GPG > me
Our system is down at work again. So I caved and drabbled some Bitch Pair. I CAN'T HELP IT. GPG OWNS MY SOUL. This is set in the future, when they are semi-grown up. :D
Gakuto Mukahi was the tackiest human being Kikumaru had ever met in his life. He swore in public, laughed too loud at other people’s misfortune, drank cheap beer, saw no reason why it wasn’t fashionably acceptable to combine pink and red in a single outfit and he had the most embarrassing habit of leering openly at good-looking men on the street.
Even at home, with no other distractions and no pool of attention to garner, Gakuto somehow managed to have Kikumaru wondering - again - how he’d managed to lose a little piece of his heart to someone so opposite to himself.
Someone so opposite to Oishi.
Tonight, Gakuto was in the kitchen, preparing dinner and bouncing around to incredibly annoying techno music. Kikumaru shook his head, finger sliding up the page again as he attempted to locate the last sentence that he’d managed to wring any sense out of. For the briefest of moments, he cursed Oishi’s giving nature - the very nature that had prompted him to install the little wall-unit radio that Gakuto kept on all the time.
“Gakkun! I’ve read the same paragraph six times and I still have no idea what I’m reading - turn that crap down!”
Poking his head around the corner to glare at Kikumaru, Gakuto stepped into his line of vision and scowled. Dressed in a pair of Kikumaru’s biker shorts and a baggy, too-big t-shirt - that Kikumaru would have liked to imagine belonged to Oishi, but likely had belonged to some man with whom Gakuto had entertained a previous, brief dalliance - Gakuto crossed his arms over his chest and favored Kikumaru with his most scathing expression.
“It’s not my fault you’re slow.”
Shooting the other red-head an incredulous glare, Kikumaru opened his mouth to fling a couple of insults of his own, but was distracted by the large spoon that Gakuto held in his right hand. The large spoon that was, presently, dripping red liquid onto Kikumaru’s white linoleum. “What the...? Would you watch what you’re doing? What the hell are you dripping all over the floor?!”
Glancing around idly as though he hadn’t a clue what Kikumaru might be talking about, Gakuto finally noticed the puddle of red kool-aid on the floor. “Oh. Oops.”
Tossing his book on the sofa, Kikumaru sprang to his feet and was stomping toward Gakuto before Gakuto had even had an opportunity to glance back up.
“Do you know how much that floor cost?!”
Gakuto turned and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed the offending spoon into the sink, where it landed in a pan of water to splash the sheer curtains that hung just over the sink. Turning back to Kikumaru with a stubborn expression of his own, Gakuto planted his hands on his hips and attempted to stare Kikumaru down. It apparently did not register to Gakuto that Kikumaru had him by several inches - not that it ever did, really.
“No, Kiku-chan, and neither do you, seeing as how this apartment is older than my mother.”
Kikumaru stiffened instinctively, attempting to make the most of the height he had over Gakuto. “This apartment is not old! It’s in very good condition and I’ll thank you to help me keep it that way!”
Sneering, Gakuto took a step forward, usurping Kikumaru’s personal space. “It is old. Old and cheap.”
Kikumaru’s expression shifted and he smirked, trying to look as smug as Gakuto always did. “Like your Mother?”
Gakuto tipped his chin up, his chest brushing Kikumaru’s, and smiled sweetly. “Exactly like my Mother.”
When Kikumaru’s barb failed to reach its mark, he was free to express precisely how scandalous he felt Gakuto’s words were. “You’re horrible! How can you talk about your own Mother like that?”
“How can you talk about my Mother like that?” Gakuto asked lightly, knowing just the right tone of voice to use, exactly which buttons to push.
Sputtering and stammering just long enough to really work up a good amount of anger at having lost yet another sparring match with Gakuto, Kikumaru narrowed his eyes and shoved at Gakuto’s shoulder with the tip of one finger. He really had no excuse. Having met Gakuto’s dysfunctional family, it was an unspoken agreement that they never discuss the family he came from or the reasons why Kikumaru’s mother had all but adopted Gakuto in much the same way she’d accepted Oishi.
Such was the dance. This was the game they loved to play.
“You said it first, Gakuto. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Gakuto pushed back, though he didn’t let go of Kikumaru’s shirt and - instead - fisted his hand tightly in the soft fabric in order to keep the other man close. “Well, I’m not. And you’re just pissed off that your Mom loves me more than she loves you. So HA!”
Grabbing at one shoulder of Gakuto’s oversized shirt, Kikumaru hauled him closer, forcing him up on tiptoes as they pressed closer to one another. “You wish.”
The thought had, stupidly, crossed Kikumaru’s mind last year when his Mother had sent Gakuto to a weekend spa retreat for his birthday when all Kikumaru had received was a membership to a ‘Jelly of the Month’ club.
“I wonder if Oishi ever compares us in his mind the way your Mother does,” Gakuto whispered, his breath hot against Kikumaru’s lips even as Kikumaru fisted one hand in the back of his hair to pull his head back and bare his throat.
