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Entry tags:	fic, xxxholic

[Fic] xxxHOLiC, Donuts, R
AHAHAHAHAHAAA, somebody is attempting to write porn. Namely me. Gaah. Beware of exploding heads. But I figured since everybody else is doing it, I needed to try it out as well, you know? It's embarrassing how long I was sitting there and wondering, am I really going to write the word 'cock'? But I did eventually.

I'm still learning. Gotta start somewhere, huh?

Much thanks goes to the Due South fandom which is full of marvelous women writing marvelous porn and somehow doing it so very naturally.

Comments are welcome, but please do not be too nasty (slightly nasty is fine, if you absolutely have to), or I shall look very sad and make you feel very guilty.



Title: July
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Pairing: Donuts, one would assume
Rating: R? It's not insanely dirty in the end anyway
Disclaimer: Not mine, CLAMP's







July



“Okay, fashion police, you can stop staring my pants now.”

“I’m not staring at your pants,” Doumeki says and most decidedly does not move his eyes away from Watanuki’s crotch.

Watanuki sighs and sits down on their blanket, it’s useless and he can’t even really blame Doumeki, they are indeed remarkably ugly pants, or shorts or whatever. He knows he should count himself lucky that when Yuuko decided they all need to go have a picnic at the beach and that Watanuki not having a pair of trunks of his own was no excuse for staying behind, she didn’t force him into the pink g-string bikini with small white plastic wings he has seen in the storage room.

Doumeki’s swimming trunks are of course perfect. They’re black with two white stripes on either side, whereas the loaners Watanuki has are bright yellow with big, red and green flowers that make him think of Hawaii not very fondly. Doumeki’s pants actually fit him, while Watanuki’s are about thirty sizes too big, billowing over his knees and ominously trying to slide down his hips every other second.

Of course, Watanuki is aware that perhaps not even black, streamlined, incredibly-snug-in-the-ass-department kind of pants could make him look as athletic and at ease as Doumeki. At least I’m not fat, he repeats to himself as he opens the big cooler Yuuko forced him to carry to the beach. At least I’m not fat, I could be fat, and that would be much worse than being really, really skinny. I could have three heads as well, and I don’t, so I should be grateful.

Yuuko lounges on her beach chair like she would be the supreme empress of the beach and it is possible that she is, there’s nobody else present but the three of them and Mokona who’s napping under a big fluffy towel and wearing ridiculous sunglasses. A deserted beach is a strange thing in the middle of a July heat wave, but for that, as well, Watanuki decides to be grateful and not ask any questions. The less people to laugh at his pants and his pale, un-manly chest, the better.

He opens the cooler, not surprised to find a collection of exotic looking bottles of what simply has to be alcohol. There’s also a tiny plastic bag with four small umbrellas.

“I’m supposing it’s a drink you want,” he tells Yuuko.

“Yes, chop chop!” Yuuko grins behind her huge sunglasses. Watanuki has no clue of why she even needs sunglasses, she’s the one who was sheltered under a big sunshade while it’s Watanuki who’s sweating his head off trying to fix a drink he won’t even be old enough to drink himself.

“And don’t look so sour!” Yuuko says loudly, probably already drunk. “It’s the height of the summer!”

He makes the drink according to Yuuko’s instructions, wrinkling his nose at the particularly nasty fumes rising from the bottles. Yuuko and Mokona are both getting increasingly intoxicated, laughing, and yelling and Watanuki wastes a few minutes wondering how the small patches of black lace pretending to be a bikini are capable of staying attached to Yuuko’s skin.

Doumeki is still standing, of course not kind enough to stand up in an angle that would make him block the sun and keep Watanuki from squinting his eyes and turning into a very cranky tomato. Doumeki is stretching, his long arms over his head, bending his back, his skin catching the sun, the light defining new muscles every time he moves and Watanuki is mesmerized for a minute too long. It’s jealousy, he decides, only jealousy because his own body is so scrawny. Or perhaps it could be appreciation, in a purely esthetic sense, of course.

