Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1146474.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      MEGANEBU!
  Relationship:
      Satou_William/Watanabe_Lorenzo
  Character:
      Satou_William, Watanabe_Lorenzo
  Additional Tags:
      Quiet_Sex, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Extremely
      Dubious_Consent, Established_Relationship, Dom/sub
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-21 Words: 1845
****** Night ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Will can’t see much in the dark, just a blur of white where the
     other boy’s silver hair shows up moon-white against the shadowed
     background." Lorenzo initiates a late-night interlude and Will
     capitulates.
It’s pulling at his pajama pants that finally wakes Will up. Lorenzo doesn’t
talk much even with the rest of the Council, and with just Will around he
sometimes goes hours in perfect silence. He never bothers trying to shake the
blond awake, which means that Will tends to wake up at various points in the
other boy’s process, depending on his own exhaustion. Before his pants are off
is good. That’s early, really, in the grand scheme of things.
“Lorenzo.” Will’s voice is low and rusty with sleep. “Why’re you awake?” He is
reaching down to help with the removal of his pants in spite of his question.
He knows he won’t get an answer.
He is right. Lorenzo doesn’t speak and doesn’t move, except to tug Will’s pants
lower. Will flails for a minute, trapped in his own clothes and the body-heated
sheets tangled around them both, and then his pants are gone and the sheets are
too, so there’s just cold night air prickling goosebumps across his skin.
“Lorenzo?” Will can’t see much in the dark, just a blur of white where the
other boy’s silver hair shows up moon-white against the shadowed background.
The pale outline shifts down, and Will blinks drowsily up at the ceiling until
teeth catch sharp against his cold-hardened nipple. That gets a reaction, a
pained hiss and a curve away from the hurt. Lorenzo doesn’t move -- Will
doesn’t even feel his expression change -- but his teeth come back, harder this
time, and when Will whines carefully soft in the back of his throat Lorenzo
bites harder to pull more of a reaction from him. It’s not until Will chokes on
a half-repressed wail that the other boy lets go and lifts his head. He must be
looking at Will -- the other boy can see his head angle slightly to the side, a
gesture of mild interest from too many well-lit school days to count -- but his
features are indistinguishable, the shadows of his eyelashes blocking out any
differentiation between iris and pupil.
Will reaches up without any clear intention, fingers drawn towards that pale
glow as unavoidably as his gaze, and Lorenzo pulls back and away so the blond’s
fingers close on empty air. Will takes a breath, not sure if he wants to
protest or speak or just breathe, and Lorenzo’s hand comes to his hip and lifts
up, pushing so Will turns before he has made the decision to do so. With the
motion driven by someone else he lands hard, twisting his hip under himself,
and it takes him a moment to rearrange his body into a more deliberate position
on his stomach. Having turned him over Lorenzo gives him the time to shift;
Will’s not actually sure that the other boy is still there at all. There’s no
contact, no sound of shifting cloth or of breathing, at least nothing that Will
can hear over the sound of his own breath against the sheets under him.
He has no idea how Lorenzo can see in the dark -- maybe it’s just that the
other boy has been awake longer and has had longer for his eyes to adjust -
- but the next time Will feels anything it’s Lorenzo’s finger sliding slick-
fast inside him without any other contact as warning. His throat closes over a
gasping inhale in spite of his best attempts at silence, more from the surprise
of the intrusion than anything else, and there is a tiny sound from behind him,
one of Lorenzo’s repressed chuckles at his expense. Will takes a breath, and
now that he’s expecting it it’s not hard to keep his breathing quiet if not
necessarily steady as Lorenzo works his finger -- and after a minute, two
fingers -- inside him. There’s still nothing audible from the other boy, and
he’s still not touching Will properly, although Will is starting to go hard as
his body catches up with what’s going on and his nerve endings wake up with the
rest of his awareness. Will can imagine Lorenzo behind him, kneeling with his
free hand limp and casual in his lap while the other stretches Will and his
eyes sparkle with whatever inside joke he has with himself at the moment.
Will wishes he could see him.
He’s fully hard by the time Lorenzo slides his fingers free; whatever else he
may be, impatient Lorenzo is not, and he always takes his time to prepare Will.
It’s a minimal consideration, really, but from a boy who can’t be counted on
for any minor acts of kindness it is infinitely precious, the sort of thing
Will thinks about when he falls asleep alone instead of back-to-back with the
other boy. Lorenzo’s long fingers come to close around Will’s hips, and it’s
not a caress, it’s a careful bracing, but all the psychological distance in the
world can’t prevent the heat of Lorenzo’s hands from seeping into Will’s
chilled skin, and Will hums more at that than at anything else that has come
before.
