kinkfest | 月の和歌 [Onmyoji, Seimei/Hiromasa, R] (Reply)

Title: 月の和歌 (The Moon's Poetry)
Author:

chibimazoku
Rating: R
Warnings: Some sexual content.
Word Count: 432 words
Summary: - Onmyoji, Seimei/Hiromasa: intoxication - "Like moonlight reflecting off of sake."

In the moonlight, Seimei's bare skin was almost as white as the kosode that had slipped from his shoulders. The soft glow smoothed out any imperfections on his flesh, leaving him pale and perfect, with the poetry of the image completed by the frame of the inky spill of his unbound hair and crimson folds of the discarded kariginu below him. Combined with the slight haze the sake had left on his mind, the sight was enough to be utterly hypnotic.

"Hiromasa," Seimei murmured, his lips quirking into a slight smirk, "you're staring."

Bent over Seimei as he was, there was no way for Hiromasa to hide his blush. "Is there something wrong with admiring beauty when I see it?" he managed to retort.

Seimei laughed, tilting his head back and exposing the slender length of his neck. Unable to resist the temptation it posed, Hiromasa leaned in to gently brush his lips over the revealed skin.

"I'm hardly one of your princesses," Seimei said, his voice low and amused. One slender hand reached around to the back of Hiromasa's head to tug free the cords tying his hair. The tips of his fingers then smoothed down over Hiromasa's shoulders, tracing his spine with feather-light touches that made the man shiver in a way that had nothing at all to do with the cool night air of the garden. "There's no need to be mentally writing poetry about me."

Bracing his hands on the wooden deck they were lying upon, the only answer Hiromasa at first dignified the onmyouji with was to press his kisses lower, down into the hollow of his neck and collarbone. Finally, he raised his head enough to look Seimei in the eye, and say, "I think you've had too much sake, Seimei."

The smile Seimei gave in return was positively devious, despite the faint flush of alcohol on his cheeks. "The sake has nothing to do with it. I could see it in your eyes-- you were trying to compose a verse about the... what's in fashion, now? Something resembling the lotus-like spread of my legs, no doubt."

"Seimei!" Hiromasa cried out, scandalized, though he wasn't quite sure which was more objectionable: the shamelessness of Seimei's statement or the mess he was making of poetic conventions.

A moment later, however, he found it difficult to concentrate on anything but the feeling of Seimei's hips under his own and the warmth of his embrace. All poetry, like the sake cups from earlier in the evening, was discarded, left behind in the unwavering light of the moon.