lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
[personal profile] lysapadin
Title: Home to Roost
Characters/Pairings: Chris/Miyuki
Summary: Miyuki gets what's coming to him.
Notes: Adult for smut in the fine old tradition of Plot? What Plot? 3607 words.

~~~~~~~~~~


Home to Roost

Kazuya has lost track of how many times he's heard people enthuse over how nice Chris is, which just goes to show how completely unobservant people tend to be. Chris is not nice. Kazuya might be willing to entertain the case for polite, maybe, though Chris is honestly the kind of guy who can get away with saying things that sound polite enough until a person starts thinking about what he's actually just said, so. Polite might be pushing it, too, depending on Chris' mood. Nice, however, is definitely out of the question.

Kazuya says so, mostly for the satisfaction of doing it: "You are not a nice guy at all." Despite his best efforts, he can't quite keep his breath from hitching in the middle of the sentence, right when Chris bites down again.

Chris carries on with what he's doing—which is sucking on the place he's just bitten until it stings—before he lifts his mouth away from the inside of Kazuya's thigh and says, "Did I ever say I was?" He's close enough that Kazuya can feel the whisper of his breath against skin.

Kazuya has to admit that no, he never has. "But it beats me how you've managed to make everyone think you're nice anyway."

Chris adjusts his grip on Kazuya's thighs just a bit, though he's got Kazuya just as spread out and pinned against the bed as before, and bites down again, higher this time, mouthing the skin on the inside of his thigh until Kazuya can't help the sound he makes. Every nerve ending he has is tingling, tuned to the movement of Chris' mouth against his skin, the pressure of his lips and the edge of his teeth and the brush of his tongue as he marks the insides of Kazuya's thighs relentlessly. They're patterned with rosy bruises by now, some of which are unmistakably bite-shaped. Kazuya has a fertile imagination, but he's pretty sure that there's no way he's going to be able to pass them off for anything other than what they are: Chris marking his territory.

The thought makes the heat twist at the pit of his stomach and he shudders.

Chris bites him again, a quick nip this time to make Kazuya gasp against the sharpness of it. "Maybe it's because I don't feel the need to tease everyone who crosses my path?" he suggests, close enough to Kazuya's cock that Kazuya can almost feel the heat of his breath.

"I guess there's that," Kazuya says, trying to strain upwards just a little and failing against the weight of Chris' hands holding him in place. "Don't know how you can hold back, though—fuck!"

He strains fruitlessly against Chris' hands and the scarves that bind his wrists to the bed frame as Chris drags his tongue up his cock, wanting more, but Chris has him too well-pinned to move with the ripple of pleasure and the unbearable softness of Chris' tongue sweeping over the head of his cock. He can't even writhe against the ache of absence when Chris lifts his mouth away and casts a smile up the bed. "I believe the concept is called self-restraint," he murmurs. "Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Kazuya wouldn't be who he is or have gotten to this point if he weren't willing to push boundaries. He licks his lips. "Yeah? I dunno, it sounds kind of boring if you ask me."

That earns him a glint of amusement and a faint, evil smile. "You might find that it has its merits." Chris slides his hands up, fitting them around Kazuya's hips and pressing them down against the mattress, and then he closes his mouth over the head of Kazuya's cock—just the head of it—and holds it in his mouth as Kazuya groans and writhes as much as Chris' merciless grip and the restraints on his wrists will allow, which is not very much at all. Chris' mouth is so soft around him, holding him, that it's difficult to encompass the sensation, pleasure that's simply there without building or changing. Kazuya groans again, hoarse with the way Chris holds him still and conscious that Chris is watching him all the while.

And that's all he does—he holds Kazuya down as Kazuya begins to pant for breath, aching with the way that unceasing, unchanging softness winds him tighter and tighter with the need for more—movement, friction, pressure, fuck, he's getting less and less picky as the seconds tick past. And Chris still doesn't do anything at all but watch him as Kazuya pulls taut—watches him with eyes that shine dark and hot and relentlessly patient.

Kazuya is the one to break first. "Please," he says, when it's that or go insane from wanting. "Chris-senpai, please—"

Chris—Chris hums, the vibration of it obscenely satisfied, and lifts his mouth away from Kazuya's cock.

The sudden absence is as intense as a blow; Kazuya utters a sound even he can't name, jerking his hips up against the empty air as Chris releases them and sits up. Kazuya swears then, and again when he tries to twist his hips to the side, hoping to find some friction against the sheets, and Chris catches his knees before he can even try. "Was there something you wanted, Kazuya?" How he can sound so calm when he's just as hard as Kazuya is right now is a mystery for the ages.

