random porn drive-by nothing to see here
written for paako who requested ban/taka porn to NIN's "Discipline" ...ahaha.. also tipsy so may not make sense when I'm sober \o\
A string was plucked out of rhythm, a cacophonous sound that reverberated through the small, shadowed room, and Takasugi smiled and did it again. One eye skimmed over the figure seated across, watching him twitch, face wrinkling whenever he plucked the strings too hard. They both knew it was on purpose, Takasugi too skilled to make the same mistake repeatedly.
A disordered harmony- and he continued to grin when his fingers slid smoothly along the strings, plucking faster and louder than he should. His own heart sped up quickly, a subtle excitement as Bansai continued to scrunch his brows inwards even if he made no move to correct such clumsiness.
So predictable, and Takasugi tested how further he could break that patience, well aware the other man took his music seriously.
Another note drowned in discord, out of place in the beautiful tune, and this time, Bansai stopped entirely, lips pulling downwards. If Takasugi hadn't known better, he'd think the man was pouting at him, but he didn't point it out, his hands never moving as they plucked. It was too awkward, too abrasive, a purposeful abuse to the song now being tainted. Each time, Bansai's face changed subtly, another wrinkle, another frown. The tension stifled thickly and pleasantly, the two of them circling one another without moving, an anger underlying Bansai's expression the harder he stared, and Takasugi did it once more to test the water, see how far he could push his own subordinate.
The instrument tumbled away, a loud crash as it dropped down noisily to the floor, and the fact that Bansai was more interested in pinning Takasugi's thin wrists than salvaging the shamisen must have meant something very interesting.
The smile never left Takasugi's face even as the grip burned against his arms, watching the normally nonplussed expression bristle with annoyance. Bansai's body was overbearing, pressing down against his own and holding him in place, a line of heat that dragged along the flesh of his uncovered chest, and every breath that spilled loose from slightly open lips touched his face.
"Is there a problem?" Takasugi asked casually, well aware that he could easily break out of the position and snap his own subordinate back into place if he really wanted to.
Bansai kept his wrists locked against the floor, draining all the feeling from them with the strength of his grip, and he leaned down, voice low, dry lips touching his ear as he murmured, "It needs to be tuned, Shinsuke."
His gaze remained steady, a deep breath drawn as he felt more than saw Bansai shift and press down, something hard and firm moving along his inner thigh. Yes, this other instrument was far too simple to play, something entirely malleable in his fingers, and no, it isn't out of tune, Bansai. This is exactly what I want from you.
Words never left his lips, nothing else to be uttered and no protest even offered when he was turned over roughly, face pushed against the hard wood, scraping against the floor. Bansai's grip burned harder than before, replaced on his hips where his fingers dug into the fabric of his yukata, and in the reflection on the window pane, Takasugi could see the control drop out of his face, something intriguing in the fury of his open lips. Rage transformed him, a passion that always lurked crawling out to fuck him, and all Takasugi could do was let the splinters rip through the bandages around his head and leave bloody scratches on his flesh.
A string was plucked out of rhythm, a cacophonous sound that reverberated through the small, shadowed room, and Takasugi smiled and did it again. One eye skimmed over the figure seated across, watching him twitch, face wrinkling whenever he plucked the strings too hard. They both knew it was on purpose, Takasugi too skilled to make the same mistake repeatedly.
A disordered harmony- and he continued to grin when his fingers slid smoothly along the strings, plucking faster and louder than he should. His own heart sped up quickly, a subtle excitement as Bansai continued to scrunch his brows inwards even if he made no move to correct such clumsiness.
So predictable, and Takasugi tested how further he could break that patience, well aware the other man took his music seriously.
Another note drowned in discord, out of place in the beautiful tune, and this time, Bansai stopped entirely, lips pulling downwards. If Takasugi hadn't known better, he'd think the man was pouting at him, but he didn't point it out, his hands never moving as they plucked. It was too awkward, too abrasive, a purposeful abuse to the song now being tainted. Each time, Bansai's face changed subtly, another wrinkle, another frown. The tension stifled thickly and pleasantly, the two of them circling one another without moving, an anger underlying Bansai's expression the harder he stared, and Takasugi did it once more to test the water, see how far he could push his own subordinate.
The instrument tumbled away, a loud crash as it dropped down noisily to the floor, and the fact that Bansai was more interested in pinning Takasugi's thin wrists than salvaging the shamisen must have meant something very interesting.
The smile never left Takasugi's face even as the grip burned against his arms, watching the normally nonplussed expression bristle with annoyance. Bansai's body was overbearing, pressing down against his own and holding him in place, a line of heat that dragged along the flesh of his uncovered chest, and every breath that spilled loose from slightly open lips touched his face.
"Is there a problem?" Takasugi asked casually, well aware that he could easily break out of the position and snap his own subordinate back into place if he really wanted to.
Bansai kept his wrists locked against the floor, draining all the feeling from them with the strength of his grip, and he leaned down, voice low, dry lips touching his ear as he murmured, "It needs to be tuned, Shinsuke."
His gaze remained steady, a deep breath drawn as he felt more than saw Bansai shift and press down, something hard and firm moving along his inner thigh. Yes, this other instrument was far too simple to play, something entirely malleable in his fingers, and no, it isn't out of tune, Bansai. This is exactly what I want from you.
Words never left his lips, nothing else to be uttered and no protest even offered when he was turned over roughly, face pushed against the hard wood, scraping against the floor. Bansai's grip burned harder than before, replaced on his hips where his fingers dug into the fabric of his yukata, and in the reflection on the window pane, Takasugi could see the control drop out of his face, something intriguing in the fury of his open lips. Rage transformed him, a passion that always lurked crawling out to fuck him, and all Takasugi could do was let the splinters rip through the bandages around his head and leave bloody scratches on his flesh.