![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dev-chieftain.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: Unfamiliar
Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dev_chieftain
Rating: R
Wordcount: 2,074
Warnings: Spoilers through Vol. 17ish.
A/N: For the prompt "Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle, Kurogane/Syaoran: masturbation - "I can’t think of her". I'm kind of dissatisfied with this, but can't do what I originally thought of without it not fitting the prompt.
"I," he breathes, until it transforms into a restless guttural moan, until the sweat beads on his brow and on the backs of his knees, trailing down his calves, until his eyes are screwed shut and his face is red with embarrassment, "I don't know if I can do this," he whispers, into Kurogane's shoulder, leaning on Kurogane's supporting hand while the other guides his own. Kurogane is intense and quiet, which is more or less the way Kurogane always is. His face is tight, his jaw is clenched, his skin is musky and radiates warmth that Syaoran is grateful for. It's his first time being naked around somebody else in years: that's probably why it feels like the room is so cold to him, why he's shivering and feels hopelessly stupid.
"It's normal," Kurogane tells him in a voice that could cause earthquakes, squeezing the hand guiding his hand tighter, pressing the thumb into place on the head of his erection so sharp he yelps, at the feeling of something wet and warm coming out when he does. It gets easier, though, the skin's smoother when it comes out like that. He gets the idea. He understands the process.
He's learning, is all. It's something he's never done before, so that's why they're out here in the dark behind the house, Kurogane's clothes still oily from working on the dragonflies all day. Syaoran swallows his pride and the sounds he was about to make, and follows Kurogane's low-voiced instructions. Touch here, avoid there, go faster only if it feels good, squeeze.
Kurogane looms over him, bracing him against the smooth metal wall, blocking him from sight of the world, muffling the sounds he makes. He feels safe here, because Kurogane would notice someone approaching long before they will have any chance of noticing Syaoran.
And Kurogane's skin is warm, and his body is tense and smooth under those oily clothes, and his breath is hot on Syaoran's face as he leans closer, inquiring if they should stop and is he okay, until Syaoran's whole being seems to curl up and he grits his teeth, letting out a whimpering moan-- confused and satisfied-- his hips twitching, his hand stilling under Kurogane's. The wet smear of rapidly-cooling something on his belly and pants and hand unnerves him and will probably merit some unease later, when he has time to consider what he knows of biology and what it is and the possible moral ramifications of it all. For now, though, the smell is a bit unfamiliar, and Kurogane's face is still close to his, and he's grinning just a bit so Syaoran relaxes.
Because here, it's safe.
***
"Can't," he whimpers determinedly, while Kurogane boredly peels an apple across the room, heels crossed where they rest on top of the table, his expression a carefully articulated moue of boredom. "I just can't do this," he says, but it's clear neither of them believes the other. Kurogane's raised eyebrow seems to just say oh really, and his attention is on the apple, not on Syaoran.
"It's not gonna get less embarrassing if you don't practice," he says reasonably. He would, in actuality, make a terrible father; but Kurogane the big brother, who knows more about certain aspects of life than Syaoran has ever had need to-- yes, that is pretty much perfectly acceptable in Syaoran's eyes. Kurogane knows what he's doing. He's casual about things that Fai-san gets disdainful of; and he's not a girl, no offense to Sakura or Mokona, so he understands without HALF as much explanation what Syaoran's problems are.
The thought of trying to explain himself to the princess is quite unsettling enough to make his stomach turn and his dick as soft as if he'd done nothing to it so far. Which is somehow both a relief (some kind of control can be had in distracting himself: this discovery is a boon among boons) and simultaneously horrendously frustrating (but he still has that feeling like-- he'll-- explode, or something, if he doesn't try it again). So he draws a deep breath, and bites his lip, and turns away from Kurogane who is looking effortlessly bored once more, shutting his eyes and repeating the motions that were so effective before.
Too mechanical, he realizes, when he's been at it for a few minutes and even though its hard, he doesn't really feel anything excepted frustrated, like there's a lot more to this that he's somehow forgetting. He stops, sighing shakily, and looks back over at Kurogane, trying to pretend to be non-chalant about it, and catches Kurogane watching him as speculatively as if he was practicing a sword stance.
