30 Color Somethings: Gravitation
folder
Gravitation › Yaoi - Male/Male › Yuki/Shuichi
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
5,155
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gravitation › Yaoi - Male/Male › Yuki/Shuichi
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
5,155
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Gravitation, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Green with Envy
7. Green with Envy
Nittle Grasper was having a reunion concert on April 1, Ryuichi Sakuma’s birthday. Tickets for the concert were selling on the black market for ten and twenty times the original price. To make things even more amazing, Nittle Grasper was going to perform a new song—a song that no one aside from the Nittle Grasper knew about—except for writer of that new song’s lyrics, no other than the super popular, super sexy novelist, Yuki Eiri.
Shuichi Shindou was green with envy. His birthday was coming up too, only 15 days after Ryuichi’s. His band, Bad Luck, wasn’t performing that night. N-G hadn’t offered to set up a concert. Not that Shuichi wanted to perform on his birthday—no, no he didn’t. He was going to spend the day with Yuki, who promised he would finish his novel in time for his birthday, so they could spend the day together. But he wasn’t working on his novel! He was working on those damn lyrics for Nittle Grasper! And he wouldn’t let Shuichi see them, wouldn’t even tell Shuichi what the song was about!
Ryuichi was going to be 33—but Shuichi was going to be TWENTY! A new decade! Surely that was a more important birthday than merely turning 33! Ryuichi was a god of course, and yes, his birthday and the concert were going to be the bomb, but why did Nittle Grasper need Yuki? Surely Ryuichi or Toma or Noriko could come up with their own lyrics!
Shuichi and Ryuichi were going to perform that first song Yuki had written for Grasper together again. Every time he thought of that, Shuichi got so happy. He didn’t even mind that Ryuichi wanted him to spend all of the concert—except for their duet--taking care of Kumagoro, his precious pink bunny. He would do anything for Ryuichi—except share Yuki—or well, let Ryuichi get too kissy. Of course he loved Ryuichi—he was THE Ryuichi of Nittle Grasper! But he didn’t LOVE Ryuichi . . . he wasn’t like that damn perverted little brother of Yuki’s, Tatsuha!
---
Yuki scowled at his computer screen, angry. It was going to be April in just one day, and he wasn’t far enough along with his novel. He needed this thing done, done, done before the brat’s birthday. He was going to make the start of Shuichi’s third decade memorable. If only his little lover wasn’t the number one fan of Nittle Grasper! Like he gave a shit that Toma’s damn band was having a reunion concert--or that Ryuichi was turning 33. Big fucking deal! But he could just see how Shuichi’s big violet eyes would fill with tears if he found out Yuki had refused to write a song for his beloved Nittle Grasper and his beloved Ryuichi, damn him and his little bunny too!
Yuki lit another cigarette and stood up and stalked to the window. He had Ryuichi’s number—the little schizophrenic was a poser with his stuffed animals and baby talk and little kid act. And he was going to be 33—god, in 10 years that little kid act was going to seem mental—and in 20 years . . . 20 years, exactly how old his Shuichi would be in a little over two weeks. HIS Shuichi.
All his.
And then Yuki strood over to the door and jerked it open. And smiled around his cigarette as Shuichi fell at his feet, looking up at him with a mix of fear, desire, and love. The superstar singer of Bad Luck that girls and boys, and men and women around the world, lusted for was here at his feet, begging him like a puppy, not to be mad, to forgive him, and to spend time with him. That mouth that made millions and those big purple eyes were begging him. His cock stiffened in his dress pants, tenting them. And suddenly Shuichi wasn’t looking at his face and was licking his lips, swallowing.
“Suck me,” he heard himself say, almost not believing he was doing this.
But there it was—that look, that look that made nothing else matter, that made him feel like a god, that made everything ok—because the most gorgeous superstar in the world was worshipping him, loving him, needing him, lost in his emotions, even as his hands had Yuki’s cock and balls exposed. Then that mouth and throat that made people the world over happy was on him, was his, all his. Shuichi might say that Ryuichi was a god, but he’d never worship him like he was worshipping Yuki right now. Shuichi was his, his to do whatever he wanted to.
