[FIC] Ouran: Fair Play
... more porn. For splinteredfate, because this is Turnabout's sequel and that was dedicated to her. Plus she wanted wet shirt smut. I deliver wet shirt smut. Even though the wet shirt doesn't get much screentime.
Also, everyone go read this. Or dream will be DDDDD=, only not.
Fair Play
Characters/Pairings: Tamaki/Kyouya
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1369
Summary: The merits of being right, and having a possessive, jealous boyfriend. Prompt: Wet shirt smut PWP, sequel to Turnabout (please read that first).
As always, Kyouya was correct: Tamaki came back to him later that night.
He barely had time to close the door before he was slammed against it, polished wood digging into his skin through his thin, wet shirt. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and Kyouya gasped noiselessly as Tamaki stepped closer, so close that there was almost no space to breathe, so close that Kyouya could hear - could feel - Tamaki’s breaths, ghosting across his skin like warm silk.
“There’s something that has been bothering me ever since your little performance this afternoon,” Tamaki whispered, low and dark and Kyouya nearly couldn’t suppress a shiver.
“Oh?” he asked, and an eyebrow rose.
Tamaki leaned forward more, impossibly - unnecessarily - close, “It’s very impolite to put on a show like that in front of everyone, Kyouya. Especially since it’s suppose to be a private show,”
Kyouya’s eyelids fluttered close involuntarily when Tamaki pushed his legs apart with his own, sliding upwards, skin against skin. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, staring into Tamaki’s darkened violet ones and smirked, “Are you jealous, Tamaki?”
“Yes,” Tamaki admitted, as honest and guileless as ever, and Kyouya smirked. “I don’t like it,” the blond continued, half-pouting, “when you show off to other people. You’re mine, Kyouya.”
As if to punctuate his point, Tamaki grabbed him by his shoulders and half-threw, half-pulled him to the bed. The lights had been switched off somewhere at this point, though Kyouya didn’t know when, exactly. He tried not to stumble or struggle, managing to land as gracefully as he could on his back. The mattress sank beneath his weight; silk sheets shifting underneath his body as Kyouya tilted his head upwards, watching Tamaki as the blond crawled on top of him, effectively trapping him.
Why was this scene so very familiar?
Tamaki pressed down against him, nibbling on the shell of his ear and Kyouya shivered, fingers clenching around the sheets.
His ears had always been an erogenous spot for him. Tamaki knew this fact very well.
“Kyouya…” Tamaki breathed, so soft that Kyouya almost couldn’t hear him. “I won’t be able to be as gentle as usual with you tonight, but I promise not to hurt you. Will you allow me to make love to you?”
Kyouya had to suppress his laughter, but a smile escaped nonetheless. Tamaki, and only Tamaki, would ask this type of question when he already had Kyouya pinned on the bed. Well, no one could ever call the blond inconsiderate, he supposed.
“Yes,” Kyouya said, smile widening when he saw Tamaki’s eyes gleam with the familiar light of desire.
“Good,” Tamaki smiled, sharp, and there were hands on his still-wet shirt. Buttons popped off, rolling onto the floor as Tamaki ripped off the shirt and Kyouya frowned at the waste.
“I liked that shirt,” he commented mildly, mentally reminding himself to take the cost of it from Tamaki later.
Tamaki ignored him, but Kyouya didn’t feel indignant, for a hand had migrated to his boxers, pulling them off him, and there was a mouth on a nipple. He cried out involuntarily as the hand stroked his already hardened erection, fingers clutching at the sheet. The silk held.
Tamaki smiled up to him, and the smile was dark with lust. “Turn over,” he said, voice low and demanding, and backed off.
Kyouya obeyed, getting on his hands and knees, facing the headboard, away from Tamaki. He felt a hand between his shoulder blades, a slight pressure, and sank down to his elbows.
