[subaru/karina] seamless
Jan. 23rd, 2012 04:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
songbirdspeaksTitle: Seamless
Fandom: Johnny's & Associates (Kanjani8), Karina
Characters: Karina, Subaru, mentions of Hina and Nino
Pairing: Shibutani Subaru/Nose Karina
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Realistic take on superpowered sex!!!!!
Word Count: 2165
Summary: Karina comes home.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
epicwaters. Prompt went "Subaru is being an ass by staying invisible when she's looking for him. It makes her frustrated but it just turns her on more and then BAM! Sexy times! Subaru stays invisible the entire time, Karina can only feel where he is~", lol.
She doesn't know what Ninomiya's feeding his agents these days, but she wants him to stop. Running all around town trying to catch them has gone from mildly irritating to really exhausting. Not to mention Ninomiya's getting smarter about passing out powers, if the burn snaking up her right shin has anything to say on the matter. (It has a lot to say on it, mostly 'ow' and 'son of a bitch'.) When she's done handing off her new friend to Hina's gentle care and shrugging off the heavy cloak of his concern for her well-being, she limps to the now-empty dance floor.
There's a first aid kit on the low table by the bar, a move that has Subaru written all over it. (Literally; Su-ba-ru is scrawled across the top of the white plastic case in half-faded black sharpie.) She quirks a fond smile at it before she reaches for her fly and shucks her pants. The only person in the club who cares about seeing her in her underwear is Subaru anyway, she thinks. She makes a halfway effort to fold her pants before dropping them on the floor, and settles heavily into the chair at the table. She reaches around for the other chair with her left foot, and after a precipitous moment of concern it's going to clatter to the floor, she manages to slide it closer so she can stretch her right leg out and rest her right foot upon it. When she cracks open the first aid kit, she finds the burn ointment tucked in on the second layer of little plastic trays, next to the bandage scissors and a strip of condoms, which make her laugh.
She twists the ointment open, and squeezes some onto the fingers of her left hand to dab it across the red surface of her skin. She hisses in pain at the contact, but in truth the wound's not that bad; her anti-flammable pants and a quick jump had managed to protect her from the majority of the fireball she'd had thrown her way. (Thankfully; she doesn't know what kind of roast Karina she'd make, and isn't interested in finding out.) She leans back up to spread more cream onto the pads of her fingertips when familiar cool hands settle at the nape of her neck, then move to her shoulders. She groans, loudly; above her, she can hear Subaru laughing, and looks up to greet him. "...why are you invisible," she asks, suspicious, and gets no vocal answer. His hands continue their work on her shoulders, though, and keep there as she finishes treating and bandaging the three-inch long burn.
As she straightens up, his hands disappear, and she whimpers, voice thin. "Subaru," she complains, and then yelps when a hand comes down sharply on her now-bandaged shin. She can imagine his stupid shit-faced grin, even though she can't see him, and it irritates her so much she reaches out to swat at the air; she misses. He's doing it on purpose, she decides, when two stools at the bar nearly fall over a moment later. She still can't see him, of course, but she can damn well follow his mess. (It feels like she's been following his mess for most of her life, really.) "Subaru," she calls after him, standing and following him across the dance floor back to the rooms in the back, "why are you doing this?"
No answer, but she thinks she hears him laughing, and when the door to their bedroom swings open, she stalks to it. She's so distracted by the blood pumping in her ears she barely notices her fingers cracking the doorframe. "Subaru," she says, again, peeling her fingers back from the door and taking three steps inside. "Get the hell out here."
The door swings shut, and she turns to stare at it. When had he gotten behind her? She can feel his body heat up against her arm before he grabs her wrist and whirls her around until her back is against the bedroom door. By the time he has her wrists pushed up against the door and a knee between her thighs, she's well past caring about his douchebag tendencies, or really anything besides the fact that she's not wearing any pants. His palms are sweaty on the insides of her wrists, she notes, and his breath is hot at the edge of her mouth. They seem like distant facts, unimportant, when he leans forward to kiss her. She arches up into his mouth, rolling her hips against the line of his thigh, and his fingers wrapped loosely around her wrists flutter. They skim down her forearms to press softly into her shoulders, but she leaves her hands up. The buzz of her powers under her skin hasn't lessened at all, and she's sure he can feel it, she's practically vibrating with the struggle to keep her body mostly still, but it's heady, letting him boss her around a lit when she could break him over her knee.
