Hello, lovely ladies and gentlemen. Sorry for my negligence. Life has certainly seen fit to keep me on the edges of my sanity. But you're not here to hear about the utter rampage that has been my life these last few months. You're here for the words typed by my monkeys that somehow coalesce into some rather strange fics. This is one of them.
A word of caution to this tale. If crack disturbs you, do not read further. If suggestive situations disturb you, do not read further. If you cannot take a joke (HaHa), do not read further. If you are too young to be reading M-rated material, do not read further. If not, then please please proceed, as our two young detectives do their dastardly deed.
Caramel fingers delve amongst amber strands, dragging him closer, closer. Rosebud and teak lips collide, suckling, biting, engulfing one another in the age old battle of submission and domination. Soft moans issue from glistening lips as pianist hands run up and down, over cotton thread and subtle muscles, hardened from years of kendo training. It's a long, drawn out process that leaves the dark-skinned boy both hot and cold with unbridled desire. Those long, ivory fingers easily divest him of his school shirt, gliding over toned flesh with all the finesse of a virtuoso at a violin. He plays a symphony upon this living instrument, a da niente across sculpted abs, a marcato of nails along a quivering spine, the grand crescendo of tongue and teeth against begging nipples, leaving the boy/man an incoherent gibbering mess of more, please, God, again. He can't help but hiss in pleasure as that lascivious tongue trails over areas those luring, alluring hands have abandoned. It's almost enough to send him over the edge, but that damning smirk of pearl perfection knows just how far to press, and no farther. He's left teetering on the brink. Damn Brit.
Ah, but this gaijin is not finished with his games. A swirl of teeth and tongue with a subtle flick of fingers has the brash one moaning out to the heavens. He's helpless against this onslaught, that mocking mouth teasing every nook and cranny of skin and scars, delving down, sliding across, scraping teeth on hardened buds. Those hands, wondrous glorious hands, pin the other down, preventing him from escape, or equal retribution. This porcelain prodigy proves his meticulous reputation with every nibble and bite, moan and groan, and Oh God, don't stop! It's almost like a game, a race, a god-damned mystery of pleasure, discovering every weak point in his lover's armor, his high points, his moan points, what leaves him breathless in a haze of white hot overload. And there's always some new technique to try, a million and one ways to achieve his end. So much to explore, so little time...
The Osakajin, on the other hand, is left to weather the storm. He's caught up in a maelstrom, a swirling vortex of pleasure threatening to pull him out from under. It's not a question of how to escape, it's merely how long can he survive the onslaught. Because honestly, he'd rather drown than be left high and dry, in multiple senses of the word. And that annoying, insufferable Brit, laying hickeys up and down his chest, his neck, elsewhere, a checkerboard of ownership (-he's Mine-), on his person is merely adding fuel to the fire in his loins. He's more than ready to ignite.
Another suck, another drawn out gasp, before the blond moves his attention downwards. Perhaps reading the other detective's mind, he slowly draws his tongue down the boy's chest, stomach, flicking out every now and then to be a bloody tease. At the waistband, he glances up into his lover's eyes, darkened amber awash in a sea of desire as his teeth tug the button of his trousers free. Emerald eyes gaze on in riveting suspense as those same teeth latch onto his zipper, pulling it down in a slow, obscene show of skill. The click of each tooth pulling free from confinement is almost maddening in the wait. His erection is not long in burgeoning forth.
Thankfully for the hot-tempered youth, his Holmes otaku is not long in answering his unspoken desires. Flush pink lips brush lightly across the swollen tip before a darkened tongue sneaks out for a quick taste. A hand slowly makes its ways downwards, releasing the boy as long fingers delve past almost ebony strands to wrap around his cock. The mouth moves closer, lips parting to slowly, slowly, oh so maddeningly slowly encompass the boy. That tricky tongue slides along from tip to stern, drawing forth more than mere moans and breathy sighs. An electric jolt of desire rams the teased in his tracks. He needs more. Now. Luckily, the blonde is eager to please.
He starts off slow; just a mere flick of the tongue and a duck of the head, but the Detective of the West will have none of that. Uttering dire promises of pain and torture if he doesn't stop being a bloody tease, the thick-headed Osakajin is able to coerce his tormentor into a faster tempo. He's soon gasping in pleasure as the blonde slides and bobs, bobs and slides, up and down, twirl it around, tongue performing acrobatics he could only imagine in his dreams. Its slick and heavy, achingly perfect as that pouty mouth teases him over and over, clever tongue keeping him from release. He's hard, so hard, muttering and begging, harsh gasps and entreaties to a higher power gushing from fevered lips. Greedy fingers delivering a death grip to ashy strands as he strains closer and closer to release.
Amber eyes latch onto green, silently mocking and enjoying the Osakajin's plight. With a final twist of the tongue and a desperate suck, the Ellery Queen lover loses all coherence of the natural world. He's adrift in a sea of pleasure, that magnificent mouth rolling him along every wondrous wave. When he finally comes to shore, the ivory boy smirks victorious. Well, that simply won't do. A voice rough as sex, smooth as sin breaks past parched, hungry lips. "Is that the best you can do?"
An eyebrow rises. The smirk turns feral. In a near perfect mimicry of seduction he snarks a reply. "Perhaps I'd best demonstrate how we do things on the other side of the pond." With that said, he inches upwards, fingers already performing their voodoo magic as that wicked mouth makes a beeline for his own. Before they crash, one last comment sneaks its way past teak lips in a husky promise.
"Yeah, perhaps ya should."
Oh look, I have another apology to write to Heiji. But should I write one for Saguru? I bet this is the first time he's ever gotten to be seme - that's gotta count for something.
If I haven't broken your brain just yet, or given you an incurable case of the giggles please, tell me what you think. It's my first attempt at smut, after all. I'd like to know if it fits the parameters...