Then there was two fingers entering him (when did Tamaki get the lube?), and Kyouya gasped, burying his face into the mattress because it hurt, a little. It had been quite some time since they had done this. Tamaki was true to his word - the intrusion was rougher than what he expected and the stretch burned, but it didn’t hurt much and any pain that existed disappeared when he felt a finger trailed down the underside of his cock, from the base to the tip, teasing the slit.
He may have cried out, and he may have not, Kyouya didn’t know for Tamaki had taken his distraction as a chance to insert a third finger and was now scissoring them, stretching him further. The blond crooked them, and Kyouya muffled any sound that he might have made in the blankets, hands clenching around silk sheets as Tamaki stroked his prostate mercilessly.
And now there was a hand on the back of his neck and Kyouya turned, meeting Tamaki’s lips with his own. His soft gasps and pants were eagerly swallowed, and Tamaki’s eyes darkened even more, until they were completely black. The sight spiked Kyouya’s arousal, and he hardened impossibly more.
“Tamaki,” Kyouya whispered when they broke the kiss, voice thick with desire and something that he had never tried to name. The blond smiled crookedly, straightening back up, and Kyouya moaned when he felt Tamaki’s finger pulling out, leaving him feeling oddly empty.
It wasn’t long before he could feel Tamaki’s erection pressing against his entrance, thicker and blunter than fingers. He entered him in one swift thrust, and Kyouya cried out as he was shoved forward, the sheets moving agitatedly beneath his body, silk rubbing against sensitised skin.
‘Tamaki was serious about being rough,’ Kyouya realized dazedly. That was the last coherent thought he had, for Tamaki had started moving now, and the pace was much faster than what Kyouya was used to, at this stage.
Tamaki was panting in his ear, and Kyouya was suddenly reminded of why they didn’t use this position often: he couldn’t see Tamaki’s face. He wanted to turn around, to see Tamaki, to see that charming mouth hanging open, to see that bare expanse of throat and collarbone as Tamaki threw his head back, to see violet eyes behind quivering eyelids and fluttering lashes, dark with desire. Here, in this position, he couldn’t see a thing, but he could hear, and he could feel.
One of Tamaki’s arms had wrapped themselves around his waist, and Kyouya was sure that it was the only thing holding him up as Tamaki’s thrusts grew faster and faster. There was a hand on his hip, the grip tight enough that Kyouya was sure he would have a bruise there tomorrow. Tamaki’s mouth was at the back of his neck, breathing short, heated pants against the skin. Tamaki inside him, moving, sending liquid fire through his whole body from his groin.
Tamaki. Tamaki. Tamaki.
Kyouya bit down on his lip to muffle his scream, drawing blood, when Tamaki shifted his position slightly, just enough to stroke his prostate. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose as the pace heightened. Kyouya turned around, his lips crashing with Tamaki’s as they kissed, harsh and rough and urgent. Their gasps and moans and pants were mixed together and swallowed by both, shivers dancing down Kyouya’s spine as their tongues tangled together
He was close, so very close. There was heat all over his body and his fingertips and toes were tingling. There were sparks behind his eyes and he thrust backwards, a silent plea, and Tamaki obliged him, wrapping piano hands around his cock, pumping in time with his thrusts.
Kyouya bit down hard on the sheets, hands clenching involuntarily as his vision went white. He could vaguely feel Tamaki’s mouth against his collarbone, mouthing incoherent words as heat entered his insides. They stayed in that position for half an eternity, for a few minutes.
He collapsed down onto the bed when Tamaki’s arm left his waist, the blond landing with a soft ‘thump’ behind him. His thighs could not hold him up anyway. Kyouya opened his eyes, staring up at the darkened ceiling as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Now this,” Tamaki said, the mischievous note in his noise half-hidden by his harsh breathing, “is what I call fair play.” He sounded unforgivably smug.
Kyouya’s lips twitched, just slightly, before he turned around and smacked Tamaki on the side of his head.
