Entry tags:
fic: morning on your skin
Title: morning on your skin
Character/Pairing: Greece/Japan
Rating: R/Nc-17?
Word count: 1129
Author's note: Porn battle 11. Themes used: peaceful, quiet, what? Wow, I wrote sex for these guys – sex which doesn't fade to black, even! Title comes from "Between Sheets" - Imogen Heap.
Hatsuyume refers to the first dream of the year: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_New_Year#Hatsum.C5.8Dde.2C_hatsuhinode.2C_the_.22firsts.22_of_the_year
Also for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
melissa_42! I have a mix that goes with this, but my connection keeps dying when I try to post, so I'll have to take a raincheck there.
Oh and, apparently tomorrow is Greece's birthday. Happy birthday, man. Look, I finally got you laid onscreen!
Kiku wakes to tangled sheets and sweat. The sunlight comes in, slow to his heavy lids. There's a weight of a cat on his chest, and Herakles' arm thrown over him. Herakles has fitted himself close, spooned into him with his face to Kiku's neck. His warm breath tickles against Kiku's skin. He feels slowed, his breath still shaky. This time he does not draw back, and claim dreams when obvious evidence exists. Marks on his skin, thumbprint bruises along his neck where teeth had bit down last night.
He will not, he promises himself.
Kiku does not linger in early mornings, except over tea where he collects his thoughts. From those first moments of waking, he pushes the covers back, cleans himself properly, and prepares for another productive day. Herakles of course, sleeps late. Kiku suspects him to be as crepuscular as the cats he adores, napping through the day in periods, and staying up through the night and morning.
Now he wonders what Herakles is dreaming. Perhaps it is memories and mythic phantasmagoria melded together. Often the dream's explanation has brought up bubbles of unexpected laughter. Cat clouds, shoes with wings and swimming, smiling cars. Even giant eggplant dishes, married to castles made of stars.
He always wonders when Herakles nods off in meetings, or on visits, splayed out in the sun, surrounded by sleeping cats. He's never wondered so about a lover's dreams before. It has always seemed such a private topic, only to be broached with hatsuyume, and the other celebrations of the new year.
He touches Herakles' wrist. It is very light, even the cats have done more and Herakles has slept through it. And yet, Herakles' eyes flutter open.
"Good morning, Herakles-san," Kiku says. He can feel the insistent press of Herakles' morning erection to his thigh. "I didn't mean to wake you. I apologize."
Herakles pins him to the bed, and with a kiss silences the protests that Kiku hasn't showered yet, hasn't even brushed his teeth, let alone the fact that they ran out of condoms last night and are on their last bottle of lube. Anymore and the kitchen will have to be raided for olive oil.
"Ah, Herakles-san...." Kiku evades the second kiss by turning his head away. Herakles cocks his head to the side.
"Not interested?" Herakles asks.
Kiku flushes and shakes his head.
"It's just–we're out of condoms, and last night was quite vigorous—"
"That's not an issue," Herakles murmurs against his ear. He pulls Kiku closer, until they're a tangle of limbs. Kiku's eyes close to half slits as Herakles kisses him, and arranges them just so. He licks his hand and encircles Kiku's cock, his thumb at the glans. Kiku usually prefers to work himself off, but Herakles has said time and time again that he doesn't mind small, in fact prefers it. A vestige of pederasty, where sleek, smooth aesthetics ruled over the garish, larger shows of virility preferred in these days. Kiku leans back into him, rubbing against his erection in the process. He reaches out to blindly feel the details of Herakles' body. He grazes Herakles' thigh, and for a moment simply leaves his hand there, touching him. Herakles is beautiful like cast marble, beautiful in ways Kiku cannot describe in words or to his face.
Herakles is nestled so close that Kiku can feel every breath, every flutter of his lashes to the back of his neck. He is completely encircled in Herakles. Herakles' arm rests against him as he strokes Kiku.
"Herakles—"
"...Mmm?"
"I—I think there's some lube left," Kiku gasps out.
"You said you were sore..?" Herakles queries.
"Ah–No, we're out of condoms. I mean, ah—as the Greeks did it–"
"Oh," Herakles says. He lets go, moves away, and reaches out for the lube. The nightstand seems empty, so he rolls away and looks beside the bed. Kiku lets out a little whimper in the back of his throat. He misses the heat, the contact.
