Fic: Lines to Cross and Lines to Not [by zoesque]
Title: Lines to Cross and Lines to Not
Author: zoesque
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1168
Summary: Kissiness.
A/N: Written for peacock, in what I suppose was her hour of need. X3
Oshitari Yuushi kisses, Keigo realizes, more or less exactly the same way he does everything ever: slowly, deliberately, not without skill, and in a way entirely vexing to Keigo’s very existence.
“Ow,” says Keigo, pointedly and for the third time. Yuushi makes a half-exhale against Keigo’s cheek, where his nose is pressed, and Keigo has the sudden and horrifying knowledge that that is breath from Yuushi’s nostrils, and since when has that been acceptable behaviour. “Ow!”
“So you’ve said,” Yuushi mumbles, and it irritates Keigo all the more that he hasn’t quite bothered to pull away or off of Keigo to mumble it. Keigo squirms, succeeding only in jamming his spine more firmly against the fine and angular craftsmanship of his armoire. “Are you in horrible agony, oh sweetness of my very breath?”
“Your breath is not sweet,” Keigo snaps, pushing against Yuushi’s chest with the hands he has wedged up helpfully between them. “And my spine --”
“Oh?” interrupts Yuushi, in a tone that makes Keigo meet his eye quickly, because it’s best to have as much warning as possible in these situations. “Would you rather a flatter surface? Your bed is lovely this time of year, I hear.”
“Fuck right off,” Keigo hisses. Yuushi’s glasses are half-fogged up, laughably, but Keigo suspects, with a sinking heart, it’s nothing to the ridiculous picture he himself must paint, red-faced and cornered against a piece of furniture. He makes another shoving motion, but Yuushi rolls with it as easily as he rolls Keigo’s more angled shots against his racket on-court. “Would you not!”
“Not what,” Yuushi grins, shifting his weight from foot to foot like something tall and gangly and about to pounce. “Kiss you? Make sexual advances? Prompt the current maiden-like flush on your --”
“Everything! The -- not everything!”
“The not everything,” Yuushi assesses, repeating it twice more like he’s tasting the words in his mouth. Keigo won’t give him the satisfaction of making another shove. “You’re so deep, Keigo. A regular Voltaire.”
“I’m sure Voltaire never had his spine in danger of disintegration due to --” Keigo pauses a half-second, in order to keep a more concentrated eye on Yuushi, who is looming again, “Unwanted amorous advances! Now would you --”
“Lean into me,” says Yuushi, and then Keigo can’t speak much, unless the small half-words that form and disappear before escaping his mouth count. Yuushi hums, and Keigo’s brows furrow, ‘what are you doing’ poised and ready, but then Yuushi’s arm is reaching behind Keigo’s shoulders, his forearm locking Keigo in, and his other arm --
“Howdareyou,” gasps Keigo, all in a rush. He thinks of coupling the sentence with a well-placed, once-more-into-the-breach shove, but Yuushi’s palm against the small of his back, insinuated snugly under his school vest and shirt, has melted away all of the appropriate nerve endings. Keigo thinks that’s Yuushi’s pinky finger, perhaps, sliding just a bit under his belt and pants and going god knows where else. “Yuushi!”
“You can move your hands, you know,” Yuushi is saying. His index and middle fingers are tracing minute circles over Keigo’s skin. “Around my neck would be nice.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, I know what to do,” answers Keigo, arching his back away from Yuushi’s hand and, unfortunately, nearer to Yuushi himself. “Stop trapping me!”
“Stop trying not to enjoy this, then,” Yuushi replies, and Keigo makes the fatal mistake of opening his mouth to answer.
In the end, the armoire and Yuushi’s arms are all that keep Keigo from sliding right onto the floor, pounding heart and all. His skin feels tight where Yuushi has found it beneath his clothes, like the chords of a piano, struck and thrumming. Yuushi hums again, and Keigo half wants to ask what song it is, what music.
“There you go,” Yuushi breathes against Keigo’s neck, after what feels like forever and not long enough. Keigo’s palms against Yuushi’s own neck can feel the pulse beat there, and Keigo realizes, with a sudden burst of pleasure, that Yuushi’s heart is going as fast as his is. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Keigo echoes, as Yuushi steps impossibly closer. Keigo lets his hands slide along Yuushi’s neck, to his nape, and then as far down between his shoulderblades as he can reach. Yuushi leans in.
