▲○▽- Out of Commission
Short, failtastic Nobori/Touko/Kudari for pokanon - why is writing porn so hard? orz
▲○▽
On those rare days when nobody makes it to the last car of the Orange Line, Touko invariably finds her way over there herself to make sure Nobori and Kudari haven’t started trying to kill each other. Usually, she makes it in time. This isn’t one of those times. They’re like little kids, she thinks, pushing them apart, one hand on each of their chests. They’re like little kids, and she’s not exactly the greatest babysitter. Naturally, both of them want her to take their side, and naturally, it’s something Touko doesn’t know anything about. None of them are in this for the logistics, for the boring paperwork that gets shuffled off to the League. They’re all in it for the thrill, she points out, so to hell with whatever it is they’re arguing about.
“Sharing is caring,” she points out, hands trailing down their chests maybe just a little too far. Hook, line, and sinker, she thinks, their attention now completely on her. By the time the three of them collapse onto the nearest row of seats, Touko’s fairly sure they’ve completely forgotten what it was they were arguing about in the first place.
There’s nothing organized at all about the three of them, from the two coats and a vest on the floor to her leg around one of their waists, her arm around the other’s neck, only the colours of their pants and the way they say her name keeping her from forgetting which one is which. They move in a vague cadence with the rattling of the train, bumps on the track doing absolutely nothing to muffle already poorly disguised moans and shouts. It’s only somewhere between Nobori’s hand running up her thigh and Kudari’s lips trailing down her stomach that Touko realizes the only motion left is their bodies pressing up against one another, and that the train has stopped at the station. That boy, Touya, he’s probably waiting for her, but somebody’s very talented gloved fingers just slipped past her waistband and she’s sure he’ll understand that this line’s out of commission.
▲○▽
On those rare days when nobody makes it to the last car of the Orange Line, Touko invariably finds her way over there herself to make sure Nobori and Kudari haven’t started trying to kill each other. Usually, she makes it in time. This isn’t one of those times. They’re like little kids, she thinks, pushing them apart, one hand on each of their chests. They’re like little kids, and she’s not exactly the greatest babysitter. Naturally, both of them want her to take their side, and naturally, it’s something Touko doesn’t know anything about. None of them are in this for the logistics, for the boring paperwork that gets shuffled off to the League. They’re all in it for the thrill, she points out, so to hell with whatever it is they’re arguing about.
“Sharing is caring,” she points out, hands trailing down their chests maybe just a little too far. Hook, line, and sinker, she thinks, their attention now completely on her. By the time the three of them collapse onto the nearest row of seats, Touko’s fairly sure they’ve completely forgotten what it was they were arguing about in the first place.
There’s nothing organized at all about the three of them, from the two coats and a vest on the floor to her leg around one of their waists, her arm around the other’s neck, only the colours of their pants and the way they say her name keeping her from forgetting which one is which. They move in a vague cadence with the rattling of the train, bumps on the track doing absolutely nothing to muffle already poorly disguised moans and shouts. It’s only somewhere between Nobori’s hand running up her thigh and Kudari’s lips trailing down her stomach that Touko realizes the only motion left is their bodies pressing up against one another, and that the train has stopped at the station. That boy, Touya, he’s probably waiting for her, but somebody’s very talented gloved fingers just slipped past her waistband and she’s sure he’ll understand that this line’s out of commission.