i like my body when it is with your body [Prince of Tennis, Sanada/Atobe, R]
title: i like my body when it is with your body
character(s)/pairing(s): Sanada/Atobe
genre: slash, non-graphic smut
rating: hard R
wordcount: 1400
notes/summary: Sanada doesn't get jealous. If he got jealous then he would have to admit he cared, and when it comes to Atobe he really doesn't care. Not like that.
prompt: From
potkinkmeme2011: "Sanada/Atobe; possessiveness+biting. Unf." Originally posted anonymously here. Also, while I'm at it I'm counting this for the bites/bruises square on my kink_bingo card.
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Sanada doesn't get jealous. If he got jealous then he would have to admit he cared, and when it comes to Atobe he really doesn't care. Not like that.
He enjoys touching the expanse of Atobe's skin (which is surprisingly pale for someone who spends so much time practicing tennis outdoors). He licks Atobe's neck and tastes the musky, earthy scent of arousal beneath the disgusting perfumes that Atobe practically bathes in in order to catch people's attention. Sanada uses his mouth to suck and his teeth to bite, and Atobe very nearly squeals, except that it wouldn't be at all dignified.
"You're like an animal!" Atobe hisses instead, placing a hand on Sanada's head to push him down and off and away. Sanada is stronger. "You would dare to mar Ore-sama's perfect skin-?"
Sanada reaches down and wraps a firm hand around Atobe's cock. It silences him, as it always has.
"Would you rather someone else did it?" Sanada asks, mouth quirked in grim amusement. Atobe equates it to a sort of snarl.
"Anyone else," Atobe retorts. Sanada's hand jerks him with a long, slow stroke that make Atobe's hips buck and make a complete lie of his words. Atobe is thankful that he isn't prone to blushing.
"Don't joke about that," Sanada says ominously, and lowers his head down again.
His bite is sharp, with no hesitation at all, and Atobe's first instinct is to strike out at him in retribution, but Sanada's body pressed against his, which until now had felt so hot and pleasurable, is suddenly recognisable as a weight that keeps him held down fast. Atobe's hands scramble, clawing without pretense at Sanada's arms and sides, and he hates that of all the people in the world the only one that can really throw off his practised grace and make him feel without dignity is Sanada. As though his method is to bring others down to his own level.
The worst part is Sanada's smile. Atobe can feel it curving into his skin around the teeth that nip and send sparks of pain speeding to his brain. He finds it all so amusing, so much so that he moves from neck to collarbone to chest, leaving pink marks in his wake. Atobe realises he should not have given Sanada the idea in the first place, but quickly chases that thought with the indignant reminder that no-one else would never have dared anyway-!
The only weapons left to Atobe are words. His struggles are effective only in that they force Sanada to respond with more strength to hold him down, a suggestion that in due time he might be overcome. But Atobe's patience is thin. Besides, intellect has always been held in higher esteem than brute force.
"What if I were sleeping with someone else?" He asks, and makes it not just an idle question, but a powerful suggestion with emphasis on the right words. It does bother Sanada, just for a bare moment of hesitation. Enough for Atobe to notice. Until Sanada bites his nipple, and Atobe chokes on the rest of his words, and his hips betray him as they jerk up right into Sanada's waiting hand again.
"You're not," Sanada says. He has that tone of voice that suggests the words he speaks are true only because he wants them to be. No less certain for all that, though. And he's right.
That doesn't matter to Atobe.
"Would you be jealous?" Atobe asks with a laugh. Even he knows the question is ridiculous. "Someone else worshipping my body, touching and tasting. People count themselves lucky to get attention from me, you know. It's only you who is so disrespectful. Other people who are given the opportunity to be with me don't waste it. To them I am a fantasy, one gracious enough to indulge them."
There is enough in there for Sanada to pounce on and tear to shreds, but he isn't the kind to bother wasting words. That's why Atobe knows in this arena he has the edge. He can keep talking and Sanada won't bother to retort. Not bothering to deny something is the same as admitting it is the truth in most people's eyes. Atobe isn't so vapid as to believe that and neither is Sanada, but there's always the power of persuasion.
Sanada's hand tightens around his cock again, and Atobe forgets what he was going to say next. It's done on purpose; Sanada jerks him off with carefully timed strokes that squeeze Atobe hard as he bites him again. Sanada moves lower, past the hard muscle to the soft flesh of Atobe's stomach and his bites pinch, one after the other, next to one another like they are marking a trail. Atobe feels his body respond; his toes curling, muscles tightening, fingers digging in to Sanada's shoulders (and won't that only amuse the bastard, as though proof that somehow Atobe is dependant on him). His hips have been moving of their own accord for quite some time now, he realises belatedly. It doesn't matter, he doesn't care, he-
Atobe comes suddenly, sharply, and it shocks him. Orgasms that hit and then wash over him like a wave are much more satisfying. This one leaves him strangely alert. Eager to start all over again. He would die before allowing Sanada to realise that. Sanada himself is already up and away from the bed, pulling on his pants. This isn't exactly unusual, but neither was it expected. Atobe gets the feeling Sanada is... done. Something he said or did has finally pushed Sanada to his limits and over. Atobe smirks; about time too. Sanada retrieves his shirt and walks over to the bed again to sit down. Atobe pulls the bedsheet up over himself, smoothing a place for Sanada to sit at the same time. He knows something is coming.
