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Just the Two

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June 2018

Shoma felt Javi’s fingers draw up his forearm, a slow caress.  

“You’re a good student,” Javi said in Spanish, breath against Shoma’s ear, his voice rumbling in Shoma’s back.

Shoma loved this. Sitting in Javi’s lap in the middle of the big, luxurious bed that they had been sharing with Yuzu. Feeling Javi’s heat and solidness. He loved the calm of the dim hotel room, the fact they were alone. Shoma was quietly grateful that Yuzu had gone out to lunch with a cluster of other skaters after their earlier rehearsals. Shoma loved both Yuzu and Javi of course, and had been glad to spend time with them during this week of rehearsals for Heroes and Futures. But sometimes it was nice to have Yuzu or Javi all to himself.

Shoma leaned back against Javi, and felt his heart beating.

“I like to study Spanish with you,” Shoma said.

Javi hummed, and kissed Shoma’s temple. His fingers grazed that bare strip of skin where Shoma’s shirt had hiked up a little.

“Tell me how to say ‘I want to fuck you’,” Javi said, alternating between Spanish and Japanese for the dirty talk.

“I know how to say that,” Shoma replied in Spanish.

“Okay. How do you say ‘I want you fuck me on my hands and knees’?”

Shoma’s cock stiffened and he felt the blush along his jaw, red as a cherry.

“I . . . “

He licked his lips and tried to think, and not about Javi forcing him onto his hands and knees and spreading him open.

“I . . .”

He fumbled for his phone and navigated to Google Translate.

“No cheating!” Javi said in Spanish. He grabbed Shoma’s phone, but Shoma held on.

“No!” Shoma laughed. “Nein! Nein!”

“That’s German,” Javi laughed in return, dragging Shoma down, pressing his long, muscular body on top of him.

“Give it to me.”

“No!” Shoma stuck out his tongue.

“You little --”

He said something Shoma didn’t know, which distracted him enough that Javi got the phone out of his hands. He tossed it aside.

“Hey!”

Javi pinned Shoma’s wrists above his head and growled. Shoma struggled. Struggled because he knew that Javi would just tighten his grip. Not hard enough to bruise, but close. He wanted to feel pinned, helpless.

Javi leaned down. Shoma saw kindness and ferocity in Javi’s brown eyes before he kissed Shoma, their lips a scalding line. For awhile there was just their heavy breathing, the sounds of their kissing.

Shoma spread his legs. Letting go of his wrists, Javi lowered his body between them, and began to rock against Shoma, clothed cock to clothed cock. Shoma felt himself hardening, the heat building like a flame in the small of his spine. Javi’s broad hands were everywhere -- gliding under Shoma’s shirt to pinch a nipple, nails raking across his stomach, palms diving beneath the waist of Shoma’s jeans to cup his ass. Shoma sighed against Javi’s lips, arching as Javi kissed his way down his body. Shoma ached to be naked then, to feel Javi’s kisses against his skin rather than through his clothes.

Javi stopped at the waist of his jeans.

Shoma groaned his frustration.

Javi was sure and graceful, even with the blush in his cheeks, the redness of his lips. And though he crouched, Shoma could still see the thickness of his cock. His breath caught and he wanted nothing more than to be on his knees with that blisteringly hot cock on his tongue as he drew it deeper into his mouth.

Javi unbuttoned and unzipped Shoma’s jeans, tugging them and his boxer-briefs off. Shoma’s heart was a drumbeat in his throat now and his cock burned in the open air.

Javi glided back up and their lips met again, at first soft and slow, and then with more aggression. Javi sucked Shoma’s bottom lip as his hands reached between Shoma’s legs to cradle Shoma’s cock. Shoma gasped into the kiss. Their lips parted. Javi smiled and Shoma wondered if it was possible to come just by looking at that. Javi’s smile wasn’t the sun to Shoma, though certainly it was sunny. It reminded him of the spray of cosmos which used to grow in his grandmother’s backyard: resilient and bright and beautiful.

