Jealousy Shou/Hiroto Oneshot
[b]Title[/b]: Dance Club
[b]Chapter[/b] one shot
Rating: NC-17
[b]Genre[/b]: "fanfiction", romance, fiction, yaoi
[b]Warnings[/b]: sex, male on male, yaoi, cheating
[b]Band[/b]: alice nine.,
[b]Characters[/b]: Shou, Hiroto, Tora, Saga, Nao [alice nine]
[b]Pairings[/b]: Shou/Hiroto, Tora/Hiroto
[b] Pages[/b]: 9
[b]Words[/b]: 3,504
[b]disclaimer[/b]: just using the names, the personalities and story are all mine.This is a work of fiction, any connections between real life people, places, or events are entirely coincidental
[b]Author's Comments[/b]: this was written for http://www.uchiha-sasuke-2306.deviantart.com and was removed from dA due to explicit content. Please enjoy, and if you have time, my other works and an archive of my work is here: http://seannabirchwood.deviantart.com/journal/27719349/
Echoes reverberated through the body-sweat filled changing room as five men tossed their encore shirts aside as they gasped for air. Screams of girls follows the dying sounds of their music, but even those were fading in their ears and reality was sinking in.
Shou sank into a black lounge chair, mopping his brow languidly with a white, starched towel. Nearby, Tora was leaning against the wall, flick-flick-flicking his lighter to life so that he could fulfill a burning want. A sigh of contentment left the guitarist’s tired body. The singer groaned and his head connected with the white-yet-colourful wall full of signatures from other bands, and themselves.
Across the room, Hiroto was watching the other guitarist with feigned uninterested, although Shou knew their youngest band-mate wanted Tora’s lips taking a drag off of something else. Shou’s eyes narrowed disdainfully. He could not help but feel bitter when he was alone so much off of stage.
A whine sounded from Saga’s throat, and Shou debated looking in that direction. When he did, he felt repulsed by the actions Nao was taking upon their bassist. Even Tora seemed perturbed that Nao could not wait until they got to privacy.
“Not in the dressing room, please.” Shou stressed, irritated.
Saga whispered heartfelt thanks, quickly standing and exiting the room. Nao laughed briefly, but remained on the armchair’s arm. Shou shook his head, trying to concentrate on the ceiling rather than on his own misery.
Nao beamed at Tora. “Come to the bar, Tora-kun. Bring Hiroto-chan, it’ll be like a double date.” There was a small pause. “A double date and a half if Shou-kun tags along.”
A grunt left Shou’s throat and he stood. There had to be better ways to spend his evening than watching Tora and Saga get fondled while crap-music blared loudly in his ears and he got drunk-like getting drunk by himself in the quiet of his hotel room.
“I’m going to the hotel; you four can molest each other without me, thanks.”
As he exited, he heard Tora exclaim playfully. “You really enjoy teasing Saga-chan, don’t you?”
“It means a better fuck for me, later.” Nao returned.
And then the big, metal door slammed shut, leaving Shou in the perfect silence of a cold hall, where even the echoes of his footsteps made no impression on the dirty white walls. It seemed as though his band-mates had changed on him, especially Tora.
Tora. Why had he so willingly let Tora slip from his grasp? He mourned the loss of his lover and friend, and now he was caught in a unique bond of jealousy and bitterness. Who did he envy more: Hiroto or Tora? Tora felt no loneliness-as he did-and Hiroto had Tora in his arms-as he did not.
He turned the final corner in the hallway to be greeted by the mournful eyes of Saga. The light coloured brunette had glanced up from the floor, his eyes were red, but Shou would never ask the man to admit it. Shou paused in his step and they shared silent, but understanding, contact; Shou as the outsider and Saga as a-perhaps unwilling-insider.
Things were not quite as perfect as the outside appearances seemed to suggest, or at least that was what Saga’s countenance was showing him. Shou considered the possibility that could be Saga-Nao was out of the question-but Saga seemed to be mellowed out now, whether that was Nao’s doing or Saga eventually maturing as much as any visual style artist could ever mature.
“Later.”
“Later.”
Shou strode on and cold wind bit at his face and lips and ears as he walked outdoors into the rapidly descending darkness. Streetlights had flickered on, giving the car packed street an eerie glow, cut through by headlights. The sidewalks looked damp underfoot, and a bag squished wetly beneath his feet as he walked. Above him, the stars were cloaked by air pollution, which was tinged a murky orange by the city lights. He sighed out a waft of self revulsion and misery as the wind whipped up, bringing the wet bag slapping into the back of his head.
He swore vividly, throwing the bag from himself in utter distaste. Even nature was taunting his loneliness.
