Disclaimer: Don't own show.
It was a foggy late June night, abruptly cool compared to the hot and humid daylight hours the city been having. The solemn moon hung in the sky, a pale silver in its light, accented by the scattered stars sparkling against the deep violet, black sky; instead of being overpowering, as they were in great numbers, the stars merely enhanced the moon's silent beauty, filling the sky just enough so that it wouldn't seem lonely.
Indeed, it was a perfectly romantic night, great for candle-lit dinners, stargazing and the like; in fact, the usually empty streets seemed filled with couples wandering about, taking advantage of the atmosphere to fall in, or strengthen, love. Even those without dates walked about, searching for others like themselves, or searching for opportunities with the couples less than solid; flirting with every attractive person who passed.
Yes, the romantic atmosphere persuaded everyone to romance and frolicking—well, almost everyone: one person in the neighborhood remained aloof in his house, huge and expensive, with three different cars in the garage—each one idle and so new that one would scarcely think they'd been driven at all.
The house itself lacked the air of being inhabited, as though it'd just been occupied and the present owner hadn't time to make it homey—though it'd already been six months.
Inside the house, more of a fortress than a house one could suppose, the furnishing were utterly unblemished and apt to their purpose—those that had a purpose other than decoration. Everything seemed immaculate that it was infeasible to assume any one truly lived there in the sense that one lives in a home—it had more of the feel of an hotel room where one only spent the night and left during the day. Indeed, it was too lonely to be home to a family, but also too perfect to be the home of a single man.
But looks are often deceiving—it wasn't home of a family, but it was owned by a single man—not really single relationship wise, but number wise.
No doubt he was the type of man with enough time and energy to keep house, not that it actually needed cleaning—he hardly used any of the rooms enough to fuss about cleaning them, and the rooms he did use daily were hardly dirtied by his actions. And things would've stood that way if the other guy hadn't moved in, but that introduction will be later; now's the owner's.
Tall, with wild blond hair, and eyes a light brown, the man stared out the window of his bedroom, viewing the moon and night sky with silent contempt. His eyes and expression radiated cold, as though an unbreakable shard of ice was his heart, as was his blood—a cold that scorned the romantic aura of the moon as a cliché too redundant to be true.
Perhaps, it was his disappointment that caused his cynicism or maybe it was expertise in romance literature that bothered the ideal picture. For far too long he'd written romance novels not to be disgusted by the stereotypes and cliché running rampant in them—all the readers enjoyed the fancy dinners, the subtle flirtation, and descriptions of beauty more, than if the story had any original plot. Original plot was usually snubbed as too great a risk in romance genre, or in any particular genre of literature for that matter. Thus, each novel was a repeat of plot of a prior story with different names and places.
This redundancy made the man's work easy and hard—easy because all romance has the same basic structure, and hard because he was bored and couldn't think of anything to spice things up in the novel he was currently constructing. Romance structure was too concrete to really gain attention by writing the commonplace storyline used by most authors, but if a new plot were used most editors refused to accept or publish it.
Thus, he stared out his window, hating the moon for its stereotyped position in romantic literature and wished he'd chosen a different genre to write in.
He needed change, wanted it so badly that he privately refused to write anymore if he had to use the same worn-out plot—he didn't really need to write anymore, even to pay the bills—the other man had been bringing in money himself for a while now, and there wasn't many bills to pay. Hell, he could always tell his editor he was taking a break from writing for about four or six months…no, his editor wouldn't hear of it—she'd go ballistic and hound him everyday until he wrote again. Aw, well, it would have been a nice idea; but he couldn't deal with another hound in his daily life. One was enough, more than enough, considering how emotional and rambunctious he was—and how confusing sometimes.
"Confusing…er…not really the right word to describe him, but much better than idiotic though the latter suits him to a t." he chuckled under his breath, the hound's picture forming in his head: the hound being the other man who lived in the house, who drove him crazy with his hyperactivity. "I wonder what's keeping him." He said in a mumble and sighed, then he---------
"Yuuukiiii, I'm home!"
"…." Yuki growled silently at hearing the annoying voice of his lover's ringing through the house. Hastily he saved what he'd been typing and then shut down his laptop, closing its lid before his bedroom door opened.
