(no subject)
THERE SEEMS TO BE A PATTERN HERE orz
Taken In
2324 words
Spitfire/Sora (Sora/Rika and Sora/Kiric mentioned in passing)
PWP, NSFW
Another door slammed shut. Spitfire didn't even look up from where he sat on the floor, reading the latest volume of Hana Yori Dango -- doors slamming and people shouting and things being thrown into walls had become part of the normal soundtrack at the Gravity Children's headquarters at the Tower lately. The rising tensions were impossible to ignore, yet no one seemed willing to confront them. Dontores and Falco were trying to keep their heads down, while Black Ban was doing his usual routine of acting like he had better things to be doing; Rune was his usual creepy self and absolutely no help at all. He turned the page. Ine was pulling away from the others. Simca was quietly watching from the sidelines but saying nothing. And Rika -- Spitfire couldn't decide whether that girl was truly that deep in denial or if she was hearing things that were telling her differently than the increasingly harsh words being flung back and forth between the two boys whose attentions were captured in her too-loose grasp, things that Sora was whispering to her when they were away from the others, when he pressed her to the smooth sheets, his lips spilling reassurances into her ear as his hands ran over her body, when he fucked her into the mattress with a possessiveness that he'd never shown with anyone else, not even that time Spitfire had walked in on Kiric and Sora together in the shower, Sora pressing Kiric against the smooth walls of the stall as-
"What the hell's this faggotry?"
A loose bandage swept in front of Spitfire's face as his manga was snatched out of his hands.
"It's something that I was reading, Sora. Asshole."
"This girly shit again?" Sora scoffed, flipping through the volume as he lay upside-down on the bed that Spitfire had been leaning against. "Dude, you just keep gettin' gayer. We can't leave you to your own devices, it ain't safe."
"Like you have any room to talk," Spitfire shot back, twisting in an unsuccessful attempt to snatch back the book.
"What? What, you implyin' somethin'?"
"I don't think that I need to imply anything about the guy with the huge-ass tattoo on his back. Half of a huge-ass tattoo on his back, that is."
"Shut your whore mouth, it's badass, s'what it is, an' you're just jealous."
"Like hell-" Pulling his legs back underneath him, Spitfire launched himself backward to tackle his friend, but Sora easily rolled out of the way.
"'Sides, a guy like you who don't even know how to put it in ain't got no room to talk."
"...excuse me?"
Sora grinned at him from where he was now standing on the bed, leaning against the wall and dangling the book from his fingers like a worm on a hook. "You heard what I said. Can't expect me to take these lies an' slanders seriously from a guy who couldn't pitch if Andy Pettitte handed him the ball."
"WHO'S TALKING LIES AND SLANDER NOW?"
And if Spitfire had been planning this, he would have known better than to leave Sora by a window, because as fast as Spitfire was, Sora was gone before he could even think to chase him. But he wasn't about to let this drop -- least of all because Sora had his book and he knew that it would end up torn all to hell by the time Sora got sick of playing keep-away, if only out of carelessness rather than malice. Though really, Spitfire thought as he leaped through the window frame, it wouldn't surprise him if Sora were in a more malicious mood. The book could be replaced, of course, but...
As Spitfire suspected, Sora appeared to be keeping close to the Tower, not showing any interest in actually escaping, which, despite Spitfire's superior speed, Sora always could do if he really wanted to. Twisting his way around the abandoned complex as he followed him, Spitfire couldn't help but wonder at how small Sora looked against the tower. It was unlike the Wind King to stay so close to anything -- usually a chase like this would end up with Spitfire catching up soon enough, only to have his friend sail straight over him, and there was no way for him to catch Sora while he was in the air. In this dying afternoon, it was a ground chase, as if the heaviness and unease that had been hanging over all of them had tranasmuted into gravity.
Suddenly, Sora disappeared. Which wasn't possible for someone of Sora's skill set, Spitfire knew this, so that meant...
There was a flash of flame as Spitfire took a sharp turn and headed back toward where it had all started.
Someone had turned the lights off in the room, Spitfire found, when he ducked back into the window of the room whence the chase had begun.
"Don't think you're going to be getting too far with that," Spitfire declared as he stepped onto the bed, the mattress complaining under the weight of him and his A-T. "What are you going to do? Pretend it's yours? It's a lose-lose situation for you!"
Impishly resolving to be sure to mention this incident to Rika -- well, parts of it, anyway -- he hopped off the bed to continue tracking his wayward thief of a friend.
