Stargazer: [ShouXHiroto, oneshot]
Title: Stargazer:
Chapter: Oneshot
Author: Boots
Genre: Smut, romance, angst
Warnings: Explicit sex (oral)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: ShouXHiroto
Summary: Hiroto knows he's not the only one to share Shou's kisses and his bed. Is he a fool to keep believing, or is there something there?
Disclaimer: The boys belong to PS Company, I own the story only.
Comments: Reworked somewhat from a version that previously appeared on another community.
Shou shifts on the grass, moving his head further onto Hiroto's stomach. The guitarist doesn't seem to notice the gesture, he goes on speaking, eyes focused on the stars above them. He's describing what he sees, in great detail, pointing out the positions, the constellations, the planet or two that's visible right now.
It's not the words Shou is listening to so much as the tone. After all, he has very little interest in the stars himself. As far as he's concerned, they're just the backdrop in the latest Final Fantasy game, or something the photographer wants to put behind them for dramatic effect before snapping the latest series of aren't-the-fangirls-going-to-think-this-is-hot pictures.
But Hiroto speaks of the universe in a tone of awe, as if he is still a child and everything in front of him is still fresh and filled with wonder. It's a purity, an innocence that's missing from so much in the world. And it's that purity that Shou wants to soak up like a sponge.
There's a feeling of calm that comes over him when he's with Hiroto like this, something he's never felt before with any of his other lovers. It's not like the wild excitement of being with Saga, or Tora. Those encounters are all about heat, about wild thrills, about a few moments grabbed between shows and interviews and Nico Nico Lives.
Not this. This is something to be savored, like sweet lemonade on a hot, hot day. So why doesn't he do this more often? Why can't he just cut the ties to the others, sit Hiroto down and tell him he's the one? Why does the idea of belonging to him seem so damn scary?
He shifts again, listening to the late summer breeze whistling around them, the cicadas singing their songs. It's a last moment of calm before the madness starts again. Tomorrow, they'll go into the studio, work on the new single. Then start groundwork for the album, for their show at Budokan.
And this is what he lives for, isn't it? It's what he's wanted for himself since he was in high school, this life of sound and fury, of constantly being on the go, nothing settled, the only constant in his life being the music itself.
So why can't he get rid of the tiny voice inside himself telling him how much he needs this kind of quiet, this kind of purity?
* * *
Hiroto wonders if Shou is listening to him speak. His companion seemed almost to be dozing off. No matter, he'll keep talking anyway, just in case. Besides, he loves talking about the stars, about the greatest passion of his life, other than music.
Scratch that. There's another great passion of his life, and he's currently lying with his blond head on Hiroto's stomach. Not that the guitarist has any huge hopes in that department.
He's shared plenty with Shou, emotionally and physically. But he knows he's not the only one his bandmate shares his kisses with. Or his bed.
He's walked into dressing rooms to find Saga pushing Shou up against the wall, the two of them engaged in a heated kiss, tongues visible, hands wandering under clothing. He's caught a glimpse of Tora making out with Shou in the back of a darkened club when both thought that nobody was looking, the singer sitting in the guitarist's lap with his hands splayed over his chest.
Why does he still bother? Common sense, after all, should have told him to forget about Shou a long time ago, to find someone who was willing to give him all his heart, not the small pieces doled out here and there. But Hiroto still takes those small pieces, and savors them as if they were tiny bits of dark, rich chocolate. Because tiny bits are better than none at all.
He turns his gaze to the sky again, his eyes seeking out the familiar shapes and patterns of stars that have bedazzled and fascinated him since he was a child, looking for some answers, some comfort. And it's then that he feels a hand start to snake its way up his stomach, to his chest. He keeps talking at first, pointing out that Venus is visible tonight . . .
The hand moves to the side, brushing over a nipple through his shirt. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe not. His breath gets sucked in loudly anyway. Shou always pushes his buttons like an expert, doesn't he? He finds himself raising his head, lifting himself up on his elbows to look down at the older man.
The air between them is starting to change, grow heavy and hot. It always does.