"Stop teasing me already," Kazuya says.

Chris purses his lips. "Now where have I heard someone else say that today?"

This is when Kazuya realizes just how deeply he's in trouble. "Oh, fuck," he says as Chris rubs his chin, mock-thoughtful, because that's exactly what Chris had said right before Kazuya had gotten serious about teasing him during practice.

If there were anyone else around to see the slow, evil curl of Chris' smile just then, Chris' nice-guy reputation would have died on the spot. "I see you recall hearing that, too." Chris keeps his hold on Kazuya's knee with one hand and reaches down to palm his cock with the other.

Kazuya can't help his own reaction to that; he rocks his hips up, mindlessly seeking some kind of friction against his cock as Chris groans softly. Chris lets him do it, watching him behind eyes gone half-lidded and smiling faintly as he wraps his fingers around his cock and pumps it slowly. "So I spent some time thinking this afternoon," he says, only the barest hint of roughness to his voice. "It seems to me that since you enjoy the teasing game so much, I really ought to return the favor you did me. Fair's only fair, right?"

A split-second review of all the different things he'd done to wind Chris up passes before Kazuya's mind's eye. He swallows hard. "Oh, fuck me."

Chris smiles at him. "Maybe later. If you ask me nicely enough."

Kazuya has enough presence of mind left to him to keep himself from whimpering, though it's more of a struggle than he'd care to admit to anyone. So instead he summons up his best grin for Chris. "What, you think I'd dish it out if I couldn't take it?"

Chris just smiles at him, still sliding his hand up and down his cock. "That's what we're going to find out."

Yeah, Kazuya thinks, he's screwed. The realization is distant, trumped by the hypnotically slow movement of Chris' hand as he jerks himself off and the soft, wet sound of flesh sliding over flesh, loud over the sound of his own breathing and the way Chris' breath turns deeper as he begins to move his hand faster—the way he draws up, his body arching as he comes, groaning deep in his chest as his cock pulses over his fingers—how he works himself through it, a shudder rocking him every time another wave of pleasure sweeps through him—until he relaxes again, lazy and satiated and smiling at Kazuya.

Kazuya wets his lips, or tries to anyway, but there's only so much he can do with his mouth running dry like it is. "Nice show."

Chris laughs, soft. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." He shifts forward on his knees and braces himself on Kazuya's hip, pressing him down against the mattress, and offers his sticky fingers to Kazuya with a smile that just hints of challenge.

"You're filthy," Kazuya tells him, full of admiration, and lifts his head off the pillow so he can lick Chris' fingers clean.

"You know you love it," Chris tells him. He spares Kazuya the necessity of having to find an appropriately smart-ass answer for that but sliding his fingers into Kazuya's mouth and over his tongue. They press down on it, filling his mouth until he can feel the stretch in his jaw with how wide he has to open up to accommodate them. He sucks on them eagerly, scouring the stickiness from them with his tongue as Chris draws back and then plunges them in again. Kazuya groans around his fingers; the mimicry is almost as good as the thing itself, and so is the way Chris is watching him. He slides his fingers deep and lets Kazuya suck on them, murmuring, "Look at you, how badly you want it. You're already ready to take anything I'll give you, aren't you?"

It's not the words so much, or even the idea behind them—Kazuya is sucking on Chris' fingers just as eagerly as he'd suck his cock—it's the pleased, possessive curl of Chris' smile and the velvety satisfaction of his tone. Kazuya can't help the way he yearns after that, hungry for it, aching for it, and groans around Chris' fingers. Chris smiles then and draws his fingers out of Kazuya's mouth, letting the pads of them linger over his tongue and lips. "That's what I thought." He reaches down and draws his fingers up the length of Kazuya's cock, barely touching him. Even that delicate touch is enough to send sensation rushing over Kazuya's nerves; his back comes off the bed as far as his bound hands and Chris' weight on his hip will allow, and he gasps with the sudden punch of pleasure after doing without. Chris smiles at him and brushes his fingertips over him slowly, the touch of them feather-light as he traces them over the head of Kazuya's cock.

Kazuya doesn't quite have the presence of mind to say anything but yes and please when each deliberately light touch drags another gasp out of him, ratchets the tension and the need tighter with every stroke. It's exactly what Chris wants, he knows that, but he can't bring himself to care until Chris lifts his fingers away just as Kazuya can feel his entire body pulling tight in anticipation, on the verge of coming. He nearly shouts with his frustration, trying to buck against Chris' hand on his hip. "Chris-senpai…!"