Javi moved between Shoma’s thighs. Shoma closed his eyes, anticipating a hot, wet tongue circling the head of his cock.

The kiss was soft as rose petals against the inside of his thigh.

Shoma made an impatient sound. A puff of breath on the underside of his cock when Javi laughed did not help.

The next kiss was warm, and wet. There was the scrape of teeth and then suction. Shoma went taut. Javi continued, teeth sinking lightly into Shoma’s flesh, on the verge of breaking the skin, before he brought the blood to the surface by sucking. It felt like scalding flowers blooming in his thighs and Shoma was sweating, his back bent like a bow from pleasure.

Javi stopped. Shoma was shaking, his cock pulsing.

“No, don’t go,” Shoma managed in Spanish, reaching out for Javi as he left the bed.

Javi began to take off his clothes, peeling out of his black shirt and pants. It reminded Shoma so much of Javi’s second Malagueña costume, which had clung to every supple muscle of Javi’s frame. The first time Shoma had seen him in it, he’d gone to the bathroom and jerked off.

Javi kicked his underwear away and Shoma watched as he went to his luggage. His mouth went dry, and not just because he was admiring the ripple of Javi's back muscles, or the curve of his ass. Shoma rolled over and got onto his hands and knees. Though he couldn’t see Javi any more, he could hear the sharp intake of the other man’s breath. He wiggled his ass as Javi neared.

Javi tossed the lube onto the comforter. His weight settled back onto the bed and he draped himself over Shoma, sinuous, kissing and biting Shoma’s shoulders.

“I’m going to fuck you with my fingers,” Javi said in Spanish.

The word fingers eluded Shoma for a moment. He heard the cap of the lube bottle snap open and shut, and then felt a cool pressure at his entrance. Javi’s slick fingers rubbing slow circles.

“Conjugate ‘to go’,” Javi whispered in Shoma’s ear.

Shoma thought: if I were Yuzu, I would bite you right now. Besides, verb conjugation was so easy. But he wasn’t Yuzu, and his mind was a haze where language was beginning not to work.

“Conjuga,” Javi slapped his ass, which made his cock twitch.

“Voy,” Shoma began. “Vas. Va. Vamos. Vais. Van,” Shoma moaned when Javi stopped circling and slipped a finger inside. He rocked back against Javi’s hand, wanting Javi’s cock, to feel his thickness and his heat. To feel his cum inside him. It had been two months since they’d been together, after Worlds. Shoma was awash with the memory: the smell of cherry blossoms in Nagoya, wafting through the windows as he, Yuzu, and Javi fucked in his room, on his messy little shikibuton.

Conjuga, ” Javi tsk ed. “Pretérito, ahora.”

Shoma hunkered down as Javi pressed another finger inside and began to fuck him.

Ir. To go. To go. To go. Japanese and Spanish and snatches of English swirled in his head like leaves after a storm, and he could barely think beyond the fiery jolts rocking his body.

“F-fui,” Shoma stumbled. “Fuiste. Ah, fue. Por favor, fuimos. No te pares, ah. Fuisteis. Fueron.”

“Muy bien. Ahora imperfecto,” Javi said, and though his tone was light enough, there was steel beneath it too, which made Shoma quiver with delight.

Javi curled his fingers, brushing that delicate, sensitive spot which made Shoma’s limbs go numb in the best possible way.

Shoma shut his eyes and tried to make the words come.

“Iba,” he struggled. “Ibas. Ibamos. Ah, ah, aaah,” he squeaked, pushing into Javi’s hand. There was a bright white burst of light behind his eyes and his cock throbbed.

Javi slapped him in the ass again, and the blow sang, both painful and delightful.

“Continúa.”

Tears of pleasure and frustration flooded Shoma’s eyes. He blinked and tried to think, think.

“Ibas. No, Iba. Ibamos. Iabais. Iban.”

“Excelente. Ya que eres un buen chico, te voy a follar.”

