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He was kidding when he came onto him. Or he was at first, at least. But hours of stakeout will get you bored enough to try anything once, Kusabi supposes, as he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders. Beside him, Sumio's undoing a button on his shirt: entirely too casual for a guy who's just been solicited."You know I was just talking shit, right?" Kusabi tries. "Are you actually gonna do this?""I mean, you haven't stopped me yet, so..." Sumio, loosening his collar, trails off, frowning tightly at him from across the back seat. "Take your coat off, Tetsu."Kusabi mutters something noncommittal and complies. It's been a long ass week. Most of it's been in this claustrophobic jail cell of a car. At this point he'll take any kind of satisfaction, no matter how bizarre it feels to ask for a handjob from Sumio, of all people; Sumio who's actually willing, rolling his sleeves up and waiting for his next move. His coat’s quickly discarded on the seat beside him. Sumio, nodding in approval, shifts in the seat beside him to angle in closer. The younger man's hands are quick to undo his buckle: all too soon the belt slips through his fingers, metal clattering to the floor of the car’s back seat with a faint jangle.Kusabi feels his breath catch in his throat at the sound. He hates it-- the juvenile, teenage stupidity of it all. So much for for this being a joke."Don't tell me you've done this before."Sumio's been confident until now, but at last he hesitates, makes an odd ambivalent noise like he’s been caught off guard. The first joints of his fingers have stopped short where they've hooked precariously under the waistband of his pants. Clearly, the answer isn’t a positive one. They share a look like a couple of deer who’ve been caught in the headlights, and it’d be almost funny to Kusabi, if it weren’t completely horrible.“Never mind. I don’t wanna know.”It's enough for Sumio, though, who seems to take it in stride once more. For how stupid as this whole affair has gone so far, Sumio actually looks patient: expectant even, watching Kusabi's expression carefully for a reaction as he reaches lower, pushing past the barrier of his pants. “If you want to stop, tell me,” Sumio murmurs.“Shut up and jerk me off,” Kusabi manages, throat dry.Nearly invisible in the darkness, a twitch of a smile hangs on the corners of Sumio’s lips. “Whatever you say.”Thank god he actually does what he’s told. Even if Kusabi hasn’t totally processed that this is happening, it's easier to ignore the overthinking once Sumio's fingers have found warm, willing flesh. Now there’s no fuss or formality or negotiation: just Sumio, leaning over him with his hand wrapped around his dick. Mid-goddamn-handjob, sure, but far better than getting personal or doing it himself. He might as well have asked the guy to scratch an itch for him. And Sumio's considerate, too, all method to make up for the inexperience. He carefully massages Kusabi's dick over his underwear, exploring eagerly, his fingers tracing tentatively up and down the growing stiffness. As awkward, stilted, as the whole situation feels, it’s not—Not bad. Not at all. Somehow his partner’s pulled off getting him hard. Kusabi finally releases the breath he’d been holding, a hiss of air through his teeth."Could you talk or something? Jesus.”“You told me to shut up.”“It’s too quiet. I changed my mind.”Sumio sighs, even as he goes further, his hand dipping under the band of Kusabi's underwear. “Just pick one and stick to it.” The sudden skin on skin contact, Sumio’s slow strokes up and down the stiffening length of his cock, sends a shiver up Kusabi's spine. He notices it, too: emboldened, Sumio starts thumbing over the head of his cock. “What do I even talk about?” He runs along the slit, the pad of his finger rolling across slowly, back and forth; Kusabi’s hand twitches, then clenches open and closed. “I hope you aren’t expecting some sort of confession,” he quips dryly.“Fuck— that,” Kusabi replies gruffly, like he’s putting the words together piece by piece. “Don’t make it weird.”“Like this isn’t already weird?”“—Sumio, c’mon. Don’t think about it too hard.”“No, I’m serious, Tetsu.” He pushes the cloth of his underwear aside completely, exposing the whole of Kusabi’s length to continue his languid, rhythmic motions. "You have to tell me what you want and don't want."Kusabi hums with pleasure, his head tipping backward. "You jerk yourself off too, don't you? You just go... ah... up and down. That's it. You're over-complicating this." For a moment, his eyes shut, content to take in the whole of the sensation. Until Sumio's hand, no longer stroking the shaft, drifts lower to cup Kusabi's balls.His head pops right back up again. "What the fuck.""So... no on that, then..."