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writetomyheart2014-01-13 12:07 am
ltgmars.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2014-01-13 12:07 am
[team 1] not a girl
Whenever I can't think of anything to write, I somehow end up back in Nino/Yoko roommate 'verse.
"This night can't get any worse."
Nino squints at the blurry mass on the couch next to him, just enough brain cells left to appreciate what might be the most positive thing out of Yoko's mouth all day. Nino nods, looking back down at the drink in his hands. "That's the spirit," he mutters, lifting the glass to rest idly against his chin. He's about ready to vomit out of every pore, so maybe if he aims properly it'll land in the glass.
Next to him, Yoko makes a grumbling noise and tips sideways into Nino's shoulder, his cheek warm where it presses into the thin sleeve of Nino's t-shirt. It's a junk t-shirt his older sister got when she volunteered for some goody-two-shoes community project back in high school, which she'd passed down to Nino because something about the cream color made him look "miraculously less vampiric". Nino won't mind if Yoko misses his glass and throws up all over the t-shirt.
"There, there," Nino says automatically, the magic words that have increased in use infinity-fold since Yoko moved in a year and some months ago. Nino carefully switches his glass into his far hand, and then he worms his free arm around Yoko's shoulders, letting Yoko nestle into his neck the way he does sometimes when he's feeling like a miserable failure -- which is most of the time. All Yoko had wanted that night was to pick up some girls for a few rounds of karaoke. All Nino had wanted was not to be humiliated in public by his desperate, blubbering roommate. Some nights, no one gets what they want.
Yoko's breath is hot as it snakes its way under the collar of Nino's shirt, and Nino has to stare very determinedly at the wall to avoid thinking about some other things they want. They're either too drunk or not drunk enough for what they want, because Nino doesn't want to be too drunk and not be able to enjoy how it feels, but he doesn't want to be too sober and have to say that he would want it without alcohol.
Yoko's fingers sneak up Nino's shirt as Yoko tucks himself further into Nino's neck, and Nino knows where this is going. Sometimes it happens -- sometimes they just damn it all and take what they want, but the mornings are never quite right, because Nino doesn't know if he wants more than just the nights, and neither of them want to talk about it so it just hangs in the air, heavy and pungent. They open the windows to let it drift away, but it inevitably comes back, months later.
"Nino," Yoko whines quietly, lips soft, measuring Nino's rising heartbeat just above his collar. Nino sighs and closes his eyes, stretching his arm out to put his glass on the table next to the couch. The glass lands softly -- probably on top of some bills that still need to be paid -- but Nino thinks little of it, letting his hand drop and sliding it back toward him, where he drags it up and into Yoko's hair. Yoko hums and shifts, unmistakingly deliberate as he drags across to straddle Nino's lap, pressing wet kisses up Nino's neck and across his jaw. "Why don't girls like me, Nino?" Nino tips his head back, and he opens his mouth but loses his words as Yoko starts to suck on the skin just below Nino's ear.
It's Nino's turn to whine then, a strangled noise as he rocks his hips uselessly and turns his head to try to catch Yoko's lips. They find each other, Nino more desperate than he'd like to admit, and he groans into Yoko's mouth as Yoko spreads his knees farther apart and presses himself against Nino. When Nino's a little more lucid, he'll think back and marvel at how their bodies work, how even though they're far from admitting to anything out loud, their bodies are more than happy to do the talking. But in the moment, Nino can't concentrate on anything but Yoko's cock, thick and hard in his shorts, and all Nino can do is bring his hands between them and tug down as much fabric as he can.
Yoko's a sloppy kisser, lips and tongue sucking in more than they should, fingers curling against Nino's skin as Nino pulls their boxers down just enough. But Nino likes that about him, likes that he gets too into it with Nino, likes that for once Nino can kiss back as hard as he wants to.
But maybe that's not what Yoko was looking for tonight. "Sorry I'm not a girl," Nino manages between gasping breaths and loud, wet kisses. He brings their cocks together, dragging his palm across the tips for precome before squeezing his fingers around them. Yoko grunts, bucking into Nino's hand, and Nino figures he's forgiven.
