Eating cactuses
I almost regret finding my name tag after I lost it briefly last week. My major pet peeve as a cashier? Customers calling me by name. I know that they have good intentions, but it throws me to hear a perfect stranger call me by name and some are kind of offhand and almost rude about it. It annoys me. And it happened about six times today, while I quietly seethed. It gets my back up, for no valid reason at all.
One was rather amusing, though. I was trying to type in the UPC of a package of tofu that refused to scan and one of the men standing nearby gave me a thumbs-up and said "DO YOUR BEST, ERICA!" Sjfkslsls;;jdk. I AM NOT EVEN JOKING. I half-expected him to pull out a racket and start doing crazy weirdass dance moves. I was so, so pleased, in my own dorky way. ♥
This was basically comment smut written for sharingank, but I thought I'd repost it here for the record and all that.
Face to Face | Momoshiro/Kaidoh | 650 words | R | Prince of Tennis
"Mamushi," Momo pants in his ear. Kaidoh screws his eyes shut, but it's hard to ignore Momoshiro, especially when he has one hand gripping and stroking Kaidoh's cock roughly, slick with pre-come and the other curled around Kaidoh's neck, bringing their heads close together and tangling his fingers in the soft, fine hair at the base of Kaidoh's neck.
"Shut-" Kaidoh swallows, burying his face in Momoshiro's shoulder, as the other boy increases his rhythm, biting his lip against a moan, "Shut up, idiot." Their words echo off the bare walls of the equipment shed, and every scuffle sounds like thunder in Kaidoh's ears - he can almost hear his heart audibly thumping, his ears growing hot as Momoshiro strikes him faster.
He doesn't even need to see Momoshiro's face: his grin hangs in the air, almost tangible.
"You like it," Momoshiro gloats, fingers ghosting down Kaidoh's neck, digging fingernails into the muscle of Kaidoh's shoulder. He rubs his cheek against Kaidoh's, practically breathing into his face. "Kaidoh."
Kaidoh shivers a little, but he doesn't look at Momoshiro. He ends up leaning into Momoshiro, panting and arching into the other boy's hand. It was quick and Kaidoh barely remembers through a white haze of pleasure to stay silent and not look at Momoshiro.
Momoshiro is frowning a little when Kaidoh recovers himself a moment later, a downward slant to the corners of his mouth and a angry spark in his eyes. He's still hard, Kaidoh notices and he presses his palm flat against the front of Momoshiro's pants, rubbing, without much hesitation. It's nothing they haven't done before.
But Momoshiro catches his wrist, pulling his hand away. "You don't have to," he says, voice quiet, but not angry. Not upset - just - dulled, somehow. Kaidoh has never been terribly good at reading people, but reading Momoshiro is more about instinct.
"You're such an idiot," Kaidoh says, and slumps back against the wall, next to Momoshiro. He slides down to the floor, exhausted, and buries his head in his hands.
"If you don't want to keep doing this," Kaidoh looks back up, but Momoshiro is looking away, out of the solitary window in the equipment shed, set high in the wall, "You don't have to."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Kaidoh watches the late afternoon sunlight filter through the window onto the floor, illuminating dust motes and piles of tennis nets.
"You won't look at me," Momoshiro sounds angry now, sounds embarrassed. "If you want to pretend you're not here - if you'd rather be somewhere else - then just go, stupid viper."
Kaidoh stares. It isn't like Momoshiro to break the very careful unspoken rules they had built up around infrequent, seemingly accidental meetings in secluded places. They didn't talk about this - this - getting each other off in the equipment shed, sometimes they didn't talk at all and he liked it that way.
"You're backing down," he says finally, "Aren't you - loser?" It does the trick: Momo's head whips around and before Kaidoh can say anything else, he's in front of him, almost on top of him, bristling and angry and in Kaidoh's face.
"I won't lose to you," Momoshiro says, grabbing Kaidoh's collar and bringing them face-to-face. Kaidoh smiles a little, the corner of his mouth twitching. He sticks his hand down the front of Momoshiro's tennis shorts, satisfied to finally have the upper hand completely. Momoshiro writhes and curses, clenching Kaidoh's bicep with one hand and panting, forehead pressed against Kaidoh's, lips almost touching. He doesn't last long and Kaidoh keeps his eyes open, staring straight into Momoshiro's, who doesn't look away for a second.
"You're so stupid," Kaidoh says, sometime after, still slumped against the wall. Momoshiro is lounging against him, head in Kaidoh's lap and legs stretched out, tossing a tennis ball up towards the ceiling.
"Maybe," Momoshiro catches the ball as it falls, "But you like it, Mamushi."
