badouxgenkaku smut
Renge Houshakouji
December 21st [insert space year here]
Once upon a time on the SS Thor, there were two crazy people who were in love but would never admit it -
[that story obviously didn't work. and was scratched out.]
Despite his vehement insistance that he was heterosexual, Badou Nails had a huge stash of pornography. Vividly horrible pornography that had so many thingies in the centerfold that it was almost like a commercial for a sausage factory. And one day, Genkaku stumbled upon them, and their confrontation lead to dirty, dirty, bad boy sex.
[Renge just has NO LUCK today.]
The whole thing had started with a kinky, kinky cosplay maids outfit and Badou asking if he looked fat in the skirt. Genkaku replied that, yes, he did indeed - but it was a ruse! Simply a ploy to get the other man out of his clothing as fast as possible. And, oh, it worked. And something about those heart patterned boxes just turned Genkaku on!
[there's a break in the page now. and a well of ink because she had to stop and think indepthly about what the fuck she was going to write... but then, the writing starts up again. No strikes or anything.]
It had entirely been heat of the moment, really. One of those undeniable, incontestable, indisputable, indisputable, incontrovertible, irrefutable, positively weird moments. The sort that happened in the blink of an eye and were over just as quickly as it had started - or, at least, the sense in the moment. Like, one moment a child would be eating ice cream and a second later remember he was lactose intolerant. Although this situation was a whole lot more serious than a little digestive disruption.
It had started out as a fight. That's what they would have classified it as.
And really, it had started out as fighting. A rather desperate, testosterone filled grapple for the last of something from the fridge. One Genkaku's end, he was all for teasing the other man - physically stronger (as all tops were!) and enjoyed straddling Badou, whom he had so affectionately deemed Fox, and dangling the edible item just in front of his face. And every time the subdued man attempted to raise a hand and either hit or snatch, the monk would simply swat at his arms as if they were nothing more offensive than a baby's chubby little legs flailing about to kick a parent.
There were no words other than curses, honestly. Deep, growled curses that spoke in volumes of the disgustingly obscene violent things Badou would do to Genkaku if he did not let him up, only to be followed by a shrill - evil - laugh and a sexual innuendo or blatant come on (depending on what, particularly, the orange haired man had hissed) on Genkaku's part. It was the perfect picture of teenage immaturity, despite both the males were old enough to own their own homes and hold down jobs, perhaps even have children if they ever tore themselves away from the torrid, unconsummated love affair they were nurturing between momentarily glances and the occasional sincere word.
Although, perhaps with deliberation, one could reason that the man who currently perched atop that whom he called his best friend - quietly, internally - and outwardly proclaimed was a personal possession, was just staring down at the other man with a look of bemused excitement; triumph at having wrestled and won, as all boys got overly excited about. But there was the fact that the look Genkaku was giving his Fox was not one of gloating, nor of self importance. And the fact that his chest was not swelling with just the rise and fall of his chest, nor with pride - but with butterflies. Or rather moths, who would not flutter around his stomach, but rather rocketed around his insides like miniature battling rams determined to escape the tomb of heartless solace and isolation.
'Comfortable?' The sadistic monk inquired, sitting back on his haunches. His hips aligned rather well on Badou's legs, low enough down on his thighs that their pelvic regions were not pressed together in a blatantly obvious sexual position. This could still fly as chaste - friendly. And send neither of them into emotional waters they did not want to tred.
The orange haired man grumbled, grunting slightly. It was harder to breath under the weight of someone much more fit than he, and the way his back and butt bones were pressing into the floor of the spaceship were staring to hurt, to grind and make his joints ache. He wiggled, and that very action sent a jolt of...what would be the best word? Excitement? Endearment? Affection, perhaps. Whatever the feeling was, it was odd, alien, and caused goose bumps to rise up along Genkaku's flesh as the sensation rocketed up his spine.
Oh, how he wanted to kiss him. To simply bend at the waist and capture those thin, nicotine flavored lips against his own. it would be a simple action, a smooth one if he were the fluid romantic type. But Genkaku was all the more likely to pull hair than caress ones face; to punch, hit and kick rather than embrace any other body. And even now - even with those awkward sensations plaguing him with an intensity that blew all other times out of the water - he did nothing but place both his hands on Badou's chest, pushing down in what could be either an attempt to crush the life out of him, or simply make him stay down.