He doesn’t like summer. He doesn’t like heat. He gets thirsty, sweaty, and ridiculously angry over the smallest things and he doesn’t like himself like that. He doesn’t like the summer sun, beaming down at him as if it would know everything, or at least most of things and what it doesn’t know; it intends to dig up with a revoltingly cheery smile on its face. He likes spring, the careful, tilted light, and days growing longer; he likes early fall with cool winds and warm colors, the newly blue twilight greeting him earlier and earlier. Sometimes he even likes winter; at least it can never be too hot then. With coldness, he mostly manages, it’s just a question of putting on more clothes, fetching more blankets for himself, wearing long underwear; but with heat, there’s nothing he can do, unable to peel his own skin off.

He digs up one of the towels, the biggest one they have, and plans to burrow under it when Doumeki, finally done with parading his superior body, steps closer and asks him what he’s doing.

“I’m going to take a nap, “ he says irritably and takes off his glasses, folding them and placing them into the relative safety of his left flip-flop.

“At the beach?”

“Are we at the beach now? Am I at the beach now, telling you I’m taking a nap? Of course at the beach!”

“Watanuki! Don’t be ridiculous! We’re at the beach!” Yuuko and Mokona chime in.

He wonders how high he should count in order to keep his head from exploding.

“I already fixed you your drink, so leave me alone!” he yells and turns his back. “I don’t like the sun! I’m going to sleep now!” He pulls the towel over his head and curls down. “Leave me alone!”

But his lovely, even if excruciatingly hot nap is not to be, the towel is cruelly pulled away from him and Doumeki is suddenly towering over him, then diving forward and grabbing his wrist and then his waist. Before he knows it, he is being hoisted up unceremoniously over Doumeki’s shoulder and granted a first-class view of Doumeki’s ass.

“What are you doing, you insane bastard! Let go of me!” he screams, flailing wildly, until Doumeki settles his big hands tighter over Watanuki’s thighs, one palm over his left butt cheek. He has to stop moving around then, realizing with mortification how closely his crotch is pressed against Doumeki’s shoulder. This is really not doing any good for all the annoying awareness he’s been experiencing around Doumeki recently.

“You look pasty. “ Doumeki says, picking up his pace. “You need to get some sun.”

“But sun isn’t that way!” he shrieks in panic, finally realizing that if he’s seeing a fuzzy Yuuko smirking at him and distancing in an alarming pace, there’s something truly horrifying waiting for him in the other direction.

“You don’t say,” is the last thing he hears before the world tilts, the golden sand and the utterly blue sky rushing past him and he’s falling breathlessly into a freezing blue hum. His skin prickles, used to the hot sun and he’s dizzy, the only thing grounding him is Doumeki’s chest pressed against his, the warmth of skin swiftly being replaced by the chill of the ocean.

And then the pressure of another body on him is off and Watanuki finally finds the bottom with his feet and fights to gather himself back into the sunlight. He surfaces, spluttering and screaming, blind with rage and the cold, cold water streaming down his back and stomach, straight into his pants, making every bit of sensitive, private skin burn. He howls in berserk rage and attacks towards what looks like a snickering tower of tan with a black patch at the top, but is in fact Doumeki, only a few seconds away from a very painful death.

After that, he isn’t quite sure what happens. He’s breathless and hot, the sun scorching his back and wet hair, and he’s laughing, God knows why, wrestling with Doumeki, who’s sporting a concentrated, lopsided smile. He’s rather sure that was just about to succeed in stuffing a drenched piece of reed up Doumeki’s nose when the world suddenly spins and stops into him realizing that he has at some point climbed Doumeki like a tree and is now, in fact, straddling him, legs clenched around Doumeki’s waist, arms around Doumeki’s neck, face buried into Doumeki’s shoulder. And he is painfully, excruciatingly hard, his cock straining in a very disconcerting way against Doumeki’s shivering abdomen.