“Keigo,” is all he says, and Keigo can’t care less if he says Grace Kelly, so long as he keeps leaning forward.
Yuushi’s body is very warm. Keigo sighs, settles against him, and then realizes that that, right there, is --
Finally, Keigo manages a shove so effective it not only removes Yuushi from his personal space, but forces him to take a step and a half backwards to catch his balance. Keigo cannot even speak, his affront is too vast. Unfortunately, Yuushi’s reaction limits itself to two very raised, very inquiring eyebrows, and not much vocally. Keigo, at last, grits out, “There is a line, you ass! A line,” he insists, when Yuushi starts to laugh.
“You know Keigo,” says Yuushi, not unkindly, as he sweeps hair out of his face, only to have it fall back again -- rakishly, Keigo brain inserts, horribly -- right after, “The proper protocol is to just not point out erections you aren’t interested in. Simple as that.”
“I,” Keigo starts, because he thinks he has something to say, but then embarrassment swarms up in his throat and he can’t at all. “Don’t do that!”
“Oh, Keigo! Was there ever a heart as unflinching and cruel as yours?” Yuushi takes a step to the side, and flings a hand upon his brow. “Oh, what a cross is mine to bear, to have the man I love shun my penis --”
“STOP,” barks Keigo, only it comes out as more of a squeak. He thinks he is well within his rights to shun any and all penises at his own discretion, but as that thought is clearly the most deranged he’s ever had in his life, Keigo elects not to say it aloud. Yuushi’s look is woeful and mercenary, all at once.
“But I am quite disconsolate, Keigo. Forlorn, even. Undone,” Yuushi continues, but he’s regained the space between them as he says it. Keigo hitches in a breath, despite himself. “Whatever is a poor boy and his penis to do, in such hopeless circumstan--”
“I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT PENISES ANYMORE,” Keigo explodes, and then he has to dash outside to tell the maid who’s tripped very loudly on her way past his door in no uncertain terms that they are doing biology homework, and could she please fetch an anatomy book from the library instead of gaping at him like that.
“Make sure it has pictures,” Yuushi calls, poking his head out the door to watch the maid retreat, and then to regard Keigo with an odd sort of half smile. “So?”
“Everything about you is awful,” answers Keigo, and lets Yuushi’s hand wrap around his wrist as he closes the door behind them.
END.
Author: zoesque
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1168
Summary: Kissiness.
A/N: Written for peacock, in what I suppose was her hour of need. X3
Oshitari Yuushi kisses, Keigo realizes, more or less exactly the same way he does everything ever: slowly, deliberately, not without skill, and in a way entirely vexing to Keigo’s very existence.
“Ow,” says Keigo, pointedly and for the third time. Yuushi makes a half-exhale against Keigo’s cheek, where his nose is pressed, and Keigo has the sudden and horrifying knowledge that that is breath from Yuushi’s nostrils, and since when has that been acceptable behaviour. “Ow!”
“So you’ve said,” Yuushi mumbles, and it irritates Keigo all the more that he hasn’t quite bothered to pull away or off of Keigo to mumble it. Keigo squirms, succeeding only in jamming his spine more firmly against the fine and angular craftsmanship of his armoire. “Are you in horrible agony, oh sweetness of my very breath?”
“Your breath is not sweet,” Keigo snaps, pushing against Yuushi’s chest with the hands he has wedged up helpfully between them. “And my spine --”
“Oh?” interrupts Yuushi, in a tone that makes Keigo meet his eye quickly, because it’s best to have as much warning as possible in these situations. “Would you rather a flatter surface? Your bed is lovely this time of year, I hear.”
“Fuck right off,” Keigo hisses. Yuushi’s glasses are half-fogged up, laughably, but Keigo suspects, with a sinking heart, it’s nothing to the ridiculous picture he himself must paint, red-faced and cornered against a piece of furniture. He makes another shoving motion, but Yuushi rolls with it as easily as he rolls Keigo’s more angled shots against his racket on-court. “Would you not!”
“Not what,” Yuushi grins, shifting his weight from foot to foot like something tall and gangly and about to pounce. “Kiss you? Make sexual advances? Prompt the current maiden-like flush on your --”
“Everything! The -- not everything!”
“The not everything,” Yuushi assesses, repeating it twice more like he’s tasting the words in his mouth. Keigo won’t give him the satisfaction of making another shove. “You’re so deep, Keigo. A regular Voltaire.”
