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Tap, tap, tap.
“Keep it!”
Tap, tap, tap.
“Your frame—it’s loose. Hold it tighter.”
Tap, tap, tap.
“And spin.”
Tap, tap, tap.
“Slowly… two, three, four.”
The sweat is beading on Suzuki Shinya’s forehead as he swirls around on the laminated floors of the Sugiki Dance Studio, the soles of his shoes tapping against the ground in tandem with those of Sugiki himself.
Suzuki digs his fingers into the other man’s back as they swirl round and round again, covering almost the entire surface area of the floor, catching glimpses of themselves in the mirror. The fabric feels soft under his fingers, soft and also warm, and Suzuki sees that he’s not the only one who’s starting to get a little hot.
Suzuki finds himself annoyed at the luxury of the studio. Who in the hell needs a studio with a loft? Why is the floor so fucking huge? Why is there not one, but two fridges permanently stocked with fancy water from a natural mountainous source?
Why is the man who owns it such an asshole, and such an attractive one at that?
Despite all Suzuki’s reservations, they move together almost seamlessly. Sugiki bends forward when Suzuki does so backward, Sugiki twists when Suzuki turns, their feet fit perfectly together on the polished floor beneath them.
Suzuki never properly learned classic ballroom because he finds it dull, not because he wouldn’t be good at it. In his veins runs the blood of a Cuban woman, Havana’s very own dancing queen—though she didn’t compete in any competitions, but rather ruled over the night clubs of that bustling city in the Caribbean.
Inside of him there’s rhythm, there’s passion. There’s eroticism.
And inside of Sugiki? Inside of him there’s tender love, there’s that gentleman, there’s missionary with the lights off and a chaste kiss before bed. Inside of his dance there is, anyway.
Suzuki’s dance is a reflection of who he is; a wayward son with a fire in his chest, a hedonist with an immunity to hangovers. So what is Sugiki?
Not a gentleman, not really. Not anything he seems to be.
A tyrant.
“You have to play the role of the woman for once! No woman wants to dance with someone like you! You dance like a servant! Rotate your shoulders inward but your chest outward—but not your hips, keep them here!”
Suzuki tries to hide that he’s a little out of breath when they come to a slow stop, Sugiki placing his hands on his hips to keep them in place while Suzuki twists and turns his body in the way he sees the female dancers do. Elegant, classy; lovable.
Slowly Sugiki bends forward, forcing Suzuki to bend backward. At some point the limits of Suzuki’s spine are reached, but Sugiki comes closer and closer, his breath warm on Suzuki’s neck. Suzuki feels a wave of sparks go through his body and he jolts up, his spine bending back in place. The abrupt movement startles Sugiki, who manages to move away just fast enough to avoid their skulls colliding into each other.
Sugiki looks at Suzuki with the air of a question in his eyes, and Suzuki does what he’s best at. He clears his throat and laughs it off like it’s nothing, like nothing just happened. The fact that his pants are tighter than they should be in the front and the fact that his stomach is full of jitters is simply not his concern.
“Is this how you treat Fusako as well?” Suzuki asks, his voice uncharacteristically rough for what he’s used to in himself. “Commanding her around like some damn king does his butler?”
Suzuki circles Sugiki, who keeps turning away from him, but not without a flash in his eyes. A flash of something. A nerve that was hit, a string that was pulled at too hard. An unspoken truth come to light.
“Fusako is my equal,” Sugiki finally mutters, and Suzuki waits for a second before he shrugs, knowing that Sugiki can see him in the mirror.
“Whatever. I’m tired of this ballroom bullshit.”
Suzuki walks to the music installation, grabbing a cold bottle of that fancy water on his way there. He takes a swig and turns the music to his own stuff, the memories of that warm summer sun and the white beaches of the island flooding his mind the second he hears the first notes.
Leaving the water on a table nearby, Suzuki returns to the middle of the floor, where Sugiki still stands. Suzuki almost has to laugh at the world of difference between just a moments ago and now: Sugiki is now stiff as a broom, no concept of where to put his arms, no idea of what to do with his body; though it’s not like Suzuki hasn’t tried to teach them.
