ohmiya sk
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Sunday 6 April 2008
Red-stemmed Violets- adronicus
Title: Red-stemmed Violets
Author: adronicus
Prompt:#92 Christmas
Word Count: 1, 538
Rating: Hard R? (yea, lets go with that)
Summary: For every birthday gift there must be a Christmas gift.
Author’s Notes: This is the sequel to Feather Lust and it is once again all
lady_gemma’s fault. I think its still rather sucky, but on the bright side I like it a lot more than its predecessor? Oh! And thanks a whole bunch to Ayan ohyamada for taking precious time that she shall never get back to beta for me. Much love upon her!!!
Nino PoV
This sucks.
First it was:
“Hey Oh-chan, want me to drive you to the Christmas party?”
“No thanks, Sho’s got me,” his voice is absent and quiet and something else and then he hangs up with a “see you at the party.”
Dismissive.
And now he is sitting at the other end of the room, one hand rubbing feather-light over his thigh at inconstant intervals and Sho is hovering over him and it’s been like that the whole damn length of this ‘party’.
I tried talking to him, arm thrown casually across his shoulder from behind, leaning a little, my smile already on the verge of being forced.
He doesn’t quite respond; his answers short and voice slightly trembling, his eyes furtive and glancing constantly at the clock behind my shoulder.
When I give up and tell him I’m off to meet and greet, putting a bit of that conspiratory sarcasm into it he waves and ‘hmms’. His face is expectant as he looks towards Sho – Sho, who is once again closing in.
This sucks.
He is walking towards me now, slowly – carefully - crossing the room and there is an almost hidden grimace on his face. Sho is staring after him, face seemingly blank from this…distance.
“Nino, can you take me home?”
He isn’t looking at me.
I almost say no.
“Sure, lets go.” I know my voice is flat and low and that I walk to the door perhaps a bit too fast. This is, after all, just an excuse to get away.
I end up waiting for him outside as he says his goodbyes to all the people at the party. I want a cigarette.
The drive is full of buzzing, tingling, tremulous notes of jazz and rushing wind and almost too-bright, too-gaudy lights, but all I notice is the way Ohno shrinks into his seat, the way Ohno is looking out the window and not at me.
The way Ohno isn’t speaking.
When we are finally at the parking lot I leave the engine on and turn towards him only slightly. He isn’t getting out. No, he is chewing on his lip in that abstract, worried way and still not looking at me, still not speaking.
Just as I am about to bite out a question his eyes fasten on me, almost too-sharp, too-clear:
“Stay.”
His hand is warm and trembling on my arm and I shake my head and look out the front windshield.
“I have…would you…just pick up your present?” there is something desperate and reluctant and quiet in his voice, and he is tugging lightly at my arm now.
I say nothing. Opening my door, I slam it shut behind me, following Ohno with my eyes as he comes around the car.
His walk is stiff and slow.
He looks at me and turns away to walk to the apartment.
I’m almost too pissed now and just itching to get back in the car and drive off, but some stubborn, curious part inside keeps me following.
When we are inside the apartment and I look up from unlacing and taking of my shoes – and damn them anyways for almost making me crash to the ground – he is standing with his back to me and is sort of swaying in place. His hand makes another aborted movement to his thigh.
And why the hell do I keep seeing so much of his back today, anyways?
Damnit.
“I’m going to take a shower,” and then, “Stay, would you?”
What?
He turns his face towards me and I think – maybe? – he tried a smile.
I don’t manage to say anything before he is walking away from me. Again.
This sucks.
Can’t really leave now, though.
Just as I turn on the TV, having taken over his couch in a careless sprawl, I hear Ohno calling for me.
Damnit, if its because he forgot his towel again…
Walking to his bathroom – because I am definitely, definitely not stomping – I can already hear the shower running. Now I can see it too; droplets hitting the glass walls of the shower but not him. No, not him because he is not in the shower; he is standing in front of his mirror and his hand is at his thigh again and I think maybe I see a flash of color.