Maybe that's why he can force himself to do this at all around Kurogane.
"You've gotta be more into it to get off," Kurogane suggests flippantly, waving his knife in dismissal of Syaoran's current effort. "Think about what you want to be doing that's got you bothering to touch it in the first place. Whoever that is." This last is said carefully, Kurogane's eyes sliding away from Syaoran as if somehow he knows the explosive denial about to come out of the boy's lips.
"--S-Sakura would never--!! That isn't RIGHT!" I'm a peasant! He thought first, and then, startled with himself, why would that even matter? Especially now. And then, very quietly, does she even love me in the first place? That's what'd really matter.
He subsided quietly into a confused, awkward state of blushing incompetance, and rather than try to complete his experiment, set about redressing himself and practiced with his sword instead. Kurogane watched all this with bland passivity, and a calm that could have outlasted a violent storm.
***
"Think," Kurogane spat, looking ready to kill someone-- anyone-- just for the sake of the release of energy. "Just for a moment, you think about what you're asking me and what just happened and you tell ME why it's such a bad idea. If it's the same heart you've got now that he had, you should damn well know!"
Syaoran couldn't really have said, if asked, what it was he'd expected when he'd gone to Kurogane in the dead of predawn not to ask help with his stances and sword-fighting, but to drag a hand up Kurogane's side, unskillfully, uncertainly, and say "You taught him, but would you teach me, too?"
In retrospect he agreed that it hadn't been the best way to go about making his request. Certainly not the subtlest way, either. But his need had not been for subtlety, or even 'the right thing'. He had simply sought companionship: connection. Trust, help, instruction. Those all still seemed like quite rational desires to him. "It's the same heart, but I have different memories," he said, just to put that out there, just to remind Kurogane that he was not the person that had been here before, for all that he could have tried to be if he wanted to. But he was no masochist like the magician; and he was not in the position of the princess. "I want different things."
Kurogane just glared up at him from his too-small, black-sheeted cot, as if daring him to move closer again without giving the correct answer.
"I think you will," he answered quietly, meeting the older man's eyes evenly, keeping exactly the right distance to show that he was neither backing down, nor attempting to make a challenge. "But you're angry.
"You're angry because he," and it was clear he meant his other self, if only because the mention of his clone stirred some anger in his heart as well. "Hurt everyone. Fai-san as well has been hurting everyone, and the princess, too." He hesitated, then let his gaze drop, not out of guilt or a desire to deceive, but in order to convey sincerity. "I want you to teach me. Those things too, because I don't-- I haven't had any reason to learn them. I don't understand them, but I still want to know. And--" he lifted his head, trying to sound as gentle as he wanted to be. "I won't hurt you, Kurogane-san."
***
Of course, he hasn't admitted to himself that watching Kurogane lay there, watching him while Syaoran tries to learn how to make use of an organ he only needed for its (now) secondary purpose prior to years of imprisonment, is part of what makes it possible for him to do these things at all. He can't let his thoughts spin to Sakura, for that way lies only frustration and hurt: knowledge that she is not his Sakura, that he is not her Syaoran, even though they are too similar to be entirely otherwise. He can't worry about Fai-san, and the guilt that rides in him for being too late, the uneasiness he feels around that man's easy acceptance of all the misfortune that falls on his head, the knowledge of what lies behind that strip of black cloth.
He can't let himself think about how much he appreciates that warm, exacting glare, how it gives him pleasure, how much it contributes to his success at learning what a pubescent body has to offer that previously his body did not know or care to know.
Because if he does, he will begin to wonder why it is that he wants to continue learning here, and never venture back out to the unfamiliar territory that is waiting for him when he tries to seek out his Sakura. That will be different again, and more frightening even than learning how his own body works. That will entail the possibility of harming that which he wants so badly to protect.
Kurogane can’t be hurt by Syaoran’s hands. Kurogane won’t look away while Syaoran stands here, breath hitching, and practices what he remembers seeing done.
