
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6035434.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Eyeshield_21
  Relationship:
      Kobayakawa_Sena/Shin_Seijuurou
  Character:
      Kobayakawa_Sena, Shin_Seijuurou
  Additional Tags:
      Established_Relationship, Wall_Sex, Rough_Sex, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot
      What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Hand_Jobs, Anal_Fingering, Anal_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-03-15 Words: 5486
****** Braced ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Sena’s not late, is certain he’s even a few minutes early, but Shin
     opens the door as fast as if he was waiting on the other side and
     with such an intense expression on his face that Sena’s nervous smile
     fades into panic immediately." Sena comes over to Shin's apartment
     and Shin is more impatient than he needs to be.
Sena didn’t anticipate this was quite the way the evening was going to go.
It’s not that he didn’t know what the plan was. Shin isn’t the most subtle of
people even at the best of times, and “You should bring a change of clothes to
spend the night” was stunningly straightforward even for him. Sena’s been
alternately blushing and smiling about it all day when he thinks about it; the
idea of staying at Shin’s apartment overnight is thrilling in itself, just for
the privacy and expanse of time it offers. It’ll be nice, Sena thinks, to have
hours to spend together, to be able to take their time instead of rushing
through the adrenaline-fueled interludes they’ve had so far: stolen kisses in
the shadows of buildings or the hurried grab of hands on clothes when they have
the relative luxury of ten or fifteen minutes alone. They even managed to have
sex twice, so far, but both times were stressful, either due to the adrenaline
of inexperience (the first time) or the insistence of other commitments on
their time (the second). The indulgence of an entire evening seems almost
impossible, certainly more than Sena can stand to think about for very long at
all if he’s to maintain focus and decency, and so by the time he arrives at
Shin’s front door he’s thought about almost everything he can think of other
than what is waiting for him on the other side.
Shin opens the door as soon as Sena knocks. That’s a surprise, first of all;
Sena’s not late, is certain he’s even a few minutes early, but Shin opens the
door as fast as if he was waiting on the other side and with such an intense
expression on his face that Sena’s nervous smile fades into panic immediately.
“Hi Shin,” Sena starts, his voice skidding embarrassingly high on the sudden
rush of concern that hits his veins. “Y-you asked me--” and that’s as far as he
gets before Shin is reaching out, his arm snapping forward as fast as if they
are in the middle of a game. His palm hits Sena’s chest with enough force to
knock the air out of him, and Sena’s still gasping with shock from that when
Shin’s fingers drag and tighten into a fist on his shirt. There’s a pull, a
sharp surge of motion, and Sena stumbles forward, nearly tripping over the edge
of the entrance as he comes past the front door and into the entryway of Shin’s
apartment.
“Seijurou--” he starts, his voice reaching new heights of concern, but “Sena,”
Shin is saying, rumbling the sound low enough that Sena can feel the vibration
of it purring over all his skin like a physical touch. “You’re here.”
“Yes?” Sena tries, because this is a true statement but Shin is still staring
at him like he’s something wholly unexpected, like his very existence is
fascinating on some level beyond that of a typical high school student. “You
asked me to come over.”
“Yes,” Shin says, and reaches out without looking to shove the door shut. “I
did” and when he pushes this time it’s Sena’s shoulders that end up against the
door, very shortly followed by Shin’s lips landing against Sena’s mouth. Sena’s
eyes go wide before he can think to close them, his throat tightening on a
startled whine of sound, but Shin is kissing him and that’s enough distraction
to override his initial shock at the force of it. His eyes shut, his shoulders
sag, and even the sound of his bag sliding off his shoulder to fall to the
floor isn’t enough to pull his attention away from the warm slide of Shin’s
mouth on his. Shin’s hand closes at the other’s hip, his fingers pushing up to
fit under the edge of Sena’s shirt as they tighten into a bracing hold, and
Sena shudders against the support of the door. Shin pulls away but it’s not far
enough; Sena’s still too near to see anything but the dark of Shin’s eyes, the
shadows that spread to eclipse the focus in his gaze as he stares at Sena’s
mouth like it’s all he can see.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice so rough on the words he sounds almost angry,
would pass for such were it not for how gently his fingers are sliding over
Sena’s skin, with how carefully his index finger is tracing against the line of
the other boy’s hip.