"You like to blame it all on me," Sanada says as he slips his shirt on, buttoning it with precision and not a little swift beauty of motion. Atobe can't understand why he insists in acting like such a hulking lummox the majority of the time when these small actions reveal he is capable of behaving otherwise. Beauty is a commodity. Any kind of beauty.
"Blame what?" Atobe asks, bending his knees and drawing up the sheets to tangle between his legs. He isn't purposely letting them slip back down his torso. He tries to sound like he doesn't really care, but it comes out as an honest question rather than a dismissal.
"This," Sanada says shortly. "Us. The sex." It comes out easily enough but Atobe has come to realise what an effort it takes for Sanada to talk about things like sex with a straight face. The need for propriety is high on his list of ways to be able to function normally. Atobe isn't expecting Sanada to elaborate, but he does. "You antagonise me purposely, so that you can blame your desire for rough sex on me. You try to convince yourself that's all I'm capable of, when in reality it's all you want. You think too highly of yourself. You pretend you're all grace and beauty, and that anything else is scornful. In reality you're no better than anyone else. Worse, perhaps. Because why bother lying about it?"
It isn't even worth denying any of it. Atobe has let Sanada see too much by now.
"Are you coming back?" Atobe asks, and silently berates himself for how incredibly desperate it sounds coming out of his mouth. All he can hope is that in this particular moment Sanada will let it slide because more important things are at stake here.
"I don't know," Sanada admits. "I want to. I will. If you start being honest."
Atobe meets Sanada's eyes, because he has to, and draws on all the dignity within him to manage a tiny accepting nod. To anyone else it might seem Atobe is looking down his nose at them yet again, but Sanada of all people understands the importance of appearances, even though they both attempt to cultivate completely different ones. He knows how much it costs Atobe to give that nod, and that it doesn't just mean he'll think about it.
"I'll see you next time," Sanada says, and Atobe sighs in relief, because he knows that's all Sanada will ever say on the subject again.
-
This entry was originally posted here on Dreamwidth. Comment there if you'd prefer!
character(s)/pairing(s): Sanada/Atobe
genre: slash, non-graphic smut
rating: hard R
wordcount: 1400
notes/summary: Sanada doesn't get jealous. If he got jealous then he would have to admit he cared, and when it comes to Atobe he really doesn't care. Not like that.
prompt: From
potkinkmeme2011: "Sanada/Atobe; possessiveness+biting. Unf." Originally posted anonymously here. Also, while I'm at it I'm counting this for the bites/bruises square on my kink_bingo card.
-
Sanada doesn't get jealous. If he got jealous then he would have to admit he cared, and when it comes to Atobe he really doesn't care. Not like that.
He enjoys touching the expanse of Atobe's skin (which is surprisingly pale for someone who spends so much time practicing tennis outdoors). He licks Atobe's neck and tastes the musky, earthy scent of arousal beneath the disgusting perfumes that Atobe practically bathes in in order to catch people's attention. Sanada uses his mouth to suck and his teeth to bite, and Atobe very nearly squeals, except that it wouldn't be at all dignified.
"You're like an animal!" Atobe hisses instead, placing a hand on Sanada's head to push him down and off and away. Sanada is stronger. "You would dare to mar Ore-sama's perfect skin-?"
Sanada reaches down and wraps a firm hand around Atobe's cock. It silences him, as it always has.
"Would you rather someone else did it?" Sanada asks, mouth quirked in grim amusement. Atobe equates it to a sort of snarl.
"Anyone else," Atobe retorts. Sanada's hand jerks him with a long, slow stroke that make Atobe's hips buck and make a complete lie of his words. Atobe is thankful that he isn't prone to blushing.
"Don't joke about that," Sanada says ominously, and lowers his head down again.
His bite is sharp, with no hesitation at all, and Atobe's first instinct is to strike out at him in retribution, but Sanada's body pressed against his, which until now had felt so hot and pleasurable, is suddenly recognisable as a weight that keeps him held down fast. Atobe's hands scramble, clawing without pretense at Sanada's arms and sides, and he hates that of all the people in the world the only one that can really throw off his practised grace and make him feel without dignity is Sanada. As though his method is to bring others down to his own level.
The worst part is Sanada's smile. Atobe can feel it curving into his skin around the teeth that nip and send sparks of pain speeding to his brain. He finds it all so amusing, so much so that he moves from neck to collarbone to chest, leaving pink marks in his wake. Atobe realises he should not have given Sanada the idea in the first place, but quickly chases that thought with the indignant reminder that no-one else would never have dared anyway-!
