historically inaccurate but well-meaning t-rex (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scriveyner) wrote2018-03-21 10:30 am
scriveyner) wrote2018-03-21 10:30 am
Samurai Flamenco - bite the hand [Gotoyoshi]
Title: bite the hand
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 1222
Summary: Gotou clamped his hand tight over Masayoshi’s mouth, cupped just enough so that his palm wasn’t flush. “Don’t do that again,” he hissed in Masayoshi’s ear, and Masayoshi actually had the gall to whine, the high-pitched noise escaping through Gotou’s fingers.
Gotou clamped his hand tight over Masayoshi’s mouth, cupped just enough so that his palm wasn’t flush. “Don’t do that again,” he hissed in Masayoshi’s ear, and Masayoshi actually had the gall to whine, the high-pitched noise escaping through Gotou’s fingers.
He was shaking now, half-panting and half-shivering, slid somewhere into the realm of incoherence but all the same Gotou didn’t dare remove his hand from over Masayoshi’s mouth. Masayoshi had squalled loud enough he was honestly shocked that a neighbor wasn’t banging on his door this instant to find out what was going on. Technically Gotou wasn’t supposed to have overnight guests in his studio apartment, never-mind a live-in boyfriend, but his landlady liked Masayoshi and as long as they didn’t cause a ruckus she was willing to look the other way.
Unfortunately, Masayoshi caterwauling as he rode Gotou’s dick fell squarely into the ‘ruckus’ category with very little room for finagling. “I told you,” Gotou hissed through his clenched teeth as Masayoshi bucked back against him and oh god, he was only holding it together by sheer force of his own potential mortification, “if you want to wail like a banshee we gotta go to a hotel.”
Masayoshi mumbled something against Gotou’s hand that were presumably words, but they were too jumbled for him to be certain. Cautiously, Gotou lifted his hand and Masayoshi gulped a few lungfuls of air before trying speech again. “Told you,” he said, panting heavily, “Ishihara-san said no more love hotels.”
“It doesn’t have to be a love hotel, idiot,” Gotou snapped, pushing his knuckles into the mattress on either side of Masayoshi’s head. That was still a small sore point, because it had been his stupid idea because he stupidly forgot that his stupid boyfriend was a celebrity and someone was always watching. He still wasn’t quite sure how Masayoshi’s manager had dug them out of that particular pile of shit of their own making, but she was well-paid for a reason. “Regular hotels exist. We could even go to one far enough away that it looks like you’re just … working, or something. For an interview.”
Masayoshi made another noise into the sheets, this one far more muted. Gotou realized he was moving, slowly, pushing his hips back against Gotou’s and clearly more interested in continuing the physical actions first. He couldn’t not move in reaction to Masayoshi although he tried to keep the slide of their bodies slow in order to circumvent an eruption of noise from the body underneath his.
At least, some small, sadistic portion of Gotou’s mind reminded him, he hasn’t started chanting the name of toku attacks in order to keep from blowing his load again.
Yet.
Masayoshi let out a low groan as Gotou shifted their bodies together again, and he put his hands on Masayoshi’s waist, wondering how bad an idea it would be to sit back and let Masayoshi just sink down on top of him. Even as he had that thought his stroke went deep and Masayoshi’s voice came together in a hitching sob. Gotou surged forward against his body, his hand covering Masayoshi’s mouth in one smooth motion but the action itself buried him deeper than even before and Masayoshi reacted to that, his teeth finding the soft flesh of Gotou’s palm as he choked through the sensation.
The spike of pain was sharp and focused, but Gotou didn’t move his hand this time, shifting instead and pushing Masayoshi down into the sheets and driving into him with short, shallow thrusts. Masayoshi felt so good that he could ignore the way his hand now stung, and if he switched gears again he might not be able to keep himself quiet.
“Gotou-san,” Masayoshi gasped, and Gotou’s hand had slipped down his face, focused instead on the rhythm. Blindly, without losing pace he grabbed his pillow and shoved it into Masayoshi’s face. Masayoshi wrapped his arms around it obediently, the volume of his keening cut in half almost instantly. Why hadn’t that occurred to him before?