Sex is what the man lacks. And not the act of it—or maybe that too, Suzuki has no fucking clue—, but its aura, the desire for it, the power to make others desire it from him. But the thought of that brings Suzuki too close to the ginormous elephant that’s taking up all the space in the room, so he comes to stand behind Sugiki and places his hands on the other man’s hips without a warning.
Though Sugiki can see everything that’s happening in the mirror, he jolts a little at the touch, and Suzuki has to tighten the muscles in his legs to make the blood flow there instead of to that other place at the little sound that Sugiki makes.
Over Sugiki’s shoulder, Suzuki watches them in the mirror. He starts to move his hips to the rhythm, slowly and sensually, and he forces Sugiki to follow suit with his hands. His eyes are focused on his hands and on Sugiki’s hips at first, but then they travel upward, and upward, and upward, and then they’re making eye contact through the mirror.
Sugiki’s eyes dart away from Suzuki’s own, but Suzuki doesn’t think he imagined what he saw in there. A beginning of that fire, the early roots of that three-a.m. energy that comes from a drunk dance shared with a lover—with a fling—on the beach in summer.
Suzuki grabs Sugiki’s shoulder and turns him around so they’re facing each other, and for a split second Sugiki looks like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t before he realizes where Suzuki is planning to go.
After all, it’s time for Latin American now. They’re just practicing their dances together. Big fucking deal, right? Every touch feels like the ignition of a flame, every accidental breath on an exposed piece of skin like a thousand joules of energy buzz through it, every eye contact like an ocean to drown in; but it’s just dancing classes and Suzuki—fine, he’ll fucking admit it, alright—just has a crush.
In the dancing world, if you can’t survive a crush on your dancing partner, you’re done for, absolutely fucking finished before you’ve even had the chance to start. In fact, surviving that crush is even better than having it reciprocated and acting on it; you’re happy at first and your results get better and better, and then they get worse and worse, and then the relationship ends and you’re without a lover and a partner all in one go.
There’s a reason Suzuki only ever kept things casual with Aki.
“Two, three, four,” Suzuki whispers as he starts to move in line with his counting, and Sugiki has no choice but to follow. That’s the way it works in here; there’s one who leads and one who follows, one who dominates and one who submits. Yet one is not more worth than the other, and one half wouldn’t survive without their counterpart.
The sound of the music drowns out the taps of their shoes as they move their bodies to the rhythm, awfully close every time. Suzuki has to do his best to pretend it doesn’t affect him, has to put strain on himself to not make what’s happening down there too obvious to his unsuspecting partner—a man who is his rival.
Suzuki has no qualms about the fact that Sugiki is a man—he’s been there, done that, has never tried to hide the fact that his interests expand themselves beyond those the world expect of him. He’s like that with essentially everything in life.
But he doesn’t really need to know someone like this to know the effect he has on him, not when they have to compete to each other, not when one match could light the flame that would burn everything to the ground.
Instead, he overcompensates. He acts confident and comes close and pretends it’s just to rile Sugiki up, pretends it’s just like what he would do with Aki. He laughs a breathy laugh in Sugiki’s neck and grabs the other man’s hand tightly in his, he treats his partner as the object of all his desires and together they form the definition of what is erotic.
There’s sweat everywhere when Sugiki missteps and they’re torn apart, Suzuki once again laughing it off while Sugiki looks slightly shaken at the sudden change in the situation.
“Come on,” Suzuki says, clapping his hands. “Let’s go. Set the fire in you free.”
Sugiki instead makes his way over to the music panel again, and it doesn’t get past Suzuki that Sugiki takes a swig from the same water bottle that he used himself earlier. Suzuki finds himself wondering what those lips taste like, how they would feel against his; being as close as he is to Sugiki, he finds they’re often moisturized and soft-looking and oh, Suzuki wants them all over his body.
The music is changed back to a classic ballroom song and Suzuki suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he has to take the lead again and of course Suzuki finds himself being into it way more than he likes to admit, even to himself.
Sugiki gets into position as smoothly as Cinderella’s shoe slides onto her foot, and Suzuki relents by doing the same. “Two, three, four,” Suzuki says again, finding the cues in the music though they haven’t really started yet. They move closer to one another, front against front.