His hands are cool on her skin, and they dip under the hem of her raglan, skipping over the line of her abs and cupping the curve of her breasts. She gasps into the sudden squeeze, and arches into him. He presses that advantage to get his hands around her, popping open the hooks on her bra without missing a beat. "Why do you never seem to have a problem with that?" she gasps.
"You'll crush my balls if I tell you," he mouths against her ear, and she whimpers when his tongue follows the shell of it. He's finished unhooking her bra, and he presses his fingers underneath the wire, palms rubbing up over her nipples and making her moan into the touch she can't even see. He's rutting against her hip; she can feel the hardness of his cock through his jeans. Abruptly, she's tired of waiting. In one swift move, she lifts her right leg and hooks it behind his knees, sending them in a heap to the floor, and feels around until she can get at his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping by rote and thrusting her hand inside. She can't see him, but the bucking of his hips into her hand through the front panel of his boxers is as familiar to her as breathing, and she savors it, offering him a smile. His hands are still inside her bra, and he pinches at her nipple, retaliation for the trip to the floor, but she doesn't particularly care about the reasoning.
"Oh," she manages, "oh, do that again--" And he does. She's so caught up in the sensation burning along her nerves that she doesn't notice him shifting around until they're in the middle of flipping over. His hands pull from her shirt, and she whines, but then he's moving. The warmth of his body shifts down, down, down, and then his mouth is warm on the inside of her thigh. "Shit," she gasps, when he rubs at her through her underwear, and trembles as his fingers catch the waistband of her panties and tug until they're half-off. She moves, lifting one leg to get them off, and feels him duck between them, hooking her left knee over his shoulder. She shudders under the movement of his hands down her thighs, and whimpers when two of his fingers sink slowly inside of her.
"Fuck," she gasps, and reaches for his head. His hair is damp under her palms--he must have taken a shower after getting in from patrol--and she tugs at it as his fingers thrust slowly in and out. She's already trembling all over--they haven't sparred or fucked in days, and the adrenaline of a good fight always gets her going--when his other hand skitters slowly across her stomach, which is all the warning she gets before his thumb runs over her clit. "Shit," she curses, gasping, and his fingers inside of her abruptly change angle, pushing in faster as he pushes her toward orgasm.
"I'm--fuck, Subaru, get off--" she taps at his hands, and takes over. She thinks she can hear him moaning as she drives herself over the edge. He's probably touching himself, the idiot. "Don't get off," she warns, and hears him laughing. "I mean it, you, I haven't seen you in days!"
His hand settles, warmer now, on the back of her left thigh, and he squeezes. "Welcome home," she hears him say, right before he licks a stripe up her thigh, and that's when she comes, whimpering through it. Her body spasms, and she's careful not to crush him between her thigh and calf, forcing her leg still.
"I'm back," she breathes, as she collapses back against the carpet. He's on top of her with no delay, forcing her shirt up and off, and she laughs as he tugs it over her head. "Here, let me help, doofus," she says, "get your jeans off, I can still feel them and it's annoying me."
She feels him wiggling around between her thighs as she tosses her t-shirt half-atop the laundry pile, and as soon as her bra comes all the way off his mouth is warm and strong, catching on one of her nipples and dragging his teeth over it. She sighs into it, closing her fingers once more in his hair, and thrusts against the fingers studdenly pushing into her wet entrance. His fingers slip inside with no resistance, and soon she's rolling into the thrusts of his hand, wanting more. "Come on," she urges, wrapping her arm around his bare shoulders and pulling her hips up so she can better ride his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out, she feels the loss with a keen sense of disappointment, and sets her thighs loosely wide until the feel of his cock is warm at her entrance.
He spreads her wide open as he thrusts inside, and she tightens her grip around his neck, curling her heels around his back. The pace he's set is deep and powerful, and she groans over it. "God, I've missed you," she says, in his ear.
