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May 2019

Languid, the slide of naked bodies on Shoma’s futon, Shoma’s hand, white in morning light glowing through rice paper walls, glided down Javi’s side, over skin and muscle, curving down Javi’s hip, then his thigh.

“Mi amorcito,” Javi murmured and Shoma craned his neck to kiss him, lingering and delicate.

“We kept poor Itsuki up,” Javi said in Japanese.

“He’ll live.”

Shoma would rather not think of his younger brother right now. He’d rather think of the pleasant stretch and burn he still felt from Javi fucking him into the futon, or the way he’d made Javi writhe when he parted his cheeks and licked and sucked. Or the slow grind of their bodies, slick with sweat and pre-cum, as, panting, they stroked their cocks against each other.

No, Shoma would rather dwell on those things and his cock stiffened.

“Dios mio,” Javi smiled, as Shoma’s burgeoning erection slid against the inside of this thigh.

“You want more already?” Javi teased.

Shoma pulled away and looked at Javi through his lashes.

“If you don’t want to --”

Javi grabbed Shoma and kissed him, open mouthed, insistent, all tongues and a slight edge of teeth. Javi was kneading Shoma’s ass and the temperature in his little room was rising, when Shoma wriggled out of Javi’s grasp. Grinning, he hopped off the futon and knelt there. Javi came to the edge and looked curiously down at his lover.

Now there was a sight, Shoma thought. White light all around Javi, shining off him like wings, and the fine, honey brown of his eyes startling against all that paleness.

“What are you up to amorcito?” Javi asked.

Shoma paused. He knew part of his request would be enthusiastically received, but he wasn’t sure about the other. He wasn’t a three time world medalist, Olympic medalist, Grand Prix Final medalist, among others, because he was timid. Still, he was a little frightened of being rejected by the man he loved.

Shoma licked his lips and enjoyed Javi’s sharp intake of breath.

“I want to suck you,” Shoma said. “And I want you to come on my face.”

Javi raised an eyebrow.

“What? You face fuck me,” Shoma said.

“You ask for that.”

“But we both want it. And I’m asking now. Come on my face. I know you want to. You’re just too polite to ask.”

Javi shifted uncomfortably.

“How can you know what I want?” Javi asked.

“Sorry,” Shoma said after a minute. “I guess I assumed. I just thought. I mean, I think of it.”

He cringed admitting this, because it seemed so base. But it was true.

“We don’t have to,” Shoma said.

Pause.

“You’re right,” Javi laughed nervously. “I worried you might find it . . . what’s the expression? Bad? Disgusting?”

“Degrading?” Shoma said.

He put his hand on Javi’s knee, as his long legs, those beautiful, sinuous long legs, were now draped over the futon.

“Yes,” Javi answered.

“No, I want you to. It would make me feel . . .”

Shoma struggled. He wasn’t sure how to put it into words.

Javi waited.

“I would like it. It would be like . . . I get to touch you, to feel you.”

“You do that already,” Javi chuckled.

“It don’t know, I just want --”

Shoma leaned forward and licked Javi’s soft cock. Javi made a small sound.

“I want you,” Shoma said.

Javi nodded.

Shoma didn’t begin with his mouth. He began with his hand, feeling Javi’s cock: the pink head tucked away like a blossom waiting to bloom, the dusky, velvet skin. Each of his balls, cool and weighty. He buried his face in Javi’s groin and inhaled that musky smell. He loved Javi’s cock. It was suspended between that place of being intimate, familiar, and then novel, simply because of their long distance relationship. Though they had been together three years, their bodies felt almost new to each other each time they met.

Javi groaned. Shoma smiled against the soft curve of his cock. Through his lips, he could feel blood throbbing.

He sucked. Not the tip, but the sides. He sucked and licked his way up and down, tasting each little vein, each fold, before taking the tip into his mouth. Javi bucked, threading his fingers through Shoma’s hair.

“Shoma,” he gasped as Shoma swirled his tongue.

Shoma thanked those nice boys he’d slept with for helping him learn fellatio, and well.

He looked up at Javi as he ringed his cock with his tongue.

“Tease,” Javi managed.

Shoma did not break eye contact as he took Javi in, deep, deeper, until his nose brushed Javi’s hair. Javi shouted and Shoma, very smugly, pulled off, began stroking Javi.

“You like that?” Shoma cooed.

Before immediately taking Javi all the way in again. He loved the taut squeeze of his throat which gave Javi pleasure, the way Javi tensed. When he pulled back, he sucked Javi’s tip, working him with his hand. He did this for awhile, setting a leisurely pace. He enjoyed listening to Javi go from panting and cursing to whimpering and moaning.

Javi tapped the top of Shoma’s head, which was their signal. Shoma kept his mouth open as Javi rose and cupped Shoma's face in his hands. He began to thrust into Shoma’s mouth. Shoma kept his eyes on Javi, those wide dark eyes he knew Javi so loved. It was wet and sloppy, and the sound of Javi’s cock sliding in and out made Shoma hard enough to break. He began to stroke himself in time to Javi’s thrusts.

“Oh God, Shoma,” Javi whimpered in Spanish and Shoma knew by the tension in Javi’s body he was close.  

He was too. With a burning fury, he finished himself. He waited for the white waves of pleasure which rocked his body to subside. Then he put his palm on Javi’s stomach, staying him, so he could seal his lips around Javi’s cock and hum.

Javi made a strangled sound and Shoma pulled back, regretting he had to close his eyes and he wouldn’t see Javi come. But he could hear him, yes, loud, and he could feel the hot wet splashes over his face. Javi ringed Shoma’s lips with his cock. Shoma licked, enjoying the salty taste.

“Don’t open your eyes,” Javi said in very wobbly Japanese.

Javi withdrew and Shoma pouted.

“Fuck,” Javi said. “None of that or I’ll get hard just looking at you.”

Shoma sighed, listening to the slide of cloth before Javi went to the bathroom. He wasn’t sure why, but it meant he got to feel Javi on him longer.

He heard Javi return.

“I’m going to wash your face, amorcito,” Javi said.

He first felt Javi’s fingers beneath his chin, and then a warm, soft wetness on his face. A washcloth. Shoma giggled simply because Javi was so tender. He loved that, but it also made him nervous, like he wasn’t worthy of it.

Javi rubbed over one eyebrow and then eyelid.

“There.”

Shoma opened his eyes and they smiled at each other. Javi was wearing his robe and he took it off before pulling Shoma onto the futon.

They heard footsteps on the other end of the apartment, a sliding door slammed shut.

“Poor Itsuki,” Javi said, looking at Shoma.

“A refugee in his own apartment,” Shoma rolled his eyes.

“Get your own apartment, Shoma. Then I can visit any time.”

Shoma shook his head.

“I would be dead in a week. They'd find me drowned in a plate of apple juice or something.”

“You're not that helpless,” Javi tsked, stroking Shoma's hair.

Pause.

“Did you like it?” Shoma asked.

“I loved it. The view was fantastic,” Javi said wryly.

“Mine wasn’t too bad either.”

“Can we try it the other way sometime? With you --?” Javi asked.

“I come on your face?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like that,” Shoma said.

The idea of Javi on his knees for him made Shoma giddy. He snuggled against Javi, enjoying how their bodies blended together in the morning sun.