* * *
Shou turns over and inches his way up, until he's kneeling astride Hiroto's hips. When did his hushed awe at his quiet purity become something hotter and more raw? It doesn't matter - and going from one to the other didn't seem as strange as one might think. His desire for this man isn't like the raw lust he feels for others. It almost seems, sometimes, like an act of worship.
So here he is, astride the younger man, looking down at his beauty, at the large eyes that gaze upon the world with childlike wonder, the full lips that kiss with a sincere softness.
He moves to claim one of those kisses now, bending over to touch mouth to mouth, reaching for his hand to entwine fingers. He doesn't hold hands with any of his other lovers, not like this. There's something of a high school date feel to it. With anyone else, it would feel silly. With Hiroto, it's natural.
It's Hiroto who makes the move to deepen the kiss, whose lips part with a sigh, his tongue seeking Shou's out - and Shou complies, running his own along Hiroto's, stroking it lightly. The younger man's arms wrap around him, pulling him in, pulling closer.
For a moment, at least, there's no fear of letting go and giving in to his emotions, no danger of being tied down. There's just the desire to be pulled all the way in, to drown in Hiroto.
The kiss breaks, and the air is filled with the sound of ragged breathing as the two just stare at each other for a moment, eyes locked with eyes. Shou reaches up and brushes some hair away from Hiroto's forehead. It's blond now, almost silvery, almost the color of starlight. How appropriate for him.
A single word spoked by Shou: “Bed?” Hiroto acknowledges with a nod. Shou stands up, reluctant to quit the warmth and scent of the other man, reminding himself there's more to come. Hiroto takes his hand, lets himself be pulled to his feet.
Fortunately, they are mere steps from Shou's place right now. Neither would have the patience to go any further.
* * *
There's heaps of carelessly tossed aside clothes all over the floor and the soft shadows of candlelight flickering over the walls. There's a male gasp, and then a small moan, and the sound of bodies shifting on a satiny fabric.
Hiroto lies on his back on the bed, naked, eyes closed and one hand thrown over his forehead. The other is on Shou's back as the older man slowly licks his way down his chest, circling the nipple as his eyes look up at Hiroto teasingly. The guitarist opens his eyes long enough to catch that look, and it brings out another moan from him.
Lips enclose the tiny bud, and a shiver of heat runs through Hiroto's body. Another moan as his lover sucks at the nipple, flicks it with his tongue. He knows what to do, every time. Perfect timing, perfect aim for all the right spots. And just as Hiroto thinks he's going to melt with the pleasure, the tongue moves downward again, tracing a wet, hot trail down his stomach, circling his navel . . . another one of those teasing looks again, and Hiroto feels his heart pound like a jackhammer.
It's taking him forever to get to his ultimate goal, exquisite torment. His hands clutch at the sheets, his skin gleaming lightly in the candlelight as a sheen of sweat breaks out. When is he going to . .. oh, when . . .
And then Shou is licking his way up Hiroto's cock, touching his tongue to the base and moving it up the shaft slowly, oh, so slowly, brushing back and forth on the sensitive underside just to send a fresh round of shivers through his body. “Ah!” he cries, and that becomes a choked sob as he feels wet heat stroking the head, around and around. He bucks his hips, a mute plea, take me in, suck me, make me come, make me scream your name like you always do.
Those soft, luscious lips close around his length at last, and Shou begins to move downward, devouring Hiroto by degrees, sending tingles running from his hardness to the very tips of his fingers and follicles of his hair. Deeper, deeper, taking him in even further than he did before. Finally, finally, there's the suction, that mouth pulling and tugging at him. Shou's head draws back, the hardness sliding out, cool air rushing in where there was once moist heat. The exquisite torment continues.
Hiroto sits up halfway, fingers tangling in Shou's hair, and he begins to moan, a loud, wanton sound, as Shou takes him in again and begins a rapid rhythm, sucking and stroking him with his tongue and moving his head back and forth. The heat rises in Hiroto's entire body, and he begins to writhe beneath his lover, this man he can never get enough of.
He moans again as fingers circle the base of his cock, stroking there as Shou moves upward, concentrating his efforts on the head and the sensitive area just below, tongue flicking, dancing, lips tugging and pulling, Hiroto being encased over and over in wetness and heat and the sweetest agony he ever knew. Close . . . close . . his body is tensing, a coiling starting in his stomach . . .
