It's hard to dance with the devil on your back (uakari120) wrote in tachibanasakura,
It's hard to dance with the devil on your back

I come bearing smut

Title: Cold
Rating: M
Warnings: Sex, teasing, and proof that I have constructed a ridiculously large head-canon after only 8 chapters >.>
Summary: He’s not frigid, and he’d resent Sakura for this little demonstration more if he hadn’t spent the day acting the part so well.
Notes: Many thanks to my partner in crime irenegerke who fills my head with horrible ideas and continually pushes my fangirl idiocy to as-yet-unimagined heights. All yin/yang based temperature-play is her fault, as are most of the good things herein. :D

The hallway is empty, much to Tachibana’s satisfaction as he pulls his head back into the room that’s been serving as his own for the past few days (ever since the free-loader arrived and upset all of their previous, comfortable living arrangements). Not that it wasn’t the last five times he’s checked in the hour since everyone has supposedly retired for the evening, but that’s hardly any comfort (and certainly not enough to keep him from continuing to check at ten minute intervals for the rest of the night). He slides the door shut with a huff.

“No demons out wandering the halls, then?”

“That’s not funny,” Tachibana snarls and rounds back on Sakura, who has taken up position in the far corner, reclining with his arms crossed behind his head and one leg balanced across the opposite knee – smiling and yawning like he hasn’t a care in the world. “What the hell are you still here for? Go to bed.”

“Well, with you guarding the door like that-”

“Shut up and go through the window like you came in,” Tachibana spits and plops down on his futon. He manages to kick his blanket into even further disarray, but that’s fine, as he isn’t intending to sleep just yet, anyway. Instead, he plucks a book he’s cast off to the side back up and stares down its pages as if they’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“You were a lot further along in that when you set it down,” Sakura chides and stretches his arms above his head.

Tachibana glares at the kana he’s not reading, but doesn’t deign to lift his head in response.

“Besides, you’ll be lonely if I leave.”

This gets Tachibana’s attention. “I’ll be lonely?” he snorts, “What’s this garbage I heard you feeding the free-loader this morning?” he shoots Sakura a withering glare, “I can’t sleep without someone next to me. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Ahaha,” Sakura drags a hand through his hair, “I don’t suppose you’ll accept ‘sleep deprived honesty’ for an answer, will you?”

“No,” Tachibana pointedly sets his book back down and drags himself to his feet once again. He pads quickly and quietly back to the door, fully intending to throw it open once again – because he can practically feel that little brat’s presence behind it, taunting as he slips out into the darkness to-

Sakura’s hand closes over his own before he manages to shuffle the thing an inch in its frame. “Stop,” he says simply, and flexes his fingers more tightly as it becomes obvious that Tachibana has no intention of listening. He sighs, “What, exactly do you think he’s going to do? Chika-chan-”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Chika-chan is so jittery, I doubt he’d make to the bathroom without tripping all over himself,” Sakura raises an eyebrow, “Or maybe that’s the point.”

“What?” Tachibana scoffs and pulls his hand free, “What are you even talking about?”

“You know,” Sakura grins, “Scream and accuse him of lechery in the middle of the night, scare the crap out of him – probably literally – and maybe he’ll go running for the hills. Hana won’t be as upset with you, and there’s one less person involved in all of this.”

“The way you say that makes it sound like I give two fucks about him, which is three more than I currently have to spare.” Tachibana storms back over to his futon and kicks at its edge, “I just don’t like him-”

“You don’t like anyone.”

“With good reason!” Tachibana insists and balls his hands into fists. He shudders slightly as Sakura’s hand cups his chin (How the hell has he even managed to get over here without Tachibana noticing? Too big and too fast and too silent and altogether too fucking scary – that’s what he is.), “All the more so that I end up with a gigantic, needy git molesting me when I let my guard down.”

“That’s not very nice,” Sakura chides and slides his hand up to brush the stray hairs from Tachibana’s face. His fingers continue around the shell of an ear, teasing down and spreading out as his palm comes to rest in the dip of a shoulder.

