So~~ In order to fit all or at least most of the porn, I cheated and went with a non-linear scene. >.<
This Is You
Ueda quite likes Nakamaru. He tastes like something cinnamon and snaps like something with a trigger. He could spend a lot of time appreciating Nakamaru’s best points. When he’s spread out and loose, dark eyes and bitten lips…
There is his job, though.
It all can get so hectic and painful and so many things that are not him, but whenever Ueda just starts to feel enough of himself disappear, he finds it all the next moment. All Nakamaru has to do is get in his way, fix Ueda with that fond, easy, and ready-for-a-good-time look, and then let Ueda push him backward onto any available and supportive surface.
His white rug goes dark with a rapidly blooming stain of a spilt glass of iced tea he’d knocked over in his rush.
Today it’s Ueda’s coffee table.
Nakamaru murmurs his reproach over Ueda’s lips because of course, it’s his drink.
“Goddamn.”
He only hears Nakamaru’s curse like a faint baritone, distant, but thrumming right under his ribs, thundering with his heartbeat. He shuts his eyes and rocks deeper; growls when Nakamaru clenches, feels him fevered from the inside-all soaked and silk. His knees are scraping against the grains of wood under them and he can hear the slide of their skin and Nakamaru’s palms sliding over the edge.
His mind is ringing with want; actions so blistering as even Nakamaru’s hard, desperate gasps against his arm are seeping right into his veins, making him push harder.
And this is him-- them; if they keep at this, he’ll always remember..
Rehearsal; boxing; choreography; running; interviews; magazines and their insipid writers; training; long, silent drives to god-knows-where for god-knows-what, and a soft yes for dinner with a co-worker.
His schedule is literally about to grow horns and start baring its fangs at him these days and Ueda hates thinking about it.
He feels like he’s reached the point where he’s forgotten what a proper night’s sleep feels like; that manic point where he can almost taste whenever he thinks too deeply; where everything he does between breaths has its own furious, exhausting slice.
And that’s really just a typical Wednesday.
Forgetting who he is outside of work takes time, but Ueda has had his fair share. He could forget; would just as well. It’d be easier. To just drop it all and lose himself in front of cameras, behind microphones-all contrived expressions and simple cut-across dialogue. Automated would be safe; mechanical would be easy.
And yet, there is Nakamaru.
Nakamaru-all spindly and strung as tight as a piano string-knows how to wrap around him and he tells Ueda in words that are barely that just how he knows him. Besides the obvious fact that Nakamaru is like something curving and a little sharp Ueda can rub up against. Nakamaru likes him and he doesn’t let Ueda forget.
Over the phone when Ueda’s about to drop off-just barely making it through a proper conversation, Nakamaru sounds like how his childhood heroes should’ve sounded-like action figures in adorably lame bowties. “You’ll find your pace,” he says. “Just be yourself.”
Ueda has started to spend every day off with him for this reason. And he doesn’t respond to questions over the matter. It’s none of their business.
It isn’t so much that their conversations can be banal, because they really can be. Or that they are routine enough that-if a day for them alone was itinerated inconsequentially-a more malicious person might suggest they’re a boring pair.
“Forget about it for now,” he’d ordered, one hand already up Nakamaru’s tousled shirt once he had him down.
Nakamaru had laughed at him; the soft, delectable skin of his chest trembled with each chuckle.
It isn’t even that Nakamaru is funny; his reactions; his casual silliness, or his unwarranted annoyance with Ueda now and then.
“You’re so coming over tonight,” he’d told him in an commanding undertone. Precursor for another long-awaited day off.
Nakamaru had had his nose buried in a book, but he’d nodded without looking up. The usual.
Ueda makes Nakamaru’s mouth slide open under his each time he thrusts to press slick differences and hot breaths over him. Then Nakamaru’s pained sigh when Ueda arches over him starts a frenzy and they’re a rocking mess the next second. Nakamaru’s thighs slide up his, knees digging in as his socked feet strike the other end of the table.
