Ride 'em HARD~!

Notes: Morning after.




After three hours, his body woke with the dawn, the way it was used to doing. Alcohol laid heavy in his limbs, but it wasn't as heavy as the ache inside of him. Kaoru had slept quiet, snoring soft and wheezy the way it always was. Buried in the hair at the nape of his man's neck, Ebizo swallowed him down with a griefstricken throat before slowly, carefully, stiffly slipping away.

He took a shower now, in the morning, like sluts did. Rubbing soap in slow ovals against his skin, green suds washing down his knees and toes, he watched them and thought of the girls over the years who must have stood here, cleaning themselves with his soap, watching suds on their toes and wondering ( who the hell they were. )

Notes: Kaoru and Ebizo reunite after the U.S. The Rose Trims Again tour, for a night of Bond and masculinity and fucking. It starts off wonderfully, but doesn't follow Ebizo's plan for the evening. Sort of split into Kaoru picking Ebizo up, them going out to the club, and their evening follows. Next morning=next post. NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!




Tokyo cooperated with him tonight. The night was clear and cold, but no skin touched it; the rain the forecast had threatened for tomorrow wasn't even a hovering promise in the air. From head to tow, Kaoru was black; the bike was black, and together they were a burnt streak of dark around street corners and up to the curb. It roared, a violent purr of masculinity between his thighs, and beneath his helment his lips were unable to keep from their curve.

Ebizo's doormany had the same look of vague dismay the bike tended to give him; used to Kaoru's appearances but not to it, quite yet. Kaoru let the engine purr, a satisfying rumble beneath him and he set one foot down, leant his head back and pulled the helmet free to shake his hair loose.

American sun had been cold this year, and so he wasn't dark, like when he came back from festivals and heat; the cold had left him pale with the flush in his cheeks, eyes sharp and already finding Ebizo's figure. Those small lips spread, just-barely parted, enough to be hungry.

Ebizo was good to look at, handsome as he was, fit as he was; fabric silver and black and he wanted to take it off, already, but not before he'd relished how he looked in it.

( Fucking missed him. )