[oneshot] Moon Language
Title: Moon Language
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Characters/Pairings: Yuuri/Murata
Genre: Little Humor, Lotta Smut
Words: 3,008
Notes: Longest one-shot I've written, figures it's borderline PWP. I love writing these two. Much, much more than I really should. They're such stupid teenagers, and Yuuri is absolutely adorable. And Murata keeps trying to be the village bicycle. Yes, there was a club. Yes, there was alcohol. Yes, it's a cliche plotline. I don't care. ^__^ Unbeta-ed.
"Ow, Shibuya, my foot!"
"Shhhhhhh!" Yuuri put his finger to his lips to make a sloppy noise almost as loud as Murata's yelp of pain. "You'll wake everybody up!"
Murata laughed -- well, giggled really, which never ceased to horrify his friend -- and grinned. "Well, we don't want that."
Yuuri made a face at him as they made their way up the stairs. "God, I can smell the booze on you from here."
One of Murata's hands gripped the railing fairly tightly as he waved his other hand nonchalantly. "What can I say? It was free."
"Damn playboy," Yuuri made it up to his door swaying just a little before he pushed the door open and shoved Murata in. His friend stumbled, catching Yuuri's arm in time to send them both tumbling to the floor with a loud thud. Murata started giggling again and wound up with Yuuri's hand pressed firmly over his mouth. Yuuri kept very, very still, listening for any sounds of movement from the other rooms. He didn't know which would be worse, his brother finding them in this position, or his mother. She'd want to take pictures or something equally humiliating. They'd go in the baby book she still kept, and be brought out at times wholly inappropriate to the occasion. And his father wouldn't stop her, either; he claimed she never listened to him anyway. Better Shouri catch them, if anyone was going to.
Wait, no. Shouri would be equally bad. He'd have to sit through a lecture on teenage drinking -- when Murata was totally more drunk than he was, dammit! -- and that would wake his parents up and then there still would be pictures. Yuuri shifted frantically and kicked the door closed.
A hot breath and muffled sound pushed up against his hand and he looked down at Murata, who was watching him very calmly and intently, though his eyes were still faintly glazed. Yuuri pulled his hand back and wiped it on his pants. "What?" He whispered loudly.
Murata grinned. "Thinking of everything!" He poked Yuuri in the forehead. "Very smart, Shibuya, I approve."
Yuuri batted his hand away, but blushed nonetheless, though not sure why. "Come on," he grumbled, climbing slowly to his feet. "I should let you pass out on the floor, but I'm too nice."
"Mm, Shibuya is a very nice person," Murata agreed, grabbing the offered hand and letting Yuuri pull him up. "He gives up his bed for his friends~."
"Who said I was going to do that?!"
Murata blinked, then his grin took on a wicked edge. "Oh, really?" He looked back at Yuuri's bed. "Is there room for two?"
Yuuri felt suddenly lightheaded. "N... no!" he shot back, face hot. "You're sleeping on the couch."
"You're honestly going to make me go back down those stairs?" Murata asked, hands on hips. Idiot was trying not to laugh. "In my condition, I could die!"
"In your condition..." Yuuri groused, face still red. "Should've thought of that before you let every girl in the place buy you a drink."
"Maa, some guys did too."
Yuuri surrendered to the urge to flail and did. Wildly. "I know that!"
Murata patted him on the shoulder. "You don't have to be jealous, Shibuya~!"
"Who wants guys hitting on them?!"
An elegant shrug, seemingly incongruent with stupid grin on Murata's face as he sat down on the bed. "Well, don't worry. I still came home with you, didn't I?"
Yuuri rolled his eyes. "As if I would let you go home with someone else, the way you are." Indignantly, he stomped toward the closet and pulled out a spare blanket.
"Mm. Shibuya takes very good care of me."
