Nothing Like Leather [xxxHolic, Doumeki/Watanuki, NC-17]
Title: Nothing Like Leather
Author: genkisakka
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: sensitive hands/slight hands fetish - Nothing Like Leather
Warnings: graphic boysex, spoilers for xxxHolic manga chapters 73 and higher
Word count: around 2,500
Summary: Doumeki is fascinated by Watanuki’s newest accessories.
A/N: Thanks to my lovely beta readers joasakura and kikotei for helping me smooth out the rough edges!
Doumeki first noticed the gloves when Watanuki waved his hands in his usual animated fashion during his chat with Kunogi. They were tight and black and emphasized Watanuki’s slim palms and delicate wrists.
“New gloves?” Doumeki asked, falling in step beside Watanuki after he waved an enthusiastic goodbye to Kunogi.
Watanuki held up his hands and wiggled his fingers in a way that made Doumeki’s mouth momentarily dry. “Yeah,” he said. “Yuuko-san gave them to me after I lost my last pair to that fish-spirit-thing.”
Doumeki clearly remembered the monstrous koi-spirit trying to bite off Watanuki’s fingers and getting a mouthful of damp wool instead. Luckily Watanuki had managed to yank his hand out of the loose-fitting glove just in time. The thought of Watanuki losing even one of those graceful digits made an unpleasant shudder creep up Doumeki’s spine.
“Hn. So she does give presents,” he said.
Watanuki scowled. “As if she would ever call it that,” he grumbled. “She said it was in her best interest to make sure my hands stayed warm and dry so that I could continue to make delicious snacks for her. Like I have a choice in the matter! I swear, that woman…”
As they walked, Doumeki listened to Watanuki rattle off his usual litany of complaints about the space-time witch and her rabbit-eared mascot-creature and those little helper-kids that appeared to be female, but who knew with that place? Or rather, he pretended to listen while watching Watanuki trace arcs and spirals in the air with those sleek leather-clad hands. It was a good thing Watanuki didn’t expect any conversational input from Doumeki more complex than an occasional grunt or raised eyebrow.
They entered the grounds of Doumeki’s family shrine, their feet shuffling through the dead leaves dotting the walkway. “Looks like it’ll have to be swept again,” Doumeki observed.
“I’m not helping!” Watanuki growled, crossing his arms in an exaggerated no-go gesture. “I do enough of that around the shop as it is!”
Doumeki barely managed to suppress a snort of amusement. “Fine. You make tea, then,” he said, holding the door for Watanuki. “I’ll have matsutake gohan, saba misoni, kurumi manju…”
Watanuki glared at Doumeki. “Make it yourself, you bottomless pit!” he snapped. He stalked through the doorway in a manner that reminded Doumeki of a Siamese cat: all long, slender limbs and prickly attitude.
Doumeki stripped off his coat and slung it carelessly onto one of the pegs lining the walls of the entryway. Watanuki took his time, carefully unwinding his scarf and draping it over a free peg, then unbuttoning his coat and hanging it neatly over the scarf. When he began tugging at the fingers of his right glove, Doumeki grabbed his hand.
“Leave them,” he said.
Watanuki pursed his lips. “That will make fixing tea difficult,” he said, tilting his head to one side.
Doumeki ran a thumb along the strip of skin exposed by Watanuki’s arrested attempt to remove the glove. “Tea can wait,” he said.
Doumeki raised Watanuki’s wrist and pressed his lips to the bared flesh, his eyes fixed on Watanuki’s. The smaller boy stared back without blinking. His mismatched eyes were defiant behind his wire-frame glasses, but his flushed cheeks and the hitch in his breathing betrayed his body’s response to the caress. Doumeki kissed Watanuki’s wrist again, touching the tip of his tongue to the pulse beating there, and Watanuki rewarded him with a small sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Doumeki dropped Watanuki’s hand and dipped in for a real kiss, but Watanuki turned his head aside.
“Not here,” he said. His unsteady voice sent a pulse of heat through Doumeki’s midsection.
