Fic ~ Sakurai Is A Quick Study
Sep. 9th, 2009 07:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amh1988Another fan-fiction! This was a request made by uniquelyobscure and is a one-shot. It is also for adult eyes only, so please, if you are too young or don’t approve os sexual situations, please don’t click beyond the cut.
I also have to warn my regular readers that this is written very differently from my usual style. It may take a paragraph or two to get used to.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Arashi. I’m just using them to entertain myself.(Just like Jonny) ¬_¬ Written at the request of uniquelyobscure.
Observant
He finds himself staring – he always does. Every time the older man changes clothes or casually walks around shirtless in front of him, every nerve in Aiba’s body comes alive. He watches, enraptured, while the other man obliviously goes about his business. His eyes track Sakurai’s progress; fascinated by the smooth glide of muscle and sinew beneath flawless skin. The play of light and shadow lending definition to an already well-toned physique holds Aiba’s gaze.
He can’t remember the first time he caught himself looking at the rapper with more than friendship in mind. He cannot pinpoint the moment he first noticed his own thumping heartbeat, hotly flushed skin and suddenly parched throat. He knows that there used to be a time when it hadn’t felt like this; a time when Sakurai Sho had been just another close friend that populated his life. But the finely sculpted Idol has become such and object of his lust that Aiba can barely recall the days of purely platonic friendship.
Thoughts of the news caster seem to occupy his every waking moment. Vivid fantasies, breathtaking in their detail, haunt his dreams. And the man himself, painfully real and dangerously close, plagues him with his mere proximity. Try as he might, Aiba can find no respite from the tumult raging within him. Even taking matters into his own hands only grants him temporary relief at best. It is never enough.
Somehow, he knows it never will be.
But how do you tell a friend – a man you have worked with for ten years – that you spend hours wondering if his lips taste as good as they look? How do you explain the burning desire to explore every dip and crevice of his body and the need to bury yourself in them? How do you tell someone that you spend the darkest hours of the night, picturing what he looks like when he cums? How do you confess that you jerk-off wishing that it was his hand wrapped around you; your name on his lips?
Aiba thinks about how Sakurai appears in the throes of ecstasy, but he never acts upon these thoughts. He dare not say a word. He knows how much he stands to lose if anyone ever knew the truth, so he remains silent. He calls himself a pervert and resolves to keep his dirty secrets to himself. He contents himself with watching, pats his friend on the back from time to time and smiles brightly when Sakurai throws an arm around his shoulders.
Sometimes, he can even fool himself, for a moment, that he is normal. Until the older man casually calls him by his first name and Aiba finds he wants to hear it in entirely different circumstances.
It isn’t so bad – it’s painful sometimes but – he survives. Concerts are the worst though, because everyone is hot and sweaty and dizzy with excitement. While they perform he can focus on the fans and for those few hours, everything is fine. The moment it’s over however, when they’re all still high on adrenalin and making a messy scramble for the showers, Aiba is almost overcome. So he gathers his wits and his friends and insists they go out for a meal, hoping to gain some perspective.
On this tour, Arashi is set to stay in two hotel rooms between five members. Initially, Aiba breathes a sigh of relief because he won’t be alone with Sho; Ohno says he will share with them. Then, on the way to the hotel, a drunken conversation leads to an equally drunken game of rock-paper-scissors between Nino and Sakurai. Nino wins and – for some reason no one will quite remember in the morning – it is decided that Ohno will stay with the two youngest men.
Aiba doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he does both and tells his friends it’s because of the concert.
And now they’re alone and the older man is wearing only a towel after his second shower of the night. Eyes transfixed, as Sakurai wanders around the room with droplets of water running down his back, Aiba forgets to breathe. When dark spots begin to blur his vision, he shakes his head to clear his mind and tries to change as quickly as possible.
He gets down to his boxers before the rapper heedlessly reaches passed him for something on the nightstand. The unexpected brush of cool skin against his back catches him off guard and Aiba does exactly the wrong thing; he freezes. Every muscle in his body tenses and he holds himself rigid. And it’s the worst thing that can happen because Sakurai sees this and looks up at him with questioning eyes.
Aiba squeezes his own eyes shut tight because his inappropriate arousal is plain to see and he cannot bear to meet Sho’s gaze as the man realises this. But Sakurai just pats his back and tells him to relax and Aiba cringes because it’s impossible. He groans because Sakurai isn’t moving away and is now running the flat of his hand down Aiba’s back. But mostly it’s because Sakurai hasn’t noticed; he never notices. Suddenly it all becomes too much for the taller man and he whirls abruptly to break the contact.