And Yuki’s hands were in that pink hair, and he thrust himself forward, forgetting that this throat around him was a national treasure. It was his, all his. Thrusting, no fucking, fucking that throat, fucking that wet pink mouth, he could see Shuichi losing it, his little gym shorts tented out and wet with his precum. His little pink Shu loved being used, being used hard, and the fact that Yuki hadn’t said a kind word and was treating him like a whore had him on the edge of coming.
“Slut,” growled Yuki, “you’re going to come from having your face fucked.”
And he did—oh, god, he did—shaking and quivering, flushing, creaming in his shorts without having his little pink cock touched at all because Yuki was fucking his face, fucking that throat that Ryuichi was green with envy for . . . oh god, god, so good . . .
---
Shuichi was in heaven.
Yuki was coming, coming in his throat, filling him, needing him, neglecting his work, messing up his pants, sweating on his shirt, his knees shaking, and his balls emptying out endlessly . . . all for him, for Shuichi! He had chosen him when he could have anyone in world, male or female!
And Shuichi was the one that made this sexy golden god come! Yes, the proof of his love, his desire was in his mouth, in his throat, in him, deep inside him, filling him up! He was drinking Yuki’s cum, Yuki juice, Yuki jism, and nothing, nothing was so good! It was liquid love!
But no man can come endlessly. His precious Yuki had big balls, but there was a limit to what they could squeeze out.
With a few last licks, Shuichi let Yuki’s precious cock slip from his lips. His head fell back, letting him look up into those gold eyes, look at that gorgeous, sexy face.
If only it could always be like this, with Yuki looking down at him like this! When Yuki looked at him like this, Shuichi felt like he was the most precious thing in the world, to Yuki the only important thing there was for him—and yet still Yuki was so cool, just so damn cool!
Shuichi purred. This man was his. And he had made him orgasm in just minutes, he alone! All that Yuki cream was his, and only his. Only he would see this side of Yuki, of his lover. Poor Toma, poor lovelorn women of the world . . . what they would give to be him, Yuki Eiri’s lover! And today Yuki had wanted him so much, he’d acting like a beast, a golden beast! He’d not even let Shuichi take off either of their clothes; he’d demanded sex, now, as if he couldn’t wait another second for him, for him the lucky, lucky, lucky Shuichi Shindou of Bad Luck!
Shuichi stared at that perfect face, sighing with his happiness. If only all those fans of Yuki knew . . . they’d be green with envy.
Nittle Grasper was having a reunion concert on April 1, Ryuichi Sakuma’s birthday. Tickets for the concert were selling on the black market for ten and twenty times the original price. To make things even more amazing, Nittle Grasper was going to perform a new song—a song that no one aside from the Nittle Grasper knew about—except for writer of that new song’s lyrics, no other than the super popular, super sexy novelist, Yuki Eiri.
Shuichi Shindou was green with envy. His birthday was coming up too, only 15 days after Ryuichi’s. His band, Bad Luck, wasn’t performing that night. N-G hadn’t offered to set up a concert. Not that Shuichi wanted to perform on his birthday—no, no he didn’t. He was going to spend the day with Yuki, who promised he would finish his novel in time for his birthday, so they could spend the day together. But he wasn’t working on his novel! He was working on those damn lyrics for Nittle Grasper! And he wouldn’t let Shuichi see them, wouldn’t even tell Shuichi what the song was about!
Ryuichi was going to be 33—but Shuichi was going to be TWENTY! A new decade! Surely that was a more important birthday than merely turning 33! Ryuichi was a god of course, and yes, his birthday and the concert were going to be the bomb, but why did Nittle Grasper need Yuki? Surely Ryuichi or Toma or Noriko could come up with their own lyrics!
Shuichi and Ryuichi were going to perform that first song Yuki had written for Grasper together again. Every time he thought of that, Shuichi got so happy. He didn’t even mind that Ryuichi wanted him to spend all of the concert—except for their duet--taking care of Kumagoro, his precious pink bunny. He would do anything for Ryuichi—except share Yuki—or well, let Ryuichi get too kissy. Of course he loved Ryuichi—he was THE Ryuichi of Nittle Grasper! But he didn’t LOVE Ryuichi . . . he wasn’t like that damn perverted little brother of Yuki’s, Tatsuha!
