This consists of the significant few hours within Es Tut Weh, Wen Man Draufdrückt, between the second and third part of the story I avoided this, but somehow I had to write it. It's a dark PWP on its own, but meshes well with the whole series plot of my fics and is quite an important twist.
Warm pulse of breath, insistent bites along his neck and a long, pressured lick over his cheek. The ragged breathing hitched. The room was suddenly silent, the sound of vehicles passing outside on the street banished to short gleams of headlights flashing in waves across the heavy shut windows.
"I don't give a shit about Yoji."
Large hands gather the slim shoulders to his embrace, pulling his face backwards painfully, plying the prone lips open with his tongue and defeating the vaguest traces of spirit.
The open pajama top slipped down the lithe upper body, and he positioned Omi perpendicularly over his lap, craddling him. He continued to ravish the boy and met no resistance, but the swollen lips would not kiss back. There forheads rubbed, mist of sweat spreading.
There were no sounds, whimpers, and the silence ate up the room save or the sucking and breathing. Rough, fingers slid down laviscioucly over flesh, then into pajamas. It found it's intention, working impatiently to strengthen it. It was too dark, but not too dark, enough to see the painted blue still seeing from half-lidded slits.
You need me
Full, dry lips parted, hands balling into fists, as the insistent invader slid up and down his budding erection, building force as it sped up it's pace. Calloused fingers clasped possesively, but exerted light pressure imploring, asserting, persuading. Omi gasped, shaking, arousal betraying him with skin against skin, feeling himself pant and harden all over.
The hand loosened, leaving half undone. Omi's eyes refused to open as he was carried aside. The sheets felt crude against his skin, jagged fibers and thread clinging with blonde wisps of hair. He turned to his side, crouching over to a fetal position slightly to restrain the pulsing ache in his groin. The sheets hinted faintly of fabric softener, clean and freshly-pressed. He was like that, orderly. They smelled like the rest of his laundry, having the crisp, brisk scent of sudsy water, bright rooms and all that was Ken.
"Take this off."
He crawled off the bed and bent down to remove his pajamas off, hands trembling at the show he was making but taking the opportunity to slip away. He turned to his side, locking his eyes down as he made his way back where he sat. He himself had already taken off his clothes before they started.
As soon as he was within reach he was pulled forward and pressed to the slender body, both of them kneeling down face to face. He kissed him urgently, cupping his rear and pulling, and he felt the smooth, hard thighs enclose on his erection and compress. He almost bit on the invasive tongue but didn't, letting the slick passage continue to and for between his teeth unharmed.
You need me
The angry erection prodded on his navel, hips pistoning toward him, thighs tightening around him compulsively with every thrust, every moan. Sweat dampened hot and cold where broad, pale hands trailed, blood rushing to his face in arousement and discredit as he was jostled with shifting flesh. After one laborious clutch he was unrestricted to fall down to on heels, and crawled over to the edge of the bed.
A hand caught his ankle and pulled Omi over, until he was lying beside him. He had lowered his legs to the floor and was stroking himself. He motioned Omi to stand in front of him with a patient gesture, a serious expression, but his eyes were self-possessed.
"Do you want me Omi?"
A warm palm lay flat on his stomach, moving slowly to skim the surface of his skin, as though the creamy spread of tender flesh would soften more and engulf it. Expectation locked on blue as it slid downwards to flicker over the pucker of his rear, just coating the rim with the a leaning touch. Slowly, the hand left him and retreated to pat his lap, ordering Omi to sit.
Omi obliged as he pulled on his legs and set them apart around him, and placed his hands under Omi's rear to lift and impale him over his erection. He broke into the tight ring carefully, before dropping the boy with his entire weight over him. Omi's eye's shot open, tears immediately forming but no sound coming from the slack jaw, tiny fingers gripping at where they flew.
He held his breath, overwhelmed by the sudden heat and force over his manhood. Nails dug into Omi's back enough to draw blood, leaving streams of crimson to trail down. It was more than expected, too warm, too tight, and for one instant it was as if the climax would break him there and then, setting him in motion and immobilizing him at the same moment.
Pain, a blinding starburst of being penetrated, dry and violent and furious. The flesh stung rabidly, as if his insides were ripped open, and the cruel, thick thrusting scraped the seared skin once more, tearing and burning against him. Hunger was eating at his flesh, growing rapidly.
He had his arms brought upwards and bent to the back of his head, then pulled down by the wrists by one hand and held in place while the other hooked a strong forearm on his spine and shoved his body forward. The pale, enigmatic face pressed against his, and he felt the grim stare course into him, undeviating, and he would not witness it. He closed his eyes, seeing the darkness, still seeing the shadow within shadows, the apparitions of passing cars from below, grayed sheets, pitch black walls that remained too near, too distant.
Motion hastened, hips rocking violenty upwards, reaching into the staggering tightness with more resolve with every inch buried and exposed. He could hear a heavy panting, hot breath washing into his face with the musky, erotic scent of sweat, as the pounding length inside him twisted deep and thorough. It would end, it would go soon and torture would change to longed-for pleasure and he would cling onto the honeyed tauwny strands and cry out for more, but the tense nape of the neck was empty but for thin sidelocks that stuck damp and difficult to his lips, and it continued to hurt and singe and he could not ask for anything. Nothing.
The grip on his wrists tightened, straining his arms, and the body against him shuddered, a hoarse, low curse of exclamation speared out to his neck. The pressure on his back deepened, arm digging into his flesh, tremors shaking towards him. After a moment his arms were released and he fell back to hands on his shoulders, blue still hidden from the creamy white fluid on both their chests and torsos. His.
He was placed almost gently back into the tight circle of arms, face buried into the steadying breathing. A whisper.
"Open your eyes Omi, please."
They shut completely, not wanting to see, to feel the fear in the swirling bare violet. The need. The tears. The promise.
Open your eyes Omi, please.
Oyasumi nasai niisan.