Performance Art

“Performance Art”
by antilogicgirl

Summary: Keita poses for a portrait. Keita, in turn, makes Iwai into a piece of “performance art”. Warning: Devious!Keita.

A/N: Yay! My Gakuen Heaven obsession has finally paid off. Just in case anyone didn’t get it from the summary, this is Iwai/Keita. There is lots of paint involved, and probably the longest foreplay session I’ve ever written. Keita’s a bit Lolita in this. Honestly, he’s quite devious when it comes to getting what he wants. You might think it’s out of character, but what do you think those baby blues are for? Ha. Now, sit back and enjoy the ride.

--

Breathing in deeply, Iwai took in the early morning. The sun was just beginning to peek out on the horizon, casting the previously steel-gray morning into shades of pink and yellow. With a sigh, he turned away from the sight. It was a shame he didn’t have a room with a better view. Having pushed back through the wispy curtains, he slid the glass of the door closed.

Pulling off his pajamas, he laid them across his unmade bed. For a long moment, Iwai stood looking into the mirror that was bolted to the inside of his room door. He tried smiling, but just thought that he looked more depressed. Not sure what to do to affect an improvement, he simply turned away. Iwai was not depressed. It was a beautiful morning, and the day promised good weather.

He would eat breakfast first, because if he did not, there were four people he could name offhand that would henpeck him to death. They all seemed concerned that he would waste away to nothing. This drew a small laugh from him as he pulled on his uniform shirt. His tie remained stuffed into the pocket of his red blazer (where it had been since the beginning of the term), and he threw the jacket over his shoulder and refused to tuck in his shirt. Niwa-san always said that he looked like he had just rolled out of bed after sleeping in his uniform, but that it suited him. Nakajima-san was of the opinion that he resembled someone who was raised by wolves. It didn’t really matter either way. The state of his uniform was inconsequential.

--

Knock, knock.

A little groan escaped the boy on the bed. Mumbling, and only half awake, he said, “Five more minutes, mother…” before a hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him completely into the land of the living. Blue eyes opened wide, staring up at the intruder. “Kazuki?”

The boy smiled kindly. “You left the door unlocked again.”

Keita sat up, confused. His pajama shirt slid down, and fell off of his left shoulder as he blinked around himself. He certainly remembered locking the thing. Did he dream that? For that matter, why was Kazuki in his room? Again? “Eto…Kazuki, can you..?” The other boy seemed flustered, and excused himself several times on his way out. Endo Kazuki was probably the strangest teenage boy he’d ever met. Even Keita’s grandmother didn’t fuss over him so much.

After brushing his teeth, Keita dressed and picked up his shoes on the way out of the door. By the time he got to the cafeteria, it was only ten minutes before his first class was to start. Umino-sensei wasn’t hard on him, so he could be late, but he would prefer not to be. Practically running through the serving line, he spotted a table that was empty near the window, and made for it with haste. However, he skidded to a halt jus short of sitting down when he saw Iwai heading for the same table. “Sorry, Iwai-kun…I’ll find another table.” The dishes on his tray rattled as he turned away, searching for another place to sit.

“No,” the older boy said, “Please sit. If you like, we can share the table.” Keita turned, and studied Iwai’s face for a few seconds. Then he smiled and sat down. The young artist always had a kind—if perpetually sad—look on his face, and Keita rather liked him. As they both settled down into the straight-backed chairs, he noticed that once again, Iwai was not wearing a tie. It was strange how a school that had uniforms did not really enforce the dress code very strictly.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Keita became unnerved by the silence. “Iwai-kun, I was wondering,” he said, more to pass the time than anything else, “what you have been working on lately. Every time I see Shinomiya-san, he is going to fetch you from the art room.” The older boy blushed lightly, and he bowed his head a little. Keita smiled, amused that his innocent question could bring forth such a reaction.

They fell into silence again, and during this lull, Keita finished his breakfast. He stood, and gave a small wave. “I’ll see you later, Iwai-kun.”

“H-hai…Keita?”

