A/N: SMUT INCOMING!
NO PUN INTENDED!
Happy Endings Are All the Same:
His face had been burning when he’d stormed out of the room, snapping the door shut behind him. In the bathroom, leaning against the sink, his face still felt hot, and he relived the moment that had barely passed.
Seishin pushed Toshio away from him, and shifted away, getting out of the futon. He felt mortified, the blush creeping rapidly up his neck. He adjusted his robes, and swallowed uneasily, “I know…”
There was a pause, and Toshio spoke again, “I could help you with that…”
“And you’re still drunk.” He said disgustedly, and left the room.
He could still see him in his mind’s eye, sprawled on the bed, looking up at him, his midriff exposed. Toshio hadn’t looked fully awake, and it only served to heighten the erotic edge to it all. And Seishin also knew that he was exaggerating it as he remembered it, accentuating the things he found attractive about the other man…
He needed a shower. A very, very cold shower.
He snuck a glance downward. The bulge was obvious, and he was thankful he hadn’t run into his mother on his way to the bathroom. It was the older bathroom toward the back of their living quarters, but it wasn’t unthinkable that he could’ve come across her. The mere thought of it brought a fresh wave of embarrassment over him.
What had Toshio been thinking? What a rotten joke to make. Lying there like that, with that strange smile on his face… and what would he have done, anyway, if he’d turned back to the bed, gone back to it, crawled back in? Taken his hand and guided it lower…
He realized that his own hand was slipping downwards, feeling his erection through his clothes. Envisioning Toshio instead. Naked. Nymph-like. Not Toshio-like. He felt guilt drifting into his consciousness. And, yet…
He fumbled with his robes, the ones he’d fallen asleep in the night before, exposing himself to his hand. But it was Toshio who was doing it. He wasn’t still back in the bedroom. No, he was here with Seishin.
He gripped his penis, and started to stroke himself, his eyes shut. Toshio’s hand around his penis, the doctor nipping at his neck lightly, pressing his bare chest against him. Toshio tipped the priest’s head back with his other hand, nuzzling into his neck, trailing bites and kisses there. And now that hand dropped down, gripping Seishin’s rear end tightly, fingers pressing toward the dip between his cheeks.
He pressed himself roughly against the sink, digging the porcelain into his behind. He clamped his free hand over his mouth, muffling the whining sounds coming from the back of his throat, continuing to rub.
Toshio moved away from his neck, and he eased his left hand from Seishin’s butt to his hip. He stopped pumping at Seishin, and smiled wickedly when Seishin thrust forward in the absence of the friction. He removed his hand from his penis, and settled it against the other hip. Seishin thrust forward again, in his own slack hand, panting.
The doctor knelt in from of him, and he wrapped his lips around Seishin’s penis, evincing a moan. He sucked at him, taking in the full length, his forehead against Seishin’s stomach. He moved evenly, then withdrew to grant more attention to the head of the cock, licking eagerly.
Seishin sank to the floor of the bathroom, removing his hand from his mouth, then turning his head to the side to bite at the shoulder of his robes. His hand snaked around to his back, eased lower, grabbed his own rear, tried to draw the fabric between his fingers and his skin away.
His hand was still moving on his erection, Toshio forcing his tongue slightly into the little slit there. He gasped sharply, black cloth still clenched between his teeth. And then he was in himself, a somewhat painful sort of feeling, but a desired one nonetheless. He moved his finger, pushing further, then added a second, his breaths ragged.
Seishin rolled to his side, hands busy, the nymph still between his legs. He could feel himself coming to the edge of it all. He felt dizzy.
He pictured Toshio opening his mouth fully again, taking him in completely once again, looking at him with eyes from under lashes that were too long.
He shuddered, and felt the hot stickiness coursing into his hand, moaning roughly. He kept touching himself, though, lost in the sensation. As the spasms died down, he began to feel uncomfortable, the cold tiles beneath him, his angle against the floor awkward. He pulled his hand free from himself, let it fall by his side. His breathing was slowing, and his penis had gone limp.
He buried his face in the bathroom tiles and swore.