“Come on then,” Doumeki said, pulling Watanuki down the hallway and into his bedroom. The instant the door was shut, Doumeki pushed Watanuki up against it and kissed him hard. Watanuki’s lips remained passive, but his hands clenched Doumeki’s shoulders tightly, leather creaking as the gloves stretched to accommodate the motion. Doumeki could smell the newness of the leather mingled with the green tea soap Watanuki used to wash up after gym. He moved his mouth from Watanuki’s lips to his jawline, tracing a path of kisses from chin to ear. He nuzzled the spot just underneath Watanuki’s ear, worried the lobe with his teeth, smirked as the action drew a full-fledged moan from Watanuki.
“Stop playing around,” Watanuki hissed into Doumeki’s ear, and Doumeki kissed him again. This time Watanuki responded, mouth opening beneath Doumeki’s, his velvety tongue tracing spirals around Doumeki’s own. Doumeki cupped the back of Watanuki’s head with one hand, running his fingers roughly through Watanuki’s hair, tugging one section a bit too hard.
“Ouch!” Watanuki broke the kiss and glared daggers at Doumeki. “That hurt, you bastard!”
“Sorry,” Doumeki said. He smoothed the offended hair back into place. “Better?”
Watanuki snorted. “Is that really the best you can do?” he grumbled.
Doumeki smiled slightly at the implied challenge. Their next kiss was slow and deep, tongues thrusting in imitation of what Doumeki hoped was to follow. His hand wandered to the buttons of Watanuki’s uniform, deftly undoing them while Watanuki ran his gloved hands along Doumeki’s collarbone. Watanuki fumbled at the top button of Doumeki’s jacket, the gloves hindering his movements.
“I’ll get it,” Doumeki mumbled between kisses and removing Watanuki’s jacket. “Lay down.”
“You’re not my boss,” Watanuki panted, working at the button and managing to unfasten it. He moved to the second, but Doumeki caught his hands.
“It’ll take too long,” he said.
“Then I’ll take off the gloves --”
“No. Leave them,” Doumeki insisted. He traced circles over Watanuki’s palms with his thumbs, relishing the petal-soft feel of the material. It was the finest leather; Doumeki would expect no less from the dimensional witch.
“Fine,” Watanuki huffed, plopping down onto Doumeki’s futon. Doumeki quickly stripped down to t-shirt and boxers, leaving his uniform in a crumpled heap on the floor. Watanuki started to rise, and Doumeki grabbed his shoulders to stop him.
“But it’ll get wrinkled,” Watanuki protested.
“Like I care,” Doumeki replied, nudging Watanuki onto his back. Watanuki’s hair was sticking up more than usual, his glasses were slightly askew, his forehead was shiny with perspiration, and his lips were puffy and slightly moist.
Beautiful, Doumeki thought but didn’t say, because he knew Watanuki would sputter in protest and shout that he was no woman and the mood would be ruined. He reached for Watanuki’s glasses, removing them and folding them carefully before setting them down on the tatami. Watanuki gazed up at Doumeki with his two-tone eyes: the left, the dark blue of a cloudless sky at twilight; the right, the same golden amber as Doumeki’s own. Doumeki touched a fingertip to the brow-bone just above that right eye, the one Watanuki had sacrificed for Doumeki’s sake, and the one Doumeki had given half his right eyesight to restore. Doumeki imagined he could almost see the connection between the two, a shining strand of energy vibrating in the room’s dim light. He ran his finger along the curve above Watanuki’s eye, which closed reflexively, and laid a tender kiss on the soft skin of Watanuki’s eyelid.
“Doumeki.”
Watanuki’s hoarse whisper of his name, the sigh of his breath on Doumeki’s cheek, stretched Doumeki’s control to the breaking point. He tugged Watanuki’s t-shirt up and over his head, while Watanuki leaned up just enough to allow its removal. Doumeki nipped at the hollow of Watanuki’s throat, then at the rosy skin of one nipple, gently scraping with his teeth and rolling his tongue over the hardened peak. Watanuki moaned and arched into the caress, slipping his gloved hands under Doumeki’s t-shirt and drawing his leather-sheathed fingers slowly up Doumeki’s back. Doumeki hummed low in his throat, running the tip of his tongue down the center of Watanuki’s stomach, dipping it briefly in Watanuki’s navel before continuing his downward journey. Watanuki shivered; he was ticklish, and Doumeki knew he was fighting the urge to burst into a fit of laughter.
