Irresistible

A/N: Due to me being on holidays from work I can bring you a brand new chapter of this fic in record short time! You’re stunned and amazed, I know XD

Once again, I have to heartily thank BMIK/Schwaerze, natzilla, IA1979 and Psycho Steph (hello, sweetie!!) for supporting me and this story. I dedicate this chapter to each and all of you fabulous ladies and your fabulous reviews. *bows head in respect*

BMIK - Thank you for the detailed comments! So happy you’re enjoying the sparkage between Yaz and M. Yazoo probably talks more in this fic than in any other one written but I love that bickering, taunting stuff too. Its wicked fun! Yes, I agree: Miyavi has smug-looking lips! Or maybe it’s just his whole face. That kid knows only too well how damn beautiful he is XD Anonymous Pretty Boys Support Group = Priceless! Who else would be in that club...Vincent? Reno? Cloud? Bill and Tom from Tokio Hotel? (btw, /why/ did you never tell me about them?? I only just discovered the band by accident surfing on YouTube and ZOMG, they are the cutest, hottest little twins evar! Even hotter than Fred & George Weasley, I have to admit. Their music is not so much to my taste but who the hell cares when you can imagine hot, steamy emo TWINCEST! =D) *clears throat* Anyway, as I was saying, thank you for your remarks and for cheering me on with this fic. Hope you enjoy this latest as much as I did writing it!

IA1979 - You are right, I do not do half-assed updates simply for the sake of posting something. I take too much pride in my work. I spent a lot of time and effort working on this and I know at least you four will appreciate it. I hope other people do too and would love to hear from them *hint hint* Oh, and I’m good at describing a man’s penis and making it look attractive? Well, thank you! LOL Actually, you weren’t the only one who said that... Geesh, what does that say about me? I’m not a pervy perve, I swear! XD And shhh, don’t tell anyone but there will be one more final chapter...

natzilla - What’s wrong with a sparkling dick? Makes it easier to locate in the dark. XD I’m glad you liked the "shut up and suck" line! I think /everyone/ liked that one. I guess probably because it’s not something you’d expect Yazoo to say but I like to push his character further than other authors might do and I’ve been trying to make him a little less predictable and formulaic, if that makes sense. Who’s gonna fuck who? Can’t tell you. It’s a highly classified secret! ;)

Psycho Steph - Oh shit yes, Yazoo begging for sex and saying “Please,” is the ultimate in hawtness! He already got BMIK on her knees with that XDDD Yeah, I think Yaz and Miyavi would have a lot in common and that’s why they click so well together. Thanks for reviewing and can’t wait to hear what you think of this chapter!

And this is the one you’ve all been hanging out for...the sexness! Who’s on top? Who’s on the bottom? Is Yazoo submissive or aggressive? Who’s the bitch? Read and discover!!

……………


Part five.

Standing there in just his boots and pants, M glances down one more time at Yazoo’s prettily sparkling erection and asks casually, “Well, I sucked you. What do you want me to do now?”

“Nothing at all,” Yazoo graciously answers. “It’s my turn to please you. I promised I would, didn’t I?”

M likes the idea of doing nothing so he stands there and watches with interest to see what’s going to be done to him. With fast, efficient motions Yazoo deftly unbuttons and delves into the smaller one’s scarlet pants, discovering a blood-flushed organ that fits neatly into his encircled fingers, M groaning throatily at the intimately personal touch. All that sucking on Yazoo’s big handsome cock has left the musician’s own male parts aching and aroused; the gunman’s white hand cool and soothing on his swollen flesh.

