songbirdspeaks: (Default)
[personal profile] songbirdspeaks
Title: End to end
Fandom: Johnny's & Associates (Kanjani8, Arashi)
Characters: Aiba Masaki, Yokoyama You
Pairing: Aiba Masaki/Yokoyama You
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2000
Warnings: SEX also language? also yoko and aiba being bros having brosex? idk.
Summary: Basically Yoko and Aiba are stupid and have brosex while playing shiritori.
Notes: written for the kink meme two memes ago i think. finally getting around to reposting.

They're in the middle of watching a basketball game on Aiba's sleek blue couch, their thighs pressed together, when Aiba abruptly reaches for the remote balanced on Yoko's left knee and turns the television set off.

"Hey, I was watching that," Yoko whines, reaching for the remote now clutched in Aiba's hands and grumbling appropriately uncomplimentary things about Aiba's sexual prowess and the size of his penis was Aiba throws it on the recliner across the room.

"Hey," Aiba squawks, face screwed up and visibly hurt by Yoko's accusations, "that's not what you said yesterday!"

"Yeah, well, yesterday you weren't turning off a playoff game and playing keep-away with the remote," Yoko grumbles.

"Hush, Yokocho," Aiba says, sweetly, "I have an idea. Let's play a game!"

"A game. A game. I could be watching a game right now!" Yoko snaps. He belatedly notices Aiba's hand creeping up his thigh after the outburst and quiets down, staring at the fingertips creeping up the inner seam of his jeans.

"Trust me when I say you'll like this game better," Aiba hums, leaning close and pressing his lips to Yoko's. Yoko groans when Aiba's teeth close around and tug at his lower lip, and when Aiba pulls back, the heat of his heaving breath brushing over Yoko's cheek, Yoko leans forward seeking another.

"Stop," Aiba says, his fingers trembling against Yoko's shoulder, curled gently in the fabric of his t-shirt. "Okay, so. Game."

"Get on with it, goddamn," Yoko suggests, impatient and incredibly hard in his jeans. He has to keep from bucking forward, getting the friction, long enough to concentrate on the words coming out of Aiba's mouth instead of the curve of his lower lip.

"It's--shiritori," Aiba says, and Yoko rolls his eyes.Yoko moves to pull away, to get up and turn the TV back on or something, and Aiba's fingers seize in his t-shirt and pull him back, body heat buzzing between them. "But. But! You only have five seconds to answer. And if you fail, you get punished."

"And every time you get it right you get a reward," Yoko surmises. He leans forward for a fleeting kiss.

"Maybe," Aiba answers, "maybe not."

"Ooooh, ominous," Yoko answers, with wiggling fingers and everything.

"Shut up I can totally be evil," Aiba complains, and Yoko shoves him (gently).

"Please, you're too easily distracted," Yoko answers, and Aiba throws a pillow at him.

"We'll see about that," Aiba answers, and taps his chin in thought. "Gorilla!" he grins cheekily.

"Lamp," Yoko snaps, a borderline shout.

"Pu... pu... puchi," Aiba declares just under the five-second mark, grinning broadly.

Yoko giggles. "Chinko," he manages, and after both he and Aiba burst into giggles, he leans forward. "My victory," he teases, and kisses Aiba, his hand tugging at the buttons on Aiba's shorts. Aiba's hips stutter forward when Yoko's hand presses into the bulge in his underwear, and Yoko strokes him once, twice, through the material. Then he pulls back and crosses his arms over his chest. "Conbini," he prompts.

"Niji,"Aiba says, as he wiggles out of his shorts. He throws them across the room to land on top of the recliner, and Yoko has to swallow, tugging at the crotch of his jeans in a way that is not at all smooth.

"Yokocho," Aiba says, solemnly, "it's been five seconds."

"Shit," Yoko hisses, and grunts when Aiba swings one knee between his thighs, kneeling over Yoko.