There's no way to describe the way Chris smiles at him then as anything but evil. "Yes?" He skates his fingers over Kazuya's stomach, through the smear of precome there. "Was there something you wanted?"

Kazuya is desperate enough to say it. "Let me come."

"Hmm." That's not agreement, that's Chris sounding thoughtful, making some sort of decision he's doubtful over.

"Please?" Kazuya tries, but Chris shakes his head.

"Not yet," he decides, dropping his hands to Kazuya's thighs and stroking his palms over them, spreading them wide against the bed.

Kazuya groans, disappointment wrenching him as the tension begins to ebb again, calmed by the slow movement of Chris' hands kneading his thighs and massaging the muscles of them loose. "Chris-senpai, please."

Chris smiles at him and circles his thumb around one of the bruises patterning Kazuya's inner thigh. "Not yet," he repeats. This time he sounds absolutely certain.

Kazuya groans, frustrated, and drops his head back against the pillow; once Chris has made up his mind about something, there's no moving him.

Chris smoothes his hands up and down Kazuya's thighs, which would feel amazing if he hadn't already brought Kazuya to the point of coming and then left him hanging—two times? Three? It's not a good sign that he's already lost track. Now the slowness of his hands only serves to highlight how desperately Kazuya wants more than that. "Please," he tries again, fully meaning it.

Chris doesn't answer right away. He trails his fingers over Kazuya's skin and lingers over particular spots—he's fingering the marks he's left behind, Kazuya sees when he looks, tracing the patterns of them. He smiles when he catches Kazuya's eyes on him and presses his thumb against one of the darkest bruises. "I do like the way you say please," he murmurs over Kazuya's groan at the faint, aching pressure.

Even half out of his mind with lust, Kazuya can take a hint. "Please," he says, which makes Chris' mouth curve just a bit. "Please, I'm losing my mind here, I can't stand it, please, I need it so much."

"Mm." Chris slides his palms over his thighs, pressing them open, wide enough that the stretch sings up Kazuya's spine, one more note of sensation to add to the symphony Chris is conducting. He strokes his hands up the insides of Kazuya's thighs, all the way up, until the warmth of them is so close to where Kazuya wants them that he could scream. "Go on."

Kazuya wets his lips. "Please, I'm going crazy, if you don't touch me soon I'm going to die—"

Chris raises his eyebrows and slides his hands back down Kazuya's thighs, pressing them flat against he bed and rubbing his thumbs against the insides of his knees. "But I am touching you."

Oh. "Not like that," Kazuya breathes. Chris waits, his eyebrows arched in polite expectation. "I want you to make me come, please, I don't even care how, I just need it so bad."

That must be closer to what Chris is looking for; he strokes his hands up Kazuya's thighs again, slow, and cups Kazuya's balls, fondling them. The sudden rush of pleasure drives a gasp out of Kazuya. "Chris-senpai!"

Chris hums, handling him gently. "I could probably make you come just from this, couldn't I?"

"If you wanted," Kazuya agrees, already feeling himself drawing taut again—

Chris strokes his fingers down, away from his balls, and Kazuya groans in disappointment. "Chris…"

"I can't help but feel like that would be anti-climactic," Chris says, apologetic enough except for the wicked gleam in his eyes.

He's just lucky that Kazuya's all tied up and can't throw something at him for that. "For fuck's sake—" Chris slides his hand under Kazuya, over his ass, and Kazuya stops short as heat twists low in his stomach, recalling his attention to more urgent matters. "Please," he says, gone hoarse and not caring. "Please, Chris, please—"

"Yes?" Chris asks, cupping his ass and squeezing it.

Kazuya shudders, straining to spread himself open, as if there's any way he can offer himself up to Chris any more thoroughly than he already has. "Please, please, fuck me," he says. "Put your fingers inside me and fuck me."

Chris smiles at that and squeezes his ass again before sliding his fingers between his cheeks, spreading him open. "Is that what you want?"

Kazuya can't answer right away, not when the way Chris' fingers are moving against him, stroking close and intimate over sensitive skin, is making the breath stutter in his throat. "Yes," he pants, "yes, please yes."

Chris continues to stroke his fingers back and forth, utterly relentless, each slow pass of them drawing Kazuya higher. "I think you really do mean that."