Kurogane won’t stop pushing him to get better at it. Kurogane won’t forget to tell him what he needs to know about it—how to be safe with the girl, both for his own health and hers, how to be considerate and how to be quick for his own sake when he’s alone.
Maybe that faint flush in the older man’s face is embarrassment, since Kurogane is naturally a shy person; but Kurogane doesn’t look away when Syaoran figures out how to come.
And Syaoran doesn’t stop watching Kurogane, watching him.
“You’ve got the basic idea down,” he mutters, rolling over on his side, a mass of black-clad muscles and wounded pride. The trust still isn’t there—will probably never be there, after Tokyo—but at least some semblance of rebuilding has begun between them. Kurogane even made him join in sword practice this morning.
Syaoran feels hot and sticky, probably because he is, and realizes that even though it’s a little sensitive, his dick in his hand is still hard. That’s never happened before, to his knowledge, but then, this is the first time it’s been him trying this out.
“It’s strange to want to do this with you, isn’t it?” he asks, the words tumbling out while he tries to figure out if the fact that it’s still hard means there’s something wrong with him, or that he just didn’t finish it right. Kurogane has gone tense, and moves slowly, rising to his feet and gazing down at Syaoran’s hand meditatively.
“Maybe.” He gestures for Syaoran to sit down on the bed he’s just vacated, and then kneels down in front of him. “Maybe it’s just logical. You’re new and I’m the only one who treats you normal.” His expression is contemplative, and he leans forward, bracing his hands one on Syaoran’s left, the other batting Syaoran’s hand away.
He takes Syaoran’s dick into his hand, and then his lips come down over the head and Syaoran bucks, all un-thinking, up towards him, jarring him away.
“I’m sorry--! I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Kurogane barely even looks miffed, shrugging calmly and getting back into place. “S’okay.”
***
Her eyes are always warm and gentle in his dreams: a memory of another life, one he never really lived, himself. He explores her, touching her shoulders, tracing her collarbone with just his fingertips, cups her breasts—
—but he doesn’t know what to do from there, and simply holds her, close and tight, until Kurogane enters the dream as well.
Artist:
dev_chieftainRating: R
Wordcount: 2,074
Warnings: Spoilers through Vol. 17ish.
A/N: For the prompt "Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle, Kurogane/Syaoran: masturbation - "I can’t think of her". I'm kind of dissatisfied with this, but can't do what I originally thought of without it not fitting the prompt.
"I," he breathes, until it transforms into a restless guttural moan, until the sweat beads on his brow and on the backs of his knees, trailing down his calves, until his eyes are screwed shut and his face is red with embarrassment, "I don't know if I can do this," he whispers, into Kurogane's shoulder, leaning on Kurogane's supporting hand while the other guides his own. Kurogane is intense and quiet, which is more or less the way Kurogane always is. His face is tight, his jaw is clenched, his skin is musky and radiates warmth that Syaoran is grateful for. It's his first time being naked around somebody else in years: that's probably why it feels like the room is so cold to him, why he's shivering and feels hopelessly stupid.
"It's normal," Kurogane tells him in a voice that could cause earthquakes, squeezing the hand guiding his hand tighter, pressing the thumb into place on the head of his erection so sharp he yelps, at the feeling of something wet and warm coming out when he does. It gets easier, though, the skin's smoother when it comes out like that. He gets the idea. He understands the process.
He's learning, is all. It's something he's never done before, so that's why they're out here in the dark behind the house, Kurogane's clothes still oily from working on the dragonflies all day. Syaoran swallows his pride and the sounds he was about to make, and follows Kurogane's low-voiced instructions. Touch here, avoid there, go faster only if it feels good, squeeze.
Kurogane looms over him, bracing him against the smooth metal wall, blocking him from sight of the world, muffling the sounds he makes. He feels safe here, because Kurogane would notice someone approaching long before they will have any chance of noticing Syaoran.
