burn after reading

Nakamaru Yuichi/Taguchi Junnosuke. NC-17. Taguchi and Nakamaru go green.

3594 words. Warning for recreational marijuana.

Collaboration with [info]je_levy.

Burn After Reading

“‘Cause it’s Friday, you ain’t got no job, and you ain’t got shit to do!” Taguchi declares gleefully, and Nakamaru rolls his eyes. He’d thought they’d gotten rid of the bad American movie quotes when Jin left the group.

“I’m pretty sure this is illegal,” Nakamaru comments as Taguchi waltzes into his apartment and commandeers his coffee table, kneeling to set up a ridiculous amount of paraphernalia alongside his plastic baggie of greenery.

“Only in a few countries,” Taguchi amends, whistling as he gets to work breaking apart the small brick and pulling out stems. “You know you want to.”

Nakamaru does. He’s always kind of wondered, mostly from the bad American movies Jin made him watch, and he’s old enough to be responsible about it now…right? He watches Taguchi pack a bowl out of sheer mesmerization, his eyes intense and a little crazy as he lifts the swirly pipe in his direction.

“I’ll let you do the honors.”

Nakamaru reaches for the glass pipe, glancing briefly at Taguchi’s steady, smiling gaze. He observes that it looks like it’s been very, well… used. Though, granted, he doesn’t know what a used pipe is meant to look like but it’s glass, and some things go pretty much without saying.

At the very most, though, he had tried a cigarette when he was younger; back when Koki’s eyebrows were thinner…

“Just between you and me, right?” Nakamaru says sternly, fixing Taguchi with his own brand of unblinking look and Taguchi’s smile widens as he rests his arm on the back of the sofa.

“Quit stalling and light it, Nakamaru,” he replies with enough smug to fill a room.

Nakamaru holds the pipe up, shrinking back a little in sofa cushions. “Not until you promise–”

“There’s no gossip in you sitting there holding it. It’ll be a secret if you make it worth our while,” Taguchi interjects, waving one hand vaguely. “Come on~ Nakamaru; do something.”

Nakamaru forgets himself for a brief moment and just stares at him, mouth a bit agape. “That was not at all comforting; what is actually wrong with you?”

Taguchi just blinks at him, mouth twisted discomfitingly like it’s Nakamaru who’s crazy.

Something about that makes Nakamaru huff out an irritable breath, but bring the stem to his lips. He gestures for the lighter on the coffee table and Taguchi obliges.

“Make sure you corner it– like light one side–so you don’t torch it. I’ll walk you through it if you like,” he says after a pause.

Nakamaru narrows his eyes and nods, closing his lips around the opening, flicking open the zippo and tipping the flame against the right side of a bud of the clump of grass.

“Good,” Taguchi murmurs and his voice is low and slow like he’s already got a hit. He watches Nakamaru with a carefully hot look. “Now suck and then cap the carb with your finger there.”

Nakamaru breathes in, shutting his eyes as the first cloud of smoke wafts up from the faint ember.

He’s vaguely aware that Taguchi could’ve said ‘inhale’ instead of ‘suck,’ but it could be a weird idiosyncrasy. Taguchi guides his finger to the little hole on the bottom and Nakamaru caps, stiffening as a heat floods his mouth.

“Don’t exhale,” says Taguchi and Nakamaru feels frozen in a moment, eyes blind when he looks off at the wall opposite, not breathing. His chest expands with it and Taguchi takes the pipe back. “Wait ‘til I say,” he orders before busying himself with his own hit.

Nakamaru sits on the edge of the sofa cushion, face tipped up and still not breathing until he sees Taguchi take a deep pull, mouth a perfect ‘o’ when he pulls away. He gestures an identifiable ‘go ahead’ and Nakamaru breathes out.

His limbs go slow like thick milk. The exhale that rushes out is like a sigh that takes his very being out his chest. His vision amplifies like every still object in the room screams instant colour and sharpness. The back of the sofa seems to embrace him when his spine touches it.

