Let's just say it's a PWP, sort of. Sort of. Okay, yes, it's basically a PWP. *sweatdrop*

Spice
by Monnie

Ootori Choutarou was... horny.

It was a little disconcerting... well, very disconcerting to recognise it, to be sure. It wasn't that it was unfamiliar--okay, it wasn't unfamiliar anymore, not after going out four years with his Shishido-san and living with him for three of those. Sometimes, when Shishido pulled off his Hyotei jersey so roughly in the locker room, after a long game of tennis--just grabbed it by the back of the collar with one hand and yanked, and bared the long, smooth line of his back with just that one motion, the sleek curves of his muscles rippling as he pulled the shirt over his head and then shook it off his arms with gleaming droplets of sweat made gold by his skin running sparkling rivulets down his back... oooh, sometimes, it was all that Ootori could do to keep from moaning aloud, right in the middle of the locker room.

It made him blush still, to know just how much it made his whole body throb when that shirt got pulled off like that--and especially to know that they were still teammates, too, and weren't teammates not supposed to watch each other like that, especially not in a locker room together? (Well, thinking about that just made everything very complicated, and Ootori tried to avoid it.) Reaching up to grab his cross, the warm metal smoother than skin between his fingertips and the funny wrinkle of the chain, was sometimes all that kept him quiet... except then sometimes Shishido-san gave him a puzzled little look and reached out a hand to untangle Ootori's fingers from his cross chain, and that made it worse, because Shishido-san's fingers stroked loosely against the very base of his throat, and he was so sensitive there...

It was just... it was just that the motion was so impatient, maybe, and that reminded Ootori of all the times when he'd just been changing for bed, or maybe having a piece of chocolate, or when he'd stretched in the mornings... and had been surprised when Shishido-san, well, for lack of anything else to call it, pounced on him. Just... wrapped his arms around him, and Ootori didn't think he'd ever, ever get used to the feel of those fingers playing through the lines down his stomach that left tingling trails of fire shaking through his wavering knees... or, even better, the feel of Shishido-san's mouth moving along his shoulder or up his neck, wet slick, hard and soft at turns, making little soft growly noises that left him so shudderingly weak...

Ootori didn't think he ever wanted to get used to it, not if it meant that he'd forget the way it was still such a shock when the firm sharply smooth heat pressed against his cool back. Why was Shishido-san always so warm, and why did it always feel like sticky sunlight poured down his back whenever those lips left his shoulder, and started moving, slowly, down his spine, leaving the print of his kisses, the slick shard of the tip of his tongue or a nip that made him cry out, like a pinpoint sunburn because he just didn't want to get out from underneath that heat...?

Shishido-san was impatient, Ootori knew. But... but perhaps, somewhere over the years, Ootori had found--much to his own surprise--that the taste of that impatience when his boyfriend and roommate bruised his lower lip kissing him a little too hard, or the firebright sting of it when teeth caught at his shoulder, or his throat, or the shockwave tremor of a snarl that was just barely audible for a moment, and then was nothing but audible, a sensation of a sound... he loved those as much as he loved the gentle look in his Shishido-san's eyes before they slept, or the adrenaline-rich determination of seeing him on a tennis court.

Watching Shishido change in the locker room was dangerous, Ootori had concluded. He didn't do it anymore, not if he could help it. Even if it was just Shishido's back that he could see--and they saw other boys' backs all the time, these things really shouldn't have done anything for them--maybe it was just the quality of the motion. It reminded him far, far too many things that, well, they only did when it was the two of them.

...and, well, Ootori had thought that the memories that he'd collected over the years, rolling them over his tongue like he rolled music over his fingers, were vivid... but many of them were like little glass butterflies against some of the things that had happened this year.

The way Shishido yanked off his shirt, standing with his hip cocked just the slightest bit outwards, his grin all teeth and heat and his blue eyes so sapphire with promises, whenever he saw Ootori waiting for him in bed, already tucked and hidden under the covers because, well, it was embarrassing to lie out naked, he couldn't do that!--with the lubricant that normally was inside the nightstand drawer or underneath a pillow, sitting out on the bedside table... something about that dark, complete heat in those eyes still drowned him, every time. If Ootori hadn't known what lust felt like before that... well, he'd certainly had to recognise it after that.

Ootori's cheeks still went hot whenever it happened, because he... he just couldn't believe sometimes that there was something about him that made his Shishido-san's eyes slide into dark like the deep sea, but then their bodies would be against each other, Shishido-san's chest and belly, the delicate whorls of his ears and his hair and--and that hard velvet heat, edging into Ootori in tiny little nudges, so slowly--so slowly, oh, oh, oh, and he knew he panted with every motion, panted with the hurt of it pulling him apart, and whimpered with the way Shishido-san's twilight eyes remade him and the way his lips drew away the pain, connecting them as he stilled, whispered "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Choutarou" against him... but didn't Shishido know that he didn't have anything to apologise for? The hurt of it might have made him cry out a little, but what was a little hurt? It was the sharper teeth of pleasure, like a pang that curled his toes, that made him whimper the way he did when his Shishido was inside him.

It was the connection, soft lips coming apart like Shishido-san wanted to talk but didn't need to say anything, and sleek hot body, and having the boy he loved, the one who'd waited for him for so long, who he'd made wait for so long, sliding sleek and heavy and deep into him that made crystal tears burn his cheeks sometimes--good tears, one shot to his soul as Shishido-san smiled and kissed them away with long motions of his lips. Ootori thought that Shishido-san understood--he'd teared up after their first time, too, even if he denied it and had scrubbed the dampness away with the back of his hand.

Ootori hadn't known he could make that kind of noise before then, like something that was torn from his throat, but he knew he'd heard himself whimper with how empty he felt sometimes with Shishido-san balanced just at his entrance. It was so strange, wanting to be filled even if the way he was being stretched open ached... less now than it had at the first, but Shishido-san always watched him so carefully, watched his eyes with the heavy glossy curtain of his long, chestnut hair falling loose over his face in a twisting chocolate tangle that Ootori, somewhere, had learned to associate with the most seductive thing he'd ever seen. When Shishido-san shook back his hair impatiently, buried inside Ootori, and it trickled across his face in a sharp chiaroscuro when the lights were out--his entire body moved with the motion, and it rippled him inside Ootori in little thrusts...

Oh, this was bad. Ootori looked up at the ceiling, and the way the TV's flickering left echoes of light moving across it in long, sleek patterns. Well, that--sort of--explained why he was so, er, horny. And maybe, sort of, why he was remembering all these things even though it was such an awful time to remember them... they were just watching TV together, that was all, and weren't good boys not supposed to get horny when their partner hadn't even done anything?

