Theme: #26 – Home
Warnings: Sap, fluff, smut, some dirty talk. Did I mention sap? And fluff?
Pairing: Miyavi (solo, S.K.I.N.)/Reita (the GazettE)
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.
Summary: Reita’s home early, but home really has nothing to do with four walls, does it?
Comments: Happy Birthday, Sash-chan~ (adronicus)! Hope you enjoy this—figured it would be incredibly appropriate to write Reita/MYV fic for your birthday. XD <33333 As for the rest of you readers, I hope you all enjoy it, too. ^_^ It wasn’t originally supposed to be smut, but Sash-chan wanted smut and so did the muses, so. ^^; Thar be smut here. Yes. Also, I decided to make this a sequel of sorts for Transition, because it fits well, and because of Reita’s use of a cliché at the end. XD Also, written for 50stories.
These four walls are a welcome and joyous sight, but nowhere near as welcome or joy-inducing than the look of pleasant surprise scrawled all over Miyavi’s face.
Reita is early—a whole day earlier than either of them had expected, though the blonde knows that it is certainly no occasion for complaint. It is, however, an occasion for happiness and surprise, and perhaps even a little confusion.
Reita can see all of those things in his lover’s eyes, but he focuses on the joy the most—he focuses on the fact that Miyavi is happy to see him. Reita, in turn, is happy to see Miyavi. It’s been nearly three weeks now since they’ve looked at each other like this, since they’ve been able to touch or kiss. For the past nineteen days, Miyavi has not been a presence in the room, but a voice on the phone, and now here he is, here the both of them are, and that is bliss in and of itself.
More than anything, Reita wants to get up and go to the door, drag Miyavi the rest of the way into the apartment, and start making up for lost time, but other than smiling and lifting a hand to beckon Miyavi closer to the couch, he doesn’t move.
“You’re home,” Miyavi states, sounding like he doesn’t quite believe it. He slowly steps fully into their apartment, and then shuts the door. He walks as if in slow motion, not fast enough for Reita, but perhaps he is actually walking at a normal pace and Reita is just impatient.
When Miyavi comes to a stop in front of him, Reita replies: “I am. Figured I’d surprise you.”
“It worked.” The guitarist’s smile changes then, softening a bit. The disbelief appears to have dissipated, chased away by the other emotions that are evident in his eyes and in his smile. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” And Reita has. More than he thinks is even possible to begin to describe. He had missed this apartment, that much was true, but more than anything, he had missed Miyavi. He had missed home.
Reita reaches for the other man and gently tugs him down onto the couch, sliding his arms around him and holding him close, inhaling the familiar scent that he had missed so much. Miyavi. It’s all Miyavi. It’s home.
“I--” Miyavi begins, but Reita shushes him the old-fashioned way, pulling back just enough to lean in again and press his lips against the soloist’s. It feels like it’s been forever since they’ve kissed, and that soft caress of their lips (it makes Reita think of a butterfly’s wings, for some reason) is enough to make his craving for this increase ten-thousand fold, at the very least. Funny how that works—how you can miss someone so badly that it hurts, and then when you’re reunited with that person, you really come to terms with just how much you’ve missed them. It does and does not make sense, but honest feelings don’t necessarily have to make sense, do they? Reita’s never read or heard of that rule before, anyway, so even if it exists, it doesn’t apply to him as far as he is concerned.
Miyavi sighs softly against his mouth and presses closer, tilting his head so that the angle of the kiss changes slightly. The tip of his tongue teases at the crease of Reita’s lips, and Reita grants the unspoken request, lips parting for his lover’s questing tongue. This is a beginning of sorts. A reunion, most definitely.
Miyavi’s tongue is warm and wet and teasing, tracing over Reita’s teeth before slipping further into Reita’s mouth to explore. He kisses Reita slowly and thoroughly, his clever tongue stroking and curling and darting away before tickling the roof of Reita’s mouth, only to twine with the bassist’s tongue once more.
