Water, Water Everywhere...

“KEN-CHAN!”

Murata winced inwardly. Shibuya’s mom had the loudest way of introducing people.

“Ohayo, Mama-san!”

“Ken-chan,” Jennifer scolded, “just call me Mama!”

Murata rubbed the back of his head smiling. No matter what anyone else said, Shibuya was the spitting image of his mother.

“Um, where’s Shibuya?” Murata looked around the room, noting the lack of his best friend.

“I think he's getting a bath,” Jennifer said, busy stirring a bowl of suspiciously yellow paste. “He didn’t expect you so soon after the game.”

“Ah, okay.. I think I’ll go say hello, if that’s okay.”

“Hang on a second, Ken-chan! Don’t you want to help me make dinner? You could wear the cute apron again!”

“I really think I should check on Shibuya,” he laughed, “but I’ll try to come down again and help you out.”

”Wah, Ken-chan loves Yuu-chan more than me!”

Murata was already up the stairs. He paused for only a moment before throwing open the bathroom door.

“Shib-u-ya!” He said brightly, “I’m here!”

“Murata…” Yuuri groaned. “You’re early. I just got into the bath.”

When his complaint was met with silence, Yuuri looked up.

“Anou, Murata….what are you doing?”

Murata smiled at Yuuri. “Joining you, of course,” he said, pulling off his shirt and socks.

Yuuri tried not to stare as Murata’s pants came off.

“This tub wasn’t made for two, Murata.”

“Of course it was,” Murata chimed, removing his underwear. “I think that if a grown man and his girlfriend can fit in together, two young bishounen will be just fine.”

“Hey, what’s your obsession with the word ‘bishounen’?” Yuuri paused. “And what do you mean, a grown man and his girlfriend?”

Murata smile was impish. “I have very sharp ears, Shibuya. I don’t think your oniichan realizes that.”

“…what? You mean Shouri and Kana…”

Yuuri was too involved in trying to remember if he’d heard anything to notice when Ken nudged him forward a bit and climbed in behind him.

“Besides,” he said, very close to Yuuri’s ear, “who else will wash your back?”

Suddenly, Yuuri began to realize that he was in a very small bathtub with Murata, practically sitting on top of him. He blushed furiously.

“Um, Murata…”

A warm, soapy washcloth met his back, slowing working its way across his shoulders.

Yuuri relaxed slightly. The warm water did, after all, feel really nice against his sore muscles. And it was just Murata.

As the washcloth worked its way lower, Yuuri continued trying to tell certain parts of himself that it was Murata behind the soft touch of the cloth, Murata who was gently lifting the wisps of hair against his neck to wash underneath them. And, most definitely, it was Murata’s warm breath against his wet shoulders, making him shiver with the cold and a feeling he was afraid to identify.

“Does it feel good, Shibuya?” Murata said softly, close to his ear.

“Um.” Yuuri squeaked.

“I’m glad,” Murata said, practically purring.

And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Yuuri noticed, to his great embarrassment, that his breathing was becoming ragged and his member was already hard. He closed his eyes, thanking every god he was familiar with that he was in front of Murata and not behind him.

Suddenly Murata’s arms were around him, and the washcloth was going places that didn’t help Yuuri’s situation at all, sliding up his stomach and chest and then tracing back down again , dangerously low, dipping back up at the last moment. Through a haze of heat, Yuuri slowly became aware of a pressure against his lower back, growing stronger. When the source finally registered in his head, Yuuri couldn’t help himself. He gasped.

“Murata.”

Murata’s calm smile had become a little more wicked, and as he buried his face into Yuuri’s neck to nip at the soft skin, Yuuri could feel the curving smile on his lips.

“Hmm?”

“I…I need you to…”

There was one thing about Murata, Yuuri thought gratefully, and that was the fact that he almost always knew what Yuuri wanted and needed before he said it. It made this request much easier.

“I see.”

The washcloth and all pretense abandoned, Murata’s hands moved slowly to grasp Yuuri’s hard cock. At the first touch, Yuuri nearly came out of the bathtub, his back arching until his head landed on Murata’s shoulder. Murata could no longer control himself; he crossed the space between himself and Yuuri and lightly brushed his lips against Yuuri’s parted ones, his chin bumping Yuuri's forehead in the process.

Yuuri pressed hard into the kiss, enjoying the sensations that were pooling in his stomach. This was amazing. Surely, Yuuri thought, if he’d had any idea what this would be like, how much he needed it, he would have approached Murata much sooner. But then, a voice in his head added, you’d have been too nervous to initiate anything.

Any thoughts of what might have been were abandoned as Murata slowly began moving his hand along Yuuri’s member, paying special attention to the darkening head as it barely showed itself above the water. And of course, his memory supplied him, there was usually that spot just at the base that when manipulated just so, would…

Yuuri yelped, thrusting up into Murata’s hand, trying to keep the pressure even. Almost hurting with his own need, Murata began grinding into Yuuri’s behind, sliding his hard cock between Yuuri’s cheeks. Faster now, harder, every thrust increasing the whimpers and moans that emanated from the Moah’s throat. Despite his desire to remain quiet and in control, Murata could not stifle the moans that grew in the back of his throat. He moaned into Yuuri’s mouth, and the vibrations went straight to Yuuri’s groin.

Water was beginning to slosh over the side of the tub, but neither of the two boys cared. Lost in their own world of sensation and need, they were too wrapped up in each other to notice the tiny whirlpool that had appeared over the drain.

“Murata!” Yuuri cried, gasping against Murata’s lips, as he met every thrust and grind.

Murata’s reply was not nearly as calm and collected as he’d have liked it to be.

“Wha...?”

“You’d better stop, no don’t stop, but it’s…I’m…so close…and..oh shit!”

Murata blinked. “Oh dear.”

The whirlpool sucked them in, and the turbulent water ride that was so familiar now to both boys began.

They were spat out in the fountain in front of Ulrike’s temple, a tangle of legs and mouths, Murata’s hand still firmly grasping Yuuri’s hard cock.

The first face they saw was Gwendal’s as he fought with himself to maintain composure. Doing his best to avert his eyes, Gwendal cleared his throat.

“Heika. Geika. We were told you’d be...coming soon.”

Murata quickly let go of Yuuri, and even despite the embarrassment, Yuuri grimaced at the sudden lost of pressure. Murata did the same. This was going to hurt if it wasn’t taken care of soon.

“Anou, Gwendal, do you have our spare clothes handy?” Murata asked, his glasses askew.

Gwendal, redder than Yuuri had ever seen him, carefully placed their clothes on the side of the fountain, and then climbed back on his horse.

“Your horse is prepared,” he muttered. “I’ll head back to the castle. You two can come when you’re ready.”

“Ah, right.” Yuuri managed to squeak.

Murata put his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder as Gwendal disappeared into the distance.

“Can you wait until we get back to the castle, or…”

Yuuri’s grin was hungry as he dressed and climbed onto the horse, careful not to hurt himself in the process.

“We’re going back now. I’m not through with you yet.”

Murata smiled and climbed on behind him.

“Of course, Heika,” he said cheekily. Suddenly the smile widened further than Yuuri had ever seen it go and reaching up, Murata pinched Yuuri’s cheeks.

“You’re so cute when you’re wet.”

“Shut up.”