Shishido-san might not have been doing anything... but his hair, oh, was flicking, loose, over Ootori Choutarou's shoulder in tiny little trickles, like the warmth of a thorn prickling through his shirt...

He'd been a little surprised when Shishido hadn't tied his hair back up after his shower, because he always did--it was why Shishido-san's hair always had just a little bit of a wave to it. But, well, Ootori hadn't said anything, and now that hair was dry and still falling around Shishido-san's shoulders and driving Ootori Choutarou just... just a little crazy.

It had been years since he'd asked his Shishido-san to grow his hair again--one Christmas, stars still tasting the sky with snow on their lips and then Shishido-san's lips against his for the first time--but... but he was never tired of seeing the way it swung when he moved, and it always felt like wonder whenever he reached out to pour his fingers through it and Shishido smiled at him through that veil, and like lovemaking whenever it brushed against his skin, a feathery, tickly little caress.

But with it down the way it was, even if they were just sitting in their brightly lit living room with Ootori's arm over Shishido's shoulders, and Shishido's head cocked just a little as they watched their favourite anime together... every time his senpai turned his head to look at him, that loose hair trailed over Ootori's neck, or his shoulder, or fell against his arm... and he could smell it, heavy with cinnamon and maybe just a little bit of apple, and it made him clench his thighs together and want to squirm, except then Shishido would look at him. And that... that wouldn't be good.

Oh, no, his face felt like it had lit up with New Years fireworks. He'd never been able to figure out how to keep his blush under control, and if Shishido-san looked at him, he'd know, he would, and wasn't it just too weird that Ootori was so turned on just sitting here and watching TV with his best friend...?

Well, maybe... when the anime was over... well, Ootori had never actually, well, started anything between them before, sort of... and maybe Shishido-san would like it if Ootori reached over and nudged that one lock of hair that fell like a twisting firework over his cheek behind his ear with the lips, and sealed it there with a kiss...?

But... but he knew what was going to happen, if he did. And... and he wasn't sure he wanted it. Not... it wasn't that he didn't like it, but... but...

Oh, there was definitely something wrong with him.

Ootori hadn't worried about their first time being... special. He'd known it would be. How could it be anything else but special, when it was going to be him, and his Shishido-san, and his Shishido-san holding him close and sweet and soft? And it had been special--this year, the day, he'd turned seventeen. He'd known, then, that it would be right, so right, just the perfect time. He liked listening a lot more than he liked talking, and... well, the rest of the Hyotei tennis team knew a lot about things like relationships, and sex.

Ootori still blushed to hear them, of course--because sometimes they said things, especially about each other, that, well, he just wasn't so sure that he'd wanted to know, but... but that one talk they'd had about who gave gifts to whom on Valentine's day had been very useful.

It was because they were all men, of course--and not even Ootori was innocent enough to think that nothing at all was happening between the other Regulars on the Hyotei team, not when the one time he'd almost fallen into a locker had been trying to get out of the clubroom when he'd realised what Mukahi-senpai and Oshitari-senpai were doing inside it, and no matter how much he closed his ears, there just wasn't any denying it. Besides, they weren't all like that--well, at least they weren't all, um, sexual like that: wasn't it so cute how Jirou-senpai was always cheering and bouncing whenever Atobe-buchou played a game, and always ran up to him afterwards to hug him? Despite Atobe-buchou's somewhat... bemused expression, he always put his arm around Jirou's shoulders, too. It was so sweet.

But anyway, in the locker room that Valentine's day, someone--Ootori couldn't remember who, maybe it'd been Shishido-san--had said something about Mukahi-senpai being the girl in the relationship, so of course he had to give chocolates. Oshitari-senpai had just smiled in that way he did, but Mukahi-senpai'd said, loudly, that being uke and the prettiest of the tennis club didn't mean that he was girly, (well, even thought Ootori thought that maybe Shishido-san had some reason to call Mukahi-senpai a little bit of a princess, but why did he make it sound like such a bad thing?) so why did he have to give anyone anything he didn't want to?

And then Jirou-senpai had raised his head from his tennis bag, looking just a little disgruntled, like he always did whenever anything but Atobe-buchou woke him up, and said--clearly, they'd all been a little surprised, "The one who's uke gives chocolate to his seme. Then his seme can give him something even better, later. See? Easy."

Everyone had turned around to stare at him in the utterly silent clubroom, eyes wide--Ootori had been very much afraid that his blush was just never going to come off his cheeks--but Jirou-senpai had already put his head back onto his arms and fallen asleep. And, well, evidently not even Mukahi-senpai had really, really wanted to know what that meant.

It had also left the entire tennis team to stare when Atobe-buchou had walked into the door with a neatly wrapped, colourful little bundle in his hand, and demanded to know why Jirou had left chocolate for him sitting in his tennis bag.

Ootori didn't know a lot about Jirou-senpai--well, he liked to read, and tennis got him very bouncy--but... but he was pretty sure that he had to have learned something like that from somewhere. It'd made for... a very interesting Valentine's day.

Shishido-san had given him a ring, that day, with ikkyuu nyuushin on the inside of it--one shot into my heart, and Ootori had felt his own hands shaking when he'd slid it onto the chain that held his cross, too, but that'd been okay... because Shishido-san's hands had been trembling so much, and he'd cursed at the catch of Ootori's necklace, that it'd taken a couple of tries before he'd been able to fasten it up again. It'd been funny--but funny in that way that gathered gold in the hollow of Ootori's belly--because Shishido-san had put his cross on him so many times before that, and his hands had always been surprisingly graceful when he did.

And then Ootori had smiled, and handed him a little wrapped box. He hadn't known if Shishido-san would like this kind of thing, but, well, he'd asked Jirou-senpai, because Jirou-senpai seemed like he knew so many useful things, when he was awake...

"What's this?" Shishido had looked down at the little pot of paint, the little brush dangling from the handle, in his hand, and blinked right back up at Ootori with a wry little smile. Ootori loved that little smile--just the way it quivered just on the very edges of his Shishido-san's lips, special just because it was so much on his face nowadays. "Choutarou, I can't paint worth anything. And... wait, why'd you get me something?"

Ootori--and he knew his face had been flaming, but maybe, just that one time, he hadn't minded so much, even though he hadn't quite been able to trust his voice--had turned the little pot around to show Shishido-san the label. It'd been, well, sort of a normal Valentine's present, he thought--if someone was supposed to give chocolate on Valentine's, right, didn't chocolate body paint count...?