Yuuri felt his ears turn red, then his face, and he pretended to dig around in his closet for a few more minutes. By the time he turned around, Murata had -- thankfully -- quieted, his cheek resting on his hand. "Okay, here," Yuuri said as he held out the blanket. "You're still sleeping on the couch."
Murata didn't move. Yuuri sighed. "Hey, Murata." He poked his friend in the shoulder, then realized his eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out, little rushes of air between dry, parted lips. Yuuri licked his own lips and pushed some hair back from Murata's face, telling himself he was just testing to see if Murata really had fallen asleep. The strands were slightly stiff from where sweat had dried, but overall, it was softer than he expected. Blushing, Yuuri shook himself and poked him again. "Mu. Ra. TA."
A petulant, sleepy noise made its way out of Murata's mouth as his eyes opened, now cloudy with alcohol and sleep. "Hm?"
Yuuri opened his mouth to kick him out of his room, but what came out was "at least lay down before you go to sleep." Murata blinked slowly, then smiled, and Yuuri felt his breath catch in his throat. "I'm... um..." he stammered, twisting the blanket in his hands. "I'm going to go sleep on the couch."
"Okay~"
Yuuri stood in the same place as his friend flopped sideways, curling up on top of the covers with his eyes closed again. He shook his head. Absolutely shameless. He set the blanket down by Murata's feet and moved to the head of the bed, carefully pulling his glasses off. Murata turned his head slightly to let him, face relaxed and lips pulled up in a slight smile.
He set the glasses on the nightstand, not really thinking as his free hand traced the curve of that smile. It was a real one, not just something his friend used to hide behind or trick them all. But his fingers didn't stop there; they drifted along that normally pale cheek, now flushed from the alcohol, eventually brushing along the jawline. Murata's cheek pushed against the back of his hand and Yuuri startled, eyes widening as he bit his lip. He would never have thought his friend would actually encourage him, though in all fairness the other could very well be asleep -- which only changed how conscious Murata was of the fact he was letting on he didn't mind being petted like a small animal. Yuuri snickered at what their mutual friends would think of that. Gunter would probably bleed to death, if he knew. Of course, he wouldn't find out; Yuuri wouldn't share confidences like that... no matter how tempting. Maybe he could tell Ulrike, she'd be pretty safe.
Murata's breath drifted across the back of his hand, dragging Yuuri's attention back in a rather intimate way. He pulled his hand back slightly, the tips of his fingers keeping contact with the skin as he slid his hand down the bare column of his friend's throat. That prompted a soft sound, not quite a gasp, from Murata, and Yuuri found his focus narrowing sharply. Though not as popular as Murata had been at the club, he hadn't had to buy all his drinks himself, though he had been much more interested in the band playing than getting liquored up. He didn't even know half of what he'd consumed, which had to have been stronger than he first supposed.
That was the only reason he could find for first wanting, then giving in to the desire to follow the path of his fingers with his mouth. The bedsprings creaked as he settled one knee on the mattress, letting him lean over Murata, bracing one hand on the side of the other's head. He touched his lips to the tendon on the side of Murata's neck and was rewarded with a shuddering breath. He kissed a little more firmly, breathing in the soapy-boozy-sweaty scents Murata had collected over the course of the evening, and feeling the curl of something hot and tight in his stomach. Another shudder beneath him, more pronounced, and Yuuri bit down very carefully. Murata jerked, grabbing his arm and digging in his fingers. "Sh... shibuya..."
Yuuri froze, torn between terror and a very sudden, painful arousal from hearing his friend's voice like that. He swallowed hard and lifted his head. "Y, yeah?" he asked, then winced at how guilty he sounded. Murata's eyes were open halfway, brow furrowed faintly. The butterflies in his stomach completely flipped out, making Yuuri feel like he was going to throw up. "Um... I... well, you see..." he started babbling, voice hushed and strained from trying to keep it low. "I... you know those pink drinks? I think I had too many and... I--"
"Hey." Murata sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows. Yuuri felt another twinge of fear-laced adrenaline as their faces came very close together, but he worried about moving back. Didn't want to add insult to molesting, after all. And that was what he had been doing, he realized; molesting his best friend when said friend wasn't exactly coherent, but Murata had looked so perfect, like that. All the usual defenses down, relaxed and peaceful...
