Catchphrases

Title: Catchphrases
Characters/Pairings: Shiraishi/Yukimura
Rating/Warnings: NC-17; graphic sex, mostly PWP, rimming, language and whatever else applies to my writing.
Word Count: ~3,330
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.
Summary: Despite the time spent apart, Yukimura's expectations are as high as ever.
Notes: Unbeta'ed. Feedback is muchly appreciated.

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Yukimura felt a wave of giddy excitement wash over him, as he conjured up the reason why he was toweling his hair dry and brushing his teeth in the middle of the day. He usually did that after waking up or before going to bed, but today was a special occasion. They would finally meet again after how long? Three months? Four? More than that? It had been way too long in any case. The grin inevitably splitting his face made operating his toothbrush a little difficult.

It still felt somewhat unreal to know Shiraishi was coming over. Just thinking about having sex with him again after so long made Yukimura's groin tingle. His pining for the other male reminded him of the kind of silly infatuation a girl would display (in his anticipation he had even given himself an enema, much as he disliked those things; they reminded him too much of his hospital experiences). Well, he had reason to be longing and could always reprimand himself for it later. Sex with Shiraishi was perfect, that was what mattered. The rational part of his mind wanted to argue about that, but Yukimura wouldn't listen. Not now.

Throwing his towel on a heap next to the washing machine and his toothbrush back into its glass, he exited the bathroom in search for a clock. The closest one hung above his living room door, a simple round object in chrome that indicated he should be on his way. According to the schedule Shiraishi sent him the day before, he would be arriving at Yokohama in three quarters of an hour. Enough time for him to make it to the station.

He let the door bang shut behind him and threw a light jacket over his shoulders to cover the goosebumps that inevitably formed when he imagined rough hands roaming all over his body, stroking him at all the right places, pressing him close... It flared behind him like a banner as he scurried down the flight of wooden stairs to make his way toward the station, or rather, Pizza Hut close to it. Neither of them actually liked pizza, but it was the location of the first kiss they shared, even if that had been in Tokyo. Yukimura would have preferred an art museum as meeting place, but he doubted Shiraishi would even be remotely interested in locating one and be subjected to listening to Yukimura appreciative tirades about Renoir or Monet among other painters.

There was still time. Maybe he would succeed in persuading his crackpot of a lover to visit an art gallery with him. The way Shiraishi was obsessed with perfectionism, Yukimura was certain he would greatly enjoy realistic works. He just needed to be shown.

Merged with the faceless crowds, Yukimura concentrated on the little strips of man-made nature lining the streets, trying to forget about Shiraishi for the moment. It would not do to be spotted blushing for no reason, in case the other decided he had more important things to attend to than to meet up with him. Better to pretend he was just taking a stroll.

Once or twice, Yukimura was halted by acquaintances wanting to make their presence known and introduce him to their friends in turn. Politeness demanded they exchange pleasantries, the empty words already evaporating before reaching the conversational partner's ears. When his family name fell, the newcomer's excitement was apparent, because who did not know the gifted young tennis ace? Yukimura had stopped playing once he entered college, but the impression he left would last him a lifetime.

Luckily, his ringing cell phone gave him the perfect excuse to part with the simpletons obstructing his path. It was the "Fairy Queen" of the local theater inquiring about his plans for the weekend to which he replied he would be busy. Which was as much true as it was an excuse not to watch her performance for the third time.

He stopped in front of his destination and, rather than to enter and wait for Shiraishi inside (and be pestered to make an order), he knelt down carefully before one of the concrete flower tubs. They were overgrown and the soil already formed dry clumps that crumbled when you touched them. Whoever was in charge of municipal beautification did a horrible job. Yukimura could understand that the area in need of attention was bigger than the tiny strip he had seen today, but this matter had not been neglected for merely a week. Was this not part of those people's jobs they were paid for?

His breath hitched, when suddenly something purple was thrust into his vision startled him out of his moody grumbling and a voice by his ear purred: "Hmm, ecstasy. Yer hair smells as good as ever."

Yukimura still couldn't pry his eyes away from the lavender, his breath lost somewhere between the initial surprise and the evaluation of the meaning the flower conveyed. You are always on my mind. This couldn't be what Shiraishi wanted to express. 'I think of you when I jerk off,' now that Yukimura would buy.