Sena swallows and tips his chin in a rushed nod. “Yeah.” He reaches up with the
arm freed by the fall of his bag to curl his fingers around the back of Shin’s
neck. Shin shudders under his touch, his lashes falling heavy against his
cheeks as his eyes shut, and Sena can feel the power of the contact whip
through him like fire, urging his heartbeat to speed out of control as he
arches up closer for more. He’s the one who initiates the contact, this time,
his mouth that claims the imprint of a kiss off Shin’s lips, and even when Shin
rocks in closer Sena’s doing as much of the pulling as Shin is pushing. Sena
can feel the flex of Shin’s movements under the cover of his shirt, can feel
the shift of his shoulders and the tremor along his stomach as he presses flush
against Sena’s chest; they’re so near Sena is sure Shin will be able to feel
the pounding of his heart, like his adrenaline will telegraph itself directly
through the insufficient barrier of their shirts.
“Seijurou,” Sena manages, fitting the words into the gap between kisses, while
Shin is momentarily distracted from his mouth by his attention to the movement
of his hands instead. His fingers are tracing up Sena’s chest, urging his shirt
deliberately higher instead of accidentally; Sena’s skin prickles into heat,
his hips tip themselves forward off the support of the door of their own
accord. “Ah.”
“I missed you,” Shin rumbles, that one phrase enough to stand as reason and
explanation all on its own. His hand is heavy against Sena’s chest, the press
of it enough to pin the other boy to the door; Sena can’t breathe except to
push against the weight of it, to arch against the calluses of Shin’s palms
catching against the sweat-damp of his skin. Shin ducks his head, seeking the
shape of another kiss, and Sena turns his head up into it, dragging against
Shin’s neck to keep himself up with the distraction of Shin’s fingers dragging
over his skin. Shin’s gentle with his mouth, careful in the friction he gives
and the slide of his tongue when he licks against Sena’s lower lip; it makes
Sena shiver, to be so delicately treated and held so utterly immobile, and then
Shin’s hips rock forward to grind against him and Sena groans too-loud into
Shin’s mouth. It’s enough to make him flush hot just hearing the sound he
makes, but Shin rumbles something incoherent and unmistakably appreciative and
presses against him again, and Sena goes far hotter than embarrassment could
account for. Shin’s hard against his leg, so hot Sena can feel the shape of him
right through the shorts he’s wearing, and Sena might be wearing more but that
just gives him the advantage of friction to press himself against. He arches
forward off the door, angling himself against the resistance of Shin’s leg, and
Shin sighs appreciation and lets his hand fall from Sena’s chest to his hip
instead.
“Here,” he says, the command so simple Sena can’t even make sense of it for a
moment, but then Shin’s hand is sliding down his jeans and along his leg
instead, and when Shin tugs against Sena’s thigh Sena moves obediently to lift
his leg as indicated. There’s a moment of gravity shifting, Sena’s balance
careening sideways and off from over his feet; and then he grabs at Shin’s
shoulder, and clings to the support of the other’s arm, and Shin is lifting him
off the floor by his knee, rocking forward to pin Sena to the door as he urges
the other’s leg up and around his hip. Sena leans at the door, holds himself at
Shin’s shoulder, and from there it’s an easy motion to slide his other leg free
from between Shin’s thighs and up to hook around the other’s hips. Then his
balance is back, his legs straining with the angle of the position, and Shin
groans appreciation and presses hard against him, fitting the heat of his cock
against the inside angle of Sena’s legs as smoothly as if neither of them are
wearing anything at all. Sena shudders at the friction, his back arching to
push him closer, and Shin’s hands steady at his hips to hold him still against
the upward thrust he takes with his hips. There’s a drag of friction, heat
spiraling out into Sena’s blood, and Sena hears himself make a strange
shattered sound before he realizes he’s reacting at all, the sound coming from
his chest like it’s being pushed from him on the grind of Shin’s hips against
him. The motion is too suggestive, too deliberate, demonstrating the single-
minded focus Sena is so used to seeing in Shin, as if he’s perhaps forgotten
entirely that they’ll need to take the time to get their clothes off before
they continue.
