Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11180421.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ALL_OUT!!_-_Amase_Shiori_(Anime_&_Manga)
  Relationship:
      Ebumi_Masaru/Ise_Natsuki
  Character:
      Ebumi_Masaru, Ise_Natsuki
  Additional Tags:
      Best_Friends, Porn_Watching, Masturbation, Hand_Jobs, No_Plot/Plotless,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, First_Kiss, Awkwardness, Embarrassment
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-29 Words: 3503
****** Leading Example ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Ebumi turns his attention back to the screen. 'It’d be kind of weird
     to just watch it on my own, anyway.'" Ebumi finally manages to rent a
     video without being carded, and Ise helps him take advantage of it.
“Fuck,” Ebumi groans as the image on the television in front of him shifts, the
camera adjusting to a lower angle that strips away some of the concealing
effect of the shadows the first shot maintained. “Damn that’s hot.”
“Jesus,” Ise breathes from next to him, sounding shocked and breathless as he
has for the last half-hour, since they started the video Ebumi finally managed
to rent without getting his ID checked. When Ebumi glances over at him the
other’s cheeks are flushed dark, his skin suffused with the heat that is
parting his lips on the force of his breathing and tensing his fingers to a
fist against the edge of the table where their drinks have gone forgotten for
the last ten minutes.
“I told you I’d get it eventually,” Ebumi says, grinning with something he
intends to be self-assurance and that comes out a little bit shaky with
disbelief. “I knew they’d get sloppy about checking my age if I kept trying.”
“You’ll have to return it in a few days,” Ise says without looking away from
the video playing across the television screen. The woman in the video is
starting to moan, now, her voice skipping into the appearance of arousal; it’s
at least partially an act, Ebumi figures, but it’s more than enough to keep his
dick painfully hard inside his jeans as it has been for the last twenty
minutes. “Won’t you?”
Ebumi shrugs. “Maybe I’ll make a copy of it or something,” he says, even though
he doesn’t have the means to do something like that and can’t imagine the
stress of having even an unmarked copy of a video like this lying around. He
reaches out for the glass of soda in front of him to take an ostentatious
swallow from it, even though it does nothing at all to ease the tension in his
throat. “Just have to make the most of it while I’ve got it, right? That’s why
I invited you over.”
“Yeah,” Ise says. He has his knees drawn up in front of him, his arms wrapped
around them; when Ebumi looks sideways at him again he can see the focused
weight of Ise’s stare fixed on the television screen and the excess of bare
skin displayed upon it. Ise’s throat works when he swallows hard. “Thanks.”
“‘Course,” Ebumi says, turning his attention back to the screen. “It’d be kind
of weird to just watch it on my own, anyway.”
They both go quiet for a moment. Ebumi has entirely lost track of whatever
strung-together story the movie is offering; it seemed to disintegrate as soon
as the woman took her clothes off, and he doesn’t feel the loss of it. This is
what he wanted, anyway, the titillating obscenity of the camera angle over the
curves of the actress’s body, the damp of the sweat clinging to the weight of
her breasts and the dark of her hair swinging forward with every forward thrust
the nameless man behind her takes into her body. Ebumi can feel the heat of it
like a knot low in his stomach, radiating out through his whole body until he
can’t distinguish between self-conscious embarrassment and burning arousal and
doesn’t bother making the effort. It’s not like it really makes a difference,
not when he has Ise beside him with the flush across his cheeks to speak to his
similar arousal even if his drawn-up knees are hiding visible proof of it.
Ebumi turns his attention back to the screen. The man is shifting position,
now, pulling out of the woman kneeling in front of him so he can rock back over
his heels and reach for her hips to pull her back onto his lap, to thrust up
instead of forward into her. She moves willingly enough, without any visible
embarrassment at the way the shift in angle turns her whole body up to the
illumination of the light overhead; when he starts moving again she takes up
her moaning right where it left off, tipping her head back against his shoulder
and fluttering her lashes in a way Ebumi thinks is probably part of the act
she’s been putting on the whole time. It doesn’t really make a difference; he’s
more interested in the slick motion of the man’s body fitting against the
woman’s, in the hot slide of his cock sinking into her with each upward flex of
his hips. The man’s balls are tense against the base of his cock, drawn up
tight in a way that speaks to the endurance required by the scene; Ebumi can
feel his own cock twitch at the sight, can feel himself aching with arousal as
he watches the two fuck on the screen in front of him. He huffs an exhale and
reaches down to adjust himself inside his jeans as best he can with a rock-hard
erection; and then the man lifts his hand to grab roughly at the woman’s
breast, and Ise beside him makes a faint, desperate sound in the back of his
throat.
