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[saezuru] Whisky: Misumi x Yashiro x-rated

"You again"

Voice is chain-smoker gruff, glint of gold around the neck, silver in his hair. This sharp-suited old man, ruler of those who cower in his wake. Yashiro fantasised about briefly about the hard and toned torso was beneath the expensive Italian fabric.

"You ordered me," he said, maintain his nonchalant pose on the couch, no bowing or scraping.

The man moved out of his line of sight,  there was a rustle and the clinking of something heavy against glass, and Yashiro guessed correctly that it was whisky being poured into a tumbler.  When Misumi appeared again, the tumbler was already near empty, but the dark bottle of Scotch was in the other hand, and golden liquid flowed again.

"Who did you fuck this time?" Misumi asked, eyeing the bruise on Yashiro’s left cheek.

"Who remembers?" Yashiro said, half truthfully, the faces had merged after a while under the have of the whatever drugs they’d given him, he’d hardly even felt it until afterwards, along with  the usual wash of aches and pains. The only memory in sharp focus was Hinata’s angry eyes before he’d thrown that hard punch down onto his face.

 ”You’re like fucking catnip to the men,” Misumi said, shaking his head as if not understanding, slipping his jacket off and loosening his tie.

"Thank you," Yashiro said with a smile.

"It wasn’t a compliment."

The whisky bottle was thunked down onto the coffee table, and Misumi’s hand was on his face before Yashiro could even react. Misumi pulled him up off the couch. It hurt where the finger dug into the bruise; Yashiro shivered in delight.

"Just what’s so good about you?" Misumi said, eyes and voice equally cold. Yashiro could almost taste the alcohol from his breath.

"It could be my pretty face, or how tight my asshole is, or how wet I get every time it hurts." Yashiro listed off on his fingers.

Misumi shoved him back onto the couch, whisky sloshed out of the tumbler onto Yashiro’s jeans, a dark stain slowly blooming on high on his thigh.

"What a waste," Yashiro  said, pressing two fingers against the stain and then licking the taste off the tips of his slender fingers.

MIsumi caught the hand by the wrist. Yashiro looked up and their eyes locked for a moment that halted and stretched. Misumi’s pupil’s narrowed before dilating full like a cat’s. Yashiro recognised it immediately and felt his own flesh heating up, tingling in anticipation -  Misumi was down, pressing his mouth against the stain on the denim, sucking the liquid, every exhaled breath leaving Yashiro’s thigh feeling  wet and warm, the tumbler abandoned to the thick shag pile on the floor.

This was the first time Misumi had reacted, was it the alcohol? the bruise? Not that Yashiro cared, he’d been dreaming of the loveless eyes and how hard Misumi would fuck him. He reached down to unbutton his fly, his cock  already straining for release, he could feel the tip getting wet when Misumi bit down and elicited a moan from him.  His laid out on his back and the jeans and boxers were pulled off in quick successive jerks - Misumi’s large hands were rough on the underside of his thighs, stroking upwards towards the crook of his knees and then spreading him open wide, and wider. Yashiro was fully erect.  Misumi growled, a look of disdain on his face as he eyed the undeniable fact of Yashiro’s sexual arousal.  Yashiro’s hand reached down to stroke himself, he was half lost already and arching his back. Misumi grabbed his hand again, this time by the fingers and  crushing them together, he pushed that hand back over Yashiro’s  head, his body now full weight pinning Yashiro down, a knee pressed up hard against the base of his cock and grinding against it viciously.

"You think you can get off that easily?"

Yashiro struggled to answer, all his attention drawn by the pooling sensation at his groin.

"I’m , hah, about to -"

The slap across his face jarred his words, almost causing him to bite his own tongue.

"No you don’t," Misumi commanded. He reached for the bottle on the coffee table and gulped it straight down,  then he leaned forward again, his mouth against Yashiro’s mouth, and the boy almost choked on the liquid, the taste burning his tongue and the back of his throat, he coughed and spluttered, the drink dribbling down his face and neck, soaking into the back of his t-shirt that Misumi was soon pulling up over his head, ruffling his hair. Now he was naked, his body so pale every bruise and red mark stood out ferociously, Misumi gripped his bony hips tight and Yashiro cried out when Misumi’s cock pressed up against his ass, that hot hard wet thing probing its way until it found the hole and relentlessly pushed its way inside, deeper and harder until there was no more breath left to hold and Yashiro could only gasp and writhe and cry at the exquisite pain, and  he started rocking his hips, fingers digging into Misumi”s shoulder and back as he got fucked senseless, he spurted almost without even realising until it splattered against his own chest,  only pulled back to consciousness by the roar of a cry that Misumi gave when he came deep inside Yashiro, filling him up with cum, and the waves of pleasures jolted his body, slow to subside.

He felt scraped and raw, his throat, his everything, breathing erratic,  and strangely his sensations strayed to the buttons of  Misumi’s rumpled shirt pressing into his naked chest, one brushing against his nipple. He hooked a finger on the knot of the silk tie, fleetingly thinking of how it was a shame it had not been used.

Misumi’s face was flushed, he tried not to look at it. Misumi’s cock was slowly pulling out of him, not as hard now, yet still riling up every nerve as it moved.

All he could hear was the sound of their breathing and the creak of the leather sofa underneath, Yashiro hated these awkward, almost  intimate moments.

"What’s your answer, is it my pretty face?"  Yashiro asked as Misumi stared at him, he even batted his eyelashes.

"You fucking punk brat," Misumi said, pushing himself off the boy. 

Yashiro noticed that Misumi’s hair down there, was also shot through with silver, glistening and matted down with sweat and semen, and mused again about how different the shape and size of cocks could be.  Misumi was pretty high grade meat, if he was asked to make a comparison.

Looking down on himself, he noticed the circular bite mark on his thigh, and felt oddly pleased by it.

Misumi noticed too, and reached out brushing his fingers against it, almost unthinkingly, his eyebrows wrinkling up, his expression dark. Then he abruptly pulled away.

"I’m taking a shower," he announced. He pulled his trousers back up, and left without saying more.

Yashiro flopped back onto the couch. As he turned his eyes fell on the bottle of whisky still standing on the coffee table.

"Huh," he said, and swiped at it impulsively.

The bottle was knocked to one side, and the remnants of the whisky drained off the edge of the coffee table onto the floor.

"All empty…"

Comments

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dsysmith
Jan. 14th, 2015 09:49 am (UTC)
Thank you for the steamy moments with Misumi-san!!
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