"I really do," Kazuya agrees, fervent. "Please, fuck me however you want, please—" He stops as Chris draws his fingers back, but this time it's to reach for the lube. Kazuya exhales a sigh that's really more a moan of a relief when Chris flicks the cap open and slicks his fingers. "Oh, please…"

Chris takes his time about it, first with the gel he's dripping over his fingers and then when he dips his hand under Kazuya again and slides his fingers against him. Kazuya groans at the first cool touch of them, ready to press against them, but Chris sets his other hand on his hips before he can do more than think about it. "Don't be in such a hurry," he murmurs, which is easy for him to say. It only makes him chuckle when Kazuya says so, and he takes his own time about stroking his fingers against Kazuya until the gel on them has warmed and Kazuya's throat is dry from panting. It's only then that he changes the pressure of his touch and pushes in.

Kazuya groans, wordless, with how solid Chris' fingers feel sliding into him, stretching him open, and it's only Chris' hands holding him that keeps him from rocking against them for more, faster. "Yes," he says after the first ripple of sensation has passed over him. "Please, yes, Chris—"

Chris is watching him as he sinks his fingers into him, deliberate and unhurried; he's smiling, something private and pleased. Kazuya isn't in any frame of mind right now to figure out what's making him look like that, not when Chris keeps working his fingers in and out of him like this, slow yes, but also relentless and unceasing, until Kazuya is moaning breathlessly, all but lost to the sensation washing through him, the slow build of it and the heat knotted low in his belly.

And then Chris crooks the fingers inside him, curling them just so. Kazuya shouts at the flare of sensation, jerking taut against the heavy pulse of it. He's not sure what he says as Chris rubs his fingertips back and forth, not when pleasure shrieks through him with every shift of them, but it's probably please or don't stop or Chris' name, or maybe an incoherent jumble of all those things. Kazuya neither knows nor cares as long as Chris keeps on doing that, pushing him higher, closer to that edge, close enough to that precipice that Kazuya can feel himself teetering on its edge—

Chris stops and Kazuya wails, driven beyond the point of pride and point of caring that he's begging Chris not to stop, not to leave him hanging again, not to tease him any more. He can barely even make sense of Chris' voice murmuring to him, either, low and soothing as it is, but he does understand how empty he feels when Chris draws free of him.

Chris keeps talking to him, a stream of nonsense that carries fragments of meaning that swirl past Kazuya—shh and I've got you and Kazuya—and then he catches his hands behind Kazuya's knees and pushes them up. Kazuya nearly sobs with relief as he feels Chris' cock nudging against him, pushing into him, one long slow thrust that sings up his spine as Chris' weight pins him against the mattress. He can't do anything but take it as Chris leans over him, can't do anything but moan against Chris' mouth when Chris kisses him and fucks him, each slow thrust driving heat through him as Chris sinks home and twining pleasure through him every time Kazuya's cock slides against Chris' stomach. The slow beat of it pulses through him, building relentlessly as Chris moves over him, until Kazuya is sobbing for breath against the hovering pressure of it, half-mad with how badly he wants to feel the storm of it break over him and how afraid he is that Chris isn't ready to let that happen.

Chris doesn't stop.

When pleasure finally strikes through him, sharp and unforgiving as lightning, Kazuya can't make a sound, all the breath knocked out of him by how hard he comes. He strains against Chris and his restraints as his body wrings tight with the pleasure raking through him, whiting out everything, even the sound of Chris' voice against his ear, rough with pleasure. It's a long time before Kazuya knows anything outside the confines of his own skin again, and even then he's so dazed that he can only register the most overwhelming things—the way Chris is saying his name, still moving inside him, fucking him with short, hard thrusts that send pleasure jabbing through Kazuya, nearly unbearable over nerves already stripped bare by it. He moans helplessly, still bereft of words, and again as Chris shudders against him, the rhythm of his hips finally stuttering as he comes, groaning Kazuya's name as he arches over him.

Kazuya groans again as Chris comes to rest against him, a warm heavy weight to shelter him, and floats in the haze of endorphins as Chris' breathing slows again, disinclined to move even if he could do such a thing. He makes a sound to acknowledge the moment Chris presses his lips to the side of his throat, but that takes all the energy he can muster. It's Chris who eventually sees to freeing his hands and checking them over, Chris who fetches a damp cloth and attends to the mess, and Chris who tucks himself back into bed, curling himself around Kazuya and nestling him close.

Kazuya does manage to cuddle against him, and Chris presses a kiss against the top of his head. "Was that what you were after?"

Kazuya hums to him, dreamy and contented. "Oh, yeah."

Chris' chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. "Good," he says, and yeah, it really is.

end

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lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
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