And this time, when Shishido had looked down at it, and his mouth had fallen open--Ootori had giggled, maybe a little nervously, at the look on his boyfriend's face--and then the laughter pulled away from his throat at the way those eyes darkened, mouth turning in a smile that was maybe half chagrin, but half... half something else. "You're a helluva tease, you know that?" Shishido's voice had been a low thing, good in so many, many bad ways, "Lemme get this straight. You want me to strip you down..." Ootori's breath had whispered from him in a hard little air-sound, already, when Shishido-san took one step towards him--still an arm's length away, still air between then, but suddenly the air was too much, sparkling, "...paint you with chocolate, lick it off you..." his lips curved, just the tiniest bit, "and then stop?"

"No..." Ootori'd felt his own throat move as he'd swallowed, hard, mouth thick with Shishido-san's words and the heavy weight of nervousness, the quickly concealed ice of disappointment in Shishido-san's eyes melting to the astonished trickle of molten heat, even as Ootori watched, even as he murmured, "I don't want you to stop."

The memory of it--had it already been months ago?--was dark and slow and golden, edged in light as a stained-glass window. There'd been a time, before that, when Ootori had thought that there was nothing better than a sensual concerto with a swirling edge of falling to its notes... but maybe, that day had been when he'd realised that someone wrote that kind of a concerto because they knew how something really felt, and not even music could be a dreamcatcher for that dream.

Oh, yes, it had been special--hurting and sweet and warm and so, so good, it'd left them both aching and crying and sticky with how slow they'd gone, so slow, and Ootori had been so glad that they'd waited. Shishido-san had just been so sensitive with him, he'd been so worried that he'd hurt him, and Ootori knew he'd been making funny little sounds with Shishido's fingers moving inside him... it'd been strange, at first, such a strange sensation to be filled like that and stretched open until it wasn't a stretch anymore. Shishido-san had taken his time with him, and he'd been so gentle...

Ootori could honestly say that he'd never had a better birthday.

And... and Shishido was always so tender, so concerned, so careful with him.

Every time.

...and maybe, maybe, it was making Ootori Choutarou just a little crazy.

Was there something wrong with him? There had to be. He had his best friend, his lover, making long, long careful love to him every time he wanted it, pushing them both higher, higher with strokes of his fingers and slow motions into his body, until Ootori heard his voice breaking as he cried out against Shishido-san's hair and felt the rough press and the flush of heat as Shishido's back arched under his hands, like a bow finally drawn, and the hoarse moan of his name always sounded just a little like Shishido-san was begging--but for what?

There had to be something wrong with him, that he loved feeling his Shishido-san's body against his, loved having them joined like that... but...

They were such unimportant gestures--weren't they?--so why should he even have been thinking of them? Maybe it was because there was the same light lingering in Shishido-san's eyes, slow and warm and sweet, but under the slow warmth, something burned, and that heat, when he could catch sight of it past the sweet, streaked down his soul in a pulse of familiarity as dark and lush as a midnight tumble.

There were so many little motions that he missed, because he'd had years to get used to them... the feel of Shishido-san's growl as it raked down his spine, whenever it rumbled from that bowed throat, oh, yes... his teeth grazing against the tingling skin at the base of Ootori's neck when he bit, the sweet sharp press that shot a lightning line of almost-tangible pleasure downwards to twine his throat with the tight clench low and deep in his belly... just the memories could make him want to cry out, sometimes. It hadn't always been gentle when Shishido bit him, not then, but... but he was always gentle now. There wasn't any more of that. No more growling, or purring, or little nips and nibbles...

But Shishido-san had been growling at him, leaving little shivery marks on his shoulders, printing him with his mouth for, well, years before they'd ever made love for real. And Ootori hadn't always complained--actually, he couldn't remember ever complaining about it, because even though it was such a strange thing to do... it felt... so good, and even better when he glanced at himself in the mirror, or something, and realised that Shishido-san had left a little mark on him, smooth and invisible to the touch, but like a bruise that didn't ache. It was like his Shishido-san had marked him as his, and... well, Ootori liked being his.

Maybe... had he done something wrong, that Shishido-san had stopped? He didn't think so--he'd given himself to his Shishido-san, and well, they'd both been happy about that. The memories of it, of every time they'd been together, always made his breath come from him in a heavy rasp as he hugged his pillow to him to hide his spreading blush. There were those times, too, though, when Shishido-san was on top of him, moving so sweetly, so slowly, and something that was almost that familiar, feral sound rolled up in that throat.

It went through Ootori's body like a physical thrill whenever that happened--and Shishido-san always thrust just a little deeper, just a little faster, for a moment, which, oh, wow, really did the most incredible things to him, and Ootori couldn't help but moan when it happened, all that slick hard heat dragging down his nerve endings like that... but then, whenever he did moan--he couldn't help it!--Shishido-san always looked down at him, his gasp trembling down his entire body like he was swallowing away that part of him, and... and it was back to the slow and sweet, which was so good, but...

Ootori glanced back up at the ceiling again--so Shishido-san still made those sounds... maybe he even still wanted to make those sounds, do that kind of thing to him...? Maybe... but... how could Ootori possibly ask him about it? Just the thought made him want to take a cold shower and then hide his head under a pillow and just, well, forget about it--it couldn't be all that important, and the lovemaking was still unbelievable, mind-blowingly exquisite--

Except then Shishido-san made a little hmm sound and shifted, his slim body pressed so that his head was just right against the join of Ootori's neck and shoulder--oh, no, why did he just have to be so sensitive there...?!--and a few liquid strands of that hair slipped with horrifying delicacy down the collar of Ootori's shirt, and... and yes, it would be okay if Shishido-san didn't bite his neck anymore, it would be okay if he never growled and snarled and made little rumbly noises low in his throat when he wrapped himself around Ootori's back, and it made Ootori's knees go shuddery to feel the sleek hold of him, the cling of a bare chest against his equally bare back as Shishido's lips trailed kisses across the line of his shoulders. It would be okay, right, as... as long as he could have his Shishido-san so close to him when they made love, and oh, this was torture, and Ootori wasn't sure if the light behind his closed eyes was the TV through his eyelids or... or maybe just all the heat and ache he could feel deep in his belly echoing up through his entire body until he could see it.

It was too much--his stomach was fluttering and strange with warm electric edges like the rub of a cat's fur, the tiny tickles of hair across his chest and his collarbone leaving little lightning pains that he wanted soothed away with Shishido's hands, they were the only things that could make them go away... but he just couldn't say it, he couldn't, ask for... for that, but...

