
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1213219.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater
  Relationship:
      Giriko/Justin_Law
  Character:
      Giriko_(Soul_Eater), Justin_Law
  Additional Tags:
      Motorcycles, Motorcycle_Sex, Exhibitionism, Hand_Jobs, No_Plot/Plotless,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Established_Relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-27 Words: 2877
****** Engine ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Justin's fingers are lingering against the bike, and he isn’t
     turning back to look at the chainsaw, and Giriko knows he has him."
     Giriko gets a motorcycle and Justin really likes it.
“It’s not that big of a deal, Giriko, honestly. I’ve driven a motorcycle
before, you know.”
“You have not.” Giriko is dragging Justin out of their apartment by his hold on
the priest’s wrist, and Justin is letting him in spite of his token resistance
and vocal protests. “You have been on a scooter, which is so different it’s not
even in the same league. Now shut up and admire.” He pulls the blond forward
and shoves hard against his shoulders so Justin stumbles and half-turns to hiss
in wordless irritation before twisting back around to properly admire Giriko’s
newest possession.
It’s shining black in the sunlight, catching the light into reflective glints,
and big enough that standing next to it Justin looks even more fragile than
usual. Part of that is what he’s wearing -- Giriko dragged him straight off the
couch without giving him time to collect either a jacket or shoes -- but most
of it is the size of the bike itself, and the way Justin’s shoulders move when
he reaches out to trail finger across the glossy finish, and the fact that, for
once, the priest has absolutely nothing to say.
Giriko grins at Justin’s back and folds his arms over his chest. “Beautiful,
isn’t it.”
Justin hums with no coherent response, but his fingers are lingering against
the bike, and he isn’t turning back to look at the chainsaw, and
Giriko knows he has him.
“You want to ride it.” It’s not a question, and he draws the verb long and
deliberately sexual so Justin half-laughs, but the priest still doesn’t turn
around and Giriko realizes he really has him. “Wow, damn, you really want to.”
Justin finally pulls his hand back from the long drag of fingers across the
smooth curve of the bike and hesitates for a moment.
“I’ll get a jacket,” he finally says before turning, and when he’s turned back
around his face is coolly composed, controlled so it doesn’t flicker even when
he glances at Giriko’s irrepressible grin. He does walk past a little too
close, though, so his shoulder bumps the chainsaw’s arm, and Giriko chuckles as
the blond disappears into the house.
He’s back a few minutes later, somewhat breathless and pink and plus the
addition of both shoes and a jacket. Giriko’s leaning back against the bike,
watching the entrance to the house, so when Justin emerges he has his smirk in
place well before the blond actually closes with him.
“C’mon,” he says, waving an arm to gesture the other closer and turning towards
the bike itself so he can swing a leg over. “If you’re ready to go, that is.”
“Mm,” Justin hums. “Don’t we need helmets or safety gear?”
Giriko half-turns from his position to raise an eyebrow at the blond. “Justin.”
He grabs at the open edge of the other’s coat and pulls to illustrate. “Get on
the damn bike.”
Justin’s composure cracks into a grin for a moment, delighted and reckless as
the teenager he is, and he climbs onto the back of the motorcycle less-than-
gracefully while Giriko mumbles, “Who the hell do you think you’re dating?
Honestly, I’m a little offended you’d think I’d bother with anything reasonably
safe.”
“I’m just not fond of the idea of dying,” Justin shoots back. His foot catches
against Giriko’s spine, making the chainsaw grunt in pain as he gets his weight
balanced. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you’re still getting on, aren’t you?” Justin’s legs are around his
hips, now, and Giriko’s relieved that the danger of getting kicked is past, but
the weight behind him is all wrong and he barks a laugh before reaching back
for one of Justin’s wrists. “You can’t just perch back there either, you’ll
fall off or, worse, throw the balance off. Come forward, for fuck’s sake, it’s
not like you’ve never touched me before.”
Justin offers a half-voiced protest as Giriko pulls him forward bodily, but
then he hitches himself forward so his legs brace warm against Giriko’s.
There’s a breath of hesitation -- bizarre, really, in the circumstances -- and
then his hands come down on Giriko’s waist, curl gentle against the chainsaw’s
shirt. Giriko half-turns his head so he can just see blond hair in his
periphery. “Lean forward, Justin,” and he does, inexplicably stiff with
awkwardness but pressed up warm all along Giriko’s back, and Giriko grins and
kicks the bike forward.
Justin startles as the engine roars to life under them, presses in closer as
they pick up a reasonable approximation of speed, but it still takes them all
the way through the city streets to the outskirts of the town before the self-
conscious tension bleeds out of his limbs. Giriko can feel the extra weight
pulling oddly behind him, not quite in sync with the unit of Giriko-and-the-
bike, and if he could make himself heard he would tell Justin to stop being
a bitch and just lean forward already. But then he makes the turn out of town,
onto the road leading out into the desert, and when they pick up speed Justin
gasps. Giriko can feel the reaction, even if he can’t hear it, and then the
blond leans forward and fits his body flush against Giriko’s, and he starts to
laugh, bright with unadulterated delight so Giriko can hear catches of it even
over the engine and feel the laughter rippling all up through Justin’s body.