“Seijurou,” Sena says, and Shin groans against his shoulder, a sound as hot on
appreciation as it is steady on acknowledgment. Shin moves again, grinding hard
against Sena, and Sena’s head goes back, his eyes going wide on the rush of
distracting heat. “Ah. Seijurou, wait, we should--”
“Let’s do it right here,” Shin suggests, cutting Sena off with the low rumble
of words against his collar. He’s pressed so close Sena can feel the shape of
him through his shorts, imagines he can feel the damp at the head of Shin’s
cock catching against his own jeans. “I don’t want to wait.”
Sena takes a breath. They should move, probably, even Shin can’t be expected to
hold him up against a wall for more than a few minutes, and certainly not while
doing anything else. The bed will be more comfortable, he’s sure, and it will
hardly take any time at all to stumble down the hallway and to the bed. Then he
lets the air out, and thinks about Shin pushing him against the wall, about
being pinned between the solid resistance of the door and the immoveable weight
of Shin’s shoulders, and:
“Okay,” Sena says. “Let me get my jeans off” but Shin’s already moving as
smoothly as if he expected Sena’s answer, drawing back from the door by the
handful of inches Sena needs to untangle himself and get his feet back under
him. His knees are shaky when he trusts his weight to them; it’s more of a
relief than he wants to admit to have Shin’s hands bracing hard against his
hips, the force enough that Sena’s sure he’d stay upright even if his legs
truly did fail him. He lets his hold on Shin’s neck go, freeing his hands so he
can reach down and fumble with the fly of his jeans, but Shin doesn’t let him
go; he’s pressing in closer instead, ducking until Sena falls into the shadow
of his shoulders, until the dark of his hair is catching the top of Sena’s
bowed head, like he’s making a wall of his body to hem the other in. It should
be alarming, would be if it were someone else; under the circumstances it’s
just distractingly hot, so much so that Sena’s hands are shaking until it’s
hard to get his zipper down enough to loosen his jeans around his hips.
“Here,” Sena manages, and Shin’s hands shift, his palms sliding up enough for
his thumbs to fit under the top edge of the other’s jeans. Sena grabs at Shin’s
shoulders again, bites back a groan as Shin pushes his pants down his hips, and
Shin’s dropping lower, coming forward to lean against a knee in front of Sena
as he strips his clothing off his legs. Sena catches a breath, delayed-reaction
embarrassment catching him up as Shin comes eye-level with his hips and the
flushed color of his cock, but Shin doesn’t even pause; he’s pushing Sena’s
jeans past his ankles, letting the fabric puddle around the other’s feet until
it’s a simple matter to step free of them. Sena moves without being told, still
leaning hard against Shin’s shoulders to keep his balance over his unsteady
knees, and Shin catches his leg as he steps free, pushing against the inside of
his knee to brace Sena’s leg wide as he straightens in a single fluid movement.
Sena’s foot skids on the floor, his balance vanishing again, but he’s half-
ready for it this time; he doesn’t startle, at least, and the adrenaline
rushing through his veins is still heat instead of the chill bite of panic. His
shoulders shove against the door, Shin’s fingers drag at his leg, and then
they’re falling back in line with each other, Shin stepping forward to press
against Sena’s bare thighs while Sena catches his weight at the edge of Shin’s
hips.
“Like this,” Shin breathes, approval layering rich in his throat, and this time
when he rocks himself forward Sena can feel Shin’s cock catch against his, can
feel the drag of heat against his bare skin as Shin moves. It makes his legs
shake, tenses all along his thighs into an involuntary shudder, and Shin sighs
something that sounds like satisfaction and reaches around to brace a hand
under Sena’s thigh. His hand slides high, takes what weight Sena isn’t
supporting on his own, and then he braces them there, pinning Sena back to the
door and holding him up one-handed while he reaches for the pocket of his
shorts. Sena’s gasping for air, trying to think straight even as he keeps
losing focus with each of Shin’s rocking motions, and then Shin’s reaching
between them, pressing the weight of a closed fist against Sena’s chest.