Your turn,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mynamelessname!
"This night can't get any worse."
Nino squints at the blurry mass on the couch next to him, just enough brain cells left to appreciate what might be the most positive thing out of Yoko's mouth all day. Nino nods, looking back down at the drink in his hands. "That's the spirit," he mutters, lifting the glass to rest idly against his chin. He's about ready to vomit out of every pore, so maybe if he aims properly it'll land in the glass.
Next to him, Yoko makes a grumbling noise and tips sideways into Nino's shoulder, his cheek warm where it presses into the thin sleeve of Nino's t-shirt. It's a junk t-shirt his older sister got when she volunteered for some goody-two-shoes community project back in high school, which she'd passed down to Nino because something about the cream color made him look "miraculously less vampiric". Nino won't mind if Yoko misses his glass and throws up all over the t-shirt.
"There, there," Nino says automatically, the magic words that have increased in use infinity-fold since Yoko moved in a year and some months ago. Nino carefully switches his glass into his far hand, and then he worms his free arm around Yoko's shoulders, letting Yoko nestle into his neck the way he does sometimes when he's feeling like a miserable failure -- which is most of the time. All Yoko had wanted that night was to pick up some girls for a few rounds of karaoke. All Nino had wanted was not to be humiliated in public by his desperate, blubbering roommate. Some nights, no one gets what they want.
Yoko's breath is hot as it snakes its way under the collar of Nino's shirt, and Nino has to stare very determinedly at the wall to avoid thinking about some other things they want. They're either too drunk or not drunk enough for what they want, because Nino doesn't want to be too drunk and not be able to enjoy how it feels, but he doesn't want to be too sober and have to say that he would want it without alcohol.
Yoko's fingers sneak up Nino's shirt as Yoko tucks himself further into Nino's neck, and Nino knows where this is going. Sometimes it happens -- sometimes they just damn it all and take what they want, but the mornings are never quite right, because Nino doesn't know if he wants more than just the nights, and neither of them want to talk about it so it just hangs in the air, heavy and pungent. They open the windows to let it drift away, but it inevitably comes back, months later.
"Nino," Yoko whines quietly, lips soft, measuring Nino's rising heartbeat just above his collar. Nino sighs and closes his eyes, stretching his arm out to put his glass on the table next to the couch. The glass lands softly -- probably on top of some bills that still need to be paid -- but Nino thinks little of it, letting his hand drop and sliding it back toward him, where he drags it up and into Yoko's hair. Yoko hums and shifts, unmistakingly deliberate as he drags across to straddle Nino's lap, pressing wet kisses up Nino's neck and across his jaw. "Why don't girls like me, Nino?" Nino tips his head back, and he opens his mouth but loses his words as Yoko starts to suck on the skin just below Nino's ear.
It's Nino's turn to whine then, a strangled noise as he rocks his hips uselessly and turns his head to try to catch Yoko's lips. They find each other, Nino more desperate than he'd like to admit, and he groans into Yoko's mouth as Yoko spreads his knees farther apart and presses himself against Nino. When Nino's a little more lucid, he'll think back and marvel at how their bodies work, how even though they're far from admitting to anything out loud, their bodies are more than happy to do the talking. But in the moment, Nino can't concentrate on anything but Yoko's cock, thick and hard in his shorts, and all Nino can do is bring his hands between them and tug down as much fabric as he can.
Yoko's a sloppy kisser, lips and tongue sucking in more than they should, fingers curling against Nino's skin as Nino pulls their boxers down just enough. But Nino likes that about him, likes that he gets too into it with Nino, likes that for once Nino can kiss back as hard as he wants to.
But maybe that's not what Yoko was looking for tonight. "Sorry I'm not a girl," Nino manages between gasping breaths and loud, wet kisses. He brings their cocks together, dragging his palm across the tips for precome before squeezing his fingers around them. Yoko grunts, bucking into Nino's hand, and Nino figures he's forgiven.
Your turn,
mynamelessname!