The stairs to the hotel room he had been given creaked-what a great choice of a hotel room! His room had the faint smell of smoke, which crept to his nostrils as soon as he flicked on the dim lights. His luggage was spread out on the single bed with brown covers to match the dreariness of the place.
Is the whole world taunting me tonight? He wondered, feeling nauseous.
With a quiet huff, he mixed himself a drink, moved his bags off of the bed, and located a fresh pair of boxers. By the time he had undressed, he had taken another drink and lay in bed. Shou debated flicking on the television for some background noise, but decided against it: it was probably better that he try to sleep.
Too lazy to even turn off the lights, he stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but when he checked the handy little wall clock, only twenty minutes had passed. He swore aloud.
He sighed. It was going to be a shitty night just as it was a shitty day. After he worked up enough energy to stand, Shou walked toward the light switch. A soft knock sounded on the door.
Shou frowned, ready to tell the random staff person to go away in the rudest way he could think of. Why would they want to speak with him, and why would anyone else want to visit him?
The door swung open to reveal the mousey haired Hiroto, with cheeks that retained a touch of alcohol-blush and a face that held a smile full of embarrassment. Shou’s eyes could not conceal their confusion. Besides the smile and the red tinge, a dark bruise was starting to fade into Hiroto’s skin.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” Hiroto asked in a whisper.
“Yeah, of course.” Shou replied, wishing he had the strength enough to shut the door in the guitarist’s face. Had they ever let him in their rooms when he needed comfort?
Although it ate at him inside, Shou never ventured to ask the little brunette what had happened as Hiroto nestled down on the couch and hugged his knees. Shou opened a cupboard, searching for something to give the man slouched on the hotel room’s couch. He placed a pot of water on the flat-top stove and set the water to boiling. He passed Hiroto the remote so that he could have control over the television, but Hiroto deigned not to care about this freedom.
Silence weighed in the room, as if Shou was alone again, except for the soft hiss of the stove and the water. Glancing up, he watched as the steam spread and trailed its way along the ceiling in obscure patterns against the white, like veins on an elderly mans hand.
He took the water to the cup and stirred, adding milk to make the tea a soft brown and a few teaspoons of sugar: the way he figured that Hiroto would enjoy it. Large puppy-like eyes the colour of hazelnuts looked up with sad innocence as Shou approached.
“This should make you feel better.” Shou murmured, pressing the small cup into Hiroto’s calloused hands.
“Thanks,” Hiroto whispered, bringing the glass cup to his lips and sipping with quiet noises.
Shou sat next to him. “Do you watch anything?”
“Sometimes, but I don’t want to right now.” Hiroto replied.
Biting back a sigh, Shou got up tiredly. “Well, I’m heading to bed, Roto-chan.” He was unsure where Hiroto was going to be sleeping-unless the brunette stayed on the couch.
“Night,” was the low reply.
Shou crept back into bed and snuggled down with the lights off, but with the guitarists presence in the other room, Shou found his eyes straying to the dark ceiling of his room first before floating to the doorway, in the direction where Hiroto supposedly still lay.
A form was standing in his door way the third time or so that Shou glanced that way. He was caught off of his guard and sat, bracing for the possible serial killer lurking there. As the person moved closer they almost became lost in the gloom cast by the city lights beyond.
Hiroto scrunched down into the bed, laying his head on a bewildered Shou’s chest.
“Hold me?” came a soft, pleading whisper. Shou curled his arms around the quivering guitarist. “Hold me closer.”
Shou could not deny the young brunette, whose lips were tauntingly close to his neck. He rested his head against the brunette’s, wondering what had caused the sudden shift in Hiroto’s actions and attentions toward him. Unless it was staged, Hiroto never ventured this groin-torturing close to him before and NEVER asked to be held. He could almost feel his heart strings tugging his vulnerable organ in different directions as Hiroto snuggled closer.
“He hit me, Shou-kun.” The younger man sounded about ready to cry out his misery.
Shou tried to stay calm, cool, and nonchalant, but his concern was overriding his reason, and threatening to choke all sense. He reminded himself to be careful-or otherwise suffer the consequences of easing the guards around his heart. Hiroto could run him so incredibly easy in his lonely position of being single and alone. Hiroto could destroy him emotionally if he got too close too quick, especially if Shou did not remain leery of that fact.
Shou melted.
“Why, Hiro-chan?” As far as Shou knew, Tora was not that type of person, or that kind of lover.
Hiroto managed a half shrug before crying again. Shou comforted him with the best of his abilities, but the fair-haired man had little skill in that area. He placed a small kiss in the younger man’s messy hair. A very little smile graced the guitarist’s face for a moment, and he snuggled up closer to the vocalist. Shou felt as if the two of them had suddenly become inseparable, lovers in a strange turn of events-and he wished the moment could have eternity and more, so his arms could stay around Hiroto, and Hiroto’s head could remain on his chest forever.
