Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11074806.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ALL_OUT!!_-_Amase_Shiori_(Anime_&_Manga)
  Relationship:
      Iwashimizu_Sumiaki/Miyuki_Atsushi
  Character:
      Iwashimizu_Sumiaki, Miyuki_Atsushi
  Additional Tags:
      Established_Relationship, First_Time, Gentle_Sex, Shyness, Awkwardness,
      No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Anal_Fingering, Anal
      Sex, Hand_Jobs, Declarations_Of_Love
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-03 Words: 5195
****** Shaky ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "'I’m here,' Miyuki soothes, his voice steady and sure in that way
     that always eases some measure of tension from Iwashimizu’s chest,
     that unwinds a little of the strain from his shoulders even now, with
     his whole body so thrummingly taut on adrenaline. 'It’s okay,
     Sumiaki, just relax.'" Iwashimizu is self-conscious and Miyuki is
     affectionate.
“Ah,” Iwashimizu whimpers against the pillow of the bed, his face pressed close
against the sheets so the sound comes muffled out of coherency. “Miyuki-kun.”
“I’m here,” Miyuki soothes, his voice steady and sure in that way that always
eases some measure of tension from Iwashimizu’s chest, that unwinds a little of
the strain from his shoulders even now, with his whole body so thrummingly taut
on adrenaline. “It’s okay, Sumiaki, just relax. Am I hurting you?”
Iwashimizu shakes his head against the sheets, feeling his face burn with self-
consciousness and infinitely glad he has the excuse of his position to give him
cover for his expression. “No.”
“Good.” Miyuki shifts his hand at Iwashimizu’s hip, his fingers tightening into
a steadier hold against the other’s skin like he’s adjusting his grip, or like
he’s tugging the other back into a slightly different angle. “Tell me if that
changes.”
It’s a simple order. Miyuki makes it sound straightforward, an obvious matter
of speaking up to give voice to discomfort; maybe it would be, in the other
direction. But Iwashimizu has to swallow before he can find voice for the words
in his head, has to steady himself into intention before he’s certain enough in
the sincerity of his words to offer a meek “Yes, Miyuki-kun,” muffled almost
out of coherency against the pillow underneath him.
“Good,” Miyuki says, satisfied with this reassurance; and then he draws his
touch back again, and presses into Iwashimizu’s body, and Iwashimizu does his
best to stifle the whimper in his throat into quiet against the pillow beneath
him.
It’s not that Miyuki is being rough. Iwashimizu is sure the other’s touch is as
gentle as Miyuki can make it, even if Iwashimizu has no experience at all
outside of this to compare it to; but no matter how carefully Miyuki moves,
Iwashimizu can’t help the involuntary tension that runs through his body with
each slick forward thrust of Miyuki’s touch, with each slow press of strain
inside him. It doesn’t hurt -- that, at least, he’s fairly confident in -- but
it feels strange anyway, pressure dragging over nerve endings he doesn’t
usually pay attention to, a fullness inside him where he’s not used to
experiencing any such sensation. Not pain, no; but discomfort as much
psychological as anything else, as his body flexes and tightens involuntarily
against the intrusion of Miyuki’s touch inside him, as his legs strain and
tremble with the unformed desire to move, to shift, to take more action than
lying heavy across the whole of Miyuki’s bed while the other works into him
with those careful strokes.
“God,” Miyuki breathes, sounding a little bit breathless and a little bit
thrilled, the way Iwashimizu remembers from the matches they used to play
together, when competitive thrill and adrenaline both shone bright in Miyuki’s
eyes and sparkled in his smile. It makes Iwashimizu’s blood run as warm now as
it ever has, even with the uncomfortable strain pushing into him. “This is
incredible, Sumiaki, I wish you could feel yourself right now.”
“Oh,” Iwashimizu says, more a helpless sound of protest than anything else, and
he turns his head down closer against the pillow underneath him as he squeezes
his eyes shut tight against the surge of embarrassment that runs through his
whole body. “Miyuki-kun, don’t...don’t say that.”
