This happened for Reasons and the Reasons know who they are lol
Anyway, the trope is 'Oh Crap There's Fanfics Of Us', and yes, that means I wrote for the same trope twice this year, lol. Also in here: Established Relationship, KIND OF Caught In The Act, and Sexual Fantasies.
ANYWAY:
Rare Pair Alert! AND ALSO SPOILER! This contains a ship you're not used to from me! Specifially, you'll find Mamoseiya in here, and in it, Mamoru in some M/M. I know all of you are usually with me for my usamamo lol (in it's still that at the core lol). Anyway, I get if this is not your ship so here's your warning to back out lol, I'll catch you in the next one! For all others, you have been warned XD
This also hasn't been beta-ed because I didn't wanna force a ship that isn't theirs on anyone, so forgive my German ass some mistakes, ok?
Anyway, here, have something of a crack fic, and don't take this fic seriously at all, lol?
Excuse me, Ami wrote WHAT?!
Written For Smutember 2020
FutureQueenOfAwesome: Oh my god, Ami. OH MY GOD.
Usagi proceeded to hit the exclamation point key a thousand times and wouldn't have stopped, except for Ami's reply that came directly.
AmiMizuno: This is so weird, right?! I'm so sorry it's so weird!
Usagi was about to yell at her laptop, definitely hopped on the mattress so hard that it squeaked.
FutureQueenOfAwesome: NO! IT'S ONLY PER FEC TION.
FutureQueenOfAwesome: OH GOD PLEASE. AMI. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. I NEED MORE. I NEED IT. PLEASE AMI PLEASE.
Usagi wasn't even exaggerating. Not at all. She was hyperventilating over this so hard Mamoru would surely find her keeled over dead when he came home from uni later. Surely.
She typed a string of 'please' over and over again, copy and pasted until it became longer and longer. Then as many blue-shock-scream emojis as humanly possible, and some more 'please's.
AmiMizuno: Usagi, you're DEAD in this.
She flopped dramatically around, drummed her calves against her bunnies-and-moons comforter on Mamoru's bed (or well, technically theirs now), and typed furiously.
FutureQueenOfAwesome: I KNOW AND IT'S PERFECT
FutureQueenOfAwesome: like. they'd never do this if I wasn't like, dead?! Everrr. This is the perfect setting! The only POSSIBLE setting! IT'S PERFECT AMI! ! PERFECT! !
She nearly cramped her finger hitting the exclamation point so hard.
AmiMizuno: It's disturbing how much you're into this.
Usagi rolled her eyes and put on caps lock.
FutureQueenOfAwesome: YOU BETTER BE WRITING, AMI. WRITE ME MORE, AMI. WRITE IT NOW.
It wasn't even a full 24 hours later before Ami the absolute saint had fullfilled Usagi's wildest dreams of a fic, and she found herself sitting on Ami's bed, legs tucked underneath her and vibrating, gasping and OH-MY-GOD-AMI!ing every two seconds as she scrolled down the Google doc on her phone.
Ami, across the room, was waiting patiently in her swiveling chair (and not even pretending to do anything else) until Usagi was done, and shooting her the slightly embarrassed and yet somewhat disturbingly intense glances that she desperately tried to hide like any author when in the presence of someone reading their work.
Usagi's eyes were big, round, shocked saucers when she was done.
"Ami," Usagi cried, and clutched her phone to her chest.
Ami flinched, visibly not knowing if this was a good or a bad Ami, and Usagi wanted to shake her, because when had this ever been a bad Ami?!
"Honestly," Usagi started, voice full of deserved reverence, "I think this is the best you ever wrote."
Ami's eyebrows shot up at that, and her swivelly chair squeaked a little with her disbelief as she fell back against the backrest.
"Even better than the one with Kunzite and the rain?!" she asked in wide-eyed disbelief.
Usagi shook her head empathically, untucked and re-tucked her legs on Ami's soft comforter. "Yes!" she implored. "Although you KNOW how much I love that one!"