He means only to push Sakurai away but desperation adds unknown force to his blow and the other man loses his balance. The caster falls to the floor, his mouth open and jaw slack in an expression of startled disbelief. Although filled with remorse, Aiba cannot get the apology past his lips; he cannot see beyond the image Sakurai creates. There on the floor, braced back on his hands, legs extended and one knee slightly pulled up towards his body. The towel has come loose and is now simply draped about his hips and his damp, uncombed hair has plastered itself to his forehead, cheeks and neck.
From his new vantage point, however, the rapper cannot fail to see the effect this has upon his colleague. “Masaki…?”
At that one word – the simple sound of his own name spoken in a hoarse, broken whisper – Aiba falls to his knees. The lack of anger or disgust in Sakurai’s tone is a relief so great the young Idol can barely fathom it. Yet, he cannot answer Sho’s implicit question nor can he stop himself any longer. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs by way of explanation as he slowly crawls up the length of Sakurai’s body and leans in to brush his lips to the man.
Sakurai flinches back with a small gasp. Eyes wide in confusion, he searches Aiba’s face for clues to what is happening here. He recognises the hunger he finds there, the longing and the desire, but he does not fully understand them. The pain and the pleading, however, Sakurai gets that: Aiba is suffering and needs something from him to stop it. With the tall man leaning over him and very nearly straddling his lap, it finally dawns on Sho what Aiba is asking for.
This time, he holds himself perfectly still as the younger man presses their mouths together softly. He doesn’t know whether the sound Aiba makes then is a sigh or his name, neither does his really spare a thought to consider it. The caster’s mind is fully occupied be the sensation of Masaki lightly trailing his fingertips up the length of his left arm. The feather-light touch leaves a string of tingling nerves in their wake and Sakurai shivers. He isn’t sure if it’s apprehension or anticipation that is causing his skin to pebble and heat all at the same time, but he doesn’t dislike the feeling.
When Aiba’s hand comes to rest at the curve of his neck – talented fingers firmly kneading taut sinew there – Sakurai releases a moan of pleasure. Taking the weight from his arms, he sits up and presses more deeply into Aiba’s kiss. With parted lips he welcomes Aiba’s tongue when it slips inside. Aiba uses bold, wide swipes to explore the contours of his mouth and Sakurai finds himself responding in kind.
Then the lithe man really is in his lap and moving against him just enough to make the towel uncomfortably abrasive. The action also reminds him of the younger mans burning need and Sho aches to relieve him of that.
As they break from the slick kiss for some much needed oxygen, the rapper studies Aiba’s expression. Beads of sweat grace his brow and the strain of holding back shows clearly on the young mans face. Watching him, gasping for breath through gritted teeth, jaw tight as he struggles against the growing pressure, Sakurai cannot stand it any longer. It is a conscious decision, on his part, to reach towards Aiba’s lap.
At the slightest hint of contact, however, Aiba jumps back and shoves his hand away. “Not yet!” He hisses on a sharp intake of breath.
“But–”
The taller man forestalls Sakurai’s objections. “I’m not ready to….”
Speaking softly, Sho’s brows knit with concern as his gaze lands on the taut fabric of Masaki’s underwear. “But that must hurt?”
“I don’t want it to end yet.” Aiba confesses, gently running a hand down Sakurai’s chest as he speaks. “For so long, I–” The younger man abandons that thought as his fingers graze the edge of the towel pooled in Sakurai’s lap. Carefully, he removes the hindrance and catches his friends’ eyes. “…I want to savour this.”
Sakurai nods because he understands; he doesn’t need Aiba to spell it out for him. He knows that isn’t just Masaki acting out, fuelled by alcohol and the after-effects of a successful concert. It isn’t just a moment of lust that any willing partner can assuage; Aiba wants him – needs him.
Sakurai doesn’t question why this should please him as much as it does; he accepts it. Somehow, he knows this is more than simply helping out a friend. This is Aiba and, for some reason he cannot articulate, that makes all the difference. “At least take them off.” The rapper suggests, tugging on the waistband of Aiba’s boxers.
The lithe man climbs out of his lap and stands to do so. Once free of the confining fabric, he offers a hand to the other man. He doesn’t need to explain as he pulls Sakurai to his feet and manoeuvres the older man to the bed. He sits Sho on the edge of the mattress and stands over him before leaning down to slot their mouths together once more.
