[FIC] NewS - Taboo
Title: Taboo
Fandom: NewS
Pairing: Masuda/Tegoshi
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not associated with Johnny's Entertainment. This is fiction; it never happened.
A/N: For bitsy_chan , who wanted "Highschool AU. Masuda is the teacher and Tegoshi's the student. Forbidden relationship.". I hope you like it, bb♥♥♥♥ For my 100+ Member Celebration Event.
This is wrong. So very, very wrong, and Masuda knows it with every fiber of his being. There are words for this -- inappropriate, taboo, forbidden -- and they all echo in the back of his mind like torture, accusatory, angry. He’s not sure how much of that is his own conscience, how much is simple propriety.
In the end, it doesn’t matter; the words continue to echo and go ignored. Ignored, but not unnoticed, and Masuda feels like his chest is going to burst from the weight of it.
But that’s not enough to stop him, not enough to keep him from surging forward, from pressing his lips hard against Tegoshi’s. Never enough to keep him from swallowing the moan that follows, or from trying to coax more out, his hands dipping down to rest low on the boy’s hips, steadying him even as he rocks hard against Masuda in a way that’s wholly and completely obscene.
He’s so weak, Masuda thinks of himself as he reaches up to cradle Tegoshi’s face in his hands. “Yuya-kun,” he murmurs, and Tegoshi whines low in his throat.
“Sensei,” he returns, only it’s darker, thinned by exertion. Masuda feels his chest clench at the bitter reminder that such a title should never be spoken like that, but then that feeling is overshadowed as Tegoshi suddenly arches back, lips parting prettily but not a sound escaping, and then it’s quiet, the only noises coming from their ragged breathing and pounding hearts.
Tegoshi curls against him, nuzzles at his neck plaintively as Masuda draws light fingers down the sweat-slicked curve of his spine.
The accusations keep echoing, replaying over and over like a looped tape, and it’s almost crippling, the guilt and regret and self-hatred. But then Tegoshi is sighing quietly, kissing his collarbone delicately and murmuring, “I love you, sensei,” in that soft voice that he only ever uses when he’s truly happy and content, and the angry voice in Masuda’s mind quiets, at least for a while.
Fandom: NewS
Pairing: Masuda/Tegoshi
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not associated with Johnny's Entertainment. This is fiction; it never happened.
A/N: For bitsy_chan , who wanted "Highschool AU. Masuda is the teacher and Tegoshi's the student. Forbidden relationship.". I hope you like it, bb♥♥♥♥ For my 100+ Member Celebration Event.
This is wrong. So very, very wrong, and Masuda knows it with every fiber of his being. There are words for this -- inappropriate, taboo, forbidden -- and they all echo in the back of his mind like torture, accusatory, angry. He’s not sure how much of that is his own conscience, how much is simple propriety.
In the end, it doesn’t matter; the words continue to echo and go ignored. Ignored, but not unnoticed, and Masuda feels like his chest is going to burst from the weight of it.
But that’s not enough to stop him, not enough to keep him from surging forward, from pressing his lips hard against Tegoshi’s. Never enough to keep him from swallowing the moan that follows, or from trying to coax more out, his hands dipping down to rest low on the boy’s hips, steadying him even as he rocks hard against Masuda in a way that’s wholly and completely obscene.
He’s so weak, Masuda thinks of himself as he reaches up to cradle Tegoshi’s face in his hands. “Yuya-kun,” he murmurs, and Tegoshi whines low in his throat.
“Sensei,” he returns, only it’s darker, thinned by exertion. Masuda feels his chest clench at the bitter reminder that such a title should never be spoken like that, but then that feeling is overshadowed as Tegoshi suddenly arches back, lips parting prettily but not a sound escaping, and then it’s quiet, the only noises coming from their ragged breathing and pounding hearts.
Tegoshi curls against him, nuzzles at his neck plaintively as Masuda draws light fingers down the sweat-slicked curve of his spine.
The accusations keep echoing, replaying over and over like a looped tape, and it’s almost crippling, the guilt and regret and self-hatred. But then Tegoshi is sighing quietly, kissing his collarbone delicately and murmuring, “I love you, sensei,” in that soft voice that he only ever uses when he’s truly happy and content, and the angry voice in Masuda’s mind quiets, at least for a while.