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Buttons

Syuichirou was comfortable, warm and solid, definitely a pleasure to curl up next to in bed—-he made for a good pillow, too, and never complained whenever Eiji decided to sprawl across him.

In return, Eiji suffered Syuichirou to play with his hair, which he did with endless fascination, carding it and curling it around his fingers. Eiji didn’t understand the hair fixation himself, but figured it has something to do with the way Syuichirou kept his own spiky hair under severe control.

There was homework that needed doing, but not too much, and a break had seemed in order. Eiji, spread across Syuichirou’s chest, was half-dozing to the beat of Syuichirou’s heart while Syuichirou--well, there was no better word for it, Eiji decided--Syuichirou was petting him. It was quite pleasant, really. If he could have worked out the mechanics of it, Eiji would have be purring in earnest, and perhaps kneading Syuichirou’s lap, too.

Well, why not?

Eiji snuggled into the curve of Syuichirou’s neck and licked the sensitive spot at the corner of his partner’s jaw. Syuichirou’s resulting sigh was a little startled, but he tilted his head to the side, offering Eiji a better angle. Eiji grinned and obliged, tracing the spot with long, lazy swipes of his tongue. Beneath him, Syuichirou relaxed completely, with his hand still tangled in Eiji’s hair. “What brought this on?” he murmured.

“I’m a teenager. I have to have a reason?” Eiji asked, and slid his mouth down Syuichirou’s neck, nuzzling aside the collar of his shirt and nibbling.

“No, I guess not,” Syuichirou said, reaching for the hem of Eiji’s shirt and pulling it up. Eiji spared a moment to regret the fact that human beings just couldn’t purr, no matter how much they wanted to, as Syuichirou’s hand skimmed over his back, and sat up to pull his shirt off.

“Isn’t that better?” he asked.

“Much,” Syuichirou agreed, just before he pulled Eiji down for a kiss.

Kisses, according to the romance novels Eiji’s sisters read, were supposed to taste special: of cinnamon, or cherries, or some other nonsense (not that Eiji had read the novels--he had skimmed). As far as Eiji could tell, though, Syuichirou’s kisses never tasted like much of anything--mint, maybe, if he’d just brushed his teeth, or on one memorable occasion, morning breath, which had just been gross--but they were hot. And wet. And drugging. Eiji could spend hours trading kisses back and forth with Syuichirou.

However, Syuichirou was tracing patterns on the bare skin of his back, which was hardly fair, so Eiji began an assault on Syuichirou’s shirt, sending at least one button zinging off to land in the corner of the room. “Oops,” he murmured into the corner of Syuichirou’s mouth.

“My mother is beginning to wonder how I lose so many buttons,” Syuichirou observed, as Eiji pulled his shirt open and slid his hands inside.

“So learn how to sew them back on yourself,” Eiji said. He kissed a path down Syuichirou’s neck.

“You’re the one who destroys my shirts,” Syuichirou pointed out, punctuating the observation with a his as Eiji closed his mouth over one peaked nipple.

“You’re the one who chooses to wear button-down shirts all the time,” Eiji argued, with a nibble to drive home the point.

“Not all the time,” Syuichirou protested. “Ah--Eiji!”

Eiji continued to knead Syuichirou’s erection. “I win,” he said with a leer.

“You cheated,” Syuichirou panted.

“I still win,” Eiji said, tugging at Syuichirou’s zipper and pulling his partner’s trousers and shorts down. His grip on Syuichirou was sure and firm, and he rendered Syuichirou incapable of continuing the argument by lowering his mouth over Syuichirou’s erection.

Eiji had long since noticed that Syuichirou made some of the most interesting noises while they fooled around, but he never tired of provoking them. He moved on Syuichirou in a steady rhythm, suppressing a smirk when Syuichirou’s hands came down to tangle in his hair.

Syuichirou’s hands tightened their grip, and he called Eiji’s name in the peculiar tone he only used during sex--something between shock and vulnerability and relief--and shuddered under Eiji, eyes squeezed shut as he came.

Eiji wiped his mouth and straddled Syuichirou, planting his hands on either side of his head and grinning at his partner when Syuichirou finally opened his eyes. Syuichirou pulled him down so they were chest to chest, and kissed him. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Welcome... but I don’t suppose...?” Eiji shifted against him, impatient.

“Only if you promise to sew the buttons back on to my shirts,” Syuichirou said.

Damn. Eiji had been sure he’d won that argument. “I can’t sew,” he said, grinding his hips against Syuichirou’s.

Syuichirou flipped him onto his back, depriving him of the source of friction and pinning his hands. “You might want to consider learning,” he said, with what Eiji felt was entirely too wicked a grin. He leaned down and nibbled at Eiji’s earlobe.

“Fine! I’ll learn!” Eiji gasped, bucking under Syuichirou and managing to knock him off-balance. He squeaked as Syuichirou landed on top of him. “You’re so mean,” he complained.

Syuichirou chuckled in response, and relieved Eiji of pants and underwear. Eiji wriggled impatiently as Syuichirou took a moment for looking--why he stopped and examined him every time, Eiji didn’t know--and then began exploring his body with hands, and then mouth.

“You’re such a tease--ah!” Eiji couldn’t keep himself from arching into Syuichirou’s mouth when it finally closed around him. As much as Syuichirou might have liked to tease him, he knew what he was doing. His mouth was hot and skilled, and Eiji let go, trusting Syuichirou to catch him as he always did.

Syuichirou’s expression was completely satisfied as he stretched out next to Eiji, who was wondering if it were possible for a person’s bones to really turn to jelly, even if only temporarily. “Do you really want me to sew the buttons back on?” he yawned. “I meant it when I said I can’t sew.”

Syuichirou shrugged a little, and began playing with Eiji’s sweaty hair. “I guess I’ll have to teach you.”

“Hmph.” Eiji rearranged himself, resting his head on Syuichirou’s shoulder. “They’re your shirts, I guess. If you want the buttons to look funny...”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Syuichirou murmured, beginning to sound sleepy.

“Hmph.” Eiji yawned again. “I suppose I could just stop popping the buttons off.” Syuichirou didn’t respond, but began to snore softly. Eiji gave up, resolving to win the argument later, and surrendered to the urge to nap,

end