[ficlet] xxxHOLiC: Ripe
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairing: Doumeki/Watanuki
Warning: PORN. And not much else, really.
Disclaimer: xxxHOLiC and its characters belong to CLAMP.
Download: pdf

Doumeki's appreciation for food is not a secret to anyone. Neither is his fondness of Watanuki. However, the fact that these two tastes sometimes get intimately connected in his mind is not public knowledge. This might explain Watanuki's hissy fit when he found out, although Doumeki privately thinks that refusing to talk to him for two days afterwards was a bit of an overreaction.

It would have lasted longer, too, if not for an elaborately innocent comment by Kunogi. Her discreet interest in their relationship was, and still is, a valuable asset.

Despite which, it still takes Doumeki two weeks to get invited back inside the flat. The wisest course of action would be to drop the matter entirely, but one of Doumeki's dominant traits is his tenacity, and he's had time to think. So he makes a few well-placed comments about Watanuki making the oversight of having no fruit available at his place.

Ten minutes later, he is rewarded with a bowl full of artistically cut fresh fruit with a spiral of liquid honey on it, and a defiant, demanding glare that almost covers the half-concerned half-indignant look Watanuki has been throwing him these last two weeks.

Doumeki picks a piece of fruit between his fingers and brings it to his mouth without breaking eye contact. It brushes against his lips, leaving a trail of juice there that he licks clean quickly.

It’s strawberry, and it makes the corner of Watanuki’s eyes tighten.

The next is pineapple, and Watanuki’s jaw clenches slightly.

The third bit is peach, soft and ripe, a piece slightly bigger than the others that Doumeki keeps between his lips for a few seconds too long. Watanuki’s gaze remains there even longer.

Doumeki glances down then, looking at the bowl properly for the first time since it was brought to him. He picks a piece of apple with honey smeared on it, and eats it without special treatment – but he does lick the honey off his fingers afterwards.

"I gave you a spoon," Watanuki says somewhat reproachfully – but his voice is scratchy and arouses Doumeki a lot more than the show he’s putting on. He makes a conscious effort not to twitch in his chair, and picks a cherry between his fingers. Watanuki growls, probably more at Doumeki’s deliberate ignorance of his words than at the sight of him slowly biting the cherry in half and smearing red juice over his lips. But it’s something anyway.

"Hmmm?" Doumeki asks as he licks the juice off, looking back at him with the most bored look he can muster. Watanuki is glaring now, fists clenched at his side; clearly trying hard not to reach out and grab Doumeki by the throat. This used to mean Watanuki very much wanted to strangle him.

These days, not so much.

"Spoon," Watanuki repeats.

Doumeki nods gravely, picks it up and fills it with juice, that he sips slowly and with a small noise of appreciation usually reserved to things less innocent than eating fruit.

Watanuki lets out an angry choking noise that makes Doumeki look up out of sheer instinct.

"What ?" he asks innocently, putting the spoon back on the table.

"What are you doing." It’s a demand but somehow, not really a question. Watanuki knows exactly what he’s doing, he just doesn’t want to admit it - doesn't want to admit that he's enjoying the sight. But working through Watanuki's reluctance is something Doumeki has become a master at.

"Eating my fruit salad," Doumeki answers blandly, picking another piece of fruit without looking.

"That I graciously made for you," Watanuki points out. Here it is, the first step - both physically and metaphorically.

"Do you want some?" Doumeki takes a glance at the small melon ball, also covered in honey, and holds it up for Watanuki, his heart beating maybe a bit too fast. It’s taking a chance – leaving the choice to Watanuki is always taking a chance, because his fight-or-flight reaction has dwindled but not disappeared – but this is probably as good as it’s going to get.

Watanuki is still glaring at him. Then again, glaring is his main facial expression where Doumeki is concerned, and five months of semi-regular sex have not made that any better. If anything, Watanuki glares at him more now, as he says things like ‘how long does it take you to unbutton a shirt you halfwit’.

But his gaze flickers down to Doumeki’s lips and he takes another step and catches the piece of melon between his teeth, very carefully not touching Doumeki’s fingers. When he looks up, his pink tongue darting out to get a rest of honey at the corner of his lips, his eyes are crinkled at the corners in the beginning of a smug expression.

Doumeki’s heart rate shoots up, but he merely raises an eyebrow. "More?"

"There’s only one spoon," Watanuki answers, sounding a little irritated but mostly expectant.