The priest keeps giggling, sounding his age as Giriko rarely hears him, and the
chainsaw wishes he could look back to see the blond’s expression but he can’t
twist around enough, even if he didn’t need to keep his eyes on the road, and
besides he can imagine just from that sound. Justin’s arms are all the way
around him now, palms flat against Giriko’s chest, and every time the chainsaw
shifts their weight Justin shifts with him, follows his lead like they’re a
single unit.
The unity makes the hitch of Justin’s weight after nearly a half hour the more
dramatic. It’s barely noticeable, just the priest rocking forward against
Giriko’s back, but against the minutes of unbroken consistency it’s dramatic.
Giriko knows he can’t be heard, is realizing he ought to have worked out some
sort of signal for Justin that didn’t involve speaking before they were miles
out down the road, and then Justin’s hands shift down. For a moment even Giriko
is frightened by the idea of what Justin might be trying to do, but then the
blond’s hands come up again and he breathes out in relief before realizing that
there are fingers against his bare skin, now. The wind whipping past them is
freezing, chill on the inch of skin exposed from where Justin has pulled his
shirt up, but Giriko’s breathing hard and it has nothing at all to do with
cold.
Justin’s fingers come up higher, the blond hitches forward again, and it’s only
because Giriko’s half-expecting it that he doesn’t crash and kill them both
when Justin’s mouth comes against the back of his neck. He does spit, “Fuck,”
into the wind, but the sound is lost to the speed of their travel and Justin
remains blissfully unaware of their danger.
It only takes Giriko a few minutes to find the next available turn, and when
he’s focused on getting them off the road as fast as possible it’s easier to
ignore Justin grinding against his hips and licking along his hairline. Easier
is nothing like easy, though, and by the time the chainsaw spots a detour and
takes it he’s furious and panicked and achingly hard in his jeans.
He slows somewhat after the turn, takes them down the road another minute so
they’re well clear of the main route, and then turns and brakes in one
movement. He’s twisting towards Justin as he stops but Justin is half-off the
bike as soon as they stop, maybe before, and Giriko opens his mouth to damn the
priest for being an idiot and Justin’s mouth comes down on his.
Giriko nearly bites Justin’s tongue, it comes past his lips so fast while he’s
still halfway through a word. The priest has got one leg up around Giriko’s hip
and his hands fisted in Giriko’s hair and he’s gasping, panting for breath even
while he kisses Giriko like his life depends on it, and Giriko is still angry
but he’s hard, too, and this isn’t helping. He shoves Justin back by his
shoulders, enough so he can take a breath and growl, “You almost killed us
you fucking idiot,” but Justin is whimpering and grabbing at his shirt and
talking over him, “Fuck me Giriko, just hold still and I’ll ride you please,”
and that’s enough to cut off even Giriko’s righteous indignation.
“You are a fucking idiot,” he says, but he’s fumbling, clumsy with haste, at
the front of Justin’s jeans. “We don’t even have any lube and don’t
fucking distract me when I’m driving, do you --”
Justin’s hand comes out of his pocket and he holds the bottle up, grinning like
he’s singlehandedly invented sex. Giriko’s words fade off for a breath as he
processes this new evidence, and then he gets Justin’s fly open and shifts his
hands to shove at the waistband of the blond’s jeans.
“You fucking slut,” Giriko says, but it comes out like a purr and Justin’s grin
just goes wider even as he tries to kick both shoes off at once and almost
falls. “When the fuck did you get this?”
“When I went back inside for my coat,” Justin answers with absolutely no trace
of self-consciousness under the flush of desperate want over his cheeks. He
manages to work his shoes free and wiggles out of his jeans; his gaze is fixed
on Giriko’s face, entirely disregarding the potential, however minimal, of an
unexpected audience, and he comes back in to press his mouth against the
chainsaw’s before angling a leg up over the bike so he’s standing in front of
Giriko instead of curled in behind him. Giriko reaches up to snatch the lube
from the blond’s grip and Justin lets him, reaches down to the front of
Giriko’s own pants with that damn heat still riding high across his cheekbones.
“You’re an idiot,” Giriko repeats, although some of the fire is gone. He pours
lube across his fingers, letting Justin work at the fly of his pants alone, and
reaches out with the hand still holding the bottle to pull the blond in closer.
Justin comes perfectly willingly and Giriko keeps talking as he fits a hand
between the other’s legs. “You were fucking distracting me, I could
have crashed and killed us both.” He doesn’t start with one finger this time,
sets two together and pushes up hard and inch into Justin’s ass, and the
unexpected pressure makes the blond gasp and arch back until he nearly falls.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Giriko hisses, sliding in the rest of the way, and
Justin is panting and nods in what Giriko takes as agreement. “I can’t fuck you
if we’re dead can I?” He draws his fingers back, thrusts up again, and Justin
whines and comes up on his toes, fingers clutching at Giriko’s shoulders to
hold himself steady. “And that would be a damn shame.”
