magic-milk--peach - Tumblr blog

[magic-milk--peach]

— it fits you well.

he looks intently in their reflection in mirror. clear, undistorted reflection. it was pleasant to see someone else's blush and lean lips, glistening with sweet peach. he inhaled the smell of his hair with pleasure, and felt how his shoulders trembled, as if covered with goosebumps.

— you are so beautiful, mon cheri.

the whisper turns into a quiet growl and gives warmth on the neck. paul runs his palm over the fabric of translucent white stockings, softly hugging the thighs clenched in impatience.

— look at me.

they meet eyes in the reflection. arthur lifts his head, looks sideways, overcoming the desire to close his eyes, hide his face in palms folded on paul’s shoulders.

he kisses the tense shoulders, touches his neck with lips, warming it with hot breath. palms are touching the thighs, waist, lifting up the short black skirt and white apron higher and higher, only intensifying the desire to pull it away in order to hide from the awkwardness.

paul smiled, seeing, that arthur can't take his eyes off him. he threw arthur's leg off the other, slowly spreading his knees. cold fingers grabbed shoulders, but arthur is still turned around, and chest is pressed to his back. can’t look away. arthur looked at himself, felt hot palms squeeze his hips. those damn palms made him lose his mind. out of uneasiness and impatience.

arthur rested his hands on the armrests. he felt hot, ashamed, his eyes were watering from touches, from kisses. hands were scorching soft pale skin, that was desired, that just wanted to be touched or kissed. the underwear that was left hanging on the lap was pulled off. arthur tried to pull it off completely, putting it away, just out of sight. paul pulled him back, bit the shoulders dusted with blush, tearing a quiet sob from arthur’s lips.

— look at me, mon garçon, don’t look away.

fingers moved fast, and arthur fidgeted in place, because seeing and feeling this was… hard for him? it was strange, hot, embarrassing, but so good. because he knew that paul looked only and only at him, enjoyed the view of frankly slutty outfit and white stockings on arthur.

and arthur was placed on the penis carefully, holding by the hips and kissing the neck covered with sweat.

a couple of buttons torn off, becoming the victims of passion, and bare shoulders and chest blushed under the caresses and… it should be seen.

arthur felt his whole body burning, because it’s hot in here, it’s good, it’s embarrassing, and, after all, he sees himself like this now. and he sees him like this now. and truly enjoys.

[magic-milk--peach]

Atsushi leans his head against the rattling glass. The window is filthy outside, the old seat creaks when the young man rocks on it. It’s unbearably stuffy on a bus, and it’s hard to breathe. His chest and shoulder blades unpleasantly prickle from the heat, the back get wet, and the tee stuck to it, covered with sweat.

Nakajima almost changed his mind to go somewhere: it’s a late fall outside, and he’s going to get cold immediately, leaving the bus in a thin jacket.

The bus was rocking. Most of passengers stay silent during the entire trip, and only the little girl on the next seat was telling something to her father annoyingly loud.

The frosty wind blows in his face, and no air was left in his lungs. Atsushi tightens the jacket cuffs, hiding his hands that were flushed from the cold. The wind is only make it worse: it feels like the cold is getting under the skin but there isn’t even any snowflake around.

Three strips of steps makes Atsushi out of breath. He stands in front of the door and squeezes the door handle, which creaks open it into the same darkness. This darkness was soft, it doesn’t smell like something damp or cold, it smells mint and tea with wild berries…

Atsushi takes of his sneakers, slams the door loudly, closing it and causing his ears to go blank for a second. He got used to silence.

Atsushi goes into the dark, leaning against the wall with his palm. He turns right, a forward hand leans against the the door and opens it with a little creak.

— Tell me honestly, are you dumb? — A rough voice with a natural hoarseness comes from the depths of the dark kitchen.

The window is opened, it’s cold inside, and only the bright disk of the moon illuminates the hunched figure on the little sofa with its rays.

— You’re cold.

The voice is getting harsher, even more menacing, but Atsushi doesn’t get scared. He finds the hands folded on knees by touch and clasps them with his own.

Nakajima closes the window, burns the old long candle in carved candelabra, makes them two cups of tea and seats on the floor. Akutagawa drops down next to him.

— And Gin? — Atsushi looks at the black crown lying on his shoulder. He feels the way Ryūnosuke shrugs, leaving the question unanswered. Gin is not at home, and Atsushi is not at home too. And they’re okay with it: Gin is spending time with her friends, and Atsushi is spending time with her brother.

— Will you introduce us? — Nakajima asks. He can barely hear an irritated sigh, but he knows that Ryūnosuke is not going to refuse such a simple request. Gin is a pleasant girl, and Atsushi knows they can make friends easily.