Stay down.
Stay put.
Don't move or leave. Don't or I'll have to really, really hurt you.
Of course, this only seemed to anger Badou. He snorted like an angry rhino, and valiantly tried to kick at the back of Genkaku's head. It was a long shot, and as his leg muscles strained in a very painful way, he growled and thrashed. Although this only succeeded in him turning under the bigger man, turning onto his stomach and clawing in vain under his weight.
'Asshole -' Badou started, but the amazing sense of lust and arousal had just become too, too, too much for Genkaku to handle. His hands were running up the other mans back, under his shirt and those untrimmed, unpolished nails were grazing his skin. It was momentary, fleeting and the monk was sure that if he had been face to face with his ester-while lover, just to see the look of shock that spread across his sharp, defined, features before he exploded in a whirling dervish of anger and fists and -
'Fuck off -'
'- keep still.'
'- I ain't a fuckin' toe toucher!'
It was a valiant fight. A half hearted battle to protect his masculinity! And raged on, like the terrible seas in a violent storm for -
Ten. Whole. Minutes!
'Fox, I'm tellin' ya -'
'- I ain't bitin' no fuckin' pillow biter, neither.'
'Then how 'bout ya bite the carpet.'
His words were quick, breathy, almost murderous when matched with that burning delight in this slight physical spat. Things were just never as fun when his prey withered and collapsed under his ministrations. And this particular animal, with his long hair and almost obnoxious mortality, had eluded him long enough that even when Badou eventually stilled and glared over his shoulder, his heart couldn't help but palpitate madly.
''S not funny. Lemme up.'
Genkaku paused, lifting a hand to cradle his chin in a look of contemplation for a moment before he shrugged. And shook his head.
'Nah. I want ya.'
It was an old line, and one that struck disgust in most women and men's hearts when they heard it whispered sultrily into their ears. But, despite his distinctly sexually misunderstood overtones, something in the Super Monk's voice spoke of something more than just the carnal pleasure he wanted to garner from the other mans body; it spoke of possession, of body and soul, and emotions - joint emotions that couldn't be taken back or ignored (as successfully) after this. As oblivious as he could be (especially when it suited him), Badou's eye widened ever so slightly and his lips twitched.
Up or down - into a smile or a frown. It was almost impossible to tell.
Tell...
There were so many things Genkaku felt the need to tell his possession at this moment. That he'd be gentle, caring; that he'd go get him a new carton of cigarettes when they were done; that he'd never touch him again if that was what he wanted. Outside sources might have told him that he should have spouted off poetry, or a love song, or perhaps just said those three little words that meant more in every language than any others. I. Love. You.
But those concepts were lost on the red haired man, his robes hiking up and his jeans already unbuckled dexterously. All he murmured to his companion was a soft, cooing, almost mocking;
'Don't move.'
And he did. Perhaps simply because of that commanding air Genkaku, or simply morbid curiosity but the ginger remained stationary as he was easily rolled onto his back again, and even propped himself up on his elbows to look down his own frame as the other mans fingers (practiced and quick) made fast work of his pants and tugged them down, making an effort not to rip the material. There was a difference between sex and claiming someone, a difference between doing the nasty and making love. And although their thoughts on what that difference might be (how it may differ from men to women) there was the ever present air of carefulness, caution behind Genkaku's move. It was like the Fox was a little deer he didn't want to scare off now that he'd finally been allowed to touch his antlers.
His next move was to strip off the other mans shirt, tugging it over his head and ignoring the rather painful crack that came when he flopped back onto the grounds - head free and hair a mess. Badou's chest was peppered with scars, bruises, injuries both old and new, and any sentimental man (any man with a conscience as he had probably put at least a few of those injuries there in the first place) may have kissed up and down those scars. But that would simply waste time - time he didn't have.
Ferverently, the red head hitched his lover-to-be's leg up against his hip, hooking his calf over his broad back, and the palm of his rough hand made to cup the crotch of Badou's underpants. While he himself was sporting a fantastically hard tent in his trousers already, the companion with his back on the floor looked as disinterested as his member was massaged. Which wouldn't do.
Perhaps this whole approach wouldn't do. And thus Genkaku's hand abandoned the Fox's semi hard member, moving to trail up his chest and massage his nipple; pinch and tug gently, really.
