[D. Gray-man] Flurry
Title: Flurry
Fandom: D. Gray-man
Pairing: Kanda/Allen
Rating: R
Contains: sex
Flurry
One day, Allen reflected, he would teach Kanda the difference between being lowered to the bed and being tackled. Not that Kanda was moving fast enough for a tackle, he was just... very, very forceful. And Allen would have appreciated his enthusiasm a lot more if the bed had not been so woefully short.
"Ow," Allen observed, wedged between the end of the bed and the wall, reaching up to gingerly rub the spot where he had bumped his head. And again, just for the sake of clarification, "Ow."
Kanda looked distinctly not pleased.
"What."
"Uh," Allen said, because that was what one said when faced with a glaring Kanda staring down at oneself. "I don't claim to be the expert here, but I'm fairly certain it doesn't work like this."
That, of course, was the wrong thing to say, as Kanda immediately sat back on his knees with an expression Allen had privately categorized as "disgruntled salted codfish".
"Get out."
"What?!"
One day, he would find out what made Kanda have those mood swings, that he could go from being so obviously... involved to being so utterly disinterested in the matter of half a second. As for now...
"No," Allen said. "Nonono. We're going to do this. Properly. Just... let me get up."
He floundered a little, which he supposed contributed significantly to the rise of Kanda's "You are an idiot" meter, but at least it kept Kanda from moving in the meantime.
Finally, he managed to pull himself back up. "There. Better."
And because Kanda didn't say anything (and hadn't mentioned anything alluding to horrible murder in the last ten minutes, which was a new record), Allen figured it was safe to see if they could pick up where they had so abruptly left off.
Kissing was surprisingly nice, kind of slow and soft, though it would have been better if Kanda had been participating a little instead of-
Kanda's hands clamped down on his upper arms just as Kanda's mouth clamped down on his, and Allen figured he could live with that.
Once Kanda got going, he really got going, with lips and teeth and tongue, and it was really messy and not very skillful, not at all like what one read about in novels or like what he'd seen Cross do with women-and Allen thought he should definitely not be thinking about Cross when Kanda was kissing him within an inch of his life.
Speaking of which...
He shoved away from Kanda, gasping.
Kanda attempted a glare, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his bruised lips and heavy breathing.
"Sorry," Allen said, a little embarrassed at how breathless his own voice sounded, "Just... air."
"Idiot," Kanda said succinctly, as if it hadn't been his fault Allen was having trouble in the first place.
"I'm not an idiot for needing air," Allen protested, but Kanda seemed to decide that kissing was a more reliable method for shutting Allen up than beating him over the head with Mugen, so he went about doing just that.
He was using less teeth and more tongue this time around, though, which was really nice, and Allen's brain was getting fuzzy around the edges again when a shove sent him toppling onto the mattress.
"Hey!" he exclaimed, annoyed that kissing Kanda should be so nice when Kanda's bedside manner absolutely sucked. "If you want me to move, just say so!"
"Shut up."
Allen would have found a comeback to that, except that he was suddenly looking at Kanda's glare from about an inch away.
Kanda's eyes were really kind of pretty, he reflected, all dark and heated and intense, and thinking Kanda pretty was about as weird as thinking of Cross during a make-out session, and it was liable to get him killed if he ever said it aloud (the last person to call Kanda pretty could still only eat through a straw).
Indeed, the entire situation was bordering on the absurd. If somebody had told him a week ago that he would be lying on Kanda's bed making out with Kanda by Wednesday evening, he would have laughed. Not that the entire concept was any less ridiculous now, it was just that Allen felt a lot less inclined to laugh when Kanda was looking at him like that.
"What?" Kanda demanded, except his voice was oddly quiet, and Allen could feel the word ghosting over his face.
"Nothing," he replied, and for some reason, Kanda's lips moving to taste his breath was the hottest thing he had seen in a while, so Allen decided to stop attempting to analyze the situation and concentrate on kissing instead.