“Get on with it already,” Watanuki gasped, writhing beneath Doumeki for emphasis.
Doumeki lifted his head and smirked at Watanuki, then drew one knuckle slowly down the bulge outlined against the front of Watanuki’s pants. “Tell me what you want,” he said.
“Damn you,” Watanuki groaned. “You know.”
Doumeki gently massaged the bulge, drawing another frustrated curse from the smaller boy. “I don’t,” Doumeki said. “Tell me.”
Watanuki bared his teeth and tried to unzip his pants himself, but Doumeki captured his hand, clasping it in between his own. He straddled Watanuki, placing his own cloth-covered erection against Watanuki’s crotch, then took the tip of the glove’s index finger into his mouth and pulled.
Watanuki bit back another groan. “Thought you wanted them on,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Changed my mind,” Doumeki said, nipping the tip of the middle finger and tugging it loose.
“Stop that, you’ll tear them!”
“It’s good leather,” Doumeki reassured him. Still, the process was too slow, so Doumeki used both hands to work Watanuki’s free of its tight leather casing. Tossing the glove aside, Doumeki kissed the tips of Watanuki’s slender fingers and thumb, then the center of his palm.
“She’s right - your hands are delicate,” he said, sucking on Watanuki’s index finger and releasing it with a pop. “They should be protected.”
“I am not delicate!” Watanuki’s protest was followed immediately by a gasp in reaction to Doumeki tracing the contours between his fingers with his tongue. “And I… I’m not food, so stop licking… ohh…”
Doumeki released the hand and ground his pelvis against Watanuki’s. “Then tell me what you want,” he urged, adding in a low voice:
“Watanuki.”
Watanuki clutched at the futon with both hands. “Make me come,” he said desperately.
Doumeki unzipped Watanuki’s pants and yanked them down along with his boxers, and Watanuki sighed in relief as his erection was freed from his confining clothing. Watanuki’s penis was as long and sleek as his hands; elegant, if such a strangely awkward body part could be called that, Doumeki thought. “How do you want me to?” he asked, brushing his fingers over the already-damp tip.
“Don’t care,” Watanuki moaned, shaking his head from side to side. “Just… Doumeki, please…”
Watanuki’s plea sent a jolt straight to Doumeki’s own painfully hard cock. He put his mouth over the head of Watanuki’s erection and sucked, tasting bitter brine and hot skin and something else he could only identify as Watanuki-flavor.
“Mm… yes… harder,” Watanuki begged, twining both hands in Doumeki’s hair. Doumeki took more of Watanuki into his mouth, sucking and licking and nibbling, spurred on by Watanuki’s cries and the way he was twisting and bucking beneath Doumeki. It wasn’t long before Watanuki was pulling his hair, warning -
“Doumeki, wait… I’m going to…”
Doumeki released Watanuki’s cock long enough to growl:
“Do it. I want to taste all of you.”
He dove down onto Watanuki’s erection again, taking as much of it into his mouth as he could and clasping the root in one hand. It only took two strokes for Watanuki to climax with a long, keening moan. Doumeki managed to swallow some of his release before he had to pull back or start choking. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lifted himself up on his knees, still straddling Watanuki. The smaller boy had thrown one arm over his head, his expression peaceful and just the slightest bit smug.
“Thank you for the meal,” Doumeki said, and Watanuki chuckled.
“I hope it tasted good,” he replied, blushing a bit. He pressed the hand still wearing the glove to Doumeki’s crotch and pulled at the waistband of Doumeki’s boxers with the other. “Let me touch you now,” he said.
Doumeki could feel the smooth leather against his erection even through the thin fabric of his underwear; the sensation was almost enough to make him come right then. He swallowed heavily against the moan that threatened to escape him. “Take the glove off first,” he said in a strained voice.
Watanuki’s eyes narrowed, examining Doumeki’s flushed, discomfited expression with a small, sly smile. “Oh, I think I’ll leave it on,” he said, rising up on one elbow. In one swift, smooth motion, Watanuki turned Doumeki onto his back and straddled his torso, laying his gloved hand on Doumeki’s stomach.