Some part of Reita (lower brain, the blonde thinks with a silent snort) demands that they speed up, that they go faster because it’s been too long and he’s had nothing more than his right hand and naughty phone calls for the past three weeks (almost). However, the rest of him is okay with this slow pace, because he knows that there is no need to hurry. They have plenty of time. This isn’t a rushed and whispered moment on the phone—this isn’t just Miyavi’s voice. This is Miyavi’s mouth, his hair, his hands, his skin. This is what Reita’s been missing, and there’s absolutely no need whatsoever to rush this moment, no matter what a particular part of his body might be demanding.
They part for air, and Reita skims his hands down Miyavi’s sides, slips them beneath Miyavi’s shirt, his fingers reacquainting themselves with the more sensitive areas of his lover’s torso. His lover arches into his touch and groans, his mouth closing over a spot on Reita’s jaw and sucking softly. In retaliation, Reita rubs his thumbs firmly over Miyavi’s nipples, and the sound that leaves the guitarist, though muffled, makes Reita’s spine tingle.
Wanting more of those sounds, Reita pushes Miyavi’s shirt up and over his head and tosses it aside, behind the couch. His mouth replaces his thumbs and he sucks until Miyavi’s nipples are hard nubs. Then he bites down just a little, just enough to see if doing so will still cause Miyavi to make that soft choked-off sound.
It does. Miyavi whimpers and then stops abruptly in the middle, his whimper turning into a low groan, which morphs into an even lower growl. It’s unbelievably sexy when he growls like that, and it makes Reita’s breath catch, makes him eventually release the momentarily trapped air in an answering purr.
Miyavi tugs at Reita’s shirt, using more force than is necessary, and Reita lifts his arms, happy to assist in the removal of the nuisance known as his clothing (now that he thinks about it, he figures he could have undressed beforehand, but having Miyavi take off his clothes for him is much more fun).
Once Reita’s shirt is out of the way, they are kissing again, and this time, the kiss is demanding as opposed to exploratory. It isn’t like earlier. This time, there’s a scraping of teeth and a shoving of tongues, and now Reita’s tongue is in Miyavi’s mouth and he is kissing Miyavi like they have no time instead of kissing him like they have all of the time in the world. He is greedy and fierce, and he pushes Miyavi down until they’re half-lying on the couch, until Reita can move over him. He kisses the dark-haired man harder, feeling metal bite sharply into the soft skin of his lips, and it’s a remarkably good feeling, that slight pain. He’s missed that, too.
Miyavi isn’t entirely submissive, either. He tangles his fingers in blonde hair, holding Reita in place as he kisses him back. He is fierce, too, drawing Reita’s tongue further into his mouth before sucking on it. Then he relaxes and there is no longer suction, but the light stroking of the tip of his tongue along the underside of Reita’s. He cants his hips, their clothed erections brush together, and Reita swears that he can see sparks dancing behind his closed eyelids. Of course, it’s possible that this has something to do with his body’s need of oxygen, but he feels that it’s mostly due to the sudden shove of Miyavi’s hips against his own.
Reita breaks the kiss and draws in a shuddering breath, almost laughing even as he rocks his hips down against Miyavi’s, and the slow grind feels even better than he’d remembered it feeling. So much for taking this slow—Miyavi’s made that decision for him already. His lover obviously doesn’t want slow and gentle right now, which is also completely acceptable.
Nevertheless, Reita finds himself smiling before he leans in again, kiss-biting his way from Miyavi’s jaw to his collarbone, wet and messy, and then he sucks on the soft, exposed skin, leaving a purplish-red mark behind. He’s missed doing that, too, marking Miyavi. He’s also missed Miyavi’s marks on his own skin. They’ll have to do something about that—remedy the situation.
Reita licks the mark and Miyavi makes a soft ‘mmm’ sound, nails raking lightly down Reita’s back before settling on the bassist’s still-clothed hips and tugging, fitting their hips more tightly together. It’s almost painful, but it’s incredible, and Reita grinds down harder, not bothering to stifle his moan.
The blonde forces his hips to still then (and what a fucking effort that takes), and chuckles when Miyavi glares at him, dark eyes asking, what the fuck did you do that for? Reita’s not stopping for long, and when they start again, it’ll be without any clothes.