Ami frowned. Rolled forward across the carpet with her swiveling chair a little, her ruffley white socks against soft beige and the white plastic wheels of her chair.
Usagi scooted to the edge of the bed, closer to Ami, determined. Ami was brilliant. Wonderful. Amazing. So fucking talented. Shakespeare. Austen. CLAMP. And she needed to know.
"Like," Usagi started, and shook her phone at her friend. "I LOVE how he took a while to get hard? Because he was PINING. For ME!"
Ami blushed tomato-red, but primly folded her hands in her lap.
"And this is so well characterised? I'm so amazed?"
Another shake of her phone into Ami's general direction.
"And I really think this newest version brought out the grief so much better?"
Ami ducked a little, and looked even more sheepish.
And then Usagi sighed in purest bliss. "Gosh, Ami," she pressed the phone once more to her chest, even more reverently, and the little bell attached to the bunny charm on her phone tinkled softly. "This is so fucking HOT," she whisper-shouted in pure awe.
Ami blushed impossibly more. But also preened. The proud, shy smile of a writer praised.
She cleared her throat, pushed dark blue hair behind her ear and swivelled back to her desk, and her laptop on it. Behind her lay Azabujuban and a clear afternoon sky, and her friend was perfect ok?!
"You don't think I got too … explanatory at the end?" Ami asked, scrolling through her document.
"The thing with the prostate? I wanted to point out that men actually do enjoy passive penetrative anal sex much more because of the way the prostate is so sensitive and stimulatable. To make a clear but somewhat subtly unsaid parallel to point out that it's generally different with women because, well, no prostate, but I don't know if it's too much?"
Usagi waved her off, shrugging, making a face. "Naaaahhh," Usagi made. "It's like, anatomically correct sex? I think?"
Ami nodded.
"I'd expect nothing less of you, Ami-chan."
Usagi's reward was that proud blush smile on Ami again.
And Usagi went back to her happy sigh. Beamed at her phone and dramatically let herself drop back on Ami's bed, hair and arms spread out, phone against her chest.
"And it's SO FUCKING HOT, Ami-chan," she whisper-shouted once more.
It morphed more into a proud smile blush than a proud blush smile.
Usagi walked home elated not long after. Read it three more times before the night was out, sent Ami more exclamation points and verbal-vomit-squeals about it and then had kinda-maybe-sorta wet dreams about it she only vaguely remembered in the morning.
Because it was like, super hot.
It wasn't as easy as he was used to. He had to be worked up, had to make an effort to relax and let go so he could.
The hand around his cock was firmer than he was used to, pumping less carefully, less tenderly. And yet it was a kind of pressure he felt he needed.
He craned his neck and the back of his head hit firm skin, lips brushing against the damp nape of his neck and puckering a kiss there as Mamoru exhaled hard through half a hiss, his semi-hard cock jumping as his foreskin was pushed mercilessly up his tip and back down.
No, it wasn't as easy getting hard as he was used to. Not at all, and yet the whole experience was so strangely liberating, and so strangely cathartic.
Another firm pump, and he grit his teeth and stemmed his elbows into the strange bed and the strange sheets as he arched his back.
Not his own bed. He wouldn't ever be able to do this again in his own bed, not since…
He pressed his eyes shut, willed the thought down, and the hand on his cock stilled. Mamoru grunted again in protest.
But a surprisingly tender hand prodded his shoulder and Mamoru rolled over, his sweaty skin slipping against the cotton of the sheets, breathing hard as he collapsed on his back.
Blue eyes met blue in the dark of the room, hot summer air that wouldn't cool down even in the dead of night cooling their sweat only ever so slightly as it blew in through the open balcony door and made the curtains dance.
The concern that met him was full of compassion and understanding, and so was the hand that let go of his cock and brushed so tenderly through his fringe.
"Are you ok?" Seiya whispered into the dark of night. There was no light on and it made the room almost impossibly dim, illuminated only by the light pollution outside. Seiya was barely more than a silhouette, skin appearing blue in the darkness, eyes pitch black. The new moon made the night even darker than it would usually be.