...when a hand shot out from under the bed, grabbing him by the ankle and yanking him off his feet.
The book was forgotten in favor of more immediate issues, such as needing to even the score in return for the whacked skull that Sora had just given Spitfire, and the two were soon tangled in a writhing heap on the floor as headlocks were attemped and stomachs were elbowed and fingers were bitten.
Well, Sora was the only one biting. Swearing loudly, Spitfire drew back the hand he had smacked over Sora's face and managed to flip them, very determinedly pinning Sora to the floor, Sora's legs still wrapped around his from what was apparently named his "legendary giant squid attack."
"Who was saying that I didn't know how to top?" Spitfire panted, pressing his forehead against Sora's.
"Me an' everyone else you know," Sora replied before kissing him.
It was much like it normally was, a light interplay between wind and flame -- egging each other on with laughs and smiles, nothing that was meant to stay. Still, there was something harsher than usual about the boy twisting underneath him, though whether it was a result of the reversal of their normal positions or the chill that had been permeating the team in recent weeks, Spitfire was in neither the mood nor of sufficient brain capacity to analyze at the moment. Almost all of their hook-ups started out as fights, whether in sport or in earnest, and some of them even continued as fights, but there was always a sort of... security in them. All of the rush of battle without any of the consequences.
Now, as Sora's ever-nimble fingers undid the front of his jeans while that equally nimble mouth had its way with his own, it still felt like he was fighting Spitfire -- not to try to fight his way back to the top, but for something that Spitfire couldn't identify. The hand down his pants was helping him to brush aside any uncertainties, however, and he slipped one hand under Sora's t-shirt, his other attempting to return the favor and undo Sora's jeans.
"Feels like I'm miles ahead of you, even like this," Sora laughed into his ear.
Holding back both a groan and the urge to push into the hand that was now pressed quite intimately against him, Spitfire instead forced himself to put some space between himself and the warm body beneath him, giving himself enough room to work Sora's pants down over his hips.
"Making judgments off of early things like that," Spitfire said, reaching back to remove his A-T, "you're bound to be wrong by the time we actually get to the main event."
"Yeah, if you don't pussy out an' run away cryin' first."
Spitfire might as well have frozen time, as it seemed like no time had passed between those words leaving Sora's mouth and Spitfire's mouth ending up on Sora's cock. He couldn't see it from his current angle, but he was satisfied to hear the sound of Sora's head thunking back onto the ground. It had always been an amazingly effective way to get Sora to shut the hell up, once Spitfire had gotten over his initial doubts regarding giving blowjobs as a method of silencing people. He kept it shallow, just sucking lightly around the head as he got rid of his own A-T and then urged Sora's legs up so that he could reach his A-T as well.
Footwear out of the way, pants quickly followed. Spitfire's hands stroked their way up the underside of Sora's legs, his touch much slower then Sora's ever was... not that the other couldn't be painfully deliberate when he wanted to, he recalled, heated memories adding a bit more haste to his current actions. He was about to free his mouth to ask Sora about whether there was any of the appropriate paraphernalia on hand, when Sora flopped a hand to the side to point to his discarded pants.
"Left side pocket," he grunted, his other hand coming to rest on Spitfire's head, fingers tangling in his hair, setting his headband all askew.
Spitfire laughed, the amused vibrations pulling a groan from the Wind King who lay spread out beneath him. Blindly, he fumbled for the other boy's pants and managed to find the crumpled tube of lube in one of the pockets. Squeezing the cool wetness onto his fingers, he paused, the newness of the situation, couched in deceptive familiar, finally hitting him.
And if you pause now, a voice in his head reminded him, you are never going to hear the end of it.
Never.
Not that he was nervous -- not exactly, not nervous exactly, because there had definitely been many occasions in his life when he'd been nervous, and this wasn't one of them -- but he was feeling a... push to this, and he couldn't tell if it was just in his mind or... Swallowing his mild disquiet, he lowered his head and swallowed around Sora's cock as he pushed a finger into his friend. And for then, at least, for him, though he was hardly the one in the position to say anything about it, any and all discomfort disappeared, as a shudder ran through Sora's body and it felt just right to be with him in that moment.
He finally freed his mouth, kissing his way up Sora's stomach, pushing that annoying t-shirt out of the way. Sora was helpful enough to pull the shirt off all the way, though he was now kicking Spitfire in the back, something which Spitfire couldn't decide was more or less annoying than the shirt had been.