“I’m sure Voltaire never had his spine in danger of disintegration due to --” Keigo pauses a half-second, in order to keep a more concentrated eye on Yuushi, who is looming again, “Unwanted amorous advances! Now would you --”
“Lean into me,” says Yuushi, and then Keigo can’t speak much, unless the small half-words that form and disappear before escaping his mouth count. Yuushi hums, and Keigo’s brows furrow, ‘what are you doing’ poised and ready, but then Yuushi’s arm is reaching behind Keigo’s shoulders, his forearm locking Keigo in, and his other arm --
“Howdareyou,” gasps Keigo, all in a rush. He thinks of coupling the sentence with a well-placed, once-more-into-the-breach shove, but Yuushi’s palm against the small of his back, insinuated snugly under his school vest and shirt, has melted away all of the appropriate nerve endings. Keigo thinks that’s Yuushi’s pinky finger, perhaps, sliding just a bit under his belt and pants and going god knows where else. “Yuushi!”
“You can move your hands, you know,” Yuushi is saying. His index and middle fingers are tracing minute circles over Keigo’s skin. “Around my neck would be nice.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, I know what to do,” answers Keigo, arching his back away from Yuushi’s hand and, unfortunately, nearer to Yuushi himself. “Stop trapping me!”
“Stop trying not to enjoy this, then,” Yuushi replies, and Keigo makes the fatal mistake of opening his mouth to answer.
In the end, the armoire and Yuushi’s arms are all that keep Keigo from sliding right onto the floor, pounding heart and all. His skin feels tight where Yuushi has found it beneath his clothes, like the chords of a piano, struck and thrumming. Yuushi hums again, and Keigo half wants to ask what song it is, what music.
“There you go,” Yuushi breathes against Keigo’s neck, after what feels like forever and not long enough. Keigo’s palms against Yuushi’s own neck can feel the pulse beat there, and Keigo realizes, with a sudden burst of pleasure, that Yuushi’s heart is going as fast as his is. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Keigo echoes, as Yuushi steps impossibly closer. Keigo lets his hands slide along Yuushi’s neck, to his nape, and then as far down between his shoulderblades as he can reach. Yuushi leans in.
“Keigo,” is all he says, and Keigo can’t care less if he says Grace Kelly, so long as he keeps leaning forward.
Yuushi’s body is very warm. Keigo sighs, settles against him, and then realizes that that, right there, is --
Finally, Keigo manages a shove so effective it not only removes Yuushi from his personal space, but forces him to take a step and a half backwards to catch his balance. Keigo cannot even speak, his affront is too vast. Unfortunately, Yuushi’s reaction limits itself to two very raised, very inquiring eyebrows, and not much vocally. Keigo, at last, grits out, “There is a line, you ass! A line,” he insists, when Yuushi starts to laugh.
“You know Keigo,” says Yuushi, not unkindly, as he sweeps hair out of his face, only to have it fall back again -- rakishly, Keigo brain inserts, horribly -- right after, “The proper protocol is to just not point out erections you aren’t interested in. Simple as that.”
“I,” Keigo starts, because he thinks he has something to say, but then embarrassment swarms up in his throat and he can’t at all. “Don’t do that!”
“Oh, Keigo! Was there ever a heart as unflinching and cruel as yours?” Yuushi takes a step to the side, and flings a hand upon his brow. “Oh, what a cross is mine to bear, to have the man I love shun my penis --”
“STOP,” barks Keigo, only it comes out as more of a squeak. He thinks he is well within his rights to shun any and all penises at his own discretion, but as that thought is clearly the most deranged he’s ever had in his life, Keigo elects not to say it aloud. Yuushi’s look is woeful and mercenary, all at once.
“But I am quite disconsolate, Keigo. Forlorn, even. Undone,” Yuushi continues, but he’s regained the space between them as he says it. Keigo hitches in a breath, despite himself. “Whatever is a poor boy and his penis to do, in such hopeless circumstan--”
“I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT PENISES ANYMORE,” Keigo explodes, and then he has to dash outside to tell the maid who’s tripped very loudly on her way past his door in no uncertain terms that they are doing biology homework, and could she please fetch an anatomy book from the library instead of gaping at him like that.
“Make sure it has pictures,” Yuushi calls, poking his head out the door to watch the maid retreat, and then to regard Keigo with an odd sort of half smile. “So?”
“Everything about you is awful,” answers Keigo, and lets Yuushi’s hand wrap around his wrist as he closes the door behind them.
END.