So Doumeki shifts in his chair and pushes another bit of fruit against Watanuki’s lips. It’s pear, and it’s the last one he identifies, because everything afterwards becomes lost in a haze of Watanuki’s lips, Watanuki’s tongue, and eventually Watanuki’s fingers, picking from the bowl and holding out morsels for him – but never long enough for contact.

Doumeki is not exceptionally surprised that this has become a struggle of who will break first. Watanuki turns everything into a contest, of strength or resilience or will. What does surprise him, considering the head start he had, is how close he is to losing. Then again, he’s sitting down and Watanuki is leaning against the table, as casual as he ever gets when wearing his school uniform; his crotch is just at Doumeki’s eye level, and all Doumeki knows is that he wants to reach out and grab a hip and pull Watanuki close to mouth his erection through the rough fabric of his school pants.

He digs in the bowl blindly. Amid the sweet sticky juice coating his fingers he finds the last bit, the last cherry, and holds it out to Watanuki in his open palm in an attempt to make him move closer. Disappointingly, Watanuki picks the cherry between his fingers, and Doumeki remove his hand with an inner sigh. Stalemate, then.

The next thing he knows, Watanuki is straddling him on the chair and something sweet and round is pressed against his lips – the cherry, held between Watanuki’s teeth.

He takes the invitation and bites down – grateful that the stones were long removed- but Watanuki is already pulling away and giving him that Look, demanding and expectant and above all smug. Doumeki knows for a fact that Watanuki is as hard as he is, his breathing as shallow – and yet, he also knows that he has lost, completely and utterly.

Or is, possibly. It’s a thought that’s been popping up every now and then.

He tries not to let his expression change as he holds Watanuki's gaze, but apparently to no avail as the hint of a smirk blooms fully. Watanuki slides closer onto his lap, and brings a hand to the side of Doumeki's neck, tilting his head up for a rough kiss that Doumeki welcomes hungrily.

His hands come up - of their own accord, he'd swear- to rip Watanuki's shirt from his pants and slide under it, onto the smooth skin of his back. Watanuki groans and pulls away. Doumeki barely has the time to frown before his right arm is grabbed and wrenched away.

Then Watanuki's grip slides along his arm, onto his wrist. He brings the hand to his mouth and Doumeki gets it a second before Watanuki sucks one of his sugar-coated fingers in.

He watches.

He watches because if he closes his eyes he knows he might start behaving in a way that will inevitably have Yuuko tut-tutting semi-reprovingly at him the next time he sees her, and he'd rather not give her any incentive to pass comments on his sex life. So he watches - avidly- as Watanuki closes his eyes and licks the dried fruit juice off his fingers one by one, much more slowly and intensely than this sort of activity usually requires.

He really does seem to enjoy it, too, if the small sounds coming from his throat are any indication.

After something like an eternity Watanuki lets go of his hand and opens his eyes again, and this is the stage of the proceedings where he isn't glaring anymore, just looking with an expression Doumeki hasn't quite deciphered yet. But he likes it, and likes it even more after he's taken Watanuki's glasses off to put them safely on the table - then even more so when Watanuki rips off a good chunk of Doumeki's hard-earned self-control by licking his lips.

Doumeki puts his hands on Watanuki's hips and pulls him closer still, until he can feel the erection against his stomach, hard and hot and burning him despite too many layers of clothes; when Watanuki grabs both sides of his face he doesn't need to tilt it up, because Doumeki is already there to receive the next kiss.

And the next and the next and the next, as his hands knead Watanuki's thighs and he tries to figure a way to get more contact without having to pull away for the shortest moment, because that would be unacceptable. Alas, he’s run most of these scenarios already, and this is not to be; but Watanuki moans in his mouth when Doumeki reaches between their bodies to open his pants, and succeeds in record time despite the uncomfortable position – experience is valuable, here as everywhere else.

He likes this, has since the very first time: the way the tip of Watanuki’s erection pushes up the elastic of his underwear, so that if Doumeki were to look down now (but that would mean breaking the kiss – unthinkable) he could see it, and the drop of fluid at the top. The way Watanuki recoils a little too, every time, as if out of embarrassment. Doumeki doesn’t quite understand that, but doesn’t care to either, as long as Watanuki lets him touch.

And while he doesn’t always – he teases sometimes, without even knowing it- this time he seems to have no objection. So Doumeki gets to slide his hand down Watanuki’s pants and rub him through his underwear, letting only his thumb make actual contact, sliding over the head to gather the pearl of liquid there. It makes Watanuki groan, but of course it can’t last because all the articulations in Doumeki’s arm are bent wrong for this, and there are other things relying on the state of his shoulder than instant gratification. So he removes his hand, to Watanuki’s vocal disappointment, and sets it back under the boy’s thigh.

