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This is the Iwatobi White Day 2014 shoe locker for Porto!
Here are some GIFT IDEAS:
Characters/Pairings/Moresomes: Makoto, Rin, Seijuurou, Rei, MakoRin, SeiMako, SeiRin, ReiGisa, ReiRin
Likes: meet cutes, flirting, intimate caretaking (bathing together with actual bathing/washing of each other, especially hair, shaving, etc), lingerie, body worship
Dislikes: infidelity, character death, mean!Makoto
Anything else: Honestly it's hard to go wrong with any of the pairs or characters I listed. And THANK YOU!
Here are some GIFT IDEAS:
Characters/Pairings/Moresomes: Makoto, Rin, Seijuurou, Rei, MakoRin, SeiMako, SeiRin, ReiGisa, ReiRin
Likes: meet cutes, flirting, intimate caretaking (bathing together with actual bathing/washing of each other, especially hair, shaving, etc), lingerie, body worship
Dislikes: infidelity, character death, mean!Makoto
Anything else: Honestly it's hard to go wrong with any of the pairs or characters I listed. And THANK YOU!
tags:
(MakoRin) The Art of Shaving (1/2)
--------------------------------------------
Tachibana-san is, according to Makoto, a huge fan of the old-school wet-shaving routine.
“He doesn’t do it often,” Makoto says, his gaze meeting Rin’s curious ones on the mirror even as he lays the classic shaving kit he’d gotten from his father. “Usually weekends, or when he woke up too early, since it takes time. He taught me the basics—though still, it’s better if you leave the whole thing to professionals.”
Rin eyes the scattered knick-knacks on the counter: shaving brushes, pre-shaves and colognes, two tubes of shaving cream, a safety razor with a butterfly head, a replaceable blade straight razor, several straight razors with different length and width of the blades, styptics and aftershave balms. Makoto is touching them one by one, now, like slowly familiarizing himself with them and the only thing Rin could think of is fascinating.
“How long?” he begins, when Makoto drapes a hot towel over his face. They’ve both just showered—both still completely naked when Makoto pushes Rin onto the chair he set in front of the sink facing the mirror—and a hot towel isn’t really necessary considering Rin’s face is still damp, but Makoto, always the fretter, had insisted. “Since the last time you did this yourself, I mean.”
Makoto hums. “Months, maybe, I don’t know. It’s been busy.” Club activities and part-time jobs and Haruka go unsaid, but Rin hears them hanging in the air anyway. “Are you sure you want me to do this, Rin? I’m probably a bit out of touch with these—“
Rin shrugs. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” he swallows the no Dad to teach me these stuff part, throat constricting for a second, but he breathes through it. “It’s not like the seniors teach you wet shaving in Australia, Makoto.”
A hand rests on his shoulder, reassuring and steady. “Okay, yeah. I’ll be very careful then.”
The hot towel is lifted from Rin’s face, and when Makoto’s hands come back, it’s with pre-shave oil that he slathers liberally on the lower half of Rin’s face. It feels good—the steady pressure of Makoto’s hand on his skin, the easy slides of Makoto’s fingers down the sides of his face thanks to the pre-shave oil. Rin takes a moment to close his eyes and enjoys it fully, to the sound of Makoto’s amused chuckle.
“What,” Rin deadpans.
“Nothing. Just—that was my exact reaction the first time Dad taught me.” The pressure on Rin’s face leaves, and Rin opens his eyes just in time to watch Makoto’s hand comes back, this time slathering shaving cream properly. He follows Makoto’s movements in the mirror, watches intently at how hiss fingers flit under his jaw and down to his neck, pressing softly in all the right places. Then it leaves, and Rin has to make himself blink, and turns to where Makoto is now holding the shaving brush and lather. The brunette wiggles the brush on his hand, smiling. “It’s a badger brush. Eurasian—one of Dad’s most prized ones.”
Rin snorts. “You sure you’re going to use that?”
“This is my favorite, actually,” Makoto reaches out, palms framing Rin’s jaw. “It feels cool and the lather would be thicker.”
It does. It actually feels even better than when Makoto applies the oil and cream—the sensation of the brush making its path down his jaw, chin, and then neck, the thick lathers that runs slowly down the side of his face—it’s something he could indulge in, Rin thinks. Especially when it’s Makoto, who knows exactly how and where to touch, fingers firm but gentle, keeping Rin’s head in place as he works.
And then, finally, Makoto takes up the straight razor, eyes finding Rin’s stare in the mirror, and asks, “Ready?”
Rin just closes his eyes as an answer.