“Can't you just do this normally?” he snaps. “You don't have to get so damn creative!”“If you were gonna complain this much, why'd you even ask?” retorts Sumio, irritated, “You wanna fucking do it yourself next time?”“I didn’t ask for you to psychoanalyze me.”“I didn’t ask another guy to get me off, either!”“The fuck’re you trying to say, asshole?” Kusabi growls, and before he can stop himself, his fist’s balled up in Sumio’s shirt, dragging him closer.“I said— T-Tetsu, wait—”It’s too late to realize that, just maybe, grabbing him had been a mistake. Sumio’s just a little faster, his reach a little longer, so when he twists away the timing and movement’s all wrong for such tight quarters. There’s a struggle of limbs neither of them can follow as they both lose balance; he reaches up to grab something to stabilize himself and it’s a seatbelt that just reels more belt out as he falls; at last, he lands on his back with a soft thump and a startled yelp as the hard plastic of a buckle digs into his side hard. One of Sumio's hands grasps for the headrest behind them, and the other, stuck out for stability, plants hard enough into his chest that it knocks the wind right out of him. Kusabi swears and shoves him off.As he moves away, his knee brushes against the growing tent between Sumio’s thighs.“Oh, shit.” They both react in an instant. Crab-like, Kusabi scrambles away, his back colliding with the door behind him; Sumio scuttles backward, too, trying (and failing) to cover himself up. “Why are you getting hard?!”“I'm giving you a handjob, what the hell did you expect?!” he shoots back.“Fffffuck. Fuck!” Across the back seat, Sumio’s glowering back at him, face flushed and barely visible in the dimming yellow light of a single streetlamp; his shirt’s rumpled, two buttons undone out of order. The goddamn nerve of him, looking that flustered and defiant but still so— fuck, pretty, he realizes, with a sinking feeling. He hastily puts the thought out of his mind. Kusabi flinches, expression softening: much as he wants to, he can’t find it in himself to stay upset. As he runs a hand through his hair, he notices the gel already beginning to unstick with sweat. “This isn't jerking off anymore. I take it back, this is really weird.”His partner frowns. Sumio’s stern this time... even as he finally succeeds in crossing his legs. "Last chance, Tetsu. We can just... pretend this didn't happen.""Ugh." He leans back again-- the back of his head taps faintly against the window. There's a beat of tense silence as he thinks, weighing his options and boring a hole into the roof of the car with his eyes. Finally, he raises his head once more. "Fuck it. We already got this far, let's just deal with it.""There's always plan B.""Which is?""Masturbating on opposite sides of the car,” he answers flatly."That's--" Kusabi begins to protest, but quickly shuts his mouth again, lips pressed tightly together. Hearing it all without seeing, he reasons, wouldn't be any better. And testing the curious part of himself that might even want to turn and watch Sumio get himself off-- that's much worse. Might as well solve the problems directly. Scratch the itch. Kusabi sighs. “No, I'm not gonna fuckin' blue ball you. It's fine."Sumio stares at him curiously. He uncrosses, then licks his lips, brows knitting as the gears turn faster in his head. “Let's set some boundaries, then.”“Seriously?”“After that? Yes, seriously.” He squints. "Don't touch my ears.""What's wrong with your ears?" Kusabi retorts-- Sumio simply shrugs, noncommittal, so Kusabi drops it. "All right, then: don’t touch my balls again, weirdo.”Sumio rolls his eyes, but hums in assent. "Don't put anything in me.""In-- the fuck you think we're gonna do?""I'm just saying. You don't know what'll happen in the moment.""Fine. Then I'm not putting anything in my mouth.""Okay, same."Kusabi hesitates. "And don’t kiss me.” It's a joke, at least partially. Murder, arson, jaywalking. Like the last joke, it doesn't stick. Sumio frowns at him-- not exactly disappointed, but still sober-- and Kusabi wonders whether it might've been better if he'd just kept his damn mouth shut."Why would I do that?""You don't know what'll happen in the moment," he echoes.That much is enough for Sumio, it seems. He inches closer, eyes locked on Kusabi's. "Is that it?"