But that's exactly how Mamoru had wanted it. He wouldn't have been able to do it had the Moon been watching.
And yet Seiya's hair still visibly fell into his eyes even in the dark - so much shorter now since he'd cut off his ponytail in grief.
"We can stop," Seiya said, his eyes close and jumping between both of his, his fingers brushing through Mamoru's damp hair in a way that made Mamoru sigh and close his eyes and imagine it was Usagi's hand instead.
He snapped his eyes wide-open immediately, willed the thought down.
Seiya's eyes grew more concerned still.
"No," Mamoru hissed, grabbed Seiya's hand around the wrist and pushed it down his torso back where it had come from.
He was soft again, but stirred when Seiya's hand stroked the length of it. They'd just have to start again.
Seiya didn't move his eyes away, watched him silently for a beat, and Mamoru stubbornly looked back evenly.
"Would you rather want me to be a woman for this?" Seiya asked, voice low and sympathetic.
But Mamoru's eyebrows shot together, his insides twisting almost painfully, but definitely viscerally in protest.
"No!" Mamoru hissed, appalled in a way that made Seiya's eyebrows shoot up, perplexed.
No. He couldn't. It would be… It wouldn't feel right. Not since…
Mamoru never wanted to feel another woman again. Never wanted to sink into anyone else ever again. It was the last of her he had. And he knew it was nonsense, that memory didn't work that way. That if he did, it wouldn't overwrite his memories like a deleted hard drive. But no.
Usagi would be the last woman he would have sex with. She would be the only woman he ever had sex with. The only person he ever made love to.
Understanding him in that uncanny way that had made this all possible here in the first place - had made him want this in the first place - eventually, Seiya nodded, leaned forward, and dragged his teeth along Mamoru's throat.
So, so different from the way Usagi had touched him. So calmingly different.
Seiya's grip turned harder again when Mamoru's cock once again started to wake up. He hissed and closed his eyes when Seiya's tongue dragged up his throat and through his sweat.
It was just different enough. The strong grip of Seiya's hand, the smell of his sweat, the taller, wider frame than he was used to, the firmer, thicker skin.
"Turn around." Seiya's harsh whisper was an order demanded right against the shell of his ear, and Mamoru shuddered, slipped free, and bared his ass.
Seiya's hand was firm and steady as he stroked it from the nape of Mamoru's neck along the length of his spine, palm wide and strong, down to his butt. Pressed his hand hard and firm as he squeezed his ass, and pulled his butt-cheeks apart.
Mamoru gripped the sheets between his balled fists and grunted again, arching his back further, pushing is ass far up to the popping sound of the lid on the small tube in the bed, shuddered to the welcome sensation of the cool liquid being slowly, slowly dribbled down the crack of his ass in the stifling heat of the summer night.
Seiya was careful. Gentle. They'd trained, he'd prepared himself, and yet Seiya still went painfully slowly, let Mamoru adjust until he keened, his thighs beginning to tremble as Seiya worked his way in farther, slowly, slowly, bit by bit. Mamoru breathed evenly, deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth, let it all consume him, gave himself over. And after a while, Seiya started to hit that spot inside of him he'd never felt, so novel in a way that felt like a sigh of welcome relief, where his prostate was located that made this so exclusively intense. Hit it over and over again, the minutes running together until his head swam and there was only the delicious pressure in his ass that coiled so tight in him and built and built.
It was amazing. It could make him forget. It could make him let go.
Mamoru closed his eyes and shook, knees and elbow pressing coiled and tense into the bed that wasn't hers, trembling, crying into the sheets as he frantically reached down to grab his jutting cock, pumped himself and felt himself being stretched and penetrated and filled.
As if something was trying to fill up the void, and it was oh so comforting.
He shuddered and came even when his cock had yet to become fully hard still, the pressure in his ass too much, too good. It was good still, kept being good, his newly flaccid cock back to stirring as Seiya kept on. Because Seiya wasn't done. Because Seiya needed this, too. Careful, slowly.
Mamoru shuddered again, pressing back harder as Seiya's forehead fell against his shoulder blades, one hand moving to his bicep.