Sugiki bends a little at the knees, prompting Suzuki to do the same. Suzuki has been dreading this moment, because while his pants conceal a bit of what’s going on at his crotch, they won’t prevent Sugiki from feeling it.
So he doesn’t follow Sugiki’s lead, doesn’t submit, doesn’t, well—doesn’t take a risk. Instead he swirls them around again, following the waltz steps they’ve been through over and over. The sparks are throughout his entire body now, the close contact with Sugiki driving him mad. But what is he to do?
Give up?
“Two, three, four.”
They’re doing what they’ve been doing for a while now, yet Suzuki can’t help but feel like there’s something changing between them, can’t help but feel like the heat in between their bodies has gotten intenser still. Suddenly he wishes that the air conditioning was on higher, wishes that he could take a break to douse the fire.
It almost feels like Sugiki gets a little closer every time, like he closes the minimal distance between them with a millimeter every time the mental counter resets. Suzuki feels the other man’s hot breath on his neck again, and a fit of goosebumps travels down his spine. A droplet of sweat slides down the side of Suzuki’s face when his eyes are met with the sight of Sugiki’s lips again, plump and with two little dents from where his teeth apparently have been dug into them.
Then everything suddenly goes awfully fast.
Sugiki entirely closes the distance between their bodies and the first thing that Suzuki feels is the firm bulge of Sugiki’s crotch against his leg, and then the hot breath in his neck is replaced by the feeling of those plump, soft lips.
Suzuki’s breath gets stuck in his throat and the sudden sensation makes it so that he completely loses his way for a split second—and it’s only a split second, but it’s enough to throw their dance off kilter, enough for them to put their feet in the wrong place.
As if in a daze Suzuki suddenly finds himself a few meters away from Sugiki without fully remembering how he got there, staring at Sugiki with his mouth a little agape before he recollects himself. Sugiki does the same, and Suzuki wonders if he truly did what he did just now of his own accord of if it just happened.
It feels nearly impossible for Suzuki to get to the music installation again without running back to Sugiki to grab him by the shoulders and ask him what that was—or rather to grab him by the shoulders, smash their faces together, and fucking find out for himself.
But he gets there, and he changes the music—the unspoken rule between them being that if someone fucks it up, doesn’t matter who, they’ll switch to the other style. The first notes of Bésame mucho come on, and Suzuki swallows as he wonders if this is the road he wants to take—but then he decides that he does, that he has for ages now, that at this point, it wouldn’t anymore hurt to try.
Suzuki has never been a man who thinks much about his interactions with others—he’s brassy when he wants to be and funny when he feels like it, he’s not afraid to show the world who he is and what he wants. But Sugiki isn’t the rest of the world, and what Suzuki wants from him is something he’s never wanted from anyone else before. Suzuki is kind of at a loss.
Still. That bulge.
Suzuki doesn’t take his eyes off of Sugiki’s when they take their positions again, the sensual notes filling the room as they get closer and closer and then impossibly close. Their chests are together and their hips are trying to reach for each other—though in their current state they don’t need to do much more work for that to be achieved.
Sugiki doesn’t look away either. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t seem confused or awkward or anything else Suzuki might have expected him to be. Instead there’s a look in his eyes that Suzuki has never seen from him, one he can only describe as a storm cloud of pure desire.
God knows how little it’ll take for the lightning to strike, for the electricity to take hold of Suzuki as well and make them one. Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.
But this—fuck, this isn’t love. It’s desire, it’s want, it’s need. It’s all of the eroticism from the dance seeping into the space between them, oozing out until all they can do to tame it is act on it. But this isn’t love. It can’t be. Right?
In one fluid motion Suzuki turns himself around, his back against Sugiki’s chest, and it’s like all of his nerve endings are burning up when Sugiki slowly drags his flattened hands down the front of Suzuki’s body. Suzuki slightly arches his back against Sugiki in response, the bulge even more pronounced now, and moves his ass against it just enough to make Sugiki feel something without it actually being enough to be satisfactory.