He laughs against her collarbone before he licks it. His voice rumbles at her throat when he speaks again. "Watch yourself," he hisses, and she looks down. She's rolling into every thrust, body undulating with the driving pressure, but when he's invisible it's a different sensation entirely, and it sends a different rush down her spine.
"Jesus," she manages, biting at her lower lip. Finally, she feels herself inching closer, and has to throw her head back, eyes shut against the images. Subaru's hand settles wide at her hip, and he kisses a line at her pulse before he speaks again, his voice tight with want.
"Can you--take over?" he asks.
She swats gently at his shoulder. "Lazy bastard," she mocks, and lets him roll them sideways. She has to shift her weight back onto her thighs, carefully pressing her hands to the carpet, not Subaru's chest. (She's cracked his ribs once by being in hurry; she's not in a hurry to repeat the experience.) Despite how often she bitches at him for being a lazyass, they both like her on top better; the deeper drive of his cock inside of her is better, and he doesn't have to worry about her tightening her grip on his body too much. She's lost count of the amount of bones she's fractured by now.
She eases into languid, long rolls of her body atop his dick. His hands are light on her thighs at first, and then move up her sides, playing over her skin until he has her breasts in both hands. He rolls his nipples under his hands, and she groans, tossing her head back. She can feel herself inching toward another orgasm, and reaches down to spur herself along, circling her clit quickly in time with the rapidly quickening rolls of her body. His hands roam her body, settling on her hips to urge her along.
The only warning she gets before he comes is the tightening of his fingers, and then a warm rush between her thighs. She moans, low and long, and pulls away, off of his slowly softening cock, settling back on her right arm and thrusting her clit against her fingers. She comes with a groan, and pulls her leg over his body to curl up on the floor, focusing on breathing. Her eyes are half shut when she realizes she can see him again, and she leans up into him, kssing him slowly until the angle makes her neck hurt. Then she reaches for his arm, tugging him down until they're in a pile on the floor, resting her chin on his shoulder and breathing into his neck.
"I'm home," she murmurs, eventually, when his hand ghosts over her hair. He smiles into her hair (she can feel it) and hums at her in response.
Fandom: Johnny's & Associates (Kanjani8), Karina
Characters: Karina, Subaru, mentions of Hina and Nino
Pairing: Shibutani Subaru/Nose Karina
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Realistic take on superpowered sex!!!!!
Word Count: 2165
Summary: Karina comes home.
Notes: For
epicwaters. Prompt went "Subaru is being an ass by staying invisible when she's looking for him. It makes her frustrated but it just turns her on more and then BAM! Sexy times! Subaru stays invisible the entire time, Karina can only feel where he is~", lol.She doesn't know what Ninomiya's feeding his agents these days, but she wants him to stop. Running all around town trying to catch them has gone from mildly irritating to really exhausting. Not to mention Ninomiya's getting smarter about passing out powers, if the burn snaking up her right shin has anything to say on the matter. (It has a lot to say on it, mostly 'ow' and 'son of a bitch'.) When she's done handing off her new friend to Hina's gentle care and shrugging off the heavy cloak of his concern for her well-being, she limps to the now-empty dance floor.
There's a first aid kit on the low table by the bar, a move that has Subaru written all over it. (Literally; Su-ba-ru is scrawled across the top of the white plastic case in half-faded black sharpie.) She quirks a fond smile at it before she reaches for her fly and shucks her pants. The only person in the club who cares about seeing her in her underwear is Subaru anyway, she thinks. She makes a halfway effort to fold her pants before dropping them on the floor, and settles heavily into the chair at the table. She reaches around for the other chair with her left foot, and after a precipitous moment of concern it's going to clatter to the floor, she manages to slide it closer so she can stretch her right leg out and rest her right foot upon it. When she cracks open the first aid kit, she finds the burn ointment tucked in on the second layer of little plastic trays, next to the bandage scissors and a strip of condoms, which make her laugh.