“Here,” he says, and Sena blinks himself into enough focus to see the bottle in
Shin’s hand, the plastic of it slick with past use and the lid still closed.
“Can you…?”
“Ah,” Sena says, “sure.” Untangling his arms from around Shin’s neck should be
a precarious motion; it’s the only way he has to keep himself upright, after
all, other than the support Shin has against his leg. But there’s the door
behind him, and Shin’s as still as if he never plans to move again, and Sena
needs both hands to get the bottle open and isn’t willing to let Shin go long
enough to get his feet back under him. Shin leans closer, presses his mouth to
the line of Sena’s shoulder, and Sena tips his head to the side without
thinking, his eyelashes fluttering shut as he twists the lid off the bottle by
feel instead of by sight. He’s ready to spill the lube over his own fingers,
has his palm ready to catch the liquid, but Shin’s hold closes on his wrist to
draw his other hand away, and when Sena blinks his vision back into focus
Shin’s steady fingers are held up as if in offering. Shin’s still not lifted
his head; he’s breathing hot into Sena’s t-shirt, pushing the shape of kisses
into the fabric as steadily as if he’s trying to coat all Sena’s body with
them, but he doesn’t even startle when Sena drips the liquid over his palm and
across the calluses laid along each of the joints of his fingers. It only takes
a second; then Shin is drawing away, pressing his fingers against each other
with the slick sound that comes with the lubrication, and Sena is rushing to
cap the bottle again before he loses track of what he’s doing. It’s a good
thing he does; he’s barely got the lid back in place before Shin’s fingers are
sliding between his thighs, and when the other’s slick touch bumps against his
entrance Sena jerks against the door and the bottle slides from his suddenly
unsteady grip. He doesn’t listen for it hitting the floor; he reaches out
instead, clutching a suddenly desperate hold at Shin’s shoulder as a familiar
touch presses slick liquid against his skin.
“Sena,” Shin breathes, his voice rumbling into the odd low range that always
makes him sound a little like he’s praying, and Sena knows what’s coming, is
easing himself into it even before Shin steadies his touch and lines his
fingers up. He’s quick about it, as if there’s some kind of a rush in the
action; one slick thrust and he’s knuckle-deep, the friction of his finger
sliding into Sena enough to knock all Sena’s breath clear out of his lungs.
Sena tenses against the friction, his reaction too reflexive to restrain, but
he’s groaning too, putting voice to the heat of anticipation that flares his
blood to fire in his veins as Shin’s touch slides into him. Shin makes a sound
at his shoulder, a shudder of noise too low to even attempt coherency, and when
he pushes in deeper Sena can feel the sensation ache low in his stomach as if
Shin’s touch is aligned directly with the heat in his cock. He’s arching
against the door, clinging to Shin’s neck, and Shin is pressing closer as if
he’s being pulled, pinning Sena back against the door as he draws his hand back
to slide in again in a long thrust of movement.
“Seijurou,” Sena manages, listening to the shape of Shin’s name strain high and
aching in his throat to match the push of Shin’s finger into him. He can feel
himself shaking, can feel the tremors running through his body from heat rather
than the effort of their position. “Another.”
Shin pulls back by a bare handful of inches and blinks shadows from his lashes
to gaze at Sena’s face. Sena can see heat cresting color over his cheekbones,
can see the flush of want marking his lips to red, but his gaze is steady,
solid like the rock he has always seemed to be in Sena’s eyes. “You’re sure.”
It’s only barely a question. Shin is too good at taking Sena at his word to
really ask if he’s sure. But: “Yes,” Sena says, and shifts his legs to rock his
hips forward against Shin’s, to shift the drag of Shin’s touch inside him and
to feel how hard Shin is against the inside of his shorts. Shin’s eyelashes
flutter, his throat works on a groan that doesn’t make it to sound, and Sena
lets himself lean against the wall, keeps himself angled as close to Shin as he
can get. “Please.”
