Title: The Art of a Novel
Rating: R for language and sexuality
Disclaimer: DGM belongs to Hoshino Katsura et al
A/N: High School AU; the one where Lavi cannot keep his hands off the laptop and Kanda cannot keep his hands off himself.
Lavi's sole purpose in life is to write not just any old trashy novel, but a trashy novel that is ban-able in at least fourteen countries, excluding all third world nations.
Kanda's sole purpose in life, aside from enduring endless hours of high hopes such as these, is to get exactly what he wants, exactly when he wants it. It just all goes to show, you can take the warrior out of Japan, but you definitely cannot, under no circumstances, involve this warrior in a war against literary tribunals.
"Think of it, Yuu. It'll be naughty, nutty, preposterous!"
Kanda holds back a winded sigh, growing bored of Lavi's wholesome adventures around his hipbones. "Like your foreplay?"
Lavi pauses, tongue over Kanda's navel. He blinks up. "You got a problem with my style, mate?"
Kanda blinks back. "Only when you're planning on debauching innocent fairytales." Lavi, of course, seems to find this quite funny. He digs his face into Kanda's ribs, blowing damp raspberries into them; Kanda grabs his hair, the jewelry in those ears, to keep him in place. He can feel Lavi's heart blundering into the tops of his thighs. A quickened pulse, a deep motor.
Finally, before death may occur, Lavi takes a breath. "I've regaled you with the tragedy of Sleeping Beauty, haven't I?"
Of course. But why on earth would anybody ever pay mind to such mindfuckery? Tch, where's the touching gone? "Are they all so," Kanda briefly searches for the precise word, "unpleasant?" Touch me touch me all right that is it touch me!
He thinks himself ragged with this.
Lavi merely makes his king-of-all-libraries face, possibly misreading Kanda's fuck-you-fuck-me face. "Do you have to ask? I swear it, up 'n down, all the innocent shit out there is hardly innocent by any double standards of today or – " Something dawns on him, face glowing with revelation and radiating downright lechery.
Should Kanda take that as a bad sign?
Lavi abruptly sits up, pumps the air with his fists, and practically back-flips off the bed. He nearly splits his head open, excellent.
No. This is all too normal.
However, it still counts as very bad when Kanda's not getting any.
One word of advice: never leave a Kanda to its own devices.
Fine. There is only one thing to be done here.
"All right, Lavi," Kanda drawls, smirking. Lavi doesn't listen, eyes glued to his laptop's screen, fingers typing away and away and away. Kanda stops smirking a little. He smirks big. "You can finger your computer all you want. It has nothing to do with me. It's not in my way." Lavi stops typing and glances over, jaw moving slightly. Perhaps grinding. Opening. Enough to notice. Kanda hopes he notices. He stands up on the bed, leaning against the wall, erection hardening against his exercise bottoms. Lavi closes his mouth, sucking on his piercing. The lip is rosy now. "I do have the propensity to reciprocate." Lavi narrows his eyes, adjusting his headband. "Apparently you don't believe me." Right there, right here.
Lavi's eyes spark in revelation again. "Eureka! Hold that pose, Yuu! I know you can! You can do it!" He goes back to typing and Kanda goes back to scowling. "I believe in you! Y is for the love of my life and all that jazz!" Etcetera, he's no American cheerleader.
"I honestly can't say how long it'll hold for," Kanda mutters, grazing the tent in his pants with his palm. He sags against the wall now.
Lavi catches this, a finger hovering over a key. (Recall anything about an escape key, hmm? It's most vital to a relationship.) He lowers the finger - "It. Or you?" – away from the key.
Ffff alskdfjsd fucking bleeeeeeeep.
Kanda swallows. They share a coquettish glare. An idea! (It better be fucking interesting.)
The kind of idea that Kanda would have, in a previous life, been resilient to, averted, shy perhaps.
And he commences touching himself, with one hand, then two, ponytail bunching into his head, his nape, the top of his spine grinding a hole through the wall. He juts out his hips for special effect. This is a special occasion, after all. It's not every day that Kanda should put on a whatever-this-is, in front of company. (Fuck, this must be foul play, not foreplay.) In front of some idiot who just stares as if. As if. (He's a nail, a nail through the wall.)
You never got over me in the locker room.
Kanda sucks on his lip and swallows again. He smiles inside about it. Lavi nods as if he knows everything about everyone; the laptop finds a brief home in Lavi's lap before he decides against it and relaxes himself into the desk chair, turned toward Kanda, laptop sitting precariously atop his knees. He types a quick procession and then stops.
Kanda frowns inside about it. Lavi smiles encouragingly. Kanda slowly blinks - and smirks.
Are you recording my every movement. Bookman Junior.
He cups the head of his erection. Lavi just types, types, types, stops. Tilts his head. Kanda imitates the tilt.
Make no mistake, Kanda's furious. But he's absolutely mad with lustful urges and. Hell, it's not everyday that his body works in mysterious ways.
He straightens his spine, pushes down the waistband. It pinches beautifully. Struck, stuck in something. His heart is beating with every other one of his organs, including that missing appendix. He feels a flutter; he tries to tug the drawstring looser, but somehow ends up forgetting about it, with Lavi's gaze upon him, like that, split between the screen and Kanda's.
Though once one is exposed, it is hard to take it back, even with a garnered look of hedonism, intoxicating him.
Clackclackclackclack – look. Clackclackclack - look. Clackclack - secrethiddenblush!
Hardly any resistance here, surely.
Perhaps this is what Kanda really wants, since, you know, he is sort of wanking off and losing contact with the wall. He rocks on the balls of his feet, only momentarily, until that becomes a hindrance, setting his feet wider, slouching back so there is a bam sound. A sound escapes him and he quickly clasps a hand over his lips, cutting into his sight and teasing his sense of smell with his own precum. He begins to smirk, though, behind the hand. The smirk gives rise to something more than hedonism. So evil, Lavi should recognize.
No typing, just a massive horny buildup.
Kanda grabs all of himself –
And Lavi gives a jolt, headband falling around his neck, like snapping. This is what he does when he loses it: laptop shoved out of the way (onto the desk and unfortunately not right off the edge); zipper nice and undone; something about screw Red Riding Hood and her friggin' hood, I do this for the throngs of fans!
Yes, yes, hurry it up.
(Which must mean Lavi plans on waging war later on, which must also mean he plans on getting the fun stuff out of the way first. Good. Kanda comes first. It's settled.)
And so, they have rough hate-love-hate sex against the wall above the bed.
Two minutes later, Kanda gives a silent grunt and comes prematurely. He slides away from Lavi's erect cock, naked except for his undershirt. He can feel Lavi watching the curve of his tailbone. Handkerchief in hand, wiped across his belly, he shouldn't be bothered to give an explanation. Ah. Well. "You took too long."
In other words, never screw with a man's ringtone. Or his massive horny buildup.
Then, Kanda goes to make himself a nice hot cup of ramen.