errorYou must be logged in to review this story.
White Day
folder
+S to Z › Viewfinder
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,294
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+S to Z › Viewfinder
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,294
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Viewfinder, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
White Day
Title: White Day
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Asami x Takaba
Disclaimer: Yamane Ayano created them. I only play with them and give them back when I’m done.
Warnings: PWP, mild candy!kink, rimming, vague OOCness
A/N: [info]ingenius_inc’s challenge (namely, theme #3: holiday and theme #6: candy perversions). It was actually really hard to write fanfic for a manga, as I’ve learned from this exercise. I felt like my writing style completely changed (what’s with all the short, fragmented sentences, suddenly?) But whatever-- I finished something before April 1st. I just want this off my hands now.
Takaba had planned on sleeping in on his day off, but the doorbell ringing at nine in the morning cuts all those plans short.
Asami. He can tell by the ring.
Takaba turns over and tries to muffle the sound with his pillow. It rings again several times, and suddenly comes the abrasive sound of a key in the lock.
He couldn’t have.
Takaba runs into his living room just in time to see Asami shut the door behind him and hang up his jacket on a clothes hanger in the closet near the door. As if he owned the place.
“What the hell? Why are you here?”
Asami looks at him in that indulgent way—making Takaba feel that he’s still in grade school.
It makes Takaba want to protest and stamp his foot and scream that the man in front of him get out. In short, act childish. So Takaba refrains, and merely crosses his arms, trying to look as unamused as possible. “Well? Are you going to tell me why you have a copy of my key?”
“I prefer to have access to my belongings.”
Again with that talk. Takaba hates when Asami reduces to nothing all the things he cherishes most—his freedom, his independence… his right to not feel that he is living in some dollhouse, ready to be played with whenever Asami feels the inclination to visit him. And—worst of all—whenever he gets angry nowadays, his body begins responding in a manner wholly unfavorable, as if sensing Asami’s presence by how much adrenaline is pumping through his veins purely from frustration. It isn’t fair, in a way. Asami never gets flustered—never.
Asami makes himself comfortable on the couch. This isn’t just his place—it’s his harem. Takaba suddenly becomes aware that he is wearing only boxers, and that perhaps this is not the best outfit in which he should try to force Asami to leave. Just as he’s about to retreat to his bedroom and get dressed, Asami commands him to stay.
“I have something for you. So don’t run away just yet.”
“I’m… I’m not running away, bastard…”
The package is wrapped in garish pastel colors, completely incongruous with the formal looking man holding it out. Takaba takes it cautiously. No gift from Asami could be anything good. Or at least without strings attached. Big, thick, metal chains more than strings, knowing Asami. Takaba sighs and opens the package, against his better judgment. “‘Happy… White Day’? What the hell, Asami! You can just take these back. I’m not eating girl candy… eat them yourself if you want.”
That exasperating smirk. Oh, how Takaba hates it. And oh, how he wishes his morning erection would wear off already, instead of being encouraged by the sight of this debauched yakuza, sitting in his living room, offering him White Day candy as if Takaba were his giggling schoolgirl sweetheart.
“Seriously, get out. I went to sleep really late last night and I don’t have time for this. Don’t you have some illegal crap of yours to do today at the club?”
Asami’s eyes narrow. Perhaps Takaba has gone too far. “It’s no fun doing illegal business when you’re not there trying to take pictures and making a fool of yourself.”
***
The blush on Takaba looks angry. Asami smiles wistfully. There is a bit of a sadist in him, he supposes, since part of him likes to see Takaba struggle and protest. Takaba brings it on himself, in most instances. How long would he continue to be angry and remain in denial about their relationship? There was that brief truce period when Asami rescued his friends, but it quickly returned to the tug-of-war of desire and repulsion they had before.
Takaba’s friends… Asami thinks wistfully. He might make fun of Takaba’s occasional lack of tact, but it’s really he who probably needs more people skills. He can deal with international businessmen—Mafiosi even, if need be. He’s still on good, civil terms with his family, but he never makes contact with them. He doesn’t want to involve them in his affairs, of course, but is this really reason enough not to send anything beyond an impersonal little greeting card every one or two years? As for the day-to-day normal interactions that are supposed to happen outside of the workplace—outside of the workplace there is only Takaba, by and large. He’s someone who comes from a completely different social sphere of Tokyo. Why are they so compatible? It might have started with the sex—memories of which would come up and meddle with the focus on which Asami generally prided himself. But it quickly became something else too. A part of him wishes he wouldn’t always resort to pseudo-force when it comes to their encounters, but it is just not in his nature to invite Takaba out for a friendly drink at a local bar. For better or worse, the way their relationship began still limits both of them to cat-and-mouse dynamics.