“I want to give you your gift now,” his voice is whisper-soft and hesitant, stumbling, barely heard above the drone of the shower and I’m moving forward before I know it.
He turns and his hand is covering his thigh and as I watch, riveted, he slides his fingers to the side and I realize – as the rest of my mind freezes and blanks – that I did see color before.
On his inner thigh, where for the whole night his fingers had traced and fluttered, was a tattoo.
I only vaguely notice my knees hitting the floor, only vaguely think that tomorrow they are going to hurt, but that’s not really important because there, right there, are the letters SK and below them BtKN and as my fingers trace over the image – slowly, reverently – the blue of the two intertwined violets and the red of their stems wink at me, at once playful and solemn.
His hands are twining in my hair, fingers pushing down, almost too hard and at the same time not enough. I look up at him and smirk lightly:
“Oh-chan, didn’t you want a shower?’
He looks down, dazed and blinking and I simply stand up, trailing my fingers upwards, over the tattoo, nails scraping lightly and he moans and almost falls, clutching] at me.
I just grasp his hand and cover the short distance to the shower stall, almost dragging him behind me.
Ah, good. The water is still warm.
A slight twist of the wrist and a pull, and he is stumbling past me into the shower, off-balance.
As he is blinking from under the water I chuck off my clothes as fast as possible, cursing none-too-softly as I almost fall and the shirt gets caught. Finally I am naked. Ohno still hasn’t moved.
Perfect.
It’s not hard to herd him backwards until he gasps as his back hits the – cold -shower wall right below the showerhead and he keens brokenly as I push flush against him.
His mouth is soft and pliant and inside there is slick, wet warmth; my hands smooth down his arms and push them up, over the showerhead, where I link his hands over the cool metal. My mouth breaks from his reluctantly and wanders sloppily over to his ear:
“Keep them there, Oh-chan.”
My knees hit the floor once again, hands moving quickly, feather-light, over his torso, because really, my prize is down here.
And what a prize it is.
My hands trace over the tattoo possessively, first light and tentative, then pressing a little harder, a little more. Ohno whimpers loudly. I look up, perhaps more worried than I should be. Perhaps less. He looks down and his mouth is moving and finally, a single word:
“S-sensitive.”
Ah.
My fingers are light again, gossamer-soft and soon he is moaning once more, and I can’t help myself any longer. I have to taste it, see what kind of new flavors have been added to his skin in those colors, those words, that devotion.
My tongue still feels the slight ridges of the tattoo, the slightly glossy texture of the letters, tracing softly over the smooth lines of the flower and I still can’t believe he did this for me.
It’s easy to drown in his slightly musty, slightly sweet - completely Ohno - smell, in the feel of his skin, in the edges of the tattoo and their bright, winking colors, the warmth of the shower and his mewling moans.
Still, thoughts and half-perceived fantasy-memories intrude. How painful it must have been for him and then how someone must have been touching him right here to mark him with our legacy. I nip slightly, reproachfully, and he screams above me, hitting that beautiful high note as he buckles under my hands.
I stroke up his length with one finger in apology, soothing the bitten flesh with my wet tongue and careful fingers and soon enough he is back to those whispered moans and muttered pleadings of “please, please, please”.
I’m satisfied – for now – and follow my finger’s path with my tongue, once, twice and then take it all in. Fast and deep and hard, one hand behind him and another one covering the tattoo gently and it doesn’t take long before the taste of Ohno – slightly salty and a little like dark chocolate and clovers and purely, uniquely him – fills my mouth and he is slumping downwards: panting, breathing fast, whispering my name.
I set him down gently and wind myself around him, stroking the tattoo and kissing his temple and rearranging his hair carefully.
It takes him a bit to come back and his first words are:
“Oh, Nino, you haven’t, yet,”
I open my mouth, pleased and irritated all at once and discover just at that moment that the water around us has gone cold.
Damn it.
The end.