“Shut up, moron,” he drawled, but they were both smiling, and Tamaki knew he didn’t mean it (not completely, anyway).
End
Also, everyone go read this. Or dream will be DDDDD=, only not.
Fair Play
Characters/Pairings: Tamaki/Kyouya
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1369
Summary: The merits of being right, and having a possessive, jealous boyfriend. Prompt: Wet shirt smut PWP, sequel to Turnabout (please read that first).
As always, Kyouya was correct: Tamaki came back to him later that night.
He barely had time to close the door before he was slammed against it, polished wood digging into his skin through his thin, wet shirt. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and Kyouya gasped noiselessly as Tamaki stepped closer, so close that there was almost no space to breathe, so close that Kyouya could hear - could feel - Tamaki’s breaths, ghosting across his skin like warm silk.
“There’s something that has been bothering me ever since your little performance this afternoon,” Tamaki whispered, low and dark and Kyouya nearly couldn’t suppress a shiver.
“Oh?” he asked, and an eyebrow rose.
Tamaki leaned forward more, impossibly - unnecessarily - close, “It’s very impolite to put on a show like that in front of everyone, Kyouya. Especially since it’s suppose to be a private show,”
Kyouya’s eyelids fluttered close involuntarily when Tamaki pushed his legs apart with his own, sliding upwards, skin against skin. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, staring into Tamaki’s darkened violet ones and smirked, “Are you jealous, Tamaki?”
“Yes,” Tamaki admitted, as honest and guileless as ever, and Kyouya smirked. “I don’t like it,” the blond continued, half-pouting, “when you show off to other people. You’re mine, Kyouya.”
As if to punctuate his point, Tamaki grabbed him by his shoulders and half-threw, half-pulled him to the bed. The lights had been switched off somewhere at this point, though Kyouya didn’t know when, exactly. He tried not to stumble or struggle, managing to land as gracefully as he could on his back. The mattress sank beneath his weight; silk sheets shifting underneath his body as Kyouya tilted his head upwards, watching Tamaki as the blond crawled on top of him, effectively trapping him.
Why was this scene so very familiar?
Tamaki pressed down against him, nibbling on the shell of his ear and Kyouya shivered, fingers clenching around the sheets.
His ears had always been an erogenous spot for him. Tamaki knew this fact very well.
“Kyouya…” Tamaki breathed, so soft that Kyouya almost couldn’t hear him. “I won’t be able to be as gentle as usual with you tonight, but I promise not to hurt you. Will you allow me to make love to you?”
Kyouya had to suppress his laughter, but a smile escaped nonetheless. Tamaki, and only Tamaki, would ask this type of question when he already had Kyouya pinned on the bed. Well, no one could ever call the blond inconsiderate, he supposed.
“Yes,” Kyouya said, smile widening when he saw Tamaki’s eyes gleam with the familiar light of desire.
“Good,” Tamaki smiled, sharp, and there were hands on his still-wet shirt. Buttons popped off, rolling onto the floor as Tamaki ripped off the shirt and Kyouya frowned at the waste.
“I liked that shirt,” he commented mildly, mentally reminding himself to take the cost of it from Tamaki later.
Tamaki ignored him, but Kyouya didn’t feel indignant, for a hand had migrated to his boxers, pulling them off him, and there was a mouth on a nipple. He cried out involuntarily as the hand stroked his already hardened erection, fingers clutching at the sheet. The silk held.
Tamaki smiled up to him, and the smile was dark with lust. “Turn over,” he said, voice low and demanding, and backed off.
Kyouya obeyed, getting on his hands and knees, facing the headboard, away from Tamaki. He felt a hand between his shoulder blades, a slight pressure, and sank down to his elbows.