A few seconds pass as Herakles feels beside the bed for the needed bottle of lubrication. He's about to murmur that Herakles should just forget the lube and go for it, when the contact returns. Kiku lets out a sigh of relief as Herakles grips his cock again, and kisses his shoulder as he angles for just the right position. He slips his cock between Kiku's admittedly smaller thighs.
Herakles murmurs something, breathy to his ear. But it's Greek, and Kiku's Greek is still very rudimentary. He doesn't think this is exactly the moment for asking for a translation. Kiku just focuses on the sounds instead, and enjoys the sound of his voice.
He has always suspected that Herakles has treated him differently from his other lovers. That he has taken Kiku in a way more gentle, more tender than the rest. It is because he's smaller, Kiku reasons.
His cock is sticky with precum, and he has to bite down an apology for getting Herakles' hands dirty like this. But he knows deep down that with Herakles, there's no need for this. Still, years has instilled enough that he has to bite his tongue.
He likes the closeness of him, the muscles of his chest against his back, his sturdy cock slick between his thighs. Herakles kisses the back of his neck through it all, his wavy hair brushing to Kiku's skin. Herakles' hands are skilled, he's gentle and firm at the same time. He feels the heat, the rush of it all come to a fever pitch as he climaxes in Herakles' grip. A kiss to his shoulder, a groan, few more barely perceptible thrusts and Herakles comes between his thighs. They lay there for a few moments, waiting for their breathing to settle to normal.
He's sticky and feeling very in need of a slower–but quite sated.
"Herakles-san?" He murmurs.
No reply.
Herakles is spooned into him, his hand resting at Kiku's thighs, still wet and sticky from come. He hears a low, familiar snoring, signaling that Herakles has fallen asleep again. It always feels wrong to wake him at such times, so Kiku doesn't. He supposes that he can delay breakfast and cleaning himself and the sheets a little longer.
(He thinks that maybe next time, he'll convince Herakles to double task and save his morning desires for the shower. It would, after all, be the most economical thing to do.)
Character/Pairing: Greece/Japan
Rating: R/Nc-17?
Word count: 1129
Author's note: Porn battle 11. Themes used: peaceful, quiet, what? Wow, I wrote sex for these guys – sex which doesn't fade to black, even! Title comes from "Between Sheets" - Imogen Heap.
Hatsuyume refers to the first dream of the year: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_New_Year#Hatsum.C5.8Dde.2C_hatsuhinode.2C_the_.22firsts.22_of_the_year
Also for
melissa_42! I have a mix that goes with this, but my connection keeps dying when I try to post, so I'll have to take a raincheck there.Oh and, apparently tomorrow is Greece's birthday. Happy birthday, man. Look, I finally got you laid onscreen!
Kiku wakes to tangled sheets and sweat. The sunlight comes in, slow to his heavy lids. There's a weight of a cat on his chest, and Herakles' arm thrown over him. Herakles has fitted himself close, spooned into him with his face to Kiku's neck. His warm breath tickles against Kiku's skin. He feels slowed, his breath still shaky. This time he does not draw back, and claim dreams when obvious evidence exists. Marks on his skin, thumbprint bruises along his neck where teeth had bit down last night.
He will not, he promises himself.
Kiku does not linger in early mornings, except over tea where he collects his thoughts. From those first moments of waking, he pushes the covers back, cleans himself properly, and prepares for another productive day. Herakles of course, sleeps late. Kiku suspects him to be as crepuscular as the cats he adores, napping through the day in periods, and staying up through the night and morning.
Now he wonders what Herakles is dreaming. Perhaps it is memories and mythic phantasmagoria melded together. Often the dream's explanation has brought up bubbles of unexpected laughter. Cat clouds, shoes with wings and swimming, smiling cars. Even giant eggplant dishes, married to castles made of stars.
He always wonders when Herakles nods off in meetings, or on visits, splayed out in the sun, surrounded by sleeping cats. He's never wondered so about a lover's dreams before. It has always seemed such a private topic, only to be broached with hatsuyume, and the other celebrations of the new year.