He pushes Takaba into the adjoining kitchen, and heaves him onto the counter.
“What the hell are you doing?! Let go!” Such a pretty voice. Sounding so different when it’s protesting and begging, though they were but two sides of the same coin in these games.
“I’m going to eat the candy. It’s too bad you didn’t take care to notice it wasn’t your average gift.”
***
Takaba moans in displeasure against the bag of gummies Asami stuffed into his mouth. At least his hands had been tied up with something more dignified. Like Asami’s tie. Since when did anything Asami did to him become dignified, Takaba wonders, moaning in disapproval again. No girl would have known what to do with some of this candy… the chocolate drizzled over his back is slowly flowing down, now that Asami’s hand are insistently forcing him into the position of ass-up-in-the-air. All on his kitchen counter too. Takaba is glad the one window in the room was small and curtained. He wishes the mirror in the adjoining room weren’t perfectly aligned for him to see what Asami is doing. Knowing Asami, it’s probably no coincidence that he has chosen this spot. His piercing gaze lifts from his task to meet Takaba’s.
In many ways this is worse than the film. The whipped cream on his ass is began to melt as soon as it hit his skin, and by now it’s dripping off in all directions. Takaba tries to arch away when he sees Asami aim two sticks of Pocky, but to no avail and soon sees them sticking out of him.
“I’m not a fucking sundae!” Takaba gasps out when he finally manages to dislodge the bag from his mouth. The whipped cream is still running down, some of it all the way to his cock from where it drips onto the counter.
“No use in letting the candy go to waste if you won’t eat it,” Asami says, his tongue suddenly licking up Takaba’s perineum.
“A…Asami…” The struggles stop and soon Takaba is shamelessly arching into the tongue’s actions. He’s as clean as he’ll ever be and, at this point, it’s only mindless desire for that soft tongue to penetrate…
Asami suddenly retreats and Takaba lets out a whimper that embarrasses him as soon as it’s out of his mouth.
***
“Maybe you’d like some dessert after all?” Asami twirls the bottle of chocolate syrup in his hands, like a gun. He takes care to appear nonchalant, but this is a crucial moment. Damn Takaba if he backs out…
Takaba raises himself to a sitting a position on the counter, dangling long legs, cheeks almost as fiery as the cock begging for attention between his trembling thighs. He watches Asami unzip, eyes feral and unreadable. Get on your knees and prove you’re serious, Asami’s mind commands, but he doesn’t say a word.
Slowly, hesitantly Takaba lowers himself to the floor, down to the level of Asami’s crotch. He’s gulping. Still so demure? Asami lets out a small chuckle, and Takaba’s eyes turns upwards, shooting daggers.
“You like Pocky right, Akihito…” It’s hardly a question and Asami drizzles chocolate over his shaft without waiting for a response.
“Yeah, but I bite down on it too. Bastard. And don’t treat me like a child before I suck you off.”
Asami smiles and watches Takaba’s head bob back and forth. His hand alights on those golden strands, not because there’s any encouragement needed, really. There was only one man whose hair felt more pleasant running through his callused hands…
Just as Takaba picks up his pace, trying to finish, Asami hauls him up to his feet. They are beyond words, understanding each other instinctually. Takaba’s hands alight on the counter, anchoring his body for the upcoming pounding. Asami raises his legs up and watches the face in front of him screw up in pain and pleasure intermixed. They thrust against each other, into each other, in uneasy harmony with each other, until one, then the other, is spent.
Neither is willing to let go. Takaba wraps his arms around Asami’s neck instead of running off to the shower as usual. He suddenly abandons his haughty pride, letting Asami carry him over and dump him on the couch.
Takaba’s cellphone rings somewhere, but he doesn’t move to get it, lost in thought. What is he thinking? Asami wonders. What does he think about us? In the end it doesn’t matter. It’s time to begin to act like an adult.
“So Happy White Day. I’ve decided—” No, those are the wrong words again. “I want you to meet my parents some time.”