It’s a slow going—Makoto wasn’t being humble when he said he was probably out of touch with these things. He moves too carefully; fingers pulling and stretching Rin’s skin tight as the blade scratches, taking away stubbles and lathers. Makoto is tense; fingers not as steady as they were when he did the preparation, sometimes pressing too hard. At one point, Rin isn’t sure he could hear Makoto breathing, and wonders if Makoto holds his breath with every stroke of the blade.
It’s probably why the blade nicks his cheek at one point.
(MakoRin) The Art of Shaving (2/2)
“Sorry, sorry, I pressed to hard,” he sounds embarrassed, snatching up tissues from the counter to dab on the blood now dotting the tiny wound. “I told you I’m more or less out of touch, I’m really sorry Rin, I wasn’t sure—“
“Oi,” Rin says, sharp, because that’s the only way you’d get to Makoto when he’s like this. “It doesn’t even hurt that bad, you know that.”
Makoto pauses, stares at him for a long time, and finally says, “You’re bleeding.”
“Yeah, thanks for the news,” Rin rolls his eyes, reaching out with one hand to pinch at Makoto’s ass. The yelp he makes is wonderful. “Come on, Makoto. Finish it.”
“Improper,” Makoto complains petulantly, and Rin grins roguely, because he looks more relaxed now. “Do you have to—Rin!” he swats at Rin’s hand when it makes another grab at his ass, laughing. “Stop it!”
“I’m appreciating a perfectly fine piece of ass,” Rin tells him. “Be grateful, Makoto.”
“Ha, ha.” Makoto replies dryly, fingers now finding their way back to Rin’s face, the straight razor back in hand. “Hold still—I’m almost done.”
He moves faster this time, more sure and relaxed, his fingers pressing against Rin’s skin in just the right pressure, trailing down a path under his jaw, passing the point where Rin’s pulse beats steady under his fingertips, and Rin swallows, because it feels too intimate, somehow, in this quiet bathroom where Makoto holds his breath in concentration, much like when Makoto splays his hand on Rin’s chest and maps the muscles there, much like when they breathe the same air, much like when he’s pressed flush against Makoto’s chest, with no space between them left to move, and Rin doesn’t understand why because it’s just shaving.
When the razor finally takes away the last patch of stubble and lather, and Makoto lets go of the straight razor in favor of framing Rin’s face with his hands and pressing their foreheads together, Rin thinks they should probably make this a habit. It’s relaxing, it’s nice—and Makoto seems to enjoy it, when he isn’t tensing too much.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, hands coming up and fingers sliding into Makoto’s hair. The taller boy noses the accidental nick on his cheek, presses his lips on it softly, and moves to nuzzle Rin’s jaw. Rin breathes in the smell of Makoto’s shampoo, doesn’t protest when he feels Makoto’s hand skitters down and rests on his thigh, until Makoto laughs.
“Rin,” he turns his head, and Rin finds amused green eyes looking up at him. “You’re hard.”
Rin hates the heat climbing up his face. “Shut up.”
“It’s just shaving,” Makoto says, but his laughter is underlined by what sounds like curiosity. “You liked it that much?”
“No, shut up, you nicked me. I didn’t. I bled, Makoto, god.” Rin swats at Makoto’s hand, wriggles to try and push the taller boy away. “I’m going to finish this myself, it’s just aftershave and stuff, right—“
Makoto laughs. “You liked it. Come on, Rin, let me finish.”
“No, nope. No, get away.” Rin turns accusing eyes at him. “I bled, I don’t trust you with applying aftershave—“
Something flashes in Makoto’s eyes as he brings their faces closer. “I’ll finish all of it. All of you.”
Rin swallows.
“Okay,” he agrees, and doesn’t protest when Makoto chooses to drop onto his knees instead of grabbing the aftershave cares.
-----------END------------
[Happy White Day! :D]
Re: (MakoRin) The Art of Shaving (2/2)
The Best Laid Plans.
--
Horny teenagers that they were, the topic of sex didn't elude them, so much as Makoto burned too bright a red and became too flustered—and Seijuurou prided himself on being an absolute gentleman—it was next to impossible to plan for that all-too-important first step in any relationship: their first time. Their real first time.
Taking it slow was the obvious option. But soon, and very soon, the blood flowed too strongly and things became hard, both figuratively and not, and the little nips and kisses they shared no longer sufficed. It then became not a matter of if they'd have sex, but when.
As soon as they could make the time and find a place, they decided, they'd do it.
Between practice, competitions, familial and friendly obligations, studying for entrance exams, and everything else, it was much easier said than done.
The best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray.