Kanda seemed to have no objections to that. In fact, his response was downright enthusiastic, straddling Allen's legs and taking a fistful of his shirt in an iron grip.
Allen might have minded more if the experience hadn't been so new.
He had been in this position plenty of times, flat on his back with Kanda looming over him (or Kanda's boot in the center of his chest, or Kanda sitting down on top of him) and telling him to yield. In fact, he distinctly remembered that one time when they had both been so pissed at each other that they had entirely foregone weapons in favor of rolling around and punching each other-or trying to, anyway, since Lavi swore up and down that it had looked more like they had been doing… other things-but all of those situations had involved wanting to get rid of Kanda as quickly as possible.
This, though, this could go on for a very long time, Allen decided, and he didn't know if he liked it because it was the newness of another's body, or because it was Kanda. He suspected it was a little of both, and that felt both strange and exciting.
His hands found Kanda's back, fingers tracing over the small bumps of his spine, up the slope of his back, to his shoulders, feeling the knotted muscles. It was odd, how he had somehow always thought of them as bigger, broader, if only for the way Kanda carried himself, back ramrod straight and shoulders square, his head held high, commanding respect despite being… kind of an ass, as Lavi liked to put it.
It made him curious, curious to see what else about Kanda wasn't as he had pictured it in his mind, and he reached down, tugging Kanda's shirt free from his pants, wanting to touch…
Against him, Kanda went very, very still.
Confused, Allen drew back a little, waiting. Kanda was staring at him, his eyes so dark that it was hard to make out the iris, wary and a little angry. He didn't say anything, though, and belatedly, it occurred to Allen that he should probably ask for permission. Kanda had this weird thing about people touching him, despite the fact that he had been the one to move this to the bed, and didn't that kind of imply that they would be… um, doing things?
"Is-I mean, is this okay?"
It felt weird to say this to Kanda, of all people, and Kanda obviously thought so, as well, because his eyes narrowed.
"I mean, err," Allen said, at a loss as to how to make it sound considerate without making it sound incredibly girly.
"…Idiot," Kanda said, and reached down to demonstratively yank Allen's shirt free.
"Hey," Allen complained, "You don't have to be so-mmmh!"
Kanda was growing way too fond of this method of shutting him up, Allen decided, and slipped his hand inside Kanda's shirt in retribution. Kanda stiffened again at the touch, before shoving his hand inside Allen's shirt, and Allen couldn't prevent the absolutely undignified yelp that escaped him.
"What."
"Cold," Allen said accusingly, and Kanda seemed to think that the appropriate response to this was to shove his hand even further up his shirt.
His cold fingers brushed over Allen's stomach and up his side, and for some reason, the temperature suddenly became secondary to the sensation of the sword-calluses grazing his skin, and the fact that Kanda wasn't being nearly as grabby as he had acted before.
It made him wonder if Kanda was as curious about him as he was about Kanda, and wasn't that a funny thing? Because they had touched countless times before, with dragging and shoving and begrudgingly administering first aid, but Allen couldn't recall ever being curious.
He had never really thought about the roughness of Kanda's hands, or the fact that the whole of Kanda's back seemed to consist of different patches of skin, some older, some newer-like the spot below his right shoulder, which had been burnt by an Akuma's fire breath only a little while ago, and which made Kanda shudder when he touched it, the new skin still tender and raw.
It was kind of hot, the way Kanda jerked when he found a sensitive spot, the way he seemed to choke on his own breath when Allen pressed down, feeling a knot uncoil. And Kanda's hand on his own body, moving when he moved, mirroring, almost like Kanda was paying him back-and wasn't that the way it had always been? Them fighting over something or other, each trying to give as good as he got?
The thought made something in him tighten and ache, making him squirm. Above him, Kanda grunted and shifted, and then Kanda's knee ended up nudging between his legs and Allen realized that he was in deep, deep trouble.
Kanda paused.
Naturally, it had been too much to hope for that he wouldn't notice, and Allen could feel his cheeks burn. It was embarrassing, even though they were on a bed and making out and one expected things to happen when making out, but this was Kanda and Kanda was staring down at him with a look he couldn't decipher.