She twists the ointment open, and squeezes some onto the fingers of her left hand to dab it across the red surface of her skin. She hisses in pain at the contact, but in truth the wound's not that bad; her anti-flammable pants and a quick jump had managed to protect her from the majority of the fireball she'd had thrown her way. (Thankfully; she doesn't know what kind of roast Karina she'd make, and isn't interested in finding out.) She leans back up to spread more cream onto the pads of her fingertips when familiar cool hands settle at the nape of her neck, then move to her shoulders. She groans, loudly; above her, she can hear Subaru laughing, and looks up to greet him. "...why are you invisible," she asks, suspicious, and gets no vocal answer. His hands continue their work on her shoulders, though, and keep there as she finishes treating and bandaging the three-inch long burn.
As she straightens up, his hands disappear, and she whimpers, voice thin. "Subaru," she complains, and then yelps when a hand comes down sharply on her now-bandaged shin. She can imagine his stupid shit-faced grin, even though she can't see him, and it irritates her so much she reaches out to swat at the air; she misses. He's doing it on purpose, she decides, when two stools at the bar nearly fall over a moment later. She still can't see him, of course, but she can damn well follow his mess. (It feels like she's been following his mess for most of her life, really.) "Subaru," she calls after him, standing and following him across the dance floor back to the rooms in the back, "why are you doing this?"
No answer, but she thinks she hears him laughing, and when the door to their bedroom swings open, she stalks to it. She's so distracted by the blood pumping in her ears she barely notices her fingers cracking the doorframe. "Subaru," she says, again, peeling her fingers back from the door and taking three steps inside. "Get the hell out here."
The door swings shut, and she turns to stare at it. When had he gotten behind her? She can feel his body heat up against her arm before he grabs her wrist and whirls her around until her back is against the bedroom door. By the time he has her wrists pushed up against the door and a knee between her thighs, she's well past caring about his douchebag tendencies, or really anything besides the fact that she's not wearing any pants. His palms are sweaty on the insides of her wrists, she notes, and his breath is hot at the edge of her mouth. They seem like distant facts, unimportant, when he leans forward to kiss her. She arches up into his mouth, rolling her hips against the line of his thigh, and his fingers wrapped loosely around her wrists flutter. They skim down her forearms to press softly into her shoulders, but she leaves her hands up. The buzz of her powers under her skin hasn't lessened at all, and she's sure he can feel it, she's practically vibrating with the struggle to keep her body mostly still, but it's heady, letting him boss her around a lit when she could break him over her knee.
His hands are cool on her skin, and they dip under the hem of her raglan, skipping over the line of her abs and cupping the curve of her breasts. She gasps into the sudden squeeze, and arches into him. He presses that advantage to get his hands around her, popping open the hooks on her bra without missing a beat. "Why do you never seem to have a problem with that?" she gasps.
"You'll crush my balls if I tell you," he mouths against her ear, and she whimpers when his tongue follows the shell of it. He's finished unhooking her bra, and he presses his fingers underneath the wire, palms rubbing up over her nipples and making her moan into the touch she can't even see. He's rutting against her hip; she can feel the hardness of his cock through his jeans. Abruptly, she's tired of waiting. In one swift move, she lifts her right leg and hooks it behind his knees, sending them in a heap to the floor, and feels around until she can get at his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping by rote and thrusting her hand inside. She can't see him, but the bucking of his hips into her hand through the front panel of his boxers is as familiar to her as breathing, and she savors it, offering him a smile. His hands are still inside her bra, and he pinches at her nipple, retaliation for the trip to the floor, but she doesn't particularly care about the reasoning.
"Oh," she manages, "oh, do that again--" And he does. She's so caught up in the sensation burning along her nerves that she doesn't notice him shifting around until they're in the middle of flipping over. His hands pull from her shirt, and she whines, but then he's moving. The warmth of his body shifts down, down, down, and then his mouth is warm on the inside of her thigh. "Shit," she gasps, when he rubs at her through her underwear, and trembles as his fingers catch the waistband of her panties and tug until they're half-off. She moves, lifting one leg to get them off, and feels him duck between them, hooking her left knee over his shoulder. She shudders under the movement of his hands down her thighs, and whimpers when two of his fingers sink slowly inside of her.