While he had been out of it, that snoopy nose had traveled down to the crook of his neck. Yukimura turned to face it, amusement tinging his voice. "Not in public, remember? I think we're arousing enough suspicion as it is, crouching behind a flower tub as we are."

Shiraishi chuckled as he got up slowly and dusted his jeans, even though they were spotless. "Ya smell like cucumber."

A bright smile lit up Yukimura's face. Shiraishi knew how to be make the most random comments, when he did not want to respond to something. "Cucumber and green tea to be precise."

Now that he got a good look at his lover, he wished he hadn't. That khaki button-up shirt (luckily not buttoned up) over the sleazy 3/4-sleeved top would be one hell to get off of him. He needed to learn to dress for the occasion.

No matter, undressing had never been a challenge. Even if worst came to worst, in the end they just needed to get their pants down. Or they could rip their clothes off. Ah, Yukimura's mind had skipped several stages and was already to be found in the bedroom, where his body would hopefully soon end up too.

Their regular correspondance per e-mail or chat effectively killed any topic of conversation or in his anticipation Yukimura just couldn't come up with one.

"My ass is numb from sittin' aroun' the bullet train for so long," was the only new piece of information Yukimura could have done without.

"You'll have plenty of exercise later." He smiled and patted Shiraishi's shoulder with his free hand, while he twirled the lavender flower in his other. His fingers twitched as they slid down Shiraishi's arm. He wanted to thread them around his lover's, rub them against the rough fabric of his bandages. Not outside.

The remainder of their way was like floating inside of a bubble that absorbed the cacophony of city life around them, just the two of them. It took a lot of self-control not to swoon right into Shiraishi's arms then and there and complete the girly vibe he gave off. Damn him, he wasn't some blushy virgin. Never had been.


With a tinkle of keys, he bent over to unlock the front door, when he felt warm hands grasp his waist and something hard press against the cleft of his ass or as much as it could with him still being fully clothed. Well well, what could that be?

He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Could you at least wait until we're inside and got rid of our shoes?"

Maybe it was the change of air pressure, but upon stepping inside the tension in the atmosphere increased. He briefly considered going through proper etiquette and offering Shiraishi something to drink or snack on. He already sat through a long train ride, after all.

The door banged shut behind them, Shiraishi's bag thumped to the floor and Yukimura decided. He could wait no longer. Screw etiquette and screw Shiraishi. He was offering himself, that should be enough.

He threw the lavender over his shoulder, pinning Shiraishi with a predatory gleam in his eyes as he approached. Slowly. One careful step at a time. Shiraishi flicked his tongue over his bottom lip, hunger apparent in his gestures. Yukimura's jacket slid off his shoulders as their bodies finally aligned or rather, slammed together. He helped Shiraishi shrug off his shirt, clawing at the one beneath and grinding their hips together, while they shared their first kiss after so long. They skipped the tentative part and went right to the battle for dominance.

Yukimura's breath was knocked out as he felt his scapulas and the back of his cranium connect with the wall behind him. Shiraishi shoved his tongue into his mouth again, before one-handedly ripping up his shirt to expose well-trained abs and trailing his bandaged hand over his smooth skin. Still fixing Yukimura with his smoldering gaze, Shiraishi slowly crouched down to lick his taut abdomen. Yukimura weaved his fingers through the dry hair, kneading the scalp underneath, as that hot tongue traveled down and farther down. Before he tugged sharply at the strands between his fists.

"Let's cut to the chase. We can save the foreplay for another day." His honeyed voice and smile made it sound like a suggestion, although he knew Shiraishi wouldn't refuse him and Shiraishi knew he would be a dead man if he did.

"Impatient, are we?" Shiraishi smirked in that lazy (and sexy) way of his. God, that guy gave him such a hard-on.

"Very." He disentangled his fingers from the light brown strands, trailing them down Shiraishi's shoulders. He let his parted lips hover seductively close to Shiraishi's until their breaths mingled, ready to capture them at any time, waiting for him to close the distance, before turning away abruptly and heading for the bedroom, tugging Shiraishi behind him.