Keita turned, brushing auburn hair from his eyes. Iwai was half out of his chair, and looked as if he were hesitating with asking something important. “What is it, Iwai-kun?”

The other boy stood and stepped closer, and Keita had to tilt his head back to look up into sad eyes that held a glimmer of expectation. “Keita, do you remember the picture I drew of you?” Smiling, the younger boy nodded. He loved that picture. “Would you mind if I drew another?”

Immediately, Keita answered, “Of course I wouldn’t mind!” He glanced at his watch. Three minutes. He had three minutes to get to Umino-sensei’s class, or he would be late. And that room was on the other end of the building!

Iwai’s smile seemed to reach his eyes, giving the corners a little crinkle that Keita, for all his hurrying could not seem to ignore. And when Iwai next spoke, he felt like things were moving a bit too slow, as if he were watching them in a movie. “Could you meet me in the art room this evening before dinner?” The crinkles deepened, giving the older boy a much younger, highly adorable look. “I would like very much if you would sit for the painting I want to do…if that’s all right?”

Keita felt his face turning pink. The blush spread until he stuttered, “H-hai!” before running off to his class, half embarrassed and half flattered.

--

Iwai checked his supplies once again. Brushes? Check. Paints, with extra red for Keita’s hair? Check. Easel, chair, canvas and pallet? Check. His eyes sped over other objects, making certain that he had everything. Just when he was draping his jacket over the back of his chair, a knock came at the door. “Come in,” he said quietly.

The door swung open, admitting Ito Keita. His large blue eyes peered around the room curiously. “Iwai-kun…I came like you asked.” When he had fully entered the room, the younger boy began looking at all of the art supplies, the canvas and other implements, and marveled at them all. “You’re amazing! I can barely draw a stick figure!”

Never really used to compliments, Iwai blushed and turned away. He motioned to the dressing screen in the corner. “There are some things over there that you can change into, if you like.” Keita’s green backpack dropped to the floor and he walked to the screen. Iwai waited. There were several things back there. Overly-large dress shirts hung next to hats, and there were piles of pants, shorts, and other clothing. He had decided that letting Keita pick out what he would wear was the best way to keep him comfortable.

Several minutes later, the younger boy emerged from behind the screen. There were no words to describe the way Keita looked. He was wearing one of the large shirts, a pale blue one, which would probably fit Iwai better than it did him. Surprisingly, he had not put on any pants. So standing in his green boxer shorts, he regarded Iwai with a questioning look. “How’s this?”

To be completely honest, Iwai thought that he looked as though he’d just gotten finished…well, he didn’t want to think about that right now. “You look comfortable. That’s good…” Turning away, he sat in his chair. Keita took up one of the other chairs, and placed it not far away. “Just please sit naturally. Whatever is most comfortable for you.”

It took a few minutes, but finally, Keita had settled himself comfortably in the chair. When all was said and done, the boy had one leg drawn up to his chest, while the other dangled normally, and the collar of the shirt slipped off of his right shoulder. Iwai sat in awe for a moment. He’d never had a more perfect model. The thing that made this better than anything else was that Keita didn’t even mean to do anything special. He simply was himself, and that was perfect. “Please…” Iwai breathed, “Don’t move.”

--

Keita watched as Iwai worked. His movements began slow and careful, but soon became a feverish pace that did not let up for nearly an hour. Silence reigned, but for the gentle swishing of brush on canvas. “Ano…Iwai-kun?” The older boy looked up. “Is it all right? You’ve been working so long…”

“Hai, it’s fine. I just need to get one more thing done, and then you can take a break.” Five minutes later, Keita was stretching, and then took a glass of water that Iwai handed him. After he drained the glass, he collapsed onto one of the couches at the back of the room. His eyes roamed the walls, taking in all of the paintings and sketches hanging there. Many of these, he recognized as Iwai’s work. “A…Ano, Keita?”

Closing his eyes, Keita leaned his head back against the soft cushions of the couch. “Hm?”

“Do you like art?”