"Hurry the fuck up, will you? Get the fuck on with the- fuuuck, got the right idea, but c'mon, do you wanna fuck or not? What the shit're you doin'?"
"Is this your indirect way of telling me to start sucking you off again?" Spitfire said, though he acquiesced to the idiot's demands, speeding up the preparation to a pace that was faster than what came naturally to him but that was evidentally more satisfying, as Sora didn't bother with any reply. Verbal reply, at least, as his hands gripped Spitfire's shoulders tightly and his mouth sought his.
The kiss was more aggressive than before -- not violent, but challenging, as if Spitfire could feel every jeer, ever mocking jab that Sora had ever thrown at him, as if Sora were presenting them to him right now and asking him what he was going to do about it. And Spitfire couldn't give a reply back except to be glad to be with him right now, glad despite the cracks that he saw, not just in Sleeping Forest but in Sora himself, and as he resigned himself, he drew his mouth back so that he could take a breath as he took his friend for the first time.
After that, it was a blur of hips and elbows on the hard floor, Sora's legs wrapped around his waist, Sora's fingers still twisted in his hair, and that ever present push to give more, more than what he had, something that he'd never had in the first place. The two of them reached a shared pace, but it wasn't what either of them was reaching for -- too harsh for one, too kind for the other. As the last thoughts faded out of his mind into the haze of approaching orgasm, Spitfire wondered if it would ever be possible for Sora to be satisfied by anything that didn't threaten to break him.
Afterward, they lay on the floor together, Spitfire rolling off of Sora but reflexively moving close to him as their skin rapidly cooled. Sora yanked the blanket off of the nearby bed and carelessly tossed it over them as they lay back to back, afternoon shading into evening through the open window.
"...so... there," Spitfire murmured, after too much time had passed in silence.
"Yeah, whatever." Sora yawned and pulled more of the blanket onto himself.
Spitfire pulled back and was about to tell him to stop being a blankethog, but Sora's breathing had already slowed into his sleeping pace, and he knew that it wouldn't be any use trying to talk to him now. Tugging as much of the blanket over himself as he could, Spitfire gave in to the pleasant drowsiness that was calling him and promised himself that he would call Sora out on all this another day.
Taken In
2324 words
Spitfire/Sora (Sora/Rika and Sora/Kiric mentioned in passing)
PWP, NSFW
Another door slammed shut. Spitfire didn't even look up from where he sat on the floor, reading the latest volume of Hana Yori Dango -- doors slamming and people shouting and things being thrown into walls had become part of the normal soundtrack at the Gravity Children's headquarters at the Tower lately. The rising tensions were impossible to ignore, yet no one seemed willing to confront them. Dontores and Falco were trying to keep their heads down, while Black Ban was doing his usual routine of acting like he had better things to be doing; Rune was his usual creepy self and absolutely no help at all. He turned the page. Ine was pulling away from the others. Simca was quietly watching from the sidelines but saying nothing. And Rika -- Spitfire couldn't decide whether that girl was truly that deep in denial or if she was hearing things that were telling her differently than the increasingly harsh words being flung back and forth between the two boys whose attentions were captured in her too-loose grasp, things that Sora was whispering to her when they were away from the others, when he pressed her to the smooth sheets, his lips spilling reassurances into her ear as his hands ran over her body, when he fucked her into the mattress with a possessiveness that he'd never shown with anyone else, not even that time Spitfire had walked in on Kiric and Sora together in the shower, Sora pressing Kiric against the smooth walls of the stall as-
"What the hell's this faggotry?"
A loose bandage swept in front of Spitfire's face as his manga was snatched out of his hands.
"It's something that I was reading, Sora. Asshole."
"This girly shit again?" Sora scoffed, flipping through the volume as he lay upside-down on the bed that Spitfire had been leaning against. "Dude, you just keep gettin' gayer. We can't leave you to your own devices, it ain't safe."
"Like you have any room to talk," Spitfire shot back, twisting in an unsuccessful attempt to snatch back the book.
"What? What, you implyin' somethin'?"
"I don't think that I need to imply anything about the guy with the huge-ass tattoo on his back. Half of a huge-ass tattoo on his back, that is."
"Shut your whore mouth, it's badass, s'what it is, an' you're just jealous."
"Like hell-" Pulling his legs back underneath him, Spitfire launched himself backward to tackle his friend, but Sora easily rolled out of the way.