“Why not?” Miyuki asks. His hand tightens against Iwashimizu’s hip, his fingers
slide against the flushed heat of the other’s skin. “It’s true. You don’t need
to be embarrassed, I’m complimenting you.” He laughs, a soft huff of sound far
in the back of his throat as he slides his knees in close against Iwashimizu’s
thigh, as he rocks himself forward to press against the curve of the other’s
body under his. Iwashimizu can feel the soft fabric of Miyuki’s briefs slide
against him, can feel the tension pulling the elastic taut over the other’s
body, the outline of Miyuki’s cock hot and hard against him as the other grinds
against his ass. “It’s really hot, Sumiaki.”
“Ah,” Iwashimizu whimpers, and lifts an arm up over his head to hide in the
crook of his elbow. He’s not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that
Miyuki can feel him tensing around the other’s finger with every flutter of
self-consciousness that runs through him, or the fact that he’s so hard the
head of his cock is leaving a damp spot against the pillow Miyuki set under his
hips when they started. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Do you really mind that much?” Miyuki asks. “Do you hate me complimenting
you?”
“No,” Iwashimizu mumbles to the sheets. “I don’t hate it, it’s just…it’s
embarrassing.”
“It’s not,” Miyuki insists. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed about this. We’re
dating, aren’t we?”
Iwashimizu whimpers against the sheets without lifting his head. “Yes.”
“Right,” Miyuki soothes, sounding like he’s aiming for deliberate patience as
he works his touch into Iwashimizu with a careful rhythm. “And you want to have
sex, don’t you?”
Iwashimizu thinks in a moment he’s going to lose all ability to speak at all.
“Y...yes.”
“That’s good.” Miyuki shifts his hand, turning the finger he has inside
Iwashimizu’s body; Iwashimizu can feel the movement work inside him, like a
touch feeling the texture of him from the inside out. His cheeks flame, his
chest tightens; his cock twitches harder against the pillow at his hips. “I
really want to have sex with you too, Sumiaki.” He draws his finger back, slow
like he’s savouring the sensation; Iwashimizu wonders briefly if Miyuki is
watching the action, if Miyuki’s gaze is fixed on the slick wet of his touch
sliding back out of Iwashimizu’s body, before he whimpers and tries to press
farther into the sheets underneath him.
Miyuki gusts an exhale, his voice shaking in his throat as he does. “You really
do feel amazing,” he says, sounding a little bit awed, as if there’s anything
Iwashimizu is doing other than lying still and trying to relax into the
uncomfortable sensation inside him. That finger slides back, drawing free of
Iwashimizu’s body entirely; and Iwashimizu tenses again as Miyuki pulls away,
his body flexing involuntarily against the absence of pressure inside him. It
was too much, it was a strange burn and an uncomfortable fullness against
sensitive skin; but now the absence feels wrong too, like Iwashimizu’s lost
something he was only just adjusting to. He gasps a breath, starts to turn his
head to look back at Miyuki; and that touch returns, two fingers pressing close
against him instead of just one, and his breathing rushes out of him at once as
Miyuki’s hold at his hip tightens to brace him steady.
“So good,” Miyuki says, and he’s pushing, urging into Iwashimizu with gentle
force, and it should be too much but Iwashimizu can feel himself easing open in
spite of that, can feel his body relaxing and unfolding for the weight of
Miyuki’s fingertips against him like a flower opening to the warmth of summer
sunlight. He can’t think clearly, can’t figure out what it is he’s feeling, if
it’s panic or adrenaline or a tangle of both; and Miyuki’s pushing deeper
inside him, his fingers working into Iwashimizu as he groans an exhale so soft
and far back in his throat that it’s unmistakeable as anything but heat. “God,
Sumiaki, you’re incredible.”
“I’m not,” Iwashimizu tries to say, protest to this idea pulling itself free of
the haze falling over his awareness, the dizzy distraction of sensation
sweeping over his body; but Miyuki’s fingers are sinking into him, stretching
him open as they ease deeper, and the second word turns into a moan instead, a
sound somewhere between arousal and strain at the pressure rising to the edge
of pain against his spine.
“You are,” Miyuki says again, rejection of Iwashimizu’s protest or just
repetition, Iwashimizu isn’t sure which. “You’re doing so well, you’re opening
up so fast for me, it’s amazing.” His fingers slide and stroke backwards before
thrusting in again, to sink in deeper than they did before, to stretch
Iwashimizu wider around them. “And you’re so soft, god, you feel amazing around
my fingers.” His touch flexes, his fingers testing the strain of Iwashimizu’s
body; Iwashimizu can feel the tension in him, can feel the pressure radiating
up his spine to spark at the back of his thoughts. His cock is aching against
the pillow beneath his hips.