“Yes…but mostly modern art.” Keita opened his eyes to see a rather surprised Iwai. Smiling and playing with the sleeves of the shirt he wore, he said, “I can’t draw, so I like to paint what I’m feeling. The colors reflect my mood, and the strokes show what I’ve been going through. If I’m happy, I like yellow and orange. Sometimes green. Sadness is blue of course. Anger…” Keita trailed off. Iwai’s eyes fascinated him. How could someone look sad and happy at the same time? “But,” he said suddenly, “that’s just for fun. None of my stuff is what I’d call ‘art’.”

Iwai curled up in the opposite corner of the couch. “Are you sure? Art comes in many forms.”

Keita nodded. “Yes…it does.” He blinked slowly, watching Iwai watching him. The late evening light reflected in those golden eyes was mesmerizing. Something deep within him was moved as he stared into the soft glow of Iwai’s eyes. He was so kind, never thinking of himself, even to the point where he forgot to eat. He was beautiful. Keita turned in his seat, an idea taking root in his mind. “Iwai-kun, have you ever done performance art?”

“You mean all of that crazy dancing and yelling while wearing spandex?” This was one of those rare occasions where Iwai said anything negative. “No, Keita. I draw, and I paint. I do not do that kind of art.” The taller boy shifted on the couch cushions. “Why do you ask?”

--

Iwai watched as Keita scooted closer to him on the couch. “Because,” Keita’s voice lowered as he came close to touching Iwai’s legs with his own, “I think that you would look beautiful in blue.”

“Blue?” Iwai asked, confused.

The smile that spread over Keita’s face was filled with something close to mischief, but he couldn’t help but be curious, wondering what the other boy could mean. “Yes…” Keita’s voice was only a whisper now. “…I could paint you blue. The color of sadness, and longing…” It was like he was talking to himself now, rather than to Iwai. But the artist could say nothing. Keita’s right hand rose, the enormous sleeve of the shirt sliding down and bunching at his elbow. His face was filled with wonder as he touched the skin exposed by Iwai’s open collar.

As he watched the boy’s face, Keita’s fingers stroked gently over his collarbone. “Iwai-kun,” Keita leaned closer. “Close your eyes.” As he did so, he could feel the couch move as Keita shifted. Warm breaths ghosted over his face, so very close to his lips…his heart began to beat faster. In the blackness behind his eyelids, Iwai imagined what Keita looked like, leaning over him, almost touching him, yet not quite. It sent a shiver through him, the phantom sensation of lips on his making his nerves tingle. “Iwai-kun,” Keita breathed, “what color am I?”

Iwai swallowed hard. In his mind, he pictured Keita. His eyes would be half closed, head tilted slightly to the left. The shirt he wore was most likely falling off of him by now. Color…without much thought, Iwai knew that he could imagine Keita’s entire body smudged with dark red paint, a few shades darker than his hair. Crimson smears dragged up his legs, like finger trails, terminating in smeared handprints of caked paint where large hands had gripped slender hips. Red…it brought to mind so many emotions. Passion warred with fear and hesitation. But his mind kept painting, peppering Keita’s torso with dark smears of paint the color of wine, and Iwai found himself becoming intoxicated by the image. The paint traced muscles, pooling over sensitive flesh, creating a map over fair skin.

Keita’s voice came again, more insistent. “Iwai-kun…what color?” Sparks shot through ever nerve of Iwai’s body as Keita’s lips barely brushed across his.

“R…Red…you’re red…Keita…” Iwai choked out in a hoarse whisper, hoping that his voice didn’t sound as desperate to Keita’s ears as it did to his. His eyes opened, finding bottomless blue screened by long lashes. “Keita…”

“Iwai-kun,” Keita’s lips still hovered over his, but soon they were not satisfied with the light grazing touches that occurred when the boy whispered to him. Iwai felt heat against his mouth as soft, full lips nibbled at his. Keita’s tongue traced along his top lip, “Can I paint you?” The haze that had settled over his mind by now refused to clear. He would do anything, only begging any god he could think of that this would not stop.