“Roto-chan, if he hit you, he’s not worth this fuss. Kick him in the groin and be done with him.” Shou could not believe he had just said that about Tora, but the thought of anyone striking Hiroto upset him.
“Sounds so easy,” Hiroto mumbled, the vibrations of his sound tickling Shou’s breast bone.
“Because it is easy, Hiroppon.” Shou affirmed.
Hiroto shook his head. “No, Shou. Haven’t you ever loved someone?”
Shout bit his lip before he spoke: “Yea,” he strengthened his weak voice, “and I let them go, too.”
“You’re stronger than me, then.” Hiroto’s voice was sad, and he clutched to Shou tighter.
The vocalist held his guitarist in silence for a long moment, his heart pounding with adrenaline that was caused simply by Hiroto’s head resting over it, his small body in- and de-flating as he breathed softly. A shudder ran down Shou’s spine as smooth lips pressed against his neck. Shou breathed in deeply, trying to stem the hot blood now rushing through his system. Maybe he was unable to love, maybe he could only be in lust, only need and get hot-like how Hiroto was making him feel now. Maybe he was defective, a tragic figure of a human being, but how great Hiroto’s tongue felt against his lips as the younger male raised his head.
“Hiroto…” Shou could not see how the younger was having a hard time forgetting Tora, unless Hiroto was using Shou for just that, but if Hiroto kept touching him with those guitar-rough hands, Hiroto could use Shou for anything, and Shou would never voice a complaint. He would throw caution to the wind if-
A slow tongue pierced his mouth as Hiroto furthered their sudden intimacy. Shou gasped, his thoughts disappearing faster than snow in Australia, faster than the high-speed trains when Shou was already running late. Hiroto’s hands were already pushing Shou’s shirt up as he ravaged Shou’s mouth, his fingers teasing the two delicate nubs of flesh on Shou’s chest, eliciting soft sounds from the vocalist.
His lips were released as Hiroto decided that he needed a quick breath, before the guitarist’s mouth claimed his over-sensitive neck. Shou’s head spun, his thoughts-non-existent for the most part-were clogged, along with his ears so that the naughty words Hiroto whispered were muffled beyond Shou’s hearing capabilities. All he wanted in that moment was Hiroto, who seemed so willing to give himself to Shou.
He cried out in a quiet bliss, without shame. His shirt had vanished without notification and Hiroto’s teeth had closed down on his aforementioned nipples, teased to a sensitivity that was unbearable.
A soft laugh broke their relative silence, followed by a sniff. “Are you okay, Shou-kun? Is this okay?”
Shou looked up into those seductive chocolate brown eyes and felt more than a stirring in his nether regions. How could it not be okay? He, Shou, had reached a paradise better than what some people promise comes after death; and his loins ached for it. His body was simply begging for this to happen.
“Stop fucking teasing me, Pon,” his voice was rough with his hunger.
And it was then that Shou was taking over, forcing Hiroto into the bed, tearing off the younger man’s shirt without ripping the fabric, rubbing his hands over the muscle-smooth chest as he straddled their hips. A provoking smirk graced Hiroto’s features.
“Mm, Shou-kun,” there was a pleasantly surprised sound to Hiroto’s tone, as if the brunette actually believed that he was going to have to top Shou.
Shou smiled, chewing lightly on the lips that had so previously tortured him. “That’s what happens.”
“I should tease you more nnnn often then,” Hiroto let a small sound escape. Eyes caught Shou’s eyes, eyes that were so pleading that Shou felt as if his heart had just flipped over on itself.
His fingers took hold of the buttons on Hiroto’s pants, ripping them loose with force enough to make Hiroto’s hips arch. Hiroto let a giggle-like sound pass his lips: obviously impressed. Shou smiled, pulling them down to his ankles in a paradoxically gentle manner, where the quirky brunette kicked them off.
As he gazed down at skin that was marred by a rough boyhood, a quiet thought questioned Shou on the morality of what he was doing. Isn’t he Tora’s? Shou pondered to himself as his fingers stretched and pulled the smaller man’s boxers down.
A nasally voice-husky in lust-called him from his reverie, as Hiroto spoke. “Tell me you have lube.”
“You wouldn’t hurt for me, Pon?” He countered with a chilling smile, even though there was not a bone in Shou’s body that could bring him to hurt the little guitarist.
He saw a small spark of nervousness in Hiroto’s eyes dawn at his words before moving to quickly find a bottle of lubrication. Shou wondered if Tora had taken the guitarist dry, like he had once to “punish” Shou in some role-play fantasy of his. The vocalist shuddered at the thought, before coating his hands and spreading Hiroto’s legs.