“Oh,” he hears himself whisper.

“Yeah,” Taguchi replies, smoke spilling from his lips as he hisses it out between his teeth, a lazy smirk acting out on the side of his pretty pink mouth.

He’s watching Nakamaru intently, almost creepily, like he’s waiting for something to happen. “What?” Nakamaru finally asks, uneasy.

“Nothing,” Taguchi replies, and now his voice is much huskier. “Just curious, is all.”

“Curious about what?” Nakamaru forces out. His head feels like lead. “What did you just drug me with?”

“Hit,” is Taguchi’s response, passing the pipe back to Nakamaru, who automatically brings it to his lips under Taguchi’s scrutinizing eyes. “I’m doing it, too, remember?” he goes on, his voice like silk to Nakamaru’s ears.

That shouldn’t make him feel better, but it does. He tries to nod and almost falls forward, halted only by Taguchi’s strong hands.

“Careful,” Taguchi says, his low voice laced with amusement. “How are you feeling there?”

“Heavy,” Nakamaru answers, his tongue thick as it wraps around the syllables.

“Hey.” A finger underneath his chin lifts his lead head to meet Taguchi’s eyes, which look like dark chocolate pudding. He wants to swim in them. “I’ve got you, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Nakamaru gets out, because he’s not about to nod again, and his face starts to hurt. He belatedly realizes it’s from smiling.

He leans against Taguchi’s broad chest as Taguchi takes another hit, rising and falling along with his deep breaths, and the following groan of satisfaction leaves Nakamaru tingling.

It seems that scents are something distant blended with the dry bitter smell of the smoke and it’s all over Taguchi with the musk fragrance of his cologne. Taguchi hand has slipped from beneath his chin to the side of his throat, fingertips curved over the back of his neck.

“Oh, I very much like you like this,” Taguchi’s saying from somewhere above him.

When Nakamaru tips his head back, the world swings in the opposite direction and he stares up at Taguchi through a glazed filter, forgetting what he’d meant to reply. A perfect blur of Taguchi smiling indulgently and lifting the pipe to his lips.

“Want more?” Taguchi asks, on an unbreathing whisper, the tail-end of laughter quaking his tone right through Nakamaru’s middle.

He means to say ‘ok’ or ‘yeah’ but the only sound that he utters comes out husky, raked thin like a groan and so very unlike him. He smiles and Taguchi bumps his nose against his before their lips touch for a millisecond.

Nakamaru’s lips part, and Taguchi exhales. The taste coils in like a good burn and he opens his mouth wider, breathing Taguchi in. It’s more heady than straight from the pipe, his lips are tingling and the wet touch of Taguchi’s tongue lapping just over his lower lip sends a pile of vibrations from his middle downward.

His own tongue is in Taguchi’s mouth and Taguchi seals his lips over his before he’s completely aware that he’s actually kissing Taguchi. It seems simple when a thumb grazes over his stomach when Taguchi’s hand slips under his shirt at some point. Ordinarily Nakamaru would jump and freak out, but right now Taguchi’s touch sends all kinds of feelers throughout his body, and he finds himself arching into it, searching for Taguchi’s tongue with his and a loud rumble overcomes his head when he finally finds it.

It occurs to him that that’s him, his own low groan as Taguchi’s breath hitches and he tilts his head to cover more of Nakamaru’s mouth. Nakamaru isn’t used to being submissive in his kisses, but he doesn’t mind at all, in fact he doesn’t have much mind to spare as what’s left of it is clouded with a mixture of lust, fantasy, and Taguchi. None of this feels real, but it definitely is, because Taguchi’s tongue is lazily spiralling around his own and that electric touch is approaching his waist.

Nakamaru inhales sharply, but it’s out of anticipation and his hips rock upwards without any prior command. He feels more than hears Taguchi chuckle into his mouth and shakily lifts his hand to Taguchi’s shoulder, pulling him closer and effectively knocking him backwards onto the couch, laying on his back with Taguchi’s weight comfortably on top of him.