Shin doesn’t ask again. He shifts his hold at Sena’s leg, adjusts his grip to
brace the other in place; then he slides his hand back, and touches the tip of
a second finger alongside the first, and Sena shudders at the first slick
stretch as Shin’s fingers dip and slide into him. It’s a stretch, an ache; he
can feel the push of it all the way up his spine, straining along the curve of
his back and shaking in his thighs as his body protests the breadth of Shin’s
fingers pushing him open. But it’s better, it’s more, and when Sena opens his
mouth it’s not protest he offers but “Yes,” hot and dragging into a rumble he
didn’t know he could put on his voice. Shin lets his breath out in a rush,
pushes his fingers in deeper, and Sena’s eyelashes flutter, his head dropping
back to land heavy against the support of the door. His legs are shaking, his
cock is flushing harder, and Shin’s inside him, the stretch of his fingers
slipping deeper with every breath Sena takes. It’s too much, it’s not enough,
and when Sena shifts his legs it’s to tighten them around Shin’s waist, to pull
the other boy in closer until Sena can feel the resistance of the other’s cock
pressed hard against the underside of his own.
“Sena,” Shin breathes, and “More,” Sena begs, and Shin moves, drawing his hand
back and half-out of Sena so he can thrust in again in one long stroke of
motion. Sena gasps, his body tightening involuntarily against the slick push of
Shin’s fingers, and Shin’s making some sound too low to carry any meaning but
appreciation. Sena’s not listening anymore, isn’t thinking about anything
except for the heavy-hot stretch of Shin’s fingers urging him open. He’s
clenching around Shin’s fingers in a strange, helpless rhythm, the grip of his
body tightening involuntarily around the intrusion, but Shin’s not stopping, is
drawing back to thrust in again with a steady-slow pattern to his motion that
feels inevitable, that feels unstoppable. It makes Sena go hotter with just the
idea of it, tightens a knot of want low in his stomach, and when Shin pushes
back into him the ache spikes higher, unfolding itself into something far
closer to desire than the pain that threatened at first.
“Seijurou,” Sena says, and Shin groans against his shoulder, pushes in farther
in anticipation of what he thinks Sena wants. The friction is good, the
friction arches Sena’s spine and widens his eyes, but it’s not what he wants,
it’s not the answer to his unstated question. “Seijurou, stop.”
Shin stops immediately. It’s not until he’s drawing back to stare at Sena’s
face that Sena’s thoughts clear enough to allow for the realization of what he
must have sounded like, enough to give him the means to parse the sudden
concern clear in Shin’s dark eyes. He takes a breath as Shin’s fingers drag out
of him in a careful slide, tries to find words to explain himself; but in the
end he’s too hot, and too hard, and it’s easier to move instead, to speak with
his body instead of with his mouth. He lets one of his hands go, unwinds his
arm from Shin’s neck; Shin goes still, bracing him against the door without
moving in for more, and Sena reaches down between them to fit the shape of his
trembling hand between the gap of their bodies. His fingers brush Shin’s t-
shirt, skim over the tension along his own stomach; and then he finds the
elastic of Shin’s shorts, and his fingers curl into a hold before he’s had time
to think through the motion.
“Here,” he says, and then, pushing the fabric down off the sharp line of Shin’s
hips: “please,” spreading his fingers wide to push against the heat of Shin’s
stomach and down. His shorts slide easy, give way with indecent haste, and then
Sena’s fingers brush hot-hard skin and all his body goes electric with the
first rush of heat as he feels out the shape of Shin’s cock. Shin’s eyelashes
flutter, his head ducking down to cast his features into shadow, and his breath
leaves him in a rush, his shoulders hunching in the first sign of strain he’s
shown since pinning Sena to the wall. He’s hard to the touch, slick and swollen
hot against the head; Sena presses his thumb to the soft skin, drags his touch
against the damp, and Shin shudders, the movement running through his entire
body until Sena can feel it even in the hand bracing under his thigh to hold
him in place.