Gazing down, Yazoo admires the brunette’s revealed masculinity, seeing all the details of it with his super-enhanced night vision. It’s not quite as wide or long as Yazoo’s own but it’s sizable enough and it’s very, very hard. Due to M’s penchant for body modification, Yazoo thought there may have been a ring or a barbell stuck through the head of his penis too but upon inspection it’s unpierced and unadorned. It’s perfect and pretty, just like the rest of M. The remnant sensually strokes along the boy’s stiffened shaft, his fingers much paler than the naturally-tanned flesh he’s holding. His knuckles brush against a neat patch of clipped pubes, establishing that the boy doesn’t shave here, like he did his underarms, but simply trims. Yazoo prefers a bit of fuzz in this area anyway, just so he doesn’t feel as though he’s molesting an underage teen. Knowing that M is a fully-legal young man, Yazoo drops to a swift crouch, wanting to taste this delicious sex-symbol for himself. The brunette stares down in disbelief as Yazoo flicks his hair over his shoulder, opens up his soft-pink lips and hungrily envelops M’s cock, taking the whole lot in one go, right up to the hilt, the other man evidently quite proficient in the skill of relaxing his oesophagus muscles.

“Gnnngh!” is all M can utter, his face showing a great deal of astonishment; the sudden move and depth of the swallowing surprising and thrilling him enormously. So enormously, in fact, M’s almost at the point of spilling his seed right down that deep, velvet-lined throat. Completely aware of this, Yazoo only gives him a couple of sliding sucks before pulling away, his goal to sample the kid’s beautiful dick having been accomplished, finding it the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. In another swiftly performed springing movement, Yazoo is on his feet again, delicately swiping a fingertip across his upper lip.

“Mm. Yummy.”

“Wh-what the fuck was that, man?” M sputters in horny outrage, his balls /really/ aching now. He crossly shoves Yazoo in the chest. “Why’d you fucking stop??”

Though the push didn’t even budge him, Yazoo snatches both of the boy’s wrists, capturing and holding them securely in one slim but incredibly strong hand.

“Shove me again and I’ll knock you flying over that fence,” he declares sternly to M. “I stopped because I want you to wait until the big finish as well. You’re going to come when I tell you to. And not before. Got it?”

Yazoo’s deadly slitted-pupil stare of challenge suitably intimidates M, at least enough to calm him into mumbling, “Whatever. Sorry.”

“You should be. Now, come here, you little pest,” Yazoo orders, yanking him forward like a cop with a handcuffed prisoner. “I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”

M simply gulps, his eyes going wide.

Just because Yazoo is under the intoxicating influence of M’s Allure (and is therefore just about in love with the infuriatingly attractive brat) that doesn’t mean he’s going to be submissive. Everyone expects Yazoo to be – presumably because of his slenderness and outward femininity – and admittedly on the odd occasion it’s nice to lay back and let someone else do all the work but it can get repetitive and tiresome always being the one spreading your legs. Sometimes, when the opportunity presents itself, Yazoo likes to take charge and prove that he really is a man and can be dominant. M is one such opportunity. Though the pierced punk-rocker has a lot of dominating qualities himself, Yazoo also senses that he’d make quite a splendid sub.

It is for this reason Yazoo lets go of M’s wrists, not needing to forcibly restrain him. M’s here with Yazoo because he wants to be and he’s far too excited to even try and go anywhere. Cupping one firm buttock in his hand, Yazoo pulls M nearer and presses his thigh against the kabuki-kid’s groin.

“Still hard, hmm?” Yazoo teases while pressing his own naked erection onto the side of M’s flat exposed belly, letting the singer feel it and feel how turned-on Yazoo also is. The boy’s stomach is already warm but Yazoo’s cock scalds him, the solid flesh enflamed and burning with heated desire.

“Wow, you’re so hot,” M comments in amazement

Smirking, Yazoo answers, “Why, thanks very much. I try.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” the guitar-player protests, but when Yazoo’s lean, muscled leather-covered thigh rocks tantalisingly into him, he moans. “Okay, maybe I meant it that way too...”

As he’s rocking and pressing into M’s hardened maleness – and rubbing his dick on M’s ink-stained belly at the same time - Yazoo begins kissing and nipping at the cross-dresser’s graceful throat, remembering how much M likes that. When he feels Yazoo’s silken lips on his skin again – tongue sweeping like a trail of liquid fire along his pulsing artery – M moans again, allowing his lashes to flicker shut. While he’s mouthing up and down M’s tasty neck, Yazoo lets one hand rest on half of the singer’s small, taut bottom while the other creeps down the back of those shiny red pants. Jolted by the startling intrusion of Yazoo’s finger slipping into his crack, the boy’s eyes fly open and he swallows nervously.