Fragments of meaning. He’d been a good boy. And follar was “to fuck”. Shoma relaxed even as he felt Javi withdraw, both with his fingers and his body. He ached inside with want, but he knew if he was patient, Javi would take care of him.

He heard the cap of the lube bottle snap open and close again. The distinct sound of Javi’s hand on his cock. The smell of their sweat thick in the air, like sliced green onions. Javi’s hand against the small of his back, and then his shoulders, the gentle pressure forcing Shoma onto his elbows, ass up.

“Hermoso,” Javi whispered.

Shoma felt Javi’s cock against his entrance and trembled as Javi pushed into him. He sighed as Javi sank deeper, sighed with relief and desire because he needed this, craved it. He wanted to feel the residual burn of Javi’s cock later. He wanted to stand amidst a crowd of other skaters during rehearsals and know, in a quiet, intimate way, that Javi had been inside him.

The first thrust was rhythmic, but the next was hard enough that Shoma felt himself jolt.

“Sorry,” Javi said, in English. And then: “Quiero te tanto.”

“Daijoubu,” Shoma said in Japanese. He knew Javi would understand.

Javi kissed his shoulder and began again. At first the movement was languid, though Javi’s breath was like a bellows, and Shoma felt the sweat between his own shoulder blades.

“Ve . . . más rápido. Más fuerte,” Shoma said. He needed more than this agonizing, slow red burn up and down his spine. He needed to be split open like a sweet, ripe mango. He needed to be fucked.

Javi’s nails dug into his hips. They would leave crimson crescents. When Yuzu saw them, along with the marks on his thighs, he would be crazy with jealousy, and he’d want to leave marks of his own. The thought made Shoma shiver.

A series of thrusts rolled through his body. Javi sped up, grabbing a fistful of Shoma’s hair and tugging, forcing Shoma’s head back. Shoma moaned, because he liked feeling forced, owned. Javi murmured in Spanish, the language lingering sweet as tree bougainvillea in the air with each thrust. Between thrusts, Shoma squeezed his legs together, and Javi chuckled.

“So you really want to feel it, eh?” he teased in Spanish. “You want it to feel tight, like the first time you were fucked? Like a little virgin?”

Shoma made a noise and Javi slammed into him. Shoma could hear their breathing, the way their bodies connected. Waves, just brilliant red and gold waves of pleasure, Shoma fisted the sheets and whimpered as Javi kept up the hard, fast pace.

“Just like that. Like that,” Shoma said in Japanese.

He was trembling all over and their skin stuck together and Javi’s cock drove into him. Shoma reached between his legs and began stroking himself in time to the thrusts. He came, seeing orange and feeling Javi’s sweat trickle between them.

Javi came a few moments later, with a grunt. Shoma sighed happily when he felt the warm rush of Javi’s cum inside him.

Javi pulled out carefully, and went to the bathroom. Shoma rolled onto his side, sticky and weak. He closed his eyes. He heard water running, and footfalls nearing the bed, then something cool and damp against his cheek. He opened his eyes.

“Hola,” Javi said tenderly.

“Yo,” Shoma replied.

Javi was wiping his forehead with a damp washcloth. Shoma lay still and let Javi clean the rest of him, all the way down to his calves and feet, his firm hands considerate, the cool cloth refreshing. Then Javi took the cloth to the bathroom and came back to lay down with Shoma.

Shoma immediately went to Javi, curling against his chest. Though his skin was still hot, he wasn’t sweating, so he must have cleaned himself off too. Javi put his arms around Shoma, cradling the back of his head.

“Good?” he asked in Spanish.

“Good,” Shoma said in Japanese.

They lay there for awhile, Javi running his fingers through Shoma’s hair and Shoma stroking circles in Javi’s shoulder.

Shoma supposed they would have to get up at some point, but for now he wanted nothing more than the feel of Javi’s body against his, the sound of their low breathing, the wind coming through the half open hotel window.

Just the two of them.