Eyes widening, though what he was feeling was the farthest thing from shock that he could imagine, Kikumaru did not point out that he sincerely hoped that his Mother never entertained the sort of comparisons that he knew Oishi might. “Shut up, you mean little slut.”
Nipping Kikumaru’s jaw, Gakuto’s fingers curled against his shoulders and his voice was low and rough when he snarled, “Make me, you goody-two-shoes half-wit.”
Kikumaru growled, pushing Gakuto against the wall and crushing his lips beneath his own. He wasted no time in claiming control, one arm winding around Gakuto’s waist as he tightened his other hand in all that silky red hair. “Hateful bitch,” he hissed, grabbing Gakuto’s ass and slipping one leg between both of Gakuto’s.
Biting Kikumaru’s lip and rubbing his erection against his thigh just before he pushed his tongue into his mouth, Gakuto breathed, “Crybaby.”
Kikumaru’s moan was muffled against Gakuto’s mouth and there was no space between them when Gakuto wrapped his arms around Kikumaru’s neck and helped his lover slide him up the wall, making it easy for Gakuto to wrap his legs around Kikumaru’s hips. “Fuck me,” he demanded when Kikumaru broke their kiss to bury his face in the curve of his neck.
Tilting his head to rub his cheek against Kikumaru’s hair, Gakuto arched against him, fingernails digging into Kikumaru’s shoulder blades. “Now.”
Shifting his weight to grip Gakuto’s bottom, Kikumaru held him tight as he carried him toward the sofa. Dropping his lover unceremoniously onto that pert little ass, Kikumaru followed him down, pressing him back against the sofa for more of those hot, sucking kisses that he could never get enough of.
Already pulling at Kikumaru’s shirt, Gakuto kept one hand busy with the drawstring of his pants, wrapping his legs around Kikumaru’s hips again to grind against him. When he’d tossed Gakuto’s shirt over the sofa, bending to lick and suck at his nipples, Gakuto tipped his head back and gasped, reaching into Kikumaru’s pants to grip his cock. “Yes,” he hissed.
They continued, clawing and grabbing at each other between possessive kisses and murmured insults that, quickly, became sweet endearments and promises that they would never admit to having given voice to later, paying no attention to the sound of the front door opening and closing softly.
Hat in one hand and a bag of Kikumaru and Gakuto’s favorite tarts in the other, he made his way along the hallway, peering into the kitchen as he passed. The oven was on, but there was no sight of either of the men he lived with.
“Eiji? Gakkun?” He called, hanging up his hat and shrugging out of his coat. “Is something burning?”
♥ ♥ ♥
Leave me alone, I couldn't resist. This icon totally needs a random Gakuto. I must have OT3 icons. Soon.
Gakuto Mukahi was the tackiest human being Kikumaru had ever met in his life. He swore in public, laughed too loud at other people’s misfortune, drank cheap beer, saw no reason why it wasn’t fashionably acceptable to combine pink and red in a single outfit and he had the most embarrassing habit of leering openly at good-looking men on the street.
Even at home, with no other distractions and no pool of attention to garner, Gakuto somehow managed to have Kikumaru wondering - again - how he’d managed to lose a little piece of his heart to someone so opposite to himself.
Someone so opposite to Oishi.
Tonight, Gakuto was in the kitchen, preparing dinner and bouncing around to incredibly annoying techno music. Kikumaru shook his head, finger sliding up the page again as he attempted to locate the last sentence that he’d managed to wring any sense out of. For the briefest of moments, he cursed Oishi’s giving nature - the very nature that had prompted him to install the little wall-unit radio that Gakuto kept on all the time.
“Gakkun! I’ve read the same paragraph six times and I still have no idea what I’m reading - turn that crap down!”
Poking his head around the corner to glare at Kikumaru, Gakuto stepped into his line of vision and scowled. Dressed in a pair of Kikumaru’s biker shorts and a baggy, too-big t-shirt - that Kikumaru would have liked to imagine belonged to Oishi, but likely had belonged to some man with whom Gakuto had entertained a previous, brief dalliance - Gakuto crossed his arms over his chest and favored Kikumaru with his most scathing expression.
“It’s not my fault you’re slow.”
Shooting the other red-head an incredulous glare, Kikumaru opened his mouth to fling a couple of insults of his own, but was distracted by the large spoon that Gakuto held in his right hand. The large spoon that was, presently, dripping red liquid onto Kikumaru’s white linoleum. “What the...? Would you watch what you’re doing? What the hell are you dripping all over the floor?!”
Glancing around idly as though he hadn’t a clue what Kikumaru might be talking about, Gakuto finally noticed the puddle of red kool-aid on the floor. “Oh. Oops.”
Tossing his book on the sofa, Kikumaru sprang to his feet and was stomping toward Gakuto before Gakuto had even had an opportunity to glance back up.
“Do you know how much that floor cost?!”
Gakuto turned and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed the offending spoon into the sink, where it landed in a pan of water to splash the sheer curtains that hung just over the sink. Turning back to Kikumaru with a stubborn expression of his own, Gakuto planted his hands on his hips and attempted to stare Kikumaru down. It apparently did not register to Gakuto that Kikumaru had him by several inches - not that it ever did, really.