“Uh, dude...I gotta ask. Are you going to...to fuck me?”

“That depends.” Yazoo smiles at him playfully, grazing over the young man’s private pucker. “Are you going to let me?”

Sucking in a shaky breath, M debates this. “What if I say no?”

“Then I won’t. But you will be missing out on the most spectacular sex you’ll ever have.”

“Spectacular, huh?”

“Yes. Spectacular. Want to see my references? There’s about three of them back inside that bar, bitterly disappointed that I’m out here with you. Any one of them will vouch for how good I am.” Yazoo removes his hand, licks the underneath of his finger and then slips it back down. “But if you don’t believe me, feel free to leave now. I can easily find somebody else to do this with.”

Hissing a little as Yazoo moistens and traces enticingly around his suddenly sensitive entrance, M realises he doesn’t want to leave and he certainly doesn’t want Yazoo touching anyone else in this way. Yazoo went to all the trouble of chasing him down through the tavern and out into the alley, proving how badly he wanted M, so the least M could do is be a bit lenient towards the other guy.

“Suppose I should say yes, then.”

Circling a wet fingertip over and around the hidden place he dearly longs to claim, Yazoo rubs his prick on M’s belly again and drags his tongue up the boy’s neck, coercing lowly, “So say it.”

Moaning with his head tipped back, M feels Yazoo’s pre-ejaculate fluids leaking onto his stomach, the solid male flesh sliding slickly across his skin, the temptation of having that superb cock inside of him proving too strong to deny.

“Yes,” he breathes on impulse. “Yes, I’ll let you.”

“Good choice,” Yazoo praises, beginning to pry the boy apart with more seriousness, pushing against that tiny, unwilling opening, trying to coax it into giving way and letting him in. Suddenly, it does and the entire length of his index finger disappears in to the main knuckle, the movement eliciting a gasp from both of them – M’s one of erotic shock while Yazoo’s is of excited delight.

“Ahh, so tight, little one...”

M just bites his ringed lip, squeezing his eyes shut as Yazoo unhurriedly draws out, spiralling as he does to widen M up further. Eventually pulling free, Yazoo licks a second finger and pushes it in, along with the first again. Gasping louder, the guitarist’s polished nails dig into Yazoo’s arms, his spine stiffening. It doesn’t hurt – Yazoo is making certain to be careful – but it sure is damn intrusive and personal, having someone probing right up there, stretching him open, almost against his body’s will. He has to admit it does feel good, though, especially when Yazoo slides his long pale fingers out, M’s inner nerves tingling with the friction, the tingles spreading up his vertebrae and down along his thighs, the dark-haired musician feeling the skin on his naked back ripple with waves of chill-bumps. He can feel his own slickness oozing out of the tip of his dick and smearing across the thigh of Yazoo’s leather pants as the taller male keeps rocking against him in a skilful sensual rhythm, the silver-head moving his lithe body like a professional dancer.

The remnant continues preparing his almond-eyed captive for fucking, intermittently removing his hand and wetting his fingers with a swipe of saliva to keep them slippery, tasting M’s muskiness as he does so and thirstily breathing in the boy’s addictive sex-scent, before sliding back into his snug internal warmth. Yazoo does this a few times, getting M wetter and looser, even placing his fingers into M’s mouth and making the other young man taste himself. Yazoo is pleased that the kid doesn’t resist, cooperatively sucking at the proffered digits without grimacing.

“Good boy,” Yazoo awards in a whisper as he pushes back into M’s elastic entrance, feeling first-hand how easily the kid has accepted three of his fingers. “Very, very good boy.”

“Not a boy,” M mutters, attempting to sound grouchy and only semi-succeeding.

Yazoo just smiles, ignoring the reproach. “I told you my name earlier,” he reminds, lips grazing the musician’s temple, beside the brow ring. “Do you remember what it is, mysterious M?”

M nods dreamily, only half-listening, too lost in a heightened state of ecstatic arousal, Yazoo’s pressing thigh covered in M’s sticky, seeping juices by now.

“Say it for me.”

“Why?” M counters, showing his stubbornness once again.

“Because if you don’t I’ll stop doing this,” Yazoo threatens mildly, twisting his fingers in deeper.

“Fuck! Ya-Yazoo,” the second male exclaims in a hitched voice of tormented pleasure. “Your name’s Yazoo!”

“Oh, so you /were/ paying attention,” Yazoo jokes, withdrawing ever so teasingly and slow.

“Don’t,” M groans pleadingly as mischievous fingertips circle his stimulated hole, mocking him by refusing to re-enter. “C’mon. Oh, God. Don’t stop now...”

Yazoo gives a low, throaty purr. He loves the sound of begging, particularly when it’s coming from a luscious, long-haired creature like this.

Murmuring against the performer’s pierced lips, Yazoo asks, “Would you like me inside you now?”

In an urgent whisper, M replies, “Yeah.”

“Say please.”

M groans, frustrated and horny and just wanting to get on with it.

“Be fair, little bishie. I played your game. Now you play mine.”

“Fine. Please,” M grinds out sulkily.

“Like you mean it.”

Cursing to himself, M relents, leaning into Yazoo’s ear and asking in a rather desperate tone now, “Please? Yazoo, I need you. Want you. Bad.”

“That’s much better,” Yazoo says in satisfaction, steering the brunette backwards, giving him room to move. “Take your pants off.”

M bends down and starts to unzip his boots.

“No,” Yazoo huskily interrupts. “Leave those on. I want to fuck you in them.”

Eyebrow rising at Yazoo’s kinkiness, M nevertheless does what he’s asked to and draws the calf-zip back up, peeling his tight vinyl trousers down his thighs and rolling them over his chunky platform boots, not without a great amount of difficulty and lots of tugging and hopping on one foot. He’s not wearing any underwear and finally, with a muttered curse and one last almighty tug, the red pants are off and the Asian musician is utterly naked except for the knee-high Goth-boots. And the jewellery. He stands there uncertainly in the dim alley, shivering a little and waiting for further instructions, while Yazoo languidly gazes at the vision of alternative attractiveness before him. The kid’s symbolic chest, belly and arm tattoos match very nicely with the black boots and everywhere in between consists of flawless skin the shade of buttery cream, the silky texture making Yazoo want to touch it all, to have it skimming smoothly under his palms and responding to his caress.

M’s waist-long streaked hair stirs in the slight breeze, both brunette and coloured strands wisping across his doll-like face, getting pushed back by fine be-ringed fingers with nail polish on them, bracelets falling down a thin arm. The guitarist’s nude body is remarkably soft-looking, despite the way his ribs and hipbones jut out, and the little patch of ebony fur above his privates is trimmed much like the triangle above a girl’s pussy. If he tucked his dick in between his slender thighs and covered his flat nipples with his hands it would complete the female illusion and one would never know they were looking at a boy.

“Stunning,” Yazoo remarks in a reverently soft breath before moving in to encircle that tiny middle, lifting the smaller male up off the ground and onto the closed lid of the hip-height steel dumpster behind them. M immediately yelps and leaps back onto Yazoo, clinging to him with all arms and legs like some kind of tattooed baby monkey.

“Gah! Cold!”

“Forgive my thoughtlessness,” Yazoo apologises politely, using the toe of his left boot to flick his own coat up off the ground, catching it with a deft hand. He lays the leather article over the metal lid, arranging it neatly while holding M’s entire weight up with one single arm.

“You know, you’re a lot stronger than you look,” M comments, feeling the controlled power in Yazoo’s deceptively trim build and in the arm around him.

“I’m aware of that,” Yazoo replies with a slight smile. Stepping forward again, he sits the boy back down on top of his coat, M’s cute bottom now insulated from the icy steel of the trash container by a protective layer of animal hide.

“How’s that? More comfortable?”

M nods appreciatively. “You’re nice.”

“Only to people I like.” His own pants still undone, Yazoo stands between the guitarist’s lanky legs, the remnant sighing as he slides his palms up along M’s thighs, hips and waist, luxuriating in that warm, gold skin and the way M quivers in response to his touch.