"Hi," Aiba greets, his erection pressing against Yoko's stomach, and he rolls his hips once, twice. His hands wind into Yoko's hair, but he doesn't lean down just yet. After a beat too long of breath on his face and hard cock pressed against his belly, Yoko's hips rise and his hands find the curve of Aiba's behind.

Aiba lets Yoko grind up against him, and finally leans down for a long, wet kiss, his tongue sliding along Yoko's and his fingers tugging at the hair at the base of his neck. Just as Yoko's hands move up to curl into the waistband of his underwear and get him completely off track, Aiba shimmies out of Yoko's grip and wiggles off of his lap to the floor. Yoko's eyes are half-lidded with desire and his lips are red from kisses when Aiba looks up at him through his hair.

Then Aiba reaches forward and flicks open the clasp on Yoko's jeans. Yoko tilts his hips up, letting Aiba work both jeans and underwear down over his hips, until his cock stands free. Aiba considers it for a level moment, watching Yoko's fingers tightening into a tense fist at his side.

Aiba leans forward and closes his mouth around the head of Yoko's cock. As expected, it's tough to play shiritori with a cock in your mouth. That said, Aiba kind of appreciates the difficulty of it. He has to pull away for a second--"New York," he prompts--and then he's back to it, the heavy feel of Yoko's cock a welcome weight on his tongue. It slips forward, through the cavern of his mouth, and Yoko's choked "club!" is punctuated by the head of his cock hitting the back of Aiba's throat. Aiba glances up at him and pulls back, the head of Yoko's cock still pressed to his lower lip as he answers, "bra~"

"Are you gonna--are you gonna play like this the who--whole time?" Yoko stammers, and Aiba bobs his head up and down in a motion that simultaneously serves as a nod and as a way to make Yoko moan, low and drawn. Yoko's head falls back against the top of the couch back, his hips pressing forward until Aiba has to reach out and push him back. Aiba chances a glance up--the play of ecstasy across his face and the subtle all-over tension of Yoko's fight to keep from thrusting into the back of Aiba's throat causes a surge of electricity throughout Aiba's body. Watching Yoko's face is almost enough for him.

Well, almost. As Yoko flounders for a word that begins with "ra", Aiba reaches under the couch for the tube of lube and package of condoms (his moving in gift from Nagase and Mabo had been a tour of his house, putting 'supplies' in 'strategic locations') he didn't think he'd ever actually get a chance to use.

"Where did those come from," Yoko manages, after he blurts out 'light' just under the five second mark.

"I have my sources," Aiba answers, but he's still got his mouth around Yoko's dick so it comes out a little muffled. Yoko whines, his fingers tugging uselessly at Aiba's hair, and Aiba bats his hands away so he can sit up momentarily.

"Tora," he says, and uncaps the lube with a pop. It coats his fingers with a messy sheen, and then Aiba rises back up to push Yoko's knees farther apart. "Move over," he eventually orders, and Yoko simultaneously colors and scowls.

"Why am I following your orders?!" he demands.

Aiba waits a second. "...because you just lost this round," he answers, a pleasant smile stretched over his features, and Yoko presses his face into his palm before he lets Aiba shove him sideways. "Pants," Aiba demands, impatient, his fingers finding the cuffs of Yoko's jeans and tugging at them.

"Aiba--stop it!--Aiba, I'm tangled up!" Yoko snaps, reaching over to smack Aiba's arm, and he wiggles out of his jeans with a grunt. He looks at them for a moment, then balls them up and throws them across the living room. He sits up, throwing a look back over his shoulder, and then hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear.

Aiba can't hold back the wolf-whistle as Yoko works his underwear down over his butt, and squawks when Yoko throws them in his face.

"That is not sexy at all," Aiba complains.

"Shut up and take off your underwear, you asshole," Yoko answers, still flushed, and moves to flop onto his back.

"No, other way," Aiba says, with his widest grin, and Yoko audibly gulps as he crawls onto his hands and knees. "Oh, and, uh... don't mind!"

"That's stupid," Yoko snaps over his shoulder, then, "intro." Aiba grins, thinking to himself as he stands up, wobbling a little from being on his knees for too long.