He grabbed it, pulled at it, kissed it, and felt Seiya's own tears hot on his spine.
Because Seiya was grieving too. Eight years since she died in Mamoru's arms to the day. Sacrificed herself so all of them would live, as if life without her held any meaning. And while the girls had started to move on, didn't hurt as deeply anymore over her loss, only Seiya still understood.
They could share their grief together. And they did.
Mamoru's eyes were stunned, round saucers, his mouth dry from having fallen open a while ago. He probably should have stopped reading when he first saw his name on the open file on Usagi's computer. Shouldn't have looked at her browser in the first place. Shouldn't have used her laptop in the first place. But it was standing around in the kitchen where she'd used it last, left behind with an empty cup noodle carton and her red Tuxedo Mask themed chopsticks next to it, and as it was already here it had been quicker to just use hers to look up the recipe instead of unhooking his from all the cables on his desk.
He hadn't expected to find himself get fucked in the ass by someone Usagi had kind of liked, ok?
This hadn't been meant for his eyes. He knew it. But his wife had written this and he kept reading it. There was no way he could have stopped.
When he was done, he fell back against the side of their fridge that their crammed little wooden bench booth was set against, his hair jostling into the photos and postcards and takeaway-leaflets that were tacked against the metal by colorful magnets, and just sat there, blinking. The kettle had long since popped with his boiling water and cooled down again, his coffee cold and stale, the ingredients of his supposed-to-be lunch forgotten on the counter.
His first instinct was to leave it open. Tack a big yellow post-it note onto the screen. 'We need to talk.' Leave her stirring after he came home from his late-afternoon class to sit his wife down and discuss why she wanted him to bang Seiya. (Or Seiya him, whatever.)
His second instinct was to be an absolute ass about it. To not tell her and instead start dropping hints that he read it until she was a flustered, embarrassing mess and finally admitted her obvious crime.
But both of these options would have required him to be level-headed about this, and that he was not. He couldn't even begin to think how he might bring this up. 'Hey I snooped through your stuff invading your privacy and found the thing you wrote that is kind of invading my privacy and also do you like imagining me having gay sex like as a rule, or…?'
It was one of those days where he had to leave before she came home from work and she might be out again when he came back and…
He shut her laptop and vowed to just address it tonight.
And then he didn't.
It had been vivid. He could picture it. He pictured nothing else that afternoon in class, and it had driven him nuts. Honestly, if he weren't so disturbed, he'd be kind of proud. He didn't know Usagi could write in a way that evoked whole, vivid, disturbing pornographic movies to play out in his mind's eye.
He just should have fucking written that post-it. But he hadn't. And then he'd chickened-out that night when she came home tired and snuggly and sad because a potential client had decided against her and that always hurt her feelings, and he'd decided it could wait until the morning.
Except by the morning he was so firmly in Freak-Out-Central, he no longer dared to.
What did it mean?
He'd stewed on it the whole night and now the whole day, too. Alternated between being endlessly irritated for the breach of privacy while also telling himself it was strictly ok if his wife wanted to fantasize about him in a way so vivid that she felt she had to write it down. Really, in the weirdest way, this was even a little flattering. At least he played a part in her sexual fantasies, that wasn't a given, after all. Only to then remind himself that someone else was playing a huge part in her sexual fantasies, too. And that was…
Did she fantasize about Seiya a lot? He knew there'd been somewhat of a spark there, knew that Seiya loved her with a passion. Of course, he never blamed her for it. Always knew what he and Usagi had was not so weak as to ever be threatened by Usagi's propensity to have a big giant loving heart that collected meaningful connections, something he loved her for in the first place. And on Seiya's side, he couldn't quite place blame on someone for falling in love with the most precious woman in the world, too. He could relate, after all.
And yet, despite knowing that, here he sat stirring in his irritated mind, catastrophizing to the brink, and spent a whole week trying to find out why Usagi wanted him to be fucked by Seiya and also feeling super jealous that she was even thinking that way about Seiya at all. Naked. With his dick out. With his dick out in Mamoru's ass. Picturing it as she wrote it. Seiya's dick.