“What about people you don’t like?” The rock-singer questions, slinging his arms about Yazoo’s neck, under the satin drape of his light-metallic hair, M gazing at the other man curiously. “What do you do to them?”

“Trust me – you don’t want to know,” Yazoo returns absently, shifting M closer and parting the boy’s thighs wider. M automatically hooks his legs around Yazoo’s waist, crossing his platform boots at the ankles. His boot-buckles are digging into Yazoo’s lower back but the second man doesn’t complain. Just to make things as easy for both of them as possible, Yazoo discreetly spits on his fingers and smears his saliva around and over his own dick, the remainder going between his new lover’s legs. Then, before any of the makeshift lube dries in the evening air, Yazoo lines up his tip with the musician’s pre-prepared opening and starts to nudge against it.

Even though M said he had been with men before, he didn’t mention how many or how far he went with any of them and so, unsure of the kid’s capabilities, Yazoo pushes gently and cautiously. As his tip slips in and pops past the clenched ring of muscle, M moans and tenses his fragile frame, his permanently-inked arms tightening around Yazoo’s neck.

Not wanting to accidentally injure his petite partner, Yazoo stops and offers, “We can go as slow as you like, okay?”

When the brunette gives an unexpected jerk of his pelvis, taking all of Yazoo’s length in one quick hit, Yazoo gasps. “Or as fast!”

Trying to control their breathing, the two of them stay motionless for few seconds, each getting used to the feel of the other; M having Yazoo buried all the way in him and Yazoo being the one buried within this gorgeously lusty love-object. The internal heat and grip of M’s body is dizzying and Yazoo actually finds his head swimming with the overpowering sensation; feeling the boy’s life-force throbbing from the inside, the speed of his pulse revealing the high level of M’s excitement. Normally when Yazoo feels a heartbeat this rapid it means the person is utterly terrified of what he’s about to do to them but M isn’t scared in the slightest, at least not now that Yazoo’s put his gunblade down. What’s also unusual about this situation is that Yazoo’s heart happens to be pounding just as rapidly. He’s almost afraid to move in case he loses control and comes already, just like an inexperienced teenage virgin, none of which he actually is.

If anyone’s a virgin here, it’s M. He’s frozen in a half-sitting position with a distinctly uncomfortable expression on his face, as if realising that such sudden penetration wasn’t a terribly great idea.

“You’re in pain,” Yazoo murmurs in consideration, a frown marring his smooth brow.

“No, I’m not,” M denies, his wince betraying the blatant fib he’s just told.

“Yes, you are. Have you not done this before?”

For a moment M looks like he’s going to lie again and cover up his inexperience but, knowing how perceptive Yazoo is, the boy just lowers his shamed gaze and mumbles, “No.”

“I thought as much.” Yazoo leans down to press a gentle, understanding kiss against M’s forehead, whispering, “You’re doing very well, my sweet. Very well. We won’t go any further until you’re ready, all right?”

M gives a brief nod, the singer appearing close to tears but he bravely holds them in, hiding his face in Yazoo’s shoulder. Yazoo stays still and silent, giving the innocent young man all the time he needs to cope, stroking M’s back in a comforting and reassuring manner.

“I always wanted to do this, you know,” M bashfully confesses while his body is adjusting to Yazoo’s width and length, the painful stretched sensation gradually lessening as he relaxes under his partner’s skilled caresses. “I’ve sucked guys in the past and let them touch me – including my close friend Gackt - but I never let him put his dick in me, no matter how much he begged. I never let anyone do that before.”

M shyly glances up to meet Yazoo’s accepting green gaze. “Until now.”

“I feel extremely privileged,” Yazoo answers softly and sincerely, kissing M’s forehead again. “Thank you.”

M just nods again. It’s him who takes the initiative and moves first, his lower body beginning to roll against Yazoo slowly, tentatively, the taller male supporting him with both hands and murmuring encouragement. Yazoo needn’t have worried about his own self-control as it’s still perfectly intact. He won’t come until M does, and he prides himself on never having left a lover unsatisfied. When M feels comfortable and confident in what he’s doing, the part-time bi-boy starts thrusting his hips in short shallow motions while hanging onto Yazoo’s neck for leverage, giving a string of small moans as he does so, his sexual appetite apparently firing back into life again.