"Um," Allen said, quite certain that his face was trying to match his scar in color.
Kanda, ever the pragmatist, unceremoniously shoved his hand down Allen's pants.
In retrospect, Allen thought, nobody could really blame him for moaning, even though at the time, he felt like dying of mortification.
"Keep it down," Kanda hissed, and Allen nodded frantically because the walls were ridiculously thin and he really did not need to be the talk of the Order by tomorrow morning.
Of course, his resolve lasted a grand total of three seconds before Kanda's hand began to move, and for some reason, it was the hottest thing he had ever felt despite the fact that Kanda really wasn't all that skillful. There was just something about the intent behind the rough, precise strokes, the absolute seriousness with which Kanda went about it, that was making it difficult to do more than muffle his voice against Kanda's shirt and hang on for the ride.
If he had been able to think at all, he might have worried about the sight he had to present, or the things he was saying, because some of them sounded like "yes" and "please" and "Kanda", but the world had narrowed down to heat and movement and sensation, his hips jerking into Kanda's hand, and he really couldn't find it within himself to feel ashamed.
It didn't last very long. Allen was too wired by the sheer concept of having someone else do this, of having Kanda do this, for it to last long. He bit Kanda's shoulder to stifle the sound when he came.
By the time coherence was slowly returning to him and he realized that he was lying on the bed in a sweaty, graceless heap, Kanda had already withdrawn, wiping his hand on the bedspread and straightening his clothes. There was a damp spot on his shirt where Allen's mouth had been, and he was awkwardly trying to adjust his pants.
For some reason, that made it easier to speak.
"Um," Allen said, "Um, shouldn't I-don't you-I mean, it's my turn now?"
Kanda made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, and Allen decided that those two high spots of color in his cheeks were really looking kind of attractive. "Do what you want."
"Okay," Allen said easily, and reached for Kanda's belt.
- FIN -
----
<< Return to D.Gray-man Index | Return to Fanfiction Index >>
Fandom: D. Gray-man
Pairing: Kanda/Allen
Rating: R
Contains: sex
Flurry
One day, Allen reflected, he would teach Kanda the difference between being lowered to the bed and being tackled. Not that Kanda was moving fast enough for a tackle, he was just... very, very forceful. And Allen would have appreciated his enthusiasm a lot more if the bed had not been so woefully short.
"Ow," Allen observed, wedged between the end of the bed and the wall, reaching up to gingerly rub the spot where he had bumped his head. And again, just for the sake of clarification, "Ow."
Kanda looked distinctly not pleased.
"What."
"Uh," Allen said, because that was what one said when faced with a glaring Kanda staring down at oneself. "I don't claim to be the expert here, but I'm fairly certain it doesn't work like this."
That, of course, was the wrong thing to say, as Kanda immediately sat back on his knees with an expression Allen had privately categorized as "disgruntled salted codfish".
"Get out."
"What?!"
One day, he would find out what made Kanda have those mood swings, that he could go from being so obviously... involved to being so utterly disinterested in the matter of half a second. As for now...
"No," Allen said. "Nonono. We're going to do this. Properly. Just... let me get up."
He floundered a little, which he supposed contributed significantly to the rise of Kanda's "You are an idiot" meter, but at least it kept Kanda from moving in the meantime.
Finally, he managed to pull himself back up. "There. Better."
And because Kanda didn't say anything (and hadn't mentioned anything alluding to horrible murder in the last ten minutes, which was a new record), Allen figured it was safe to see if they could pick up where they had so abruptly left off.
Kissing was surprisingly nice, kind of slow and soft, though it would have been better if Kanda had been participating a little instead of-
Kanda's hands clamped down on his upper arms just as Kanda's mouth clamped down on his, and Allen figured he could live with that.