“Sumiaki,” Miyuki breathes, sounding awed as he draws his touch back, as he
steadies himself for another deliberate thrust forward. “I can’t wait to have
my cock inside you.”
Iwashimizu whines. “Miyuki-kun” but his protest is weak, it’s coming apart
around the push of Miyuki’s fingers inside him. His face is still red, he can
feel the color staining the whole of his features and spreading down his neck
to pool at his collarbones, and that pressure is still not-quite-comfortable,
still a strain with every forward thrust Miyuki takes; but he feels the absence
now with every stroke back, can feel himself tightening to flex around the
other’s fingers in time with the steady rhythm Miyuki is setting into him. It’s
too much, he thinks, the amount of sensation is overwhelming, is leaving him
dizzy and overheated and shaky against the sheets; but he’s breathing harder
too, panting for inhales that sound more like moans with every one he manages,
and Miyuki’s pace is speeding, his fingers working the faster as Iwashimizu
relaxes into the sensation. Iwashimizu’s fingers are clenching at the sheets
under him, his arms straining like he’s trying to hold himself steady; but he’s
not sure what he’s bracing for, if it’s to draw away from Miyuki’s fingers or
push back harder onto them, if it’s to pull away from the edge of discomfort
still spiking up his spine or lean into the almost-pleasant strain inside him
of Miyuki’s fingers pressing into untouched depths. He thinks he could learn to
like this, thinks he could maybe figure out how to relax into the dull pressure
knotting almost to heat in his stomach; and then Miyuki eases his motion, and
takes a breath, and says “I think you’re ready” and Iwashimizu’s whole body
goes tense in the span of a breath.
“Oh,” he says, his voice cracking high as Miyuki slides his fingers back, as
that pressure within him eases away to leave just the ache of the aftereffects,
the faint throbbing of nerve endings expecting sensation that has now been
denied them. Iwashimizu braces his arm against the bed, holding himself steady
as he lifts his head to blink back over his shoulder at Miyuki. His face is
still red, with embarrassment and arousal in about equal parts, but he’s not
thinking about that at all as he blinks himself into attention on Miyuki
kneeling behind him. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Miyuki says. His head is ducked down as he reaches for the waistband of
his briefs, hooking his thumbs under the elastic so he can strip off the last
of his clothing from the smooth lines of his body. Iwashimizu’s attention
slides away from the other’s face, down the planes of his chest and the flex of
his stomach to the lines angling along from his hips, leading under the edge of
that elastic and to -- and then Miyuki pushes his briefs down, and Iwashimizu
is left staring at the dark flush of the other’s cock curving up towards his
stomach on the heat of his arousal. “You’re ready.”
“Oh,” Iwashimizu says. He can’t look away from Miyuki’s cock; it’s bigger than
he remembers, longer and wider, with the head swelling thick before easing into
the curve of the shaft leading to the dark curls at Miyuki’s hips. There’s some
measure of appreciation there, for the absolute proof of Miyuki’s desire for
him so clearly on display as the other slides over the edge of the bed so he
can kick his underwear free; but panic, too, as Iwashimizu contemplates the
span of Miyuki’s fingers, the way even one felt inside him, and the greater
breadth and length of the other’s cock. “I don’t…” he swallows, takes a breath
before continuing. “Are you sure you’re going to fit?”
Miyuki glances up at him from under his hair. There’s a tug at the corner of
his mouth, the faintest flicker of a smile that works at the edge of his lips.
“I’m sure,” he says, and he moves back in towards the bed, kneeling at the edge
of the mattress before sliding in to reach for Iwashimizu’s hips. “That’s
really flattering, though, you can tell me how big my dick is all day if you
want.”
“I’m serious,” Iwashimizu protests. Miyuki’s hands tug at his hips to urge him
up and off the bed; he moves without thinking about it, rocking up over his
knees and off the support of the pillow beneath him so he’s braced between his
forearms against the sheets and his knees pressing hard to the mattress outside
Miyuki’s. He doesn’t think about how he must look from the other’s angle; he’s
too busy trying to find words for the pressure in his chest, the edge of panic
that is rising up his throat to choke him. “What if you don’t fit?”