Sena takes a breath. “Here,” he says, and he sounds shaky but he feels hot, and
when he moves his body arches into elegance, his hips tilting forward while he
closes his fingers around the base of Shin’s cock. Shin groans faint in the
back of his throat, tips himself forward in obedience to the urging of Sena’s
hold, and Sena’s breathing harder but he can’t stop, can’t slow himself down
enough to take a breath. The heat in his veins has too strong a hold on him,
the ache in his stomach is too tense, and when he moves it’s to press closer to
Shin, to drag himself nearer by his hold on the other’s neck as he guides the
hot-slick head of Shin’s cock to align with his body. Shin takes a startled
breath, his hand coming out to brace hard at the door, and Sena arches closer,
his chest too tight on anticipation to allow him the benefit of speech. But
Shin’s sighing, the sound of relief hot as a promise on his breath, and then
his fingers on Sena’s leg tighten, and his hips rock forward, and his cock
slides past Sena’s hold and pushes into the other’s body. Sena moans, something
hot and shaky and helpless, and Shin chokes a breath and slides deeper, his
fingers tensing and releasing on Sena’s leg as if to spell out the strain in
his body as his hips move with the unflinching steadiness Sena’s always seen in
Shin’s face. He’s hot, the width of him heavy and hard as he pushes into Sena’s
body, and Sena wants it, wants this and more and harder and deeper, wants it
until he’s shaking with anticipation for Shin’s next move. Shin hesitates,
draws back an inch, but then he’s coming back in before Sena can think,
thrusting himself forward in a rush that leaves Sena breathless and Shin
groaning so hot at Sena’s shoulder it rivals the stretch inside him. Sena’s
shaking, his legs trembling around Shin’s waist, but he’s talking, too, his
lips forming out the shape of yes and more and Seijurou over and over, pleas
lacking the substance of voice to give them shape.
It doesn’t seem to matter. Shin understands anyway, or maybe he’s acting on his
own complementary desires rather than listening to Sena’s; the cause doesn’t
matter, Sena thinks dizzily, not when the result is Shin thrusting into him so
hard the door creaks in its frame. Sena gasps air, clutches desperately at
Shin’s shoulder, and Shin moves again, turning his head in to press his cheek
warm to Sena’s as he thrusts into him. Sena’s staring at nothing, his vision
unfocused and unimportant to his awareness at the moment; even the ache in his
legs is falling hazy into the distance, rendered inconsequential by the stretch
and ache of Shin filling him, of Shin’s hands and Shin’s shoulders bracing him
back against the door. Shin’s gasping against Sena’s cheek, straining for air
so hard the effort ruffles the other’s hair, and when Sena moves it’s an
unstudied thing, a turn of his head and a part of his lips and then his mouth
on Shin’s, his lips finding the shape of the other boy’s as easily as if they
were meant to come together. This time when Shin groans Sena can taste it on
his tongue, can feel the rush of heat from the sound surge hot into his cock,
and when Sena chokes and whines Shin lets his brace on the door go, trusts them
both to the press of Sena’s shoulders while he drops his slick hand to close
around Sena’s length. His palm is hot, his hold strong, and Sena jerks with
just the promise of friction even before Shin drags up over him in a rush of
motion that takes all Sena’s coherency with it. Sena can feel the sensation
unravel his thoughts, can all but see his focus evaporating from his vision,
and then he’s moaning into Shin’s mouth, fisting his fingers into a hold on the
other’s dark hair and rocking himself forward to thrust into Shin’s hand or
push further onto Shin’s cock, he’s not sure which and doesn’t care. It’s the
friction he needs, the heat of motion to stoke the fire in his veins, and when
Shin rolls his hips forward in a long slide of movement all Sena can do is gasp
appreciation as Shin’s cock sinks into him. Shin makes a noise, something low
and raw and utterly incoherent, and then his hand is tightening and Sena can’t
even tell if he’s moving anymore, can’t track the stroke of Shin’s hand over
his cock as separate from the drive of the other fucking up into him. It’s all
the same thing, it all means heat in his veins and a stutter in his breathing,
pressure on his chest until every inhale is a battle, every breath a victory
hard-won against the tension in his body.