Suzuki knows his goal has been reached when he hears the desperate sound that comes out of Sugiki’s throat as he turns back, leaving them face to face again. He comes closer and closer with his face to Sugiki’s, just like Sugiki did just now, and he already sees Sugiki close his eyes in anticipation for a kiss.
Then Suzuki suddenly drops down. One hand slides down along Sugiki’s chest as Suzuki kneels and kneels, not anymore able to keep himself from seeing what’s hiding behind the black fabric of Sugiki’s pants. Sugiki opens his eyes again and makes eye contact with Suzuki, who doesn’t beat around the bush and starts to unfasten all of the clasps and what-nots at Sugiki’s waist—what the fuck kind of pants are those, anyway?
When everything is unfastened in a jumble of fingers belonging to both Suzuki and Sugiki, Suzuki yanks the pants downward and is left with Sugiki’s bare, long legs, and the centerpiece: a flimsy piece of underwear that barely even contains the contours of his erect cock anymore.
Suzuki doesn’t hesitate. He places one hand on Sugiki’s ass, making Sugiki’s muscles clench at the sudden touch, and brings face so close to Sugiki’s crotch that he can smell the sweat from the dancing and also something else that he thinks is uniquely Sugiki’s. He can’t help himself when he breathes in deeply through his nose once more, intensely fixated on everything there is that makes Sugiki Sugiki.
Suzuki practically buries his face in Sugiki’s clothed crotch then, eliciting a deep groan out of the other man. As if in a reflex, Sugiki’s hands fly up to Suzuki’s hair, and he finds himself wondering if Sugiki, too, has less qualms about sex with men than the world probably wants to believe he does.
Bésame mucho continues playing, the Spanish words echoing through the room and almost screaming for Suzuki to continue down this road, begging him to follow their lead as he backs away slightly again and starts running his hands down Sugiki’s legs.
They’re soft and moisturized and almost hairless and of course they fucking are, because it’s Sugiki Shinya he’s dealing with, and in this moment it only makes Suzuki want him more.
I want to have you close to me, gaze into your eyes.
Suzuki slides his hands upwards again and hooks his thumbs under the waist of Sugiki’s underwear, the other man’s cock practically begging to be let out of it, to be released into the world—into Suzuki’s mouth, that is. Well, who is he to decline such a request?
In one fluid motion he pulls the piece of fabric down Sugiki’s long legs, where it ends up together with the bunched up fabric of his luxury brand dancing pants. Suzuki doesn’t really care because really, he has bigger things to attend to. Sugiki apparently does, though, because for a few seconds he steps back from Suzuki’s grasp of kick off his shoes and his pants and underwear with it, making an attempt to throw them across the room with his foot.
Suzuki huffs out a laugh and then Sugiki is close to him again, and then Suzuki wonders what the fuck is so funny—maybe Sugiki’s clumsiness, maybe the fact that Suzuki is about to take his rival’s cock into his mouth and enjoy it too.
Suzuki places a few kisses in the area around Sugiki’s cock, making sure not to touch the centerpiece itself yet. Sugiki’s hands land in Suzuki’s hair again, pulling a little at the sweaty roots. At the same time, Sugiki seems to be rocking his hips back and forth inadvertently, as if his body is three steps ahead of his mind and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.
And he doesn’t want to, Suzuki is sure of that when they make eye contact again. Suzuki is on his knees before Sugiki, who is towering over him, and Suzuki sees that fire in his eyes again, the dark and thundering cloud of desire that’s about to unleash itself upon them completely.
The tip of Sugiki’s cock is already a little wet with a bead of precome, and it’s gotten a little red from the amount of blood flowing through it. Suzuki decides—or rather, he doesn’t decide, it’s like an external force decides it for him—that it’s time to stop beating around the bush. He brings the palm of one hand up to his mouth and spits onto it before he wraps the hand around Sugiki’s rock-hard cock.
If this is what Sugiki sounds like just after one touch, Suzuki finds himself thinking at the deep moan that leaves Sugiki’s throat, then how the hell must he sound when he comes?
Well, he is about to find out.