He was so going to Hell.
His breathing had just started to take on that shallow, panicked edge when he felt fingertips brush the back of his ear and a kiss at the corner of his mouth. He shivered, and momentarily stopped breathing altogether. "Harder, next time, ok?" Murata whispered, very low. "I'm not going to break."
Yuuri stared, throat tightening and blood pounding in his ears. Murata met his eyes, his own still half-lidded and the darkness made it hard to tell how clear they were. "Wait, you mean..." he stammered. "But you're drunk, and--" The protest wilted on his tongue as Murata's slipped past his lips and coaxed Yuuri's mouth open. He responded clumsily, trying to follow Murata's lead but still having a hard time grasping the situation. But the shiver that coursed from head to toe when their tongues moved against each other was making understanding things much less important all of a sudden.
"I'm not," Murata murmured between pauses for breath, "exactly unaware of what's going on."
His face turned so red it hurt. Even in the semi-dark and without his glasses, Murata seemed to see it and laugh-giggled, the sound not quite either, which made Yuuri wonder how sober he'd become. His friend sat up, forcing Yuuri backward, and wrapped one arm around his waist. "Calm down, Shibuya," he breathed against Yuuri's neck; Yuuri shuddered and clenched his fists, suddenly at a loss at what to do with his hands. "You're not bad, for a beginner."
"Who said I'm a beginner--" Murata licked a slow line up the side of his neck and Yuuri gasped, the sound turning into a whimper when the line continued up behind his ear. Murata suckled on his earlobe, letting it go through his teeth, and Yuuri knew he had to be drunk because he liked it. A lot. Another guy worked his mouth up and down his neck and not even the pictures in the girly magazines he bought once in a while got him this hard before. He slid a hand up into Murata's hair and tugged a little, earning him a shiver and Murata lifting his face to meet his, one eyebrow raised. Yuuri swallowed, trying to collect his thoughts and catch his breath, then pressed forward, kissing Murata and sincerely hoping it wasn't awkward. He felt the hand around his waist close around his shirt as Murata's breathing quickened, and both little signs made the nervous butterflies stop fluttering, leaving him with a much quieter head. The space filled, though, with memory of the little shivers and gasps he'd felt and heard, and he pushed up on his knee again, giving Murata no choice but to go backward.
He felt Murata's breath catch in his throat and growled softly, mouth moving along the path he'd followed before, and lower, down to the crook of his friend's neck and shoulder. Leaning his weight on he arm behind Murata's head, he pulled Murata's collar aside and bit down, slow as before, but much harder; Murata arched sharply beneath him and gasped out a rather emphatic curse word Yuuri had never, ever heard him use before. He groaned and soothed the spot with his tongue, feeling marks there and found himself alternately apologetic and incredibly satisfied. He managed to unbutton Murata's shirt after some fumbling, pushing the fabric away as he kissed his way down the exposed skin. He was a beginner, but he wasn't stupid; anything that got him one of those blush-inducing noises got repeated until he could actually feel Murata's whole body trembling. Breathing shallowly, he lifted his head when he reached Murata's belt, and looked up.
His friend had his eyes tightly shut, one hand clenched in the comforter and the other balled into a fist beside his thigh. Almost as if he were restraining himself; Yuuri wondered why, and sat up a little further. Murata cracked one eye open and the line of his jaw tightened. "Shibuya," he bit out, voice ragged. "I swear that if you don't finish this somehow I will do it myself and then make you wish you had."