“After all, you were the one who said you wanted me to,” Watanuki continued, the small smile widening into a mischievous grin. He tugged Doumeki’s boxers down his legs, removing them with a flourish and tossing them aside, then ran the tip of his leather-clad index finger down the underside of Doumeki’s erection. This time, Doumeki couldn’t stifle his groan.
“Interesting,” Watanuki said, looking at Doumeki very much like a cat eyeing an unattended plate of sashimi. “I wonder what would happen if I did this?”
He loosely clasped the head of Doumeki’s penis in his gloved hand and ran his thumb over and around its tip. The leather was sleek and warm from Watanuki’s body heat, and Doumeki arched into the caress with another guttural moan. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to keep thrusting into the leather sheath Watanuki had created until he reached his own climax.
“Wait,” Doumeki managed to say. “If I… your glove will be ruined, and she’ll… she’ll make you pay for it.”
Watanuki sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, tapping the index finger of his gloveless hand against his chin. “But I do know an excellent dry cleaner that specializes in leather…”
He gently squeezed Doumeki’s erection, and Doumeki gave in, pumping roughly into the loose fist Watanuki had created, his preliminary release creating just enough moisture to keep the glove from chafing too much. Doumeki wanted to last longer than Watanuki had, but the sight of the black leather wrapped around his cock, and of Watanuki biting his lower lip in concentration as he applied just enough pressure, were enough to send him spiraling into orgasm. Watanuki held on to Doumeki until the last throes had subsided, then held out the soiled glove as soon as Doumeki’s head sank back onto the pillow.
“Your t-shirt,” he demanded.
Doumeki glowered at Watanuki, but he hauled the shirt over his head and tossed it to him. Watanuki wiped the glove as best he could, and then surprised Doumeki by lying next to him and resting his head and gloved hand on Doumeki’s chest.
“You really think it’ll come clean?” Doumeki said, absently stroking Watanuki’s hair.
“Maybe,” Watanuki said drowsily. “Or maybe she won’t notice.”
“She will,” Doumeki said darkly. “She always does.”
Doumeki felt Watanuki yawn. “Then I’ll pay the price,” he replied.
“Knowing her, it will probably be high,” Doumeki warned.
Watanuki lifted his head and gave Doumeki one of his rare, sweet smiles.
“Whatever it is, will be worth it,” he said.
Author: genkisakka
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: sensitive hands/slight hands fetish - Nothing Like Leather
Warnings: graphic boysex, spoilers for xxxHolic manga chapters 73 and higher
Word count: around 2,500
Summary: Doumeki is fascinated by Watanuki’s newest accessories.
A/N: Thanks to my lovely beta readers joasakura and kikotei for helping me smooth out the rough edges!
Doumeki first noticed the gloves when Watanuki waved his hands in his usual animated fashion during his chat with Kunogi. They were tight and black and emphasized Watanuki’s slim palms and delicate wrists.
“New gloves?” Doumeki asked, falling in step beside Watanuki after he waved an enthusiastic goodbye to Kunogi.
Watanuki held up his hands and wiggled his fingers in a way that made Doumeki’s mouth momentarily dry. “Yeah,” he said. “Yuuko-san gave them to me after I lost my last pair to that fish-spirit-thing.”
Doumeki clearly remembered the monstrous koi-spirit trying to bite off Watanuki’s fingers and getting a mouthful of damp wool instead. Luckily Watanuki had managed to yank his hand out of the loose-fitting glove just in time. The thought of Watanuki losing even one of those graceful digits made an unpleasant shudder creep up Doumeki’s spine.
“Hn. So she does give presents,” he said.
Watanuki scowled. “As if she would ever call it that,” he grumbled. “She said it was in her best interest to make sure my hands stayed warm and dry so that I could continue to make delicious snacks for her. Like I have a choice in the matter! I swear, that woman…”
As they walked, Doumeki listened to Watanuki rattle off his usual litany of complaints about the space-time witch and her rabbit-eared mascot-creature and those little helper-kids that appeared to be female, but who knew with that place? Or rather, he pretended to listen while watching Watanuki trace arcs and spirals in the air with those sleek leather-clad hands. It was a good thing Watanuki didn’t expect any conversational input from Doumeki more complex than an occasional grunt or raised eyebrow.
They entered the grounds of Doumeki’s family shrine, their feet shuffling through the dead leaves dotting the walkway. “Looks like it’ll have to be swept again,” Doumeki observed.
