libbydango | Fic: Mental Image (Ian/Souji) (Warning: Sex)

ian has souji's back pressed into the couch but even though they're rushing everything he's still careful - condom, lube, everything they needed - and slow - too slow sometimes, and definitely teasing what with how deliberately he's pushing in, lingering inside of souji's body until souji's ready to gnash his teeth with impatience. there's a flash of pale skin every time ian pushes in, the way his shirt is caught between souji's arm and the couch makes the collar pull open every time, so souji presses his mouth to that patch of skin, dragging his tongue over the hard edge of ian's collarbone, his muscles tightening around ian's cock at the same time.

and ian - ian - groans, and he's clearly not expecting to, because souji is able to nudge him back then, squirming until he's got ian sitting on the couch, panting hard and moaning again when souji straddles his lap and starts to ride him with hard, thorough thrusts. the neighbor's tv is still blaring through the wall, which is a good thing because otherwise he'd hear souji gasp ian's name like a prayer and a curse, a long cry as he finds that rhythm that makes ian grasp his hips and swear.

souji's still wearing his shirt and tie, hanging loose down on his chest in a picture of perfect debauchery, but even ian doesn't have any comment to make, because he's threading his fingers in souji's hair and consuming his mouth with searing kisses. souji tightens around ian again just because he can, and because he loves the sound ian makes against his mouth when he does it, just like he loves everything about this - the stacks of research closing in on the tiny living room and the way their jackets were tossed aside as though ian and souji both won't carefully pick them up and put them away properly later, the utter sinfulness of fucking ian yorkland at 2:30 in the afternoon, and the fact that he's the one doing the fucking right now, and the way ian's breath catches when souji - against all logic and supposed exhaustion - starts moving faster, and the endless teasing souji's going to endure since some genius decided to give him the nickname "the speedy brave".

souji climaxes, unapologetically getting it all over ian's shirt, and ian can't even manage a perturbed look because the sight of souji succumbing to the heights of pleasure while riding his dick is worth a shirt or two in the long run, and besides the way souji parts his lips and squeezes his eyes shut sends him over every time, so he's kind of distracted anyway. they collapse - ian onto the couch and souji onto ian, gasping for breath as their bodies shudder through pleasure overwrought by enthusiasm. ian tugs souji close and presses a haphazard kiss to his forehead, tasting sweat.

the doorbell rings.

"what'd i tell you?" ian pants against souji's temple. "we had plenty of time until the pizza got here."