Suzuki starts pumping his hand back and forward, bringing his face closer and closer as he goes, until he’s so close that the only thing he needs to do to taste Sugiki’s tip on his tongue is open his mouth. Sugiki watches in anticipation, his breath heavy, and then Suzuki opens his mouth and also the floodgates of the stormy cloud.
“Ah, fuck,” Sugiki instantly moans, and Suzuki barely gives Sugiki or himself time to get used to it before he starts moving his head back and forth at a considerable speed—and maybe he should have given himself time, because Sugiki’s cock reaches far into his throat and he can just barely suppress his gag reflex. But Sugiki already seems to be drowning in pleasure and Suzuki doesn’t want to change, so all he does is focus on his breathing and the taste of Sugiki’s cock.
As he goes on and on he feels his lead being taken away a little by Sugiki’s hands on his head, Sugiki deciding more and more the rhythm Suzuki should follow. Suzuki does his best to keep up, his own cock thinking all kinds of things about the way Sugiki almost rules over him, about the way Sugiki moans and the way his own saliva drips down his chin at the movements.
Then Sugiki seems to lose it entirely, his moans increasing to his breaking point, and he pushes his cock as far down Suzuki’s throat as it can go. He stays there and then lets out another deep moan, his breath getting caught in his throat hat the same time as Suzuki feels the sticky warmth of Sugiki’s cum shoot straight down his throat.
Before Sugiki is really finished, Suzuki pushes the other man backward a little bit, because his throat can handle a lot but not everything. He’s still on his knees and panting as Sugiki rides out the rest of his orgasm with his hand, the last remnants of cum shooting out his cock and landing on Suzuki’s face.
And then it’s over, almost as fast as it began.
They stare at each other for a second before Sugiki turns away, taking a few steps until he reaches the small ballet barre close to the mirror, placing his hands on it and letting out a deep sigh with his head hanging.
It’s like the energy between them has changed again, and Suzuki wonders if any of this was the right thing to do. Sure, Sugiki didn’t want him to stop and so Suzuki didn’t, and on paper what just happened is nothing more than the natural zenith of something that, truth be told, has been brewing under the surface for a while now.
But in the real world everything is always different, and in the real world sticking to what it says on paper is like trying to understand a language you don’t even know anything about to begin with; it doesn’t get you anywhere, except where you don’t want to be.
Well, in a lot of cases, anyway.
Suzuki is still on the ground and Sugiki still at the barre in front of the mirror when a new song comes on, even more sensual than the last. Suzuki keeps his eyes trained on Sugiki, who slightly looks over his shoulder as if to gauge Suzuki’s reaction as well.
Then Sugiki turns back to the mirror, looks at himself, and starts to move his hips the way Suzuki taught him to.
Or at least, he attempts to do it that way, but Suzuki doesn’t even care about the minor discrepancies and the fact that even now Sugiki is more graceful than he is sexy. Suzuki jumps to his feet and throws off his top, leaving him only in his pants, which have dropped so low on his hips that the band of his underwear is fully exposed.
Suzuki crosses the distance and positions himself behind Sugiki, intently finding the other man’s eyes in the mirror before he places his hands on Sugiki’s hips to lead him again.
“Two, three four,” he whispers, his mouth close to Sugiki’s ear, and he can’t help but smile when he sees Sugiki squeeze his eyes shut at the closeness, at Suzuki’s hot breath tickling Sugiki’s ear.
While Sugiki syncs his movements to Suzuki’s, Suzuki tries to undo himself of his pants. The best he can manage is for it to slide down his legs and stay there, but he needs more, more access, more range of motion, so he does the same thing as Sugiki did just now and draws back to get rid of it entirely.
Sugiki doesn’t even budge, just keeps moving his hips, and Suzuki is in awe at the scene: this gentleman of a dancer molding himself to this new style, to erotica itself.
With his clothes strewn about the room and a straining erection of his own inside his underwear, Suzuki moves back to Sugiki. They should get even, he feels, so he tugs at Sugiki’s top to make him stop, to tell him that he wants it off and now.
