Fic: Leather [GazettE Kink Meme, Ruki solo, Ruki X Aoi, NC-17]
Title: Leather
Chapter: Standalone
Author: Boots
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Pure smut
Warnings: Masturbation, male/male fantasy
Pairing: Ruki solo, Ruki X Aoi
Disclaimer: Boys belong to PS Company, I own the story only.
Summary: Ruki can very much appreciate the gloves he is given to wear for a photo session. Very much indeed.
Comments: Written for a request on the GazettE Kink Meme - http://ldybastet.livejournal.com/582184.html - which you should definitely go to if you're looking to write some quality smut. Yay for writing smut in a Starbucks while being exiled from home due to Hurricane Sandy-related power outages!
Ruki closed the door of the dressing room behind him, letting out a long breath. It had been a long, long photo session. Solo ones usually were. When it was the whole band, he had time when the others were before the cameras to grab a smoke, drink an Orangina, check his Twitter feed. When he was the photographers’ only target of attention, though, he was on call constantly.
At least he liked the outfit he’d been wearing for this one. Tight-fitting black velvet jacket, no shirt underneath, big and elegant silver necklaces decorating his chest. Matching pants, pointed-toe black boots.
And on his hands, an extraordinary pair of shiny black patent leather gloves. They’d sort of become his trademark, that fancy handwear. Well, one of his trademarks, at least. And he had to admit that he wore them well.
He felt dressed up when he was wearing gloves like this. Powerful, elegant, smart, sexy. Hands that could wear these were hands that could grasp the entire world, could reshape his own destiny. They could pen music and lyrics, sketch out designs for merchandise and album art, gesture dramatically before the audience, before the cameras.
Putting on these kind of gloves was one of the things that separated Takanori from Ruki.
He looked at himself in the mirror, posing as if he were still before the cameras. He touched the top of his hair, held his fingers in front of his lips as if contemplating something, reached for an imaginary object. Oh, he wore them well, all right.
As he continued to pose and admire, a thought snuck into his head of the time that Aoi saw him wearing similar gloves and said to him, “You’ve got the most fuckable hands I’ve ever seen, you know that?”
Ruki’s head had snapped toward him in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that it’s impossible to see your hands in those gloves and not want them all over your body, and around your cock.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ruki had replied in a cool tone.
“Come on,” Aoi had said. “You can’t tell me that you don’t jerk off when you’re wearing them. You mean to say you don’t look at yourself in the mirror and get hot and bothered?”
Thinking of those words now, Ruki shook his head. Pervert. Aoi’s mind spent most of the time deeply embedded in the gutter. He said things like that to all the boys, of course. Not to mention any interesting girls that caught his fancy.
(No, he wasn’t jealous of those other boys and girls. Nope. Not him.)
He began to strip away the costume from the photo session, unbuttoning the jacket, picking up a hanger, draping it over the arms neatly. Clothing this nice should be cherished at all times, not abused, even if it was just yours on professional loan.
The boots were put neatly side by side, and the pants were hung up next. He was reaching to the back of his neck to remove the jewelry when he noticed that he was still wearing the gloves.
Well, fuck. He usually took them off first. What the hell was up with this? Good Lord, he thought, don’t tell me I did this because of what Aoi said. That pervert . . .
(No, he didn’t want to do what Aoi suggested. Nope. He didn’t want to run his gloved hands all over that long, lean body . . .)
Before he knew what he was doing, he was slipping one gloved finger into his mouth and sucking on it, his tongue sliding over it softly. Oh, this felt good, didn’t it? The leather sliding through his lips was sensual and erotic, a texture that was rough and smooth, evoking sex that was fierce and sweaty, pounding into your lover’s body, or having him pound into you, his hands gripping you hard enough to bruise one moment, then caressing the next . . .
(And those weren’t Aoi’s hands he was thinking of, oh, no way in freaking hell, no, he wasn’t pretending it was his finger at all sliding down his neck, the leather moist now, hot from his own mouth . . .)