---
Yuki scowled at his computer screen, angry. It was going to be April in just one day, and he wasn’t far enough along with his novel. He needed this thing done, done, done before the brat’s birthday. He was going to make the start of Shuichi’s third decade memorable. If only his little lover wasn’t the number one fan of Nittle Grasper! Like he gave a shit that Toma’s damn band was having a reunion concert--or that Ryuichi was turning 33. Big fucking deal! But he could just see how Shuichi’s big violet eyes would fill with tears if he found out Yuki had refused to write a song for his beloved Nittle Grasper and his beloved Ryuichi, damn him and his little bunny too!
Yuki lit another cigarette and stood up and stalked to the window. He had Ryuichi’s number—the little schizophrenic was a poser with his stuffed animals and baby talk and little kid act. And he was going to be 33—god, in 10 years that little kid act was going to seem mental—and in 20 years . . . 20 years, exactly how old his Shuichi would be in a little over two weeks. HIS Shuichi.
All his.
And then Yuki strood over to the door and jerked it open. And smiled around his cigarette as Shuichi fell at his feet, looking up at him with a mix of fear, desire, and love. The superstar singer of Bad Luck that girls and boys, and men and women around the world, lusted for was here at his feet, begging him like a puppy, not to be mad, to forgive him, and to spend time with him. That mouth that made millions and those big purple eyes were begging him. His cock stiffened in his dress pants, tenting them. And suddenly Shuichi wasn’t looking at his face and was licking his lips, swallowing.
“Suck me,” he heard himself say, almost not believing he was doing this.
But there it was—that look, that look that made nothing else matter, that made him feel like a god, that made everything ok—because the most gorgeous superstar in the world was worshipping him, loving him, needing him, lost in his emotions, even as his hands had Yuki’s cock and balls exposed. Then that mouth and throat that made people the world over happy was on him, was his, all his. Shuichi might say that Ryuichi was a god, but he’d never worship him like he was worshipping Yuki right now. Shuichi was his, his to do whatever he wanted to.
And Yuki’s hands were in that pink hair, and he thrust himself forward, forgetting that this throat around him was a national treasure. It was his, all his. Thrusting, no fucking, fucking that throat, fucking that wet pink mouth, he could see Shuichi losing it, his little gym shorts tented out and wet with his precum. His little pink Shu loved being used, being used hard, and the fact that Yuki hadn’t said a kind word and was treating him like a whore had him on the edge of coming.
“Slut,” growled Yuki, “you’re going to come from having your face fucked.”
And he did—oh, god, he did—shaking and quivering, flushing, creaming in his shorts without having his little pink cock touched at all because Yuki was fucking his face, fucking that throat that Ryuichi was green with envy for . . . oh god, god, so good . . .
---
Shuichi was in heaven.
Yuki was coming, coming in his throat, filling him, needing him, neglecting his work, messing up his pants, sweating on his shirt, his knees shaking, and his balls emptying out endlessly . . . all for him, for Shuichi! He had chosen him when he could have anyone in world, male or female!
And Shuichi was the one that made this sexy golden god come! Yes, the proof of his love, his desire was in his mouth, in his throat, in him, deep inside him, filling him up! He was drinking Yuki’s cum, Yuki juice, Yuki jism, and nothing, nothing was so good! It was liquid love!
But no man can come endlessly. His precious Yuki had big balls, but there was a limit to what they could squeeze out.
With a few last licks, Shuichi let Yuki’s precious cock slip from his lips. His head fell back, letting him look up into those gold eyes, look at that gorgeous, sexy face.
If only it could always be like this, with Yuki looking down at him like this! When Yuki looked at him like this, Shuichi felt like he was the most precious thing in the world, to Yuki the only important thing there was for him—and yet still Yuki was so cool, just so damn cool!
Shuichi purred. This man was his. And he had made him orgasm in just minutes, he alone! All that Yuki cream was his, and only his. Only he would see this side of Yuki, of his lover. Poor Toma, poor lovelorn women of the world . . . what they would give to be him, Yuki Eiri’s lover! And today Yuki had wanted him so much, he’d acting like a beast, a golden beast! He’d not even let Shuichi take off either of their clothes; he’d demanded sex, now, as if he couldn’t wait another second for him, for him the lucky, lucky, lucky Shuichi Shindou of Bad Luck!
Shuichi stared at that perfect face, sighing with his happiness. If only all those fans of Yuki knew . . . they’d be green with envy.