"That's it."
The guy's ballsy as hell, he’ll give him that. Sumio's gaze never once falters as he settles over him, straddling his leg.
"H-hey—"
"I'll do you first."
And without so much as another word, Sumio's wrapped a hand around Kusabi again. His fingers work him over a litle faster, a loose fist bobbing up and down the shaft-- but Sumio's hard too, now, and with every motion he can feel his partner's cock straining against the fabric of his pants, rubbing back and forth against his thigh. Over and over. Sumio hovers unsteadily above him, trying not to rock against him too much-- but positioned like this, it's a lost cause. He stabilizes himself, grabbing the back seat again but causing himself to grind on Kusabi's thigh hard, too-- the motion brings a short moan forth from his throat. Stifled, like he's trying to keep it in. His nails dig into the seat cushion as Kusabi feels himself throb in Sumio's hand."Fuck," breathes Kusabi shakily.
Sumio's mouth is hanging half-open as he studies him. He starts to thumb over the head again: two or three times he smears away the bead forming at the slit, and all of a sudden his fingers are slick with Kusabi's precum. "Um." Sumio brushes a loose lock of hair away from his face with the base of his palm. "I'm worked up already, but. Don't worry about me yet."
Kusabi grunts. Somehow, the fact that Sumio's so considerate isn't reassuring anymore: now he's just embarrassed about it. "Just take your damn pants off."
Sumio nods and moves back, pushing up onto his knees. Clumsily, he tugs both pants and underwear down to mid-thigh: he sighs with relief when his cock's freed. It dawns slowly on Kusabi that he's been watching Sumio back, too-- and that he's kept jerking himself off in the absence of Sumio's touch.
Goddammit. "Can you, uh." His face is hot. He's stumbling over his words. Sumio settles back on his haunches and starts pulling his clothes down to his knees. It wasn't supposed to get to this point, but he aches, and the quiet break in Sumio's voice when he'd moaned is playing on a loop in the back of his Kusabi's head. "Could you touch yourself?"
Sumio blinks back owlishly. "No kissing, but you want to watch me touch myself?"
"Fuck off," he grumbles. "Technically, I can fire you."
