Chaotic Butterfly, Thursday Doesn’t Even Start

Title: Thursday Doesn’t Even Start [Fujishima/Mitsumi]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 and ties
Summary: The more calmly Mitsumi is sitting there, the more Fujishima just wants to rile him all up.
AN: So I wrote like maybe 800 words of actual NaNo, which seems like it might be about Tsunami with Mimi as manager, and then like 2400 of tie porn happened. It seems like this is going to be a weird month. But like, the porn isn’t canon? I don’t know, these two seem like they’re lobbying to break that rule, geez.

Set during About Face, during the fall when they’re in the dorm with Kouji and Ben.

Thursday Doesn’t Even Start

Mitsumi was sitting peacefully on the couch, watching the news (honestly, the news) when Fujishima pounced, knocking Mitsumi over onto his side and pinning him down with knees on either side of his thighs, keeping him there. He ground down against Mitsumi’s hip a little, just in case Mitsumi’s nerd brain hadn’t quite figured out the game yet.

“What’s up with you?” Mitsumi asked. “Usually the news doesn’t get you all hot and bothered.”

“It’s the tie,” Fujishima answered willingly enough, leaning down to crush their mouths together without waiting for a response to that.

He wasn’t kidding; it really was the tie. Fujishima had gone to an all-boys high school which had just the tiniest bit of a well-deserved reputation. You surely didn’t have to wait until the haunted house at the annual cultural festival to hear moaning in the stairwell. Whenever Mitsumi wore a tie and rolled up his sleeves a certain way, it took Fujishima back immediately to those days, his back pressed against the cold glass of the window and fumbling at buttons with clumsy fingers, the buzzing of his lips after rough kissing and glasses getting in the way.

Mitsumi’s glasses were hot, too. Fujishima broke the kiss to sit up enough to look at them, to look at the whole picture. Mitsumi was a little mussed from being pressed into the couch, shirt wrinkled where Fujishima had grabbed his shoulders, but it was still the tie that made it irresistible to Fujishima. The fabric was slick and cool when Fujishima wrapped fingers around it, slide his fist down a little and back up, exactly like how he was going to jack Mitsumi’s cock in a minute.

“I’ve got a whole closet full of them if you like them so much,” Mitsumi commented. He still sounded calm, which usually drove Fujishima crazy when he was feeling worked up, but in the last couple weeks Fujishima had learned to read Mitsumi a little better. He’d learned to read want in the tight set of Mitsumi’s jaw and the way his hands gravitated to Fujishima’s hips, the way his eyes stayed on Fujishima lips or sometimes his throat or cock. “Want me to tie you up with them or something?”

Fujishima had to swallow hard before he could answer, the heat coming not so much from the idea of the ties, as the idea of being tied down and giving up all of the control to Mitsumi.

“Not my thing exactly, but if you ask nicely I might play along,” Fujishima bluffed, hoping that Mitsumi didn’t notice him grinding just a little harder against Mitsumi’s hip.

Mitsumi smirked, just at the corner of his mouth, and Fujishima wished that he could take a class in being a better liar.

Instead of digging himself in deeper, Fujishima leaned down to kiss Mitsumi again, pressing him deeper into the couch. Sometimes if he did it just right, if he put a hand on the side of Mitsumi’s face to stroke his thumb just under the edge of Mitsumi’s jaw, Mitsumi would make these quiet noises into his mouth. They were so quiet Fujishima could barely hear them, but they always went straight to his cock.

“Come on,” Fujishima said suddenly when his skin started prickling everywhere they were touching, like it was getting too small. He scrambled off of Mitsumi to stand but kept a firm grip on his tie, pulling him along. The couch was nice, but he was in no hurry to be filmed on it by Ben and stuck up on YouTube for all his fangirls to see. The worst part was, he had the suspicion that it might help his career.

Mitsumi let himself be dragged along, into Fujishima’s single, reaching behind to pull the door shut and flip the lock, a perfect example of how sexy smart could be. Fujishima was also pleased that they’d gone past the point where they had to argue about it every time, not that it wasn’t hot at first, but it was much better to press Mitsumi up against the door with another bruising kiss, reaching up to start sliding buttons open. Mitsumi wasn’t being terribly helpful, but that was okay because he had slid hands into the back pockets of Fujishima’s designer Tenshi jeans and was kneading Fujishima’s ass in an entirely pleasing way.