“H-hai…”

--

Keita pulled at the edge of the large canvas drop-cloth. Iwai had helped him to straighten the rest of it. At one corner were two large containers of non-toxic paint. One, a light, icy blue, stood next to another that was nearly the color of red wine. Iwai had locked the door and drawn the curtains, so there was little chance that they would be interrupted as they ‘created’. For the sake of ease, the boys had both removed all clothing save for their boxer shorts. Before he went to the paint, he surveyed his canvas. Iwai was tall, with a leanly muscular frame, and broad shoulders. Only, he slouched, so Keita was sure that he was at least three inches taller than he seemed.

He reached down and picked up both of the buckets, carrying them over to where Iwai stood. “I’ll start, if that’s all right.” Keita said lightly, and Iwai nodded, a blush tinting his cheeks. Bending low, he sank both hands into the cool, sticky paint. When he pulled them out of the can, he let them drip for a moment, so that there wouldn’t be too much paint, and then he approached Iwai. “Close your eyes.” The taller boy did as he was told, and Keita just looked at him for a minute or two. The idea in his head had become something of a plot, and he smiled at what he was about to do.

--

Iwai flinched as something cold and wet touched his face. Keita giggled as he traced the line of the taller boy’s jaw, undoubtedly leaving a blue trail behind. “It’s cold…” Iwai murmured before both of Keita’s paint covered hands cupped his jaw, pulling him forward and down. The sticky paint began to warm on his skin, and he felt slender fingers sliding down his neck until Keita’s hands rested on his chest.

Those small hands were almost hot against his skin, and he was sure that they would burn him. They were leaving trails of fire everywhere they touched. “Iwai-kun,” he felt Keita’s breath across his mouth again before there was a light nip at his lower lip. He could feel the breaths coming faster as they ghosted across his skin, tickling at the small hairs. The sensation it left behind was one that Iwai thought might drive him mad. “Iwai-kun, kiss me.”

A kind of battle began inside Iwai. He knew that this was not a good idea. Getting involved with this boy could hurt both of them. Risk was always high in these situations. But, he reasoned, this was art, the never-ending chase after beauty…he didn’t need eyes to see that Keita was beautiful. The image that he had been painting on the canvas that now rested against the wall did not do anything to show the spirit of his blue eyes, or the fire of his determination. His brush could not capture those things, but here he was, inches away from being able to hold all of that to his body, to feel that fire for himself.

And so, the battle was won by his love of beauty, and the need to keep just a little piece of it for him. Lowering his face only a little, his lips came into contact with Keita’s. Warmth spread through his body, and Iwai felt paint-slicked hands sliding over his chest and down his arms, then back up again to his shoulders. Hesitantly, he pressed his mouth more firmly against Keita’s, hearing a tiny sound from the other boy that resembled a moan. Parting his lips slightly, Iwai grazed his tongue over Keita’s lips, tasting strawberry soda.

After a moment, he pulled back and opened his eyes. Keita’s face was flushed, and his eyes were closed. He looked innocent. That was just another part of Keita. Determination, beauty, innocence and fire mixed into the same person. It was a lot like mixing paint to get the perfect color. Again, he thought that red was the perfect color for Keita.

Iwai bent down and dipped both hands into the red paint, not waiting for the excess to drip off. Taking the shorter boy’s face in both hands, paint flowed down his chin, running down his neck to pool in the hollow between his collarbones until it overflowed and made rivulets down his chest and stomach, finally began soaking into the soft cotton of his underwear. “Keita…” Iwai watched impossibly blue eyes open, finding innocence replaced with something akin to hunger. He brought their lips together again as Keita’s hands moved to twine themselves in his hair, droplets of thick blue paint falling onto his back and shoulders.