Yuuri's jaw dropped, then he started to laugh. He saw Murata twitch and wanted to apologize, but the laughter kept coming. He'd never seen Murata very angry, never seen him very anything but calm and composed or just plain stupid-silly. Never seen him demand anything, especially not sounding so strained and desperate. He rested his head against Murata's side and took some deep breaths, feeling the clothed erection pressing against his chest, and he thought about earlier that night. He wouldn't have let Murata go home with anyone, though whoever it was probably would have known more, or would have been faster and more confident, because they didn't deserve him. None of them would have known that Murata was the last in a centuries old waiting game and that he risked everything to save someone who he hadn't even seen for thousands of years. It would take more than a few free drinks to be worth someone like Murata.
Yuuri didn't know if he was the best he could offer his friend. But he knew Murata could do a lot worse.
Still bouyed by the sudden mirth, Yuuri crawled up to meet the other's still-pinched face and pressed his mouth down onto Murata's, making up for lack of skill with eagerness. He pried Murata's hand up from the comforter as he rocked their hips together and gasped. The other took the hint and wrapped a leg around his hip, grinding hard upward. The kiss eventually dissolved into a swapping of breaths, lips barely touching as they panted and shuddered, eyes halfway open but thoughts turned inward. Yuuri's breath caught and he buried his face in the crook of Murata's shoulder as the orgasm caught him off guard; sort of like knocking the wind out of him, but it didn't hurt at all. He groaned and nuzzled the side of Murata's neck, brain on autopilot. Murata's breathing was shaky, still strained as he lay still; the line of his shoulder strung tight under Yuuri's forehead. Yuuri shifted to lie on his side, Murata's leg still over his hip, as he fumbled with the belt, and then the button holding Murata's pants closed. Slipping his hand inside -- he would have to yell at Murata for not wearing underwear later -- he listened with pleasure as Murata hissed and lifted his hips when Yuuri touched him. His hand moved tight and slow, then he shivered when Murata made a cracked sound, and came all over his hand.
Reclaiming his hand, Yuuri wiped it absently on his pants, then made a face. Grumbling, he negotiated happy and content to stay still limbs back into motion, away from Murata's warm body as he moved off the bed. He stripped off his pants, then his boxers, face back to that painful red blush. They had... yeah. He dug around in his dresser drawer, pausing when he heard a soft, questioning sound come from the bed. His ears had even started to hurt. He tossed a spare pair of boxers in Murata's direction, and fidgeted a little. "Take your pants off," he whispered, surprised he managed to get it all out in one go. "You're not sleeping in.... um... um... just take them off. Put those on." He gestured toward where he threw the boxers and forced himself to turn around a little. Murata's hand groped around the floor tiredly, brushing the boxers more than once but not grabbing them. Yuuri sighed loudly and shoved them into his hand. Murata looked up at him and Yuuri "meeped", pulling his hand back.
Murata crawled out of his pants and put the underwear on, rubbing one eye and as much as Yuuri wanted to look away, he couldn't. He stared, blatantly, as Murata changed, thoughts ricocheting around like out-of-control bumper cars. Somehow, though, he missed it when Murata moved, because a hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him onto the bed before he could protest. Murata turned over, his back to Yuuri and the door. "Go to sleep, Shibuya..." he murmured. Yuuri bit his lip and pulled the sheet over both of them. He spent most of the rest of the night staring at his friend's back, but somehow, he did as he was told.
He woke to the sound of his mother's voice. "Yuu-chan!" Her call echoed up the stairwell. "Breakfast!"
Opening his eyes, he found two things. He had a massive headache. And he had somehow wound up pressed right up against Murata's back, arm draped over his friend's side. He groaned pathetically, unsure of why, and buried his face in the back of Murata's neck.
"Nrgh?"
He cracked an eye open again, more carefully, at the sleepy question. "Grbl," he replied, closing his eye.
"Mm. Frfh." Murata buried deeper under the covers and dropped his arm over Yuuri's.
Yuuri smiled a little, glad Murata understood.