“Then I’ll go back to fingering you until I do,” Miyuki says, in tones of
absolute rationality. “It’ll be fine, Sumiaki, just relax.”
Iwashimizu shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, and he sounds
strained and panicky but he’s breathing, at least, he’s forcing himself through
the rhythm of inhales while his heart skids wildly on panic in his chest.
“Okay, yeah.”
There’s a pause. Iwashimizu wonders why Miyuki isn’t moving, wonders why he
doesn’t feel the heat of the other’s body pushing against his own; and then the
touch at his hip eases, Miyuki’s fingers slide up and around to press against
Iwashimizu’s spine, and Iwashimizu gusts a startled exhale as Miyuki’s touch
slides down the dip of his back and towards the crease between his shoulders.
“It’s okay,” Miyuki says, his voice soft and low more on care, this time, than
the building heat that was so evident before. Iwashimizu shudders against the
bed, feels the tension in him easing in response to the gentle slide of
Miyuki’s voice, and against his back Miyuki is leaning in closer, is tipping
himself forward over the span of Iwashimizu’s back until Iwashimizu can feel
the heat of the other’s skin radiant against his own, can feel the rush of
Miyuki’s exhale ruffle his hair. “You don’t need to be afraid.”
“I don’t--” Iwashimizu starts, not sure what he’s protesting, barely even sure
what he’s feeling. “What if I hurt you?”
Miyuki snorts a laugh. “You’re not going to hurt me,” he says, and he sounds so
certain that even Iwashimizu’s constant stress eases as his trust in Miyuki’s
words overrides his own building panic. “That’s why we’re doing it like this.”
He rocks his hips forward just enough to press himself in against the angle of
Iwashimizu’s body in front of him; Iwashimizu moans an exhale, feels his skin
going radiant with heat as the tension of uncertainty in him unwinds itself
into anticipation instead, as the edge of fear eases into the flutter of desire
in his chest as fast as he breathes. “You’re going to tell me if I’m hurting
you and I’ll stop right away, okay?”
Iwashimizu shudders an exhale. “Okay.”
“I’ll make sure you feel good,” Miyuki says, his voice so soft it’s almost a
whisper, like he’s sharing a secret between them. Iwashimizu’s blood runs
hotter at the murmur of the words, at the implication they carry with them; but
he doesn’t want to pull away, doesn’t want to move except to rock in closer, to
press back against the hot weight of Miyuki’s cock rubbing against him. Miyuki
makes a noise as Iwashimizu rocks back, a low note of pleasure as he grinds
himself forward, and Iwashimizu’s breathing catches on the beginning of want,
sticks at the edge of anticipation as Miyuki slides against him. “I’ll make
sure you come for me, okay, Sumiaki?”
Iwashimizu ducks his head in a nod. “Okay.”
“And next time I’ll get to ride you,” Miyuki says, letting his hand slide down
Iwashimizu’s stomach to brush against the other’s length. Iwashimizu quivers at
the touch, his whole body thrumming with sensation like Miyuki’s fingertips are
electric, and against his shoulder Miyuki hums the purr of a laugh. “I can’t
wait to see how you feel inside me.”
“Ah,” Iwashimizu groans, his cock twitching towards the ghosting pressure of
Miyuki’s fingertips. “Miyuki-kun, I...please.”
“Right,” Miyuki says; and he’s tipping his weight back over his knees, drawing
away from Iwashimizu’s body by a few scant inches of space. Iwashimizu can feel
the loss like a chill against his skin, like the radiance of sunlight vanished
behind a cloud; but Miyuki is shifting behind him, humming soft comfort as his
hand presses flat to Iwashimizu’s stomach to hold the other steady, and
Iwashimizu gasps a breath and does his best to be patient. He can feel Miyuki’s
knuckles bumping against him as the other strokes over himself, as he braces
his hold around his length; and then there’s heat, slick resistance drawing
over the open wet of Iwashimizu’s entrance, and Iwashimizu can barely breathe
for how hot his blood is going.