“Stop that,” Tachibana mutters, though truthfully it’s taking a bit more willpower than he’d like to admit just to keep himself from reciprocating, “Go back to your own room.”

“Can’t,” Sakura says simply. He threads his fingers through the hairs at the base of Tachibana’s neck and pulls him closer, leaning down to press their foreheads together, “Needy,” he kisses the tip of Tachibana’s nose, “Git-like.”

“You forgot gigantic,” Tachibana snips, but his hands are already fisted in the front of Sakura’s over-sized sleep shirt and his face tilting back to align with better with the hot air pouring out of Sakura’s lips.

“I’m not gigantic, you’re just too small,” Sakura laughs and straightens his back, pulling his mouth about an inch out of Tachibana’s range just as the other man leans forward to cover it with his own, “See?”

“No,” Tachibana growls and snakes one hand up behind Sakura’s neck to yank him back down. He kisses him fiercely, almost violently, and smirks as he pulls back, “But pliable enough.”

Sakura chuckles his agreement and leans forward again to deliver a kiss that is just as fervent, if slightly less domineering than the last. His fingers dig into the base of Tachibana’s neck, pulling him closer still as his other hand worms its way into the ties at the back of the other man’s robe.

“We can’t,” Tachibana gasps suddenly and contorts himself to knock Sakura’s hand away, “The walls are too thin and if that kid comes in here-”

“You can beat him to within an inch of his life,” Sakura breaths heavily against his neck and redoubles his knot-foiling efforts.

“God, can I?”

“Of course,” Sakura grins as the sash falls away, “But just the once.”

Tachibana shivers as the cold night air slithers in and around the gaping fabric and knows he’s lost. Well, maybe “lost” isn’t exactly the right word, but somehow things seemed to have worked out according to Sakura’s playbook – again – and he’s left wondering whether to curse his complete lack of control or just throw caution to the wind and enjoy it because this is the first good thing that’s happened all goddamned day. The robe is slipping from his shoulder; Sakura’s mouth is following closely after, sucking and kissing and biting in all of the right places and generally airing all of his gluttony right there on his sleeve. His sleeve that is regrettably still on his arm… Tachibana shirks the remains of his robe and slides a hand beneath the hem of Sakura’s shirt.

He’s probably going to regret this. But then, there isn’t much about the past few days that he doesn’t.

It takes all of half a second to work the shirt up over Sakura’s head and cast it off to the side. He manages to tangle Sakura’s hair tie into the mess, so that goes as well, leaving strands of stark white hair to dangle into his face. Tachibana’s fingers thread immediately into it and pull, half in retribution for working him up like this at such an awkward time and half because he is worked up enough that the sweep of hair through his fingers and across his over-sensitized palms feels almost obligatory. He stumbles a bit, tightening his hold as Sakura steps backward once, twice, and then the ground seems to slip from beneath his feet and he pitches forward, only to land sprawled half on his messy futon and half across Sakura’s chest. “Graceless,” he coughs and struggles to right himself, giving up and settling for propping himself on his knees and elbows as he realizes that straddling Sakura is probably more conducive to their current activites.

“Efficient,” Sakura corrects him, “You’re always so impatient-”

“Shut up.”

“And frigid,” Sakura grins and traces his fingertips up Tachibana’s spine. They’re warm – so much warmer than the room or Tachibana’s own skin that it’s almost shocking – and Tachibana is caught between demanding to know what that’s supposed to mean and demanding that Sakura stop teasing him with these blasted feather-light touches. It’s a moot point, however, as Sakura’s palms quickly flatten against his back, pressing him closer, and he laughs, “I mean freezing, of course.”

“Someone stole my robe,” Tachibana growls and kisses Sakura again to shut him up. Warmth rushes through him again at the contact, Sakura’s tongue heated as it sweeps across his own and delves into the deeper reaches of his mouth and his hands dragging feverishly down Tachibana’s back. Too warm… “What is this, a spell?” he mumbles against Sakura’s cheek.

“You’re cold,” is the only reply.

“Typical hen-pecking Yin.”