Doumeki is panting, just like Watanuki, only he is panting right against Watanuki’s ear, lips an inch away from skin, and Watanuki is helpless against a shudder when the lips finally press against the nape of his neck. He supposes it’s too late to hope that Doumeki would have somehow missed his hard-on. He can’t breathe, and not only because Doumeki is clutching him like sinking man. It has to be a joke, or maybe Doumeki has suddenly lost it, God knows he never appeared so sane anyway. He’s crazy, that has to be it, licking Watanuki like that, lips carefully skimming upwards, wiping away the sparkles of seawater, nuzzling, and sniffing his skin softly and then exhaling hotly into his ear. Watanuki goes just about as crazy then, squirming and panting, rubbing himself against another person. He has never in his life even held hands with anybody outside gym class or damn kindergarten where you were forced to lock arms with somebody to keep either you or them from getting lost.

He’s very lost now. The material of his horrible, ugly pants is slightly scratchy and wet and it should hurt him but it only serves to increase the friction and he can’t still his hips, can’t keep himself from saying “oh” again and again in a very small voice. He can’t keep himself from thrusting against Doumeki’s stomach simply because it just feels so damn good. The part of his head not reserved for thinking about the fact that he’s almost having sex – if not actually, really having sex – with somebody he isn’t getting along all that well and doing it in public no less, is thinking that any minute Doumeki will push him away, flop him into the water, and look at him like the freak he is. But as another thrust and Doumeki’s hands on his ass brings him lower, he feels something poking him and it occurs to him that either Doumeki has taken a habit of keeping a big stick in his pants or is in fact enjoying this a great deal. Nobody knows how Doumeki manages to stay hard with the lower part of him still in the shallow water, but since it’s Superman Doumeki, wouldn’t it figure that every part of his body was super as well.

It also speaks for Doumeki’s enjoyment that he keeps squeezing and kneading at Watanuki’s thighs and ass and is panting harder and harder. In between nibbling and licking he’s repeating, “please, please” or “let me” or just plain “mmh, mmh” and finally, finally, even if Watanuki really does not want it and will never admit to wanting it, finally, after making him wait for it so long, Doumeki turns his head, drags his nose along Watanuki’s cheek and finds his mouth. Watanuki’s mouth is open by this time, if only because he’s so surprised, and what, he’s already rubbing himself against another boy, would it make so much difference if he was kissing another boy as well? Doumeki tastes like seawater and like wet skin, strange and familiar, better and better every time Watanuki gets another taste. Doumeki is sucking hard on his lip, maybe a bit too hard (If there’s a hickey on my mouth tomorrow there is no way he’s going to live past 18, Watanuki thinks) and then he’s licking Watanuki’s mouth and pushing his tongue in. Watanuki is gladly biting the tongue, and not in a way that says: get that thing out of my mouth, but more in the lines of I want every single of part of you in me. And then, Watanuki is coming, coming very, very hard, in a public place, in his hideous borrowed pants and every single muscle in his body is clenching, Doumeki’s lips on him so gentle now.

It wears off eventually and he comes to understand he’s still clinging on to Doumeki; his face tingling with humiliation against a heaving shoulder. He has never, ever in his life felt this stupid or insane or satisfied. It’s scary and strange, and something he never imagined his first time being. It should have been romantic, and yes, they are on a beach and it’s summer vacation, but he really can’t focus on it like that, the water smells sort of foul and he’s pretty damn convinced his left shoulder has burnt ages ago. Also, he can’t drive away the fear that a bird is going to fly by and drop something nasty on them, and no, no, he is not being disgustingly romantic with Doumeki, why would he be, how would it even be possible.

Doumeki’s hands, the other under hiss ass, and the other over his back, keeping him suspended against him, are sort of petting him now, thumbs rubbing him soothingly. It makes his face burn even worse to realize he wasn’t the only one coming.

Doumeki turns his head a little, pressing his mouth against Watanuki’s ear and opens his mouth to say something, but Watanuki has to scramble away, he can’t hear it, he’s too mortified, it’s too weird. He pulls away, and falls into the water, again a whole lot colder against his heated skin, and particularly his heated, over-sensitive groin and he has to whimper as he runs back to the shore. Maybe Doumeki is following him, maybe he’s not. Maybe Doumeki will stay in the water for the rest of their lives and never make Watanuki question his own sanity like this again.