Kaidoh snorts derisively, absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles on Momoshiro's temple softly with his thumb, and when Momo grins up at him, he doesn't look away.
One was rather amusing, though. I was trying to type in the UPC of a package of tofu that refused to scan and one of the men standing nearby gave me a thumbs-up and said "DO YOUR BEST, ERICA!" Sjfkslsls;;jdk. I AM NOT EVEN JOKING. I half-expected him to pull out a racket and start doing crazy weirdass dance moves. I was so, so pleased, in my own dorky way. ♥
This was basically comment smut written for sharingank, but I thought I'd repost it here for the record and all that.
Face to Face | Momoshiro/Kaidoh | 650 words | R | Prince of Tennis
"Mamushi," Momo pants in his ear. Kaidoh screws his eyes shut, but it's hard to ignore Momoshiro, especially when he has one hand gripping and stroking Kaidoh's cock roughly, slick with pre-come and the other curled around Kaidoh's neck, bringing their heads close together and tangling his fingers in the soft, fine hair at the base of Kaidoh's neck.
"Shut-" Kaidoh swallows, burying his face in Momoshiro's shoulder, as the other boy increases his rhythm, biting his lip against a moan, "Shut up, idiot." Their words echo off the bare walls of the equipment shed, and every scuffle sounds like thunder in Kaidoh's ears - he can almost hear his heart audibly thumping, his ears growing hot as Momoshiro strikes him faster.
He doesn't even need to see Momoshiro's face: his grin hangs in the air, almost tangible.
"You like it," Momoshiro gloats, fingers ghosting down Kaidoh's neck, digging fingernails into the muscle of Kaidoh's shoulder. He rubs his cheek against Kaidoh's, practically breathing into his face. "Kaidoh."
Kaidoh shivers a little, but he doesn't look at Momoshiro. He ends up leaning into Momoshiro, panting and arching into the other boy's hand. It was quick and Kaidoh barely remembers through a white haze of pleasure to stay silent and not look at Momoshiro.
Momoshiro is frowning a little when Kaidoh recovers himself a moment later, a downward slant to the corners of his mouth and a angry spark in his eyes. He's still hard, Kaidoh notices and he presses his palm flat against the front of Momoshiro's pants, rubbing, without much hesitation. It's nothing they haven't done before.
But Momoshiro catches his wrist, pulling his hand away. "You don't have to," he says, voice quiet, but not angry. Not upset - just - dulled, somehow. Kaidoh has never been terribly good at reading people, but reading Momoshiro is more about instinct.
"You're such an idiot," Kaidoh says, and slumps back against the wall, next to Momoshiro. He slides down to the floor, exhausted, and buries his head in his hands.
"If you don't want to keep doing this," Kaidoh looks back up, but Momoshiro is looking away, out of the solitary window in the equipment shed, set high in the wall, "You don't have to."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Kaidoh watches the late afternoon sunlight filter through the window onto the floor, illuminating dust motes and piles of tennis nets.
"You won't look at me," Momoshiro sounds angry now, sounds embarrassed. "If you want to pretend you're not here - if you'd rather be somewhere else - then just go, stupid viper."
Kaidoh stares. It isn't like Momoshiro to break the very careful unspoken rules they had built up around infrequent, seemingly accidental meetings in secluded places. They didn't talk about this - this - getting each other off in the equipment shed, sometimes they didn't talk at all and he liked it that way.
"You're backing down," he says finally, "Aren't you - loser?" It does the trick: Momo's head whips around and before Kaidoh can say anything else, he's in front of him, almost on top of him, bristling and angry and in Kaidoh's face.
"I won't lose to you," Momoshiro says, grabbing Kaidoh's collar and bringing them face-to-face. Kaidoh smiles a little, the corner of his mouth twitching. He sticks his hand down the front of Momoshiro's tennis shorts, satisfied to finally have the upper hand completely. Momoshiro writhes and curses, clenching Kaidoh's bicep with one hand and panting, forehead pressed against Kaidoh's, lips almost touching. He doesn't last long and Kaidoh keeps his eyes open, staring straight into Momoshiro's, who doesn't look away for a second.
"You're so stupid," Kaidoh says, sometime after, still slumped against the wall. Momoshiro is lounging against him, head in Kaidoh's lap and legs stretched out, tossing a tennis ball up towards the ceiling.
"Maybe," Momoshiro catches the ball as it falls, "But you like it, Mamushi."
Kaidoh snorts derisively, absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles on Momoshiro's temple softly with his thumb, and when Momo grins up at him, he doesn't look away.