“God, I love it when you talk dirty.”

“You’re meant to be the cold one – you shouldn’t even be able to do that,” Tachibana grumbles and reoccupies himself with Sakura’s earlobe, “Stop it.”

Sakura chuckles and gropes at his ass with hands that are suddenly freezing cold. “Where’d you put the stuff?”

“Huh?” Tachibana immediately curses himself for saying anything as an icy palm slaps against the side of his thigh, “Can’t we just-”

“Find it,” Sakura insists and everything goes very cold. Bastard.

With great effort, Tachibana hauls himself to his feet and staggers to one of the many side cabinets built into the walls. He’s moved everything so quickly that he has no idea what he’s done with anything, let alone bottles and boxes that he’s worked hard to convince himself won’t be necessary any time soon. He rifles through drawers and manages to knock the contents of an entire shelf to the floor before he finds what he’s looking for. He sneers at the mess – it’ll have to wait till morning because, well, fuck it – and heads back to the futon-

-to find Sakura sprawled – in the most literal sense of the word, with limbs flung far and wide and an expression of utter abandon plastered across his face – and naked across the whole of it. Tachibana rolls his eyes; at least he’s managed to get his socks off…

He kneels at the edge of the futon and fights for a moment to bend one of Sakura’s legs into a more suitable position before sighing in exasperation and leaning in to press his face into the other man’s belly. “Do you want to do this or not?”

“Yes,” is the only response he gets, though he can feel the twitching of stifled laughter against his cheek.

Why does everything have to be so goddamned difficult?

He nips sharply at the skin around Sakura’s belly button and digs his fingers fruitlessly into the backside of his thigh. ”Legs.”

He’s almost surprised when Sakura complies and bends his knees upward, though not enough to actually remark on it. Instead, he takes the opportunity to slide closer, bracing one hand at Sakura’s side and fishing through the box at his side with the other. He manages to tear the wrapper from the condom with his teeth – cheap printed instructions be damned, he’s more worried about making a mess at this point anyway – and is incredibly impressed with himself for managing to get the damned thing on with a single hand and no help whatsoever from the immobile lump usurping his mattress. He fumbles a bit more with the bottle of lube, but finally manages to squeeze out a sizeable glob and is pleased beyond belief when Sakura deigns to make a muffled noise of approval as he slips a finger into him. Pleased, but not overly impressed, and he only bothers with a perfunctory dabbling before lifting Sakura’s legs to balance against his own hips and positioning himself.

He pushes forward slowly, carefully, expecting some sort of guidance, encouragement, approval (fuck, even a complaint would be preferable to the nothing he’s getting) and is duly deafened by the resounding silence. He grimaces, struggling with the conflicting sensations of being completely enveloped and left to hang on the breeze at the same time and wondering all the while what the hell has happened in the past two minutes to make Sakura turn into a wet dishrag flopped over his futon.

He gets his answer quickly enough as the air around him flashes cold again and he’s certain he catches the barest hint of a grin on Sakura’s lips. Irritating. He cycles his hips forward and catches his breath in the back of his throat as a warm flush works its way from his groin to his back. He’s not playing this game, not tonight, because it’s ridiculous in the best of times and downright stupid at the moment. He’s been goaded and molested and yet here he is doing all of the work in the middle of some metaphorical sex game that isn’t funny and goddamn it for all the chill he’s pumping into the air, Sakura is warm and all Tachibana wants is an arm around him, lips on his, a leg at his back-

Because he’s not frigid, for fuck’s sake, he hates the cold, and he’d resent Sakura for this little demonstration more if he himself hadn’t spent the day acting the part so well. He’s not sorry,, but this isn’t in the least bit fair, especially when he’s once again given into everything and hasn’t asked for a damned thing in return. Who is he to be pulling a stunt like this anyway? If either one of them is in danger of succumbing to their darker natures, it sure as hell isn’t Tachibana. He narrows his eyes and stops moving altogether.

“Something wrong?” Sakura’s eyebrow is cocked, but his face is still otherwise expressionless.