Himitsu's Tweaker:
I thoroughly enjoyed myself with this sequel! Read it a couple of times before bed as well XD
Author: adronicus
Prompt:#92 Christmas
Word Count: 1, 538
Rating: Hard R? (yea, lets go with that)
Summary: For every birthday gift there must be a Christmas gift.
Author’s Notes: This is the sequel to Feather Lust and it is once again all
lady_gemma’s fault. I think its still rather sucky, but on the bright side I like it a lot more than its predecessor? Oh! And thanks a whole bunch to Ayan ohyamada for taking precious time that she shall never get back to beta for me. Much love upon her!!!Nino PoV
This sucks.
First it was:
“Hey Oh-chan, want me to drive you to the Christmas party?”
“No thanks, Sho’s got me,” his voice is absent and quiet and something else and then he hangs up with a “see you at the party.”
Dismissive.
And now he is sitting at the other end of the room, one hand rubbing feather-light over his thigh at inconstant intervals and Sho is hovering over him and it’s been like that the whole damn length of this ‘party’.
I tried talking to him, arm thrown casually across his shoulder from behind, leaning a little, my smile already on the verge of being forced.
He doesn’t quite respond; his answers short and voice slightly trembling, his eyes furtive and glancing constantly at the clock behind my shoulder.
When I give up and tell him I’m off to meet and greet, putting a bit of that conspiratory sarcasm into it he waves and ‘hmms’. His face is expectant as he looks towards Sho – Sho, who is once again closing in.
This sucks.
He is walking towards me now, slowly – carefully - crossing the room and there is an almost hidden grimace on his face. Sho is staring after him, face seemingly blank from this…distance.
“Nino, can you take me home?”
He isn’t looking at me.
I almost say no.
“Sure, lets go.” I know my voice is flat and low and that I walk to the door perhaps a bit too fast. This is, after all, just an excuse to get away.
I end up waiting for him outside as he says his goodbyes to all the people at the party. I want a cigarette.
The drive is full of buzzing, tingling, tremulous notes of jazz and rushing wind and almost too-bright, too-gaudy lights, but all I notice is the way Ohno shrinks into his seat, the way Ohno is looking out the window and not at me.
The way Ohno isn’t speaking.
When we are finally at the parking lot I leave the engine on and turn towards him only slightly. He isn’t getting out. No, he is chewing on his lip in that abstract, worried way and still not looking at me, still not speaking.
Just as I am about to bite out a question his eyes fasten on me, almost too-sharp, too-clear:
“Stay.”
His hand is warm and trembling on my arm and I shake my head and look out the front windshield.
“I have…would you…just pick up your present?” there is something desperate and reluctant and quiet in his voice, and he is tugging lightly at my arm now.
I say nothing. Opening my door, I slam it shut behind me, following Ohno with my eyes as he comes around the car.
His walk is stiff and slow.
He looks at me and turns away to walk to the apartment.
I’m almost too pissed now and just itching to get back in the car and drive off, but some stubborn, curious part inside keeps me following.
When we are inside the apartment and I look up from unlacing and taking of my shoes – and damn them anyways for almost making me crash to the ground – he is standing with his back to me and is sort of swaying in place. His hand makes another aborted movement to his thigh.
And why the hell do I keep seeing so much of his back today, anyways?
Damnit.
“I’m going to take a shower,” and then, “Stay, would you?”
What?
He turns his face towards me and I think – maybe? – he tried a smile.
I don’t manage to say anything before he is walking away from me. Again.
This sucks.
Can’t really leave now, though.
Just as I turn on the TV, having taken over his couch in a careless sprawl, I hear Ohno calling for me.
Damnit, if its because he forgot his towel again…
Walking to his bathroom – because I am definitely, definitely not stomping – I can already hear the shower running. Now I can see it too; droplets hitting the glass walls of the shower but not him. No, not him because he is not in the shower; he is standing in front of his mirror and his hand is at his thigh again and I think maybe I see a flash of color.