"Rock and roll," he counters, as he steps out of his underwear, one leg and then the other. The couch creaks when he leans his right knee on it, leaning over Yoko's back and tracing an aimless trail over the plane of Yoko's shoulder with his tongue.

"Rook," Yoko gasps, when Aiba's thumb presses to his opening and rubs, slowly, over it.

"Koala," Aiba chirps, his hand sliding up and the tip of his first finger pushing, slowly, inside.

He rests there for a long second before Yoko grunts, "rabu...?"

Aiba pushes his finger in to the first knuckle, abruptly. "I didn't know you cared," he teases, "buta!"

"What's that supposed to--" Yoko shudders when Aiba continues pushing forward--"tough!"

"Fune," Aiba offers, as preamble to a too-quick second finger. Yoko's hips push back against his hand, seeking more friction, and Aiba swats at his behind.

"Nemu," Yoko whines, his shoulders tight with tension and his voice tight with desire.

"No sleeping," Aiba answers, and maybe he's a little closer than he thought because his cock brushes up against Yoko's ass as he crooks his fingers. The brush of contact sends a shudder down his spine, and he rocks forward again, experimentally.

"Oi, you lost," Yoko complains, loudly, over his shoulder, "get--on with it, damn it--"

Aiba sighs. He'd been doing so well, too. He pushes a third finger inside, a gloriously tight fit that has Yoko's thighs visibly trembling, and after only a moment or two of slow stretches, Yoko is whining about distracted slowpokes.

"Okay, okay," Aiba snaps, "but don't blame me if you're walking funny tomorrow!"

"There is a lot of talking and not a lot of sexing going on right now, Aiba Masaki," Yoko manages, just as Aiba pulls his fingers out. The tell-tale crackle of a condom wrapper is the only sound besides Aiba's heavy breathing for a moment, and then his cock is entering, slowly. They both take a moment of sweet, blissful silence. Then Yoko bucks his hips back against Aiba's, and that's Aiba's cue.

"Shit," Yoko manages, shifting from his both hands to his left forearm, his right hand disappearing under his body, "shit--Aiba--"

"Not right now, please," Aiba says, and Yoko makes a noise that sounds roughly like the verbal equivalent of vomit.

"I hate you," Yoko gasps over his shoulder, hair sticking to his forehead and his mouth half-open.

"Uh---uh-huh," Aiba hums, words out of his mind now.

"No, no really," Yoko manages, "I'm--fuck--Masaki--" This spot, right here, when Yoko can barely remember his own name, that's Aiba's favorite part. It makes his already-thudding heart do some overtime--delicious, delicious overtime, the kind that's like stuffing dessert into your already full belly, not, like, a heart attack. Aiba's fingers tighten at Yoko's hips, just enough to be painful, and Aiba won't begin to understand Yoko's kinks but the combination makes him come apart, a low groan falling from his throat as he comes. His body tightens up, his back rigid and his entrance spasming so tightly Aiba's surprised he doesn't fall apart himself, right then and there.

He makes himself proud--he holds on for fifteen whole seconds, and then his orgasm rips through him like a freight train. His knuckles are white around the bones of Yoko's hips as he falls over the edge, electricity jumping along every nerve, and when he starts to come down, his hammering heart slowing down to human levels, he slides forward, falling sideways on his hip and wrapping his arms (and his left leg) around Yoko's body. He presses his lips to Yoko's shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed. He's sweaty and tired and spent, too lazy to even tug off the condom and toss it into the trashcan. (Or, more likely, tie it off and leave it on the end table, honestly).

"Aiba," Yoko mumbles into his own arm.

"Yokocho," Aiba answers, "what is it?"

"Your turn. Game," Yoko says, and he sounds so pleased with himself Aiba resists the urge to smother him with a pillow.

Barely, anyway.

Profile

songbirdspeaks: (Default)
cock fancy

April 2012

S M T W T F S
1 234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
2930     

Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jun. 27th, 2017 10:35 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios