Word Count: 458
Saiko watched, brows screwing and his mouth hanging open in a dark scowl. He watched as his uncle's pens that were so neatly placed in that pen holder now scattered on the floor, dry ink splattering the tatami in dark tiny flakes.
And he watched as Shujin twisted the handle, fingers darkened by ink and he looked absolutely absorbed, fascinated in the act and Saiko gritted his teeth, head rolling back against the floor when that tip brushed against that spot. And his legs shook against Shujin's hold, his fingers tugged harder against light brown locks and he flushed.
How the hell did they get into this situation anyway?
"Does that feel good?" Shujin asked him, eyes wide and glinting in a dorkish excitement and Saiko could only glare, a corner of his mouth twitching lopsidedly. What could he say? Admitting that it felt good was hard, because Shujin didn't act as if this was not sex, that jerk didn't act like he hadn't just shoved a pen up Saiko's ass, and that jerk seemed to think that this was all an experiment.
On the other hand, what else could it be, aside from an experiment? Saiko was going to get married with Azuki, so there was no way there could be any feelings between him and Shujin. Absolutely not. Plus, he wouldn't even look at the guy in that way. It was just wrong.
But Shujin was pushing the pen deeper inside now and Saiko forced down a moan, biting his bottom lip and his legs spasmed. He could feel sweat collecting at the back of his neck and he could feel the tatami pattern etching into his skin and he wanted it to stop. He wanted Shujin to stop this torture but he couldn't bring himself to say so because it felt too damn good. Goddamn Shujin and his talents. Goddamn Shujin and his obliviousness. Goddamn Saiko for being a teenager.
Goddamn it all.
And he came with a strained cry, body arching off the floor and he pulled at Shujin's hair with a vicious jerk. Revenge, perhaps, but Saiko's mind was already gone and his lips hung open, eyes glazed and his muscles pliant.
"Wow," he heard Shujin whisper, and he felt the other's hand on his chest, fingers brushing against the mess on his abdomen and he wanted to cringe in disgust.
As if on cue, Shujin made a face; and Saiko rolled his eyes.
“Get back to the name, Shujin.” He sighed, wiping the drying semen off with a towel and Shujin pouted.
And Saiko felt an odd sense of triumph, for he could look at the strain on Shujin’s pants and know that he was not going to return the favor.