A soft gasp left Hiroto’s lips as Shou curled a finger just inside his entrance, warm to the touch and quickly slickening with helpful grease, The lubrication was much colder than Hiroto’s skin, even through the room temperature was not all that cool, and the feeling must have shocked him.
Shou searched intently for that spot, which would leave Hiroto seeing white and feeling bliss, once the guitarist’s cavern had been widened. Hiroto groaned quietly in pleasure and Shou forced his fingers against the spot, taking the brunette’s breath away and continued to do so until he himself could no longer withstand the panting cries.
While Hiroto recovered from the high he had been granted, Shou finished undressing himself, and reading to take Hiroto’s mind away once more. The very prospect delighted and further sexually excited him as he slickened his shaft. Gingerly placing himself at Hiroto’s wet, hot hole he slid in slowly, attempting to keep his mind on earth for as long as he could.
Beneath him, he could feel Hiroto’s body shifting uncomfortably as it involuntarily tried to get rid of the foreign object slowly making its way deeper inside. Hiroto’s pants lengthened and he widened his legs to further swallow Shou within himself. Warm legs wrapped around Shou, pushing him on faster until Shou was buried to the hilt, trying to acclimatize to the vibrations caused by the guitarist’s erratic breathing and his reflexes clenching and unclenching, still persistently trying to rid Shou from Hiroto.
“You shouldn’t be the one who’s brain dead,” Hiroto’s lustful whisper came. “I’m the one who’s going insane.” The words had been almost painfully spread out as Hiroto’s lungs deemed breathing to be more important that speaking.
“’m sorry, Pon, Babe, you’re so tight, it’s…hard.”
“You’re harder.” Hiroto groaned, again clenching down meaningfully on Shou, attempting to nail himself.
It reminded him that he was supposed to be working for both of their relief.
Hiroto tried to sink non-existent fingernails into Shou’s shoulders as Shou pulled almost the entire way out, which drew an extended cry from the guitarist. He started their rhythm, picking up the pace each time Hiroto seemed to catch up with him, forcing the guitarist into helplessness.
“Shou!” There was almost a stop-please tone to his voice. “Mmnnn.” The noises served simply to please the vocalist, who kissed everywhere but those lips so that he could hear more of their sounds.
Hiroto’s head fell back sharply as Shou changed and steeped his angle, bearing a delicate neck. The brunette’s noises were cut off by pure bliss as it became a fight for breath. Shou’s eyes refused to stay open as the pleasure intensified-Hiroto’s body was going through convulsions and Shou felt like his manhood was almost going to be crushed by the pleasing sensations.
He moaned louder than he expected, his voice joining with the one Hiroto had just recovered. Shou felt as if he were about to go insane if their love continued on much longer.
Warm liquid spread across his stomach as Hiroto uttered his name in the most desperate of manners, and Shou’s body tired out seconds later, the tension in his lower stomach unable to withstand Hiroto’s climax. Their heaving bodies lay together, still connected, as they fought to catch their breath, as they fought to even pull away. Hiroto pushed on his chest, wanting to be rid of what must now be an uncomfortable intrusion.
Shou forced himself to get up to his knees, his stomach sticky in a mixture of sweat and Hiroto’s semen. Hiroto looked whorish, his lips parted, damp hair fallen messily about his face, his eyes fixed to some faraway spot on the ceiling.
“You were crushing my chest,” the younger man explained with a small, very tired smile directed at Shou.
Shou moved to pull on his clothes, but collapsed on the bed instead, his mind screaming for sleep. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s alright. It was kind of … nice.” Hiroto replied.
Shou could not figure out what Hiroto meant by that, but allowed his eyes to close. He felt Hiroto snuggle up to him slowly, and in the cooling air of the room, the warm body felt nice against his skin. For the first time in a long, lonely time, Shou fell asleep with a smile on his face.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hiroto hated himself. He loved Shou, or he would never have been able to do what Tora had instructed him to, but if Shou ever found out what Hiroto had done, he would never even want to see Hiroto again, and that prospect scared the guitarist. The brunette did not understand why Tora had made him sleep with Shou, especially considering how vindictive Tora could be.
And Shou had been so gentle; it was obvious who the better of the two men was for a lover. Shou seemed to generally care about the well-being of his partner, even if the vocalist had no invested emotions, or felt no love for Hiroto-of which Hiroto was absolutely positive.
He looked at the sleeping mass of Tora; cold arms were wrapped around his bare stomach, long fingers tangled in the nearest locks of hair. Hiroto felt no warmth here with him, and in his mind he was slowly formulating a resolution: he was going to ask Shou if he could be with him. That was all he could hope for, and pray that the move does not incur upon either of them Tora’s jealousy.
