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Entry tags:
fuck I'm a tease
Kirihara was tired. He was ass tired.
He was fucking tired. He was so tired he took the elevator up to his apartment instead of walking the three flights of stairs. Then Kirihara didn’t have the strength to pick up his bags to carry them down the hall to his room. Instead Kirihara gripped the handles and dragged them down the hallway. The bags buzzed as they rubbed against the hallway carpet. Kirihara’s keys felt a million times heavier as he dragged them out of his pocket to fit them into the lock.
Yukimura had never mentioned how tiring tennis competitions were. Kirihara was ready to sleep for a week.
Kirihara dragged his bags inside the door and tiredly kicked off his shoes. The tile of the room felt cold against his big toe, his white athletic socks had apparently begun sporting a hole. Kirihara leaned back against his door, closing it with his weight. Closing his eyes Kirihara just stood there for a while.
There was someone moving inside of his apartment.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re stealing, or why you’re stealing from me, but just take it and go. I’m too tired to deal with this.” Or to get angry. Normally Kirihara would be pissed about someone being in his apartment without permission. Now he just wanted them to go away.
Then the radio turned on.
“Oh come on Akaya, you’re too tired to give me a kiss?” Kirihara’s erstwhile on again off again boyfriend crooned. Kirihara managed to find the energy to pry one eye open. Sengoku was standing in his living room wearing the tight pants Kirihara loved and the green shirt that brought out his eyes. Kirihara’d gotten Sengoku the shirt on Sengoku’s birthday, under the strict orders from Yukimura to get Sengoku something nice.
Kirihara really liked the way the shirt looked on Sengoku. Sengoku really liked the way the shirt looked on Kirihara. It was a win-win shirt… er, situation.
“Akaya?” Sengoku had one hand pressed against his stomach and the other held out like he was ready to start dancing. In fact, Sengoku did start dancing, a slow tango. Sengoku’s bare feet moved back and fort across the wood of Akaya’s apartment, his hips twitching in time with the steps and the music. Sengoku was mouthing the words to the song as he moved closer and closer to Kirihara’s position slumped against the door. Sengoku’s eyes never left Kirihara’s face though.
Finally Sengoku ended up pressed against him, his warmth melting the chill Kirihara had been feeling, a residual effect of the constant A/C of hotels and airplanes. “You forgot to lock the door.” Sengoku murmured into Kirihara’s ear, his fingers finding the deadbolt and suggestively clicking the cylinders into place.
Yukimura had never mentioned how tiring tennis competitions were. Kirihara was ready to sleep for a week.
Kirihara dragged his bags inside the door and tiredly kicked off his shoes. The tile of the room felt cold against his big toe, his white athletic socks had apparently begun sporting a hole. Kirihara leaned back against his door, closing it with his weight. Closing his eyes Kirihara just stood there for a while.
There was someone moving inside of his apartment.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re stealing, or why you’re stealing from me, but just take it and go. I’m too tired to deal with this.” Or to get angry. Normally Kirihara would be pissed about someone being in his apartment without permission. Now he just wanted them to go away.
Then the radio turned on.
“Oh come on Akaya, you’re too tired to give me a kiss?” Kirihara’s erstwhile on again off again boyfriend crooned. Kirihara managed to find the energy to pry one eye open. Sengoku was standing in his living room wearing the tight pants Kirihara loved and the green shirt that brought out his eyes. Kirihara’d gotten Sengoku the shirt on Sengoku’s birthday, under the strict orders from Yukimura to get Sengoku something nice.
Kirihara really liked the way the shirt looked on Sengoku. Sengoku really liked the way the shirt looked on Kirihara. It was a win-win shirt… er, situation.
“Akaya?” Sengoku had one hand pressed against his stomach and the other held out like he was ready to start dancing. In fact, Sengoku did start dancing, a slow tango. Sengoku’s bare feet moved back and fort across the wood of Akaya’s apartment, his hips twitching in time with the steps and the music. Sengoku was mouthing the words to the song as he moved closer and closer to Kirihara’s position slumped against the door. Sengoku’s eyes never left Kirihara’s face though.
Finally Sengoku ended up pressed against him, his warmth melting the chill Kirihara had been feeling, a residual effect of the constant A/C of hotels and airplanes. “You forgot to lock the door.” Sengoku murmured into Kirihara’s ear, his fingers finding the deadbolt and suggestively clicking the cylinders into place.