-
1. Romantic, huh?
The first locale was an obvious choice: Seijuurou's dorm. Well, it was the second because, apparently, love hotels were few and far in between in and around Iwatobi and, thus, were ridiculously expensive. They also didn't take too kindly to minors in their parts. One more reason to live in the big city.
Anyway, that was that and if Seijuurou wanted to do the do, then he had to make it work. It should have been an easy task—no parents in the dorms and all—and there was the benefit of others sharing in your plight. Except Nakagawa, Seijuurou's roommate. A homebody and a busybody wrapped into one. Bribing him for the weekend put a dent in Seijuurou's limited funds but it was worth it. It was for Makoto.
With Nakagawa out of the way and with the dorm monitor also bribed into silence, things were finally set into motion. It was going to be perfect! Seijuurou didn't consider himself a romantic. He just knew things had to be done a certain way and, dammit, if candles, roses, sparkling cider and an instrumental music CD were required, then fine.
Only, roses around Iwatobi nearly cost an arm and a leg. The lady at the florist's suggested a cheaper alternative and Seijuurou went with it for the sake of perfection.
Finally—finally—Makoto arrived.
“It's—wow. All this...for me?”
“Of course.”
Makoto blushed at the trail of red petals leading from the dorm door to the bed, where they formed into a large and mostly even heart.
Makoto's eyes twinkled. “Oh, Seijuurou...”
Jackpot.
Except, not so much.
Things started well enough, heading to where they both wanted them to go—Seijuurou on top, Makoto flushed and shirtless beneath him and giving his mouth unabashed and full access to his throat and collarbones. He panted and rocked their hips together. It was perfect.
If only Makoto had ceased his fidgeting.
But Seijuurou chalked it up to just nerves and continued on, moving down along his boyfriend's defined torso.
“Um, Seijuurou?”
“...mm?”
“Are these—the petals, are they carnations?”
Seijuurou's tongue was just centimeters from his boyfriend's nipple when he stopped. The clerk had said most people would never tell the difference. Impressed, he sat up and smirked. “Never took you for a green thumb. How could you tell?”
Panic-stricken, Makoto bolted up and out of the bed, shaking off every petal he saw and felt. Seijuurou could only stare, dumbfounded, as Makoto wriggled and shook and brushed his hands over every inch of his body like a man possessed, whispering get it off, get it off, GET IT OFF.
As it turned out, Makoto was allergic to carnations.
They spent half the night rubbing antihistamine lotion over his skin.
No sex was had.
Fuck.
-
2. Terrible Twos.
Broke and embarrassed but undeterred, Seijuurou simply shifted gears and changed routes. Specifically, toward Makoto's house. It wasn't ideal, crowded with two small children and attentive parents there, but he was convinced it was possible. They'd just have to keep quiet.
The thought of sex didn't cross his mind until dinner when Makoto's hand disappeared under the table and came atop Seijuurou's thigh and squeezed in a way that couldn't have been accidental.
Of all the timing...
They made it to Makoto's room without anyone spotting his boner on the way. Score.
They were barely rounding third base when the twins came bursting through the door, wanting to play and climb over them both like trees and reminding Seijuurou of the fact that the Tachibanas did not believe in purchasing locks.
Under any other circumstances, Seijuurou liked Ren and Ran and would have gladly played with them. Really. But in the moments after he and Makoto quickly pulled apart from each other and fixed their disheveled, half-removed clothes, he almost wanted to kill them.
“Oniichan. What is this?”
Ren held up a bottle in the direct light for all in the room to see. Somehow, he'd gotten into the bag on the bed and found the lube.
No, he really wanted to kill them.
Makoto stared in absolute horror and Seijuurou, somehow with his wits still about him, ran interference and said, “it's just oil for grown-ups, nothing special,” knowing from his own experience as both a team captain and middle brother that the more he trivialized something, the less interested someone would become in it.
What he didn't count on was Ran pouring some of the “grown-up oil” onto her hands. “Ooh! It smells like candy!”
“Ran, no! Don't eat it!”
Okay, Seijuurou just wanted to die.
-
3. Let's do the Time Warp, again.
Seijuurou didn't die.
With the twins, he and Makoto enjoyed a mostly nice and completely innocent evening of games and long division. And no sex.
Maybe it was some sort of a sign, Seijuurou thought when, a week later, they were in an empty movie theater and Makoto was shivering under his boyfriend's hand, which had snaked its way beneath the waistband of his pants and laid claim to quite the erection.
His fingers barely grazed the tip when another sign came in the form of a bright strip of light cutting through the sensual dark of the theater. The door opened wider and in came a loud and large group of thirty- and forty-somethings, in costumes—consisting mostly of black bustiers, nurse uniforms, and bad wigs and makeup.
