Dance With You

Whatever is said about sleeping with your dance partner, Suzuki prefers to release the tension rather than let it simmer. He briefly dated Aki when they first started dancing together, and it only made them stronger – they aren’t hesitant to touch each other passionately on the dancefloor. The spark is still alive, the confidence in each other remains, as do the memories of the shared pleasure, but the focus no longer strays - that’s how they keep winning gold. It doesn’t hurt that they are good friends driven by the same passion, that she actually likes him as a person. He helped her through numerous breakups, and she stopped him from hitting rock bottom and blowing up his life after Shinya Sugiki's unambiguous rejection. How funny that all of Sugiki’s feelings, which he was so sure of, didn’t change anything – he still reduced their relationship to a rivalry and left, abandoning Suzuki in Blackpool. Suzuki had felt his passion, the obsessive need for control, the sudden gentleness that made it all more cherished, yet feelings alone were never enough. The bastard betrayed him, but also himself, and Suzuki couldn’t understand one thing: for what? What did he gain in the end? It still feels like a whole lot of nothing. At the time, he was convinced everything ended because of Liana, Sugiki's ex-fiancée, still had so much power over him, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he, Shinya Suzuki, held more, or even just as much place in his heart. He felt foolishly defeated by both of them. He didn’t get the silver, not even the bronze - he wasn’t even on the podium, forced out by the Grim Reaper, his old love, and the man she had chosen. Now, with the 10Dance competition over, he exhales the euphoria like cigarette smoke, and uncertainty lingers on his tongue. He knows Sugiki wants to train together - fine, easy enough. He’s game. He knows he’s still desired, but he also knows that outside the bubble of their respective dance schools, people are still talking. They kissed on the dancefloor at the Asian Cup Dance Championship, and everybody saw that. He’s been asked about it - nobody dares to approach Sugiki - and what the hell is he supposed to say? "We’re kind of a thing" - what kind of thing? "It’s nothing" - nothing that's been circulating on the internet for months: there are videos and photos. So fucking stupid. In one especially good shot, they're smiling, their lips are a millimeter apart - so what now? Feeling foolish and in love - his teenage years are back. He’s about to start getting pimples and bad hair days. He’s not playing anymore; the tension doesn’t feel sexy - it feels mocking. Aki asks, confused, “Shinya, aren't you together now?” Hah. They might be together today, and tomorrow Sugiki might ditch him again. Love means nothing if the Grim Reaper decides it’s time - there will be no mercy for either of them. He’s still fucking bitter - not everyone can bottle shit up as effectively as Teacher Sugiki. Aki is friends with Fusako - so much for having called her a bitch - and he learns that Sugiki was also going through a rough patch before he decided to ask him for a dance at the Asian Cup. The bastard says, “You would have rejected me if nobody was watching.” Just like he rejected Suzuki on that dark night after the Blackpool competition. His nightmare is Sugiki's hands first grabbing his throat, then closing around his heart and ripping it out, breaking his ribs. They sleep together. They don’t fuck, but they grind against each other and jerk off, and Sugiki’s heated gaze feels like relief, his kisses like salvation. He falls for it all again. When he and Aki go back to Sugiki’s dance school for practice, Suzuki once again doesn’t know where he stands - it pisses him off. “Come home with me,” says Sugiki. “After we wrap everything up.” “Not even dinner first,” replies Suzuki with a mocking smile. He's faking it; he needs to be more honest. “What a way to make me feel like a cheap whore.” Sugiki stares intently at his mouth; he's tense, visibly exercising control to suppress something inside himself again. His head is a mass grave of normal human feelings. “No, not cheap,” the man replies, and the words are a singe across Suzuki’s abdomen. What the fuck. “I’ll cook.” So he feigns casualness and follows the Grim Reaper home. It’s nice. Sugiki’s place is predictably neat, tidy, and minimalistic: no medals or dancing memorabilia in sight, though the parquet floor is good for dancing. Sugiki’s dark, beautiful eyes never leave him. No man should be allowed to be this handsome. Suzuki has always thought that, even before they became involved in whatever this is. Sugiki's face is breathtaking; his posture and movements are measured grace, nothing superfluous. He’s not as muscular as Suzuki, but he’s wiry, he has the softest chest hair, he cooks well, and Suzuki wants to fuck him - but the man’ll never relinquish control. He knows Sugiki is unlikely to spread his legs willingly, but he himself is driven mad by the desire to possess Sugiki, embrace him, fuck him all night long until they’re both exhausted but sated. He wants to get him to a Cuban beach and make love under palm trees - the thought explodes like a can of gasoline inside. Or is this fire outside? Is Sugiki burning, and Suzuki just a kiln that can barely withstand the heat? Sugiki offers him tea, his hypnotic eyes never leaving Suzuki’s face. Then he touches his hand, and Suzuki launches himself at him, slotting their mouths together - he can’t wait anymore. Sugiki’s tongue is in his mouth, his hands are on his ass, and it’s perfect. “I want to fuck you,” groans Suzuki, and the fingers kneading his buttocks still. He probably shouldn’t have said that. “Well. Maybe we…” Sugiki starts hesitantly, then stops and tries again more decisively. “We’ll