“Eager child, aren't you?” Yazoo comments with a chuckle.

“For the third time, stop calling me that,” M snarls and bucks harder, making Yazoo suck in an abrupt lungful of air. “I’m NOT a little boy!”

“No,” the remnant manages to answer, his voice sounding strained and breathless as M shamelessly fucks himself on Yazoo's stiff, hard cock. “Gods no, you certainly are not...”

M may look young but he’s probably about the same age as Yazoo, perhaps even older by a couple of years. He’s built like a girl but he’s not frail or weak, proven by the countless tattoos needled into his skin and the various holes pierced through it. He’s a tough little bundle of spunk, sass and sex which is precisely why Yazoo wants him so fiercely. Certainly, M’s own Allure is part of that attraction but if the boy were a scared, timid, snivelling puppy with no fire in his belly and no challenge in his eyes Yazoo would quickly lose interest, turn around and leave him in the alley in disgusted boredom. He could even hit or kick the kid in the face first just for the hell of it, just to break those pretty bones and see him bleed. But nothing like that is going to happen here tonight. M is neither scared, timid nor snivelling. He’s bold and open and burning with passion. He’s strong-willed, opinionated and unapologetically non-conformist. He is who he is and doesn’t give a shit what people think of him for being so flamboyantly and uniquely individual. Yazoo actually /likes/ this strange, stubborn human and damaging him is the furthest thing on the green-eyed gunman’s mind. What he wants to do to M is exactly what he’s doing right now.

When Yazoo starts to thrust back, pulling the androgynous artist nearer and angling his pelvis to get further in, M's rebellious attitude fades, his eyes falling closed to reveal the sharkskin-grey shadow painted on his upper lids and brow-bone, long mascara-black lashes tickling his upper cheeks. He chews his bejewelled bottom lip and whimpers, surrendering himself to the giddy, arousing notion of being taken by someone stronger and bigger than him, of being tamed and owned, if only for a few minutes.

“That’s it,” Yazoo breathes jubilantly, feeling M softening and turning submissive in his arms. “Give in to me. Let me have you, my lovely blackbird.”

Proving that he already has, M just whimpers again, drawing closer to Yazoo and beginning to nuzzle into his white chest, grazing his open lips over Yazoo’s pectoral muscle and instinctively licking at one pale pink nipple. Though the motion is light and tentative it’s like an arc of electricity to Yazoo, one that zings down into his crotch and along his dick.

“Yes. Lick me there,” he coaches in a dark, lust-tinged voice. “Flick it with your tongue. I like that.”

Obeying the order, M dips his head and focuses on Yazoo’s pebbled bud, taking it into his mouth and lapping at it, wanting to please his more commanding partner. M rubs his parted lips over the remnant’s chest, making clever use of his oral piercing and scratching the sharp plastic points of it across Yazoo’s erect male nub, then soothingly rolling his hot tongue around it, following that action with a couple of quick flicks. The more M plays with it and licks it, the more excited Yazoo gets; the muscular man becoming rougher and more forceful with his delicate partner, beginning to fuck him harder, his hips starting to snap instead of rock. M doesn’t object, though, the rough treatment exciting him too, the guitarist making noises of enthusiasm around Yazoo’s nipple. He eventually has to tear his lips away, the brunette’s head dropping back and mouth opening to give a series of hoarse, gasping cries, urging Yazoo on as he’s being fucked. Anyone listening in would think by the tone of his voice that Yazoo’s hurting him but it’s just the way M’s voice is. Raw. Raspy. Passionate. The sound of it turns Yazoo on in a way he’s never been turned on before and he growls at the back of his throat, stabbing into the boy’s beautiful body, over and over, unable to get enough of that smooth, gripping heat. He stares down at the musician’s face, triumphing at the look of near-pain twisting across it, the familiar expression of sexual pleasure that so closely resembles suffering, but isn’t at all.