December 21st [insert space year here]
Once upon a time on the SS Thor, there were two crazy people who were in love but would never admit it -
[that story obviously didn't work. and was scratched out.]
Despite his vehement insistance that he was heterosexual, Badou Nails had a huge stash of pornography. Vividly horrible pornography that had so many thingies in the centerfold that it was almost like a commercial for a sausage factory. And one day, Genkaku stumbled upon them, and their confrontation lead to dirty, dirty, bad boy sex.
[Renge just has NO LUCK today.]
The whole thing had started with a kinky, kinky cosplay maids outfit and Badou asking if he looked fat in the skirt. Genkaku replied that, yes, he did indeed - but it was a ruse! Simply a ploy to get the other man out of his clothing as fast as possible. And, oh, it worked. And something about those heart patterned boxes just turned Genkaku on!
[there's a break in the page now. and a well of ink because she had to stop and think indepthly about what the fuck she was going to write... but then, the writing starts up again. No strikes or anything.]
It had entirely been heat of the moment, really. One of those undeniable, incontestable, indisputable, indisputable, incontrovertible, irrefutable, positively weird moments. The sort that happened in the blink of an eye and were over just as quickly as it had started - or, at least, the sense in the moment. Like, one moment a child would be eating ice cream and a second later remember he was lactose intolerant. Although this situation was a whole lot more serious than a little digestive disruption.
It had started out as a fight. That's what they would have classified it as.
And really, it had started out as fighting. A rather desperate, testosterone filled grapple for the last of something from the fridge. One Genkaku's end, he was all for teasing the other man - physically stronger (as all tops were!) and enjoyed straddling Badou, whom he had so affectionately deemed Fox, and dangling the edible item just in front of his face. And every time the subdued man attempted to raise a hand and either hit or snatch, the monk would simply swat at his arms as if they were nothing more offensive than a baby's chubby little legs flailing about to kick a parent.
There were no words other than curses, honestly. Deep, growled curses that spoke in volumes of the disgustingly obscene violent things Badou would do to Genkaku if he did not let him up, only to be followed by a shrill - evil - laugh and a sexual innuendo or blatant come on (depending on what, particularly, the orange haired man had hissed) on Genkaku's part. It was the perfect picture of teenage immaturity, despite both the males were old enough to own their own homes and hold down jobs, perhaps even have children if they ever tore themselves away from the torrid, unconsummated love affair they were nurturing between momentarily glances and the occasional sincere word.
Although, perhaps with deliberation, one could reason that the man who currently perched atop that whom he called his best friend - quietly, internally - and outwardly proclaimed was a personal possession, was just staring down at the other man with a look of bemused excitement; triumph at having wrestled and won, as all boys got overly excited about. But there was the fact that the look Genkaku was giving his Fox was not one of gloating, nor of self importance. And the fact that his chest was not swelling with just the rise and fall of his chest, nor with pride - but with butterflies. Or rather moths, who would not flutter around his stomach, but rather rocketed around his insides like miniature battling rams determined to escape the tomb of heartless solace and isolation.
'Comfortable?' The sadistic monk inquired, sitting back on his haunches. His hips aligned rather well on Badou's legs, low enough down on his thighs that their pelvic regions were not pressed together in a blatantly obvious sexual position. This could still fly as chaste - friendly. And send neither of them into emotional waters they did not want to tred.
The orange haired man grumbled, grunting slightly. It was harder to breath under the weight of someone much more fit than he, and the way his back and butt bones were pressing into the floor of the spaceship were staring to hurt, to grind and make his joints ache. He wiggled, and that very action sent a jolt of...what would be the best word? Excitement? Endearment? Affection, perhaps. Whatever the feeling was, it was odd, alien, and caused goose bumps to rise up along Genkaku's flesh as the sensation rocketed up his spine.
Oh, how he wanted to kiss him. To simply bend at the waist and capture those thin, nicotine flavored lips against his own. it would be a simple action, a smooth one if he were the fluid romantic type. But Genkaku was all the more likely to pull hair than caress ones face; to punch, hit and kick rather than embrace any other body. And even now - even with those awkward sensations plaguing him with an intensity that blew all other times out of the water - he did nothing but place both his hands on Badou's chest, pushing down in what could be either an attempt to crush the life out of him, or simply make him stay down.