Soon he set about re-creating the pattern of smears and handprints that he had imagined on Keita’s torso, smoothing his hands over fair skin and painting it the color of fire. Keita stepped closer, his body pressing against Iwai’s, paint sliding against paint, heated skin finding relief in the cool liquid. Iwai’s hands moved on their own, which was the point, he supposed. It was the body that became the art as it moved of instinct and need. A sigh escaped Keita’s throat when Iwai’s tongue probed at his, gentle and asking, inviting and soothing. The shorter boy responded with fervor, pushing himself up onto tiptoe and tilting his head back.

--

Hands slid over the skin of his stomach and chest, the slickness of the paint making those large hands feel smoother than they were. Iwai was very gentle, taking his time in exploring his mouth, yet he seemed restrained. It was as if there was something hidden, trapped beneath the calm and sadness, and it had no idea how to escape. Keita wanted to feel that, whatever it was. For now, he contented himself with smoothing his hands over Iwai’s ribs, producing a hitch in the other boy’s breathing. There was a tremble running through the taller boy now, his hands shaking as they ran down Keita’s back to rest on his hips. Short nails were beginning to dig into his skin through the cotton of his underwear.

Iwai’s mouth pressed harder against his, the kiss deepening, sending dizzying heat through Keita’s body, making him forget about covering the other boy in paint. Unconsciously, his fingers began toying with the elastic waist of Iwai’s shorts, smearing paint over the clean white cloth, and the thin trail of hairs that led down to…Keita’s eyes flew open.

There was a significant bulge straining against the confine of Iwai’s boxer shorts, and something about that sent a pleasant tingle all throughout Keita’s body. Smiling against Iwai’s mouth, Keita pressed his body tightly against hard planes of muscle, moving his hips in a very slight undulating pattern. He was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from the other boy, who then pulled back from the kiss and looked down at him. “K-Keita?”

--

Keita stood on tiptoe, his lips finding a spot on Iwai’s neck that was not covered in blue paint. The feather-like kisses he peppered that small patch of skin with gave Iwai a shiver up and down his spine. The smaller boy seemed intent on making him lose control of himself, which he was dangerously close to doing. His body was becoming almost fevered as Keita’s hips rocked against his. All he could do was let his head fall back, baring his neck and holding on to Keita’s hips as if his life depended upon it.

His heart was pounding in his chest and finally, he gave in, pulling at Keita’s hips and moving against him. There was a wonderful friction developing, and he wanted more. The burning heat gathering at the base of his spine only grew when one slender leg wrapped around his, gaining leverage and pushing harder against him. A quiet moan echoed from his throat. “Keita…” His silence was bought with a kiss, the younger boy’s soft, warm mouth pressing up into his as Keita’s leg tightened its grip, sending white-hot waves of nearly brutal pleasure washing over him.

“Iwai-kun…” Keita’s tongue lapped at his mouth, his breath coming in pants as he began to drive himself harder against Iwai’s hips. “…I need…” Whatever the flame-haired youth was going to say was instantly swallowed up in a sharp cry when his hips slipped, causing more intense friction. Iwai’s body was aflame. Keita attempted to speak again, but it came out so broken, all Iwai made out was, “…w-want…you…” What little self-control Iwai possessed slipped through his fingers then. His hands drifted up, nails dragging through smeared paint, leaving white trails where he scraped the smaller boy’s skin clean.

Slowly and carefully, he lowered them to the floor. Keita’s breathing came faster as Iwai’s weight settled on top of him, and he wrapped his legs around slender hips, pulling him close. As they moved against each other, Iwai watched the other boy writhe beneath him. Trying very hard not to do this too quickly, he reached for Keita’s underwear. He gave a short tug on the waistband, and Iwai felt warm, hard flesh. He disentangled himself from the legs that held him, and pulled slowly at the stained green cotton, watching it glide over long, slender legs until Keita lay naked before him. “Beautiful,” he breathed, taking in the pale pink skin, now stained crimson, and spots now lavender from the mixture of blue and red where their bodies had pressed together.