The reality of having the respectable young man in front of him, willing and compliant, puts all of Aiba’s darkest fantasies to shame. No amount of imagination could ever have prepared him for this. The feel of Sakurai sliding lightly calloused hands over his bare chest causes his heart to pound loudly in his ears. But he can still hear the low groans of the older man and his own breath hitches in response when Sakurai begins to draw lazy circles over Aiba’s nipples with his thumbs.
Masaki suckles gently on Sho bottom lip and reaches between their bodies to palm the hard flesh of the rapper. Sakurai throws his head back and bucks into his touch, blunt fingers seeking purchase at Aiba’s shoulders. Curling his hand to fist Sakurai’s length, Aiba strokes him with slow, measured pulls. He feels himself tighten further when his name spills from the casters full, swollen lips and Aiba shivers.
He fights the urge to let go of his control and buries his head in the curve of Sho’s neck instead. Hungrily, he samples the warm skin under his lips and presses his tongue to the rapid pulse beating at the older mans throat. As Sho’s moans become more desperate and pleading, his thrust more insistent and demanding, Aiba tightens his grip but does not change his pace.
He wants the caster to crave release as much as he does. He wants Sakurai mindless with need; begging to cum. It doesn’t matter how, Aiba thinks, as long as the other man feels what Aiba has been feeling for so long.
Caressing Sakurai’s nipple with his free hand, Masaki moves to take the other in his mouth. He laves the sensitive flesh with broad swipes of his tongue while the rapper tangles fingers in his hair and pleads with him in a throaty growl. “Ahn- faster...” He chokes out breathlessly. “Please Masaki~ I c-can’t take much m-mmn…” Aiba knows this to be true of himself also, so he sinks to his knees between Sho’s legs and begins to work him faster.
The caster watches – eyes half-lidded and glazed with lust – as the younger man wraps his mouth around the tip of his erection and swirls his tongue experimentally. Sakurai’s whole body jerks with the force of the shudder that runs through his body and he gasps. “Ah- uh… so good.” He murmurs unselfconsciously. It doesn’t occur to him that he might have felt uncomfortable in this situation; naked and exposed while another man sits between his thighs and swallows his straining length. He doesn’t think it should be awkward or embarrassing; this is Aiba, one of his oldest friends and the man who makes everyone feel at ease.
Then the tall man hollows his cheeks and begins to suck in earnest and Sakurai can’t think at all anymore. He thrusts, hard and fast, into the slick heat of Aiba’s mouth, forcing the lithe man to match his pace. He tries to warn the other man when he reaches his peak but Masaki doesn’t move. The younger man only hums against his engorged flesh and Sakurai bites back a curse.
He cums, rhythm shattering and blinding, his erection hitting the back of Aiba’s throat and making him gag. But Sakurai is lost to it now; he pulls back only a little, his hands firmly keeping the younger man in place. Aiba doesn’t seem to mind; he’s more concerned with coaxing out every last drop of Sakurai’s release. Aiba continues to lap and suckle at the over sensitised flesh until the older man begs him to stop and pushes him away.
Sakurai falls back against the mattress, bringing the slender man with his as he does so. As their bodies slide over each other and slot together, Aiba reclaims Sho’s lips. The kiss is hot, wet and messy, but neither man cares. They devour each other, feasting on the taste of illicit excitement and sex.
While Aiba’s erection glides along the ridges of Sho’s abdomen, seeking friction and demanding relief, Sho reaches for him. He has never thought about doing this for another man, but he knows what he likes himself. Wrapping his hand around the smooth steel of Aiba’s length, Sakurai fists the man assertively.
Aiba lets out a rumbling moan and bites down on Sho’s shoulder as he fights his impending orgasm. Stroking the man to his own rhythm, Sakurai caresses Aiba’s hair with his other hand and whispers directly into his ear. “Just let go…” He commands softly. He doesn’t want it to end either but nor does he want his friend to hold back anymore. “Cum for me Masaki.”
And he does; shooting long and hard over them both.
As the final shudders rock through his body, he collapses atop the older man. Limply, he takes Sakurai’s hand in his and laces their fingers together. He doesn’t care that they are both sticky and chilled by rapidly drying sweat and his own release. All he can think about is how amazing it felt and how incredible it is that Sho allowed it to happen.
Soon, they will have to move; the afterglow will wear off and they will get cleaned up. But, for now, with Sakurai still stroking his hair and panting softly against his nape, Aiba basks in the shared warmth. Tomorrow is soon enough to question what transpired between them tonight.