Rocky Horror had quite the following in Japan. Who knew.
-
4. Suede Upholstery.
Stopping in mid-sip of her Red Bull, Jun looked at the both of them, then at her car keys, then back at them and their puppy-dog eyes.
“And get stains everywhere? I don't think so.”
-
5. And over here, we have...sex?
Success nearly came, ironically, during a joint practice session between the Samezuka and Iwatobi swim teams. Not out by the pool, thankfully, though considering the way Makoto's new legskin hugged the contours of his leg muscles and his ass, a very strong possibility of that happening existed.
But Seijuurou behaved, even if he was sure he had the worst case of blue balls in history, and controlled his urges.
His restraint lasted a good three or four minutes before he coughed, made a minor adjustment to his suddenly-too-tight speedo, and sidled up to where Makoto stood going over times and something that didn't matter to Seijuurou at that moment.
“Uh, Ma—er, Tachibana-kun, can I see you in the office over there, please?”
Makoto, innocent as ever, tilted his head. “Is everything okay, Mikoshiba-buchou?”
“Yes, fine. Just peachy. There's just something that we need to do—I mean, see.” Thankfully, no one aside from Gou had been around to hear that and as far as he could tell, she didn't seem to notice. Or care.
Makoto blinked. “Like what?”
Oh, for the love of—
Seijuurou breathed in deeply. “It won't take long.”
It definitely wouldn't, once he saw that Matsuoka had inspired the choice in legskin. The inner thighs had a few cuts of sheer fabric strategically and tantalizingly placed near where it mattered. God damn it. “This...really can't wait,” Seijuurou said and, when he was sure no one was eavesdropping, looked pointedly at Makoto's crotch.
“Oh...oh! Yes!”
Finally. Seijuurou seriously thought he was going to have to ice it or something.
The office was small and cozy and it had a desk. It would work. There was some lube in the drawer, for some reason, though Seijuurou wasn't sure if he wanted to know why before settling on the fact that some questions were just better left unanswered.
And, anyway, who was he to complain about free and—after a quick check—unexpired lube?
“Wait,” Makoto said once he'd been prepped—a painstaking task in of itself—and the desk was cleared of any and all debris.
“What? What now?” Seijuurou almost panicked. “Don't tell me you're allergic to the wood...”
Because if that was the case, Seijuurou was liable to fuck him on the floor if that was what it would take.
“Do you have a condom?”
Oh.
Seijuurou found a bunch of packets in the drawer, too. Just what the fuck went on when he wasn't around?
“Hang on.” Makoto eased back and first lifted one leg then both, impressively, onto Seijuurou's shoulder. Then he lowered one and turned onto his side. When that didn't appear to work, he drew both knees up until they touched his chest. “Okay. Go.”
Finally.
Lining himself up and reaffirming his grip on one of his boyfriend's ankles, Seijuurou slowly rolled his hips forward and—
Nitori took that very moment to poke his mushroom head in.
“Buchou, I—oh my god!”
“Aiichirou Nitori, get your skinny ass the fuck out of here, or so help me—!”
Seijuurou barely had time for another attempt when a heavy knock to the door interrupted him. He was too far gone to even get angry at that point.
“Hey,” it was Rin, sounding discreet and careful, “you two might wanna come on out. The principal's just outside of here, giving the superintendent a tour.”
Of course.
-
(+1) A helping hand
It wasn't going to happen. He accepted it. Some time after the world's most awkward guided tour of the Samezuka pool to middle-aged suits, Seijuurou made peace with himself and decided he was just going to have to stick to sexting and rubbing himself out every time Makoto even so much as breathed a certain way.
Being around others helped, at least. Crowds muffled the temptation. Which was why Seijuurou had been okay with being dragged off to Haruka Nanase's for a simple Saturday group-study. Except they'd all been restless and bored and more interested in Haruka's idea of going down to the ocean for a barbecue and swim.
The group filed out, one by one, until Seijuurou had been the last one, along with Makoto and Haruka, who pointed down the hall behind him with his thumb. “Second door on the left. Clean up when you're done.”
“What?”
“Go, before I change my mind.”
It was subtle, but Seijuurou noted how Haruka's thumb then somehow pointed over toward where Makoto was, packing up some things in the living room for the so-called outing. Without the slightest idea of what they were talking about. Neither did Seijuurou, until he looked down the hall at the second door on the left, as indicated, then back to Makoto, and back to the room.
Oh.
Oh!
Finally.
--
(I'm so sorry, Porto.)
- Risotto
happy white day from iwatobi-chan and ellen
Re: happy white day from iwatobi-chan and ellen
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not op
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