"'Sides, a guy like you who don't even know how to put it in ain't got no room to talk."
"...excuse me?"
Sora grinned at him from where he was now standing on the bed, leaning against the wall and dangling the book from his fingers like a worm on a hook. "You heard what I said. Can't expect me to take these lies an' slanders seriously from a guy who couldn't pitch if Andy Pettitte handed him the ball."
"WHO'S TALKING LIES AND SLANDER NOW?"
And if Spitfire had been planning this, he would have known better than to leave Sora by a window, because as fast as Spitfire was, Sora was gone before he could even think to chase him. But he wasn't about to let this drop -- least of all because Sora had his book and he knew that it would end up torn all to hell by the time Sora got sick of playing keep-away, if only out of carelessness rather than malice. Though really, Spitfire thought as he leaped through the window frame, it wouldn't surprise him if Sora were in a more malicious mood. The book could be replaced, of course, but...
As Spitfire suspected, Sora appeared to be keeping close to the Tower, not showing any interest in actually escaping, which, despite Spitfire's superior speed, Sora always could do if he really wanted to. Twisting his way around the abandoned complex as he followed him, Spitfire couldn't help but wonder at how small Sora looked against the tower. It was unlike the Wind King to stay so close to anything -- usually a chase like this would end up with Spitfire catching up soon enough, only to have his friend sail straight over him, and there was no way for him to catch Sora while he was in the air. In this dying afternoon, it was a ground chase, as if the heaviness and unease that had been hanging over all of them had tranasmuted into gravity.
Suddenly, Sora disappeared. Which wasn't possible for someone of Sora's skill set, Spitfire knew this, so that meant...
There was a flash of flame as Spitfire took a sharp turn and headed back toward where it had all started.
Someone had turned the lights off in the room, Spitfire found, when he ducked back into the window of the room whence the chase had begun.
"Don't think you're going to be getting too far with that," Spitfire declared as he stepped onto the bed, the mattress complaining under the weight of him and his A-T. "What are you going to do? Pretend it's yours? It's a lose-lose situation for you!"
Impishly resolving to be sure to mention this incident to Rika -- well, parts of it, anyway -- he hopped off the bed to continue tracking his wayward thief of a friend.
...when a hand shot out from under the bed, grabbing him by the ankle and yanking him off his feet.
The book was forgotten in favor of more immediate issues, such as needing to even the score in return for the whacked skull that Sora had just given Spitfire, and the two were soon tangled in a writhing heap on the floor as headlocks were attemped and stomachs were elbowed and fingers were bitten.
Well, Sora was the only one biting. Swearing loudly, Spitfire drew back the hand he had smacked over Sora's face and managed to flip them, very determinedly pinning Sora to the floor, Sora's legs still wrapped around his from what was apparently named his "legendary giant squid attack."
"Who was saying that I didn't know how to top?" Spitfire panted, pressing his forehead against Sora's.
"Me an' everyone else you know," Sora replied before kissing him.
It was much like it normally was, a light interplay between wind and flame -- egging each other on with laughs and smiles, nothing that was meant to stay. Still, there was something harsher than usual about the boy twisting underneath him, though whether it was a result of the reversal of their normal positions or the chill that had been permeating the team in recent weeks, Spitfire was in neither the mood nor of sufficient brain capacity to analyze at the moment. Almost all of their hook-ups started out as fights, whether in sport or in earnest, and some of them even continued as fights, but there was always a sort of... security in them. All of the rush of battle without any of the consequences.
Now, as Sora's ever-nimble fingers undid the front of his jeans while that equally nimble mouth had its way with his own, it still felt like he was fighting Spitfire -- not to try to fight his way back to the top, but for something that Spitfire couldn't identify. The hand down his pants was helping him to brush aside any uncertainties, however, and he slipped one hand under Sora's t-shirt, his other attempting to return the favor and undo Sora's jeans.
"Feels like I'm miles ahead of you, even like this," Sora laughed into his ear.
Holding back both a groan and the urge to push into the hand that was now pressed quite intimately against him, Spitfire instead forced himself to put some space between himself and the warm body beneath him, giving himself enough room to work Sora's pants down over his hips.
"Making judgments off of early things like that," Spitfire said, reaching back to remove his A-T, "you're bound to be wrong by the time we actually get to the main event."
"Yeah, if you don't pussy out an' run away cryin' first."