Then he focuses on the kiss for a few moments – bites Watanuki’s lower lip, pulls away just far enough to make sure Watanuki would follow – before checking his grip one last time and getting up, pushing the chair back with the strength of it. He chooses to interpret the way Watanuki does not flail or struggle, but makes a whimpery noise instead as Doumeki sits him on the table, as a testament of trust. Doesn’t say it though, knowing all too well the sort of response it would give him.

Standing up requires more coordination, but it also means more freedom to move, means that Watanuki can now reach behind him as well, slide his hands under a shirt that has been untucked approximately since the moment Doumeki stepped into the flat. His fingernails are a little sharp, a little painful when they rake down Doumeki’s back.

But Doumeki has long since learned to ignore a little pain for him, so when his own fingers clench around Watanuki’s thighs it’s not to make him stop – on the contrary.

And it’s easier, now, to slide his hand between them and trail his fingers down Watanuki’s cock, sometimes touching skin and sometimes fabric, never putting nearly enough pressure as he knows Watanuki wants. He could keep doing it all through the afternoon and well into the night, or at least until Watanuki’s legs start twitching and his mouth slackens against Doumeki’s, not pulling away from the kiss but not giving it any more attention as he tries to find leverage to get more friction.

It’s a known fact of their small universe that what Watanuki wants, Doumeki gives – eventually, and by his own definition. So instead of doing what Watanuki’s insistent hip movements are suggesting, he reaches back for the chair and pulls it closer before sitting back on it, Watanuki’s legs on either side of him.

He takes his time, even then. Undoes the buttons of Watanuki’s shirt from the top down despite the fingers now woven in his hair, splays his hands against the white skin – the contrast always startles him a little. And then, when Watanuki is glaring -again- in that special way of his that says I’m not going to beg so just do it, do it now, please, he stops resisting the pressure of the hands on his head and follows the movement, all the way to the open zipper of Watanuki’s pants.

It's not practical and it’s not comfortable because Watanuki is still mostly dressed, and hunched forward to keep his balance. There simply isn’t enough space, enough skin to trail his tongue against, enough cock to take in his mouth. It frustrates Doumeki more than it should, maybe even more than Watanuki himself, until Watanuki removes his hands, uses them instead to lean back on the table, exposing himself more –exposing himself enough, finally.

When Doumeki gets up this time the chair falls over, and he doesn’t care, not at all, not when he can now shove Watanuki’s underwear down – not far but far enough, and they do outline Watanuki’s erection quite nicely- and take him in his mouth, giving up completely on slow and careful and teasing, because the time for that is past and all he wants is Watanuki’s hands on him again, and the raw sounds coming from his throat and the body language that tells him I want you in a way his voice never does.

He licks and sucks and tastes the precome, tries to match his rhythm against that of Watanuki’s hips, but to no avail. Eventually his back protests too much against the mistreatment, so he straightens up, pulls Watanuki back towards him, easily letting the boy’s face fall against his neck, and jerks him off. Hard, fast, with no subtlety at all and the lubrication of his spit and Watanuki’s precome, which is more than enough.

When Watanuki groans against his neck Doumeki makes a noise that could be described as either a moan or a request to bite him; Watanuki complies happily, hard and sharp and without restraint. He comes within seconds, hot and writhing in Doumeki’s hand, and keeps biting his neck all through his orgasm; then he lets go, swirls his tongue once on what has to be the biggest bruise Doumeki ever sported there, and lets his forehead slide on Doumeki’s shoulder.

After a minute, Watanuki puts one hand on the other side of Doumeki’s neck and reaches between them with the other, swatting Doumeki’s hands away.

"You don’t have to," Doumeki tries to say, but finds he doesn’t mean it at all. Watanuki snorts in disbelief and brushes his thumb against Doumeki’s dry lips. He licks it eagerly, and barely notices the other hand, the one that has grabbed his cock through his clothes and squeezed. His orgasm takes him almost by surprise, in short bursts and all over his underwear, and he sucks hard at Watanuki’s fingers all through it.

"I thought you said no mixing sex with food," he says a few minutes later, when he's caught his breath and decided he can’t stay standing up like this much longer, the way his legs are trembling.

Watanuki snorts against his neck, tickling him slightly. "Well we didn’t," he says.

That statement is highly debatable. But for once, Doumeki is willing to let Watanuki have his way without a struggle.