No, I don't know where the title came from. XD
Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Characters/Pairings: Yuuri/Murata
Genre: Little Humor, Lotta Smut
Words: 3,008
Notes: Longest one-shot I've written, figures it's borderline PWP. I love writing these two. Much, much more than I really should. They're such stupid teenagers, and Yuuri is absolutely adorable. And Murata keeps trying to be the village bicycle. Yes, there was a club. Yes, there was alcohol. Yes, it's a cliche plotline. I don't care. ^__^ Unbeta-ed.
"Ow, Shibuya, my foot!"
"Shhhhhhh!" Yuuri put his finger to his lips to make a sloppy noise almost as loud as Murata's yelp of pain. "You'll wake everybody up!"
Murata laughed -- well, giggled really, which never ceased to horrify his friend -- and grinned. "Well, we don't want that."
Yuuri made a face at him as they made their way up the stairs. "God, I can smell the booze on you from here."
One of Murata's hands gripped the railing fairly tightly as he waved his other hand nonchalantly. "What can I say? It was free."
"Damn playboy," Yuuri made it up to his door swaying just a little before he pushed the door open and shoved Murata in. His friend stumbled, catching Yuuri's arm in time to send them both tumbling to the floor with a loud thud. Murata started giggling again and wound up with Yuuri's hand pressed firmly over his mouth. Yuuri kept very, very still, listening for any sounds of movement from the other rooms. He didn't know which would be worse, his brother finding them in this position, or his mother. She'd want to take pictures or something equally humiliating. They'd go in the baby book she still kept, and be brought out at times wholly inappropriate to the occasion. And his father wouldn't stop her, either; he claimed she never listened to him anyway. Better Shouri catch them, if anyone was going to.
Wait, no. Shouri would be equally bad. He'd have to sit through a lecture on teenage drinking -- when Murata was totally more drunk than he was, dammit! -- and that would wake his parents up and then there still would be pictures. Yuuri shifted frantically and kicked the door closed.
A hot breath and muffled sound pushed up against his hand and he looked down at Murata, who was watching him very calmly and intently, though his eyes were still faintly glazed. Yuuri pulled his hand back and wiped it on his pants. "What?" He whispered loudly.
Murata grinned. "Thinking of everything!" He poked Yuuri in the forehead. "Very smart, Shibuya, I approve."
Yuuri batted his hand away, but blushed nonetheless, though not sure why. "Come on," he grumbled, climbing slowly to his feet. "I should let you pass out on the floor, but I'm too nice."
"Mm, Shibuya is a very nice person," Murata agreed, grabbing the offered hand and letting Yuuri pull him up. "He gives up his bed for his friends~."
"Who said I was going to do that?!"
Murata blinked, then his grin took on a wicked edge. "Oh, really?" He looked back at Yuuri's bed. "Is there room for two?"
Yuuri felt suddenly lightheaded. "N... no!" he shot back, face hot. "You're sleeping on the couch."
"You're honestly going to make me go back down those stairs?" Murata asked, hands on hips. Idiot was trying not to laugh. "In my condition, I could die!"
"In your condition..." Yuuri groused, face still red. "Should've thought of that before you let every girl in the place buy you a drink."
"Maa, some guys did too."
Yuuri surrendered to the urge to flail and did. Wildly. "I know that!"
Murata patted him on the shoulder. "You don't have to be jealous, Shibuya~!"
"Who wants guys hitting on them?!"
An elegant shrug, seemingly incongruent with stupid grin on Murata's face as he sat down on the bed. "Well, don't worry. I still came home with you, didn't I?"
Yuuri rolled his eyes. "As if I would let you go home with someone else, the way you are." Indignantly, he stomped toward the closet and pulled out a spare blanket.
"Mm. Shibuya takes very good care of me."