“God,” Miyuki breathes, “Sumiaki” and he’s moving, and the pressure against
Iwashimizu’s body is building, pushing against him like Miyuki’s fingers urged
their way inside. Iwashimizu takes a ragged inhale, lets it out in a spill of
heat against the sheets beneath him; and Miyuki pushes forward, and Miyuki’s
hand pulls Iwashimizu back, and Miyuki’s cock slides forward into the heat of
Iwashimizu’s body. Miyuki groans at the first motion, the sound falling
somewhere between arousal and relief; and Iwashimizu blinks hard against the
sheets, and feels Miyuki inside him, and tries to wrap his head around the
reality of we’re having sex, tries to parse the fact of he’s inside me within
the confines of his ordinary life.
“Sumiaki,” Miyuki says again, the word so undone on heat it carries more
arousal than meaning; and he’s pulling back, sliding away by an inch so he can
press forward again and sink into Iwashimizu by another span of distance.
Iwashimizu hears himself make a noise, like his exhale is being shaped to sound
by Miyuki moving into him, and over him Miyuki gusts a heavy-hot exhale, like
he’s breathing out all the tension in his body at once. “You feel amazing.”
“Miyuki-kun,” Iwashimizu manages, his voice so strained he can hear it cracking
over the syllables of the other’s name. “Don’t...I’m not…”
“Is it too much?” Miyuki asks, drawing back for another slow thrust forward.
The friction of his movement drags inside Iwashimizu’s body, flares distraction
out into the whole of the other’s attention; against the sheets Iwashimizu’s
fingers tense, curling into a fist against the support as if to hold himself in
place against the unfamiliar sensation. “Am I hurting you?”
Iwashimizu shakes his head in negation. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, even
now: pressure, friction, heat so sharp it’s blurring his attention with every
movement. It’s a weird feeling, different than Miyuki’s fingers, hotter and
heavier and more rhythmic; but it’s not quite pain, there’s none of the clarity
that hurt would bring with it, just a strange, low pressure inside him, almost
an ache building down in the depths of his stomach. “No.”
Miyuki huffs an exhale. “That’s good,” he says, and he’s leaning in over
Iwashimizu, reaching out to brace a hand against the sheets alongside the other
so he can hold himself steady as he finds a rhythm for the movement of his
body, for those slow strokes into Iwashimizu under him. “I want this to feel
good for you too.” His head ducks down, his mouth touches Iwashimizu’s
shoulder; Iwashimizu shudders with the warmth of it, the familiar heat running
through his veins with a pleasure as comforting as it is arousing. His cock
twitches again, stirring into renewed attention at the warm wet of Miyuki’s
mouth against his skin; and Miyuki’s hand touches to his hip, grounding himself
against Iwashimizu’s body before he lets his hand slide in and under the
other’s hips.
“Do you think you can come like this?” Miyuki asks, murmuring the words against
Iwashimizu’s shoulder as his hand draws across flushed skin, as he feels his
way to a grip around the heavy heat of the other’s cock between his legs. “With
me inside you?” His fingers tighten on Iwashimizu, casual strength enough to
tighten the other’s balls just from that pressure, and then he draws up and
Iwashimizu gasps a moan against the bed as his whole body comes alight from the
simple familiarity of that friction. There’s still that pressure inside him,
still the odd awareness of motion where there shouldn’t be any, of sensation
where he’s not used to feeling it; but Miyuki’s hand is around him, Miyuki is
starting to stroke up against the length of his cock, and after almost a half-
hour of slow-building heat Iwashimizu could sob with relief at the drag of
pressure over him.
“Like that?” Miyuki asks. “Does it feel good?”
“Oh,” Iwashimizu gasps, feeling his face burning with heat but too helpless
under Miyuki’s touch to even try to fight it back. “Miyuki-kun.”
“Can you come like this?” Miyuki asks again. His hand at the sheets tightens,
his fingers curling to a fist at the blankets; Iwashimizu can feel the flex of
Miyuki’s thighs as the other braces himself, as he starts to move faster, as
his hips fall into an easy rhythm to match the stroke of his hand over
Iwashimizu’s cock. “Sumiaki, do you think you can?”
Iwashimizu shakes his head against the pillows, uncertainty more than refusal.
“I don’t--ah--I don’t...know.”
“Try,” Miyuki urges. “I want you to. I want to feel you coming, Sumiaki, try.”
Iwashimizu whimpers against the sheets, trying to give voice to embarrassed
protest but fairly sure the most he manages is some measure of the heat
building in him. “Miyuki-kun, that’s...that’s embarrassing.”