He touches Herakles' wrist. It is very light, even the cats have done more and Herakles has slept through it. And yet, Herakles' eyes flutter open.
"Good morning, Herakles-san," Kiku says. He can feel the insistent press of Herakles' morning erection to his thigh. "I didn't mean to wake you. I apologize."
Herakles pins him to the bed, and with a kiss silences the protests that Kiku hasn't showered yet, hasn't even brushed his teeth, let alone the fact that they ran out of condoms last night and are on their last bottle of lube. Anymore and the kitchen will have to be raided for olive oil.
"Ah, Herakles-san...." Kiku evades the second kiss by turning his head away. Herakles cocks his head to the side.
"Not interested?" Herakles asks.
Kiku flushes and shakes his head.
"It's just–we're out of condoms, and last night was quite vigorous—"
"That's not an issue," Herakles murmurs against his ear. He pulls Kiku closer, until they're a tangle of limbs. Kiku's eyes close to half slits as Herakles kisses him, and arranges them just so. He licks his hand and encircles Kiku's cock, his thumb at the glans. Kiku usually prefers to work himself off, but Herakles has said time and time again that he doesn't mind small, in fact prefers it. A vestige of pederasty, where sleek, smooth aesthetics ruled over the garish, larger shows of virility preferred in these days. Kiku leans back into him, rubbing against his erection in the process. He reaches out to blindly feel the details of Herakles' body. He grazes Herakles' thigh, and for a moment simply leaves his hand there, touching him. Herakles is beautiful like cast marble, beautiful in ways Kiku cannot describe in words or to his face.
Herakles is nestled so close that Kiku can feel every breath, every flutter of his lashes to the back of his neck. He is completely encircled in Herakles. Herakles' arm rests against him as he strokes Kiku.
"Herakles—"
"...Mmm?"
"I—I think there's some lube left," Kiku gasps out.
"You said you were sore..?" Herakles queries.
"Ah–No, we're out of condoms. I mean, ah—as the Greeks did it–"
"Oh," Herakles says. He lets go, moves away, and reaches out for the lube. The nightstand seems empty, so he rolls away and looks beside the bed. Kiku lets out a little whimper in the back of his throat. He misses the heat, the contact.
A few seconds pass as Herakles feels beside the bed for the needed bottle of lubrication. He's about to murmur that Herakles should just forget the lube and go for it, when the contact returns. Kiku lets out a sigh of relief as Herakles grips his cock again, and kisses his shoulder as he angles for just the right position. He slips his cock between Kiku's admittedly smaller thighs.
Herakles murmurs something, breathy to his ear. But it's Greek, and Kiku's Greek is still very rudimentary. He doesn't think this is exactly the moment for asking for a translation. Kiku just focuses on the sounds instead, and enjoys the sound of his voice.
He has always suspected that Herakles has treated him differently from his other lovers. That he has taken Kiku in a way more gentle, more tender than the rest. It is because he's smaller, Kiku reasons.
His cock is sticky with precum, and he has to bite down an apology for getting Herakles' hands dirty like this. But he knows deep down that with Herakles, there's no need for this. Still, years has instilled enough that he has to bite his tongue.
He likes the closeness of him, the muscles of his chest against his back, his sturdy cock slick between his thighs. Herakles kisses the back of his neck through it all, his wavy hair brushing to Kiku's skin. Herakles' hands are skilled, he's gentle and firm at the same time. He feels the heat, the rush of it all come to a fever pitch as he climaxes in Herakles' grip. A kiss to his shoulder, a groan, few more barely perceptible thrusts and Herakles comes between his thighs. They lay there for a few moments, waiting for their breathing to settle to normal.
He's sticky and feeling very in need of a slower–but quite sated.
"Herakles-san?" He murmurs.
No reply.
Herakles is spooned into him, his hand resting at Kiku's thighs, still wet and sticky from come. He hears a low, familiar snoring, signaling that Herakles has fallen asleep again. It always feels wrong to wake him at such times, so Kiku doesn't. He supposes that he can delay breakfast and cleaning himself and the sheets a little longer.
(He thinks that maybe next time, he'll convince Herakles to double task and save his morning desires for the shower. It would, after all, be the most economical thing to do.)