"Fuck," she gasps, and reaches for his head. His hair is damp under her palms--he must have taken a shower after getting in from patrol--and she tugs at it as his fingers thrust slowly in and out. She's already trembling all over--they haven't sparred or fucked in days, and the adrenaline of a good fight always gets her going--when his other hand skitters slowly across her stomach, which is all the warning she gets before his thumb runs over her clit. "Shit," she curses, gasping, and his fingers inside of her abruptly change angle, pushing in faster as he pushes her toward orgasm.
"I'm--fuck, Subaru, get off--" she taps at his hands, and takes over. She thinks she can hear him moaning as she drives herself over the edge. He's probably touching himself, the idiot. "Don't get off," she warns, and hears him laughing. "I mean it, you, I haven't seen you in days!"
His hand settles, warmer now, on the back of her left thigh, and he squeezes. "Welcome home," she hears him say, right before he licks a stripe up her thigh, and that's when she comes, whimpering through it. Her body spasms, and she's careful not to crush him between her thigh and calf, forcing her leg still.
"I'm back," she breathes, as she collapses back against the carpet. He's on top of her with no delay, forcing her shirt up and off, and she laughs as he tugs it over her head. "Here, let me help, doofus," she says, "get your jeans off, I can still feel them and it's annoying me."
She feels him wiggling around between her thighs as she tosses her t-shirt half-atop the laundry pile, and as soon as her bra comes all the way off his mouth is warm and strong, catching on one of her nipples and dragging his teeth over it. She sighs into it, closing her fingers once more in his hair, and thrusts against the fingers studdenly pushing into her wet entrance. His fingers slip inside with no resistance, and soon she's rolling into the thrusts of his hand, wanting more. "Come on," she urges, wrapping her arm around his bare shoulders and pulling her hips up so she can better ride his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out, she feels the loss with a keen sense of disappointment, and sets her thighs loosely wide until the feel of his cock is warm at her entrance.
He spreads her wide open as he thrusts inside, and she tightens her grip around his neck, curling her heels around his back. The pace he's set is deep and powerful, and she groans over it. "God, I've missed you," she says, in his ear.
He laughs against her collarbone before he licks it. His voice rumbles at her throat when he speaks again. "Watch yourself," he hisses, and she looks down. She's rolling into every thrust, body undulating with the driving pressure, but when he's invisible it's a different sensation entirely, and it sends a different rush down her spine.
"Jesus," she manages, biting at her lower lip. Finally, she feels herself inching closer, and has to throw her head back, eyes shut against the images. Subaru's hand settles wide at her hip, and he kisses a line at her pulse before he speaks again, his voice tight with want.
"Can you--take over?" he asks.
She swats gently at his shoulder. "Lazy bastard," she mocks, and lets him roll them sideways. She has to shift her weight back onto her thighs, carefully pressing her hands to the carpet, not Subaru's chest. (She's cracked his ribs once by being in hurry; she's not in a hurry to repeat the experience.) Despite how often she bitches at him for being a lazyass, they both like her on top better; the deeper drive of his cock inside of her is better, and he doesn't have to worry about her tightening her grip on his body too much. She's lost count of the amount of bones she's fractured by now.
She eases into languid, long rolls of her body atop his dick. His hands are light on her thighs at first, and then move up her sides, playing over her skin until he has her breasts in both hands. He rolls his nipples under his hands, and she groans, tossing her head back. She can feel herself inching toward another orgasm, and reaches down to spur herself along, circling her clit quickly in time with the rapidly quickening rolls of her body. His hands roam her body, settling on her hips to urge her along.
The only warning she gets before he comes is the tightening of his fingers, and then a warm rush between her thighs. She moans, low and long, and pulls away, off of his slowly softening cock, settling back on her right arm and thrusting her clit against her fingers. She comes with a groan, and pulls her leg over his body to curl up on the floor, focusing on breathing. Her eyes are half shut when she realizes she can see him again, and she leans up into him, kssing him slowly until the angle makes her neck hurt. Then she reaches for his arm, tugging him down until they're in a pile on the floor, resting her chin on his shoulder and breathing into his neck.
"I'm home," she murmurs, eventually, when his hand ghosts over her hair. He smiles into her hair (she can feel it) and hums at her in response.