“I don’t care,” Miyuki says. “You feel so good, Sumiaki, I want to tell you, I
wish I could show you.” He’s breathing harder, Iwashimizu can hear the catch in
Miyuki’s inhales against the back of his neck; but Iwashimizu is all but
panting, he realizes, he’s gasping inhales that are falling into pace with the
drag of Miyuki’s hand and the thrust of Miyuki’s hips and everything is going
hot and hazy, he can’t keep his vision clear or his thoughts straight but
Miyuki’s voice is still there, clear and hot against his ear as the other moves
over him with that unflinching rhythm. “I can feel you around me, Sumiaki,
you’re tensing with every stroke of my hand and you feel so good--” as his hips
stutter out-of-rhythm, his cock sliding deep to drive a moan of helpless
reaction past Iwashimizu’s lips. “So good, fuck, Sumiaki, I want to feel you
come but I can’t last like this, you’re too good, come on, Sumiaki, you can
come like this can’t you, doesn’t it feel good?” His hand is working hard over
the other, his wrist flexing with speed that Iwashimizu never attains on his
own; Iwashimizu can feel the friction knotting into his stomach, can feel the
heat twitching in his cock, can feel the adrenaline flooding his veins and
stealing his breath until he can’t answer, until he can’t stop the trembling
thrumming through his body. “Sumiaki?”
“Oh,” Iwashimizu gasps, feeling like the word is liquid fire on his tongue.
“Miyuki-kun.”
“You’re going to come,” Miyuki says, the statement almost certain, almost with
the weight of an order. “I can feel it, you’re close, aren’t you?”
“I don’t…” Iwashimizu gasps. “I don’t know, Miyuki-kun, I can’t--”
“You’re shaking,” Miyuki tells him, and lifts his hand from the bed to brace at
Iwashimizu’s hip instead, leaving the other to support Miyuki’s weight pressing
against him. “Your whole body, Sumiaki, you’re clenching so hard around me, you
feel like you’re going to come apart.”
“I don’t know,” Iwashimizu says, gasping the words against the pillow
underneath him; but his vision is blurring, his breathing is sticking, he’s not
sure what he’s saying anymore. He feels strange, like there’s a knot in his
stomach, something twisting tighter with every forward drive of Miyuki’s cock
into him; the pressure is filling him, straining against the space of his body,
but it’s not painful, it’s not too much. He wants more, harder, wants Miyuki to
thrust as deep as he can go, wants to feel the heat of Miyuki coming into him,
of Miyuki shaking over him as he unravels into pleasure, as he rides out his
orgasm with his cock pressing far inside--
“Oh,” Iwashimizu says, feeling the pressure inside him twist into sudden,
crystalline clarity. “Fuck” and his orgasm hits him like a wave, spasming
through his muscles and spilling over Miyuki’s hold on him and pulsing a rush
of heat through the whole of his body. He’s gasping tiny, broken noises into
the sheets, sounding a little like he’s sobbing, like he can’t find his breath;
but he can’t stop the sound at his lips any more than he can stop coming over
the sheets of the bed under him. Every flex of his body bears down on Miyuki’s
cock inside him, every surge of tension heightens his awareness of that
pressure stroking into him, until Iwashimizu feels like he’s going to come
forever, like every rush of pleasure through him just pulls the next one in its
wake. He’s shaking against the bed, his muscles trembling so badly he isn’t
sure he can keep himself upright; but behind him Miyuki is moving harder, his
hand tightening at Iwashimizu’s hip and his breathing spilling hot at the
other’s shoulder, and at some distant range Iwashimizu is aware of the gasp of
the other’s inhales, of the rising tension in Miyuki’s body as he moves into
the tremor of Iwashimizu’s orgasm beneath him.
“God,” Miyuki gasps, “Sumiaki” and it comes out as a moan, a spill of heat to
match the pulse of pleasure inside Iwashimizu’s body as Miyuki comes into him.
Iwashimizu quivers again against the bed, feeling his body flexing through
another spasm of sensation as Miyuki follows him into pleasure; and then it
eases, and the waves of heat ebb, and Iwashimizu is left panting and trembling
with the force of pleasure in him while Miyuki gasps for breath against his
shoulder.