Sumio shoots him an incredulous look, then scoffs. "Fire me, then."But he listens in the end. After all, he still needs to catch up. His strokes are faster on himself: his own precum dribbles down from the tip and mingles with the mess already on his fingers, the sound of it wet, obscene. Somehow Kusabi keeps close to following his rhythm without cumming then and there-- a damn miracle, at this rate. All too soon, Sumio's lips part and his eyes fall half-lidded, breaths coming heavier as he draws nearer to the edge. He's disheveled. His hair's coming undone; his shirt's wrinkled, sticking to his body with sweat, and they both smell like sex and the stale, dead air of the inside of this car, but Sumio is raw and exposed and entirely captivating, somehow, doing nothing but getting himself off with his eyes squeezed shut. Kusabi has wanted to reach out and touch him before-- much as he's tried to choke down that want-- but never more than now, never like this. So he does, fingers curling over his, and jerks with him. And it's-- strange, his hand working another man's cock, but not as strange as he'd thought. Either way, he's not totally screwing it up. Sumio moans his name, hips jerking roughly into Kusabi's hand. For a feverish moment his eyes are drawn to his parted lips, and he imagines Sumio's mouth crashing, warm and wet and open, against his own.Shit. No kissing was his rule. Maybe the stakeout has finally gotten to him after all."Tetsu, wait," gasps Sumio-- but neither of them can, and some shared base urge brings them both up to their knees. Their dicks bump together and Kusabi takes them both in hand, stroking them together. Sumio exhales slow and rocks his hips again, his full length rubbing against Kusabi's. He leans in, one hand braced on Kusabi's shoulder, and guides his hand; cocks dripping, they rut desperately into each other, breaths coming ragged."Fuck!" His mind's swimming, so close to the edge. Everything's warm and electric with sensation, Sumio against him, moving so smoothly with him, so nothing fuckin' matters now. Much less what he looks like with his pants slipping down his thighs and the head of his dick rubbing against the exposed skin of Sumio's thigh. Tetsu lets his head drop into the crook of Sumio's shoulder, and his hand squeezes his upper arm tightly, his hips bucking into Sumio's loose grip: wanting more of him, wanting it faster. "Fuck, Sumio," he groans. "I'm gonna cum..."Sumio doesn't speak a damn word. His touch, the soft, pleased hum in his throat, says all that he needs to really know. His fingers rake through the mess of Kusabi's hair; his hand moves back to his shoulder then between his shoulder blades, finally lowering to the small of his back. Sumio nudges him closer, and their bodies press nearly flush together. Kusabi's damn grateful for it, too: Sumio's hand between them slips backward, stroking only Kusabi from the base but still rubbing the heads of their cocks against each other.After everything, it doesn't take much longer. He doesn't even get to warn him. With a hoarse gasp, he finishes-- and Sumio jacks him off till he's spent, Kusabi's cum dripping messy down his fingers, smearing over his own cock, his belly. Sumio's not far behind. He rubs the head of his cock against Kusabi's, exhaling a shuddering breath: a few more solid jerks and he comes with a soft groan, spilling into his own hand.They're quiet for a moment, resting against each other as they both collect themselves. It's Sumio's turn to slump into Kusabi's body: exhausted, his hand drops to his side. Kusabi can feel him move as his breaths slow. His chest rises and falls, in and out."God," Sumio sighs.Kusabi pushes back the hair that's stuck to Sumio's forehead with sweat. He doesn't think about it, really, as he presses his lips to Sumio's temple and leans against him. Taking in the feel of him again one more time before it's over. Coming down.Sumio doesn't protest. But he does raise his head. "Tetsu," he begins, quietly, "you do have tissues, right?""Fuck. I hope so."---“Hey, Tetsu.”Kusabi, reclined in the driver’s seat, turns. Sumio’s raising a cigarette to his lips, brow furrowed in thoughtful contemplation. ”Yeah?”He takes a drag. ”You broke your own rule, you know?””What?””I just realized it.” Sumio ashes out the open window without looking away.Tetsu pauses to prop himself up on his elbows. "...I said it had to be on the lips. So," he shrugs, nonchalant, "it didn't count.""Actually, you didn't say anything like that.""Maybe you should pay more attention to me, then, 'cause I definitely said it."Sumio almost looks like he's going to argue more: hell, Kusabi's waiting for it, an annoyingly expectant look on his face. But he relents and finishes the cigarette in silence. When it's clear he's given up, Kusabi settles back into his chair once more, muttering something about sleep. He's about to close his eyes when Sumio leans past him to toss his cigarette butt out the driver's side window. He hovers over him on the way back, hesitating. Sumio's mouth is half-open again, and maybe it's just the late--early-- hour wearing him down, but this time, Kusabi lets himself reach for him. Illuminated by only that last street lamp, a single strip of pale light, his hand slides up Sumio's wrist and comes to a rest just above his elbow. It's Sumio who bends low first."No, you didn't," Sumio says at last, but all Kusabi feels are his lips moving against his own.