And Kurogane's skin is warm, and his body is tense and smooth under those oily clothes, and his breath is hot on Syaoran's face as he leans closer, inquiring if they should stop and is he okay, until Syaoran's whole being seems to curl up and he grits his teeth, letting out a whimpering moan-- confused and satisfied-- his hips twitching, his hand stilling under Kurogane's. The wet smear of rapidly-cooling something on his belly and pants and hand unnerves him and will probably merit some unease later, when he has time to consider what he knows of biology and what it is and the possible moral ramifications of it all. For now, though, the smell is a bit unfamiliar, and Kurogane's face is still close to his, and he's grinning just a bit so Syaoran relaxes.
Because here, it's safe.
***
"Can't," he whimpers determinedly, while Kurogane boredly peels an apple across the room, heels crossed where they rest on top of the table, his expression a carefully articulated moue of boredom. "I just can't do this," he says, but it's clear neither of them believes the other. Kurogane's raised eyebrow seems to just say oh really, and his attention is on the apple, not on Syaoran.
"It's not gonna get less embarrassing if you don't practice," he says reasonably. He would, in actuality, make a terrible father; but Kurogane the big brother, who knows more about certain aspects of life than Syaoran has ever had need to-- yes, that is pretty much perfectly acceptable in Syaoran's eyes. Kurogane knows what he's doing. He's casual about things that Fai-san gets disdainful of; and he's not a girl, no offense to Sakura or Mokona, so he understands without HALF as much explanation what Syaoran's problems are.
The thought of trying to explain himself to the princess is quite unsettling enough to make his stomach turn and his dick as soft as if he'd done nothing to it so far. Which is somehow both a relief (some kind of control can be had in distracting himself: this discovery is a boon among boons) and simultaneously horrendously frustrating (but he still has that feeling like-- he'll-- explode, or something, if he doesn't try it again). So he draws a deep breath, and bites his lip, and turns away from Kurogane who is looking effortlessly bored once more, shutting his eyes and repeating the motions that were so effective before.
Too mechanical, he realizes, when he's been at it for a few minutes and even though its hard, he doesn't really feel anything excepted frustrated, like there's a lot more to this that he's somehow forgetting. He stops, sighing shakily, and looks back over at Kurogane, trying to pretend to be non-chalant about it, and catches Kurogane watching him as speculatively as if he was practicing a sword stance.
Maybe that's why he can force himself to do this at all around Kurogane.
"You've gotta be more into it to get off," Kurogane suggests flippantly, waving his knife in dismissal of Syaoran's current effort. "Think about what you want to be doing that's got you bothering to touch it in the first place. Whoever that is." This last is said carefully, Kurogane's eyes sliding away from Syaoran as if somehow he knows the explosive denial about to come out of the boy's lips.
"--S-Sakura would never--!! That isn't RIGHT!" I'm a peasant! He thought first, and then, startled with himself, why would that even matter? Especially now. And then, very quietly, does she even love me in the first place? That's what'd really matter.
He subsided quietly into a confused, awkward state of blushing incompetance, and rather than try to complete his experiment, set about redressing himself and practiced with his sword instead. Kurogane watched all this with bland passivity, and a calm that could have outlasted a violent storm.
***
"Think," Kurogane spat, looking ready to kill someone-- anyone-- just for the sake of the release of energy. "Just for a moment, you think about what you're asking me and what just happened and you tell ME why it's such a bad idea. If it's the same heart you've got now that he had, you should damn well know!"
Syaoran couldn't really have said, if asked, what it was he'd expected when he'd gone to Kurogane in the dead of predawn not to ask help with his stances and sword-fighting, but to drag a hand up Kurogane's side, unskillfully, uncertainly, and say "You taught him, but would you teach me, too?"
In retrospect he agreed that it hadn't been the best way to go about making his request. Certainly not the subtlest way, either. But his need had not been for subtlety, or even 'the right thing'. He had simply sought companionship: connection. Trust, help, instruction. Those all still seemed like quite rational desires to him. "It's the same heart, but I have different memories," he said, just to put that out there, just to remind Kurogane that he was not the person that had been here before, for all that he could have tried to be if he wanted to. But he was no masochist like the magician; and he was not in the position of the princess. "I want different things."
Kurogane just glared up at him from his too-small, black-sheeted cot, as if daring him to move closer again without giving the correct answer.