He found himself caressing his own chest, reveling in the feel of the leather on his skin, smooth on the surface, rough underneath, a substance that invited you to come out and play, to experience forbidden delights, to . . . to . . .
To pinch your own nipple, and run your fingers back and forth over it as you looked at yourself in the mirror, eyes half-lidded, tongue slowly licking your own lips, the leather teasing the flesh into a hard, hot peak . . .
(And mind not conjuring visions of Aoi in that mirror next to him, licking the other nipple, encouraging Ruki to keep touching himself, telling him how hot and sexy he looked doing that, oh, no, oh, definitely not . . .)
He was rubbing his fingers over the other nipple now, pretending the slick leather was a slick tongue, wet and hot, teasing and tempting him, and leather could do that, couldn’t it, it could be any hot and sexy body part that you wanted it to be, because it was sex itself . . .
One hand slid over his stomach, and Ruki watched it in the mirror, black leather sliding over taut flesh, a little bit of sweat there helping its passage, pausing at his navel and circling it, before going lower, both hands coming down to push at his black silk boxers, the material pooling at his feet before he stepped out of it . . .
(And the word he half-sighed, half-gasped as he wrapped his fingers around his cock was not Aoi. Oh, not at all. Nor was he envisioning the other man kneeling in front of him, putting his hand on top of Ruki’s gloved one, encouraging the stroking, murmuring that yes, yes, you’re a bad boy, aren’t you, making youself feel good like that, and that’s so fucking sexy, go on, keep fucking yourself and I want to watch every second . . .)
Ruki began to pump his own cock, watching in the mirror, seeing black leather surrounding, encasing, trapping hard heat. He felt roughness/smoothness, his own heat through the thick material. He moaned as he fucked his own hand, fucked the leather, made love to his own power and sensuality . . .
(No, not making love to Aoi in his head, not at all, not envisioning being on top of him, rubbing their cocks together, hot on hot, hard on hard, the two men moaning each other’s names and nipping at necks and collarbones and kissing long and hard, tongues tangling . . .)
“Oh, God, yeah,” Ruki moaned as he watched his own fingers move faster, leather tracing patterns on the flesh, following a vein, circling the head, slipping up and down, before gripping again so he could thrust hard, push himself through the channel of his hand, of the glove . .
(Of Aoi’s ass, hot and tight all around him as the other man bent over, gripping the table, thrusting his hips back as he urged Ruki to fuck him harder and deeper, fill him completely, and God, no, he wasn’t thinking that, but he was, oh, he was, dammit, damn Aoi and his fetish for these fucking gloves . . .)
His thumb brushed back and forth over the tip, the leather slick with precome, and he could see his skin getting flushed and sweatier, see his nipples taut and red, hear his own heavy breathing and moans, and he was getting close, so damn close, he wrapped the leather hard around the area just under the head and pumped and watched him fuck his hand, and . . .
(And he could hear Aoi cry out, “Ruki, Ruki, oh, fuck, I’m coming,” and feel that channel grip him as the other man threw his head backward, screaming in ecstasy. . .)
The pleasure finally exploded in Ruki, and he let out a loud cry as he watched the come pour from him over the leather, white running over black, spoiling the purity of the gloves, their untouched beauty, but oh, in the best possible way . . .
He leaned back on the wall, panting, one hand against his forehead. Good Lord, he’d come so hard he felt dizzy. When was the last time he’d done that, especially when touching himself? He must have really needed. . . .
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, he knew what he needed. God damn it. It was these gloves that did it. They made him realize he really wanted . . . the one who really wanted him to do things with those gloves.
He reached for a tissue to clean them off, and then, still wearing the gloves, he reached for his phone. He didn’t have to scroll through his contact list very long - he knew exactly what he was looking for.
“Aoi? Are you doing anything? . . . No? . . . Well, I’m coming over. . .. Yes, I’m done. I’m just leaving now. . . Let’s just say you’re going to have a very big evening. See you in a few.”
He left the gloves on when he was getting dressed. Wardrobe was going to wonder what happened to them. He’d pay for the fucking things. They were his now, and he had very special plans for them.