“Yes,” Justin gasps, “Yes, I won’t do it again, fuck Giriko I want --”
“What do you want?” Giriko asks, sliding his fingers free and reaching down to
the half-open front of his jeans to finish what Justin started. “Tell me,
Justin.”
“Fuck,” Justin says, and he reaches down to grab Giriko’s lube-slick hand and
curl the fingers over the chainsaw’s cock. Giriko’s barely got his pants open,
there’s a tangle of fabric and metal from the zipper nerve-wrackingly close to
sensitive skin, but he rocks up against Justin’s hand around his own all the
same. The lube is skin-warm from the both of them and slippery-smooth across
his length, and he’s barely got a decent layer on before Justin hisses and
rocks in close against his stomach.
“Enough, enough,” he says, and he’s got his legs up around Giriko’s waist and
is holding himself up off Giriko’s shoulders, and he can’t possibly tell what
he’s doing but after a moment of precarious balance and desperate movement they
line up, and Justin slides himself down onto Giriko’s cock without anything
like as much care as he usually takes. Justin hisses, sharp and actually
pained, and Giriko flinches and tries to take his weight even
though fuck Justin is all around him and he wasn’t ready. But the priest drops
his clinging hold on Giriko’s shoulder to grab at his wrist and he’s saying
“No, no it’s good god don’t move me just --” and he shoves up partially
leveraging off the bike and mostly off Giriko and drops back down again in
nearly-a-fall, and Giriko groans and rocks up as Justin moans far back in his
throat.
“Fuck fuck you feel amazing,” Justin says, and wiggles back up although he
can’t get any traction on the bike at all. His foot slips and he nearly falls
entirely, taking Giriko with him, and Justin hisses in irritation and Giriko
starts to laugh. The priest looks down sharply at him, but Giriko can’t stop,
the amusement is pouring into and out of the deep satisfaction of having Justin
tight around him, and after a moment Justin smiles himself.
“God,” Giriko gasps, leaning in to press his forehead against Justin’s
collarbones. “You’re crazy. Get off me.”
“What?” Justin starts to say, and Giriko can feel him going taut with hurt
before the chainsaw grabs at his hip and digs his fingers in possessive-hard.
“We’re going to fall like this. Get off me and I’ll fuck you over the bike.”
All the air leaves Justin’s lungs in a gust and he is maneuvering his way up
and off even while Giriko is laughing, “I thought you’d like that.” Then Justin
is off and Giriko is swinging his leg up and over the body of the motorcycle as
quick as Justin comes in over the seat, reaching out to brace himself with
locked elbows on the frame. This is good, this is better, Giriko thinks even
before he’s lined up, just from the jut of Justin’s tense shoulders under his
shirt and coat and the way Giriko can get traction this way. He closes his
hands around the blond’s hips, and lines himself up, and when he tugs backward
Justin rocks his weight back and slides himself onto Giriko’s length, and this
time they groan in satisfied unison.
The angle is much better like this, with Justin bracing himself over the bike
and Giriko thrusting forward into him, and after a moment Giriko has his rhythm
set and reaches down around to wrap his fingers around Justin’s length. The
blond groans and arches his back, and Giriko hisses, “Don’t come on the bike,”
and Justin chokes a laugh and manages, “I’ll try,” and that’s the best Giriko
expects he can get out of him.
Justin does outlast Giriko, even if the effort is making his arms shake by the
time Giriko’s pattern stutters out of rhythm. The chainsaw lets his hold go,
ignoring Justin’s half-voiced whine of protest at the loss, in favor of bracing
himself with both hands so he can thrust hard into the blond as the blinding
burst of orgasm hits him. Justin is still shaking when he comes down from it,
panting for air so Giriko can hear each shaky inhale, and it seems best at that
point to pull out and turn the blond around before resuming his hold on
Justin’s cock.
It proves to be a good choice. Giriko has his hand around Justin but has barely
come down for a second stroke when Justin’s head goes back and he groans before
his cock jerks in Giriko’s hand and he comes mostly over the front of his shirt
and Giriko’s fingers.
Giriko waits until Justin is fully leaning back against the motorcycle and his
weight is off his trembling arms before he lets go, shifts his hands to the
sweaty skin under Justin’s shirt and comes in to breathe out against the corner
of the blond’s mouth.
“You thinkin’ about that the whole time you were behind me?” Giriko asks, very
softly.
Justin laughs and trembling fingers come up to fist in Giriko’s shirtfront.
“Before. Like I said, I got the lube when I went inside.”
“Mmm.” Giriko rocks in against Justin’s body and the priest lets him, curves
back so he’s pinned between the bike and the man in front of him. “Were you
hard that whole time?”
Justin’s breath catches before he recollects himself enough for a breathy
almost-laugh. “Didn’t you notice? I was pressed up right against your back.”
“Not until you started grinding against me.” Giriko sighs into Justin’s hair.
“Don’t do that again, by the way. I really did almost crash.”
“Okay.” Justin sounds faintly contrite, but his next words have resumed an edge
of teasing. “Can we do this again?”
“Without the distraction while driving?” Giriko pauses to pretend to consider.
Then he leans in and bites at the edge of Justin’s ear. “Hell yes.”
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