Once Kanda got going, he really got going, with lips and teeth and tongue, and it was really messy and not very skillful, not at all like what one read about in novels or like what he'd seen Cross do with women-and Allen thought he should definitely not be thinking about Cross when Kanda was kissing him within an inch of his life.
Speaking of which...
He shoved away from Kanda, gasping.
Kanda attempted a glare, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his bruised lips and heavy breathing.
"Sorry," Allen said, a little embarrassed at how breathless his own voice sounded, "Just... air."
"Idiot," Kanda said succinctly, as if it hadn't been his fault Allen was having trouble in the first place.
"I'm not an idiot for needing air," Allen protested, but Kanda seemed to decide that kissing was a more reliable method for shutting Allen up than beating him over the head with Mugen, so he went about doing just that.
He was using less teeth and more tongue this time around, though, which was really nice, and Allen's brain was getting fuzzy around the edges again when a shove sent him toppling onto the mattress.
"Hey!" he exclaimed, annoyed that kissing Kanda should be so nice when Kanda's bedside manner absolutely sucked. "If you want me to move, just say so!"
"Shut up."
Allen would have found a comeback to that, except that he was suddenly looking at Kanda's glare from about an inch away.
Kanda's eyes were really kind of pretty, he reflected, all dark and heated and intense, and thinking Kanda pretty was about as weird as thinking of Cross during a make-out session, and it was liable to get him killed if he ever said it aloud (the last person to call Kanda pretty could still only eat through a straw).
Indeed, the entire situation was bordering on the absurd. If somebody had told him a week ago that he would be lying on Kanda's bed making out with Kanda by Wednesday evening, he would have laughed. Not that the entire concept was any less ridiculous now, it was just that Allen felt a lot less inclined to laugh when Kanda was looking at him like that.
"What?" Kanda demanded, except his voice was oddly quiet, and Allen could feel the word ghosting over his face.
"Nothing," he replied, and for some reason, Kanda's lips moving to taste his breath was the hottest thing he had seen in a while, so Allen decided to stop attempting to analyze the situation and concentrate on kissing instead.
Kanda seemed to have no objections to that. In fact, his response was downright enthusiastic, straddling Allen's legs and taking a fistful of his shirt in an iron grip.
Allen might have minded more if the experience hadn't been so new.
He had been in this position plenty of times, flat on his back with Kanda looming over him (or Kanda's boot in the center of his chest, or Kanda sitting down on top of him) and telling him to yield. In fact, he distinctly remembered that one time when they had both been so pissed at each other that they had entirely foregone weapons in favor of rolling around and punching each other-or trying to, anyway, since Lavi swore up and down that it had looked more like they had been doing… other things-but all of those situations had involved wanting to get rid of Kanda as quickly as possible.
This, though, this could go on for a very long time, Allen decided, and he didn't know if he liked it because it was the newness of another's body, or because it was Kanda. He suspected it was a little of both, and that felt both strange and exciting.
His hands found Kanda's back, fingers tracing over the small bumps of his spine, up the slope of his back, to his shoulders, feeling the knotted muscles. It was odd, how he had somehow always thought of them as bigger, broader, if only for the way Kanda carried himself, back ramrod straight and shoulders square, his head held high, commanding respect despite being… kind of an ass, as Lavi liked to put it.
It made him curious, curious to see what else about Kanda wasn't as he had pictured it in his mind, and he reached down, tugging Kanda's shirt free from his pants, wanting to touch…
Against him, Kanda went very, very still.
Confused, Allen drew back a little, waiting. Kanda was staring at him, his eyes so dark that it was hard to make out the iris, wary and a little angry. He didn't say anything, though, and belatedly, it occurred to Allen that he should probably ask for permission. Kanda had this weird thing about people touching him, despite the fact that he had been the one to move this to the bed, and didn't that kind of imply that they would be… um, doing things?
"Is-I mean, is this okay?"
It felt weird to say this to Kanda, of all people, and Kanda obviously thought so, as well, because his eyes narrowed.
"I mean, err," Allen said, at a loss as to how to make it sound considerate without making it sound incredibly girly.