But Shishido-san's ear was so close, and his hair smelled of sunbaked cinnamon--not the powdered kind, or even the sugarwarm scent of baking, but the way a cinnamon tree's bark smelled when he rubbed a piece of it between his fingertips...

Before the surge of nerve-heavy electricity that charged him with a strange, desperate courage went away, Ootori whispered, "Make love to me, Shishido-san? Please...?" into that torturous hair. And then, after a moment when his breath stuck in his throat, "Now?"

For a moment--relief, maybe it was relief that spiked through him when Shishido didn't move--maybe he hadn't heard, and maybe Ootori really could just go take a shower and not think about it for the rest of the afternoon, at least until they went to bed together tonight--

And then Shishido's lips were on his ear, moving against it, slowly--oh, oh--as the TV clicked off with a spark of light behind Ootori's closed eyelids. "Damn." and he was smiling--no, grinning, Ootori could feel it curving against the skin just behind his ear and licked his lips helplessly at the little tingle of sensation when those lips arched like that. "Y'know, I think might be the first time you've ever said that...? Say it again."

...again? But... "But why...?" his voice was a breath, almost. He would have asked louder, but... but Shishido-san's mouth was moving, slowly, and he wasn't biting--but the way his lips were nudging, little deep kisses just below Ootori's earlobe, and the warm rush of his breath over the whorls of his ear were so... were so... he couldn't think of the word. Oh.

When he spoke, Ootori felt it, the motion of it, shudder down the side of his neck, pouring into him--words should have had that much power, no, but they did--"You're funny, Choutarou," Shishido's voice wasn't much more than a breath, either, but with him so close, the vibrations of it as Shishido licked upwards made his skin flinch, and it was such a tiny bit of pressure on Ootori's earlobe, only that, but he heard himself whimper. "'Cause you're so damned good, and it's so hot to hear you asking like that. Y'know... I wonder, sometimes, if I pressured you into... this..." his hand was on Ootori's stomach, skimming, too much, almost, through the shirt and then suddenly, like Shishido had pulled on it, or maybe pulled on him, the shirt just being there was too much. "But then you go and say something like that, and... and... damn, you make me crazy, you know that?"

But...not crazy enough... Was because he'd made Shishido-san wait for too long and Shishido-san had gotten used to the waiting? Was that why Shishido-san could sit here and just smile and play with his ear, when Ootori wanted to squirm and reach over and pull his Shishido-san on top of him right here on the couch, and not even wait until they got into the bedroom... where they'd spent every night together the past month, touching, stroking, loving...?

Well...

Shishido bowed his head a little, and his lips were a slow smooth tickle of fire along the long stretch of tendon along Ootori's neck that he'd nibbled and sucked on so many times, and maybe it was just remembrance of that sharp pain that ricocheted into pleasure that made Ootori moan and find the words in him again, when he could have sworn that he'd never have the audacity to repeat them. "Please, Shishido-san... please..." and then, a whimper as those torturously soft touches, just kisses, oh, forced his head back, forced him to bare his throat, thrumming with how simple it was, suddenly, to ask, "M-make love to me...?"

"Damn," Shishido whispered again, and the way his hand twitched, almost clenching into a fist--the pads of his fingers sliding across Ootori's skin through the too-thin too-much of his sleeping shirt--drove him almost to distraction. "Yeah. Oh, yeah. C'mon, let's get to bed--"

...maybe... just... just this once... Ootori bit his lip, closing his eyes with the back of the couch holding his mind to him--he could do this, he could, even if his face was hot enough to scald his vice away--as he slid his hand over Shishido's, trembling, oh God he was shaking, and then past that smooth, familiar hand and dipping just the tips of his own fingers past the waistband of his boxers, pushing in miniscule increments of desperation. "Can't we... oh... please?" the words wouldn't come out, but he thought, maybe... Shishido-san would understand. Wouldn't he...?

Well... people didn't always have to do it in a bed, right...?

Ootori heard Shishido's gasp, felt it rasp against his throat as the hand on his belly tightened to a fist, dragging short nails across cloth, across skin, a liquid trail of friction too much like the rasp of teeth against his shoulder, oh. "Choutarou--"

He'd done something wrong, it was too much, he knew it, he knew it, he could hear the shock in Shishido-san's voice as he wrenched his eyes open, his face hot as burning rose petals and yanked his fingers out from the band of his shorts. "I'm... no... I'm so sorry," he was babbling, perhaps, "I didn't mean--"

But then Shishido-san's hand was on his, Shishido-san was... was moulding Ootori's fingers around the hot column of himself through his boxers--nnnh, oh as Shishido stroked him--no, helped him stroke himself, slowly, once, both their hands on him. "If you apologise again, I'm going to bite you," he whispered, low and deep in his throat, and it might have been nothing more than a breath but with that smile, it sounded too much like a promise. "Keep yourself hot for me 'till I get back with the lube, hm?"

Oh, God, he couldn't do that--that was too much!--but that smile...

Ootori's hand was still on himself--it wasn't that he was... was touching himself, no, but his skin was too large and too empty, suddenly, with Shishido's warmth gone from his side... but it was only a moment. Shishido-san was looking at him, a dark caress of a moment across a white room, with his hair falling across his shoulders and in stroking whorls down his faint, faint smile, pacing back to him across the living room in long, slow steps that were too graceful.

The leisurely slide of Shishido-san's throat moving, the slow gleam of his eyes as he almost, but not quite, reached the couch--they could swallow him, Ootori knew, they'd come so close to devouring him so many times in the past four years since he'd found, to his surprise, that his Shishido-san wanted him... but then, he'd let them come that close.

But now he could fall ...

Ootori's breath fell from him as he arched off the couch to peel away his shirt, and smiled up at the way it made his Shishido-san's jaw sag just a little before lips curved into an admiring little grin, a teasing quirk of a sapphire-eyed smile that made the years of familiarity--oh, Shishido-san--all the years of waiting, still, burn like invisible fingerprints across his skin. "Hey, Choutarou," Ootori looked up at Shishido's lips arching warmer, almost chagrin as his roommate leaned over the couch, over him, and muscle moved in a slow silk pulse as Shishido braced himself on the back of it--his hair traced exquisite little lines of fire against Ootori's bare shoulders. The lube bounced onto the cushions with a little thump that was almost invisible against the whisper of Ootori's own breathing, before rolling to a stop against Ootori's thigh, and he shivered as the words breathed through him, louder still. "You seducing me?"