“I want to give you your gift now,” his voice is whisper-soft and hesitant, stumbling, barely heard above the drone of the shower and I’m moving forward before I know it.
He turns and his hand is covering his thigh and as I watch, riveted, he slides his fingers to the side and I realize – as the rest of my mind freezes and blanks – that I did see color before.
On his inner thigh, where for the whole night his fingers had traced and fluttered, was a tattoo.
I only vaguely notice my knees hitting the floor, only vaguely think that tomorrow they are going to hurt, but that’s not really important because there, right there, are the letters SK and below them BtKN and as my fingers trace over the image – slowly, reverently – the blue of the two intertwined violets and the red of their stems wink at me, at once playful and solemn.
His hands are twining in my hair, fingers pushing down, almost too hard and at the same time not enough. I look up at him and smirk lightly:
“Oh-chan, didn’t you want a shower?’
He looks down, dazed and blinking and I simply stand up, trailing my fingers upwards, over the tattoo, nails scraping lightly and he moans and almost falls, clutching] at me.
I just grasp his hand and cover the short distance to the shower stall, almost dragging him behind me.
Ah, good. The water is still warm.
A slight twist of the wrist and a pull, and he is stumbling past me into the shower, off-balance.
As he is blinking from under the water I chuck off my clothes as fast as possible, cursing none-too-softly as I almost fall and the shirt gets caught. Finally I am naked. Ohno still hasn’t moved.
Perfect.
It’s not hard to herd him backwards until he gasps as his back hits the – cold -shower wall right below the showerhead and he keens brokenly as I push flush against him.
His mouth is soft and pliant and inside there is slick, wet warmth; my hands smooth down his arms and push them up, over the showerhead, where I link his hands over the cool metal. My mouth breaks from his reluctantly and wanders sloppily over to his ear:
“Keep them there, Oh-chan.”
My knees hit the floor once again, hands moving quickly, feather-light, over his torso, because really, my prize is down here.
And what a prize it is.
My hands trace over the tattoo possessively, first light and tentative, then pressing a little harder, a little more. Ohno whimpers loudly. I look up, perhaps more worried than I should be. Perhaps less. He looks down and his mouth is moving and finally, a single word:
“S-sensitive.”
Ah.
My fingers are light again, gossamer-soft and soon he is moaning once more, and I can’t help myself any longer. I have to taste it, see what kind of new flavors have been added to his skin in those colors, those words, that devotion.
My tongue still feels the slight ridges of the tattoo, the slightly glossy texture of the letters, tracing softly over the smooth lines of the flower and I still can’t believe he did this for me.
It’s easy to drown in his slightly musty, slightly sweet - completely Ohno - smell, in the feel of his skin, in the edges of the tattoo and their bright, winking colors, the warmth of the shower and his mewling moans.
Still, thoughts and half-perceived fantasy-memories intrude. How painful it must have been for him and then how someone must have been touching him right here to mark him with our legacy. I nip slightly, reproachfully, and he screams above me, hitting that beautiful high note as he buckles under my hands.
I stroke up his length with one finger in apology, soothing the bitten flesh with my wet tongue and careful fingers and soon enough he is back to those whispered moans and muttered pleadings of “please, please, please”.
I’m satisfied – for now – and follow my finger’s path with my tongue, once, twice and then take it all in. Fast and deep and hard, one hand behind him and another one covering the tattoo gently and it doesn’t take long before the taste of Ohno – slightly salty and a little like dark chocolate and clovers and purely, uniquely him – fills my mouth and he is slumping downwards: panting, breathing fast, whispering my name.
I set him down gently and wind myself around him, stroking the tattoo and kissing his temple and rearranging his hair carefully.
It takes him a bit to come back and his first words are:
“Oh, Nino, you haven’t, yet,”
I open my mouth, pleased and irritated all at once and discover just at that moment that the water around us has gone cold.
Damn it.
The end.
Himitsu's Tweaker:
I thoroughly enjoyed myself with this sequel! Read it a couple of times before bed as well XD
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