
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1982073.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Karneval
  Relationship:
      Gareki/Yogi_(Karneval)
  Character:
      Gareki_(Karneval), Yogi_(Karneval)
  Additional Tags:
      NSFW, PWP, Smut, filed_under:_when_things_get_incredibly_self_indulgent,
      Wall_Sex, Because_of_Reasons, (there_are_no_reasons)
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-16 Words: 1248
****** You Know We Don't Care At All ******
by drbubblegum
Summary
     Just let me see you up up against the wall.
Notes
     Came about after a_text_post which spiraled into awesome_art and now
     we are here.
See the end of the work for more notes
They barely make it into the room, caught and tangled on each other already.
Hell, they barely made it out of the lounge before Gareki’d pressed Yogi into
the wall of the hallway. But somehow, the two of them managed to tumble into
Yogi’s room and shut the door with only a few bruised shoulder blades along the
way.
Yogi’s hands push through Gareki’s hair, and his back is against the door, the
knob digging into the small of his back. He doesn’t care. He’s too busy trying
to pull Yogi’s shirt off and trying to get Yogi to make that low noise in the
back of his throat again.
There.
Gareki grins against his mouth as he pulls back to get the collar of his shirt
up and over his head. He gets about two seconds to appreciate the flush of
color in Yogi’s cheeks, the impossibly tousled hair, the way his chest heaves
just inches from his own, the muscles—
"Fuck," he breathes.
And Yogi smirks, he fucking smirks— “That’s what I was thinking.”
Gareki doesn’t think his dick can get any harder after that.
After a gobsmacked moment, they’re both scrambling for each other’s clothes.
Well, Gareki’s scrambling. Yogi’s hands are moving slow and teasing under his
shirt, barely even pulling the thing up, meanwhile Gareki’s managed to kick one
of his shoes off and undo Yogi’s belt. That’s just not fair. He manages to turn
the needy whine into a low growl. 
Yogi just starts kissing slowly down his neck, not even bothering to move his
hands anymore.
So Gareki pushes Yogi’s pants down and shoves his hand in his boxers, thinking
maybe he’ll get the idea if there’s a hand around his cock.
Judging by the way his shirt is thrown across the room, the way Yogi curls his
hips into him, Gareki thinks he does. Yogi drops his head and moans against his
neck. Gareki finds himself grinning again.
"Come on," he murmurs, moving his hand as painstakingly slow as Yogi’d been
teasing him earlier. "I want you, Yogi. I want you so bad.”
He feels Yogi nod, hears a hoarse okay, okay Gareki. Hands push at his pants,
so Gareki decides to help, pulling off his pants and underwear in one go,
kicking them off somewhere out of the way. And before Yogi can whine or try to
pull them back to the bed, Gareki drops down to his knees. He knows there’s
lube in the nightstand, but he’s too impatient, too fucking turned on to care
enough to go get it. So he’ll slick Yogi’s dick himself.
It’s not the best head he’s given, but the point isn’t to make Yogi come just
yet. He flexes his mouth, sucking as he pulls back. A hand twists in his hair.
His fingers dig into Yogi’s hips, sliding back to squeeze his ass.
"Ga-Gareki—”
Fuck, he loves it when Yogi’s like this. When it seems like the only thing he
can say is his name, when he’s so desperate for something only Gareki can give
him. It’s the hottest thing in the whole damn world.
Yogi’s hips jerk forward, and he’s pulling at his hair, pulling Gareki’s head
back. Gareki looks up, licking his lips, and Yogi has a look of pure
concentration on his face, like it’s taking everything to not come right then.
Good. He stands up, pausing only to lick a line up Yogi’s stomach along all
that amazing muscle—he’ll have to pay better attention to those later. He wraps
his arms around his neck and licks into his mouth. The kiss is hard and musky
and only a little sharp. Yogi’s hands slide down his back to grab his ass, and
he tries to move them backward toward the bed. Gareki bites his lip, pulls them
back again until he feels a wall against his back.
"Here," he says. "Fuck me right here."
"What if—Someone might hear.” It’s just a token argument, so Gareki rolls his
hips to try to seal the deal.
"So? Let ‘em."
Yogi looks at him, their forehead pressed together, and Gareki thinks he’s
trying to talk himself out of fucking against the wall. So he hooks a leg
around Yogi’s, and slips his head down to murmur Yogi’s name into his ear as he
kisses the sensitive spot on his neck.
“Yogi, I need you. I need you—I need you to fuck me right now, Yogi.” It’s
ridiculous, saying things like that out loud, but it’s true. Gareki’s pretty
sure if he doesn’t get Yogi’s dick in him in the next five seconds he might
just die.
And he’s winning, too. Yogi’s hands drop a little lower, and then Gareki’s feet
are off the ground. Maybe that should embarrass him, how easily Yogi can lift
him up. But mostly it’s just fucking hot.
Yogi kisses him soft, one last you’re sure, and Gareki answers by hooking his
ankles behind Yogi’s back and slanting his mouth, I’m fucking sure.
Gareki hisses in a breath as Yogi pushes into him—still not slick enough, maybe
he should have been stretched out a little more. Yogi waits for him, waits for
him to push his hips back down. The wall hurts, especially with the moulding
for the door digging into his shoulder, but that doesn’t matter quite as much
as fucking.
He pulls himself up a little higher, finds Yogi’s mouth with his own. It’s not
a kiss, not when they’re both breathing so hard. Yogi lifts one of his legs
higher on his hip, and something jolts up Gareki’s spine.
“Shit," he groans. "Come on, harder, harder—”
Through the goddamn wall, that’s what he wants, and Yogi’s mumbling his name,
hips pistoning faster. After that, it’s not long at all before Gareki can feel
his orgasm thrumming under his skin. Yogi shifts his grip on Gareki’s leg, and
the angle changes slightly, just enough to make Gareki moan into Yogi’s neck.
One more thrust and he comes hard, biting at the muscle of Yogi’s shoulder if
only to keep himself from shouting.
Yogi gasps, squeezing Gareki’s thighs tight, and whatever rhythm they’d had is
lost as he comes half a minute later. And somewhere in the post-orgasmic haze
of his mind, Gareki thinks he’ll never, ever be tired of the way Yogi says his
name. Especially when he finishes. When it’s so quiet he can only hear it
because he sees it, when it’s so loud he’s sure the whole ship can hear it. No
one says his name like Yogi does.
Gareki feels carpet under his feet, so he loosens his grip around Yogi’s neck.
Really, it’s amazing that either of them are still standing. They probably have
the wall to thank for that. Even if Gareki’s entire back will be black and blue
come morning.
They kiss, and this time it stays sweet. Just sticky lips and trembling hands.
And not for the first time, Gareki thinks about how he probably loves Yogi, how
this has never been about scratching an itch for him, even when he tried to
convince himself it was. He doesn’t have the words for it then, so he just
brushes his thumb across Yogi’s cheek, hoping it’ll be enough for now.
"You’re so good, Gareki-kun," Yogi says, smiling softly.
Gareki snorts and drops his head on his shoulder. “Speak for yourself.”
He doesn’t need to look to know just how wide Yogi’s smile is.
End Notes
     On_tumblr.
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