While he relishes M’s hungry enjoyment, Yazoo’s long hair swings and sways in time with his thrusts, turning stringy from the perspiration that’s now rolling down his forehead, temples and neck, soaking into his iron-grey locks and tangling them up. Some of the sweat-drops fall, landing on M’s bare chest, mixing with the boy’s own sweat. The brunette’s back is slick and his dark mane sticks to it, the strands clumping together wetly. With an impatient hand, M shoves his untidy fringe out of his eyes, his brow shiny with moisture and his heavy makeup beginning to smudge and run, his bodily temperature every bit as raised as Yazoo’s is by what they are doing together, Yazoo’s thick cock repeatedly plunging in and out of M’s tight ass with the sound of moist, connecting flesh.

“Love...fucking...you,” Yazoo grits out, not the most eloquent or articulate statement he’s ever uttered but the liberating thing about being with this adventurous guitarist is that he doesn’t have to be sophisticated or retain his neat and stylish appearance. M doesn’t care that he’s sweaty and panting or has messy hair because M’s in the exact same state as Yazoo. They’re both guys and they can perspire and pant and get messed-up together.

“Fucking...love you...too,” M gasps back, not realising what he’s just said, too caught up in the hotness and exhilaration of an unplanned alley-screw with this seductive silver-haired stranger.

Sensing that M won’t be able to last much longer, Yazoo unwinds one of the boy's arms from around his neck, guiding M's hand down to his own neglected hardness, encouraging him to stroke it as Yazoo is screwing him.

"Touch yourself," Yazoo advises urgently. "It will make it better for you."

When his fingers wrap around and slide up his own sensitised, weeping erection, M shudders almost violently, swearing from between gritted teeth. He sounds like he’s two seconds away from coming. Truth be told, Yazoo is just as eager as M for the culmination of their erotic encounter and he pounds the kid with more force, driving deeper and quicker into that heated tightness, strong fingers clutching the kid's narrow waist, Yazoo jolting the other’s slimmer figure with increasingly powerful, possessive thrusts, the dumpster beneath them shifting and scraping across the ground, the metal container repeatedly banging into the brick wall behind it, empty glass bottles rattling inside.

“Yeah...yeah...Do it hard!” M’s voice is so coarse in his desperation, it’s almost breaking. “Fuck me... Ohmigod, fuckmefuckme...”

“Come on,” Yazoo pants persuasively and breathlessly, sensing his partner’s approaching climax and holding back just for him, but only barely. “Come for me, baby. Come for me right now...”

M calls out hoarsely as he starts to, a taut tenseness crossing his exotic face and drawing his fine brows together. Slender fingers clenched around his straining shaft, he throws his head back as Yazoo frenziedly rams into him, the whites of the boy’s eyes showing when his swelling pleasure finally bursts and overwhelms him, his thighs suddenly tightening and clamping around Yazoo’s waist, M’s cries trailing off into a sobbing wail. Seeing creamy fluid squirting onto that tanned, tattoo-covered belly is the trigger for Yazoo's own orgasm and he slams home one final time, his mouth against the singer's vulnerably exposed throat, muffled moaning escaping the remnant as his male seed erupts forth, deep inside M's deliciously hot, shuddering body, Yazoo’s tall figure jerking with convulsive spasms of almost unbearable ecstasy as he finally claims the wilful, wayward child-man as his and his alone, the victory sweeter and more rewarding than any he’s savoured before.

When their sobs and moans die down, the two new lovers cling together in the alley in a sweat-soaked embrace of slippery skin and long, damp hair of contrasting colours – black and silver - both of them gasping for breath and shaking with the aftershock of their explosive passion, Yazoo amazedly wondering if it’s possible to actually get drunk on someone because that’s how he feels right now and he hasn’t had a single drink all night.

“My beautiful boy,” he whispers, raining kiss after smitten kiss onto M’s flushed neck, jaw and cheek. “My beautiful, sweet, sexy, gorgeous boy...”

This time M doesn’t protest at what he’s being called; he simply closes his eyes, turns his head and just as drunkenly and infatuatedly kisses Yazoo back.


……………


A/N: So, there you go. They finally did it!!

Please, if it’s not too much trouble, could you leave me a short review? Did you love this scenario? Hate it? Didn’t bother you either way? Rina would really like to know! Thanks! ^^