He slammed the door behind them so hard, one of his watercolor paintings fell from the wall. Picking it up was for later. There were more important things to pick up where they had been left.

Like pushing Shiraishi on the bed, crawling on top of him and snogging him until they were both short of breath. The heat was getting to him. Yukimura discarded his shirt, before crushing his lips against Shiraishi's once more, knocking their teeth together in the process. No room to breathe. No time to slow down. His fingers dug into the pillow on either side of Shiraishi's head, wanting to tear it apart, as warm hands traveled over his back with just the right pressure.

A firm squeeze of his ass made his hips buck forward and rub their still confined dicks together. Yukimura hissed as Shiraishi used the release of his lips to latch his teeth onto his shoulder. The pleasurable pain made his cock twitch.

Then Shiraishi was behind him, licking and nipping at his shoulder blades. Yukimura bit his lip lest he bark at him to go faster. He had been sexually frustrated for the past few weeks and if he did not get what he wanted soon, how he wanted it, he would snap. He would demolish everything in his path, starting with Shiraishi, the cause.

A spark of amusement twitched through him. Shiraishi's hands ghosted over the tickllish part of his ribs to graze his nails across his chest, while that devilish tongue left burning trails down his back. A swift tug removed his pants that obstructed the path down the cleft of his ass.

"Hooh, someone's already well prepared." Shiraishi said, swirling his searing tongue around his buttplug. Instead of retorting, liquid moans dropped out of Yukimura's mouth, dissolving in the humid air, as sharp pressure was applied. God, did Shiraishi just use his teeth to pull that thing out? Yukimura groaned at the sudden hollowness he felt, before he heard Shiraishi spitting the buttplug out. Then the heated sensation was back.

White hot pleasure jolted straight to the top of his aching cock, as he felt that wiggling tongue press into him, lick and suck and swirl, spreading the already brightly burning flames of desire. "Hmm, grape."

"Cut that out already and get on with it." Yukimura was rather breathless. He had been patient so far. As good as it felt, it was not exactly what he wanted.

Undeterred, Shiraishi made an inquisitive sound at the back of his throat as his mouth trailed down Yukimura's heavy balls.

"I said, stick you goddamn cock into my hole and fuck me like there's no tomorrow!" He gritted out, shaking and desperate. Enough was enough. No more being patient tonight.

"Someone's got a bad mouth," Shiraishi slurred, giving Yukimura's wriggling ass a pat and sliding off the bed, away from him, and out of his pants. They landed somewhere in a crumpled heap.

"Someone's a fucking slowpoke." The mattress dipped behind him. There was the crinkling sound of plastic, a rip, stretching silence. Which reminded him. "No need for lube or stretching. Just fuck me already."

Shiraishi chuckled. "As ya wish." Then Yukimura was reminded just why exactly sex with Shiraishi was not as perfect as his memory led him to believe. He sank into him way too slowly. And held his hips still so he couldn't do more than spread his legs to help the shallow thrusts along.

"Faster," he whimpered, struggling against the iron grip. It couldn't be so hard to fuck the living daylights out of him, now could it?

An exhilarating shiver ran up his spine, along with Shiraishi's hands, as warmth enveloped his back and a tongue was back on his shoulders. "Ya know I wanna savor the feel." He nuzzled the soft curls at the nape of his neck and purred. "Hmm, ecstasy."

Yukimura would have cursed. He hated that catchword. Instead, he yelped as Shiraishi bit down hard on his shoulder and snapped his hips forward sharply.

Oh, there it was, the familiar fullness he had been yearning for, hard and pulsating. Shiraishi loved the slow approach, gliding in and out with practiced control until his own need for the rough passions was too overwhelming. But today, oh, today he was doing Yukimura a favor, loosening his restraints so early on. Giving him a taste of his unbridled side and driving into him hard and fast.

And Yukimura appreciated. With loud moans, wanton cries and generally any noise that tumbled out of his mouth. He knew it drove Shiraishi so wild he would nail him to the wall until Yukimura could take no more. Only, Yukimura could take everything he had to give and still beg for more.