Then there was two fingers entering him (when did Tamaki get the lube?), and Kyouya gasped, burying his face into the mattress because it hurt, a little. It had been quite some time since they had done this. Tamaki was true to his word - the intrusion was rougher than what he expected and the stretch burned, but it didn’t hurt much and any pain that existed disappeared when he felt a finger trailed down the underside of his cock, from the base to the tip, teasing the slit.
He may have cried out, and he may have not, Kyouya didn’t know for Tamaki had taken his distraction as a chance to insert a third finger and was now scissoring them, stretching him further. The blond crooked them, and Kyouya muffled any sound that he might have made in the blankets, hands clenching around silk sheets as Tamaki stroked his prostate mercilessly.
And now there was a hand on the back of his neck and Kyouya turned, meeting Tamaki’s lips with his own. His soft gasps and pants were eagerly swallowed, and Tamaki’s eyes darkened even more, until they were completely black. The sight spiked Kyouya’s arousal, and he hardened impossibly more.
“Tamaki,” Kyouya whispered when they broke the kiss, voice thick with desire and something that he had never tried to name. The blond smiled crookedly, straightening back up, and Kyouya moaned when he felt Tamaki’s finger pulling out, leaving him feeling oddly empty.
It wasn’t long before he could feel Tamaki’s erection pressing against his entrance, thicker and blunter than fingers. He entered him in one swift thrust, and Kyouya cried out as he was shoved forward, the sheets moving agitatedly beneath his body, silk rubbing against sensitised skin.
‘Tamaki was serious about being rough,’ Kyouya realized dazedly. That was the last coherent thought he had, for Tamaki had started moving now, and the pace was much faster than what Kyouya was used to, at this stage.
Tamaki was panting in his ear, and Kyouya was suddenly reminded of why they didn’t use this position often: he couldn’t see Tamaki’s face. He wanted to turn around, to see Tamaki, to see that charming mouth hanging open, to see that bare expanse of throat and collarbone as Tamaki threw his head back, to see violet eyes behind quivering eyelids and fluttering lashes, dark with desire. Here, in this position, he couldn’t see a thing, but he could hear, and he could feel.
One of Tamaki’s arms had wrapped themselves around his waist, and Kyouya was sure that it was the only thing holding him up as Tamaki’s thrusts grew faster and faster. There was a hand on his hip, the grip tight enough that Kyouya was sure he would have a bruise there tomorrow. Tamaki’s mouth was at the back of his neck, breathing short, heated pants against the skin. Tamaki inside him, moving, sending liquid fire through his whole body from his groin.
Tamaki. Tamaki. Tamaki.
Kyouya bit down on his lip to muffle his scream, drawing blood, when Tamaki shifted his position slightly, just enough to stroke his prostate. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose as the pace heightened. Kyouya turned around, his lips crashing with Tamaki’s as they kissed, harsh and rough and urgent. Their gasps and moans and pants were mixed together and swallowed by both, shivers dancing down Kyouya’s spine as their tongues tangled together
He was close, so very close. There was heat all over his body and his fingertips and toes were tingling. There were sparks behind his eyes and he thrust backwards, a silent plea, and Tamaki obliged him, wrapping piano hands around his cock, pumping in time with his thrusts.
Kyouya bit down hard on the sheets, hands clenching involuntarily as his vision went white. He could vaguely feel Tamaki’s mouth against his collarbone, mouthing incoherent words as heat entered his insides. They stayed in that position for half an eternity, for a few minutes.
He collapsed down onto the bed when Tamaki’s arm left his waist, the blond landing with a soft ‘thump’ behind him. His thighs could not hold him up anyway. Kyouya opened his eyes, staring up at the darkened ceiling as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Now this,” Tamaki said, the mischievous note in his noise half-hidden by his harsh breathing, “is what I call fair play.” He sounded unforgivably smug.
Kyouya’s lips twitched, just slightly, before he turned around and smacked Tamaki on the side of his head.
“Shut up, moron,” he drawled, but they were both smiling, and Tamaki knew he didn’t mean it (not completely, anyway).
End