Spitfire might as well have frozen time, as it seemed like no time had passed between those words leaving Sora's mouth and Spitfire's mouth ending up on Sora's cock. He couldn't see it from his current angle, but he was satisfied to hear the sound of Sora's head thunking back onto the ground. It had always been an amazingly effective way to get Sora to shut the hell up, once Spitfire had gotten over his initial doubts regarding giving blowjobs as a method of silencing people. He kept it shallow, just sucking lightly around the head as he got rid of his own A-T and then urged Sora's legs up so that he could reach his A-T as well.
Footwear out of the way, pants quickly followed. Spitfire's hands stroked their way up the underside of Sora's legs, his touch much slower then Sora's ever was... not that the other couldn't be painfully deliberate when he wanted to, he recalled, heated memories adding a bit more haste to his current actions. He was about to free his mouth to ask Sora about whether there was any of the appropriate paraphernalia on hand, when Sora flopped a hand to the side to point to his discarded pants.
"Left side pocket," he grunted, his other hand coming to rest on Spitfire's head, fingers tangling in his hair, setting his headband all askew.
Spitfire laughed, the amused vibrations pulling a groan from the Wind King who lay spread out beneath him. Blindly, he fumbled for the other boy's pants and managed to find the crumpled tube of lube in one of the pockets. Squeezing the cool wetness onto his fingers, he paused, the newness of the situation, couched in deceptive familiar, finally hitting him.
And if you pause now, a voice in his head reminded him, you are never going to hear the end of it.
Never.
Not that he was nervous -- not exactly, not nervous exactly, because there had definitely been many occasions in his life when he'd been nervous, and this wasn't one of them -- but he was feeling a... push to this, and he couldn't tell if it was just in his mind or... Swallowing his mild disquiet, he lowered his head and swallowed around Sora's cock as he pushed a finger into his friend. And for then, at least, for him, though he was hardly the one in the position to say anything about it, any and all discomfort disappeared, as a shudder ran through Sora's body and it felt just right to be with him in that moment.
He finally freed his mouth, kissing his way up Sora's stomach, pushing that annoying t-shirt out of the way. Sora was helpful enough to pull the shirt off all the way, though he was now kicking Spitfire in the back, something which Spitfire couldn't decide was more or less annoying than the shirt had been.
"Hurry the fuck up, will you? Get the fuck on with the- fuuuck, got the right idea, but c'mon, do you wanna fuck or not? What the shit're you doin'?"
"Is this your indirect way of telling me to start sucking you off again?" Spitfire said, though he acquiesced to the idiot's demands, speeding up the preparation to a pace that was faster than what came naturally to him but that was evidentally more satisfying, as Sora didn't bother with any reply. Verbal reply, at least, as his hands gripped Spitfire's shoulders tightly and his mouth sought his.
The kiss was more aggressive than before -- not violent, but challenging, as if Spitfire could feel every jeer, ever mocking jab that Sora had ever thrown at him, as if Sora were presenting them to him right now and asking him what he was going to do about it. And Spitfire couldn't give a reply back except to be glad to be with him right now, glad despite the cracks that he saw, not just in Sleeping Forest but in Sora himself, and as he resigned himself, he drew his mouth back so that he could take a breath as he took his friend for the first time.
After that, it was a blur of hips and elbows on the hard floor, Sora's legs wrapped around his waist, Sora's fingers still twisted in his hair, and that ever present push to give more, more than what he had, something that he'd never had in the first place. The two of them reached a shared pace, but it wasn't what either of them was reaching for -- too harsh for one, too kind for the other. As the last thoughts faded out of his mind into the haze of approaching orgasm, Spitfire wondered if it would ever be possible for Sora to be satisfied by anything that didn't threaten to break him.
Afterward, they lay on the floor together, Spitfire rolling off of Sora but reflexively moving close to him as their skin rapidly cooled. Sora yanked the blanket off of the nearby bed and carelessly tossed it over them as they lay back to back, afternoon shading into evening through the open window.
"...so... there," Spitfire murmured, after too much time had passed in silence.
"Yeah, whatever." Sora yawned and pulled more of the blanket onto himself.
Spitfire pulled back and was about to tell him to stop being a blankethog, but Sora's breathing had already slowed into his sleeping pace, and he knew that it wouldn't be any use trying to talk to him now. Tugging as much of the blanket over himself as he could, Spitfire gave in to the pleasant drowsiness that was calling him and promised himself that he would call Sora out on all this another day.