Plans that definitely involved Aoi. Oh, yes they did.
Chapter: Standalone
Author: Boots
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Pure smut
Warnings: Masturbation, male/male fantasy
Pairing: Ruki solo, Ruki X Aoi
Disclaimer: Boys belong to PS Company, I own the story only.
Summary: Ruki can very much appreciate the gloves he is given to wear for a photo session. Very much indeed.
Comments: Written for a request on the GazettE Kink Meme - http://ldybastet.livejournal.com/582184.html - which you should definitely go to if you're looking to write some quality smut. Yay for writing smut in a Starbucks while being exiled from home due to Hurricane Sandy-related power outages!
Ruki closed the door of the dressing room behind him, letting out a long breath. It had been a long, long photo session. Solo ones usually were. When it was the whole band, he had time when the others were before the cameras to grab a smoke, drink an Orangina, check his Twitter feed. When he was the photographers’ only target of attention, though, he was on call constantly.
At least he liked the outfit he’d been wearing for this one. Tight-fitting black velvet jacket, no shirt underneath, big and elegant silver necklaces decorating his chest. Matching pants, pointed-toe black boots.
And on his hands, an extraordinary pair of shiny black patent leather gloves. They’d sort of become his trademark, that fancy handwear. Well, one of his trademarks, at least. And he had to admit that he wore them well.
He felt dressed up when he was wearing gloves like this. Powerful, elegant, smart, sexy. Hands that could wear these were hands that could grasp the entire world, could reshape his own destiny. They could pen music and lyrics, sketch out designs for merchandise and album art, gesture dramatically before the audience, before the cameras.
Putting on these kind of gloves was one of the things that separated Takanori from Ruki.
He looked at himself in the mirror, posing as if he were still before the cameras. He touched the top of his hair, held his fingers in front of his lips as if contemplating something, reached for an imaginary object. Oh, he wore them well, all right.
As he continued to pose and admire, a thought snuck into his head of the time that Aoi saw him wearing similar gloves and said to him, “You’ve got the most fuckable hands I’ve ever seen, you know that?”
Ruki’s head had snapped toward him in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that it’s impossible to see your hands in those gloves and not want them all over your body, and around your cock.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ruki had replied in a cool tone.
“Come on,” Aoi had said. “You can’t tell me that you don’t jerk off when you’re wearing them. You mean to say you don’t look at yourself in the mirror and get hot and bothered?”
Thinking of those words now, Ruki shook his head. Pervert. Aoi’s mind spent most of the time deeply embedded in the gutter. He said things like that to all the boys, of course. Not to mention any interesting girls that caught his fancy.
(No, he wasn’t jealous of those other boys and girls. Nope. Not him.)
He began to strip away the costume from the photo session, unbuttoning the jacket, picking up a hanger, draping it over the arms neatly. Clothing this nice should be cherished at all times, not abused, even if it was just yours on professional loan.
The boots were put neatly side by side, and the pants were hung up next. He was reaching to the back of his neck to remove the jewelry when he noticed that he was still wearing the gloves.
Well, fuck. He usually took them off first. What the hell was up with this? Good Lord, he thought, don’t tell me I did this because of what Aoi said. That pervert . . .
(No, he didn’t want to do what Aoi suggested. Nope. He didn’t want to run his gloved hands all over that long, lean body . . .)
Before he knew what he was doing, he was slipping one gloved finger into his mouth and sucking on it, his tongue sliding over it softly. Oh, this felt good, didn’t it? The leather sliding through his lips was sensual and erotic, a texture that was rough and smooth, evoking sex that was fierce and sweaty, pounding into your lover’s body, or having him pound into you, his hands gripping you hard enough to bruise one moment, then caressing the next . . .
(And those weren’t Aoi’s hands he was thinking of, oh, no way in freaking hell, no, he wasn’t pretending it was his finger at all sliding down his neck, the leather moist now, hot from his own mouth . . .)
He found himself caressing his own chest, reveling in the feel of the leather on his skin, smooth on the surface, rough underneath, a substance that invited you to come out and play, to experience forbidden delights, to . . . to . . .
