This New Thing Between Us

~500 words :: Digimon :: Daisuke/Yamato :: 1/30/11
Daisuke’s not sure when he started thinking of Yamato as Yamato and not Takeru’s brother.


Daisuke’s not sure when he started thinking of Yamato as Yamato and not Takeru’s brother.

It might have been the first time he was backstage like this, pleasantly buzzed and appreciating Yamato’s ass more than his singing, or it might have been after the show, the tipsiness a convenient excuse for an over-long hug and a congratulatory kiss the other guys took for a joke. Yamato’s cheek was stubbly under his lips. Daisuke had never kissed anyone with stubble before.

It was probably before he found himself at a love hotel, on his knees the minute the door was closed. Yamato said something about getting Daisuke’s hair gel all over his fingers and then he didn’t say anything at all, unless ah and hngh count as words. Daisuke wasn’t coordinated enough to get his own jeans open with Yamato’s dick in his mouth, but he was horny enough to come from the heel of his hand pressed to his crotch.

They made out on the bed after, got hard again while there was still most of their hour left. When Daisuke fucked him, Yamato was still half-dressed, his jeans hanging off one ankle. It was hot. Sexy hot, not temperature hot, though they were both pretty sweaty. Daisuke watched his dick slide in and out of Yamato’s ass and listened to the desperate noises Yamato made and thought I’m fucking Takeru’s brother.

So maybe it was after that, actually. Maybe even the second or third time they hooked up like this. It took a while to get used to it, this new thing between them. He’s not sure he’s used to it even now, to be perfectly honest, but he can go with the flow. He’s good at that.

This is the last song of the night, one of their old ones, from back when they were still The Teenage Wolves. Daisuke bounces on the balls of his feet and sings along under his breath. He downs the last of his beer as the guys all line up at the front of the stage and bow like it’s the fucking Budokan and not some hole-in-the-wall club. Yamato’s voice is hoarse when he thanks the crowd.

It is still hoarse when he’s splayed out on the bed not that long after, when Daisuke licks his way down Yamato’s throat, feeling Yamato’s adam’s apple move under his lips and tongue. It is still ragged when he comes, calling Daisuke’s name, and when he stretches and looks over at the clock and says well, I guess I’d better go. They never pay for a full night.

Daisuke feels like a groupie sometimes, the way they only fuck after a show. He wonders what Yamato thinks of him, wonders what Yamato would say if he actually asked him out, instead of just hanging around backstage.

Maybe tomorrow he will call and find out.