Their rhythms and touches are always routine, but the way it feels each time isn’t. Nakamaru’s stare is a little mean this time and it’s all there again, every piece of himself brought together by the terrific lack of fear in his gaze. Almost like a firm ‘this is you’. Only for him. That has him, sighing with some relief over Nakamaru’s throat while he brushes his knuckles over the front of Nakamaru’s trousers. He curls his fingers around him through the fabric, then, beginning to rub a caustic friction. Nakamaru loses his quiet and gives a voiceless groan, kicking his hips up, hard through his trousers and grinding into Ueda’s palm.
Ueda braces himself on the table’s edge and nibbles down the collar of Nakamaru’s button-down while Nakamaru’s surprisingly strong fingers smooth up under his t-shirt and down his ribs to reach for his hips, fitting them together. He only needs one hand in Nakamaru’s pants and the rest is fluid. Nakamaru bites sometimes; isn’t aware that he does it because he goes utterly blind when Ueda’s working him this hard.
“That’s it,” Nakamaru mumbles on a broken sob and Ueda’s bends him completely in two, rolls in on an angle that has them both whimpering.
Yeah, that’s definitely it.
He can’t get lost when this is him; them. Nakamaru wouldn’t let him.
yes yes i love this, especially because i said the first word off the top of my head and then went, "oh, how can that porn hmm oops :s"
i think this is my favorite bit-- Nakamaru bites sometimes; isn’t aware that he does it because he goes utterly blind when Ueda’s working him this hard.
or maybe this Ueda has started to spend every day off with him for this reason. And he doesn’t respond to questions over the matter. It’s none of their business.
hahahha i remember saying to seki that 'it would be too easy to just have them be lost somewhere,' so i wanted to make it so the overall theme is that Ueda gets lost but he finds himself when Nakamaru's on his back :B heh
this was so ... ugh. awesome. I love how ueda redefines himself in Nakamaru every time. Even as he ma or may not classify them as boring .... among other things. ♥
Also udek why this stikes me but I wanted to throw it back at you Nakamaru bites sometimes; isn’t aware that he does it YES! *___*
I quite like themes for maruda fics where they keep looking to each other to find a tether back to the norm when stardom and idol life is so messy and surreal.
hahahah yes, i also like to think Ueda makes Nakamaru do things in the bedroom he wouldn't acknowledge or realise he's done until quite a ways after >:D
This Is You
Ueda quite likes Nakamaru. He tastes like something cinnamon and snaps like something with a trigger. He could spend a lot of time appreciating Nakamaru’s best points. When he’s spread out and loose, dark eyes and bitten lips…
There is his job, though.
It all can get so hectic and painful and so many things that are not him, but whenever Ueda just starts to feel enough of himself disappear, he finds it all the next moment. All Nakamaru has to do is get in his way, fix Ueda with that fond, easy, and ready-for-a-good-time look, and then let Ueda push him backward onto any available and supportive surface.
His white rug goes dark with a rapidly blooming stain of a spilt glass of iced tea he’d knocked over in his rush.
Today it’s Ueda’s coffee table.
Nakamaru murmurs his reproach over Ueda’s lips because of course, it’s his drink.
“Goddamn.”
He only hears Nakamaru’s curse like a faint baritone, distant, but thrumming right under his ribs, thundering with his heartbeat. He shuts his eyes and rocks deeper; growls when Nakamaru clenches, feels him fevered from the inside-all soaked and silk. His knees are scraping against the grains of wood under them and he can hear the slide of their skin and Nakamaru’s palms sliding over the edge.
His mind is ringing with want; actions so blistering as even Nakamaru’s hard, desperate gasps against his arm are seeping right into his veins, making him push harder.
And this is him-- them; if they keep at this, he’ll always remember..
Rehearsal; boxing; choreography; running; interviews; magazines and their insipid writers; training; long, silent drives to god-knows-where for god-knows-what, and a soft yes for dinner with a co-worker.
His schedule is literally about to grow horns and start baring its fangs at him these days and Ueda hates thinking about it.
He feels like he’s reached the point where he’s forgotten what a proper night’s sleep feels like; that manic point where he can almost taste whenever he thinks too deeply; where everything he does between breaths has its own furious, exhausting slice.