Stay down.
Stay put.
Don't move or leave. Don't or I'll have to really, really hurt you.
Of course, this only seemed to anger Badou. He snorted like an angry rhino, and valiantly tried to kick at the back of Genkaku's head. It was a long shot, and as his leg muscles strained in a very painful way, he growled and thrashed. Although this only succeeded in him turning under the bigger man, turning onto his stomach and clawing in vain under his weight.
'Asshole -' Badou started, but the amazing sense of lust and arousal had just become too, too, too much for Genkaku to handle. His hands were running up the other mans back, under his shirt and those untrimmed, unpolished nails were grazing his skin. It was momentary, fleeting and the monk was sure that if he had been face to face with his ester-while lover, just to see the look of shock that spread across his sharp, defined, features before he exploded in a whirling dervish of anger and fists and -
'Fuck off -'
'- keep still.'
'- I ain't a fuckin' toe toucher!'
It was a valiant fight. A half hearted battle to protect his masculinity! And raged on, like the terrible seas in a violent storm for -
Ten. Whole. Minutes!
'Fox, I'm tellin' ya -'
'- I ain't bitin' no fuckin' pillow biter, neither.'
'Then how 'bout ya bite the carpet.'
His words were quick, breathy, almost murderous when matched with that burning delight in this slight physical spat. Things were just never as fun when his prey withered and collapsed under his ministrations. And this particular animal, with his long hair and almost obnoxious mortality, had eluded him long enough that even when Badou eventually stilled and glared over his shoulder, his heart couldn't help but palpitate madly.
''S not funny. Lemme up.'
Genkaku paused, lifting a hand to cradle his chin in a look of contemplation for a moment before he shrugged. And shook his head.
'Nah. I want ya.'
It was an old line, and one that struck disgust in most women and men's hearts when they heard it whispered sultrily into their ears. But, despite his distinctly sexually misunderstood overtones, something in the Super Monk's voice spoke of something more than just the carnal pleasure he wanted to garner from the other mans body; it spoke of possession, of body and soul, and emotions - joint emotions that couldn't be taken back or ignored (as successfully) after this. As oblivious as he could be (especially when it suited him), Badou's eye widened ever so slightly and his lips twitched.
Up or down - into a smile or a frown. It was almost impossible to tell.
Tell...
There were so many things Genkaku felt the need to tell his possession at this moment. That he'd be gentle, caring; that he'd go get him a new carton of cigarettes when they were done; that he'd never touch him again if that was what he wanted. Outside sources might have told him that he should have spouted off poetry, or a love song, or perhaps just said those three little words that meant more in every language than any others. I. Love. You.
But those concepts were lost on the red haired man, his robes hiking up and his jeans already unbuckled dexterously. All he murmured to his companion was a soft, cooing, almost mocking;
'Don't move.'
And he did. Perhaps simply because of that commanding air Genkaku, or simply morbid curiosity but the ginger remained stationary as he was easily rolled onto his back again, and even propped himself up on his elbows to look down his own frame as the other mans fingers (practiced and quick) made fast work of his pants and tugged them down, making an effort not to rip the material. There was a difference between sex and claiming someone, a difference between doing the nasty and making love. And although their thoughts on what that difference might be (how it may differ from men to women) there was the ever present air of carefulness, caution behind Genkaku's move. It was like the Fox was a little deer he didn't want to scare off now that he'd finally been allowed to touch his antlers.
His next move was to strip off the other mans shirt, tugging it over his head and ignoring the rather painful crack that came when he flopped back onto the grounds - head free and hair a mess. Badou's chest was peppered with scars, bruises, injuries both old and new, and any sentimental man (any man with a conscience as he had probably put at least a few of those injuries there in the first place) may have kissed up and down those scars. But that would simply waste time - time he didn't have.
Ferverently, the red head hitched his lover-to-be's leg up against his hip, hooking his calf over his broad back, and the palm of his rough hand made to cup the crotch of Badou's underpants. While he himself was sporting a fantastically hard tent in his trousers already, the companion with his back on the floor looked as disinterested as his member was massaged. Which wouldn't do.
Perhaps this whole approach wouldn't do. And thus Genkaku's hand abandoned the Fox's semi hard member, moving to trail up his chest and massage his nipple; pinch and tug gently, really.