Seduction. He'd never thought of the word--never even thought of the possibility, but...

Shyly, Ootori smiled, turning his face--he blinked as his lips brushed Shishido-san's, too close, but... but maybe that was even better, and the little tingle of it made him chuckle. "I... don't know." He cocked his head, blinking hopefully. "Is it working?"

Shishido-san's laughter was soft, and low in his throat, but sweet--oh, he loved the sound of that laugh, loved feeling it pressed across his skin or called across a room, privately luxuriating in it whenever Shishido chuckled. "Oh, Hell yeah."

But then, Shishido-san's tongue strayed, slow, over those full lips--and they were close enough that it flicked in a moist invisible touch over Ootori's mouth as well, before Shishido closed the distance between them. It was slow--Ootori leaned into it, slow as water trickling over skin, and he felt the brief sun-bright touches of Shishido-san's tongue against his, soothing over lips that he hadn't realised had gone rough with panting... before he felt Shishido-san shift, felt the sofa dip--

Oh, he knew he always made the oddest sounds in the rare moments when Shishido-san left him enough coherence that he could actually hear himself... but his eyes flew open and Ootori couldn't even be embarrassed at the mewling sound that echoed up from his throat when Shishido-san's hips moved against his to the rhythm of their lips, slow rocking, but there wasn't anything slow about the arpeggio of sweet contact that jolted up his belly.

He wasn't sure which one had pressed closer--wasn't sure which one of them had moved, and it didn't matter, because suddenly the slow rocking became a heartbeat pulse, Shishido-san was straddling him and he was arching up into that sweet contact, swaying himself against the hard tempting column that swelled his Shishido's boxers--God, Shishido-san was still wearing his shirt, and the catch of its creases against his chest, against the way his hair striped Ootori's shoulders when Shishido kissed him...

Ootori's eyes flew open on a sharp, ecstatic startled little sound too far from pain and too close to pleasure as Shishido-san's teeth grazed against his lower lip--and Shishido's eyes looked into his, pools of ink just edged with the faintest sparkling trace of fire-blue, so very, very much like the way he always--always--looked into Ootori's eyes whenever he slid into him.

Just as then--it was too much, he hadn't thought this would ever happen again--the teeth closed, gently, over the barest, tiniest corner of his lower lip--and Ootori closed his eyes and hid from how much he'd wanted it--moaning, wordless, when Shishido... nibbled.

Oh. Oh. God.

He wasn't sure which of them had wrenched away first--through the sparkling darkness behind his own eyelids, he suspected it was Shishido, because--because there wasn't any way he'd have wanted to get away from that little bite. It hadn't been quite what he'd remembered--he didn't think Shishido-san had ever bitten his lips before--but that brief contact, the sharp hint of pressure that wasn't pain so much as... intensity...

"Sorry. Sorry," Shishido muttered, and his head dropped to Ootori's shoulder. "Lost it for a second there--damn, Ootori, maybe this isn't such a good idea..."

If Ootori could have stared at his roommate through that dividing partition of tumbling dark hair, he would have. Lost it? What did he mean--?

Oh. Mmm. Lips slowly gliding along the bare curve of his shoulders. The tiniest flick of a tongue-tip smoothing into the arch just behind his collarbone. It might have been only a month for them, but... but Shishido was always discovering little bits and pieces of Ootori's body that he'd... he'd just never known could be played like that. He wasn't an instrument, no, and what they made together wasn't music, not even he was enough of a romantic to think that, but... but it was always exquisite. Not a good idea? "It... it isn't?" Ootori gasped, both hands sliding into that tantalising silk hair, heavy and lush between his fingers when Shishido rocked against him again and heat ricocheted up his body.

The smile that his Shishido-san flashed him was brief--strained, his eyes tense and hot and sharp. "Damn, you're on fire, Choutarou..." his voice was just short of a growl, just short enough that it sent a spasm rocking down Ootori's spine, trembling their hips together, oooh. "Boxers. Off. Now."

Ootori couldn't help but giggle as Shishido seemed to think about it, and then, a moment later, added a--somewhat sheepish--"Uh, please?"

Of course, he was already wriggling out of the too-tight cloth. He always wished there was some way he could do it gracefully, because stripping always seemed so awkward, but... but Shishido-san's tongue was straying over those soft lips as he dipped his head, that familiar long, slow round that ended with his mouth just a little parted on a long breath, and Ootori shivered as Shishido's hands joined his in drawing his boxers down his legs--tracing, trickling little lines of fire down his thighs. He barely even noticed when Shishido rather negligently tossed away the dark blue shorts, because... because his Shishido-san was looking up at him again, staring almost, kneeling between his legs with those rough hands printing against his waist...

The way Shishido-san looked at him when he was naked always--always made him blush, always made his hands stray down to cover himself because, well... it just made the most delicious sensations start squirming low in his belly, and it had taken awhile for him to get used to being looked at like that. He'd once asked Shishido, a long, long time ago, why it was he looked at him so, well, hungrily. He even licked his lips, a lot of the time...

His Shishido-san had blinked at him, and answered--grinning like it was obvious--"''Cause I want to eat you. Just lick you up and suck you down."

It had made him gape, at the time, and then laugh at how silly his roommate was...

It hadn't been until three years later, sticky with chocolate body paint, that Ootori had, much to his shock, realised that Shishido had meant that... well, literally, and the newness of it had left him dazed, flat on his back on their bed. Well, actually, Ootori suspected that the sheer naughty novelty of it probably wasn't ever going to wear off, was it...?

Shishido-san was grinning up at him, and the tickle of those lips over Ootori's wrists murmured with his voice as he... nuzzled, the fire-tips of that long hair trailing over his thighs. "I don't believe you sometimes, Choutarou. Still shy, huh?" oh, gods, Shishido was making that little happy murmuring noise as he licked, a tiny little flick of fire just along the ah! ticklish inside of his thighs. How was it that it could be ticklish and still feel so...? "Y'know, what would you do if I asked you to touch yourself for me...?"

Maybe he shouldn't have told him all those years ago that he... indulged, occasionally. "Shishido-san!" his face really was going to burn up, if he wasn't careful... oh, he was just never going to stop blushing, was he...? "Don't... don't make jokes about things like that!"

Shishido winked at him from through that heavy curtain of falling dark hair, the briefest flash of lidded sapphire as he nuzzled, just a little lower, mmm. "Heh. You thought I was kidding about wanting to go down on you, too." Eeep. Oh, dear... that was true, but... but he couldn't... except Shishido-san's hand was cupped over his again, gently tugging at him until... wait...? He wasn't sure what had happened, he'd been covering himself, but now his hand was wrapped around himself, Shishido-san's shorter fingers tucked slow and sleek over his. "C'mon, Choutarou... show me how you like it."