And then he lets out a shout, screaming Shou's name, and the heat within him explodes through his whole body, blinding him with white-hot ecstasy. He is pouring into his lover's mouth, longer and longer, feeling like he'll never stop coming.
* * *
Shou drinks in everything Hiroto has to give him, swallowing it. Soaking in his essence. He stays with it until he feels the last tremors fade, until Hiroto sags to the bed, panting.
He moves up and kisses his lips, pushing his tongue into his lover's mouth, letting Hiroto taste himself. A soft moan of pleasure emerges from the younger man's throat - aftershocks of his orgasm, or being turned on by something as kinky as drinking in his own come, he doesn't know, and it doesn't matter.
What does matter is Shou is suddenly flipped over on his back, and the kiss grows lustier, Hiroto's tongue fucking his mouth now, pushing in aggressively, sweeping and rubbing and exploring. The younger man's fingers slide over his lover's chest, finding a nipple, brushing a forefinger across it, slowly, bringing the bud to a hard little peak. The peak then gets pinched, gently, between thumb and forefinger, and it's Shou's turn to arch off the bed with a moan.
It's moments like this when Hiroto surprises him, when the seeming angel becomes a creature of carnal need. He's starting to kiss down his chest now, both hands now finding the nipples, caressing them with a fierce tenderness, the touches sending little shockwaves through Shou's body.
Why doesn't it feel like this with anyone else? What is it about Hiroto that made every touch, every kiss, seem so electric? In the back of his mind, he knows, but fear keeps those thoughts from coming to the forefront.
Hiroto doesn't tease when he reaches his ultimate destination. He opens those luscious lips and wraps them around the head of Shou's cock right away, and Shou raises his head, because, my God, what a sight. His hard member sliding into the most beautiful mouth he'd ever seen . . . He has to stop looking, has to close his eyes, or he'll come on the spot.
And then, he's fully encased in that wet heat, and Hiroto is sucking him, head moving back and forth slowly, making little “Mmm, mmm” noses as he does so, as if Shou is the most delicious thing he's ever tasted in his life. His hands move down from his nipples to his legs, fingers running along the sensitive inner thighs, stroking the soft flesh, kneading the muscle a little, and now it's Shou's turn to start writhing, and moaning his lover's name, and bucking his hips a little, just a little, trying to get even deeper into that hot, plush mouth.
One hand leaves his thigh, and moves over, fingers very lightly brushing over his balls, and that sends such a jolt through Shou that he lets out a loud, hoarse cry, arching up off the bed so fast that if Hiroto wasn't pulling back at that moment, he'd be choked. “Do that again!” he cries, and Hiroto obeys, mouth working the shaft, sucking sounds filling the air as he purrs in pleasure.
His fingers find that spot on his balls again, and this time, when he strokes, Shou's control finally breaks, and he cries Hiroto's name out, ecstasy flooding his body in intense waves, until he finally collapses to the mattress, boneless and trembling and completely, utterly sated.
Somewhere in the middle of the haze of afterglow, there's cool air on his sweaty skin, and Hiroto's lips on his, soft and tender this time. He can taste himself, just as Hiroto had done on his mouth. A creak of the bed, a warm body next to him, arms encircling him, and he encircles back, pulling him close.
“Shou?” Hiroto's voice, sweet in tone as always. Pure. Beautiful. “Thank you. For everything tonight.” Shou just acknowledges with a kiss, and damn, why is he always so sweet, and what the hell is he afraid of? All he has to do is say the word, and this man will be his forever. But he doesn't. Again.
He just kisses the younger man again and says, gently, “Let's get some sleep. Studio awaits in the morning.” Hiroto snuggles against him, head on his chest, their arms still wrapped around each other. And a quiet descends on the room, the kind of peace that Shou associates with Hiroto, and Hiroto alone.
And maybe, just maybe, Hiroto will figure out tomorrow when they get to the studio, and start working on the song that's going to be unleashed to the world in the fall, when the trees are brilliant with the red hues of momiji . . .that the lyrics were inspired by him, and written for him, and contain all the feelings that Shou has been hiding in the back of his heart, and has been afraid to bring to the front.