“Goddamn,” Ebumi groans. “That’s so.”
“Yeah,” Ise says, his voice rough and breaking over the tension in his chest.
Ebumi presses his palm against himself, grinding minimal relief against the
ache of his arousal; but it doesn’t seem to help, it only winds the strain of
want in him tighter.
“Fuck it,” he says finally, and pushes himself back from the table in front of
him to sprawl his legs wide under the surface. Ise blinks and turns his head at
the motion, his attention sufficiently distracted by the other’s action, but
Ebumi doesn’t pause in reaching to unfasten the front of his jeans. “I can’t
take this anymore.”
“Oh,” Ise says from alongside him. “Are you--”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Ebumi says, as he pushes his button open and drags
the fly of his jeans down. “Don’t mind me.”
“Oh,” Ise says again, sounding hot and startled; but Ebumi has his jeans open,
and he’s shoving at the soft of his boxers, and then he’s closing his hand
around himself and groaning with the relief of it, with the immediate
satisfaction of friction against heat-sensitive skin. His head goes back, his
thoughts go blank; for a moment he’s not thinking about the video playing at
all, as all his self-consciousness entirely evaporates to the whole-body tremor
of satisfaction as he jerks up over the heat of his cock.
“Fuck,” Ebumi groans, feeling the sound spill from his throat like it’s a
vocalization for the shudder of heat running through him; and then he starts to
move, fast, jerking up over himself with the rough, hasty pace he usually sets
when he’s in bed late at night. Sometimes he’ll take his time with himself to
draw the experience long and savoring; but right now everything in him is tense
with want, and impatience is winning out over the appreciation he knows he
ought to take. “Christ, that feels good.”
“Shit,” Ise says, the word soft and hissing past his teeth; when Ebumi tips his
head to look at the other Ise has his hand down at his hips too, his knees
angled very slightly out to allow space for his grip to work. His head is
ducked forward, his forehead bracing against the dark of his jeans over his
knees; Ebumi can see the shadow of Ise’s lashes fluttering shut over his eyes,
can see the part of the other’s lips as he pants for air. His clothes are cast
into shadow, it’s hard to see what exactly he’s doing with his hand; but the
flex of his shoulder has taken on a telltale rhythm that says he’s following
Ebumi’s example without any hesitation.
Ebumi huffs a laugh, hears it go hot and breathless even as he sets it free.
“Right?” He spreads his legs a little wider, settles himself back against the
brace of his hand behind himself. “Get comfortable, man, you don’t need to tie
yourself into a knot. I’d be more embarrassed if I didn’t pop a boner while
watching porn.”
Ise turns his head against his knees, glancing sideways at Ebumi without
unfolding from that hunched-shoulder tension he’s adopted. His face is flushed
from his hairline to his throat, his lashes are dipping heavy over the hazy
weight of his gaze; Ebumi can hear him breathing hard over every inhale he
manages. Their eyes meet for a moment, Ise’s flushed gaze matching Ebumi’s
grinning amusement; and then Ise’s stare drops, his attention flickering away
from Ebumi’s face to the stroke of the other’s hand at his hips instead.
Ebumi’s pace stalls, his motion startled out-of-rhythm by the sudden awareness
of Ise’s eyes on him; in his hand his cock twitches with sudden heat that hits
him like a fist in his stomach. Ise’s lashes flutter, his throat works on a
sound Ebumi can’t hear; and he turns his head down again to hide his face in
the shadows once more.
Ebumi’s heart is racing. He can’t think clearly; his thought are too dazed with
adrenaline, his focus too scattered by too many sources of input. The
television is still flickering with motion as the two actors shift to a new
position, the woman moaning obediently as the man topples her down over the
futon they’ve been kneeling on; but Ebumi’s attention is caught by the hunch of
Ise’s shoulders, and the part of his lips, and the almost-pained strain of the
other’s breathing as he jerks himself off with guilty haste.
“Hey,” he says, and Ise flinches, curling in closer on himself like he’s trying
to dodge Ebumi’s attention, like if he makes himself small enough the other
might not realize he’s still here. Ebumi frowns, discomfort winning out over
his own arousal, and when he lets himself go it’s so he can reach for Ise’s
shoulder, so he can close his hand into the comfort of a grip against the
other’s shirt. Ise cringes at the contact, gasps a breath like he’s been
shocked, but Ebumi doesn’t let his hold go and doesn’t look away from Ise’s
face. “Calm down, man.” Ise shudders an exhale against his knees, his shoulders
flex under Ebumi’s hold; but he’s tipping his head sideways, looking through
his lashes at Ebumi next to him as he keeps stroking over himself.