Sugiki complies and then he’s entirely naked, the only thing separating one from the other being the underwear that Suzuki is still wearing. He does intend to keep it that way, does intend to just stretch that out a little longer. His hands are back on Sugiki’s hips once again and Suzuki gets closer, so close that his erect cock touches the swell of Sugiki’s butt.
The friction immediately sends him into a bit of a frenzy, and he wants more and more and more, but he keeps to the count from before, whispering ‘two, three, four,’ when he can spare enough breath to get it out.
There’s definitely a wet spot at the front of his underwear now, and the tension inside of him is building itself up to a level that almost gets dangerous, that almost makes him worry that he can’t contain it anymore when he does still want to.
In an attempt to calm his dick down a little, Suzuki grabs Sugiki by the shoulder and forcefully turns him around so they’re face to face. It’s the first time Suzuki really sees Sugiki like this after he went down onto his knees, and only now does Suzuki really see him: how dilated his pupils are, the newfound rosy tint of his cheeks, the yet untamed flame in his eyes and how pronounced it is.
Suzuki does the only logical thing, really. He leans in and connects his lips with Sugiki’s for the first time ever.
Sugiki roughly kisses back, and there’s lots of tongue and some teeth and wetness and heat and oh God, if this is what is supposed to calm Suzuki down then he really has no idea what he’s doing, does he?
Suzuki feels Sugiki’s cock plump up against him again, still half hard from the blowjob but now regaining its full glory, ready for what comes next—and not just ready but yearning for it, begging, pleading.
Slowly Sugiki’s hands find their way inside Suzuki’s underwear, cupping Suzuki’s butt cheeks and digging his fingers into it. Suzuki smiles against Sugiki’s mouth, the fact that Sugiki wants nothing more than to rip the underwear off of him not lost on him in the least. Suzuki would gladly let him, too.
Yet, Sugiki upholds his gentleman attitude and simply takes his hands out of Suzuki’s underwear again to slide the fabric down until it falls and all Suzuki has left to do is step out of it.
Then, they are even. There’s nothing there to separate them anymore, nothing except for the air between them to keep them apart, no more barriers. Only skin on skin.
And still Suzuki wants to get closer. He wants to get so, so much closer.
Sugiki goes in for a new kiss, one that very quickly starts to involve a hand dangerously close to Suzuki’s dick and a set of lips sucking bruises into his neck, and Suzuki’s brain goes haywire for a bit. Sugiki really kisses the same way he dances, yet there’s something else behind it as well, something more fiery and more akin to what Suzuki feels inside.
Suzuki only puts a stop to it when Sugiki closes his fist around Suzuki’s cock and starts to jerk it. It’s just that Suzuki has other plans about what he wants to do now—and especially about what he wants to do to Sugiki.
After pressing one last deep kiss to Sugiki’s face, Suzuki prompts him to turn around again, and they’re back in front of the mirror in the same position they were before; back against chest, ass against cock, Sugiki leaning on the barre with two hands. And now, Suzuki thinks, does Sugiki understand what he wants from him—with him.
Suzuki starts pressing some kisses on Sugiki’s upper body now, on his back and his shoulders and some on the side of his neck, in response to which Sugiki tilts his head to the side to give him more access. It’s such a fluid response that Suzuki can’t help but smile again, as if Sugiki’s body was engineered precisely to fit together with Suzuki’s.
Suzuki slowly lets his hands trail downwards, and then he stops kissing and instead makes eye contact with Sugiki again. He finds the other man waiting for what he has to say. Suzuki squeezes Sugiki’s right leg, and the only thing he says is “up.”
Sugiki slowly follows this instruction, lifting his leg so he can rest it on the barre. The height of the barre makes it so that Suzuki still doesn’t exactly have what he wants, so his instructions continue, and Sugiki follows suit in complete silence. The only thing Suzuki really hears is his breathing, heavy in his chest and full of anticipation.
“Now lean forward a little and arch your back.”
That’s everything Suzuki needs. The sight of Sugiki like that, propped up for him exactly how he wants it, it’s almost enough to make Suzuki come already. But he hauls himself through it, because really, there are much better options to get him exactly where he needs to be right now.