He swallowed hard, trying to breathe. Keita’s eyes were sapphires glittering with mischief and desire, and Iwai was intimidated. While he couldn’t say he was completely innocent, Iwai was not very experienced in this particular form of art. The one time he had done this, it was awkward, with much fumbling about in the dark. One might even go so far as to say that it had been a mistake. But Keita was a very different person from the boy with whom he had shared his first time. His innocence mixed with a certain amount of playful sexuality, making him even more beautiful than he had been before, and Iwai found himself wanting to touch, hold, and taste that beauty.

The dying light of evening gave Keita an unearthly glow, and Iwai bit at his lower lip. He swallowed thickly, unable to look away from the crimson handprints, smudges, and other markings that marred alabaster-smooth skin. “Keita,” he breathed, leaning down to the younger boy, “you are beautiful…” Hot breaths came fast against his mouth when he got close enough. Iwai found this to be the most exquisite moment. It was the instant before being consumed by the fire he could feel so close by, the moment before he could allow himself to be lost in the way Keita’s eyes slid so close to shutting.

He remained this way for a few moments, not touching the panting youth, but still feeling the phantom sensation of a warm body against his. That almost-tickle of lips grazing his own, the memory of blistering heat and friction…they were ingrained in his body now, and he could feel himself yearning for these things. It was like static electricity all over his body, and it traveled between him and Keita, back and forth, until he thought he might go mad. “Iwai,” Keita groaned, reaching out to grip the back of his neck, “If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to go insane. Please…”

Smiling softly, he complied with Keita’s request. Their lips met, and he felt slender arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down. Iwai parted his lips when Keita’s tongue smoothed over them, pressing more firmly with his mouth and then pulling back just enough to draw the other boy out. Once again, Keita’s legs found their way around his waist, and Iwai gasped when he felt something hard, yet silky smooth against the muscles of his stomach. When he pressed his body down, sliding against this hardness, he garnered a small moan from Keita, which was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

It was a little bit difficult for him to believe that he could make someone feel this way, but he pushed that thought aside soon enough when Keita’s hands moved down to grasp at his one remaining article of clothing. “Iwai…” Blue eyes now heavily lidded looked up at him, pleading as he whispered, “Please…I need you…” Somehow, Iwai’s underwear came off without too much fumbling, and he nearly melted at the feeling of warm skin against his. They began to move once again, rocking against each other, heat and friction forming between them.

After long moments filled with quickening breaths, the heat in his belly was almost enough. Iwai was certain he was going to fall to pieces. Keita suddenly jerked beneath him, and he pulled away, concerned. “Keita?”

The boy smiled sheepishly. “The paint…it’s a bit problematic…” For a moment, he wondered what the boy was talking about. Then, he realized that Keita was trying not to touch certain parts of him, because his hands were still covered in paint. Iwai gave a little laugh. That was a bit troublesome, yes. “I’ll be right back, Iwai.” Keita slid out from under him, and walked lightly over to where his book bag sat near the door. When he returned, he turned Iwai onto his back. “Relax,” he said, straddling Iwai’s thighs.

--

Keita opened the little packet of wet-napkins he kept in his backpack, pulling one from within. After a quick scrubbing of his hands, he grinned. Now, he could use his hands wherever he wished. And there was a very specific part of Iwai’s anatomy that seemed to be begging for a bit of attention. The instant he touched the skin of the older boy’s hips, he felt Iwai jerk. “Relax, Iwai…I won’t hurt you.” He smiled down at the concerned look in those gold eyes. “I promise, I will make you feel very, very nice.”

“H-Hai…” Iwai stuttered as Keita slid further down his legs until his breathe ghosted over the very tip of the other boy’s erection. His fingers brushed over Iwai’s length before his lips did the same, causing shivers to ripple through long limbs. “K…Keita…” Iwai’s back arched at the teasing, barely there touches. Keita smiled a little. It was, perhaps, the teasing he liked best?