.
[b]Chapter[/b] one shot
Rating: NC-17
[b]Genre[/b]: "fanfiction", romance, fiction, yaoi
[b]Warnings[/b]: sex, male on male, yaoi, cheating
[b]Band[/b]: alice nine.,
[b]Characters[/b]: Shou, Hiroto, Tora, Saga, Nao [alice nine]
[b]Pairings[/b]: Shou/Hiroto, Tora/Hiroto
[b] Pages[/b]: 9
[b]Words[/b]: 3,504
[b]disclaimer[/b]: just using the names, the personalities and story are all mine.This is a work of fiction, any connections between real life people, places, or events are entirely coincidental
[b]Author's Comments[/b]: this was written for http://www.uchiha-sasuke-2306.deviantart.com and was removed from dA due to explicit content. Please enjoy, and if you have time, my other works and an archive of my work is here: http://seannabirchwood.deviantart.com/journal/27719349/
Echoes reverberated through the body-sweat filled changing room as five men tossed their encore shirts aside as they gasped for air. Screams of girls follows the dying sounds of their music, but even those were fading in their ears and reality was sinking in.
Shou sank into a black lounge chair, mopping his brow languidly with a white, starched towel. Nearby, Tora was leaning against the wall, flick-flick-flicking his lighter to life so that he could fulfill a burning want. A sigh of contentment left the guitarist’s tired body. The singer groaned and his head connected with the white-yet-colourful wall full of signatures from other bands, and themselves.
Across the room, Hiroto was watching the other guitarist with feigned uninterested, although Shou knew their youngest band-mate wanted Tora’s lips taking a drag off of something else. Shou’s eyes narrowed disdainfully. He could not help but feel bitter when he was alone so much off of stage.
A whine sounded from Saga’s throat, and Shou debated looking in that direction. When he did, he felt repulsed by the actions Nao was taking upon their bassist. Even Tora seemed perturbed that Nao could not wait until they got to privacy.
“Not in the dressing room, please.” Shou stressed, irritated.
Saga whispered heartfelt thanks, quickly standing and exiting the room. Nao laughed briefly, but remained on the armchair’s arm. Shou shook his head, trying to concentrate on the ceiling rather than on his own misery.
Nao beamed at Tora. “Come to the bar, Tora-kun. Bring Hiroto-chan, it’ll be like a double date.” There was a small pause. “A double date and a half if Shou-kun tags along.”
A grunt left Shou’s throat and he stood. There had to be better ways to spend his evening than watching Tora and Saga get fondled while crap-music blared loudly in his ears and he got drunk-like getting drunk by himself in the quiet of his hotel room.
“I’m going to the hotel; you four can molest each other without me, thanks.”
As he exited, he heard Tora exclaim playfully. “You really enjoy teasing Saga-chan, don’t you?”
“It means a better fuck for me, later.” Nao returned.
And then the big, metal door slammed shut, leaving Shou in the perfect silence of a cold hall, where even the echoes of his footsteps made no impression on the dirty white walls. It seemed as though his band-mates had changed on him, especially Tora.
Tora. Why had he so willingly let Tora slip from his grasp? He mourned the loss of his lover and friend, and now he was caught in a unique bond of jealousy and bitterness. Who did he envy more: Hiroto or Tora? Tora felt no loneliness-as he did-and Hiroto had Tora in his arms-as he did not.
He turned the final corner in the hallway to be greeted by the mournful eyes of Saga. The light coloured brunette had glanced up from the floor, his eyes were red, but Shou would never ask the man to admit it. Shou paused in his step and they shared silent, but understanding, contact; Shou as the outsider and Saga as a-perhaps unwilling-insider.
Things were not quite as perfect as the outside appearances seemed to suggest, or at least that was what Saga’s countenance was showing him. Shou considered the possibility that could be Saga-Nao was out of the question-but Saga seemed to be mellowed out now, whether that was Nao’s doing or Saga eventually maturing as much as any visual style artist could ever mature.
“Later.”
“Later.”
Shou strode on and cold wind bit at his face and lips and ears as he walked outdoors into the rapidly descending darkness. Streetlights had flickered on, giving the car packed street an eerie glow, cut through by headlights. The sidewalks looked damp underfoot, and a bag squished wetly beneath his feet as he walked. Above him, the stars were cloaked by air pollution, which was tinged a murky orange by the city lights. He sighed out a waft of self revulsion and misery as the wind whipped up, bringing the wet bag slapping into the back of his head.
He swore vividly, throwing the bag from himself in utter distaste. Even nature was taunting his loneliness.
