The Shrine
They fell to the bed, fingers tangled in each other's hair and joined by lips in a seemingly endless stream off kisses. The boy on top strayed from his love's mouth to explore his neck, stalling along pressure points that made the other boy take sharp breaths and claw at his back. His hands slid slowly underneath the other's shirt, and he continued making slow, circular motions on the torso of the inky-haired boy whom he kissed. The world around them was blurred, but neither of them much cared. As the first boy nibbled at the collarbone of the second, the second gazed around curiously at the room they lay in.
Many posters adorned the wall, and most of them were of a certain local band which boasted one of their friends. The ones that weren't simple text or a picture of the whole band (which was quite a few) were large prints of that friend, a blonde with eyes closed and mouth open, singing his soul into the microphone, frozen forever in a photograph. One of them was even autographed by the blonde, not that he needed one, since they were already good friends with him. The boy observing all this smirked, and spoke.
"Quite a YamatoImeanTeenage Wolves shrine you have here, Daisuke," The cinnamon-haired boy halted his actions, looking at his lover, then gazing around the room, then back into those midnight eyes.
"Guess you could say that. Now, off with your headImeanshirt." Ken chuckled, and closed his eyes, doing as he was told. "Right."
They fell to the bed, fingers tangled in each other's hair and joined by lips in a seemingly endless stream off kisses. The boy on top strayed from his love's mouth to explore his neck, stalling along pressure points that made the other boy take sharp breaths and claw at his back. His hands slid slowly underneath the other's shirt, and he continued making slow, circular motions on the torso of the inky-haired boy whom he kissed. The world around them was blurred, but neither of them much cared. As the first boy nibbled at the collarbone of the second, the second gazed around curiously at the room they lay in.
Many posters adorned the wall, and most of them were of a certain local band which boasted one of their friends. The ones that weren't simple text or a picture of the whole band (which was quite a few) were large prints of that friend, a blonde with eyes closed and mouth open, singing his soul into the microphone, frozen forever in a photograph. One of them was even autographed by the blonde, not that he needed one, since they were already good friends with him. The boy observing all this smirked, and spoke.
"Quite a YamatoImeanTeenage Wolves shrine you have here, Daisuke," The cinnamon-haired boy halted his actions, looking at his lover, then gazing around the room, then back into those midnight eyes.
"Guess you could say that. Now, off with your headImeanshirt." Ken chuckled, and closed his eyes, doing as he was told. "Right."