Yuuri felt his ears turn red, then his face, and he pretended to dig around in his closet for a few more minutes. By the time he turned around, Murata had -- thankfully -- quieted, his cheek resting on his hand. "Okay, here," Yuuri said as he held out the blanket. "You're still sleeping on the couch."
Murata didn't move. Yuuri sighed. "Hey, Murata." He poked his friend in the shoulder, then realized his eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out, little rushes of air between dry, parted lips. Yuuri licked his own lips and pushed some hair back from Murata's face, telling himself he was just testing to see if Murata really had fallen asleep. The strands were slightly stiff from where sweat had dried, but overall, it was softer than he expected. Blushing, Yuuri shook himself and poked him again. "Mu. Ra. TA."
A petulant, sleepy noise made its way out of Murata's mouth as his eyes opened, now cloudy with alcohol and sleep. "Hm?"
Yuuri opened his mouth to kick him out of his room, but what came out was "at least lay down before you go to sleep." Murata blinked slowly, then smiled, and Yuuri felt his breath catch in his throat. "I'm... um..." he stammered, twisting the blanket in his hands. "I'm going to go sleep on the couch."
"Okay~"
Yuuri stood in the same place as his friend flopped sideways, curling up on top of the covers with his eyes closed again. He shook his head. Absolutely shameless. He set the blanket down by Murata's feet and moved to the head of the bed, carefully pulling his glasses off. Murata turned his head slightly to let him, face relaxed and lips pulled up in a slight smile.
He set the glasses on the nightstand, not really thinking as his free hand traced the curve of that smile. It was a real one, not just something his friend used to hide behind or trick them all. But his fingers didn't stop there; they drifted along that normally pale cheek, now flushed from the alcohol, eventually brushing along the jawline. Murata's cheek pushed against the back of his hand and Yuuri startled, eyes widening as he bit his lip. He would never have thought his friend would actually encourage him, though in all fairness the other could very well be asleep -- which only changed how conscious Murata was of the fact he was letting on he didn't mind being petted like a small animal. Yuuri snickered at what their mutual friends would think of that. Gunter would probably bleed to death, if he knew. Of course, he wouldn't find out; Yuuri wouldn't share confidences like that... no matter how tempting. Maybe he could tell Ulrike, she'd be pretty safe.
Murata's breath drifted across the back of his hand, dragging Yuuri's attention back in a rather intimate way. He pulled his hand back slightly, the tips of his fingers keeping contact with the skin as he slid his hand down the bare column of his friend's throat. That prompted a soft sound, not quite a gasp, from Murata, and Yuuri found his focus narrowing sharply. Though not as popular as Murata had been at the club, he hadn't had to buy all his drinks himself, though he had been much more interested in the band playing than getting liquored up. He didn't even know half of what he'd consumed, which had to have been stronger than he first supposed.
That was the only reason he could find for first wanting, then giving in to the desire to follow the path of his fingers with his mouth. The bedsprings creaked as he settled one knee on the mattress, letting him lean over Murata, bracing one hand on the side of the other's head. He touched his lips to the tendon on the side of Murata's neck and was rewarded with a shuddering breath. He kissed a little more firmly, breathing in the soapy-boozy-sweaty scents Murata had collected over the course of the evening, and feeling the curl of something hot and tight in his stomach. Another shudder beneath him, more pronounced, and Yuuri bit down very carefully. Murata jerked, grabbing his arm and digging in his fingers. "Sh... shibuya..."
Yuuri froze, torn between terror and a very sudden, painful arousal from hearing his friend's voice like that. He swallowed hard and lifted his head. "Y, yeah?" he asked, then winced at how guilty he sounded. Murata's eyes were open halfway, brow furrowed faintly. The butterflies in his stomach completely flipped out, making Yuuri feel like he was going to throw up. "Um... I... well, you see..." he started babbling, voice hushed and strained from trying to keep it low. "I... you know those pink drinks? I think I had too many and... I--"
"Hey." Murata sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows. Yuuri felt another twinge of fear-laced adrenaline as their faces came very close together, but he worried about moving back. Didn't want to add insult to molesting, after all. And that was what he had been doing, he realized; molesting his best friend when said friend wasn't exactly coherent, but Murata had looked so perfect, like that. All the usual defenses down, relaxed and peaceful...