--

The expectation was excruciating. Lips grazed over sensitive flesh, taunting him, offering promises of heat and passion, but not quite following through. His breath caught in his throat as the other boy barely touched the tip of his erection with the flat of his tongue, hot breath flooding over him. Suddenly, he was panting in anticipation, squirming under Keita’s attentions, begging soundlessly for the boy’s touch. The maddeningly gentle sensations drove him hard to the brink of insanity, and Iwai began making the most undignified sounds, resembling whimpers and moans. His eyes had long since closed. If he looked at Keita, he was sure there would be nothing stopping him from sudden, violent orgasm at the sight of what the boy was doing to his body.

His voice abruptly broke when heat and wetness enveloped him, fingers teasing at the skin of his hips as Keita’s tongue did the same to his erection. “Keita…I can’t…please…stop…oh…God…stop, please!” His voice rose unsteadily, cracking at least twice. Keita pulled away from him, and then pressed his entire body against him. The contact was shocking, warm and smooth against his body.

“Iwai,” the boy whispered against his lips, “make love to me.”

There was only so much that he could take. Iwai’s mind shut down. All that was left of him was a tight, fiery feeling that needed to be released. His voice wouldn’t work, so all he could do was nod. In a flurry of motion, he felt hands on him again, something slick that he vaguely recognized as latex, and time seemed to move in fast-forward motion. The next few minutes were a blur, and before he realized what was happening, Keita’s arms were around his shoulders, and his legs were firmly wrapped around his waist. Heat upon heat strangled him, and he had to try his best just to breathe.

Keita’s lips found his, so gentle yet full of fire and need that he understood their message. Moving slowly, he pulled back. It was difficult, but he wanted to draw it out. Instinct warred with a new desire to see Keita’s face twisted in a mask of euphoria, and that desire won by a narrow margin. Iwai moved slowly, flowing forward and back, causing Keita to cry out with every sliding motion. It did not take but a few moments for both of them to begin panting. “Please, Iwai…faster…”

“But…” he slid forward even slower releasing a low moan, “…shouldn’t this last…Keita? As long as possible?”

Keita’s voice came as nothing more than a whimper, “You’ll make me lose my mind, Iwai…” another long, slow, sliding thrust brought out a stuttering groan, “…God…Iwai…” He felt a change in Keita’s tense inner muscles, and then Keita’s voice rose, filling the room, “I…I can’t stand it…I…Iwa…” The boy’s back arched, his words dying in a loud cry as his orgasm washed over him. Iwai continued his slow, brutally gentle pace, drawing out the pleasures they both felt. Keita’s body tensed yet again, this time, more violently as he climaxed a second time, and Iwai followed immediately, his groans mingling with the scream Keita unleashed.

As he collapsed, he slid off of Keita, and watched the way the younger boy’s face relaxed, eyes hazy with fatigue and the dreamy expression of fulfillment. Taking Keita in his arms, he held him close. He was his own work of art.

--

The cafeteria was packed with students, as always. Niwa Tetsuya sat across from Nakajima Hideaki, who was pointedly ignoring his excuses for having neglected the paperwork again. “For the very last time, Niwa-san, if you have not gone over all of those papers by morning, I will have a special punishment set for you.” Niwa flinched. Hide’s punishments were never pleasant. Looking up from his plate, he was about to make some kind of placating response when he noticed that the room had gone quiet.

Hide’s eyes were glazed, looking over his shoulder. Turning in his seat, he looked at the two boys who had just walked into the room. “Oh…” He said. It was all he could think to say. Iwai walked next to Keita. Their uniforms were pristine, but there was paint caked on their faces, down their necks, and on their hands.

“Niwa-san,” Hide gritted out, “paperwork.”

“But Hide—“

“Special punishment, Niwa.” Nakajima Hideaki leaned forward, taking his chin in his hand and pulling his attention back to their table. “Iwai’s deviant sexual escapades have no bearing on your paperwork. Do they?”

“No.” Niwa groaned at the stack of papers next to his dinner tray. From the corner of his eye, he saw Iwai and Keita sit down at an empty table. The artists looked…happy. Smiling to himself, he was suddenly very glad for Ito Keita. He had never seen Iwai smile like that.

--

End.

A/N: I will love you forever and a day if you review. ^_^ *hugs readers*