“Hmm,” Fujishima hummed in approval, shoving the unbuttoned shirt back off of Mitsumi’s shoulders. He left the tie right where it was, though, tracing the edge of where it sat against Mitsumi’s collar bones with his fingertips. Mitsumi squirmed, the light touch a little ticklish, but he couldn’t escape since his hips were pinned in place against the door by Fujishima’s.

“Quit it,” Mitsumi finally snapped, the growl in his voice making Fujishima shiver pleasantly. He pulled his hands free from Fujishima’s pockets, more was the pity, but used them to shove him towards the bed. “Tell me what you want already. As if I don’t already know.”

“You just want me to show you,” Fujishima said with a grin, sauntering backwards as he unbuttoned his jeans and started sliding them down. He did it slow, while moving, making it into a show, and was more than a little proud of himself because the damn jeans were tight as hell. That shit took practice.

Mitsumi reached up to push his glasses back up his nose, something about which was hot enough to nearly make Fujishima trip over the hems of his jeans. He crossed his arms, expectant, and yeah, Fujishima could get behind that, okay. Kicking off the jeans at last, Fujishima stripped his shirt over his head in one smooth motion and slid onto his bed, stretching out like he was in no hurry. His hair was mussed from the shirt, but he reached up with one hand to ruffle it up even further against his pillow, the other hand sliding down his chest and over his stomach, teasing just at the base of his cock.

He was already shamefully hard, even without Mitsumi watching him so closely, but Fujishima didn’t get embarrassed about that stuff. He was watching himself, focused on Mitsumi’s expression as his fingers trailed closer to his cock, and the flash of disappointment when he detoured around and ran his fingers down the inside of his thigh instead. Fujishima’s breathless chuckle made Mitsumi narrow his eyes.

“Isn’t this what you’re interested in anyway?” Fujishima asked, bending one knee to expose himself the rest of the way to Mitsumi. He brushed fingers over the edge of his hole, even his own touch making him shiver at this point. “Want me to do it myself? I’ll put on a better show if you do it, though, feels so much better.”

“I already said,” Mitsumi told him, taking a few steps forward but not close enough yet. “Tell me what you want already.”

“I want your fingers,” Fujishima answered immediately, done with teasing himself, for the moment. “I want your dick. Hurry it up, voyeur.”

“Shut up or I’ll shut you up, exhibitionist,” Mitsumi retorted. Fujishima laughed, giddy with lust and the fun of shoving each other around. Honestly he wouldn’t have minded that at all, the few blowjobs they’d traded having been satisfyingly messy, but Fujishima had other pressing plans for Mitsumi’s cock at the moment and the way it was flushed and heavy against Mitsumi’s thigh already said that Fujishima could’t have his cock and eat it too, this time.

Next time. Maybe Thursday night, when Mitsumi had himself good and worked up over that paper he had due Friday. Fujishima would shove him back from his desk and make him shake with all that tension, tease until Mitsumi started yanking his hair.

“What are you grinning about?” Mitsumi demanded, having come around to find the lube and condoms from Fujishima’s bedside drawer while Fujishima had been daydreaming a second.

“You pulling my hair,” Fujishima answered honestly. Mitsumi reached down and gave his hair a casual yank, saying that if that was all it took to excite him, no wonder he was practically coming all over himself just from a damn tie. Fujishima arched his neck and moaned obligingly, not quite willing to say out loud that it didn’t seem to matter where exactly Mitsumi used those long fingers on him.

Fortunately, Mitsumi seemed to be out of patience as well, so he didn’t waste any more time stripping off his pants before things got really messy and sitting on the end of the bed, casually knocking one of Fujishima’s legs out of the way to make room for himself. Fujishima let his thighs fall open in invitation. He hissed at the coldness of the lube when Mitsumi brushed fingers against him, but Mitsumi only grinned and rubbed circles around his hole more deliberately.

“Inside,” Fujishima insisted, pushing down as soon as Mitsumi’s fingertip got just barely inside of him. He was relaxed and needy enough by now, Mitsumi’s fingers thin enough anyway, that the first one slide in with next to no resistance. “Fuck yes,” he encouraged when Mitsumi curled his finger a little. The second one was more of a stretch, but it didn’t stop Fujishima running his mouth, Mitsumi’s unimpressed glare at being rushed only making it hotter, really.

“Relax, idiot,” Mitsumi ordered when Fujishima looked like he might reach down and add a finger himself just to move things along. “Your dancing sucks enough as it is, I’m not letting you blame that on me.”

“If you don’t hurry up and fuck me, I’m going to tell on you during the MC,” Fujishima panted, half-giggling at the idea. “Sorry, ladies, my roommate was a bit rough last night~♥!”

