| [Jul. 7th, 2013|11:22 pm] |
He’d never get a better invitation than that.
“Condom,” Raidou said, because that was non-negotiable, no matter how hot everyone got.
Ryouma gave a thin little groan of impatience, but jerked his chin in a nod. His hands dropped back to the bed. Raidou stepped away, found the abandoned foil packet where he’d left it, and achieved latex protection in record time. The faint blunting of sensation could only help him here. He slicked himself with lube and returned to Ryouma.
And took a moment just to admire.
Sweat pooled in the dip between notched collarbones, and gleamed in the lines of definition between shivering muscles. The bright dragon tattoo flexed with each unmanaged breath. Ryouma’s hair was a tousled mess, raked up in inky spikes. His pupils were fully blown, mouth bitten red, skin burning with a hectic flush. His cock was painfully hard, and untouched.
Raidou dipped his head and brushed his mouth over the inside of Ryouma’s thigh, grazing his teeth gently over a barbed-wire scar. “You can still change your mind,” he murmured, just to lay down absolute clarity.
The sound Ryouma made was of a man reaching the absolute bedrock of his own frustration, and realizing there were still more strata of annoyances underneath.
He visibly snapped.
Stomach muscles clenched as Ryouma surged up, grabbed Raidou by the shoulders with strong, scarred hands, and yanked him down. Raidou could have resisted, but he didn’t. Ryouma’s mouth caught his with a crushing kiss, nearly re-splitting Raidou’s lower lip against his own teeth, and Ryouma’s hips ground up.
A shatter-storm of urgent lust made Raidou groan.
Ryouma broke away. “What do I have to do to get you to fuck me?”
“That’ll do it,” Raidou said roughly, and grabbed Ryouma by the hips. They were already lined up, and Ryouma was willing-eager to spread his legs and shove down, asking for no gentleness. Raidou got his knees better braced, found the angle, and pushed.
Even with the prep, Ryouma was tight, but slick enough to yield.
Raidou didn’t give him gentleness. One smooth thrust was all it took to slide in, sheathed to the hilt in scalding warmth. Ryouma's mouth opened soundlessly, head dropping back against the bed as he fought to accommodate the stretch.
A kind man would have given him a moment.
Raidou rolled his hips, slid out and back in again, then again, forcing Ryouma to take it—and keep taking it.
“Hands up,” he ordered tightly. “Cross ‘em above your head.”
Ryouma didn’t move immediately. Raidou slapped him on the outside of one leg, timing it to the apex moment of a deep thrust. Ryouma’s back arched; he let go of Raidou’s shoulders, fumbled, then got his arms up, crossing them at the wrists. He was tall enough to reach the wooden headboard slats and grab them, anchoring himself. His knuckles whitened.
Raidou found his rhythm, going for slower and deeper over hard and fast, in the interests of making it to a longer finish line. Ryouma began to ease up around him, hips flexing into a matching pace. After a moment, Ryouma actually remembered to breathe again.
His eyes were closed.
Raidou reached down and wrapped slick fingers around that angular jaw. “Look at me,” he said, voice panting low. |
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