Its title: “Stargazer:” .
Chapter: Oneshot
Author: Boots
Genre: Smut, romance, angst
Warnings: Explicit sex (oral)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings/Characters: ShouXHiroto
Summary: Hiroto knows he's not the only one to share Shou's kisses and his bed. Is he a fool to keep believing, or is there something there?
Disclaimer: The boys belong to PS Company, I own the story only.
Comments: Reworked somewhat from a version that previously appeared on another community.
Shou shifts on the grass, moving his head further onto Hiroto's stomach. The guitarist doesn't seem to notice the gesture, he goes on speaking, eyes focused on the stars above them. He's describing what he sees, in great detail, pointing out the positions, the constellations, the planet or two that's visible right now.
It's not the words Shou is listening to so much as the tone. After all, he has very little interest in the stars himself. As far as he's concerned, they're just the backdrop in the latest Final Fantasy game, or something the photographer wants to put behind them for dramatic effect before snapping the latest series of aren't-the-fangirls-going-to-think-this-is-hot pictures.
But Hiroto speaks of the universe in a tone of awe, as if he is still a child and everything in front of him is still fresh and filled with wonder. It's a purity, an innocence that's missing from so much in the world. And it's that purity that Shou wants to soak up like a sponge.
There's a feeling of calm that comes over him when he's with Hiroto like this, something he's never felt before with any of his other lovers. It's not like the wild excitement of being with Saga, or Tora. Those encounters are all about heat, about wild thrills, about a few moments grabbed between shows and interviews and Nico Nico Lives.
Not this. This is something to be savored, like sweet lemonade on a hot, hot day. So why doesn't he do this more often? Why can't he just cut the ties to the others, sit Hiroto down and tell him he's the one? Why does the idea of belonging to him seem so damn scary?
He shifts again, listening to the late summer breeze whistling around them, the cicadas singing their songs. It's a last moment of calm before the madness starts again. Tomorrow, they'll go into the studio, work on the new single. Then start groundwork for the album, for their show at Budokan.
And this is what he lives for, isn't it? It's what he's wanted for himself since he was in high school, this life of sound and fury, of constantly being on the go, nothing settled, the only constant in his life being the music itself.
So why can't he get rid of the tiny voice inside himself telling him how much he needs this kind of quiet, this kind of purity?
* * *
Hiroto wonders if Shou is listening to him speak. His companion seemed almost to be dozing off. No matter, he'll keep talking anyway, just in case. Besides, he loves talking about the stars, about the greatest passion of his life, other than music.
Scratch that. There's another great passion of his life, and he's currently lying with his blond head on Hiroto's stomach. Not that the guitarist has any huge hopes in that department.
He's shared plenty with Shou, emotionally and physically. But he knows he's not the only one his bandmate shares his kisses with. Or his bed.
He's walked into dressing rooms to find Saga pushing Shou up against the wall, the two of them engaged in a heated kiss, tongues visible, hands wandering under clothing. He's caught a glimpse of Tora making out with Shou in the back of a darkened club when both thought that nobody was looking, the singer sitting in the guitarist's lap with his hands splayed over his chest.
Why does he still bother? Common sense, after all, should have told him to forget about Shou a long time ago, to find someone who was willing to give him all his heart, not the small pieces doled out here and there. But Hiroto still takes those small pieces, and savors them as if they were tiny bits of dark, rich chocolate. Because tiny bits are better than none at all.
He turns his gaze to the sky again, his eyes seeking out the familiar shapes and patterns of stars that have bedazzled and fascinated him since he was a child, looking for some answers, some comfort. And it's then that he feels a hand start to snake its way up his stomach, to his chest. He keeps talking at first, pointing out that Venus is visible tonight . . .
The hand moves to the side, brushing over a nipple through his shirt. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe not. His breath gets sucked in loudly anyway. Shou always pushes his buttons like an expert, doesn't he? He finds himself raising his head, lifting himself up on his elbows to look down at the older man.
The air between them is starting to change, grow heavy and hot. It always does.
* * *
Shou turns over and inches his way up, until he's kneeling astride Hiroto's hips. When did his hushed awe at his quiet purity become something hotter and more raw? It doesn't matter - and going from one to the other didn't seem as strange as one might think. His desire for this man isn't like the raw lust he feels for others. It almost seems, sometimes, like an act of worship.