He couldn't, oh, that was embarrassing, but... but then Shishido's hand was oh nudging his fingers up his shaft, down again, and then he didn't need to--it was the same sleek, slick fire all over again, the same strange softness of his own skin ... he hadn't needed to, well, touch himself in awhile--not with Shishido-san around--but... but it was different, somehow, like this, when there'd been so many times he'd done this exact same thing, imagining those dark hands playing over him...except now, they were. "Ah... Shishido...san..."

"Mmm. Don't those calluses you get from playing violin feel just so damned good...?" the words shuddered down him, painfully intense, sparks, sparkles that went as deep as the rasp of his own rough fingertips against his skin. "Mmm-hmm, bet they do. Want more...? You won't run if I let you go, right?"

Blindly--blind in the way he couldn't look down at the hands joined over his taut body, because maybe it was something embarrassing, but there was nothing embarrassing about the way Shishido-san's eyes burned trails into his skin and his boyfriend was licking his lips, slow, so suggestively that want tangled down his spine in a long sonata--Ootori nodded.

He'd never been able to resist, not quite, whenever Shishido purred anything like that.

An instant later, there wasn't any chance of him wanting to resist--not with his Shishido-san's mouth closing in gloriously soft heat over the head of him even as a finger swirled at his entrance, slick slowly, and just... pressed home, one long, slow motion that always felt like an eternity. Ootori's mouth fell open on a breath that felt as loud as a scream, trembling in his throat. When--when had Shishido-san gotten the lube open and onto his fingers--?

He didn't know. He didn't care, oh God, Shishido-san was smiling, and he could feel it as he trembled, his hips wanting to push upwards, wanting so much more than just the head of him suspended and held like that in that exquisite liquid heat, but--but--he really, really didn't want to hurt Shishido-san.

"Mmm," the humming vibration as Shishido mouthed him like that, finger moving in a slow trickle of pressure inside him, tore a spasm from his back, and Ootori clutched at the couch with his free hand, cushion giving and unsatisfying under his fingers. "Damn, you're so gorgeous like this..." through his closed eyes, he felt, like a shock of cool skin, Shishido's other hand wrapping over his, stroking, again, his own fingers but Shishido-san's pace--the brush of tickling fire purring across his thighs when his roommate bobbed, lower, it was too much!

Then it was two fingers, a slow aching stretch reverberating with the way the rocking inside him merged in rhythmic strokes with the smooth catch of skin under his hand, the wet firework slide of Shishido's mouth over him, down him, a fog of sensation that wrenched his eyes open as Ootori gasped Shishido's name, staring down at his boyfriend.

Oh. Oh, opening his eyes had not been a good idea, not when looking down at what was happening to him had him drowning in dark-filled sapphires half-hidden behind a cascade of chocolate streamers before Shishido tossed away his hair with a motion that streaked his lips across his shaft, drew their joined fingers up and away--a whine trembled in Ootori's throat at the sudden loss of sensation--and smiled.

Ootori's body rebelled on a shuddering pinpoint of ecstasy when Shishido curled his fingertips, just a little, inside him.

"Nnnh... Shishido...san..." was that his voice? It wasn't much more than a breath, high-pitched, desperately needy--but maybe he was needy. He'd known desire before, but this was... wanting, and gods, he needed his Shishido-san inside him--that tantalising, fleeting touch that sent sparkles across his vision, over and over, was going to drive him mad--but Shishido-san wouldn't stop until he gave the word... "That's... I'm okay, it's... it's enough--" he'd meant to say something coherent, he had, but then Shishido added in another finger, and his thoughts splintered into a plea, heat rushing to his face. "Please!"

Lips bumped against him, nuzzled gently before Shishido-san's hands slid away, leaving him empty and trembling as Shishido nudged him gently to the cradling couch, a pillow there, just breathing together as his senpai's lips purred lightly across his throat and... Shishido stripped, impatiently, yanking off shirt and boxers like he couldn't stand to have them on his skin, and maybe Ootori wasn't going to even be able to look at him in the locker room tomorrow without thinking of this, but for now... for now, their skin caught, sweat-slick as Shishido settled between his legs, eyes a slow, searing burn, and Ootori slid his hands into that hair and hitched himself up, just a little, to receive the so-chaste little brush of lips, just a feathery little sharing of breath, nothing more than that, as Shishido whispered something, nonsense, or maybe his name, against him.

The intimacy of it always broke him, just a little, whenever Shishido-san looked into his eyes--watched his face with his mouth soft and parted, and the sting of being stretched open like this somehow never mattered against the wonder in that gaze. Oh, it hurt, it always did no matter how much time Shishido-san spent taking care of him, and he knew that if he ever said anything--if he even made the smallest noise--Shishido would stop, and oh, he didn't want him to stop, but neither could he stop the little whimpering sounds that coaxed themselves onto his tongue, the sound of his roommate's name sweet and taut as candy, when finally his Shishido-san was sheathed fully inside him.

An eternity later, Shishido started to move inside him, long, slow, and oh Ootori knew in a moment or two he would want more, but for now... for now, slow was good, the languid draw of exquisite pressure pulling away the last sharp tendrils of the pain--slow was good, when Ootori could feel every curve, every ridge, every catch of sleek skin, the jerk of breath in Shishido's throat as he murmured sweet, soothing, "You all right?"

Ootori nodded, a little surprised that he had the mind left to nod with. When it was like this... when it was like this, the pace shudderingly gentle with his eyes closed because he couldn't keep them open, not and still keep from going mad with the desire to just melt into his Shishido-san rather than just fitting themselves against each other like the perfect match--like their tennis combination--it was so very hard to remember what he'd wanted, or that indeed he'd wanted anything other than this, a moment ago...

Ootori moaned, softly, his arms over Shishido's shoulders and knees drawn high, and he pulled them higher still, and tossed his head back, crown brushing against one of the couch's arms. He really was just a little too tall for them to be doing this on the couch, maybe, but... but at this point, he didn't care as he arched, oh God that made Shishido slip even deeper into him, pressing Ootori's cock between their bodies, and his bared throat throbbed on a sound too wild to have come from him.

And then a sound dug into Ootori, gripping him as hard as he was gripping Shishido's shoulders, his pulse fluttering painfully at its familiarity--something half a growl that drove his roommate hard into him on a single rolling thrust that blanked out the world before his eyes as it slid oh so perfectly into him, against him--oh, just right...