“Oh my god,” Miyuki pants against Iwashimizu’s shoulder, the words coming hot
against sweat-slick skin. “That was.”
Iwashimizu has to swallow before he can trust his voice enough to respond, to
fill in the word that Miyuki left unstated. “Amazing.”
Miyuki huffs a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Exactly.” He braces both hands at
Iwashimizu’s hips, steadying the other as he rocks back and away; Iwashimizu
makes a helpless noise as Miyuki slides out of him, his body tensing
reflexively against the friction before it eases into relief, and over him
Miyuki sighs a shuddering exhale before lifting his hand from Iwashimizu’s hip
to brace against the bed instead so he can fall to his side across the sheets.
Iwashimizu mirrors the other’s motion after a moment, and with a little more
care as he straightens his legs and rolls onto his side; by the time he’s
blinking his vision back into focus Miyuki is watching him, his eyes dark on
Iwashimizu’s face like he’s trying to memorize the details of the other’s
features. The attention makes Iwashimizu flush, he can feel the heat spreading
across his face to stain his cheeks pink under Miyuki’s gaze, and he can only
hold the other’s stare for a moment before he’s ducking his head in a futile
attempt to escape from the attention.
“Do you want a shower?” he asks, fixing his gaze somewhere in the vicinity of
Miyuki’s hip so he can avoid seeing the other’s gaze on him. “I could wait and
go second, if you wanted.”
“It’s fine,” Miyuki says. “We could run a bath and share, even.” His hand comes
out, his fingers touch Iwashimizu’s shoulder; Iwashimizu shudders at the touch,
feeling like even the glancing weight of Miyuki’s fingertips is enough to send
a shock running through the whole of his body. “Sumiaki.”
Iwashimizu bites his lip. “Miyuki-kun?”
“Look at me.” Miyuki’s hand trails up Iwashimizu’s shoulder and along the line
of his neck, wandering down the other’s jaw to settle at last at the point of
his chin. Iwashimizu huffs an exhale, feels his face coloring darker as
Miyuki’s touch urges his gaze up; and then he’s blinking, and his head is
lifting, and he’s looking straight into the dark of Miyuki’s eyes. Miyuki’s
expression is relaxed, his lips soft and forehead smooth and lashes heavy over
his eyes; as Iwashimizu blinks at him the corner of his mouth quirks up in the
very beginning of the smile glowing so warm behind his gaze.
“You’re so beautiful,” Miyuki says, calmly, like he’s simply stating a true
fact. Iwashimizu’s throat tightens, his breath turns to a whimper as his cheeks
darken to crimson, and Miyuki’s smile pulls wider as he lets Iwashimizu’s chin
go to slide his hand back into the weight of the other’s hair. “I love you so
much, Sumiaki.”
“Oh,” Iwashimizu says, his voice very small and very shaky; and then Miyuki
tugs against him, and he’s tipping in, helpless in his surrender to the urging
of the other’s touch. Miyuki’s smile curves against his mouth, Iwashimizu’s
hand lands against the sharp angle of Miyuki’s hip; and then Miyuki’s lips are
pressing to his, and Iwashimizu’s eyes are fluttering closed, and everything
else flickers out of importance in comparison to the heat of Miyuki’s mouth
against his. It’s a gentle kiss, lingering and as warm as the aftereffects of
pleasure still clinging to their bare skin; by the time they pull back to
breathe they’ve slid in against each other, with Miyuki’s knee angled between
Iwashimizu’s thighs and Iwashimizu’s hand steady against the curve of Miyuki’s
waist. Iwashimizu blinks hard, fighting himself back to clear vision while
Miyuki’s lashes are still casting shadows against his cheeks; and then Miyuki
sighs a satisfied exhale, and Iwashimizu speaks while the other is still
opening his eyes.
“I love you too,” he says, in a rush, the words toppling over each other the
way they did the first time, even now, after uncounted repetitions. Miyuki
blinks up at him, the dark of his gaze holding to Iwashimizu’s face, and
Iwashimizu tightens his fingers at Miyuki’s waist and struggles for a breath to
fill his lungs. “Atsushi.”
Miyuki’s smile spreads across his face as fast as Iwashimizu’s blush spills
over his own, but when he leans in to kiss against Iwashimizu’s mouth his lips
are as soft as Iwashimizu’s hold against his hip.
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