That thought, like many others, was lost in the riptide of emotions that swirled through his head as he finally pushed past the edge.
After, Masayoshi rolled his head on Gotou’s pillow, refusing to give it up. There was a streak of faded red on his cheek and Gotou reached a thumb to smear it, realized it was blood and looked belatedly at his hand. He’d left small red streaks on Masayoshi’s skin, and in the sheets and even a smear on the wall where he’d braced his hand as he’d pulled out.
His hand hadn’t hurt until he looked at it, and now it stung like a son of a bitch. Gotou sat up and hissed, and Masayoshi blinked sleepily at him, the lassitude of orgasm still weighing heavily. “What’s the matter, Gotou-san?”
Gotou stared dumbly at him for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “You bit me,” he said, and showed Masayoshi his blood-smeared palm. The wound had mostly clotted now, and had stopped actively bleeding, but it was still a frankly alarming amount of blood for such a small injury. Masayoshi squinted at him, and Gotou shifted, shoving his hand in Masayoshi’s face because he hadn’t gotten any reaction the first time. “You bit me,” he repeated, scandalized.
“You’ve bitten me,” Masayoshi said, clearly not as moved as Gotou was. “I had fun explaining that bruise to the makeup artists.”
Okay, that was fair enough but Gotou folded his arms and frowned, then looked at the small spatters of blood everywhere and sighed. “If the sex gets any rougher I’m not going to be able to take it,” he said, and then pointed at Masayoshi. “You need a gag.”
Masayoshi considered this, and the fact that he didn’t immediately flail or turn bright red made Gotou realize that maybe he’d been a terrible influence. “Or,” Masayoshi said thoughtfully, “we could move.”
Gotou opened his mouth to contest this, then closed it after a moment. He looked around the small, single-room apartment that had been his home for the many years since he’d moved to Tokyo, and then looked at Masayoshi sprawled out naked beside him in his bed, very satisfied with himself. The thought of being able to have this without fears of noise complaints from nosy neighbors was insanely tempting, in a way that he hadn’t really considered when he’d offered to let Masayoshi stay with him all those months ago.
“Yeah,” he found himself saying in agreement with Masayoshi. “I guess we could.”
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 1222
Summary: Gotou clamped his hand tight over Masayoshi’s mouth, cupped just enough so that his palm wasn’t flush. “Don’t do that again,” he hissed in Masayoshi’s ear, and Masayoshi actually had the gall to whine, the high-pitched noise escaping through Gotou’s fingers.
Gotou clamped his hand tight over Masayoshi’s mouth, cupped just enough so that his palm wasn’t flush. “Don’t do that again,” he hissed in Masayoshi’s ear, and Masayoshi actually had the gall to whine, the high-pitched noise escaping through Gotou’s fingers.
He was shaking now, half-panting and half-shivering, slid somewhere into the realm of incoherence but all the same Gotou didn’t dare remove his hand from over Masayoshi’s mouth. Masayoshi had squalled loud enough he was honestly shocked that a neighbor wasn’t banging on his door this instant to find out what was going on. Technically Gotou wasn’t supposed to have overnight guests in his studio apartment, never-mind a live-in boyfriend, but his landlady liked Masayoshi and as long as they didn’t cause a ruckus she was willing to look the other way.
Unfortunately, Masayoshi caterwauling as he rode Gotou’s dick fell squarely into the ‘ruckus’ category with very little room for finagling. “I told you,” Gotou hissed through his clenched teeth as Masayoshi bucked back against him and oh god, he was only holding it together by sheer force of his own potential mortification, “if you want to wail like a banshee we gotta go to a hotel.”
Masayoshi mumbled something against Gotou’s hand that were presumably words, but they were too jumbled for him to be certain. Cautiously, Gotou lifted his hand and Masayoshi gulped a few lungfuls of air before trying speech again. “Told you,” he said, panting heavily, “Ishihara-san said no more love hotels.”