For lack of better materials, Suzuki coats one finger in his own spit and slowly brings it down to Sugiki’s ass, tracing it down the bottom of his spine to his rectum, eliciting a shiver out of the other man. He thinks he can hear Sugiki mutter, “fuck.”
“Have you ever done it before?” Suzuki asks as he starts teasing Sugiki’s rim. Sugiki visibly tenses a little at the sudden touch but then relaxes into it, breathing in and out a few times before he answers.
“Have I done what?”
“Have you ever been fucked by a man?”
While Suzuki says it, he presses the first part of his finger inside of Sugiki. Sugiki breathes in sharply, but it doesn’t take long for him to relax.
“I only ever did the fucking,” he then manages. “But I’ve had, you know… a toy.”
A broad smile appears on Suzuki’s face, and he makes sure that Sugiki can see it in the mirror, makes sure that Sugiki knows he’s doing everything that he’s doing with a purpose in mind.
“You and I are going to have so much fun,” Suzuki murmurs as he lets his finger slide further into Sugiki, giving the other man time to breathe through it.
When he feels like Sugiki is used to the feel of that one finger, Suzuki starts moving it a little, first a bit out and then in again, just to see how Sugiki reacts. He continues for a while and by the end of his ‘trial’ he takes out almost his entire finger before sliding it in again, and it goes with significantly more ease than before.
“I think you’re ready for number two,” Suzuki murmurs against Sugiki’s shoulder blade, and Sugiki moans in a way that can only mean agreement.
“Two,” Suzuki says, mimicking the inflection they both use when counting while dancing. The same way he let Sugiki get used to one finger, he now lets him get used to two, and later to three, and then Suzuki removes his fingers from Sugiki’s ass. Sugiki is already a bit of a trembling mess, but he doesn’t take his leg down, doesn’t stop—only arches his back further, as if to chase the feeling of Suzuki’s fingers.
There’s drops of Sugiki’s precome on the ground under him and Suzuki’s cock is leaking as well, and Suzuki thinks he deserves an award for holding himself over for so long. He uses the bit of precome combined with his saliva as lube again, but before he places the tip where it wants to go, he gets real close to Sugiki’s ear again.
“Do you want this?”
Sugiki only huffs out a desperate laugh and arches his back more again, to which Suzuki places a kiss against his shoulder and grabs his cock to line himself up with Sugiki’s warm hole. He places only the tip against it at first, but he feels like he’s going to explode out of his skin if he doesn’t get on with it soon, so before he knows it he’s already sliding the tip inside.
“Ah,” Sugiki breathes out, and Suzuki even finds the way his voice cracks to be incredibly fucking arousing. Then, “go, please, more.”
Suzuki really does not let himself be told twice.
He slowly but surely slides the entire length of his hard cock inside, feeling the warmth envelop him more and more and getting crazier with each centimeter that enters, crazier with each small part of them that is becoming one. When he’s in so far he can go no further, he waits for a second and then squeezes Sugiki’s side to let him know is all really starting now.
They both moan as Suzuki slowly starts thrusting in and out of Sugiki, gradually building his rhythm until he has found one he likes. He periodically checks on Sugiki’s face in the mirror, but Sugiki seems to be entirely lost in the pleasure, his mouth permanently ajar with moans and breaths and little sounds that make Suzuki feel insane.
Sugiki’s knuckles turn white from how firmly he’s grabbing the barre, and Suzuki reaches out to place his left hand over Sugiki’s. At the same time he tries to press some kisses on Sugiki’s back again while keeping to his rhythm, in and out and in and out like the steps of one of their dances.
When Suzuki removes his attention from Sugiki’s back again, his eyes fall on Sugiki’s in the mirror. It’s a gorgeous sight, really, a full length view of Sugiki being fucked by Suzuki, of the way their bodies mold together like they do when they’re dancing, only so much more intense, so much more captivating. Suzuki bites his lip to prevent himself from moaning too hard at the sight of it. He does want to keep some of his composure, even now.
Then, he grins again, that teasing, toothy grin that he suspects Sugiki likes a lot more than he lets on sometimes. Suzuki gradually starts slowing his rhythm until all he’s doing is a few lazy thrusts. He pats Sugiki’s leg, figuring that he’s put enough strain on him now.