He was so going to Hell.
His breathing had just started to take on that shallow, panicked edge when he felt fingertips brush the back of his ear and a kiss at the corner of his mouth. He shivered, and momentarily stopped breathing altogether. "Harder, next time, ok?" Murata whispered, very low. "I'm not going to break."
Yuuri stared, throat tightening and blood pounding in his ears. Murata met his eyes, his own still half-lidded and the darkness made it hard to tell how clear they were. "Wait, you mean..." he stammered. "But you're drunk, and--" The protest wilted on his tongue as Murata's slipped past his lips and coaxed Yuuri's mouth open. He responded clumsily, trying to follow Murata's lead but still having a hard time grasping the situation. But the shiver that coursed from head to toe when their tongues moved against each other was making understanding things much less important all of a sudden.
"I'm not," Murata murmured between pauses for breath, "exactly unaware of what's going on."
His face turned so red it hurt. Even in the semi-dark and without his glasses, Murata seemed to see it and laugh-giggled, the sound not quite either, which made Yuuri wonder how sober he'd become. His friend sat up, forcing Yuuri backward, and wrapped one arm around his waist. "Calm down, Shibuya," he breathed against Yuuri's neck; Yuuri shuddered and clenched his fists, suddenly at a loss at what to do with his hands. "You're not bad, for a beginner."
"Who said I'm a beginner--" Murata licked a slow line up the side of his neck and Yuuri gasped, the sound turning into a whimper when the line continued up behind his ear. Murata suckled on his earlobe, letting it go through his teeth, and Yuuri knew he had to be drunk because he liked it. A lot. Another guy worked his mouth up and down his neck and not even the pictures in the girly magazines he bought once in a while got him this hard before. He slid a hand up into Murata's hair and tugged a little, earning him a shiver and Murata lifting his face to meet his, one eyebrow raised. Yuuri swallowed, trying to collect his thoughts and catch his breath, then pressed forward, kissing Murata and sincerely hoping it wasn't awkward. He felt the hand around his waist close around his shirt as Murata's breathing quickened, and both little signs made the nervous butterflies stop fluttering, leaving him with a much quieter head. The space filled, though, with memory of the little shivers and gasps he'd felt and heard, and he pushed up on his knee again, giving Murata no choice but to go backward.
He felt Murata's breath catch in his throat and growled softly, mouth moving along the path he'd followed before, and lower, down to the crook of his friend's neck and shoulder. Leaning his weight on he arm behind Murata's head, he pulled Murata's collar aside and bit down, slow as before, but much harder; Murata arched sharply beneath him and gasped out a rather emphatic curse word Yuuri had never, ever heard him use before. He groaned and soothed the spot with his tongue, feeling marks there and found himself alternately apologetic and incredibly satisfied. He managed to unbutton Murata's shirt after some fumbling, pushing the fabric away as he kissed his way down the exposed skin. He was a beginner, but he wasn't stupid; anything that got him one of those blush-inducing noises got repeated until he could actually feel Murata's whole body trembling. Breathing shallowly, he lifted his head when he reached Murata's belt, and looked up.
His friend had his eyes tightly shut, one hand clenched in the comforter and the other balled into a fist beside his thigh. Almost as if he were restraining himself; Yuuri wondered why, and sat up a little further. Murata cracked one eye open and the line of his jaw tightened. "Shibuya," he bit out, voice ragged. "I swear that if you don't finish this somehow I will do it myself and then make you wish you had."