“And here I was thinking you wanted to go slow,” Reita muses aloud, drawing back, hands beginning to work on undoing Miyavi’s jeans. “You acted like you did at first, anyway.” He grins at Miyavi then, and knows that it’s a cheeky grin.
“I did,” Miyavi replies, wriggling his hips a little as Reita tugs at his jeans, which are now unbuttoned and unzipped. “But it’s been nearly three weeks, Rei. Nearly three weeks without you. Without this. I think slow can wait for later, when we’re in the bedroom. Right now, I just want--”
“Take off your jeans and boxers, then,” Reita interrupts, slipping his hand past the silkiness of Miyavi’s boxers and closing his fingers around the heat of his lover’s cock, squeezing and rubbing his thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-cum that’s gathered there. “Then I can give you what you want.” After the remainder of his own clothing has been discarded, of course.
“Ahh, fuck, Rei… ngghh….” A garbled mess of words and non-words leaves Miyavi’s lips and he rocks up, into Reita’s fist. Reita rewards him with a sharp tug, one meant for friction and delicious burn, and he feels Miyavi twitch and jerk in his fingers.
Reita removes his hand, then, licking the pre-cum from his thumb, and Miyavi watches him as though he is mesmerized. Reita smiles crookedly. “Clothes, remember? Need them off, Meevs.”
Miyavi’s eyes become somewhat less hazy as soon as Reita’s hand leaves him, and he frowns, looking pointedly at Reita. “Get off of my legs, then, and I’ll finish getting naked for you~.”
Reita slides off of the couch altogether, fingers working furiously at undoing his own jeans even as he keeps his eyes on Miyavi, watching as his lover shoves ragged jeans and black silky boxers down slim hips and toned thighs. Reita pauses, forgetting what he is supposed to be doing for several seconds as he continues to stare at Miyavi, his eyes glued to the way the other man’s muscles shift beneath his skin. Only when Miyavi is naked and looking at him expectantly does Reita snap out of it, shoving jeans and boxers down together, knowing that he doesn’t look anywhere near as sexy as Miyavi when he does it.
The bassist remembers something just as he steps out of his jeans and boxers and he bends down, retrieving his jeans and searching through the right front pocket, withdrawing a small tube of lubricant he’d purchased at a nearby store just before he’d gotten to their apartment.
Miyavi’s eyes widen a fraction and he grins. “Dirty bastard,” he tells Reita, though there isn’t a single note of disgust or displeasure in his voice. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Saved us the trouble of having to go to the bedroom, at least. Or the bathroom, just for lube.”
“I know how you get sometimes, baby,” Reita says, winking. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of me, and that it’d be better to, y’know, be prepared for that.” He knows he’s fooling no-one, though. He knows that he’s just as needy as Miyavi right now. He knew that he would be before he arrived, hence the brief stop at the store.
Miyavi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now shut up and come here.”
“Pushy bottom,” Reita purrs, though he is only teasing. Theirs is not a relationship of routine—Miyavi is not always the submissive one, nor is Reita always the dominant one. The lack of a designation of Dom and sub makes things more interesting. They are equals in this manner, and Reita knows that neither of them would have it any other way.
Miyavi reaises an eyebrow. “Hmm? Not gonna come over here, then?”
“No,” Reita answers, taking a few steps away from the couch and kneeling on the soft carpet. “You’re going to come over here.” He crooks a finger, and Miyavi slips off the couch and saunters over to where Reita is kneeling.
Miyavi kneels as well, leaning over to kiss Reita briefly before drawing back and smiling. Reita recognizes that smile—Miyavi is about to ask or say something particularly dirty. And, sure enough: “Want me on my hands and knees?” Miyavi asks, getting into that very position. “Wanna fuck me hard like this, make me get carpet-burn on my knees?”
It’s tempting. Very tempting. Reita’s eyes follow the line of Miyavi’s back, pause at the dip in his spine, and then continue their journey. His gorgeous ass is in the air, his thighs are spread and his knees are digging into the carpet. Without any conscious thought, Reita leans closer, his tongue tracing over black ink before he stops himself. It’s tempting, and it’s very difficult to say no, but it isn’t what Reita wants right now.