And that’s really just a typical Wednesday.
Forgetting who he is outside of work takes time, but Ueda has had his fair share. He could forget; would just as well. It’d be easier. To just drop it all and lose himself in front of cameras, behind microphones-all contrived expressions and simple cut-across dialogue. Automated would be safe; mechanical would be easy.
And yet, there is Nakamaru.
Nakamaru-all spindly and strung as tight as a piano string-knows how to wrap around him and he tells Ueda in words that are barely that just how he knows him. Besides the obvious fact that Nakamaru is like something curving and a little sharp Ueda can rub up against. Nakamaru likes him and he doesn’t let Ueda forget.
Over the phone when Ueda’s about to drop off-just barely making it through a proper conversation, Nakamaru sounds like how his childhood heroes should’ve sounded-like action figures in adorably lame bowties. “You’ll find your pace,” he says. “Just be yourself.”
Ueda has started to spend every day off with him for this reason. And he doesn’t respond to questions over the matter. It’s none of their business.
It isn’t so much that their conversations can be banal, because they really can be. Or that they are routine enough that-if a day for them alone was itinerated inconsequentially-a more malicious person might suggest they’re a boring pair.
“Forget about it for now,” he’d ordered, one hand already up Nakamaru’s tousled shirt once he had him down.
Nakamaru had laughed at him; the soft, delectable skin of his chest trembled with each chuckle.
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“You’re so coming over tonight,” he’d told him in an commanding undertone. Precursor for another long-awaited day off.
Nakamaru had had his nose buried in a book, but he’d nodded without looking up. The usual.
Ueda makes Nakamaru’s mouth slide open under his each time he thrusts to press slick differences and hot breaths over him. Then Nakamaru’s pained sigh when Ueda arches over him starts a frenzy and they’re a rocking mess the next second. Nakamaru’s thighs slide up his, knees digging in as his socked feet strike the other end of the table.
Their rhythms and touches are always routine, but the way it feels each time isn’t. Nakamaru’s stare is a little mean this time and it’s all there again, every piece of himself brought together by the terrific lack of fear in his gaze. Almost like a firm ‘this is you’. Only for him. That has him, sighing with some relief over Nakamaru’s throat while he brushes his knuckles over the front of Nakamaru’s trousers. He curls his fingers around him through the fabric, then, beginning to rub a caustic friction. Nakamaru loses his quiet and gives a voiceless groan, kicking his hips up, hard through his trousers and grinding into Ueda’s palm.
Ueda braces himself on the table’s edge and nibbles down the collar of Nakamaru’s button-down while Nakamaru’s surprisingly strong fingers smooth up under his t-shirt and down his ribs to reach for his hips, fitting them together. He only needs one hand in Nakamaru’s pants and the rest is fluid. Nakamaru bites sometimes; isn’t aware that he does it because he goes utterly blind when Ueda’s working him this hard.
“That’s it,” Nakamaru mumbles on a broken sob and Ueda’s bends him completely in two, rolls in on an angle that has them both whimpering.
Yeah, that’s definitely it.
He can’t get lost when this is him; them. Nakamaru wouldn’t let him.
--
<3
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i think this is my favorite bit-- Nakamaru bites sometimes; isn’t aware that he does it because he goes utterly blind when Ueda’s working him this hard.
or maybe this Ueda has started to spend every day off with him for this reason. And he doesn’t respond to questions over the matter. It’s none of their business.
ilu man <3<3<3<3<3
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ilu2~~~ <3<3<3<3<3<3
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this was so ... ugh. awesome. I love how ueda redefines himself in Nakamaru every time. Even as he ma or may not classify them as boring .... among other things. ♥
Also udek why this stikes me but I wanted to throw it back at you Nakamaru bites sometimes; isn’t aware that he does it YES! *___*
Reply
hahahah yes, i also like to think Ueda makes Nakamaru do things in the bedroom he wouldn't acknowledge or realise he's done until quite a ways after >:D
<3333
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