“I’m not helping!” Watanuki growled, crossing his arms in an exaggerated no-go gesture. “I do enough of that around the shop as it is!”
Doumeki barely managed to suppress a snort of amusement. “Fine. You make tea, then,” he said, holding the door for Watanuki. “I’ll have matsutake gohan, saba misoni, kurumi manju…”
Watanuki glared at Doumeki. “Make it yourself, you bottomless pit!” he snapped. He stalked through the doorway in a manner that reminded Doumeki of a Siamese cat: all long, slender limbs and prickly attitude.
Doumeki stripped off his coat and slung it carelessly onto one of the pegs lining the walls of the entryway. Watanuki took his time, carefully unwinding his scarf and draping it over a free peg, then unbuttoning his coat and hanging it neatly over the scarf. When he began tugging at the fingers of his right glove, Doumeki grabbed his hand.
“Leave them,” he said.
Watanuki pursed his lips. “That will make fixing tea difficult,” he said, tilting his head to one side.
Doumeki ran a thumb along the strip of skin exposed by Watanuki’s arrested attempt to remove the glove. “Tea can wait,” he said.
Doumeki raised Watanuki’s wrist and pressed his lips to the bared flesh, his eyes fixed on Watanuki’s. The smaller boy stared back without blinking. His mismatched eyes were defiant behind his wire-frame glasses, but his flushed cheeks and the hitch in his breathing betrayed his body’s response to the caress. Doumeki kissed Watanuki’s wrist again, touching the tip of his tongue to the pulse beating there, and Watanuki rewarded him with a small sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Doumeki dropped Watanuki’s hand and dipped in for a real kiss, but Watanuki turned his head aside.
“Not here,” he said. His unsteady voice sent a pulse of heat through Doumeki’s midsection.
“Come on then,” Doumeki said, pulling Watanuki down the hallway and into his bedroom. The instant the door was shut, Doumeki pushed Watanuki up against it and kissed him hard. Watanuki’s lips remained passive, but his hands clenched Doumeki’s shoulders tightly, leather creaking as the gloves stretched to accommodate the motion. Doumeki could smell the newness of the leather mingled with the green tea soap Watanuki used to wash up after gym. He moved his mouth from Watanuki’s lips to his jawline, tracing a path of kisses from chin to ear. He nuzzled the spot just underneath Watanuki’s ear, worried the lobe with his teeth, smirked as the action drew a full-fledged moan from Watanuki.
“Stop playing around,” Watanuki hissed into Doumeki’s ear, and Doumeki kissed him again. This time Watanuki responded, mouth opening beneath Doumeki’s, his velvety tongue tracing spirals around Doumeki’s own. Doumeki cupped the back of Watanuki’s head with one hand, running his fingers roughly through Watanuki’s hair, tugging one section a bit too hard.
“Ouch!” Watanuki broke the kiss and glared daggers at Doumeki. “That hurt, you bastard!”
“Sorry,” Doumeki said. He smoothed the offended hair back into place. “Better?”
Watanuki snorted. “Is that really the best you can do?” he grumbled.
Doumeki smiled slightly at the implied challenge. Their next kiss was slow and deep, tongues thrusting in imitation of what Doumeki hoped was to follow. His hand wandered to the buttons of Watanuki’s uniform, deftly undoing them while Watanuki ran his gloved hands along Doumeki’s collarbone. Watanuki fumbled at the top button of Doumeki’s jacket, the gloves hindering his movements.
“I’ll get it,” Doumeki mumbled between kisses and removing Watanuki’s jacket. “Lay down.”
“You’re not my boss,” Watanuki panted, working at the button and managing to unfasten it. He moved to the second, but Doumeki caught his hands.
“It’ll take too long,” he said.
“Then I’ll take off the gloves --”
“No. Leave them,” Doumeki insisted. He traced circles over Watanuki’s palms with his thumbs, relishing the petal-soft feel of the material. It was the finest leather; Doumeki would expect no less from the dimensional witch.
“Fine,” Watanuki huffed, plopping down onto Doumeki’s futon. Doumeki quickly stripped down to t-shirt and boxers, leaving his uniform in a crumpled heap on the floor. Watanuki started to rise, and Doumeki grabbed his shoulders to stop him.