“Maybe later,” Reita responds, grabbing Miyavi’s hips and rolling him so that he’s on his back looking up at Reita. He seems mildly surprised that Reita’s refused his suggestion, but his need overshadows his surprise.
“Right now,” Reita continues, “I want you like this, on your back.” He unscrews the cap on the tube of lubricant and sets it aside for the time being, squeezing a generous amount onto two of his fingers. He leans over Miyavi again, using one knee to force his lover’s legs further apart, and then he easily slides his hand between those spread thighs, lube-slick fingers teasing at Miyavi’s sensitive perineum before moving farther back, circling his entrance, which clenches as soon as Reita touches it, and no… there is absolutely no fucking way that Reita can go slow, not with the way Miyavi is clenching already and Reita’s fingers aren’t even in yet.
“God,” Reita breathes, pushing both fingers in at once, his balls tightening when Miyavi tips his head back, closes his eyes, and keens, his nails digging into Reita’s shoulders. “God, Miyavi, you’re--” A tightening around his fingers and Reita loses his train of thought, choosing to focus instead on thrusting his fingers in and out of Miyavi’s willing body. Thrust, scissor, curl, and then an almost cruel twist of his wrist and the soloist groans loudly, shoving his hips greedily down onto Reita’s fingers.
“Ohfuckplease,” Miyavi says (begs), his words running into each other as they tumble from his lips, but it doesn’t matter, because Reita knows exactly what he means—knows exactly what his dark-haired lover wants.
The bassist twists his wrist again and shoves his fingers in deep, finding what he’s looking for, and knowing it when Miyavi practically wails, his body jerking, coming up off the floor, hips slamming into Reita, pre-cum (which is steadily leaking from Miyavi’s cock) smearing messily over the blonde’s abdomen.
“Rei,” Miyavi gasps, and Reita curls his fingers, brushing just the tips of them deliberately over that one spot, making Miyavi shudder and writhe beneath him.
“Ready for me, baby?” Reita asks, even though he doesn’t have to, because it’s pretty damned obvious (unless you’re blind and deaf) that Miyavi is more than ready. The fact of the matter is that Reita just wants to hear him say it, anyway.
“Three goddamned weeks,” Miyavi nearly snarls, shoving his hips down again, forcing Reita’s fingers in deeper. “Yeah, I’d say I’m ready. That’s an understatement. C’mon, Rei. Want you. Need you. Now.”
And who is Reita to deny his soulmate? To deny himself?
Reita withdraws his fingers from Miyavi’s body, heat burning low in his belly at the slight wince on Miyavi’s face and at the small noise that leaves him. Burning heat and tight balls and twitching, demanding cock, and no, Reita can’t deny it—can’t hold back now. Doesn’t even want to try.
He fumbles in his hurry, slicking his cock up with lube, breath hitching as he arches into his own touch, biting his lip as Miyavi’s eyes grow somehow darker. He is watching, and hell, they’re both impatient, but that doesn’t mean that Reita can’t give a bit of a show, and it doesn’t meant that Miyavi can’t enjoy it. From the way he’s looking at Reita now, he’s definitely enjoying it.
Before touching Miyavi again, Reita wipes his right hand on his jeans (he’ll toss them in the washing machine later), and then he grabs Miyavi’s legs and shoves them up, fitting himself easily between them. His eyes don’t leave Miyavi’s as he wraps one hand around the base of his own erection, guiding himself into place. The gentle brush of the head of his cock against Miyavi’s opening makes Miyavi gasp and tremble, and yeah, it feels like it’s been forever, and then Reita slowly sinks in and it feels like heaven, having that tight heat around him once more.
It feels like bliss. It feels like coming home.