So here he is, astride the younger man, looking down at his beauty, at the large eyes that gaze upon the world with childlike wonder, the full lips that kiss with a sincere softness.
He moves to claim one of those kisses now, bending over to touch mouth to mouth, reaching for his hand to entwine fingers. He doesn't hold hands with any of his other lovers, not like this. There's something of a high school date feel to it. With anyone else, it would feel silly. With Hiroto, it's natural.
It's Hiroto who makes the move to deepen the kiss, whose lips part with a sigh, his tongue seeking Shou's out - and Shou complies, running his own along Hiroto's, stroking it lightly. The younger man's arms wrap around him, pulling him in, pulling closer.
For a moment, at least, there's no fear of letting go and giving in to his emotions, no danger of being tied down. There's just the desire to be pulled all the way in, to drown in Hiroto.
The kiss breaks, and the air is filled with the sound of ragged breathing as the two just stare at each other for a moment, eyes locked with eyes. Shou reaches up and brushes some hair away from Hiroto's forehead. It's blond now, almost silvery, almost the color of starlight. How appropriate for him.
A single word spoked by Shou: “Bed?” Hiroto acknowledges with a nod. Shou stands up, reluctant to quit the warmth and scent of the other man, reminding himself there's more to come. Hiroto takes his hand, lets himself be pulled to his feet.
Fortunately, they are mere steps from Shou's place right now. Neither would have the patience to go any further.
* * *
There's heaps of carelessly tossed aside clothes all over the floor and the soft shadows of candlelight flickering over the walls. There's a male gasp, and then a small moan, and the sound of bodies shifting on a satiny fabric.
Hiroto lies on his back on the bed, naked, eyes closed and one hand thrown over his forehead. The other is on Shou's back as the older man slowly licks his way down his chest, circling the nipple as his eyes look up at Hiroto teasingly. The guitarist opens his eyes long enough to catch that look, and it brings out another moan from him.
Lips enclose the tiny bud, and a shiver of heat runs through Hiroto's body. Another moan as his lover sucks at the nipple, flicks it with his tongue. He knows what to do, every time. Perfect timing, perfect aim for all the right spots. And just as Hiroto thinks he's going to melt with the pleasure, the tongue moves downward again, tracing a wet, hot trail down his stomach, circling his navel . . . another one of those teasing looks again, and Hiroto feels his heart pound like a jackhammer.
It's taking him forever to get to his ultimate goal, exquisite torment. His hands clutch at the sheets, his skin gleaming lightly in the candlelight as a sheen of sweat breaks out. When is he going to . .. oh, when . . .
And then Shou is licking his way up Hiroto's cock, touching his tongue to the base and moving it up the shaft slowly, oh, so slowly, brushing back and forth on the sensitive underside just to send a fresh round of shivers through his body. “Ah!” he cries, and that becomes a choked sob as he feels wet heat stroking the head, around and around. He bucks his hips, a mute plea, take me in, suck me, make me come, make me scream your name like you always do.
Those soft, luscious lips close around his length at last, and Shou begins to move downward, devouring Hiroto by degrees, sending tingles running from his hardness to the very tips of his fingers and follicles of his hair. Deeper, deeper, taking him in even further than he did before. Finally, finally, there's the suction, that mouth pulling and tugging at him. Shou's head draws back, the hardness sliding out, cool air rushing in where there was once moist heat. The exquisite torment continues.
Hiroto sits up halfway, fingers tangling in Shou's hair, and he begins to moan, a loud, wanton sound, as Shou takes him in again and begins a rapid rhythm, sucking and stroking him with his tongue and moving his head back and forth. The heat rises in Hiroto's entire body, and he begins to writhe beneath his lover, this man he can never get enough of.
He moans again as fingers circle the base of his cock, stroking there as Shou moves upward, concentrating his efforts on the head and the sensitive area just below, tongue flicking, dancing, lips tugging and pulling, Hiroto being encased over and over in wetness and heat and the sweetest agony he ever knew. Close . . . close . . his body is tensing, a coiling starting in his stomach . . .