Takaba looks over, smirking. “Parents? And I thought one of your kind was more than enough for the world…” But he grins, and Asami smiles back as he dons his coat and hat to leave.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Asami x Takaba
Disclaimer: Yamane Ayano created them. I only play with them and give them back when I’m done.
Warnings: PWP, mild candy!kink, rimming, vague OOCness
A/N: [info]ingenius_inc’s challenge (namely, theme #3: holiday and theme #6: candy perversions). It was actually really hard to write fanfic for a manga, as I’ve learned from this exercise. I felt like my writing style completely changed (what’s with all the short, fragmented sentences, suddenly?) But whatever-- I finished something before April 1st. I just want this off my hands now.
Takaba had planned on sleeping in on his day off, but the doorbell ringing at nine in the morning cuts all those plans short.
Asami. He can tell by the ring.
Takaba turns over and tries to muffle the sound with his pillow. It rings again several times, and suddenly comes the abrasive sound of a key in the lock.
He couldn’t have.
Takaba runs into his living room just in time to see Asami shut the door behind him and hang up his jacket on a clothes hanger in the closet near the door. As if he owned the place.
“What the hell? Why are you here?”
Asami looks at him in that indulgent way—making Takaba feel that he’s still in grade school.
It makes Takaba want to protest and stamp his foot and scream that the man in front of him get out. In short, act childish. So Takaba refrains, and merely crosses his arms, trying to look as unamused as possible. “Well? Are you going to tell me why you have a copy of my key?”
“I prefer to have access to my belongings.”
Again with that talk. Takaba hates when Asami reduces to nothing all the things he cherishes most—his freedom, his independence… his right to not feel that he is living in some dollhouse, ready to be played with whenever Asami feels the inclination to visit him. And—worst of all—whenever he gets angry nowadays, his body begins responding in a manner wholly unfavorable, as if sensing Asami’s presence by how much adrenaline is pumping through his veins purely from frustration. It isn’t fair, in a way. Asami never gets flustered—never.
Asami makes himself comfortable on the couch. This isn’t just his place—it’s his harem. Takaba suddenly becomes aware that he is wearing only boxers, and that perhaps this is not the best outfit in which he should try to force Asami to leave. Just as he’s about to retreat to his bedroom and get dressed, Asami commands him to stay.
“I have something for you. So don’t run away just yet.”
“I’m… I’m not running away, bastard…”
The package is wrapped in garish pastel colors, completely incongruous with the formal looking man holding it out. Takaba takes it cautiously. No gift from Asami could be anything good. Or at least without strings attached. Big, thick, metal chains more than strings, knowing Asami. Takaba sighs and opens the package, against his better judgment. “‘Happy… White Day’? What the hell, Asami! You can just take these back. I’m not eating girl candy… eat them yourself if you want.”
That exasperating smirk. Oh, how Takaba hates it. And oh, how he wishes his morning erection would wear off already, instead of being encouraged by the sight of this debauched yakuza, sitting in his living room, offering him White Day candy as if Takaba were his giggling schoolgirl sweetheart.
“Seriously, get out. I went to sleep really late last night and I don’t have time for this. Don’t you have some illegal crap of yours to do today at the club?”
Asami’s eyes narrow. Perhaps Takaba has gone too far. “It’s no fun doing illegal business when you’re not there trying to take pictures and making a fool of yourself.”
***
The blush on Takaba looks angry. Asami smiles wistfully. There is a bit of a sadist in him, he supposes, since part of him likes to see Takaba struggle and protest. Takaba brings it on himself, in most instances. How long would he continue to be angry and remain in denial about their relationship? There was that brief truce period when Asami rescued his friends, but it quickly returned to the tug-of-war of desire and repulsion they had before.
Takaba’s friends… Asami thinks wistfully. He might make fun of Takaba’s occasional lack of tact, but it’s really he who probably needs more people skills. He can deal with international businessmen—Mafiosi even, if need be. He’s still on good, civil terms with his family, but he never makes contact with them. He doesn’t want to involve them in his affairs, of course, but is this really reason enough not to send anything beyond an impersonal little greeting card every one or two years? As for the day-to-day normal interactions that are supposed to happen outside of the workplace—outside of the workplace there is only Takaba, by and large. He’s someone who comes from a completely different social sphere of Tokyo. Why are they so compatible? It might have started with the sex—memories of which would come up and meddle with the focus on which Asami generally prided himself. But it quickly became something else too. A part of him wishes he wouldn’t always resort to pseudo-force when it comes to their encounters, but it is just not in his nature to invite Takaba out for a friendly drink at a local bar. For better or worse, the way their relationship began still limits both of them to cat-and-mouse dynamics.
