Kyouya sat, composed, at the side of a large, airy room, tea cradled between his hands, and watched the Rain.
Yamamoto’s forms shifted one into the next, beautiful and inevitable as flowing water. Afternoon light slid down his sword edge, soft and bright. The still focus in his eyes rested on perfect nothingness as he stepped, turned, cut. Kyouya’s gaze followed every move and line of him, drinking in the pureness of it along with the bitterness of the tea.
Finally, Yamamoto finished and collected himself in the center of the room, breath deep and slow.
And then he crossed the room in four strides and knelt swiftly over Kyouya, knees spread to either side of his thighs, hands closing around his face. Kyouya laughed low in his throat, balancing his tea deftly as their mouths met in a hard, hot kiss.
"It’s very hard to concentrate when you watch me like that," Yamamoto murmured.
"Perhaps I should join you, next time, instead."
Yamamoto laughed out loud. "Now that would really distract me." He stroked his thumbs over Kyouya’s cheekbones.
Kyouya set his tea precisely aside and slid his fingers into Yamamoto’s hair, pulling him back down to another kiss, deep and intent; he’d been patient for long enough. He nipped sharply at Yamamoto’s lower lip and his eyes narrowed with satisfaction at the way Yamamoto’s breath caught.
He slid his hands down to pull Yamamoto’s top open and off his shoulders, purring into Yamamoto’s mouth; the lean, balanced hardness of Yamamoto’s body was always a pleasure to taste.
"Kyouya…" Yamamoto’s hands spread against his back, pressing him closer, and Kyouya ground his hips up against Yamamoto’s. A slow, sharp smile curled his lips; Yamamoto was hard against him. Yamamoto growled softly, and long, strong hands curved around Kyouya’s ass, kneading hard.
He liked it that Takeshi wasn’t any more patient than he was.
He twisted to push Yamamoto down against the tatami and snorted at the bright laugh that answered. Sometimes he thought Yamamoto saw the whole world as a joke. He pulled free the ties of Takeshi’s hakama, unraveling the folds and pushing the loose cloth down long legs.
Takeshi reached for his belt, smiling, eyes hot and sharp as Kyouya’s kimono fell open around him. "I hope you came prepared," he murmured.
Kyouya sniffed. "Since when am I not?" He fished a small foil tube out of his kimono sleeve.
Yamamoto’s smile brightened. "That’s my Kyouya."
Kyouya arched a brow. "Indeed?" He leaned over Takeshi and closed firm teeth on his throat, pressing slick fingers into him.
"Ah!" Takeshi arched under him, hands closing hard on Kyouya’s hips, pulling him in tight. Kyouya savored the sounds he made, breath coming faster as Takeshi rocked against him, moving with the thrust of his fingers, head tossed back.
"Kyouya, now." The husky growl was back in Takeshi’s voice, and Kyouya mouth quirked as he settled between Takeshi’s legs and pushed into him, and yes, this was what he wanted—Takeshi’s fierce response, open and true, the heat in his eyes, the hard strength of his hands on Kyouya’s hips, demanding he move and thrust.
They moved against each other, sharp and swift, low moans twining around each other like heat around pleasure. The sensation of driving into Takeshi’s body coiled up Kyouya’s spine, exquisite as the thrill of fighting, perfect as the beauty of Takeshi’s sword. They fucked each other hard and intent, hands stroking and gripping.
When Takeshi moaned, a shudder raking through him, Kyouya couldn’t take his eyes away; the taut line of Takeshi’s body drew him down and down into heat until he fell after, muffling a groan against Takeshi’s throat.
They lay tangled together, panting, and Kyouya slowly noticed Takeshi’s fingers stroking through his hair and snorted. Takeshi’s chest shook with laughter, under him.
"One of these days I’ll convince you to take it slow."
"Not when I’ve been watching your sword," Kyouya pointed out.
"Well, no, probably not."
He could feel Takeshi’s lips quirked where they pressed against his temple and smiled faintly against Takeshi’s shoulder. He doubted he’d be willing to give up Takeshi’s pure ferocity any time soon.
He doubted Takeshi would, either.