Lorenzo comes forward all at once, as he always does, a single long slow thrust
so Will has time to ride out the first wave of sensation into the second of
almost-panic at the excess and over into the third, when he loses control of
his throat again and groans into the pillow that doesn’t do a whole lot to
stifle the sound. His fingers curl into fists around the blankets under him and
his body is freezing, he’s shaking with the cold except for the imprints of
fire where Lorenzo’s hands are touching him, and then the other boy pulls back
and comes forward again in another careful motion and Will’s skin prickles with
a flash of heat, and when he trembles this time it’s not just from the
temperature.
Lorenzo is studied in his movements, like he’s playing an instrument, following
exactly the right instructions to produce the effect he wants. The only
difference is that it is Will he is playing, and the effect is the destruction
of the other boy’s self-control instead of music. It’s not just his movements;
the physical contact, minimal though it is, sends tremors of pleasure across
Will, radiating out from Lorenzo’s hands on him and his movements inside him
and the occasional brush of a knee against Will’s own. Will is falling apart
from that as much as anything else, so when he cracks and speaks it’s Lorenzo’s
name, desperately soft in the quiet of the night, rather than an incoherent
moan of pleasure.
There’s another sound behind him, an exhale clear with amusement, but Lorenzo
doesn’t move his hands and doesn’t change his pace. Will wishes, every time,
that Lorenzo would touch him, but he knows better than to expect it. He buries
his face in the pillow under him, and gasps every time Lorenzo thrusts forward,
and lets the want wind tight and nauseating in his stomach.
Lorenzo always takes a long time and maintains his same slow pace all the way
until the end, keeps the movement of his hips and the touch of his hands
measured and slow and deliberate so the only sign Will ever has that the other
boy is coming is the cessation of movement as Lorenzo rocks forward and goes
perfectly still against him. It is Will who moans, whimpering into the muffling
pillow but still plenty loud enough to hear, and Lorenzo doesn’t even laugh
this time.
It feels like an eternity before Lorenzo slides back and out of Will, the time
dragging long and slow with anxious anticipation. Will can’t breathe normally
by the time Lorenzo’s hand on his hip pushes him to curl onto his side; all he
can manage are high panting gasps that give him barely enough oxygen to take
another and none at all to speak coherently.
Lorenzo comes down behind him; the other boy is actually touching Will less,
now, just the one hand resting calmly possessive on the blond’s hip. Will can
feel Lorenzo’s body all against the chilled skin of his bare back; he must be a
breath away, for how much warmth is pouring into Will, but there isn’t any
actual contact except for those fingers, which show no sign of moving at all.
Will whines and wiggles, unable to put words to what he wants but wanting so
hard he can’t breathe. Lorenzo laughs again and moves his hand; for a moment
Will thinks gratification is coming, but then the touch comes down his thigh
instead of around where he needs it. He sobs an inhale and the fingers come
back up, to where they were, and higher, skimming gentle over the sensitive
edge of his ribs, and Will shuts his eyes against the pointless darkness and
wonders, as he always does, if this is the night Lorenzo is going to leave him
in an agony of need.
And, as always, it is just as Will convinces himself that yes, this is the
night, just as the tension in his body twists sick and painful with resignation
that Lorenzo lifts his hand and closes his fingers around the blond’s cock with
unerring precision. Will’s frenzied thoughts shatter away under the explosion
of sensation, painful in its intensity, and he makes a sound that sounds more
like a shriek than a moan. Lorenzo laughs aloud, not the dark barely-voiced
chuckle but a bright childish sound of pure delight, and his hand moves fast
and hard while Will’s fingers clutch at his wrist in a useless attempt to slow
down the rushing friction.
Orgasm comes for Will like death, inevitable and inexorable and terrifying. He
can see it coming, feel the tension wind cramping tight in his stomach and arms
and back, and his heart stutters in panic. His eyes are open again, wide and
staring unseeing into the shadows, and his fingers are clenched tight around
Lorenzo’s wrist, and it doesn’t do anything to stop the movement or the
sensation of the oncoming wave.
When the threat of pleasure hits him, Will’s body falls away from his control,
curls tight and convulses with the pain of sudden relief and the continuing
friction of Lorenzo’s hand still sliding over him. For a moment Will can’t
breathe at all; his mouth is open but useless, reaching for air his lungs won’t
accept. Then he manages an inhale and says “Stop, oh god Lorenzo stop.”
He doesn’t, not immediately; his fingers keep moving, until the last dregs of
pleasure have turned into overstimulation, and then, finally, he lets Will go.
For a moment they’re not touching at all; there’s just the cool night air and
Will’s own radiating heat. Then there’s a touch, cool and faint against the
blond’s shoulder, and it’s not until Lorenzo pulls back and lingering moisture
evaporates into a chill that Will realizes Lorenzo kissed him.
He blinks into the black of the night, and then he shuts his eyes, and he
smiles, and when Lorenzo turns away and rocks his shoulders back to brush
against Will’s it’s enough.
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