"Yuuukiiii! I…oh, were you working?" Shuuichi asked, his eyes widening as he saw Yuki at the desk with his laptop and he slightly cringed as though expecting the blond to yell at him. "Your sign wasn't on the door, so…."
"It wasn't work." Yuki said, lit a cigarette and flopped down on his bed, virtually ignoring the pink haired nineteen-year-old standing in the doorway.
"Yuki…?" Shuuichi stepped timidly into the room, still expecting Yuki to snap at him, but the blond only ignored him. "You really shouldn't be smoking in bed, Yuki."
"Bite me." Yuki mumbled, lying on his back on the bed and staring at the ceiling more than at Shuuichi. He closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly for a moment, but jumped when he felt a pinching pain on his skin. "AH!" He tossed aside the offender and checked his assaulted side. "What did you do that for?" Yuki demanded, rubbing his skin where marks that were clearly teeth marks were.
"You told me to bite you…." Shuuichi whimpered, tears forming in his eyes, mouth pouting, as he sat on his arms and legs as a dog would after being reprimanded.
"I didn't mean it literally, dumbass." Yuki growled and stood up, putting his cigarette out in an ashtray on the table stand next to the bed.
"But…but…."
Yuki closed his eyes and sighed again, trying to check his temper—he can't have been that dumb….
"Yuuukiiii!"
"What?" Yuki opened his eyes and looked down at the pink haired teen, exasperated and angry. A moment of silence lasted between them, in which Yuki took the time to flicker his eyes all over Shuuichi's body, noticing the problem at once.
"You're horny."
Shuuichi only nodded and continued staring at Yuki needingly with a look that said he wouldn't let the blond get away.
"Fine." Yuki unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the floor, before leaning down to breathe heavily in Shuuichi's ear.
That made the pink haired brat more excited, and he closed his eyes and moaned, grabbing for Yuki's hand to bring it where he needed it.
However, he grasped the air instead, and opened his eyes in shock, only to find that Yuki was no longer in the room.
"Yuuukiii!" Shuuichi screamed and ran from the room to search for the blond, wondering how Yuki could be so cruel. He found him in the hall, and nearly knocked him over when he caught up. "Yuki! Yuki! Yuki!" Shuuichi grabbed the blond's arm and pulled, trying to drag him back to the bedroom.
"Get off me. Use your hands if you need it that badly."
"Yuki! Don't be so cold!" Shuuichi stared at Yuki with watery puppy dog eyes, whined, and tugged at his arm, desperate to have the blond in bed with him.
While Shuuichi tried desperately to move Yuki, Yuki walked on as though nothing held him, and stopped after a few steps in front of a door.
By this time, Shuuichi was yelling 'Yuki' repeatedly at the top of his lungs and dragging his feet on the floor.
"Please---Yuuukiiii! Ple---" Shuuichi's voice trailed off when Yuki lifted him up by the collar of his shirt, opened the door and threw him through it. He landed in the room with a thud, and heard the door click shut; on the verge of real tears, Shuuichi stood up quickly and turned toward the door expecting it to be locked and having to pound on it for Yuki to let him out. A false assumption.
Yuki stood in front of the doorway inside the room, shirtless and face expressionless.
"Yuki, wha…?" Shuuichi remained frozen from shock while the blond slipped out of his slippers; once he saw Yuki unbutton his pants he gasped and looked around to see what room they were in. "The shower room? Yuki, wha…?"
"I'm bored with the bedroom, and thought to try something different." Yuki said collectively with his eyes and face expressionless, but with his lips curled in a half smirk. "Don't you want it? You were overly excited ten seconds ago." The blond chuckled seeing the dumbstruck expression of Shuuichi's face give way to excitement at his words. Shuuichi quickly undressed, tossing his shirt and pants aside carelessly. "Good."
Yuki bent down and kissed Shuuichi on the lips.
A/N: Do to the ratings limit on this site this part has been edited out, so use your imagination
20 Minutes later:
Yuki wrapped a towel around himself and stepped out of the shower room, pausing once to look at Shuuichi sleeping comfortably on the shower floor, a towel covering him.
A brief sigh escaped the blond's lips and he walked back to his bedroom and returned to his laptop, a smile on his face he typed.