Did she imagine other things? Did she imagine threesomes between Seiya, him and her? Did she imagine herself having sex with Seiya period? Was Seiya sexier than him? Was she missing something? Was she sexually bored? Was he not satisfying her on his own? Did she like to watch? What did it mean?!
Bombarding his google search bar that morning on the toilet with entries like 'why does my wife fantasize about me having sex with men?', or, 'how can I find out if she's still satisfied with me?' (and deleting his search history right after), he at least found out that, in fact, in general, gay sex consumption was the second most frequently consumed porn category among heterosexual women and thus totally normal. Something to do with liking people with dicks and the dismantling of sex and gender expectations and gay sex allowing to view sexual intimacy through a lens where patriarchal gender norms don't hinder sexual encounters. All while engaging in fantasies that might be more traditionally 'forbidden' for women's sexual scripts… But… he knew Usagi didn't have any issues around feeling pressured to behave a certain way in any context, least of all sex. He admired her for how well she could navigate society's expectations about her as a woman and not give a crap about them most of the time, and also, there was nothing Usagi thought was forbidden to her during sex, was there? Was there?!
Stewing some more in the jumbled soup that had become his own thoughts, Mamoru started questioning everything.
Stood in front of her white IKEA shelf in their tiny living room that morning in his underwear with his morning coffee, frowning at her manga, lost in thought. How had he never noticed that a lot of these were titles that featured men with men? And… didn't she go to that comic convention a lot? The one she dragged Ami to every year? Comiket?
He jumped a little when Usagi's hands slipped around his bare waist and she snuggled her sleep-warm body against his back, stroked her face against the crook in his spine between his shoulder blades.
"Are you ok?" she murmured, muffled by his skin. The curtains danced a little with the glowing orange morning light that filtered through the open window.
He stalled. "Why wouldn't I be?"
His voice came out a bit too pressed. He was losing his touch. Couldn't hide things nearly as easily anymore as he was used to. He blamed Usagi for that.
"You're a bit tense."
He could basically feel her frown in her touch.
He swallowed. Ran his fingers over the spine of one title. Black and red, the tiny image printed on it showed a man bent over another man in an almost kiss. 'Steal Your Kiss' read the title. Next to it was one that read "Only You Can Tie Me Up,' though he couldn't quite tell from just the spine if this was two men or not.
"Just… stressed out a little," he squeaked, and lifted his mug to his lips.
"Hm…" she purred, and then her hands slipped down his front in the usually most welcome move he knew of her, well-practiced and well-loved, except…
"Can I do something about that?" she sing-songed into his skin, breaking her words off with her warm, puckered lips against his skin, and danced her fingertips down towards his crotch.
The moment she lightly stroked his dick over the fabric, he jumped, cursed when he spilled his coffee over his fingers and chest.
Shit.
She jumped with his expletives, let go of him. Ran with softly padding feet and grabbed a hand towel from their open kitchen. He held open his arms, looking at the mess. A blink and she was back, patting it down his abs, grinning slyly when she started padding down his crotch.
He stirred anyway, wide-eyed.
"I could get it… all clean, you know?" she suggested with a small smile. Her horny smile, the one he loved. That smile of hers that looked absolutely adorable even when she was saying such innocently lewd things, the one that…
Did she also imagine him doing that to Seiya? Did she picture him getting down on his knees, too, and…
To his own horror, his traitor of a cock oh so confusingly jumped at the thought - not the Seiya bit, but the bit of her getting turned on over the thought of him doing… that… and…
He pushed her hands away and fled. "I'm fine, I'll just take a shower," he mumbled, cheeks hot and flaming.
"Can I join you?" she asked after him, voice oh-so-hopeful.
It stopped him. He glanced back at her. Took the time to look her up and down. The way her lips were puffed up because she'd bit them too much. The flushed way her chest peeked from his too-large-shirt on her and how it fell down her frame. The way she looked at him like she always looked at him when she was worked up, and it calmed his brain for a second and affected him.