And somehow, Aiba knows: This isn’t the end.
End.
___________________________
I also have to warn my regular readers that this is written very differently from my usual style. It may take a paragraph or two to get used to.
Title: Observant
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Smut
Pairing: Sakurai/Aiba
Word Count: 2,600
Type: One-shot
Summary: Aiba has been watching for a long time, but despite his restraint, something’s got to give.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Arashi. I’m just using them to entertain myself.
Observant
He finds himself staring – he always does. Every time the older man changes clothes or casually walks around shirtless in front of him, every nerve in Aiba’s body comes alive. He watches, enraptured, while the other man obliviously goes about his business. His eyes track Sakurai’s progress; fascinated by the smooth glide of muscle and sinew beneath flawless skin. The play of light and shadow lending definition to an already well-toned physique holds Aiba’s gaze.
He can’t remember the first time he caught himself looking at the rapper with more than friendship in mind. He cannot pinpoint the moment he first noticed his own thumping heartbeat, hotly flushed skin and suddenly parched throat. He knows that there used to be a time when it hadn’t felt like this; a time when Sakurai Sho had been just another close friend that populated his life. But the finely sculpted Idol has become such and object of his lust that Aiba can barely recall the days of purely platonic friendship.
Thoughts of the news caster seem to occupy his every waking moment. Vivid fantasies, breathtaking in their detail, haunt his dreams. And the man himself, painfully real and dangerously close, plagues him with his mere proximity. Try as he might, Aiba can find no respite from the tumult raging within him. Even taking matters into his own hands only grants him temporary relief at best. It is never enough.
Somehow, he knows it never will be.
But how do you tell a friend – a man you have worked with for ten years – that you spend hours wondering if his lips taste as good as they look? How do you explain the burning desire to explore every dip and crevice of his body and the need to bury yourself in them? How do you tell someone that you spend the darkest hours of the night, picturing what he looks like when he cums? How do you confess that you jerk-off wishing that it was his hand wrapped around you; your name on his lips?
Aiba thinks about how Sakurai appears in the throes of ecstasy, but he never acts upon these thoughts. He dare not say a word. He knows how much he stands to lose if anyone ever knew the truth, so he remains silent. He calls himself a pervert and resolves to keep his dirty secrets to himself. He contents himself with watching, pats his friend on the back from time to time and smiles brightly when Sakurai throws an arm around his shoulders.
Sometimes, he can even fool himself, for a moment, that he is normal. Until the older man casually calls him by his first name and Aiba finds he wants to hear it in entirely different circumstances.
It isn’t so bad – it’s painful sometimes but – he survives. Concerts are the worst though, because everyone is hot and sweaty and dizzy with excitement. While they perform he can focus on the fans and for those few hours, everything is fine. The moment it’s over however, when they’re all still high on adrenalin and making a messy scramble for the showers, Aiba is almost overcome. So he gathers his wits and his friends and insists they go out for a meal, hoping to gain some perspective.
On this tour, Arashi is set to stay in two hotel rooms between five members. Initially, Aiba breathes a sigh of relief because he won’t be alone with Sho; Ohno says he will share with them. Then, on the way to the hotel, a drunken conversation leads to an equally drunken game of rock-paper-scissors between Nino and Sakurai. Nino wins and – for some reason no one will quite remember in the morning – it is decided that Ohno will stay with the two youngest men.
Aiba doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he does both and tells his friends it’s because of the concert.
And now they’re alone and the older man is wearing only a towel after his second shower of the night. Eyes transfixed, as Sakurai wanders around the room with droplets of water running down his back, Aiba forgets to breathe. When dark spots begin to blur his vision, he shakes his head to clear his mind and tries to change as quickly as possible.
He gets down to his boxers before the rapper heedlessly reaches passed him for something on the nightstand. The unexpected brush of cool skin against his back catches him off guard and Aiba does exactly the wrong thing; he freezes. Every muscle in his body tenses and he holds himself rigid. And it’s the worst thing that can happen because Sakurai sees this and looks up at him with questioning eyes.
Aiba squeezes his own eyes shut tight because his inappropriate arousal is plain to see and he cannot bear to meet Sho’s gaze as the man realises this. But Sakurai just pats his back and tells him to relax and Aiba cringes because it’s impossible. He groans because Sakurai isn’t moving away and is now running the flat of his hand down Aiba’s back. But mostly it’s because Sakurai hasn’t noticed; he never notices. Suddenly it all becomes too much for the taller man and he whirls abruptly to break the contact.