The stairs to the hotel room he had been given creaked-what a great choice of a hotel room! His room had the faint smell of smoke, which crept to his nostrils as soon as he flicked on the dim lights. His luggage was spread out on the single bed with brown covers to match the dreariness of the place.
Is the whole world taunting me tonight? He wondered, feeling nauseous.
With a quiet huff, he mixed himself a drink, moved his bags off of the bed, and located a fresh pair of boxers. By the time he had undressed, he had taken another drink and lay in bed. Shou debated flicking on the television for some background noise, but decided against it: it was probably better that he try to sleep.
Too lazy to even turn off the lights, he stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but when he checked the handy little wall clock, only twenty minutes had passed. He swore aloud.
He sighed. It was going to be a shitty night just as it was a shitty day. After he worked up enough energy to stand, Shou walked toward the light switch. A soft knock sounded on the door.
Shou frowned, ready to tell the random staff person to go away in the rudest way he could think of. Why would they want to speak with him, and why would anyone else want to visit him?
The door swung open to reveal the mousey haired Hiroto, with cheeks that retained a touch of alcohol-blush and a face that held a smile full of embarrassment. Shou’s eyes could not conceal their confusion. Besides the smile and the red tinge, a dark bruise was starting to fade into Hiroto’s skin.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” Hiroto asked in a whisper.
“Yeah, of course.” Shou replied, wishing he had the strength enough to shut the door in the guitarist’s face. Had they ever let him in their rooms when he needed comfort?
Although it ate at him inside, Shou never ventured to ask the little brunette what had happened as Hiroto nestled down on the couch and hugged his knees. Shou opened a cupboard, searching for something to give the man slouched on the hotel room’s couch. He placed a pot of water on the flat-top stove and set the water to boiling. He passed Hiroto the remote so that he could have control over the television, but Hiroto deigned not to care about this freedom.
Silence weighed in the room, as if Shou was alone again, except for the soft hiss of the stove and the water. Glancing up, he watched as the steam spread and trailed its way along the ceiling in obscure patterns against the white, like veins on an elderly mans hand.
He took the water to the cup and stirred, adding milk to make the tea a soft brown and a few teaspoons of sugar: the way he figured that Hiroto would enjoy it. Large puppy-like eyes the colour of hazelnuts looked up with sad innocence as Shou approached.
“This should make you feel better.” Shou murmured, pressing the small cup into Hiroto’s calloused hands.
“Thanks,” Hiroto whispered, bringing the glass cup to his lips and sipping with quiet noises.
Shou sat next to him. “Do you watch anything?”
“Sometimes, but I don’t want to right now.” Hiroto replied.
Biting back a sigh, Shou got up tiredly. “Well, I’m heading to bed, Roto-chan.” He was unsure where Hiroto was going to be sleeping-unless the brunette stayed on the couch.
“Night,” was the low reply.
Shou crept back into bed and snuggled down with the lights off, but with the guitarists presence in the other room, Shou found his eyes straying to the dark ceiling of his room first before floating to the doorway, in the direction where Hiroto supposedly still lay.
A form was standing in his door way the third time or so that Shou glanced that way. He was caught off of his guard and sat, bracing for the possible serial killer lurking there. As the person moved closer they almost became lost in the gloom cast by the city lights beyond.
Hiroto scrunched down into the bed, laying his head on a bewildered Shou’s chest.
“Hold me?” came a soft, pleading whisper. Shou curled his arms around the quivering guitarist. “Hold me closer.”
Shou could not deny the young brunette, whose lips were tauntingly close to his neck. He rested his head against the brunette’s, wondering what had caused the sudden shift in Hiroto’s actions and attentions toward him. Unless it was staged, Hiroto never ventured this groin-torturing close to him before and NEVER asked to be held. He could almost feel his heart strings tugging his vulnerable organ in different directions as Hiroto snuggled closer.
“He hit me, Shou-kun.” The younger man sounded about ready to cry out his misery.
Shou tried to stay calm, cool, and nonchalant, but his concern was overriding his reason, and threatening to choke all sense. He reminded himself to be careful-or otherwise suffer the consequences of easing the guards around his heart. Hiroto could run him so incredibly easy in his lonely position of being single and alone. Hiroto could destroy him emotionally if he got too close too quick, especially if Shou did not remain leery of that fact.
Shou melted.
“Why, Hiro-chan?” As far as Shou knew, Tora was not that type of person, or that kind of lover.
Hiroto managed a half shrug before crying again. Shou comforted him with the best of his abilities, but the fair-haired man had little skill in that area. He placed a small kiss in the younger man’s messy hair. A very little smile graced the guitarist’s face for a moment, and he snuggled up closer to the vocalist. Shou felt as if the two of them had suddenly become inseparable, lovers in a strange turn of events-and he wished the moment could have eternity and more, so his arms could stay around Hiroto, and Hiroto’s head could remain on his chest forever.
