So I've finally graduated, which means posts on my days off. Here's a random oneshot that I've had on my mind for a while to kick off my update mode.

This hasn't been beta'd. If you see spelling or convention problems that bug you, let me know.

"Let die every preconceived notion that there is no meaning to this."


Sex, as an abundant and always available thing, never existed as anything more than something to do for Eiri. Sex was nothing. Like watching the same favorite movie over and over again -sex had lost its flavor, many years ago. The novelist sought it out as a method to dispose of excess hormones, as well as a means of recreation. Wining and dining woman gave him something to do with his time and money other than just write novels. When the author needed a break he'd find a woman, take her out, bring her home, and turn off the lights.

Yet, things change. Somehow the comparison to an over watched movie stopped working the first time Eiri had sex with Shuichi.

The teen had been young, persistent, and annoying, and Eiri thought of him as nothing more than a confused fan. The kid either wanted money, or wanted sex, and the novelist, who had been without a good lay for a while, was inclined to offer the latter. Understandably, his expectations had been low.

Eiri realized to his surprise and horror, after engaging with Shuichi that day that sex had suddenly became a very much new thing again. Like leftovers in a microwave, or salt on a meal. Like water to a desert, or breaking through the surface of water.

Not that the affair came anywhere close to romantic or comfortable, or even good; the mechanics of sex on a carpet with the TV on in the background lack these qualities. That, in addition to the fact that the other male participant may have been somewhat unwilling, created an altogether not novel worthy experience. However, none of this out the long list of those whom he had had sex with there had never, not once, been this sudden rush. Eiri chooses this word, rush, because honestly, he couldn't find another word to properly describe it. In fact, no word ever can. Sex with Shuichi had left him speechless.

The rug had made angry burns on his knees from the excess friction between it, his slacks, and his skin. His neck hurt from the amount of time it was strained, and his back ached from the continuous position shifts and sheer overuse. By the time he had scooped the pink haired brat up and tossed him on his bed, his arms felt stiff and abused.

Yet through the discomfort, he felt a rush. Fire and ice were battling in his veins; his heart was pounding from a mix of exertion and heat, and his limbs trembled from the blood leaving his tips and rushing to his center. Eiri felt his body separate into a million pieces and reassemble again, over and over. The man couldn't understand it: it was as though he had inhaled a dust cloud of cocaine and his organs had gone into overload.

In the beginning, he had played it off as an overreaction to having sex with a male for the first time. The blonde continued other various flings, adding an occasional guy in the mix. A pulse, legs, and consent became his only requirements.

Yet nothing: no rush.

So then he had sex with Shuichi again. And then again, and then several times after that. This movie became his new favorite, and it scared him thoroughly that it never got old.

Nervous eyes, looking anywhere but back at his- ah yes, there. A shift in the glance and for a moment his gold met violet, only for violet to dart away again in downright shame. Intimacy, absolute stark nakedness, and the concept of having another human being over, on and in him, still had yet to lose its awkwardness for the younger man.

Lights are on, clothes are gone, sheets kicked to the corner, and Shuichi absolutely can't stand-butheabsolutelyfreakingloves- it. It's rough, it's carnal, and there is no repentance. They had by this point developed, albeit a still somewhat shy, sexual relationship, and were in the middle of exercising it.

A thin yet very male leg draped over his right shoulder, a strong hand grasping his left arm and Eiri ('Yuki!) moves with no mercy. His own hands grip the sides of the male beneath him as he makes cruel work of said person's insides.

Shuichi gasped, gripping Eiri's arm and the headboard harder, letting loose his last hold of childish sexual reluctance and just becomes –lost- in pure, unadulterated pleasure. Eiri (ohfuckYuki), a man who typically prides himself in maintaining a somewhat conscience state during sex, unlike Shuichi (Oh Shuichi-) can in this moment only recognize on thing.

No apologies, no requests for them. Between them, in the spotlight of their bedroom lamps, there was only, to Eiri (YUKI!)-

-A rush, a deep intake of air into his lungs, and the much older Eiri saves the final draft of the last chapter. There's a bold hand on his shoulder, rubbing suggestively, asking a question that the hands' owner already knows the answer to:

Shall we?
Indeed, we shall.

Sex, especially that one night, after the concert where Shuichi had freaking hummed instead of singing the lyrics Eiri had written for him, doubled its reaction in Eiri. Everything shifted. It was as though the previous rush had been sitting in a dark room, and Eiri had not known truly its extent until the door was opened and light came flooding in. Shuichi, still the ever bashful 'virgin,' threw Eiri down and acted on some previously hidden surge of masculinity. It started with a rough kiss, deep, everlasting, but rough, like a representation in the most cliché manner of all they had been through. They tugged their clothes off, and eventually Shuichi was straddling the older man's sides with a deep, dark blush on his face (again, the lights had been forgotten and left on).

Then with the most embarrassed look on his face possible, Shuichi reached for the bottle of lube on the nightstand and gingerly pressed it into Eiri's palm, refusing to meet his stare. The blond, never breaking his watch on the others' face, opened and poured out the contents with a practiced ease.

Not once did Shuichi look back into Eiri's eyes. Not until the prepping was done and Shuichi grabbed Eiri's cock did the then black haired man return the gaze.

It was there, then, in that moment, the rush turned into something altogether new, more, tenfold, a thousand fold more. Like taking a deep breath full of powdered glass and water, only the wounds inflicted burned so good. The sex after that just got better and better.

Sex, stopped being just a thing. Sex between Eiri and Shuichi became a representation of everything. For Eiri had no (and could never have) words, and Shuichi understood and accepted so well. Sex: became a line of communication, a means of apologizing, something fun to do, and a means of revenge. Sex became a movie that never got old. Sex, even though Eiri would forever swear Shuichi was terrible at it, became –

-Everything. Sex had all those years ago become everything. The laptop was shut down, and the author would just call the editor in the morning. He now had more important things to attend to than work, such as following the owner of that suggestive hand back to their bedroom.

When all of those flings had become tiring and stale in a few weeks, sex with Shuichi had become more…whatever it was. Even with black hair specked with grey and violet eyes shielded in glasses. Even with the stiffness of Eiri's fingers from years of laptop work, and an everlasting ache in his back from the merciless desk chair. Sex, from their first time, had merely developed, grown, morphed into-

Yes, here, in their bedroom, with the lamps on and Shuichi's leg thrown over his (IloveyouYuki) right shoulder, and his arm bruising from the younger mans' death grip, there was only-

A rush. Sex, Eiri realized, had once been nothing. Found everywhere, easy to come by. It had now become everything. When Eiri thought about how this might have happened, he speculated that maybe it was because Shuichi and he always had sex with the lights on.