“Shit, sorry–” Taguchi starts to say, but then Nakamaru feels something hard bump between his legs and becomes aware of his own arousal. He drinks down the other man’s throaty moan as Taguchi aligns them together and snaps his hips like this is a much different situation, one that the mere thought of has Nakamaru lifting his own hips to grind back.

He feels a sudden weightlessness when Taguchi’s palms scoop right under his ass and pulls him up into a rolling hard contact. His arms rest back against the arm of the sofa like a freefall and Taguchi climbs him. There are words he wants to say, instructions he wants to give but Taguchi mutes him with his tongue, lips like biting and Nakamaru depletes into a mess of gasping.

Taguchi grinds down on him like he’s fucking him, rutting the fabric of his trousers tight to his erection. Nakamaru can feel the form of it, pressing on him, stuttering over ache and he has to grab at the back of Taguchi’s neck because he’s so rough like this. The touch of cloth to sensitive skin is all heat and Nakamaru feels blurred lights burn the corners of his vision when he opens his eyes to Taguchi’s flame-blown gaze.

No words for the contact of fingers on the inside of his belt and Taguchi’s hot breaths spilling on his neck. It shudders something delicious in every single one of Nakamaru’s veins when he gets a chance to reach down and under Taguchi’s shirt.

Nakamaru doesn’t have any clear fix on intention with his hips rocking to Taguchi’s rhythm but he knows he wants more. He feels a scrape of teeth at his collar and the rumble of Taguchi’s yearning moan just as Nakamaru starts to tear at the buckle of Taguchi’s belt.

Taguchi says something; it’s hissed right against him, like a vicious curse.

“Want you,” he’s saying and that goes straight to the sensitive nerves of his spine.

He has to brace himself, scrambling as his senses climb and the room still reels like a pinwheel, while he sits up to shrug out of his shirt. Taguchi pushes at his trousers, getting it down to his thighs. Every skim of skin to skin contact is blazing and Nakamaru is swimming in some strange ethereal reality where even the friction of upholstery on the backs of his thighs riddles him with shocks.

Taguchi’s only half-undressed, but Nakamaru loses both propriety and patience, gripping Taguchi’s shoulders blades hard, fingers digging and he opens his mouth over Taguchi’s, lifting his tongue inward. He isn’t sure if it’s Taguchi or him making that pained, hungry sound when fingers scrape down his naked back.

A gasp gets caught in Nakamaru’s throat when Taguchi’s fingers make contact with his aching cock, taking it in his hand and assisting Nakamaru in pushing down his own pants to expose himself as well. The feeling of flesh on flesh is so foreign and surreal that it seems to take Nakamaru even higher when Taguchi strokes them together, and Nakamaru can feel each pulse and twitch of Taguchi’s length against his.

“Fuck,” he gets out, and it hurts a little pushing through his dry throat. Taguchi offers a grunt of acknowledgement and squeezes them harder, breathing harshly out of his nose as he continues to devour Nakamaru’s mouth like Nakamaru himself is the drug on which he gets high.

Nakamaru feels similarly, his own senses heightened with everything Taguchi does, the combination of his scent and voice and the ferocity with which he’s moving against Nakamaru without being too fast. It’s slow, actually, lazy and driven purely on physical stimulation. Taguchi’s thrusts are gradual but sharp, which just has Nakamaru wanting more as his mind becomes more and more clouded with arousal.

“Can I?” Taguchi asks, his voice casual and quiet while at the same time being the sexiest thing Nakamaru’s ever heard, and he’s already nodding before he fully understands the question and to what it pertains.

He figures it out when he tugs Nakamaru’s pants the rest of the way down his legs, rubbing the firm muscles of Nakamaru’s thigh on his way back up and pressing gently on the inside to urge them open. His breath quickens, what’s left of his mind racing at what he just agreed to do, but his body doesn’t appear to be bothered by the turn of events as he feels a welcome tingling where he hasn’t before.