He lost himself in the dizzy, disoriented feeling that overcame him, the almost violent slap of skin against skin, the heady moans and sharp gasps, the creaking bed as their bodies rocked against each other, faster and tighter. Shiraishi's damp breath prickled his skin, every sweat droplet that fell onto his back to mingle with his own elicited a small shiver, as they ran over his ribs in small rivulets, cooling his heated flesh, before plunging onto the damp bedding.

Rough hands roamed all over his slick body, bandages slowly came undone, grazing the skin of his rock-hard and aching erection so deliciously. He jerked into the touch, willing that fist to close tighter around him, to jerk him off in the same unrelenting pace his ass was assaulted with.

Yukimura gasped as Shiraishi twisted his grip and tugged, one, two, three times, before letting up and swirling his long fingers over the sensitive head of his cock. Mewling in discontent, he vainly squirmed in search for more friction. Another sharp rush of pleasure making even the roots of his hair prickle, took his mind off of... whatever it was he had wanted.

It became increasingly hard to keep his balance, his left hand fell from where it had been pressed against wall. Shiraishi used the opportunity to curl his hand around Yukimura's shoulder and grasp it tightly. Yukimura felt the other's forearms flex against his skin as he was pulled back against the vicious thrusts that reached ever deeper as he reached ever higher in his intoxicated mind.

He felt a wet suction at his earlobe and wished he too could put something in his mouth, swirl his tongue around and suck at. All he could taste was his salty sweat and the musky humidity surrounding them.

It was only when he felt Shiraishi's movement falter that he registered the distant buzz of a mobile phone. Oh, why can that bastard never shut it off? He gritted out an urgent "Stay" and blindly reached behind him to clutch whatever part of his lover he could catch, as if that would keep him glued to the spot. Whether or not that was what did the trick, Shiraishi groaned before continuing with renewed vigor.

Which he wouldn't keep up long as they both spiraled higher and higher and tighter and tighter. He could feel Shiraishi swelling inside of him, hot and throbbing. Yukimura was melting and shaking, clenching around his lover, unwilling to let him go just yet.

He tossed his head back in a silent scream, arched and convulsed as he reached the peak of his frenzied scramble toward release that sent sparks flying straight into his fingertips, cum spurting in hot surges across his stomach and onto the sheets. He felt Shiraishi jerk and tremble, before that intense pleasure he always spoke of washed over him and drowned his senses.

Exhausted, his head thumped onto the pillow, grinning in exhilaration even as he was trying to catch his breath. With sluggish movements, he lay down on his side, looking up at Shiraishi who was still hovering over him on wobbly arms, but not seeing him clearly. He wanted to sling an arm across his shoulders to pull him down into a kiss, but decided against it, because his arms felt like clumps of lead attached to his body.

Shiraishi pulled out slowly, before flopping down beside him, sliding an arm across his chest to pull him close and nuzzle his damp blue curls.

"Your form needs improvement," he rasped once his breath had evened out sufficiently.

Shiraishi's amused snort stirred the hairs at the back of his neck. "Lay off the catchphrase."

"Annoying, isn't it? You should lay off yours, as well." He patted Shiraishi's thigh.

Once he could trust his legs enough to carry his weight, he slid out of bed, much to Shiraishi's irritation, and walked over to the window to tilt it open. Grabbing an unused pair of boxers, he picked up the buttplug from the floor and headed for the bathroom, shivering a little as his bare feet connected with the cold tiles. He threw the plug into a small container to clean later, before he turned on the warm water and let it wash away the soreness of his muscles.

Absently, he scrubbed the half-dried cum off of his skin, watching in amusement as Shiraishi slinked into the bathroom after him to discard of the condom and his bandages. Clicking his tongue in mock exasperation, he cornered Yukimura in the shower. "Yer always runnin' away, Seiichi. That's not nice." He grinned as the water plastered his hair across his eyes.

"I hate sticky," he said as he smoothed Shiraishi's hair back and pressed their foreheads together, resting his hand against a neck that was so invitingly unmarked. He snaked his arms around Shiraishi's shoulder and pulled him into a wet kiss, water spraying over their faces, stinging in their eyes, running into their mouths and dropping form their lips again. It made breathing difficult, but wasn't that overrated anyway? Prying their lips apart, Yukimura grinned mischievously. "Ready for another round? I'm not letting you go until you give me a perfect performance."

.+end+.