He curled his lips into a smile and held his hand out for her. "Sure."
She came with him with the happiest, cutest grin she was capable of.
But after one very distracting shower he did have to get his ass to class, and the class was urology. Unsurprisingly, seeing a lot of dicks on giant slides in the big lecture hall did not help his predicament.
At least those slides mostly were what he blamed the fact on that his crisis went on in new and even more disturbing ways. He was 1000% freaked out by the time he nodded asleep over his textbooks in the library two hours later and found himself imagining what it was like to be kissed by Seiya Kou.
The Seiya he knew. Ponytail and all, eyes lowered and fixed on his lips, bent over his naked body, head tilted just so as he was about to kiss him…
"Do you think she wants it like that?" he hushed at Mamoru's lips, voice rough and husky and wanton like in one of those songs of his that Usagi used to listen to up and down.
He shook his head violently, wide awake immediately, banishing the thought. What was happening to him?!
Twenty-four hours after he'd first laid eyes on the offending writing, he found his head in his hands and himself running through his options. Of course, number one would still be to go home and talk to her. But of course, that would have been the sensible option that people did who didn't totally suck at communicating things that bothered them, and he had yet to quit his membership of that club.
If she wanted a threesome, maybe like, at first, ...dildos would help? He was this close to coming home with a bag full of freak-out dildos when he reminded himself that no, he was doing better. He could open his mouth. Except he didn't. Not for a while anyway. This shit was hard, ok?
At night on their couch when they were kind of not watching their film any longer even when it was still flickering behind them, her tongue ran down his clavicle and up the dip where his shoulder moved up to his quivering jugular vein. And although this kind of was his favorite thing in the world, usually, he still found himself frowning at the ceiling nonetheless, because she was awfully turned on today, and why was that?!
His mouth formed words all on it's own. "Hey, do you ever want to try something else?"
She stilled only to hum sweetly against his skin. "Like what?" she asked, and ended it with her open lips pressed behind his ear.
"I don't know?" he pressed out, worked up, ran his hand down the curve of her soft butt despite himself. "Watch um… porn with me or something?"
She shrugged, sat up, straddling him, brushed her hand down his chest. "If you want?"
His brow directly lowered in accusation. "What kinda porn?" he glowered up at her.
In answer, her eyebrows shot up in amused confusion. Justified, of course. He was the one getting irritated over things he'd brought up himself.
"Whatever you'd want?"
She didn't get it, of course, and he didn't press it.
Except he pressed something else. And not his own erection against her as she started grinding on top of him, his hand beneath her shirt, his thin lounge pants bulged out against her panties, although he did that, too.
He pressed the words out against her skin. "Do you want to like… be on ...top?"
She lifted her face off of him and wrinkled her nose in amusement. "I am on top.." she said, and wriggled her butt on his crotch in emphasis.
He licked his lips, curled his hands into the fabric of her panties on each side of her. "No, I mean like…" He flushed deep, deep red and it made her stretch in bewilderment on top of him. He held her in place. "We could use your, uh, vibrator on like...me…? And—"
Her eyes grew wide, and he sunk a little lower into the couch as he tensed, but hurried to go on.
"I mean if like… you would want to… see me on my hands and knees? Or even with the transformation pen, if you, um. And… maybe… Say, if you ever wanted to watch me with… uh."
Her eyes were full terror at this point.
"You read it," she announced.
It must have looked comical, really, he supposed. Watching a deep-red flush blanching down so suddenly on his skin.
Her face morphed into stunned panic, but he kept his hands firmly dug into her ass, lest she flee like he would have. "THAT's why you've been acting so weird all day?"
He flinched, but finally came clean. "Why would you even WRITE that," he answered with unveiled irritation for once.
She stretched up straight in his lap. "Wait, you think I wrote it?!"
With that, Mamoru recoiled back into the couch cushion hard. "Someone else wrote it?"
That… during all of his freak-out these past hours, that had not occurred to him. What?!
Uh.