“Down. And bend over.”
He’s not done. They’re not done.
Suzuki accidentally slips out because of the movement, but once Sugiki is ready, Suzuki lines himself up again and enters now with significantly more speed than before. Immediately Sugiki starts moaning way louder and more intensely than before, and as Suzuki digs his fingers into Sugiki’s hips, he figures the change in position must mean he now has better access to Sugiki’s prostate.
“Ah, what the fuck,” Sugiki moans. “What the fuck, this feels so—fuck—good, you feel so good.”
Between his own moans, all Suzuki can do is laugh and feel a sense of pride that he’s able to unravel Sugiki like this, that the touch of his fingers and the movements of his body in relation to Sugiki’s is enough to turn the other man into a blubbering mess.
When Suzuki reaches his rhythm again, he brings back the counting.
“Two and three and four, and two and three and four,” he repeats over and over, though syncing his counting to his thrusts instead of the other way around. The pressure inside of him is almost lethal now, that’s how close he is, and from all of the things that are coming out of Sugiki’s mouth, he can’t imagine it’s much different for him now.
“Go on, baby,” Suzuki breathes between his thrusts. The pet name comes out really without him meaning to, but he doubts Sugiki would be able to focus on that right now. He doubts Sugiki is able to focus on anything right now besides what he’s feeling. “Go on,” Suzuki says again. “You can touch yourself. Come for me.”
Just the words elicit such a string of moans and curse words out of Sugiki that Suzuki almost can’t contain himself anymore either. His thrusts get a little irregular and he feels a whole wildfire in his chest now, something that wants to escape out of him so badly—and he’ll let it, but not yet, just hold on a little longer—
Sugiki removes one hand from the barre and slides it between his legs, taking his cock into his hand and giving it a few tugs. Suzuki can’t see much of it because of the position, but what he can see is so hot, and that in combination with the warmth of Sugiki around him, with the way his hole clenches around Suzuki’s cock, with the fact that he’s already so fucking close—
Suzuki finally loses it.
A guttural moan leaves his body as he releases his load into Sugiki, into his warmth, into him to make them even more one. It’s like he’s in outer space, like his soul is floating somewhere above his body, it’s like winning, like taking first place after hours of hard work and finally achieving your goals.
In short, it’s so fucking amazing that Sugiki almost collapses when the later waves of his orgasm hit, and then suddenly Sugiki’s breath increases and from the intensity of his moans Sugiki can tell that he too has found his release. Suzuki rides out his own and leads Sugiki through his, and then all that’s left is the sounds of their panting and a big fucking mess to clean up.
When Suzuki slides out of Sugiki, his dick is rapidly softening and it feels a little sensitive but oh. How much he needed this. How much he’d been hoping for this, and for so long already, way longer than he likes to admit. Sugiki straightens himself again, through not without any difficulty, and Suzuki thinks that in combination with the leg, Sugiki won’t be able to dance for at least a few days.
“Did you—” he asks, looking at his own cum on the floor and then at Suzuki. “Did you come inside?”
Suzuki shrugs. “Scared you’ll get pregnant?”
Then, because Suzuki can’t help himself, he approaches Sugiki and caresses the man’s cheek with his fingertips. Then he presses a firm kiss to Sugiki’s lips, and Sugiki responds to it immediately.
“Go and clean yourself up,” Suzuki says when he pulls back, and he gestures to the dressing room with his head. There’s a shower there, and Suzuki has to try his best not to think too much about how much fun they could have in there.
Not now. This is enough.
As Sugiki leaves the room, he takes with him the water bottle that started it all. Except it really didn’t start with that water bottle, but with the first time Suzuki saw Sugiki dance and then found himself feeling like there was something missing in the man’s dance—in the man’s life.
Suzuki doesn’t know what they’re going to do now. He has no idea how this road will shape itself for them now that this boundary has been crossed, has no idea how they’ll be able to train together when all they want—when all Suzuki wants, anyway—is to see each other naked, to feel each other in the most intense of ways. No idea how they’ll be able to keep this dance separate from their old one.
What Suzuki does know?
He knows what Sugiki was missing.