He means only to push Sakurai away but desperation adds unknown force to his blow and the other man loses his balance. The caster falls to the floor, his mouth open and jaw slack in an expression of startled disbelief. Although filled with remorse, Aiba cannot get the apology past his lips; he cannot see beyond the image Sakurai creates. There on the floor, braced back on his hands, legs extended and one knee slightly pulled up towards his body. The towel has come loose and is now simply draped about his hips and his damp, uncombed hair has plastered itself to his forehead, cheeks and neck.
From his new vantage point, however, the rapper cannot fail to see the effect this has upon his colleague. “Masaki…?”
At that one word – the simple sound of his own name spoken in a hoarse, broken whisper – Aiba falls to his knees. The lack of anger or disgust in Sakurai’s tone is a relief so great the young Idol can barely fathom it. Yet, he cannot answer Sho’s implicit question nor can he stop himself any longer. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs by way of explanation as he slowly crawls up the length of Sakurai’s body and leans in to brush his lips to the man.
Sakurai flinches back with a small gasp. Eyes wide in confusion, he searches Aiba’s face for clues to what is happening here. He recognises the hunger he finds there, the longing and the desire, but he does not fully understand them. The pain and the pleading, however, Sakurai gets that: Aiba is suffering and needs something from him to stop it. With the tall man leaning over him and very nearly straddling his lap, it finally dawns on Sho what Aiba is asking for.
This time, he holds himself perfectly still as the younger man presses their mouths together softly. He doesn’t know whether the sound Aiba makes then is a sigh or his name, neither does his really spare a thought to consider it. The caster’s mind is fully occupied be the sensation of Masaki lightly trailing his fingertips up the length of his left arm. The feather-light touch leaves a string of tingling nerves in their wake and Sakurai shivers. He isn’t sure if it’s apprehension or anticipation that is causing his skin to pebble and heat all at the same time, but he doesn’t dislike the feeling.
When Aiba’s hand comes to rest at the curve of his neck – talented fingers firmly kneading taut sinew there – Sakurai releases a moan of pleasure. Taking the weight from his arms, he sits up and presses more deeply into Aiba’s kiss. With parted lips he welcomes Aiba’s tongue when it slips inside. Aiba uses bold, wide swipes to explore the contours of his mouth and Sakurai finds himself responding in kind.
Then the lithe man really is in his lap and moving against him just enough to make the towel uncomfortably abrasive. The action also reminds him of the younger mans burning need and Sho aches to relieve him of that.
As they break from the slick kiss for some much needed oxygen, the rapper studies Aiba’s expression. Beads of sweat grace his brow and the strain of holding back shows clearly on the young mans face. Watching him, gasping for breath through gritted teeth, jaw tight as he struggles against the growing pressure, Sakurai cannot stand it any longer. It is a conscious decision, on his part, to reach towards Aiba’s lap.
At the slightest hint of contact, however, Aiba jumps back and shoves his hand away. “Not yet!” He hisses on a sharp intake of breath.
“But–”
The taller man forestalls Sakurai’s objections. “I’m not ready to….”
Speaking softly, Sho’s brows knit with concern as his gaze lands on the taut fabric of Masaki’s underwear. “But that must hurt?”
“I don’t want it to end yet.” Aiba confesses, gently running a hand down Sakurai’s chest as he speaks. “For so long, I–” The younger man abandons that thought as his fingers graze the edge of the towel pooled in Sakurai’s lap. Carefully, he removes the hindrance and catches his friends’ eyes. “…I want to savour this.”
Sakurai nods because he understands; he doesn’t need Aiba to spell it out for him. He knows that isn’t just Masaki acting out, fuelled by alcohol and the after-effects of a successful concert. It isn’t just a moment of lust that any willing partner can assuage; Aiba wants him – needs him.
Sakurai doesn’t question why this should please him as much as it does; he accepts it. Somehow, he knows this is more than simply helping out a friend. This is Aiba and, for some reason he cannot articulate, that makes all the difference. “At least take them off.” The rapper suggests, tugging on the waistband of Aiba’s boxers.
The lithe man climbs out of his lap and stands to do so. Once free of the confining fabric, he offers a hand to the other man. He doesn’t need to explain as he pulls Sakurai to his feet and manoeuvres the older man to the bed. He sits Sho on the edge of the mattress and stands over him before leaning down to slot their mouths together once more.