“It doesn’t have to be a love hotel, idiot,” Gotou snapped, pushing his knuckles into the mattress on either side of Masayoshi’s head. That was still a small sore point, because it had been his stupid idea because he stupidly forgot that his stupid boyfriend was a celebrity and someone was always watching. He still wasn’t quite sure how Masayoshi’s manager had dug them out of that particular pile of shit of their own making, but she was well-paid for a reason. “Regular hotels exist. We could even go to one far enough away that it looks like you’re just … working, or something. For an interview.”
Masayoshi made another noise into the sheets, this one far more muted. Gotou realized he was moving, slowly, pushing his hips back against Gotou’s and clearly more interested in continuing the physical actions first. He couldn’t not move in reaction to Masayoshi although he tried to keep the slide of their bodies slow in order to circumvent an eruption of noise from the body underneath his.
At least, some small, sadistic portion of Gotou’s mind reminded him, he hasn’t started chanting the name of toku attacks in order to keep from blowing his load again.
Yet.
Masayoshi let out a low groan as Gotou shifted their bodies together again, and he put his hands on Masayoshi’s waist, wondering how bad an idea it would be to sit back and let Masayoshi just sink down on top of him. Even as he had that thought his stroke went deep and Masayoshi’s voice came together in a hitching sob. Gotou surged forward against his body, his hand covering Masayoshi’s mouth in one smooth motion but the action itself buried him deeper than even before and Masayoshi reacted to that, his teeth finding the soft flesh of Gotou’s palm as he choked through the sensation.
The spike of pain was sharp and focused, but Gotou didn’t move his hand this time, shifting instead and pushing Masayoshi down into the sheets and driving into him with short, shallow thrusts. Masayoshi felt so good that he could ignore the way his hand now stung, and if he switched gears again he might not be able to keep himself quiet.
“Gotou-san,” Masayoshi gasped, and Gotou’s hand had slipped down his face, focused instead on the rhythm. Blindly, without losing pace he grabbed his pillow and shoved it into Masayoshi’s face. Masayoshi wrapped his arms around it obediently, the volume of his keening cut in half almost instantly. Why hadn’t that occurred to him before?
That thought, like many others, was lost in the riptide of emotions that swirled through his head as he finally pushed past the edge.
After, Masayoshi rolled his head on Gotou’s pillow, refusing to give it up. There was a streak of faded red on his cheek and Gotou reached a thumb to smear it, realized it was blood and looked belatedly at his hand. He’d left small red streaks on Masayoshi’s skin, and in the sheets and even a smear on the wall where he’d braced his hand as he’d pulled out.
His hand hadn’t hurt until he looked at it, and now it stung like a son of a bitch. Gotou sat up and hissed, and Masayoshi blinked sleepily at him, the lassitude of orgasm still weighing heavily. “What’s the matter, Gotou-san?”
Gotou stared dumbly at him for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “You bit me,” he said, and showed Masayoshi his blood-smeared palm. The wound had mostly clotted now, and had stopped actively bleeding, but it was still a frankly alarming amount of blood for such a small injury. Masayoshi squinted at him, and Gotou shifted, shoving his hand in Masayoshi’s face because he hadn’t gotten any reaction the first time. “You bit me,” he repeated, scandalized.
“You’ve bitten me,” Masayoshi said, clearly not as moved as Gotou was. “I had fun explaining that bruise to the makeup artists.”
Okay, that was fair enough but Gotou folded his arms and frowned, then looked at the small spatters of blood everywhere and sighed. “If the sex gets any rougher I’m not going to be able to take it,” he said, and then pointed at Masayoshi. “You need a gag.”
Masayoshi considered this, and the fact that he didn’t immediately flail or turn bright red made Gotou realize that maybe he’d been a terrible influence. “Or,” Masayoshi said thoughtfully, “we could move.”
Gotou opened his mouth to contest this, then closed it after a moment. He looked around the small, single-room apartment that had been his home for the many years since he’d moved to Tokyo, and then looked at Masayoshi sprawled out naked beside him in his bed, very satisfied with himself. The thought of being able to have this without fears of noise complaints from nosy neighbors was insanely tempting, in a way that he hadn’t really considered when he’d offered to let Masayoshi stay with him all those months ago.
“Yeah,” he found himself saying in agreement with Masayoshi. “I guess we could.”