[Challenge #197: Cottage] Ayatsuri Sakon: Caligulove

[arknes]

Title: Caligulove
Fandom: Ayatsuri Sakon
Characters/Pairings: Fujita Zenkichi/Tachibana Sakon.
Word Count: 500. 
Rating: Explicit.
Summary: Cottage, a British slang. Or: homosexual acts in a public restroom.  
Zenkichi can feel bump of music blasting in loud speakers, then, the pop music inside his head that eclipses his calmed heart, just under the pitch-rhythm of Sakon's breathing.

The bathroom tiles isn't sweet against his knees, but the way it feels to go down on Sakon is enough to ignore it. It's like a private concert—the feel of his thigh muscle, smooth skin and firm as a bicep, the twitch in his stomach, the short hairs dusting down his clenching midsection. It's a one-man show, and while Sakon's the real performer, Zenkichi lacks no dramatics; he likes putting on a show.

He imagines Sakon moaning, something about onstage gear slips flashes abruptly in his head, and Zenkichi starts; caressing Sakon with both hands, kneading him softly before sliding them between his legs and across the warm contours of his ass, up into the seat of his pants, where he tugs them off entirely. There's nothing too intense or vulgar about the manner, but forward. Just the way Sakon likes it.

He wants to take the whole thing slowly, but there's an urgency, the smell of Sakon— crisp, clean —gets Zenkichi eager. Good thing he's not the only one.

Sakon is rarely as pure as people imagine. There's a nasty splotch of bruises wrapped up his ribs, trailing in little steps down his waist, but they're not serious—he'd tell Zenkichi now if he could speak beyond a low stutter. (There's a few nicks here and there, and Zenkichi reminds himself that they're old. Harmless. And damn if he's hurt again.) His fingers twine in Zenkichi's hair, not too hard, then, just below the base of his neck, his knuckles brush lightly over the fabric of Zenkichi's shirt. It's paired with a thick vest, and when Sakon pulls away— trying at modesty despite the bulge in his boxers spelling intentions— his fingernails catch on a button.

It's a small thing, but a reminder, Zenkichi thinks. Something for him to remember later, when he isn't breathing in Sakon.

His fingers hover around Zenkichi's wrists. Not tight —kid's too gentle— but urging. Yeah. The kid is sweet, innocent in ways, but he ain't pure. Sakon starts thumbing gently. His communication, Zenkichi supposes.

He won't be able to get much done without Sakon telling him what he's going to do right or wrong. So Zenkichi goes ahead, grabs his hands and pulls them back to his neck.

"A-are you sure this is a good idea...?" Sakon asks, his voice thick, almost breathless, and Zenkichi says yes, because, fuck it, why not? They're here, after all. Why should anything stop now?

Zenkichi grins, hooking his fingers in boxers as Sakon pets his neck. Fuck. "You objecting?"

Sakon's fingers grip, their tips going taut, and Zenkichi's toes curl. This time, the overhead lights flicker with the song, and Sakon shudders, hips lifting involuntarily.

"Um..." Sakon bites his lips, voice dipping lower, "N-no, I'm no— uh..."

Zenkichi yanks it all down and smirks, "Good."