“What’s sick is how much they’d love that,” Mitsumi said, only making Fujishima laugh harder until he abruptly switched to three fingers and Fujishima’s laughter cut off with a whine. “If you’re secretly filming this to put on your trashy website, I’m going to murder you.”

“Why are you still talking?” Fujishima demanded, the sting mellowing into waves of pleasure already. He sat up suddenly, ignoring the way it made his abs burn and grabbed Mitsumi’s tie to yank. “Now, Mimi.”

He didn’t even yell at Fujishima about the nickname, so he must have been pretty far gone himself. The three and a half seconds it took him to tear open a condom and roll it on had Fujishima fidgeting, squirming underneath Mitsumi’s clean hand as he used the lube-slick one to hold his cock steady. He gave a whine of relief when Mitsumi finally started pushing inside, tugging on his tie to pull him close enough to kiss as soon as possible. Mitsumi braced his hands on either side of Fujishima’s shoulders, holding himself up just out of reach to tease, and Fujishima’s abs would be killing him later but he stretched up to hook his other arm around Mitsumi’s neck and hauled himself up to crush their mouths together. He grunted in relief when Mitsumi finally let his weight fall onto Fujishima, pushing him down properly into the mattress.

Curling his legs around Mitsumi’s thighs to draw him in deeper, Fujishima arched up against him, trying to get him to move around without breaking the kiss. One of Mitsumi’s hands was in his hair again, tugging at the strands curled against the pillow and, oh, Fujishima was never cutting it ever again, not with the way it made heat rush down his neck and his fingers curl. Mitsumi finally pulled his mouth away to gasp for air and Fujishima tipped his head back, begin wordlessly for more.

“So needy,” Mitsumi said, only it didn’t sound like a complaint. He settled on his elbows and rolled his hips in a real thrust, speeding up once he had his bearings. Fujishima moaned agreement, wanting desperately to touch his cock where it was trapped teasingly between their stomachs, but not wanting to come yet either. Right now everything was sharp-edged with pleasure, the burn of Mitsumi’s cock inside him and Mitsumi’s fingers digging tightly into his shoulder, the way his thighs were starting to pull from being stretched back.

“More,” he demanded, yanking on Mitsumi’s tie to get his attention. “Fuck, Mimi, keep—”

“Use my fucking name,” Mitsumi growled. For a second, Fujishima couldn’t come up with his own name, much less Mitsumi’s.

“Tadayoshi,” he managed, and maybe it wasn’t the sexiest bedroom name in the history of fucking a roommate, but Mitsumi groaned Ken right in his ear and Fujishima saw the appeal. Fujishima mumbled it a few more times, until Mitsumi reached down and palmed Fujishima’s cock, finally, and then Fujishima had no idea what he was saying as Mitsumi drew his orgasm out of him with those amazing, lube-slick fingers.

When he could breathe again, Mitsumi was still hard inside him, thrusting shallowly.

“Keep going,” Fujishima murmured, still pretty hazy, but his nerves were still sparking and everything felt good. He rubbed his cheek lazily against Mitsumi’s shoulder as Mitsumi went back to fucking him really, not bothering to try and stop the soft moans spilling out of him at every thrust. He turned his head a little to lick at the sharp edge of Mitsumi’s jaw, stroking lightly with his tongue the way he had used his thumb earlier, and Mitsumi came with one of those soft noises that made Fujishima shudder with an aftershock as if he was coming again too.

Mitsumi wasn’t terribly affectionate, but after sex he was relaxed enough to cooperate with Fujishima’s clinging, especially when Fujishima went on kissing and licking at his jaw, obviously his weak point. They’d rolled onto their sides, and Mitsumi was idly smoothing his palm back and forth over Fujishima’s side and hip.

“That feels amazing,” Fujishima praised against Mitsumi’s skin. He was still holding on to Mitsumi’s tie, rubbing fingers along the smooth fabric like it was the edging on his favorite blanket from when he was little.

“Weirdo,” Mitsumi said, and it almost sounded like affection. Fujishima kind of hoped not, honestly, because it was so much fun fighting with Mitsumi.

But then there were the ties, though, Fujishima thought, sliding his mouth down to kiss the skin of Mitsumi’s throat, just above the fabric. He nibbled just there and Mitsumi’s fingers dug into his side suddenly, the soft noise just a little louder this time, like Fujishima almost had the secret.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to wait until Thursday after all.

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