have to do it the Asian Cup way.” “Like, taking turns?” Suzuki pulls back, his heart racing. Sugiki is willing..? The man doesn't ask - he states it as a fact, but he's offering a compromise, and that’s more than Suzuki has ever hoped for. “We could… try that.” Sugiki looks so uncomfortable, refusing to meet his eyes, that Suzuki takes pity on him. The tense line of Sugiki’s shoulders tells him that if they try that today, nobody will finish, let alone the fact that he doesn’t feel ready to be on the receiving end. And yet, he’s almost giddy with anticipation. They’ll try that - sometime soon. Sugiki will… Oh. Oh, he’ll have a chance to… “Not today. Later,” Suzuki says with a grin. “What if I just suck you off now, hmm?” “Yeah.” They both lunge for Sugiki’s zipper as if it’s a common enemy, their fingers getting in each other’s way, and Suzuki laughs like a madman. He hasn’t tried this before, but in his experience, it’s difficult to truly fuck up a blowjob. If he wants to be with a man, he'll have to get to know his cock better, and Suzuki is nothing if not adaptable. Between the two of them, it’s enough for Sugiki to take the first step - Suzuki will do the rest of the running. It’s not a big deal. He feels Sugiki’s lust, the barely controlled energy he’s holding back, and Suzuki wonders what it would feel like to be buried under the onslaught of his passion. He tugs Sugiki’s pants down, getting rid of them, and the hard, dark cock is right in his face - just like when he’d teasingly slid to his knees during practice. He may have thought about this before. A couple of times. He mouths at the head, and a strong hand firmly grasps his hair, tugging, pressing his face into Sugiki’s groin. Suzuki hears how hard the man is breathing - as if he’d danced a quickstep across a football pitch. He opens his mouth wider and sucks on the head, reaches for Sugiki’s clenched ass and pats the cleft. “Spit on your fingers,” Sugiki’s voice is low, hoarse, and demanding - a heady combination reminiscent of their dance lessons. Suzuki does exactly that and carefully reaches between his spread legs, behind his balls. “Suck my dick.” Suzuki closes his eyes and sucks - it’s an uncomfortably hot mouthful he should be careful not to touch with his teeth, but he feels Sugiki is almost shaking, and his lust flares up. Strong hands squeeze his neck and push him forward, making him take the cock further into his mouth - he chokes a little, and Sugiki’s breath catches. “You can put a finger in if you take me down your throat,” says the bastard. Suzuki glances up - Sugiki’s eyes are all pupil, his face flushed, his mouth open. They don't take their eyes off each other as Suzuki tries to swallow more of him, and his spit-lubed finger goes in with difficulty - not slippery enough; his ass is like a vice. At least he knows what he’s looking for - his girlfriends had tried that on him. “Deeper. Take it deeper,” urges Sugiki breathlessly, and damn - he’s trying. It’s not easy, and he keeps choking every time Sugiki’s hands force him down. “Ah. Ah.” The man starts moving his hips - little by little, helping the finger massage his insides - and it’s so hot Suzuki’s head spins. Fuck, he’s really into it. His own cock aches in his pants; he covers it with his palm and presses down. Oh, yes. “Suck harder and swallow,” Sugiki growls, and he struggles to obey - the urge to choke is so intense his eyes prickle with tears. He crooks his finger, and Sugiki comes, jerking his hair hard - it hurts. Fuck. His semen is bitter, just like the man himself. A gentleman? No, a thug. “Why don't you buy some pineapple juice,” Suzuki comments after he almost coughes his lungs out. The bastard doesn’t even look apologetic - he’s relaxed, looking completely out of it. “We need a bed,” he decides and pushes an unresisting Sugiki toward what he guesses is the bedroom. The man goes willingly, stretches out on the covers, and looks up at Suzuki with that seductive dark gaze - although any gaze from him is seductive. “Do you have lube?” “Yes,” Sugiki replies after a beat. He’s not tensing, but he’s watching closely, silently, and Suzuki can’t read his expression. “There?” Suzuki asks, pointing at the nightstand. Receiving no answer, he steps towards it and rummages through the drawers - pills, a couple of books, a charger - until he finds a half-empty bottle. “I want to slick up your thighs.” Sugiki blinks, then slowly turns to lie on his stomach, his toned, tempting ass on display. Such genuine enthusiasm. Suzuki quickly sheds his clothes and pounces on him, gently turning his head to reach for a kiss - a filthily bitter kiss from a lover who’s just served his partner. Sugiki moans when he tastes himself. They keep kissing and licking until Sugiki finally grabs the lube, squirts a little into his hand, and wraps it around Suzuki’s hard cock. “Are you stalling because you're afraid you won’t be able to hold back?” he grumbles, squeezing, and Suzuki lets out a soft moan. He grinds against Sugiki’s palm, his side, and finally between his thighs, which Sugiki has locked together. He moans and the insufferable bastard actually laughs. “Ah, you’re so easy. Actually, I don’t think you’ll last long fucking me.” “You won't last a minute with my dick up your ass,” Suzuki snaps back and bites the other man's shoulder, earning a soft sigh in return. Sugiki loves it; he can feel it. “Oh, I will. Trust me. I’ll last a whole lot more than a minute, Shinya.” He moves his hips to get more delicious friction, and Sugiki’s ass grinds back against him, so eager. Suzuki wants to suck it, lick it - the thought makes him shudder. “Come,” Sugiki orders, and it’s hot, too erotic to handle when his tyrant just tells him what to do - Suzuki is really into it. He comes between the slippery thighs, imagining more. THE END