Shishido froze, and Ootori whimpered, his gaze blurring to fragments of colour, shocked sapphire and a cascade of midnight against candied skin, at the sudden loss of the rhythm that had cradled him as thoroughly as any piece he'd ever played.

The world resolved again, slowly, rooted in the strong back under his hands. Shishido-san was biting his bottom lip--hard enough that it was pressed white with the force of it--and Ootori could feel his trembling, feel the solid muscles of that taut back, under his hands, flinching. "Gods," it was almost a whisper--if it had been anyone but Shishido-san, Ootori would have called it a whimper, a small sound--almost agony. "Choutarou... w-wait."

It was almost enough to shock him out of the haze of sensation--strange, how a growl, a single thrust just a little harder than that slow rocking pulse, could do that to him. "Wh-what?" Ootori squirmed, searching. He didn't want to wait! Wasn't that why they were on the couch in the first place...?

Shishido gasped, and squeezed his eyes shut, and Ootori watched hair pooling over that beloved face, his own chest, in a satin slip tumble of heavy, dark, cinnamon-scented temptation. "Gods, I don't know... if I can... take it slow today... we've... we've got to stop..." Shishido's fingertips turned, trailed a shaky path that was rough with callus and exquisite gentleness up the side of Ootori's neck, and Ootori's eyes drifted slowly half-closed as he canted his head back, arching into that touch.

Shishido snatched his fingers away and closed his eyes, breathing, his mouth moving on silent words.

It was, perhaps, a realisation--the way that his roommate pulled away from him, and his Shishido-san had never pulled away from him. Maybe if they hadn't been joined so, he'd have been hurt by the withdrawal--if Shishido's heart hadn't been a jerking, visible pulse in his neck as he swallowed, if his eyes hadn't been so utterly desperate, it wouldn't have reminded him so strongly of words years ago that Ootori had never forgotten, had never been able to forget: 'Damn it, Choutarou, you've got to tell me to stop...'

Not a rejection. Not at all. And Ootori knew, then, knew with a realisation deeper and sweeter than certainty, what he'd done: not only had he drawn himself higher to drive Shishido deeper into him... he'd bared his throat, welcoming lips--and teeth, in just the way he, at first accidentally, and then sometimes not so accidentally, had done for so, so many years.

In Shishido-san's hurt... in the way he bit his lip and tried, God, even Ootori could see how he was trying so hard to keep a hold of himself... and if Ootori could only find the courage to tell him, to say it, and if he couldn't say something when they were joined like this, skin to skin and tucked so right into each others' arms, Shishido-san pressed into his body like the last and only thing that could ever complete him... when could he?

It was surprisingly easy, then, to hold Shishido to him, when his roommate would have pulled away and snapped the connection that twined through them both. It was even easier, strangely, to whisper, "Don't be gentle with me, Shishido-san... there's no need. I won't break."

Ootori felt the sudden gasping exhalation, a surge of heat against his shoulder, a whimper as Shishido-san trembled in his arms. "Geez--don't--don't say things like that! Y-you don't... you don't get it, Choutarou... I..."

His cheeks were burning, but maybe that was with heat as much as embarrassment, this time, and if he couldn't play this piece out all the way--if he couldn't tell him--then what were they worth? "I... I like it when you bite me, you know, Shishido-san?" it sounded so stupid to say it like that, a non-sequiteur--so desperate, but... true, and Ootori closed his eyes.

He could hear the sound of Shishido's breathing moving against his skin, feel it, tiny pants across his chest like there wasn't enough air in the room, like maybe they were both drowning in each other and oh God Ootori wanted to drown. "W-why...?"

There were a hundred ways he could answer that, oh, hide himself in his own innocence, and... and maybe he should have hid, and maybe there were a hundred different right answers, but... Ootori's voice was soft, and trembling with the pressure inside him, a thousand kinds of force that only led to one response. "It makes you lose control, Shishido-san." Ootori half-opened his eyes to look up into his Shishido-san's face. He wasn't sure he could look at his lover full-on and still stay... sane, but... "And I like it when you lose control."

Ootori's eyes were open enough, though, to watch the last of the restraint drain visibly from Shishido's eyes, leaving them wide and blank and blue as morning.

Wide and blank they might have been, perhaps, but not empty, spilling over with a familiar cruel fire that washed over his skin when Shishido's fingers dug into his hips and his boyfriend slammed into him--hard ohdearGod ohrightthere perfect that was even better than he'd dreamed and Ootori couldn't moan past the scream building low in his throat.

Ootori's scream came free--a name, a curse? He didn't know--when Shishido-san closed his teeth on his shoulder, his back vibrating with the force of his growl, and the small dull flame-edged ache of it connected in a lightning jolt with the sensation of Shishido-san moving inside him, pushing so hard that he wondered, distantly, if maybe he was going to come apart, just shatter, oh God 'did I hurt you' maybe someone had said it in a cracking voice but no, no, anything but!

Oh, God. Oh. Again. Again, again, hard enough to push him into the cushions, hard enough to spend sparks flying over his open eyes as he watched distantly the way that long hair split in its fall over Shishido's face in a tangle, twined in a pool on his chest when Shishido ah yes yes please nipped him hard enough for it to hurt. Almost.

The world drew tight around Ootori, tight as those short, sharp jabs into him as he--writhed, pushing up helplessly as that ridge stroked him within, again and again, just where Shishido's fingers had sent sparks flying behind hie eyelids--moaning at the loss when Shishido drew almost all the way out of him. Perhaps he was being wanton. Perhaps it was wrong for him to want this so much, but how--how could it be, when the look in Shishido's eyes was heat and the wild and a terrible, terrible gentleness before he bowed his head to latch against the base of his throat, nudging the cross, the ring, until they were a tinkling memory beside his neck.

Ootori was screaming, Shishido's name at first, then just a wail drawn thin by pleasure by the time Shishido hooked those tennis-strong arms roughly underneath his knees and pulled them almost to his chest, and he dug his nails into Shishido's shoulders as his koi pounded into him, deeper, dear God he'd never been so deep, had he--never been so connected as teeth and tongue and lips devoured the last of his sanity and Shishido growled, the sound echoing through him until he thought he would break from it, oh God please oh...