Yuuri's jaw dropped, then he started to laugh. He saw Murata twitch and wanted to apologize, but the laughter kept coming. He'd never seen Murata very angry, never seen him very anything but calm and composed or just plain stupid-silly. Never seen him demand anything, especially not sounding so strained and desperate. He rested his head against Murata's side and took some deep breaths, feeling the clothed erection pressing against his chest, and he thought about earlier that night. He wouldn't have let Murata go home with anyone, though whoever it was probably would have known more, or would have been faster and more confident, because they didn't deserve him. None of them would have known that Murata was the last in a centuries old waiting game and that he risked everything to save someone who he hadn't even seen for thousands of years. It would take more than a few free drinks to be worth someone like Murata.
Yuuri didn't know if he was the best he could offer his friend. But he knew Murata could do a lot worse.
Still bouyed by the sudden mirth, Yuuri crawled up to meet the other's still-pinched face and pressed his mouth down onto Murata's, making up for lack of skill with eagerness. He pried Murata's hand up from the comforter as he rocked their hips together and gasped. The other took the hint and wrapped a leg around his hip, grinding hard upward. The kiss eventually dissolved into a swapping of breaths, lips barely touching as they panted and shuddered, eyes halfway open but thoughts turned inward. Yuuri's breath caught and he buried his face in the crook of Murata's shoulder as the orgasm caught him off guard; sort of like knocking the wind out of him, but it didn't hurt at all. He groaned and nuzzled the side of Murata's neck, brain on autopilot. Murata's breathing was shaky, still strained as he lay still; the line of his shoulder strung tight under Yuuri's forehead. Yuuri shifted to lie on his side, Murata's leg still over his hip, as he fumbled with the belt, and then the button holding Murata's pants closed. Slipping his hand inside -- he would have to yell at Murata for not wearing underwear later -- he listened with pleasure as Murata hissed and lifted his hips when Yuuri touched him. His hand moved tight and slow, then he shivered when Murata made a cracked sound, and came all over his hand.
Reclaiming his hand, Yuuri wiped it absently on his pants, then made a face. Grumbling, he negotiated happy and content to stay still limbs back into motion, away from Murata's warm body as he moved off the bed. He stripped off his pants, then his boxers, face back to that painful red blush. They had... yeah. He dug around in his dresser drawer, pausing when he heard a soft, questioning sound come from the bed. His ears had even started to hurt. He tossed a spare pair of boxers in Murata's direction, and fidgeted a little. "Take your pants off," he whispered, surprised he managed to get it all out in one go. "You're not sleeping in.... um... um... just take them off. Put those on." He gestured toward where he threw the boxers and forced himself to turn around a little. Murata's hand groped around the floor tiredly, brushing the boxers more than once but not grabbing them. Yuuri sighed loudly and shoved them into his hand. Murata looked up at him and Yuuri "meeped", pulling his hand back.
Murata crawled out of his pants and put the underwear on, rubbing one eye and as much as Yuuri wanted to look away, he couldn't. He stared, blatantly, as Murata changed, thoughts ricocheting around like out-of-control bumper cars. Somehow, though, he missed it when Murata moved, because a hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him onto the bed before he could protest. Murata turned over, his back to Yuuri and the door. "Go to sleep, Shibuya..." he murmured. Yuuri bit his lip and pulled the sheet over both of them. He spent most of the rest of the night staring at his friend's back, but somehow, he did as he was told.
He woke to the sound of his mother's voice. "Yuu-chan!" Her call echoed up the stairwell. "Breakfast!"
Opening his eyes, he found two things. He had a massive headache. And he had somehow wound up pressed right up against Murata's back, arm draped over his friend's side. He groaned pathetically, unsure of why, and buried his face in the back of Murata's neck.
"Nrgh?"
He cracked an eye open again, more carefully, at the sleepy question. "Grbl," he replied, closing his eye.
"Mm. Frfh." Murata buried deeper under the covers and dropped his arm over Yuuri's.
Yuuri smiled a little, glad Murata understood.
No, I don't know where the title came from. XD