He tried to check his crotch inconspicuously; if there are visible splotches in his pants, he is a dead man, but luckily, the pants are wet all over. Yuuko still sits on her chair and Watanuki experiences one of the most chilling moments of horror in his life when he realizes that Yuuko was perhaps watching. But Yuuko stirs and lazily adjusts her classes as he steps closer and he realizes she was either asleep or had passed out.

“Ah, you’re back,” she says, her voice sleepy and maybe slightly slurred. Watanuki drops onto the blanket, scrabbling for his glasses. He finally hears Doumeki approaching, arriving to the blanket and leaning on his knees, panting. Watanuki lies down again to hide his face and the rest of him as well, he’s shaking and how in the world is it possible to feel so appallingly nervous while still utterly relaxed and sleepy?

Yuuko stands up, shaking herself a bit.

“Did you enjoy your swim, Watanuki?” she asks, and even if she still seems drunk, there’s a suggestive edge to her voice that makes Watanuki want to scream at her. But then, by accident only, he takes a look at Doumeki, who’s still a bit breathless, wet hair sticking up, red scratches on his stomach where the button of Watanuki’s pants must have been rubbing at his skin. His cheeks are red, even if he does appear sort of pale and he looks terrified as he looks at Watanuki, terrified and pleading and hopeful, oh so hopeful and Watanuki doesn’t have the heart to lie.

“It was fine!”

“Marvelous!” Yuuko giggles. “I’ll go too! And I want another drink when I come back!” She takes off, Mokona dancing after her.

Doumeki, meanwhile, has acquired back his emotionless face and he sits down, a bit too close to Watanuki who is busy again digging deeper into the towel, and hopefully, sinking under the sand at the first possible moment.

“Did you burn yourself?”

“No!” he huffs, even if it’s quite possible that he did. Doumeki lies down on his back, staring at the sky, Watanuki can see his profile if he peeks very, very carefully under the towel.

“Ah, hmm,” Doumeki begins and blushes, ever so slightly. “Are you angry?”

Watanuki isn’t exactly sure if he even could be angry, if it wasn’t Doumeki who was molested by him. Now, trying to remember, he doesn’t know who started and what and when, only knows that whatever it was, it was probably something he should have seen coming a long time ago.

The towel is becoming stuffy, and he pulls it away, just a bit, to get a fresh breath.

“Not, well, not really,” he says. “Just… kind of surprised.”

“Hmm,” Doumeki says again, rather unremarkably and Watanuki huffs louder, Doumeki’s grunts really telling him nothing.

“I can see that,” Doumeki continues. “I’m sorry.”

“You idiot, I don’t need you apologizing. I could have” – theoretically – “stopped it, really. I mean, I was there as well, you know, and I was, well.” He pauses, fearing his blush is going to burn a hole into the blanket. “I was there was well.”

Doumeki turns to him and flashes a momentary, incredibly brilliant smile. Watanuki pulls the towel back down so he sees nothing but bright blue fabric riddled with sunlight.

“You sure you didn’t burn yourself?” Doumeki asks eventually and adds, infuriatingly smugly: “You want me to put some sunscreen on you?”

Watanuki is very aware of what it really means, or at least what would follow. He always would have figured that damp and itchy pants would keep a person from becoming aroused, but finds that is not the case. “Not in public, “ he blurts out.

“It sure didn’t bother you earlier.”

Well, whatever would happen, it is reassuring to know that Doumeki will never ever be anything but a complete idiot. Watanuki kicks out, his toe connecting with a snap with Doumeki’s knee. “You’re such a bastard.”

Doumeki snickers a little. “Well, in private then, maybe.”

Watanuki stretches the pause out, just out of spite. “Maybe.”

After a while, Doumeki’s hand snakes inside the towel, and when it finds a strand of his damp hair and then traces the shell of his ear gently, he doesn’t even bother pretending he’s objecting to it.