“Roto-chan, if he hit you, he’s not worth this fuss. Kick him in the groin and be done with him.” Shou could not believe he had just said that about Tora, but the thought of anyone striking Hiroto upset him.
“Sounds so easy,” Hiroto mumbled, the vibrations of his sound tickling Shou’s breast bone.
“Because it is easy, Hiroppon.” Shou affirmed.
Hiroto shook his head. “No, Shou. Haven’t you ever loved someone?”
Shout bit his lip before he spoke: “Yea,” he strengthened his weak voice, “and I let them go, too.”
“You’re stronger than me, then.” Hiroto’s voice was sad, and he clutched to Shou tighter.
The vocalist held his guitarist in silence for a long moment, his heart pounding with adrenaline that was caused simply by Hiroto’s head resting over it, his small body in- and de-flating as he breathed softly. A shudder ran down Shou’s spine as smooth lips pressed against his neck. Shou breathed in deeply, trying to stem the hot blood now rushing through his system. Maybe he was unable to love, maybe he could only be in lust, only need and get hot-like how Hiroto was making him feel now. Maybe he was defective, a tragic figure of a human being, but how great Hiroto’s tongue felt against his lips as the younger male raised his head.
“Hiroto…” Shou could not see how the younger was having a hard time forgetting Tora, unless Hiroto was using Shou for just that, but if Hiroto kept touching him with those guitar-rough hands, Hiroto could use Shou for anything, and Shou would never voice a complaint. He would throw caution to the wind if-
A slow tongue pierced his mouth as Hiroto furthered their sudden intimacy. Shou gasped, his thoughts disappearing faster than snow in Australia, faster than the high-speed trains when Shou was already running late. Hiroto’s hands were already pushing Shou’s shirt up as he ravaged Shou’s mouth, his fingers teasing the two delicate nubs of flesh on Shou’s chest, eliciting soft sounds from the vocalist.
His lips were released as Hiroto decided that he needed a quick breath, before the guitarist’s mouth claimed his over-sensitive neck. Shou’s head spun, his thoughts-non-existent for the most part-were clogged, along with his ears so that the naughty words Hiroto whispered were muffled beyond Shou’s hearing capabilities. All he wanted in that moment was Hiroto, who seemed so willing to give himself to Shou.
He cried out in a quiet bliss, without shame. His shirt had vanished without notification and Hiroto’s teeth had closed down on his aforementioned nipples, teased to a sensitivity that was unbearable.
A soft laugh broke their relative silence, followed by a sniff. “Are you okay, Shou-kun? Is this okay?”
Shou looked up into those seductive chocolate brown eyes and felt more than a stirring in his nether regions. How could it not be okay? He, Shou, had reached a paradise better than what some people promise comes after death; and his loins ached for it. His body was simply begging for this to happen.
“Stop fucking teasing me, Pon,” his voice was rough with his hunger.
And it was then that Shou was taking over, forcing Hiroto into the bed, tearing off the younger man’s shirt without ripping the fabric, rubbing his hands over the muscle-smooth chest as he straddled their hips. A provoking smirk graced Hiroto’s features.
“Mm, Shou-kun,” there was a pleasantly surprised sound to Hiroto’s tone, as if the brunette actually believed that he was going to have to top Shou.
Shou smiled, chewing lightly on the lips that had so previously tortured him. “That’s what happens.”
“I should tease you more nnnn often then,” Hiroto let a small sound escape. Eyes caught Shou’s eyes, eyes that were so pleading that Shou felt as if his heart had just flipped over on itself.
His fingers took hold of the buttons on Hiroto’s pants, ripping them loose with force enough to make Hiroto’s hips arch. Hiroto let a giggle-like sound pass his lips: obviously impressed. Shou smiled, pulling them down to his ankles in a paradoxically gentle manner, where the quirky brunette kicked them off.
As he gazed down at skin that was marred by a rough boyhood, a quiet thought questioned Shou on the morality of what he was doing. Isn’t he Tora’s? Shou pondered to himself as his fingers stretched and pulled the smaller man’s boxers down.
A nasally voice-husky in lust-called him from his reverie, as Hiroto spoke. “Tell me you have lube.”
“You wouldn’t hurt for me, Pon?” He countered with a chilling smile, even though there was not a bone in Shou’s body that could bring him to hurt the little guitarist.
He saw a small spark of nervousness in Hiroto’s eyes dawn at his words before moving to quickly find a bottle of lubrication. Shou wondered if Tora had taken the guitarist dry, like he had once to “punish” Shou in some role-play fantasy of his. The vocalist shuddered at the thought, before coating his hands and spreading Hiroto’s legs.