The only weapons left to Atobe are words. His struggles are effective only in that they force Sanada to respond with more strength to hold him down, a suggestion that in due time he might be overcome. But Atobe's patience is thin. Besides, intellect has always been held in higher esteem than brute force.
"What if I were sleeping with someone else?" He asks, and makes it not just an idle question, but a powerful suggestion with emphasis on the right words. It does bother Sanada, just for a bare moment of hesitation. Enough for Atobe to notice. Until Sanada bites his nipple, and Atobe chokes on the rest of his words, and his hips betray him as they jerk up right into Sanada's waiting hand again.
"You're not," Sanada says. He has that tone of voice that suggests the words he speaks are true only because he wants them to be. No less certain for all that, though. And he's right.
That doesn't matter to Atobe.
"Would you be jealous?" Atobe asks with a laugh. Even he knows the question is ridiculous. "Someone else worshipping my body, touching and tasting. People count themselves lucky to get attention from me, you know. It's only you who is so disrespectful. Other people who are given the opportunity to be with me don't waste it. To them I am a fantasy, one gracious enough to indulge them."
There is enough in there for Sanada to pounce on and tear to shreds, but he isn't the kind to bother wasting words. That's why Atobe knows in this arena he has the edge. He can keep talking and Sanada won't bother to retort. Not bothering to deny something is the same as admitting it is the truth in most people's eyes. Atobe isn't so vapid as to believe that and neither is Sanada, but there's always the power of persuasion.
Sanada's hand tightens around his cock again, and Atobe forgets what he was going to say next. It's done on purpose; Sanada jerks him off with carefully timed strokes that squeeze Atobe hard as he bites him again. Sanada moves lower, past the hard muscle to the soft flesh of Atobe's stomach and his bites pinch, one after the other, next to one another like they are marking a trail. Atobe feels his body respond; his toes curling, muscles tightening, fingers digging in to Sanada's shoulders (and won't that only amuse the bastard, as though proof that somehow Atobe is dependant on him). His hips have been moving of their own accord for quite some time now, he realises belatedly. It doesn't matter, he doesn't care, he-
Atobe comes suddenly, sharply, and it shocks him. Orgasms that hit and then wash over him like a wave are much more satisfying. This one leaves him strangely alert. Eager to start all over again. He would die before allowing Sanada to realise that. Sanada himself is already up and away from the bed, pulling on his pants. This isn't exactly unusual, but neither was it expected. Atobe gets the feeling Sanada is... done. Something he said or did has finally pushed Sanada to his limits and over. Atobe smirks; about time too. Sanada retrieves his shirt and walks over to the bed again to sit down. Atobe pulls the bedsheet up over himself, smoothing a place for Sanada to sit at the same time. He knows something is coming.
"You like to blame it all on me," Sanada says as he slips his shirt on, buttoning it with precision and not a little swift beauty of motion. Atobe can't understand why he insists in acting like such a hulking lummox the majority of the time when these small actions reveal he is capable of behaving otherwise. Beauty is a commodity. Any kind of beauty.
"Blame what?" Atobe asks, bending his knees and drawing up the sheets to tangle between his legs. He isn't purposely letting them slip back down his torso. He tries to sound like he doesn't really care, but it comes out as an honest question rather than a dismissal.
"This," Sanada says shortly. "Us. The sex." It comes out easily enough but Atobe has come to realise what an effort it takes for Sanada to talk about things like sex with a straight face. The need for propriety is high on his list of ways to be able to function normally. Atobe isn't expecting Sanada to elaborate, but he does. "You antagonise me purposely, so that you can blame your desire for rough sex on me. You try to convince yourself that's all I'm capable of, when in reality it's all you want. You think too highly of yourself. You pretend you're all grace and beauty, and that anything else is scornful. In reality you're no better than anyone else. Worse, perhaps. Because why bother lying about it?"
It isn't even worth denying any of it. Atobe has let Sanada see too much by now.
"Are you coming back?" Atobe asks, and silently berates himself for how incredibly desperate it sounds coming out of his mouth. All he can hope is that in this particular moment Sanada will let it slide because more important things are at stake here.
"I don't know," Sanada admits. "I want to. I will. If you start being honest."
Atobe meets Sanada's eyes, because he has to, and draws on all the dignity within him to manage a tiny accepting nod. To anyone else it might seem Atobe is looking down his nose at them yet again, but Sanada of all people understands the importance of appearances, even though they both attempt to cultivate completely different ones. He knows how much it costs Atobe to give that nod, and that it doesn't just mean he'll think about it.
"I'll see you next time," Sanada says, and Atobe sighs in relief, because he knows that's all Sanada will ever say on the subject again.
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This entry was originally posted here on Dreamwidth. Comment there if you'd prefer!