“No, Kiku-chan, and neither do you, seeing as how this apartment is older than my mother.”
Kikumaru stiffened instinctively, attempting to make the most of the height he had over Gakuto. “This apartment is not old! It’s in very good condition and I’ll thank you to help me keep it that way!”
Sneering, Gakuto took a step forward, usurping Kikumaru’s personal space. “It is old. Old and cheap.”
Kikumaru’s expression shifted and he smirked, trying to look as smug as Gakuto always did. “Like your Mother?”
Gakuto tipped his chin up, his chest brushing Kikumaru’s, and smiled sweetly. “Exactly like my Mother.”
When Kikumaru’s barb failed to reach its mark, he was free to express precisely how scandalous he felt Gakuto’s words were. “You’re horrible! How can you talk about your own Mother like that?”
“How can you talk about my Mother like that?” Gakuto asked lightly, knowing just the right tone of voice to use, exactly which buttons to push.
Sputtering and stammering just long enough to really work up a good amount of anger at having lost yet another sparring match with Gakuto, Kikumaru narrowed his eyes and shoved at Gakuto’s shoulder with the tip of one finger. He really had no excuse. Having met Gakuto’s dysfunctional family, it was an unspoken agreement that they never discuss the family he came from or the reasons why Kikumaru’s mother had all but adopted Gakuto in much the same way she’d accepted Oishi.
Such was the dance. This was the game they loved to play.
“You said it first, Gakuto. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Gakuto pushed back, though he didn’t let go of Kikumaru’s shirt and - instead - fisted his hand tightly in the soft fabric in order to keep the other man close. “Well, I’m not. And you’re just pissed off that your Mom loves me more than she loves you. So HA!”
Grabbing at one shoulder of Gakuto’s oversized shirt, Kikumaru hauled him closer, forcing him up on tiptoes as they pressed closer to one another. “You wish.”
The thought had, stupidly, crossed Kikumaru’s mind last year when his Mother had sent Gakuto to a weekend spa retreat for his birthday when all Kikumaru had received was a membership to a ‘Jelly of the Month’ club.
“I wonder if Oishi ever compares us in his mind the way your Mother does,” Gakuto whispered, his breath hot against Kikumaru’s lips even as Kikumaru fisted one hand in the back of his hair to pull his head back and bare his throat.
Eyes widening, though what he was feeling was the farthest thing from shock that he could imagine, Kikumaru did not point out that he sincerely hoped that his Mother never entertained the sort of comparisons that he knew Oishi might. “Shut up, you mean little slut.”
Nipping Kikumaru’s jaw, Gakuto’s fingers curled against his shoulders and his voice was low and rough when he snarled, “Make me, you goody-two-shoes half-wit.”
Kikumaru growled, pushing Gakuto against the wall and crushing his lips beneath his own. He wasted no time in claiming control, one arm winding around Gakuto’s waist as he tightened his other hand in all that silky red hair. “Hateful bitch,” he hissed, grabbing Gakuto’s ass and slipping one leg between both of Gakuto’s.
Biting Kikumaru’s lip and rubbing his erection against his thigh just before he pushed his tongue into his mouth, Gakuto breathed, “Crybaby.”
Kikumaru’s moan was muffled against Gakuto’s mouth and there was no space between them when Gakuto wrapped his arms around Kikumaru’s neck and helped his lover slide him up the wall, making it easy for Gakuto to wrap his legs around Kikumaru’s hips. “Fuck me,” he demanded when Kikumaru broke their kiss to bury his face in the curve of his neck.
Tilting his head to rub his cheek against Kikumaru’s hair, Gakuto arched against him, fingernails digging into Kikumaru’s shoulder blades. “Now.”
Shifting his weight to grip Gakuto’s bottom, Kikumaru held him tight as he carried him toward the sofa. Dropping his lover unceremoniously onto that pert little ass, Kikumaru followed him down, pressing him back against the sofa for more of those hot, sucking kisses that he could never get enough of.
Already pulling at Kikumaru’s shirt, Gakuto kept one hand busy with the drawstring of his pants, wrapping his legs around Kikumaru’s hips again to grind against him. When he’d tossed Gakuto’s shirt over the sofa, bending to lick and suck at his nipples, Gakuto tipped his head back and gasped, reaching into Kikumaru’s pants to grip his cock. “Yes,” he hissed.
They continued, clawing and grabbing at each other between possessive kisses and murmured insults that, quickly, became sweet endearments and promises that they would never admit to having given voice to later, paying no attention to the sound of the front door opening and closing softly.
Hat in one hand and a bag of Kikumaru and Gakuto’s favorite tarts in the other, he made his way along the hallway, peering into the kitchen as he passed. The oven was on, but there was no sight of either of the men he lived with.
“Eiji? Gakkun?” He called, hanging up his hat and shrugging out of his coat. “Is something burning?”
♥ ♥ ♥
Leave me alone, I couldn't resist. This icon totally needs a random Gakuto. I must have OT3 icons. Soon.