The reality of having the respectable young man in front of him, willing and compliant, puts all of Aiba’s darkest fantasies to shame. No amount of imagination could ever have prepared him for this. The feel of Sakurai sliding lightly calloused hands over his bare chest causes his heart to pound loudly in his ears. But he can still hear the low groans of the older man and his own breath hitches in response when Sakurai begins to draw lazy circles over Aiba’s nipples with his thumbs.
Masaki suckles gently on Sho bottom lip and reaches between their bodies to palm the hard flesh of the rapper. Sakurai throws his head back and bucks into his touch, blunt fingers seeking purchase at Aiba’s shoulders. Curling his hand to fist Sakurai’s length, Aiba strokes him with slow, measured pulls. He feels himself tighten further when his name spills from the casters full, swollen lips and Aiba shivers.
He fights the urge to let go of his control and buries his head in the curve of Sho’s neck instead. Hungrily, he samples the warm skin under his lips and presses his tongue to the rapid pulse beating at the older mans throat. As Sho’s moans become more desperate and pleading, his thrust more insistent and demanding, Aiba tightens his grip but does not change his pace.
He wants the caster to crave release as much as he does. He wants Sakurai mindless with need; begging to cum. It doesn’t matter how, Aiba thinks, as long as the other man feels what Aiba has been feeling for so long.
Caressing Sakurai’s nipple with his free hand, Masaki moves to take the other in his mouth. He laves the sensitive flesh with broad swipes of his tongue while the rapper tangles fingers in his hair and pleads with him in a throaty growl. “Ahn- faster...” He chokes out breathlessly. “Please Masaki~ I c-can’t take much m-mmn…” Aiba knows this to be true of himself also, so he sinks to his knees between Sho’s legs and begins to work him faster.
The caster watches – eyes half-lidded and glazed with lust – as the younger man wraps his mouth around the tip of his erection and swirls his tongue experimentally. Sakurai’s whole body jerks with the force of the shudder that runs through his body and he gasps. “Ah- uh… so good.” He murmurs unselfconsciously. It doesn’t occur to him that he might have felt uncomfortable in this situation; naked and exposed while another man sits between his thighs and swallows his straining length. He doesn’t think it should be awkward or embarrassing; this is Aiba, one of his oldest friends and the man who makes everyone feel at ease.
Then the tall man hollows his cheeks and begins to suck in earnest and Sakurai can’t think at all anymore. He thrusts, hard and fast, into the slick heat of Aiba’s mouth, forcing the lithe man to match his pace. He tries to warn the other man when he reaches his peak but Masaki doesn’t move. The younger man only hums against his engorged flesh and Sakurai bites back a curse.
He cums, rhythm shattering and blinding, his erection hitting the back of Aiba’s throat and making him gag. But Sakurai is lost to it now; he pulls back only a little, his hands firmly keeping the younger man in place. Aiba doesn’t seem to mind; he’s more concerned with coaxing out every last drop of Sakurai’s release. Aiba continues to lap and suckle at the over sensitised flesh until the older man begs him to stop and pushes him away.
Sakurai falls back against the mattress, bringing the slender man with his as he does so. As their bodies slide over each other and slot together, Aiba reclaims Sho’s lips. The kiss is hot, wet and messy, but neither man cares. They devour each other, feasting on the taste of illicit excitement and sex.
While Aiba’s erection glides along the ridges of Sho’s abdomen, seeking friction and demanding relief, Sho reaches for him. He has never thought about doing this for another man, but he knows what he likes himself. Wrapping his hand around the smooth steel of Aiba’s length, Sakurai fists the man assertively.
Aiba lets out a rumbling moan and bites down on Sho’s shoulder as he fights his impending orgasm. Stroking the man to his own rhythm, Sakurai caresses Aiba’s hair with his other hand and whispers directly into his ear. “Just let go…” He commands softly. He doesn’t want it to end either but nor does he want his friend to hold back anymore. “Cum for me Masaki.”
And he does; shooting long and hard over them both.
As the final shudders rock through his body, he collapses atop the older man. Limply, he takes Sakurai’s hand in his and laces their fingers together. He doesn’t care that they are both sticky and chilled by rapidly drying sweat and his own release. All he can think about is how amazing it felt and how incredible it is that Sho allowed it to happen.
Soon, they will have to move; the afterglow will wear off and they will get cleaned up. But, for now, with Sakurai still stroking his hair and panting softly against his nape, Aiba basks in the shared warmth. Tomorrow is soon enough to question what transpired between them tonight.
And somehow, Aiba knows: This isn’t the end.
End.
___________________________
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Date: 2009-09-09 08:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-10 12:41 pm (UTC)