"…Idiot," Kanda said, and reached down to demonstratively yank Allen's shirt free.
"Hey," Allen complained, "You don't have to be so-mmmh!"
Kanda was growing way too fond of this method of shutting him up, Allen decided, and slipped his hand inside Kanda's shirt in retribution. Kanda stiffened again at the touch, before shoving his hand inside Allen's shirt, and Allen couldn't prevent the absolutely undignified yelp that escaped him.
"What."
"Cold," Allen said accusingly, and Kanda seemed to think that the appropriate response to this was to shove his hand even further up his shirt.
His cold fingers brushed over Allen's stomach and up his side, and for some reason, the temperature suddenly became secondary to the sensation of the sword-calluses grazing his skin, and the fact that Kanda wasn't being nearly as grabby as he had acted before.
It made him wonder if Kanda was as curious about him as he was about Kanda, and wasn't that a funny thing? Because they had touched countless times before, with dragging and shoving and begrudgingly administering first aid, but Allen couldn't recall ever being curious.
He had never really thought about the roughness of Kanda's hands, or the fact that the whole of Kanda's back seemed to consist of different patches of skin, some older, some newer-like the spot below his right shoulder, which had been burnt by an Akuma's fire breath only a little while ago, and which made Kanda shudder when he touched it, the new skin still tender and raw.
It was kind of hot, the way Kanda jerked when he found a sensitive spot, the way he seemed to choke on his own breath when Allen pressed down, feeling a knot uncoil. And Kanda's hand on his own body, moving when he moved, mirroring, almost like Kanda was paying him back-and wasn't that the way it had always been? Them fighting over something or other, each trying to give as good as he got?
The thought made something in him tighten and ache, making him squirm. Above him, Kanda grunted and shifted, and then Kanda's knee ended up nudging between his legs and Allen realized that he was in deep, deep trouble.
Kanda paused.
Naturally, it had been too much to hope for that he wouldn't notice, and Allen could feel his cheeks burn. It was embarrassing, even though they were on a bed and making out and one expected things to happen when making out, but this was Kanda and Kanda was staring down at him with a look he couldn't decipher.
"Um," Allen said, quite certain that his face was trying to match his scar in color.
Kanda, ever the pragmatist, unceremoniously shoved his hand down Allen's pants.
In retrospect, Allen thought, nobody could really blame him for moaning, even though at the time, he felt like dying of mortification.
"Keep it down," Kanda hissed, and Allen nodded frantically because the walls were ridiculously thin and he really did not need to be the talk of the Order by tomorrow morning.
Of course, his resolve lasted a grand total of three seconds before Kanda's hand began to move, and for some reason, it was the hottest thing he had ever felt despite the fact that Kanda really wasn't all that skillful. There was just something about the intent behind the rough, precise strokes, the absolute seriousness with which Kanda went about it, that was making it difficult to do more than muffle his voice against Kanda's shirt and hang on for the ride.
If he had been able to think at all, he might have worried about the sight he had to present, or the things he was saying, because some of them sounded like "yes" and "please" and "Kanda", but the world had narrowed down to heat and movement and sensation, his hips jerking into Kanda's hand, and he really couldn't find it within himself to feel ashamed.
It didn't last very long. Allen was too wired by the sheer concept of having someone else do this, of having Kanda do this, for it to last long. He bit Kanda's shoulder to stifle the sound when he came.
By the time coherence was slowly returning to him and he realized that he was lying on the bed in a sweaty, graceless heap, Kanda had already withdrawn, wiping his hand on the bedspread and straightening his clothes. There was a damp spot on his shirt where Allen's mouth had been, and he was awkwardly trying to adjust his pants.
For some reason, that made it easier to speak.
"Um," Allen said, "Um, shouldn't I-don't you-I mean, it's my turn now?"
Kanda made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, and Allen decided that those two high spots of color in his cheeks were really looking kind of attractive. "Do what you want."
"Okay," Allen said easily, and reached for Kanda's belt.
- FIN -
----
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