“But it’ll get wrinkled,” Watanuki protested.
“Like I care,” Doumeki replied, nudging Watanuki onto his back. Watanuki’s hair was sticking up more than usual, his glasses were slightly askew, his forehead was shiny with perspiration, and his lips were puffy and slightly moist.
Beautiful, Doumeki thought but didn’t say, because he knew Watanuki would sputter in protest and shout that he was no woman and the mood would be ruined. He reached for Watanuki’s glasses, removing them and folding them carefully before setting them down on the tatami. Watanuki gazed up at Doumeki with his two-tone eyes: the left, the dark blue of a cloudless sky at twilight; the right, the same golden amber as Doumeki’s own. Doumeki touched a fingertip to the brow-bone just above that right eye, the one Watanuki had sacrificed for Doumeki’s sake, and the one Doumeki had given half his right eyesight to restore. Doumeki imagined he could almost see the connection between the two, a shining strand of energy vibrating in the room’s dim light. He ran his finger along the curve above Watanuki’s eye, which closed reflexively, and laid a tender kiss on the soft skin of Watanuki’s eyelid.
“Doumeki.”
Watanuki’s hoarse whisper of his name, the sigh of his breath on Doumeki’s cheek, stretched Doumeki’s control to the breaking point. He tugged Watanuki’s t-shirt up and over his head, while Watanuki leaned up just enough to allow its removal. Doumeki nipped at the hollow of Watanuki’s throat, then at the rosy skin of one nipple, gently scraping with his teeth and rolling his tongue over the hardened peak. Watanuki moaned and arched into the caress, slipping his gloved hands under Doumeki’s t-shirt and drawing his leather-sheathed fingers slowly up Doumeki’s back. Doumeki hummed low in his throat, running the tip of his tongue down the center of Watanuki’s stomach, dipping it briefly in Watanuki’s navel before continuing his downward journey. Watanuki shivered; he was ticklish, and Doumeki knew he was fighting the urge to burst into a fit of laughter.
“Get on with it already,” Watanuki gasped, writhing beneath Doumeki for emphasis.
Doumeki lifted his head and smirked at Watanuki, then drew one knuckle slowly down the bulge outlined against the front of Watanuki’s pants. “Tell me what you want,” he said.
“Damn you,” Watanuki groaned. “You know.”
Doumeki gently massaged the bulge, drawing another frustrated curse from the smaller boy. “I don’t,” Doumeki said. “Tell me.”
Watanuki bared his teeth and tried to unzip his pants himself, but Doumeki captured his hand, clasping it in between his own. He straddled Watanuki, placing his own cloth-covered erection against Watanuki’s crotch, then took the tip of the glove’s index finger into his mouth and pulled.
Watanuki bit back another groan. “Thought you wanted them on,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Changed my mind,” Doumeki said, nipping the tip of the middle finger and tugging it loose.
“Stop that, you’ll tear them!”
“It’s good leather,” Doumeki reassured him. Still, the process was too slow, so Doumeki used both hands to work Watanuki’s free of its tight leather casing. Tossing the glove aside, Doumeki kissed the tips of Watanuki’s slender fingers and thumb, then the center of his palm.
“She’s right - your hands are delicate,” he said, sucking on Watanuki’s index finger and releasing it with a pop. “They should be protected.”
“I am not delicate!” Watanuki’s protest was followed immediately by a gasp in reaction to Doumeki tracing the contours between his fingers with his tongue. “And I… I’m not food, so stop licking… ohh…”
Doumeki released the hand and ground his pelvis against Watanuki’s. “Then tell me what you want,” he urged, adding in a low voice:
“Watanuki.”
Watanuki clutched at the futon with both hands. “Make me come,” he said desperately.
Doumeki unzipped Watanuki’s pants and yanked them down along with his boxers, and Watanuki sighed in relief as his erection was freed from his confining clothing. Watanuki’s penis was as long and sleek as his hands; elegant, if such a strangely awkward body part could be called that, Doumeki thought. “How do you want me to?” he asked, brushing his fingers over the already-damp tip.