"I think you will," he answered quietly, meeting the older man's eyes evenly, keeping exactly the right distance to show that he was neither backing down, nor attempting to make a challenge. "But you're angry.
"You're angry because he," and it was clear he meant his other self, if only because the mention of his clone stirred some anger in his heart as well. "Hurt everyone. Fai-san as well has been hurting everyone, and the princess, too." He hesitated, then let his gaze drop, not out of guilt or a desire to deceive, but in order to convey sincerity. "I want you to teach me. Those things too, because I don't-- I haven't had any reason to learn them. I don't understand them, but I still want to know. And--" he lifted his head, trying to sound as gentle as he wanted to be. "I won't hurt you, Kurogane-san."
***
Of course, he hasn't admitted to himself that watching Kurogane lay there, watching him while Syaoran tries to learn how to make use of an organ he only needed for its (now) secondary purpose prior to years of imprisonment, is part of what makes it possible for him to do these things at all. He can't let his thoughts spin to Sakura, for that way lies only frustration and hurt: knowledge that she is not his Sakura, that he is not her Syaoran, even though they are too similar to be entirely otherwise. He can't worry about Fai-san, and the guilt that rides in him for being too late, the uneasiness he feels around that man's easy acceptance of all the misfortune that falls on his head, the knowledge of what lies behind that strip of black cloth.
He can't let himself think about how much he appreciates that warm, exacting glare, how it gives him pleasure, how much it contributes to his success at learning what a pubescent body has to offer that previously his body did not know or care to know.
Because if he does, he will begin to wonder why it is that he wants to continue learning here, and never venture back out to the unfamiliar territory that is waiting for him when he tries to seek out his Sakura. That will be different again, and more frightening even than learning how his own body works. That will entail the possibility of harming that which he wants so badly to protect.
Kurogane can’t be hurt by Syaoran’s hands. Kurogane won’t look away while Syaoran stands here, breath hitching, and practices what he remembers seeing done.
Kurogane won’t stop pushing him to get better at it. Kurogane won’t forget to tell him what he needs to know about it—how to be safe with the girl, both for his own health and hers, how to be considerate and how to be quick for his own sake when he’s alone.
Maybe that faint flush in the older man’s face is embarrassment, since Kurogane is naturally a shy person; but Kurogane doesn’t look away when Syaoran figures out how to come.
And Syaoran doesn’t stop watching Kurogane, watching him.
“You’ve got the basic idea down,” he mutters, rolling over on his side, a mass of black-clad muscles and wounded pride. The trust still isn’t there—will probably never be there, after Tokyo—but at least some semblance of rebuilding has begun between them. Kurogane even made him join in sword practice this morning.
Syaoran feels hot and sticky, probably because he is, and realizes that even though it’s a little sensitive, his dick in his hand is still hard. That’s never happened before, to his knowledge, but then, this is the first time it’s been him trying this out.
“It’s strange to want to do this with you, isn’t it?” he asks, the words tumbling out while he tries to figure out if the fact that it’s still hard means there’s something wrong with him, or that he just didn’t finish it right. Kurogane has gone tense, and moves slowly, rising to his feet and gazing down at Syaoran’s hand meditatively.
“Maybe.” He gestures for Syaoran to sit down on the bed he’s just vacated, and then kneels down in front of him. “Maybe it’s just logical. You’re new and I’m the only one who treats you normal.” His expression is contemplative, and he leans forward, bracing his hands one on Syaoran’s left, the other batting Syaoran’s hand away.
He takes Syaoran’s dick into his hand, and then his lips come down over the head and Syaoran bucks, all un-thinking, up towards him, jarring him away.
“I’m sorry--! I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Kurogane barely even looks miffed, shrugging calmly and getting back into place. “S’okay.”
***
Her eyes are always warm and gentle in his dreams: a memory of another life, one he never really lived, himself. He explores her, touching her shoulders, tracing her collarbone with just his fingertips, cups her breasts—
—but he doesn’t know what to do from there, and simply holds her, close and tight, until Kurogane enters the dream as well.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}