And then he lets out a shout, screaming Shou's name, and the heat within him explodes through his whole body, blinding him with white-hot ecstasy. He is pouring into his lover's mouth, longer and longer, feeling like he'll never stop coming.
* * *
Shou drinks in everything Hiroto has to give him, swallowing it. Soaking in his essence. He stays with it until he feels the last tremors fade, until Hiroto sags to the bed, panting.
He moves up and kisses his lips, pushing his tongue into his lover's mouth, letting Hiroto taste himself. A soft moan of pleasure emerges from the younger man's throat - aftershocks of his orgasm, or being turned on by something as kinky as drinking in his own come, he doesn't know, and it doesn't matter.
What does matter is Shou is suddenly flipped over on his back, and the kiss grows lustier, Hiroto's tongue fucking his mouth now, pushing in aggressively, sweeping and rubbing and exploring. The younger man's fingers slide over his lover's chest, finding a nipple, brushing a forefinger across it, slowly, bringing the bud to a hard little peak. The peak then gets pinched, gently, between thumb and forefinger, and it's Shou's turn to arch off the bed with a moan.
It's moments like this when Hiroto surprises him, when the seeming angel becomes a creature of carnal need. He's starting to kiss down his chest now, both hands now finding the nipples, caressing them with a fierce tenderness, the touches sending little shockwaves through Shou's body.
Why doesn't it feel like this with anyone else? What is it about Hiroto that made every touch, every kiss, seem so electric? In the back of his mind, he knows, but fear keeps those thoughts from coming to the forefront.
Hiroto doesn't tease when he reaches his ultimate destination. He opens those luscious lips and wraps them around the head of Shou's cock right away, and Shou raises his head, because, my God, what a sight. His hard member sliding into the most beautiful mouth he'd ever seen . . . He has to stop looking, has to close his eyes, or he'll come on the spot.
And then, he's fully encased in that wet heat, and Hiroto is sucking him, head moving back and forth slowly, making little “Mmm, mmm” noses as he does so, as if Shou is the most delicious thing he's ever tasted in his life. His hands move down from his nipples to his legs, fingers running along the sensitive inner thighs, stroking the soft flesh, kneading the muscle a little, and now it's Shou's turn to start writhing, and moaning his lover's name, and bucking his hips a little, just a little, trying to get even deeper into that hot, plush mouth.
One hand leaves his thigh, and moves over, fingers very lightly brushing over his balls, and that sends such a jolt through Shou that he lets out a loud, hoarse cry, arching up off the bed so fast that if Hiroto wasn't pulling back at that moment, he'd be choked. “Do that again!” he cries, and Hiroto obeys, mouth working the shaft, sucking sounds filling the air as he purrs in pleasure.
His fingers find that spot on his balls again, and this time, when he strokes, Shou's control finally breaks, and he cries Hiroto's name out, ecstasy flooding his body in intense waves, until he finally collapses to the mattress, boneless and trembling and completely, utterly sated.
Somewhere in the middle of the haze of afterglow, there's cool air on his sweaty skin, and Hiroto's lips on his, soft and tender this time. He can taste himself, just as Hiroto had done on his mouth. A creak of the bed, a warm body next to him, arms encircling him, and he encircles back, pulling him close.
“Shou?” Hiroto's voice, sweet in tone as always. Pure. Beautiful. “Thank you. For everything tonight.” Shou just acknowledges with a kiss, and damn, why is he always so sweet, and what the hell is he afraid of? All he has to do is say the word, and this man will be his forever. But he doesn't. Again.
He just kisses the younger man again and says, gently, “Let's get some sleep. Studio awaits in the morning.” Hiroto snuggles against him, head on his chest, their arms still wrapped around each other. And a quiet descends on the room, the kind of peace that Shou associates with Hiroto, and Hiroto alone.
And maybe, just maybe, Hiroto will figure out tomorrow when they get to the studio, and start working on the song that's going to be unleashed to the world in the fall, when the trees are brilliant with the red hues of momiji . . .that the lyrics were inspired by him, and written for him, and contain all the feelings that Shou has been hiding in the back of his heart, and has been afraid to bring to the front.
Its title: “Stargazer:” .