Tachibana sighs and works one arm at a time underneath Sakura’s, shrugging them up over his own shoulders to rest against his back. “Touch me.

“Oh, is that all you wanted?” Sakura smiles and digs the pads of his fingers into Tachibana’s skin.

Tachibana growls and snaps his hips forward in retaliation, “Make noise.”

“The walls are so thin-”

“Then-” Tachibana can feel his face contorting into something that really doesn’t belong in the bedroom, and bites down on his own lip, briefly, before deciding that Sakura’s make a far more appropriate target and glomming on there instead. He quickens his pace, driving in hard and fast and with less precision than he’d normally like, but it’s well worth it as Sakura finally hooks a leg up behind him and moves.

This, this is what Tachibana has been craving – hands roaming his shoulders, a heel at the back of his thigh, pressing, pulling, urging. Noises are flowing freely from Sakura now as well, though Tachibana is careful to catch and swallow them whole. They rattle and slip over his tongue and shudder down his throat, twisting into a tight, hot coil in his abdomen. The faint flush from earlier spreads quickly, burning up his stomach and across his chest, filling his cheeks and pounding through his ears. The cold is gone – dissipated or forgotten, he’s not sure – and the heat radiating from his body seems to be catching as Sakura’s cheeks light up a bright pink that Tachibana hasn’t seen in ages. He really ought to slow down, really ought to pay some mind to something other than the electric current coursing through his own veins – no one likes a selfish lover – but he’s lost in the slick glide of skin on skin, overwhelmed by the buck of Sakura’s hips against his own, and too far intent on devouring him whole in return to think just what that might be.

It’s the fingers in his hair that finally undo him, weaseling into the sweat-soaked roots and yanking backwards. His mouth pulls free of Sakura as orgasm takes him – a shared, rattling moan warping instead into an embarrassingly loud gurgle as it hits the air. It occurs to Tachibana that he ought to be somewhat peeved by this, and that there’s probably a good reason for that, but for the moment he’s too busy panting and sweating, head still craned at an awkward angle and dangling from the fistful of hair Sakura seems too enamored of to let go. He’s finally released to slump forward and catches himself on his elbows at either side of Sakura’s head. He lays there motionless for a moment, attempting to catch his breath and being foiled quite badly by Sakura’s continued ragged panting. He’s dully aware that the other man is still moving beneath him, stroking their hips together and sending the occasional muted aftershock up his spine. He pulls out, almost regretfully, and tosses the spent condom in the general direction of the garbage can, fully intending to continue southward when it dawns on him that he’s just made the neediest noise he’s capable of, at the loudest possible volume, in a house with disgustingly thin walls and a godforsaken free-loader probably out wandering its hallways for a late-night letching. “You bastard,” he hisses, eyes darkening once again.

Sakura only grins and slips a hand between them to wrap around his own cock and stroke to the same erratic tempo of his breathing. Tachibana is still glaring at him as he climaxes a few moments later, warm sticky semen splashing up against his belly and making a mess of his sheets. Sakura does not look in the least apologetic, but instead runs his free hand along the contours of Tachibana’s jaw and mumbles dumbly something about “Wanting that face.”

Tachibana would be only too happy to favor him with that face for awhile longer, but it seems that Sakura’s post-coital stupidity is catching too, and he finds himself far too willing to be wrestled back onto the futon and wiped clean with something he fervently hopes is not his robe. He settles in and lets Sakura’s arms wrap, one beneath his head and the other about his waist, and lets the irritation wash into something like comfortable familiarity.

Familiarity, at any rate, at Sakura almost immediately begins snoring into his ear.

It’s really too loud. He can’t sleep here-

“Haven’t slept in two days,” Sakura pouts between his snores, “Stop twitching like that.”

“You can’t-” He doesn’t finish the thought – not because the pout Sakura is putting on is especially moving (or really even all that convincing), but because this is the first time in two days that he’s felt any real note of tranquility in his own home. Especially enough to fall asleep so easily…

A creaky floor board catches his ear.

But he’s checking the goddamned hallway one more time.

Tags: fanworks: fiction
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