Ebumi tries a grin, aiming for the easiest smile he can muster; with his blood
running to fire in his veins, he’s not sure how casual it is, but at least he’s
trying. “Are you embarrassed? You don’t have to feel guilty, I’m jerking off to
it same as you.” Ebumi reaches over with his free hand to catch at the angle of
Ise’s knee, to push against the other’s thigh and encourage Ise to relax. “You
can unbend a little, I’m not going to freak out or anything.”
Ise takes a shuddering breath, the sound of it dragging hard in his lungs; it
sounds almost like a sob, like he’s giving voice to the tension so straining in
his shoulders under Ebumi’s hold. But his legs ease, he lets them slide slowly
out in front of him, and Ebumi’s nodding as fast as Ise relaxes, humming
appreciation as the other’s legs come down.
“See,” he says, as the light falls across Ise’s legs and the dark of his undone
jeans. “Better, right?”
“Fuck,” Ise pants. His hand is moving faster, Ebumi can see the short strokes
the other is taking over himself; they’re sharp, jerky motions, like Ise can’t
relax his shoulder enough to get a truly satisfying pull with his hand. The
head of his cock is flushed darker even than the color so staining his cheeks;
there’s a droplet of wet clinging to the skin, catching and smearing against
his fingers as he moves.
“Relax,” Ebumi urges. “There’s no rush, right?”
Ise grimaces, his jaw tightening so hard Ebumi can see the muscle along it flex
under the skin. “I can’t--” he grits out past tight-clenched teeth, and  “Ah,”
as he speeds his hand faster, as he closes his eyes hard in pursuit of whatever
satisfaction is proving so elusive. “Fuck.”
“Hey,” Ebumi says, and again, when Ise doesn’t react: “Hey,” before he reaches
out to catch his fingers against the other’s wrist. Ise keeps trying to move
for a moment, gasping frustration when he finds his action stalled; Ebumi can
see the exact moment the other realizes what’s holding his hand in the sudden
slack shock that spreads over Ise’s features.
“You’re going too fast,” Ebumi says into the silence that falls while Ise is
still staring blank disbelief at him. Ebumi’s heart is racing in his chest, his
cock is still aching with heat, but he’s not really thinking about either of
those details; he’s staring at Ise, his full attention given over to the dark
of the other’s eyes so wide and so close to his own. There are shadows under
Ise’s lashes, the marks of sleeplessness or stress, Ebumi’s not sure which. He
can’t figure out how he’s never noticed them before. “You’re just going to get
frustrated like that.”
Ise presses his lips together and swallows with shaky focus. “I. I’m.”
“You gotta be more patient,” Ebumi says; and then: “Like this” as impulse
overrides reason, as reflex guides his hand away from Ise’s wrist and down to
the open front of the other’s jeans instead. Ise whimpers shock at the touch of
Ebumi’s fingers against his own, snatches his hand away as if the other’s touch
has burned him; but Ebumi wasn’t reaching for Ise’s hand in the first place.
He’s curling his fingers into a grip instead, fitting his hold close around the
line of Ise’s hot-flushed cock; and then he’s pulling up, taking a long, slow
stroke of friction, and Ise’s eyelashes flutter, his head ducks forward as he
gasps an inhale Ebumi can feel run hot over his mouth.
Ebumi has to swallow twice before he can get moisture back over his tongue.
“See what I mean?” he asks, and then he’s ducking his head to follow the focus
of Ise’s gaze, to fix his own attention atop the other’s over his hand around
Ise’s length. It’s strange to see, totally unlike watching himself jerk off;
the angle is different, the visual all wrong, to say nothing of how different
Ise feels against him. He feels hotter, like his blood is running warmer than
Ebumi has ever noticed flowing through his own veins, and his cock is a little
thicker, wider at the base and tapering into a slight curve towards the head.
Ise makes a desperate sound as Ebumi strokes over him, his hips flexing to buck
up for more, and Ebumi can see another drop of precome collecting at the
swollen dark of the other’s cockhead as he strokes.
“It’s better like this,” Ebumi says, a statement more than a question. He
swallows again, tries to collect the scattered pieces of his attention back
around himself. “You try.”
He means for Ise to replace Ebumi’s hold on him, means to draw his grip back
from the other’s cock and leave them both to stroke themselves into the
shuddering heat of pleasure. But Ise moves before Ebumi can loosen his grip,
rocking up and in like he’s trying to press against the other leaning over him,
and then Ise’s fingertips drag against Ebumi’s cock and all Ebumi’s unthought
plans evaporate right out of his head.
“Oh,” he groans, and his hips jolt forward, his whole body flexing to urge
itself in closer towards Ise’s outstretched fingers. “Fuck.”