Behind them, someone screamed in the horror movie they'd been watching.
Her eyes were wild panic. "Um, yes! Yes, it was me. Totally only me, no one else, eheh—"
He shot up at her. "WHO?"
She almost fell off his lap. Would have if he hadn't clawed himself into her underwear, and she hadn't reflexively gripped at his shoulders.
She flinched so very fucking hard. "I would rather not say…" she squeaked out.
"Oh god," he mumbled wide-eyed into her equally wide eyes in absolute, desperate abhorrence. "It's Ami."
Her freaked out reaction spoke for itself, really. "Why would you say that?!" she cried in panic.
Mamoru nodded through his shock, convinced, her reaction confirmation enough, and Usagi's face fell in open horror as she clawed her hands into his open shirt.
"Ami thinks about men with men aloud a lot!" he hurled at her. "And Ami writes fan lyrics for songs on the internet! It's gotta be Ami!"
Oh god. Ami had imagined him on his knees for Seiya. Ami had imagined Usako dead and him being grief-fucked by the guy who was also into Usagi and—
Oh god.
Usagi looked more stricken than he'd ever seen it. Holding her breath as he stared her down while his mind whirled with Ami sitting down to write him having sex that was… and...
It was when the man in the movie screamed, too, that Usako broke.
"Oh god," Usagi echoed his thoughts exactly down to the absolute dread. "PLEASE don't tell her you know. I promise she doesn't—"
How would he ever look Ami-chan in the eyes again? Knowing she sat down to write what she sat down to write. Through his mind's eye, he recounted the vivid, explicit scene about him and Seiya, every word shifting with the new knowledge that not his horny wife had written it, BUT AMI. AMI.
"Mamo-chan, I swear she usually doesn't—"
"But.." he interrupted her, all fretful, flustered repugnance. "Why is it about me?!"
For some reason Ami sat down to write a dirty story about Seiya and Mamoru, had handily killed off his wife for it, and Usagi had access to it on her laptop. He blinked. Why—
"Because it was for me!" Usagi cried, blushing and embarrassed and stricken, hands curling and uncurling around the button border of his shirt.
"Why Seiya, then. Why not you?!" he cried in consternation.
Usagi flushed all the way down her shirt. So much he was surprised his hands on her butt didn't directly burst into fire.
She was so flustered it would have been the best ever opportunity to tease the hell out of her and himself right into these panties if he weren't even more flustered than even she was.
"Because it's weird if she's writing about ME," Usagi mumbled, face burning and red.
His eyebrows flew up. "And it's not when she's writing about ME?"
She cringed hard, bit her lip in coy remorse, and his eyebrows rose even higher.
"You like it," he accused. And well, obviously. Of course. But still—
Usagi scrunched her eyes shut and flung her head back, baring her teeth in a silent, tortured scream. When her head flew back to him and she shifted on his lap, she looked like she did whenever she'd broken something valuable of his, or like that time when she'd accidently shrunk the green jacket in the wash.
"C'mon," she cried. "This fic has you so into me and in love with me you wouldn't have sex with any other woman when I'm dead. It's guilty pleasure wish fulfilment, how could I not like it when you—"
He mumbled under his breath. "Well, I wouldn't."
And somehow it shut her up and made her look at him in wonder, and they were getting off topic and he couldn't have that.
"But why SEIYA," he cried instead.
She flinched, her face completely wrinkled into a 'Why not?!' sort of expression, and at his glare only, went to elaborate.
"I mean," she linked his lips, smoothed the sides of his shirt against his bare chest. "Ami specifically writes BL—"
He frowned, confused.
"—And this one was beautiful. Like, she still manages to have everyone pining for me somehow. It's glorious and—"
He shook his head slowly.
"You're totally freaked out, right?" she cringed.
He flinched right back. "A little?"
Her pout was quite frankly tragic. And also disarming. She was clearly distressed.
But still. "This is totally weird, Usako," he told her.
She flinched even more, leaned forward to groan into his chest. "You weren't supposed to ever know," she lamented her plight.
