![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
The hotel room they'd booked was small, with only one bed to share between them. It was a double bed at least, Michael did not like the idea of huddling up with J in a single. Both of them were small enough to fit, probably, if they worked at it, but Michael liked at least a little space, and he found that the further and further they got from Tokyo the more likely J was to sprawl out when he slept. It was like Tokyo was some monster in the closet that J was leaving further and further behind.
Jun. Michael should call him Jun… but that felt so weird. Michael had only known him as 'J', and it wasn't as if J had ever told him not to call him that. Michael liked it anyway, he thought it fit J more than 'Jun' did.
Michael lay back on the double bed and listened to the sound of J bathing. He could faintly hear the splash of water against the rim of the tub, but that was about it. J was pretty quiet when he bathed, and very neat. Michael always made a mess, soapsuds and water flying one way, Michael's bath stuff flying another. Not that the bathrooms for their hotel rooms were very big.
They could have booked big rooms. They could have booked the best room in the best hotel in town. Michael might have liked that, but he knew that he and J needed to stay under the radar. It was why J had died his hair black and worn glasses, and now that Michael thought about it, it was probably why J had convinced him to come along. Michael might not have liked the cult, and he might have always been close to J, but he hadn't expected to be singled out and asked to escape with their cynical 'leader'. With every explanation of 'he's my new step brother, we're taking a trip while our parents are on a honeymoon' or 'he's my American pen-pal! Michael say hi!' Michael realized that he was as much a part of J's disguise as the glasses.
It didn't really matter though, because Michael had fun with J, and as odd as it was to talk about someone taking care of him… J took care of him. Michael liked that, he had never been much of an adult, and J wasn't really much of a kid.
The bathroom door opened in a puff of steam and golden light. J walked to the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist and one scrubbing at his dark black hair. "I'm out." J smiled slightly at Michael, like he could tell that Michael had been thinking about him. J's serious eyes did not match his slim and young body. Michael felt himself blushing when he looked at J, an uncontrollable action. Michael couldn't help blushing when around J, or tracking droplets of water from the tips of J's hair down his neck, or noticing how J's nipples were light brown and tightened in the chill of the room. "You can use the bathroom now, Michael."
There's something in J's tone that makes Michael meet his eyes though, and J's dark black eyes aren't so much serious as they are hungry. Michael swallows. They've been dancing this dance since the first tiny hotel room where J's small hand managed to land on his crotch at some point in the night and Michael started to get hard.
Michael's a virgin. He isn't sure about J, because J's… J, but Michael is a virgin. Before the cult there was just him and his computer, everyone in the cult was too scary to even think about dating, and now… now there was just Michael, his computer, and J.
"Michael." J crawls onto the bed like something from a late night movie, and Michael feels frozen. He half expects J to sprout claws or wings or tentacles, something to make him seem more demonic and less like a teenager. He looks seductive anyway, especially when he drapes his wet chest over Michael's clothed chest, J's two slim and shapely legs on either side of Michael's left. J's crotch rubs at Michael's thigh when J grinds, and Michael can't help but rub his leg against J.
J practically purrs.
"Have you ever been kissed, Michael?" J asks, and he plants his demonically enticing hands on Michael's shoulders and leans in close. Michael's glasses bump against the bridge of Michael's nose when J brushes their noses together, and his lips brush against J's lips when Michael speaks.
"No." It's barely a whisper, more of a cough, but J knows.
"Good." J presses his lips against Michael's in a sloppy, uncertain maneuver. "Neither have I." Michael's hands drop to J's make-shift towel skirt and tug it away, his hands stroking J's bare hips. J doesn't bother to undress him much, and their make-out masturbation session is messy and wet and fast. J's slippery, and his kisses are as uncoordinated as Michael's. Michael couldn't tell you it was good, or bad, or terrible, but it all felt *awesome* at the time.
It's another form of escape, just like their train rides away from Tokyo, and Michael hopes it's not just another part of J's disguise.
Jun. Michael should call him Jun… but that felt so weird. Michael had only known him as 'J', and it wasn't as if J had ever told him not to call him that. Michael liked it anyway, he thought it fit J more than 'Jun' did.
Michael lay back on the double bed and listened to the sound of J bathing. He could faintly hear the splash of water against the rim of the tub, but that was about it. J was pretty quiet when he bathed, and very neat. Michael always made a mess, soapsuds and water flying one way, Michael's bath stuff flying another. Not that the bathrooms for their hotel rooms were very big.
They could have booked big rooms. They could have booked the best room in the best hotel in town. Michael might have liked that, but he knew that he and J needed to stay under the radar. It was why J had died his hair black and worn glasses, and now that Michael thought about it, it was probably why J had convinced him to come along. Michael might not have liked the cult, and he might have always been close to J, but he hadn't expected to be singled out and asked to escape with their cynical 'leader'. With every explanation of 'he's my new step brother, we're taking a trip while our parents are on a honeymoon' or 'he's my American pen-pal! Michael say hi!' Michael realized that he was as much a part of J's disguise as the glasses.
It didn't really matter though, because Michael had fun with J, and as odd as it was to talk about someone taking care of him… J took care of him. Michael liked that, he had never been much of an adult, and J wasn't really much of a kid.
The bathroom door opened in a puff of steam and golden light. J walked to the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist and one scrubbing at his dark black hair. "I'm out." J smiled slightly at Michael, like he could tell that Michael had been thinking about him. J's serious eyes did not match his slim and young body. Michael felt himself blushing when he looked at J, an uncontrollable action. Michael couldn't help blushing when around J, or tracking droplets of water from the tips of J's hair down his neck, or noticing how J's nipples were light brown and tightened in the chill of the room. "You can use the bathroom now, Michael."
There's something in J's tone that makes Michael meet his eyes though, and J's dark black eyes aren't so much serious as they are hungry. Michael swallows. They've been dancing this dance since the first tiny hotel room where J's small hand managed to land on his crotch at some point in the night and Michael started to get hard.
Michael's a virgin. He isn't sure about J, because J's… J, but Michael is a virgin. Before the cult there was just him and his computer, everyone in the cult was too scary to even think about dating, and now… now there was just Michael, his computer, and J.
"Michael." J crawls onto the bed like something from a late night movie, and Michael feels frozen. He half expects J to sprout claws or wings or tentacles, something to make him seem more demonic and less like a teenager. He looks seductive anyway, especially when he drapes his wet chest over Michael's clothed chest, J's two slim and shapely legs on either side of Michael's left. J's crotch rubs at Michael's thigh when J grinds, and Michael can't help but rub his leg against J.
J practically purrs.
"Have you ever been kissed, Michael?" J asks, and he plants his demonically enticing hands on Michael's shoulders and leans in close. Michael's glasses bump against the bridge of Michael's nose when J brushes their noses together, and his lips brush against J's lips when Michael speaks.
"No." It's barely a whisper, more of a cough, but J knows.
"Good." J presses his lips against Michael's in a sloppy, uncertain maneuver. "Neither have I." Michael's hands drop to J's make-shift towel skirt and tug it away, his hands stroking J's bare hips. J doesn't bother to undress him much, and their make-out masturbation session is messy and wet and fast. J's slippery, and his kisses are as uncoordinated as Michael's. Michael couldn't tell you it was good, or bad, or terrible, but it all felt *awesome* at the time.
It's another form of escape, just like their train rides away from Tokyo, and Michael hopes it's not just another part of J's disguise.