“Is this okay?” Ise says, but the question is rhetorical, or maybe Ebumi’s
reaction is answering it as fast as it’s spoken, because Ise isn’t hesitating
in wrapping his fingers around Ebumi’s cock, in drawing up in a stroke rough
enough to carry some echo of that too-hard touch he was using on himself. Ebumi
ought to protest -- go slower, he ought to say, be gentle -- but he can feel
his whole body straining in for more, and when he opens his mouth what he says
instead is “Fuck yeah,” with the words starting into a groan in his throat.
“Shit, that feels amazing.”
“Yeah,” Ise pants, sounding like he’s startled by the realization himself, like
he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Ebumi isn’t sure he does himself. “It
does.”
“Good,” Ebumi says: “Don’t stop” and he follows his own advice, bracing his
hold tighter at Ise’s shoulder so he can speed the stroke of his hand over the
other’s cock. Ise tenses at the increase in friction, whimpering a groan that
makes Ebumi think he’s going to lose all coherency; but he keeps moving, keeps
jerking up over Ebumi with as much gritted determination as if it’s himself
he’s stroking towards the edge of orgasm. Ebumi is gasping for air, panting
over each inhale until all he can hear is the sound of his heart hammering in
his ears, but Ise is breathing hard too, Ebumi can feel the rush of the other’s
inhales against his mouth with every breath he takes. The air between them is
going hot, humid with the heat of their skin and sticky with sweat and the
catch of wet against their respective palms; and then Ise’s hand twists, his
fingers slip up hard against Ebumi’s cock, and Ebumi can feel his whole body
tense in a first surge of premonition.
“Oh fuck,” he blurts, lifting his head so he can stare into Ise’s eyes before
him. “I’m gonna--” and Ise’s fingers slide up, the weight of the other’s thumb
presses against Ebumi’s cock, and Ebumi jerks and comes in a spasm of heat over
Ise’s fingers. Ise’s eyes go wide, he whimpers something incoherent at Ebumi’s
lips; but Ebumi can’t pay attention to what the other is saying, can’t spare
thought for anything at all but the heat surging through him and the desperate
motion of his hand over the flushed-hot resistance of Ise’s cock in his hand.
He’s panting for air, he feels like he can’t find breath enough to fill the
trembling space inside his lungs; but Ise is whimpering, Ebumi can feel the
other shaking under his bracing hold at Ise’s shoulder, and he’s not enough of
a jerk to stop just because he’s already come.
“Like that,” he says, and his voice is shaking itself apart but Ebumi doesn’t
care, he isn’t paying attention to how he sounds any more than Ise is. When he
blinks his vision back into focus he can see Ise in front of him, his head
ducked forward and his jaw set with enough strain that he looks almost pained,
like chasing down his orgasm is a process of suffering instead of the relief it
should be. It makes Ebumi huff an exhale, brings him tipping in closer; when
his forehead bumps Ise’s he can hear the gasp the other takes, the near-pain of
tension audible in the effort in his throat.
“It’s okay,” he gasps. “It’s okay, I’ve got you”; and then, as Ise trembles
through an inhale, Ebumi lifts his chin, and turns his head, and presses his
mouth hard against the gasp of air at Ise’s. There’s a moment of stillness, a
heartbeat when neither of them are moving but for the weight of their lips
against each other; and then Ise shudders through the whole of his body, all
the tension in him giving way in a single convulsive motion, and Ebumi can feel
the other’s cock jerk under his grip, can feel Ise’s hips buck up in the
reflexive motion of orgasm. Ise’s hand comes up, his fingers clutch at Ebumi’s
sleeve, and Ebumi stays where he is, stroking Ise through the waves of the
other’s orgasm while he catches the sound of Ise’s moans over his tongue.
Ebumi hadn’t intended to linger. He hadn’t intended to do much of anything; the
kiss was a reflex, an attempt to ease the strain so painfully taunt in Ise’s
body to smooth the other into the relief of physical pleasure. But he stays
where he is, even after the last of the aftershocks have passed through Ise’s
shoulders, even after Ise has unwound his sticky fingers from around Ebumi’s
softening cock, and when Ebumi eases his own grip it’s only so he can brace his
hand against the back of Ise’s neck to hold the other still against the weight
of his mouth. Ise’s fingers tighten at Ebumi’s sleeve, Ise’s lips shift against
Ebumi’s mouth, and when Ebumi leans in Ise lets himself be pushed backwards to
fall across the floor, where Ebumi can lean in over him and explore the soft of
the other’s mouth at his leisure.
The video is still playing, the sounds of put-upon pleasure still spilling from
the television to fill the room; but all Ebumi can hear is the soft sincerity
of the half-voiced sounds on Ise’s tongue against his own.
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