"That doesn't really make this better," he informed her dryly.
She made a squeak somewhere between a howling dog and that noise she made whenever she stubbed her toe, except it all came whistling through her nose.
"Please don't be mad at Ami, ok?" she begged, smoothing her hands down his chest over and over in the most nervous gesture he'd ever seen her make. " I swear she wrote this because I begged so hard. She usually doesn't write you anymore—"
"Anymore?!" he cried.
"—And she had this idea and she wasn't gonna write it, and I begged and begged and— Oh, please, don't tell Ami you know, she'd—"
He interrupted her, cupped her butt and dragged her back close to him. "How did this even start?"
She broke into another cringe. All the sheepish apology and 'I think I shouldn't tell you this' in her face, but she told him anyway. "A poly fic about the Shitennou when we were 14."
What?!
"With me?" he cried.
"No," she promised, eyes blown wide. "Amongst themselves, I promise!"
What?!
Usagi was all wrinkled brow and nervous touch. "Ami writes BL. Like, slash. Like, in general," she tried to explain, and his own face fell into a frown again. "This was just a, a… a kind of side project for me? Like a writing exercise? I'm her captive audience and it was a favor and—"
But at his confused look, she blinked. "...BL?" she asked. "Boys Love?"
He didn't understand.
"The genre? Really?" She looked at him like he was being utterly dense.
"Projects?" he interjected in new horror. "There's more?!"
"Not about you!" she flew to implore, hands on his pecs. And then she flinched. "Uh, well, except for—"
God, no.
He could feel the heat crawl up his neck, his face, his ears.
"I mean, she doesn't usually ever write you." Her hands went back to smoothing down his skin. Down, down, down, flick of her thumbs, lift off, go back up, down, down down. It would have been really soothing. Would have been. "She, like, usually writes a lot of like, Kunzite and Zoisite?" she said, and his eyebrows flew back up. "Or all the Shitennou with Zoisite and each other. Or that one with Rubeus and Zoisite. And the one with Fisheye and Zoisite. And the one with—"
"That's a lot of Zoisite," he interrupted.
She shrugged sheepishly. Shifted on his lap. "Gay Zoisite is like, Ami's muse?"
His eyebrows really didn't want to go back down today.
"Anyway. Except this one. This one was purely for me. No one saw it but me. It was encrypted and all! She doesn't write you usually, I promise!"
"Usually," he repeated.
She flinched, shifted on his lap again, and really, that was distracting.
"Just like, you know, um."
He stared her down while she flushed, and she swallowed and went on.
"Well, before we knew you were Tuxedo Mask, she'd already written all these things with Tuxedo Mask, but, I mean, we were super young, and I gobbled it all up, and, well—"
Um.
"All these things?" he asked, and noticed for the first time that all her rattled nerves somewhere along the way had calmed him down.
She wriggled on his lap again and this time it was really distracting.
"Just… a few," she squeaked.
"What about?" he asked too calmly, and drew his thumb up her butt.
She flushed. From his touch or the topic, he wasn't sure. "Um."
He leaned forward, brushed his nose up her neck, felt her shiver. "What about?" he asked her again, and kissed behind her ear.
"Uh, Tuxedo Mask with, uh… Kunzite and Zoisite in this, uh, kinda triangle kidnapping kinda situation and— oh," she broke off, melted against him, and let herself be pulled down fully as he got rid of those panties.
She did end up telling him. Showing him, even. Much later. Had him vow to never tell Ami that he knew, and she reluctantly vowed in return to never again ask her friends to write erotica about him, that was the deal.
And yet, the next time he saw Ami? He flushed the brightest red in the same speed that Ami paled and knew.
"Usagi!" she'd hissed at his wife immediately, unable to look him in the eye. And with that, he supposed he'd lost his part of the deal, too.
I can explain myself xD
Anyway. Somehow Mamoseiya was suddenly a thing and suddenly kind of a prompt. This is the same prompt that Nari drew her art to (and I directly incorporated it into this fic, lol.) Maybe SOMEONE out there likes this idea too, lol? Maybe?