way lower and lower and lower…
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He allowed Omi to push him back, using the movement to drag his hands to the waistband of Omi’s shorts and ease them down far enough to get what he wanted.
There wasn’t a shred of doubt that Ken was winning this round, but now he was more focused than before. Being too sure too early was a path leading to defeat.
A few more teasing licks down the hipbone, reveling in the pulsating warmth, and then business.
Ken picked a spot on the underside, close to the base, and sucked there a bit, curling around with a touch of tongue. He kept it up, working around and up in a twisted spiral all the way to the top, then stopped and dragged his tongue all the way down.
He kept his eyes open so he could watch Omi react; his own hands were now gripped tight on either side of Omi’s hips, and a flush was beginning to stain his cheeks as well as he fought off his own arousal.
Omi would have to look hot like this. Dammit.
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