“Don’t care,” Watanuki moaned, shaking his head from side to side. “Just… Doumeki, please…”
Watanuki’s plea sent a jolt straight to Doumeki’s own painfully hard cock. He put his mouth over the head of Watanuki’s erection and sucked, tasting bitter brine and hot skin and something else he could only identify as Watanuki-flavor.
“Mm… yes… harder,” Watanuki begged, twining both hands in Doumeki’s hair. Doumeki took more of Watanuki into his mouth, sucking and licking and nibbling, spurred on by Watanuki’s cries and the way he was twisting and bucking beneath Doumeki. It wasn’t long before Watanuki was pulling his hair, warning -
“Doumeki, wait… I’m going to…”
Doumeki released Watanuki’s cock long enough to growl:
“Do it. I want to taste all of you.”
He dove down onto Watanuki’s erection again, taking as much of it into his mouth as he could and clasping the root in one hand. It only took two strokes for Watanuki to climax with a long, keening moan. Doumeki managed to swallow some of his release before he had to pull back or start choking. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lifted himself up on his knees, still straddling Watanuki. The smaller boy had thrown one arm over his head, his expression peaceful and just the slightest bit smug.
“Thank you for the meal,” Doumeki said, and Watanuki chuckled.
“I hope it tasted good,” he replied, blushing a bit. He pressed the hand still wearing the glove to Doumeki’s crotch and pulled at the waistband of Doumeki’s boxers with the other. “Let me touch you now,” he said.
Doumeki could feel the smooth leather against his erection even through the thin fabric of his underwear; the sensation was almost enough to make him come right then. He swallowed heavily against the moan that threatened to escape him. “Take the glove off first,” he said in a strained voice.
Watanuki’s eyes narrowed, examining Doumeki’s flushed, discomfited expression with a small, sly smile. “Oh, I think I’ll leave it on,” he said, rising up on one elbow. In one swift, smooth motion, Watanuki turned Doumeki onto his back and straddled his torso, laying his gloved hand on Doumeki’s stomach.
“After all, you were the one who said you wanted me to,” Watanuki continued, the small smile widening into a mischievous grin. He tugged Doumeki’s boxers down his legs, removing them with a flourish and tossing them aside, then ran the tip of his leather-clad index finger down the underside of Doumeki’s erection. This time, Doumeki couldn’t stifle his groan.
“Interesting,” Watanuki said, looking at Doumeki very much like a cat eyeing an unattended plate of sashimi. “I wonder what would happen if I did this?”
He loosely clasped the head of Doumeki’s penis in his gloved hand and ran his thumb over and around its tip. The leather was sleek and warm from Watanuki’s body heat, and Doumeki arched into the caress with another guttural moan. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to keep thrusting into the leather sheath Watanuki had created until he reached his own climax.
“Wait,” Doumeki managed to say. “If I… your glove will be ruined, and she’ll… she’ll make you pay for it.”
Watanuki sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, tapping the index finger of his gloveless hand against his chin. “But I do know an excellent dry cleaner that specializes in leather…”
He gently squeezed Doumeki’s erection, and Doumeki gave in, pumping roughly into the loose fist Watanuki had created, his preliminary release creating just enough moisture to keep the glove from chafing too much. Doumeki wanted to last longer than Watanuki had, but the sight of the black leather wrapped around his cock, and of Watanuki biting his lower lip in concentration as he applied just enough pressure, were enough to send him spiraling into orgasm. Watanuki held on to Doumeki until the last throes had subsided, then held out the soiled glove as soon as Doumeki’s head sank back onto the pillow.
“Your t-shirt,” he demanded.
Doumeki glowered at Watanuki, but he hauled the shirt over his head and tossed it to him. Watanuki wiped the glove as best he could, and then surprised Doumeki by lying next to him and resting his head and gloved hand on Doumeki’s chest.
“You really think it’ll come clean?” Doumeki said, absently stroking Watanuki’s hair.
“Maybe,” Watanuki said drowsily. “Or maybe she won’t notice.”
“She will,” Doumeki said darkly. “She always does.”
Doumeki felt Watanuki yawn. “Then I’ll pay the price,” he replied.
“Knowing her, it will probably be high,” Doumeki warned.
Watanuki lifted his head and gave Doumeki one of his rare, sweet smiles.
“Whatever it is, will be worth it,” he said.