Fingers, cool and wet, press where the tingling has him spreading his legs. Taguchi mouths over his chest, running lips up and dipping his tongue against the center of his pectorals. Nakamaru grabs for something, realises he’s knitting fingers into Taguchi’s fringe.

Taguchi growls and it resonates deeper than most sounds he remembers hearing when his thoughts were clearer. He can’t think on any firm plane and his body seems to be doing most of it just then because Taguchi presses in, nuzzling upward.

He finds Nakamaru’s mouth, nibbling on off-breaths as his fingers dig inward, one thrust and Nakamaru arches. He seems to want to stiffen immediately, but his body is loose like it’s filled with only liquid and he shuts his eyes. He’s clutching the sofa cushions and the hair at the back of Taguchi’s head with his other hand.

Taguchi presses a second finger, winding a harsh silk stretch and Nakamaru utters a quavering moan right against his lips. Taguchi responds with a deeply caustic breath, opening his mouth for him again, doubling sensitivity when his knuckles spread right inside him and flicker over something mercilessly electric. Nakamaru feels like he goes blind for just a reckoning second and Taguchi’s lips remain the only tether where his touch has him thoroughly wrecked.

Panting, Nakamaru slams back to himself, completely wound around Taguchi like a rope and Taguchi smiles against his throat, lips curving up, groaning as he runs dry knuckles along the inside of his thighs, nudging him spread again.

“Ready?” Taguchi whispers a little rakishly, eyes hooded with a look Nakamaru’s never seen on him.

Nakamaru only nods, swallowing against the parched state of his throat. He should be nervous, but Taguchi’s touch is gentle and his smile is sluggish and there’s no room in his head for anything but feeling. His skin trembles in preparation, all over like a cold sweat, and once again his body doesn’t fight the blunt head of Taguchi’s cock that presses its way inside him.

“Ah,” Taguchi says, biting his lip, and Nakamaru is more attracted to him now than before. “Tight.”

“Sorry,” Nakamaru manages to reply, but Taguchi shakes his head and leans up as far as he can to press wet kisses to Nakamaru’s neck as he slowly eases his way in. Nakamaru arches a little, not used to being filled like this, and lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding when Taguchi’s balls finally make contact with his skin.

Tension shifts and he needs Taguchi to move, a desperate whine expelled from his throat as his hands clutch onto Taguchi’s biceps because he can’t talk right now, not with Taguchi inside him like this. A low chuckle breaks through the haze of his mind as Taguchi lowers his own hands to the flesh of Nakamaru’s ass and squeezes. Somehow it pulls Taguchi deeper and Nakamaru chokes on his air, Taguchi rushing to soothe him with soft whispers that Nakamaru can’t process.

Then he pulls back, giving Nakamaru a second of reprieve before pushing back in, just as slowly as everything else, and Taguchi’s moan sounds like it’s being torn from his throat, against his will. It’s hot enough for Nakamaru to roll his hips, meeting Taguchi’s next thrust and sending jolts of piercing arousal through his body as Taguchi reignites that switch inside him.

He loses all lucidity as Taguchi becomes all pressure, pushing in him still in slow glides. It shrouds him in deafening pleasure– so coiled from the chest downward– he’s tumbling toward an implosion.

“Oh, God,” Taguchi hisses and it sounds more worshipful than a curse.

Nakamaru can feel Taguchi trembling as he presses his forehead to Nakamaru’s neck, going achingly slow now. Nakamaru has to gather enough breath as his hips snap upward again, this time, guiding him to hit that same piercing spot and it just ruins him instantly from the bottom up and there’s nothing more in him but an immediate, impatient need for it again and again.

He must have uttered a plea because Nakamaru feels the heat of his own breath pressed right in the groove of Taguchi’s collarbone as he grips those biceps harder. He listens to the responding pained relief in Taguchi’s groan hovering near his ear.