To pinch your own nipple, and run your fingers back and forth over it as you looked at yourself in the mirror, eyes half-lidded, tongue slowly licking your own lips, the leather teasing the flesh into a hard, hot peak . . .
(And mind not conjuring visions of Aoi in that mirror next to him, licking the other nipple, encouraging Ruki to keep touching himself, telling him how hot and sexy he looked doing that, oh, no, oh, definitely not . . .)
He was rubbing his fingers over the other nipple now, pretending the slick leather was a slick tongue, wet and hot, teasing and tempting him, and leather could do that, couldn’t it, it could be any hot and sexy body part that you wanted it to be, because it was sex itself . . .
One hand slid over his stomach, and Ruki watched it in the mirror, black leather sliding over taut flesh, a little bit of sweat there helping its passage, pausing at his navel and circling it, before going lower, both hands coming down to push at his black silk boxers, the material pooling at his feet before he stepped out of it . . .
(And the word he half-sighed, half-gasped as he wrapped his fingers around his cock was not Aoi. Oh, not at all. Nor was he envisioning the other man kneeling in front of him, putting his hand on top of Ruki’s gloved one, encouraging the stroking, murmuring that yes, yes, you’re a bad boy, aren’t you, making youself feel good like that, and that’s so fucking sexy, go on, keep fucking yourself and I want to watch every second . . .)
Ruki began to pump his own cock, watching in the mirror, seeing black leather surrounding, encasing, trapping hard heat. He felt roughness/smoothness, his own heat through the thick material. He moaned as he fucked his own hand, fucked the leather, made love to his own power and sensuality . . .
(No, not making love to Aoi in his head, not at all, not envisioning being on top of him, rubbing their cocks together, hot on hot, hard on hard, the two men moaning each other’s names and nipping at necks and collarbones and kissing long and hard, tongues tangling . . .)
“Oh, God, yeah,” Ruki moaned as he watched his own fingers move faster, leather tracing patterns on the flesh, following a vein, circling the head, slipping up and down, before gripping again so he could thrust hard, push himself through the channel of his hand, of the glove . .
(Of Aoi’s ass, hot and tight all around him as the other man bent over, gripping the table, thrusting his hips back as he urged Ruki to fuck him harder and deeper, fill him completely, and God, no, he wasn’t thinking that, but he was, oh, he was, dammit, damn Aoi and his fetish for these fucking gloves . . .)
His thumb brushed back and forth over the tip, the leather slick with precome, and he could see his skin getting flushed and sweatier, see his nipples taut and red, hear his own heavy breathing and moans, and he was getting close, so damn close, he wrapped the leather hard around the area just under the head and pumped and watched him fuck his hand, and . . .
(And he could hear Aoi cry out, “Ruki, Ruki, oh, fuck, I’m coming,” and feel that channel grip him as the other man threw his head backward, screaming in ecstasy. . .)
The pleasure finally exploded in Ruki, and he let out a loud cry as he watched the come pour from him over the leather, white running over black, spoiling the purity of the gloves, their untouched beauty, but oh, in the best possible way . . .
He leaned back on the wall, panting, one hand against his forehead. Good Lord, he’d come so hard he felt dizzy. When was the last time he’d done that, especially when touching himself? He must have really needed. . . .
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, he knew what he needed. God damn it. It was these gloves that did it. They made him realize he really wanted . . . the one who really wanted him to do things with those gloves.
He reached for a tissue to clean them off, and then, still wearing the gloves, he reached for his phone. He didn’t have to scroll through his contact list very long - he knew exactly what he was looking for.
“Aoi? Are you doing anything? . . . No? . . . Well, I’m coming over. . .. Yes, I’m done. I’m just leaving now. . . Let’s just say you’re going to have a very big evening. See you in a few.”
He left the gloves on when he was getting dressed. Wardrobe was going to wonder what happened to them. He’d pay for the fucking things. They were his now, and he had very special plans for them.
Plans that definitely involved Aoi. Oh, yes they did.