This River is Wild
Disclaimer: Don't own the song "This River is Wild" by the Killers or the manga Kuroko no Basuke by Fujimaki Tadatoshi.
The smoke from the grills and pans mixed in with the scent of grease and sweat and candy. The people were packed so tightly that everyone was getting bumped and bruised, taking elbows to the head and knees to the calf but there was no room to fall down. People held onto their friends, family members, boyfriends, girlfriends, to make sure they wouldn't get lost. Of course, losing Miyaji would be impossible considering his height and hair colour and how he seemed to almost shine like a lighthouse. Still, Takao was small...although he was very quick on his feet and had excellent spatial awareness. The likelihood of either one of them getting lost in a crowd like this was highly unlikely even if one was being very generous with the odds, though.
Nevertheless, Miyaji gripped Takao's forearm in his hand. Takao thought he had been putting on more muscle, but Miyaji's hand could still encircle it easily. His hands were wet, from sweat and the condensation on his beer can, which he'd switched to the other hand. Takao tried to grab onto Miyaji's arm, but it was too thick for his small fingers. He kept grasping hands slipping. Miyaji turned backwards, usual scowl firmly in place (Takao was sure sometimes that this was the guy his mom used to warn him about, the one who scowled so much his face stayed that way but then his face would change and every time Takao would be breathless).
"Hey, quit scratching my arm," Miyaji snapped. But he drew Takao closer, jerking on his arm so he almost tripped and fell into Miyaji's side. Miyaji's hand dropped into Takao's and clenched around Takao's fingers. Takao looked up at his face. He was blushing now, hard to tell in the fading daylight mixed in with the blaring neon signs, but he was definitely blushing.
"Kiyoshi-san's a lighthouse," Takao said, knocking their intertwined hands against Miyaji's thigh, and Miyaji's face twisted like he wanted to both smile and scowl even harder at the same time and he just ended up looking kind of pained.
"Shut up." He knocked the beer can against Takao's forehead. Takao grabbed the can and took a drink.
"Ew. Why do you always drink light beer?"
Miyaji rolled his eyes. "Buy your own if you hate it so much."
They kept walking in relative silence, threading their way through the crowd. Finally, it began to thin as a large section of people headed toward the grassy lawn to get ready for the fireworks. The lights of the midway faded and gave way to shadows and starlight, and Miyaji did not let go of Takao's hand. He actually might have been squeezing it tighter, if that was possible.
They passed the bathrooms and it couldn't be called a crowd anymore, just a few people on the margins of the path, mostly alone. There was a crying girl, looking like she'd just been dumped by the love of her life, and a guy who looked like he was getting frostbite in the summer air quaking with his hood up, and a middle-aged woman with a wistful look on her face and her cell phone pressed against her ear, waiting for a response. Her face fell; she must have gotten voice mail. This night and their lonely despair made Takao want to cling tighter to Miyaji. After all, these people seemed to be too wrapped up in their own problems to really notice anything or anyone else. A sudden breeze came out of nowhere and Takao shivered, bringing his other hand over his body to clutch at Miyaji's arm.
Miyaji didn't yell at him this time. He seemed attuned to the atmosphere, too, and his body had gradually gotten tenser. He relaxed as they kept moving. A glowing neon sign reminded them that it was a hundred meters to the Ferris wheel. From behind them, they heard a crack, and the sky lit up. A shining white firework had been set off, and it was quickly joined by red and blue and green ones. Being relatively far away from the scene meant that it was still moderately quiet, the sound muffled by the trees as well as by the distance. The light was still visible, blinding almost, and Takao squinted. A shadow fell over his face, and before he had time to readjust Miyaji's lips were on his.
He tasted of the light beer and the cotton candy they'd shared earlier, sweet and a little bitter. Miyaji's hands moved down from Takao's waist to his hips to his ass and down the backs of his thighs, sending more shivers through Takao. Takao leaned up, trying to further deepen the kiss and wrapped his arms around Miyaji's neck. Miyaji suddenly pushed upward and lifted Takao so that their heads were level, and Takao pressed his body closer to Miyaji's, longing for the centimeters to just vanish, to be even closer right now.
And just as suddenly as he'd initiated the kiss, Miyaji ended it. Takao opened his eyes and blinked a few times. But Miyaji had already grabbed his hand and started walking on the path again. The fireworks continued to splatter light around them, and they finally reached the Ferris wheel. They had dropped by earlier in the evening, but it was packed and the line had reached all the way back to the hundred-meter sign. Now, the families with young children had already gone home and the young couples had disappeared into the dark corners and everyone else had gone to watch the fireworks up close. The operator raised an eyebrow, but let them on the bottom compartment and they were soon lifted.
Little by little, they rose into the night sky (not that either of them really noticed the sky at that point). The compartment was steady but they felt the movement of their surroundings, as if they were on a slow elevator stopping on every floor. But the doors did not open, and there were no security cameras in here. Takao pounced on Miyaji as soon as they were out of sight of the ground, eagerly tearing at his clothes, one hand under his shirt and another in his pants. Miyaji groaned, his entire body shuddering at the influx of sensation.
He struggled to speak as Takao worked his dexterous fingers all over. Takao flicked Miyaji's nipple a couple of times, and that seemed to trigger his vocal cords.
"Oh…" It was such a pure, clear sound, when his voice was usually so rough and full of demands. Takao paused. Miyaji's head was thrown back and exposed the expanse of tanned neck. His throat moved with breaths that slowly grew steadier.
"Damn it, Kazunari," Miyaji groaned, tilting his head back down. "Suck me off before they kick us out of here."
Takao unzipped Miyaji's jeans and slowly leaned his head down, imagining the effect it was having on Miyaji, how his scowl must have been deepening. Takao grinned and took Miyaji's cock in his mouth.
Miyaji sighed, and as Takao began to lick and suck Miyaji entangled a hand in Takao's hair, trying to direct Takao's movements. It was a lost cause, though, because there was no way Miyaji could concentrate when Takao did that thing with his tongue, and his hands slackened and his mouth was full of little moans and sighs. He came into Takao's mouth finally, and slumped against the compartment wall. Takao moved onto the seat beside him and intertwined their fingers once again.