“Seijurou,” Sena manages, not sure what he’s saying and less sure why.
“Seijurou, I.”
“Yeah,” Shin says, his voice hot at Sena’s shoulder and strained like Sena’s
never heard it, edging into a high range of effort that makes him sound younger
than he usually does, makes him seem uncertain and desperate in a way that
ignites electricity under all Sena’s skin. “It’s okay.”
“Okay,” Sena says, and he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to but then Shin
pushes in against the head of his cock and drags his thumb rough against the
sensitive skin, and Sena’s arching off the door as every muscle in his body
clenches tight for a breathless moment of anticipation. His vision goes still,
his thoughts steady and smooth, and for a heartbeat he has the presence of mind
to think I’m going to come, and then, fast: that’s what he meant. Then his
orgasm hits him, sweeping away anything like rationality before it, and Sena’s
groaning, shaking against the door as the drag of Shin’s hand draws him through
convulsive shudders of pleasure. Shin’s still moving, still thrusting into him
with each quiver of sensation; it feels good, to have the stretch of him to
clench down on, to have the friction of his motion pulling Sena’s orgasm hot
and shaky and endless. For a minute Sena thinks he’s going to come forever,
pinned back against Shin’s front door and held in a never-ending series of
aftershocks jolting through his body, but then Shin lets his cock go and grabs
for his hip instead, his hand seizing into a hold so desperate Sena realizes
what’s happening a moment before Shin groans “Sena, I’m going--” into the off-
center collar of his shirt. Sena sucks in a breath, his body tensing in
anticipation, and Shin jerks and thrusts hard into him, spilling a gasping
exhale at Sena’s shoulder as his cock spills heat into the other boy. Sena can
feel Shin shaking against him, can feel the steady support of his arms giving
way to tremors as he comes, and he shivers through the last of his own
aftershocks just as Shin loosens the too-tight hold he has on Sena’s hip into a
gentle touch instead.
“God,” he says against Sena’s shoulder. He’s still breathing hard, still
trembling on alternate breaths, but his supporting hands are so steady even
Sena’s instinct doesn’t balk at relying on their hold. “That was amazing.”
“Yeah,” Sena manages, even attaining something like an ordinary tone for his
agreement. “It was.”
Shin’s hand shifts, his touch sliding along the line of Sena’s thigh like he’s
tracing the shape of the muscle under the skin. Sena shuts his eyes and leans
his head back against the door so he can focus on the texture of Shin’s fingers
on his skin.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Shin asks. “We can be in the bedroom later.”
“Oh,” Sena says, his whole body flashing briefly warm at the promise written
under that later. “No, I don’t mind.”
Shin pulls away from his shoulder and lifts his chin to meet Sena’s gaze. His
eyes are dark, unfathomable; Sena could stare into them for a lifetime and
still have no guess as to the other’s thoughts. Then Shin smiles, and Sena’s
breath catches, and he thinks he doesn’t need to guess after all.
“Let’s take a shower,” Shin says, leaning forward to bump his forehead to
Sena’s for a moment before shifting his hold and easing Sena down from the
support of the door and onto his own feet. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Sena insists, even if his legs are a little shaky and his whole
body is radiant with excess heat. “A shower sounds great.”
Shin nods. “Good,” he says, his expression falling into the stoic lines it
always takes on when he doesn’t think about it. He tugs his shorts back around
his hips, the movement careless and unashamed, and then he’s reaching for
Sena’s hand to interlace their fingers. “This way.”
He sounds calm. There’s no tremble in his voice, no smile on his face. A
stranger would think him distant or disinterested, Sena thinks. But Shin’s hand
is hot in his, and when the other’s fingers tense to squeeze against Sena’s
hand, Sena doesn’t need to see a smile to understand the affection in the
touch.
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