He pushes Takaba into the adjoining kitchen, and heaves him onto the counter.
“What the hell are you doing?! Let go!” Such a pretty voice. Sounding so different when it’s protesting and begging, though they were but two sides of the same coin in these games.
“I’m going to eat the candy. It’s too bad you didn’t take care to notice it wasn’t your average gift.”
***
Takaba moans in displeasure against the bag of gummies Asami stuffed into his mouth. At least his hands had been tied up with something more dignified. Like Asami’s tie. Since when did anything Asami did to him become dignified, Takaba wonders, moaning in disapproval again. No girl would have known what to do with some of this candy… the chocolate drizzled over his back is slowly flowing down, now that Asami’s hand are insistently forcing him into the position of ass-up-in-the-air. All on his kitchen counter too. Takaba is glad the one window in the room was small and curtained. He wishes the mirror in the adjoining room weren’t perfectly aligned for him to see what Asami is doing. Knowing Asami, it’s probably no coincidence that he has chosen this spot. His piercing gaze lifts from his task to meet Takaba’s.
In many ways this is worse than the film. The whipped cream on his ass is began to melt as soon as it hit his skin, and by now it’s dripping off in all directions. Takaba tries to arch away when he sees Asami aim two sticks of Pocky, but to no avail and soon sees them sticking out of him.
“I’m not a fucking sundae!” Takaba gasps out when he finally manages to dislodge the bag from his mouth. The whipped cream is still running down, some of it all the way to his cock from where it drips onto the counter.
“No use in letting the candy go to waste if you won’t eat it,” Asami says, his tongue suddenly licking up Takaba’s perineum.
“A…Asami…” The struggles stop and soon Takaba is shamelessly arching into the tongue’s actions. He’s as clean as he’ll ever be and, at this point, it’s only mindless desire for that soft tongue to penetrate…
Asami suddenly retreats and Takaba lets out a whimper that embarrasses him as soon as it’s out of his mouth.
***
“Maybe you’d like some dessert after all?” Asami twirls the bottle of chocolate syrup in his hands, like a gun. He takes care to appear nonchalant, but this is a crucial moment. Damn Takaba if he backs out…
Takaba raises himself to a sitting a position on the counter, dangling long legs, cheeks almost as fiery as the cock begging for attention between his trembling thighs. He watches Asami unzip, eyes feral and unreadable. Get on your knees and prove you’re serious, Asami’s mind commands, but he doesn’t say a word.
Slowly, hesitantly Takaba lowers himself to the floor, down to the level of Asami’s crotch. He’s gulping. Still so demure? Asami lets out a small chuckle, and Takaba’s eyes turns upwards, shooting daggers.
“You like Pocky right, Akihito…” It’s hardly a question and Asami drizzles chocolate over his shaft without waiting for a response.
“Yeah, but I bite down on it too. Bastard. And don’t treat me like a child before I suck you off.”
Asami smiles and watches Takaba’s head bob back and forth. His hand alights on those golden strands, not because there’s any encouragement needed, really. There was only one man whose hair felt more pleasant running through his callused hands…
Just as Takaba picks up his pace, trying to finish, Asami hauls him up to his feet. They are beyond words, understanding each other instinctually. Takaba’s hands alight on the counter, anchoring his body for the upcoming pounding. Asami raises his legs up and watches the face in front of him screw up in pain and pleasure intermixed. They thrust against each other, into each other, in uneasy harmony with each other, until one, then the other, is spent.
Neither is willing to let go. Takaba wraps his arms around Asami’s neck instead of running off to the shower as usual. He suddenly abandons his haughty pride, letting Asami carry him over and dump him on the couch.
Takaba’s cellphone rings somewhere, but he doesn’t move to get it, lost in thought. What is he thinking? Asami wonders. What does he think about us? In the end it doesn’t matter. It’s time to begin to act like an adult.
“So Happy White Day. I’ve decided—” No, those are the wrong words again. “I want you to meet my parents some time.”
Takaba looks over, smirking. “Parents? And I thought one of your kind was more than enough for the world…” But he grins, and Asami smiles back as he dons his coat and hat to leave.