Aiba/Nino: Just Do It.
“Nino, are you drunk?”
It would be a valid question if the answer wasn’t so blindingly obvious but Aiba can’t exactly see straight either; especially not from his horizontal position on the Berber carpet with the younger boy sitting on his thighs.
“Noooo.” Nino’s breath on Aiba’s face definitely tastes like beer, and maybe a few lemon flavoured chu-his.
“Let me rephrase the question, why are you drunk?”
“Shhhhhh!” Nino presses a finger to his lips too quickly and ends up with his nose behind Aiba’s ear. “I can’t say.”
“Why not?” Aiba asks catching Nino around the waist before the boy ends up with carpet burn on his cheek. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Everyone already knows,” is the reply, punctuated with a finger in the chest. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
Aiba feels the sting where he imagines his heart must be beating a heady rhythm against his rib cage, right where Nino’s stubby finger is making its point.
“Matsujun said I needed to loosen up, if I want to-”, hiccup, “do it.”
“Do ‘it’?”
“Do it. Right. Do it right. Or it might hurt.”
“It. Okay, well, I think I need another drink because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Nino plants both hands on either side of Aiba’s head and leans down so he can whisper in Aiba’s ear, like they weren’t the only two people in the room.
“Sex.”
“Oh,” and then Aiba is aware of the weight on top of him and the legs straddling his hips and where his hands are on Nino’s waist and the skin under his thumb now exposed from the t-shirt riding up when Nino bent over and how Nino’s arms look a bit unstable from holding himself up and how Nino’s looking down at him and nosing his hairline and Nino’s lips so close to-“Oh. Oh.”
Nino kisses him, missing only by a little, catching the corner of Aiba’s lips but it’s so light and timid-so not-like-Nino, who usually seems so sure of himself even when he’s not. Aiba takes that as his cue and kisses Nino back firmly with a gentle hold of the chin.
Aiba rolls them over and looks down at Nino from his new elevation and thinks the pink splashed on those smooth cheeks is very alluring. It doesn’t take very long for him to shuck both their jeans and peel off Nino’s t-shirt. All the while, he keeps going back to Nino’s lips to keep him distracted and breathless and not thinking clearly about what’s going to happen.
“I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs into Nino’s temple when he’s worked Nino with slick fingers and taken more time that he’d ever thought he’d be able to stand. “I won’t, but you know it’s going to-”
“Shut up,” Nino pants, digging his blunt fingernails into Aiba’s thigh. “Shut up and just do it already.” It’s whiney but more like himself than he’s sounded all evening and Aiba is glad for it.
Aiba tugs those slim hips closer, closing the gap, slipping in while watching Nino’s face: his eyebrows draw together like curtains and his mouth is tight like one of the strings on his guitar. Aiba mutters breathe, relax like a mantra, mostly for Nino but partly for himself.
Nino is clawing at his knees and pushing back, faster and harder mixed in with his pants and moans. It doesn’t take long for Aiba to come, rocking up in long strokes while groaning into Nino’s chest. He doesn’t get to lay there long before Nino is pushing at his shoulders and nudging with his knees.
“Gerroff,” he mumbles, a short moan and hum following as Aiba pulls out. The older boy notices belatedly that Nino hasn’t come yet. “Fuck, I forgot how shit your stamina is. Why couldn’t I have wanted Oh-chan to do it?”
Affronted, Aiba replies, “Well, can Oh-chan do this?” He grabs Nino’s hips and flips the smaller boy over onto his hands and knees and retrieves the bottle of lube that got kicked under the couch.
Aiba grins to himself when Nino is crying into the carpet don’t make me come again already, please, two fingers expertly stroking his prostate. He knew that fleeting interest in urology would come in handy one day.
It would be a valid question if the answer wasn’t so blindingly obvious but Aiba can’t exactly see straight either; especially not from his horizontal position on the Berber carpet with the younger boy sitting on his thighs.
“Noooo.” Nino’s breath on Aiba’s face definitely tastes like beer, and maybe a few lemon flavoured chu-his.
“Let me rephrase the question, why are you drunk?”
“Shhhhhh!” Nino presses a finger to his lips too quickly and ends up with his nose behind Aiba’s ear. “I can’t say.”
“Why not?” Aiba asks catching Nino around the waist before the boy ends up with carpet burn on his cheek. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Everyone already knows,” is the reply, punctuated with a finger in the chest. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
Aiba feels the sting where he imagines his heart must be beating a heady rhythm against his rib cage, right where Nino’s stubby finger is making its point.
“Matsujun said I needed to loosen up, if I want to-”, hiccup, “do it.”
“Do ‘it’?”
“Do it. Right. Do it right. Or it might hurt.”
“It. Okay, well, I think I need another drink because I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Nino plants both hands on either side of Aiba’s head and leans down so he can whisper in Aiba’s ear, like they weren’t the only two people in the room.
“Sex.”
“Oh,” and then Aiba is aware of the weight on top of him and the legs straddling his hips and where his hands are on Nino’s waist and the skin under his thumb now exposed from the t-shirt riding up when Nino bent over and how Nino’s arms look a bit unstable from holding himself up and how Nino’s looking down at him and nosing his hairline and Nino’s lips so close to-“Oh. Oh.”
Nino kisses him, missing only by a little, catching the corner of Aiba’s lips but it’s so light and timid-so not-like-Nino, who usually seems so sure of himself even when he’s not. Aiba takes that as his cue and kisses Nino back firmly with a gentle hold of the chin.
Aiba rolls them over and looks down at Nino from his new elevation and thinks the pink splashed on those smooth cheeks is very alluring. It doesn’t take very long for him to shuck both their jeans and peel off Nino’s t-shirt. All the while, he keeps going back to Nino’s lips to keep him distracted and breathless and not thinking clearly about what’s going to happen.
“I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs into Nino’s temple when he’s worked Nino with slick fingers and taken more time that he’d ever thought he’d be able to stand. “I won’t, but you know it’s going to-”
“Shut up,” Nino pants, digging his blunt fingernails into Aiba’s thigh. “Shut up and just do it already.” It’s whiney but more like himself than he’s sounded all evening and Aiba is glad for it.
Aiba tugs those slim hips closer, closing the gap, slipping in while watching Nino’s face: his eyebrows draw together like curtains and his mouth is tight like one of the strings on his guitar. Aiba mutters breathe, relax like a mantra, mostly for Nino but partly for himself.
Nino is clawing at his knees and pushing back, faster and harder mixed in with his pants and moans. It doesn’t take long for Aiba to come, rocking up in long strokes while groaning into Nino’s chest. He doesn’t get to lay there long before Nino is pushing at his shoulders and nudging with his knees.
“Gerroff,” he mumbles, a short moan and hum following as Aiba pulls out. The older boy notices belatedly that Nino hasn’t come yet. “Fuck, I forgot how shit your stamina is. Why couldn’t I have wanted Oh-chan to do it?”
Affronted, Aiba replies, “Well, can Oh-chan do this?” He grabs Nino’s hips and flips the smaller boy over onto his hands and knees and retrieves the bottle of lube that got kicked under the couch.
Aiba grins to himself when Nino is crying into the carpet don’t make me come again already, please, two fingers expertly stroking his prostate. He knew that fleeting interest in urology would come in handy one day.