A soft gasp left Hiroto’s lips as Shou curled a finger just inside his entrance, warm to the touch and quickly slickening with helpful grease, The lubrication was much colder than Hiroto’s skin, even through the room temperature was not all that cool, and the feeling must have shocked him.
Shou searched intently for that spot, which would leave Hiroto seeing white and feeling bliss, once the guitarist’s cavern had been widened. Hiroto groaned quietly in pleasure and Shou forced his fingers against the spot, taking the brunette’s breath away and continued to do so until he himself could no longer withstand the panting cries.
While Hiroto recovered from the high he had been granted, Shou finished undressing himself, and reading to take Hiroto’s mind away once more. The very prospect delighted and further sexually excited him as he slickened his shaft. Gingerly placing himself at Hiroto’s wet, hot hole he slid in slowly, attempting to keep his mind on earth for as long as he could.
Beneath him, he could feel Hiroto’s body shifting uncomfortably as it involuntarily tried to get rid of the foreign object slowly making its way deeper inside. Hiroto’s pants lengthened and he widened his legs to further swallow Shou within himself. Warm legs wrapped around Shou, pushing him on faster until Shou was buried to the hilt, trying to acclimatize to the vibrations caused by the guitarist’s erratic breathing and his reflexes clenching and unclenching, still persistently trying to rid Shou from Hiroto.
“You shouldn’t be the one who’s brain dead,” Hiroto’s lustful whisper came. “I’m the one who’s going insane.” The words had been almost painfully spread out as Hiroto’s lungs deemed breathing to be more important that speaking.
“’m sorry, Pon, Babe, you’re so tight, it’s…hard.”
“You’re harder.” Hiroto groaned, again clenching down meaningfully on Shou, attempting to nail himself.
It reminded him that he was supposed to be working for both of their relief.
Hiroto tried to sink non-existent fingernails into Shou’s shoulders as Shou pulled almost the entire way out, which drew an extended cry from the guitarist. He started their rhythm, picking up the pace each time Hiroto seemed to catch up with him, forcing the guitarist into helplessness.
“Shou!” There was almost a stop-please tone to his voice. “Mmnnn.” The noises served simply to please the vocalist, who kissed everywhere but those lips so that he could hear more of their sounds.
Hiroto’s head fell back sharply as Shou changed and steeped his angle, bearing a delicate neck. The brunette’s noises were cut off by pure bliss as it became a fight for breath. Shou’s eyes refused to stay open as the pleasure intensified-Hiroto’s body was going through convulsions and Shou felt like his manhood was almost going to be crushed by the pleasing sensations.
He moaned louder than he expected, his voice joining with the one Hiroto had just recovered. Shou felt as if he were about to go insane if their love continued on much longer.
Warm liquid spread across his stomach as Hiroto uttered his name in the most desperate of manners, and Shou’s body tired out seconds later, the tension in his lower stomach unable to withstand Hiroto’s climax. Their heaving bodies lay together, still connected, as they fought to catch their breath, as they fought to even pull away. Hiroto pushed on his chest, wanting to be rid of what must now be an uncomfortable intrusion.
Shou forced himself to get up to his knees, his stomach sticky in a mixture of sweat and Hiroto’s semen. Hiroto looked whorish, his lips parted, damp hair fallen messily about his face, his eyes fixed to some faraway spot on the ceiling.
“You were crushing my chest,” the younger man explained with a small, very tired smile directed at Shou.
Shou moved to pull on his clothes, but collapsed on the bed instead, his mind screaming for sleep. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s alright. It was kind of … nice.” Hiroto replied.
Shou could not figure out what Hiroto meant by that, but allowed his eyes to close. He felt Hiroto snuggle up to him slowly, and in the cooling air of the room, the warm body felt nice against his skin. For the first time in a long, lonely time, Shou fell asleep with a smile on his face.
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Hiroto hated himself. He loved Shou, or he would never have been able to do what Tora had instructed him to, but if Shou ever found out what Hiroto had done, he would never even want to see Hiroto again, and that prospect scared the guitarist. The brunette did not understand why Tora had made him sleep with Shou, especially considering how vindictive Tora could be.
And Shou had been so gentle; it was obvious who the better of the two men was for a lover. Shou seemed to generally care about the well-being of his partner, even if the vocalist had no invested emotions, or felt no love for Hiroto-of which Hiroto was absolutely positive.
He looked at the sleeping mass of Tora; cold arms were wrapped around his bare stomach, long fingers tangled in the nearest locks of hair. Hiroto felt no warmth here with him, and in his mind he was slowly formulating a resolution: he was going to ask Shou if he could be with him. That was all he could hope for, and pray that the move does not incur upon either of them Tora’s jealousy.
.