By the time Ootori splintered into a thousand fragments, and felt it--actually felt it, a pulsing, straining bow of heat that arched his back as Shishido bowed against him and snarled wordless, then gasped his name, once, "Choutarou" like he didn't have the breath left for more--like a prayer, not a plea--Ootori was sobbing blindly, his eyes still open and the world full of white and the scent of cinnamon and sweat as his body rebelled.

By the time his vision returned to him and Ootori realised anew that they were on the couch--had that been his idea?--and that his knees were pulled up rather uncomfortably to his chest, his Shishido-san looked to be... panicking.

"Gods... gods, Choutarou," the hands that had been planted by his shoulders jerked up, away, as Shishido sat up, sense rushing back into his eyes. "I'm such an ass, I didn't... fuck. Oh, gods, you're crying--shit, Choutarou, don't..."

Ootori blinked away the last of the tears as he shifted a little, and it tugged strangely on a number of muscles he hadn't quite realised he'd had. Oh. Ouch. No, perhaps sitting up was going to be a bad idea for a little bit. Maybe he was going to be sore--his back, at least, and probably his thighs, but oh, if that was what being on the couch did to Shishido-san, they were just going to have to do their homework in the common room more often, or something... Didn't...? "Wh-what do you mean...?"

"Shit." Shishido dropped his head onto the back of the couch by Ootori's shoulder, and the strands that swirled along the curve of his neck were soft and sweet, fragrant with cinnamon. "I'm so sorry, Choutarou. I didn't mean... Damn, I'm so..." his hands were trembling, tennis-rough skin on Ootori's hip and through his fingers as Shishido reached for his hand, and... his lips were hot and dry, but... "Gods! I didn't even make sure you came!"

It took a very long moment for the thought to parse through a brain that didn't seem to have much more left to it than shivering mental whimpers, but Ootori almost laughed when it finally did.

...was Shishido-san even doubting that he'd...? Well, maybe it was natural for Shishido to wonder, when normally he reached between their bodies and stroked to the rhythm of his slow, smooth thrusts, but... but maybe it didn't have to be like that all the time...? Was it even possible that Shishido-san didn't know...?

He tried to speak--tried to explain--but much to Ootori's hazy surprise, the only thing that his throat allowed out this time was a hoarse approximation of a croak.

All right. No explanation. It was a little weird, and so messy, but... but Ootori guided their joined hands to the pool of pearl-wet trickling down his stomach, anyway, looking away as his face burned with heat. He'd done--said--a lot of things today that, well, he'd be flaming crimson with his blush if he let himself think about them, now that the moment's passion was fading and leaving him feeling, well... no, it wasn't shame, because oh, they'd both wanted this, but... well, rather... maybe they'd both lost control of themselves.

And oh, wow, it'd left him feeling as if his bones had melted and left him a trembling puddle of lightning-streaked pleasure.

He kept his eyes open, no matter how much they wanted to just tumble closed, just so he could watch the look on Shishido-san's face slide from mentally beating himself--Shishido-san really did do that too often, sometimes--into... shock. "Choutarou, what--"

Realisation looked like a joy as deep as their joining, maybe, when it washed over his Shishido-san's face, Ootori thought, just a little hazily.

Shishido stared at their wet fingertips, before his head turned down to look at the streaks of wet--oh, dear, he had come more than a little, and they were both going to need a shower very badly indeed the moment Ootori decided that it would be safe to move without shattering into a hundred liquid fragments of self again. But, well, at least he didn't need to explain anymore--an incredulous grin started spreading on Shishido's face, glorious. "But... but I didn't even touch you!"

"You... didn't have to," Ootori whispered. Well, at least his voice was sort of operational again. He was going to be hoarse--oh, right, he had been screaming, and it was a good thing that they were living in an apartment, and not in a dorm--and that it was late enough on a Friday night that no-one was going to be home... he hoped, at least. "Wow, Shishido-san, it was so..."

Shishido-san's eyes were wide--incredulous as the silly, radiant smile that was starting to shimmer onto his face, and oh, Ootori liked that smile. He loved seeing his Shishido-san grin like that, like... like he'd just gotten everything he'd ever wanted in the world. It was only fair, after all, considering that Ootori felt very, very much as if he just, well, had been given everything he'd ever wanted.

Shishido-san sometimes told him that it was too easy to please him, and maybe it was true--Ootori didn't think it was, but... was that a bad thing?

He watched as the fingertips of Shishido's other hand slid upwards to brush against the cross and ring on his necklace, gently moving them back to rest in the hollow of his throat before he brushed the small spot where Ootori's throat joined his shoulder, thereabouts--something ached there, and dimly Ootori craned his head to look at his Shishido-san's smile sliding into wry. "This is gonna make people talk in the locker room tomorrow, you know."

"Shishido-san, did you give me..." his eyes were starting to droop in the warm haze. "...a bite mark again?" He really had missed them. More than a little. Missed glancing into a mirror and seeing himself printed like that, his Shishido's mark on his skin. He wasn't any good at lying, even if it was to hide what they were doing, but people seemed to like asking Shishido about them. He wouldn't even blush, this time... well, all right, maybe that was a little too much to ask. "Maybe... maybe we could say it's from practicing violin without a guard on...?"

"Not unless that violin of yours has grown teeth," Shishido's voice was half a purr as he leaned down--and nuzzled against that little half-sore spot that send warm little spills of the very best ache down his chest. "You... you really don't mind...?" his Shishido-san's voice was so soft, so tumbled over with wonder, that Ootori had to smile as he shook his head. "Damn. I can't believe it. You really... you really are perfect, aren't you?"

Ootori didn't even have the energy, really, to speak the denial that bubbled up in his throat--or protest the fact that, well, he was messy, when Shishido nudged him onto his side and settled behind him on the sofa, though he sighed at the tickle of hair, the warm smooth slide of a cheek rubbing up and down his spine. Before he slept, though, just a nap... "Love you, Shishido-san," he murmured. He never forgot to say it.

"Love you, too, koi," and it never failed to send such a thrill out of him. His Shishido-san... his Shishido-san loved him. And had wanted to pound him into the sofa, and bite and growl and make him scream. And had. Oh, yes Ootori Choutarou's life really couldn't get much better, not right this moment. "Hey, Choutarou...?"

"Hmmm..." it was all he could get out of himself as the world drifted warm behind his closed eyelids, the sweet sleek pressure of Shishido's body against his back so very different from the pressure that had been inside him, earlier, but... so good.

"Wanna try it in the locker room tomorrow?"

Well, that had certainly woken him up.

Ootori gaped, and sat up--just not appalled enough by the idea of being... oooh, taken in the clubroom... to be really, really appalled at himself. "Shishido-san!"

The End

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