Like it’s all he could ever want, Taguchi speeds up and Nakamaru clings, instantly blown apart by the pummel of it. One of them hisses a something harsh and Nakamaru feels himself sinking deeper into what he had nearly forgotten was just the sofa. They get lost in blistering minutes with Nakamaru grabbing for the arm of the sofa to keep the contact at the same force, loving the power Taguchi has to use to go deep.

He can feel it climbing him and he writhes, practically holding his breath. Nakamaru shuts his eyes as the room goes empty with just the sound of them and the cacophonic protest of the sofa springs. They’re so tight together that the head of his cock ruts up Taguchi’s stomach and he can only do so much to not lose his head completely and gasp the filmy visions rocketing his mind revolving so intently on how perfect Taguchi is like this.

He feels his ankle grasped as Taguchi pulls him into a more vulnerable angle, his neck arched back and head against the arm of the sofa. Desperate hands scratch with blunt fingernails on his thighs and Nakamaru looks up blearily. Taguchi’s eyes are like deep-feeling beacons, glazed with a zeroed in want that seems entirely made for Nakamaru.

He’s flung back when Taguchi licks his lips, swallowing so his Adam’s Apple bobs and Nakamaru feels like every detail comes to an etched relief right before Taguchi’s fist closes on him. He’s wrecked and moaning, feels everything on him tighten, the room vanishing when his veins fill with something sweet. His orgasm seethes up in a way that’s wholly and entirely different than he’s used to, and all he knows as he finds release is Taguchi inside him, hard and solid and still moving.

“God, so fucking tight,” Taguchi’s hissing, his deep grumbling rocking Nakamaru’s wave of ecstasy, and now Nakamaru can feel every inch of Taguchi pushing in and out of him. “I can’t– fuck, Nakamaru.”

Nakamaru perks at his name, coherent enough to wonder why Taguchi’s still using his surname even like this, but then Taguchi thrusts sharply and growls, and feeling Taguchi pulse inside him is the strangest sensation he’s felt tonight.

The next thing he hears is a long, drawn-out groan, sounding like it’s more out of frustration than relief, but Taguchi’s grinning when Nakamaru can focus his eyes. Taguchi’s face is drooping like his face muscles are protesting life, with exception of the smile that reaches the corners of his eyes and now Nakamaru knows how weird he looks when he does it.

Then Taguchi bursts out laughing and it’s contagious, Nakamaru overcome by giggles as well and he becomes more and more aware of Taguchi’s deadweight on top of him as his chest rises and falls with mirth.

“Get up,” Nakamaru manages to say, shoving a little, but Taguchi just laughs harder. “Seriously, I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Taguchi wheezes between bouts of laughter as he pushes himself up… and right onto the floor.

Now Nakamaru’s the one laughing, at least until he stretches his legs and some wincing laces its way in between. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Nakamaru peers over the edge of the couch to see Taguchi calming down, looking more flushed and sated than anything else. “Can you reach the pipe?”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Nakamaru asks, raising an eyebrow.

“If you have to ask me that, then yes,” Taguchi says. “You’re sobering up.”

Sighing, Nakamaru sees the abandoned pipe on the table and grabs it. Taguchi’s eyes are on him as he positions the lighter over the bowl and covers the hole like he’d been instructed to, and the second he inhales, he realizes Taguchi’s amusement isn’t just from being high. It burns, making him cough so hard it hurts, especially with his dry mouth.

“Reburn,” Taguchi declares, rescuing the pipe before it’s dumped on his face. “I’ll pack a new bowl.”

“You’re a horrible person,” Nakamaru says between coughs.

Taguchi is suddenly and suspiciously preoccupied with the pipe. “I can keep a really good secret though.”

Nakamaru surveys him for a fleeting moment. He would later blame the pot for why he leans over and grasps Taguchi in a would-be headlock as he struggles, cackling madly. Nakamaru isn’t usually this violent, but then there are a lot of things he’s learnt about himself tonight.

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