Reita is still for only a handful of seconds. For a short time, he is unmoving save for the slight trembling of his arms as he braces his weight on them, as he restrains himself from pulling back and just shoving in. It’s not an easy task, because his body doesn’t want to comply, and apparently, his lover’s body doesn’t want to comply either—Miyavi is shifting and squirming restlessly beneath him, and Reita’s self-control is practically non-existent at this point, so Miyavi’s actions are not helpful whatsoever. Then again, Reita more than suspects that the dark-haired man’s actions aren’t meant to be helpful. They’re meant to tease and to torture.
“Come on, baby,” Miyavi invites, and then he fucking deliberately clenches around Reita’s cock, and that’s it. Reita can’t stay still any longer, and he can’t go slow, either, not even just in the beginning. He draws back until only the tip of his cock still rests inside of Miyavi, and then he does what he wants (what they both want) and he shoves hard, echoing Miyavi’s cry.
Miyavi’s eyes are closed and his mouth is open; his hands are on Reita’s back, nails digging in, and it hurts, but it’s easy to mingle pain and pleasure when it comes to Miyavi—it’s effortless, really, because with Miyavi, there’s never just pain. The pain is always laced with pleasure, and it’s never more than Reita can handle.
“Good, huh?” Reita breathes hoarsely against Miyavi’s ear. “Want it again?”
“Again,” Miyavi replies, and his answer is somehow a demand and a plea at the same time. “Again, oh please, Rei….”
Reita does it again, shoves in again, and Miyavi lifts his hips to meet him, and that is when their rhythm begins. It’s not sweet and gentle; it’s more animalistic and instinctive than anything else, but it is passionate and heated and beautiful in its own right—perfect for this moment. More than enough for Reita.
Harder, faster, Miyavi’s back arching, body clenching, and it is too good, too much, and Reita knows that he won’t last (can’t last), but it doesn’t matter, because like Miyavi said, they have time later for slow and gentle and sweet. They have time later to make this last. Laterlaterlater, because he wants this nownownow.
He carefully balances his weight on his left hand and fits his right hand between their bodies, fisting Miyavi’s cock and stroking it in time with their thrusts, and Miyavi keens and writhes and shoves, first up into Reita’s fist and then down onto his cock.
Reita’s mouth finds the mark that he’d made earlier and he sinks his teeth into the skin surrounding that mark as he pushes in again, and the moment he does that, Miyavi screams and rakes his nails down his back (and Reita knows that if he isn’t bleeding because of Miyavi’s nails, he’s pretty damn close to it). He’s clenching so hard around Reita that there is pain with the unbelievable pleasure; his cock throbs and twitches in Reita’s hand and against Reita’s abdomen, and then the bassist feels his lover’s release, warm on his skin.
The blonde continues to stroke Miyavi even after he’s already reached orgasm, and Miyavi continues to clench around him; it’s impossibly tight - he is impossibly tight – and Reita’s head is spinning, cock aching, and so he thrusts in again. It’s that thrust that makes him come undone, and he shudders and spills inside of Miyavi, his shout echoing off the walls.
For a while, neither of them speaks; neither of them moves. They simply hold onto each other and try to relearn how to breathe. It is Miyavi who eventually breaks the (relative) silence: “You’re home,” he says again, smiling broadly up at Reita and carding his fingers through the bassist’s hair.
“Mmhmm,” Reita agrees, leaning down to press a kiss to the place where Miyavi’s neck meets his shoulder before relaxing completely, going almost boneless in Miyavi’s arms and resting his head on the other man’s chest. “I was home when you walked in the door, and not a moment before then.”
Because, really, what are these four walls that surround them? Is an apartment a home? Is a house a home? Not to Reita—not really. To him, Miyavi is home. Home has nothing to do with walls or furniture or sinks or showers; home has everything to do with smiles and warmth and staying up all night to watch the sun rise and sleeping in late together.
Four walls are simply four walls.
They say that home is where the heart is. Another cliché, and Reita dislikes clichés.
But the funny thing is, this is one of those rare clichés that makes perfect sense, and Reita agrees with it completely.
The smut wasn’t even supposed to be this long. ^^ But they didn’t cooperate with me, so I let them have at it however they wanted to. >_> In any case, hope you all enjoyed it. Especially you, Sash-chan, since I wrote it for you~. ^______^ <3333