Itafushi/Fushiita in the club
other concepts/versions here
//slight nsfw, established relationship
Yuji had a certain way about him.
That annoyingly innocent air, that gravitational pull, that endearing and dorky smile… it made Megumi want to rip that pink-haired head clean off with his teeth.
With gin swirling thick in his bloodstream, Megumi thought again and again and only about Yuji.
The alcoholic haze between his eyes made Yuji appear angel-like to him, otherworldly in the dizzying lights of the club, dancing like the unashamed idiot that he was.
Yuji had invited Megumi to dance.
He had declined. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
“Come find me when you are.” His hands lingering on Megumi’s body like honey before fingertips slipped away and he disappeared into the crowd.
He found a spot around the bar from which he could glue his gaze to his boyfriend — watch, strategize, fantasize — waiting for the alcohol to stretch out his thoughts.
Yuji danced in time to the rhythm that Megumi himself could hardly make out over the din in the nightclub. He figured he probably had about 5 minutes before someone on the dance floor figured Yuji was available and tried to stake a claim.
Another gin shot thrown down his throat.
Not even 2 minutes and someone is speaking into Yuji’s ear. But he dances like sea foam, smooth, bubbly, light, slipping unapologetically through the hands that tried to touch him.
Lips read from across the room: “I’m waiting for someone.”
And Yuji would wait. Like the loyal thing he was.
So Megumi takes his time, sipping his next drink leisurely, limbs slowly turning to liquid fire. Smirking and looking away each time Yuji glances at him to see whether he was on his way over yet.
The shiver he knows well by now — the security and overwhelm that came with being wanted, knowing he was wanted — crept up his spine slowly.
But Yuji could wait. Megumi could make him want it more.
Finished his drink and ordered another. But by the time Yuji’s eyes were finding him every few seconds, a silent plea, eyes round in the way that made Megumi nearly violent with wanting, he finally pushed himself up to leave, drink abandoned on the counter.
“Baby!” The timbre of his voice is unmistakeable even over the music.
Honey hands find their rightful place on his hips.
Doesn’t know how to dance, doesn’t need to know. This wasn’t about dancing. It was primal, how he moved.
Arms around Yuji’s neck, pulling in, pressing close, lips swallowed and gin-covered tongue not waiting for an invitation.
A laugh and that aggravatingly cute smile that made Megumi want to grows claws just to dig into flesh. “You taste bad, Meg.”
His lip curled, disbelieving eyebrow raised, glaring at Yuji with a look: “You want me anyway.”
Mouths pressed together again: “Yeah baby, I do.”
Until Megumi pulls away, hands on Yuji’s chest to keep him at a torturous distance. Close enough to feel his breath, but not releasing enough to let him taste again.
Brown eyes flicker rapidly between green, trying to read him, breathing hard and trying to figure out what was allowed. What Megumi would allow.
And Megumi? Well, he just says, “Nevermind, I only want to dance.”
Takes his hands off, intentionally, teasing, because he knows that Yuji gravitates towards Megumi’s own magnetism just as much as he does to Yuji’s.
Yuji steps closer, hands hovering and hesitating all at once. And Megumi is moving. Not dancing, because he doesn’t know how, but moving, in a way that he knows Yuji can’t resist.
Hands, always just hands, because that idiot is too sweet to try anything filthier in public, and so it’s Megumi that has to decide to force a thigh between Yuji’s legs, press up into him, card his fingers through sweaty pink hair.
But he doesn’t let it go too far. Instead, turns around, grinds back into Yuji, who stumbles back a half-a-step before steeling his body, hands gripping his hips, and rubs in circles forward against Megumi’s ass.
As the growing bulge of him becomes apparent, Megumi turns around again, hooking arms around his neck to draw in close, nibbling the flesh on his earlobe, working down skin to the collarbone, Yuji’s panting hot in his ear as Megumi presses his thigh against Yuji’s crotch.
He grab’s Yuji’s face, fingers holding his jaw, forcing eye contact, Yuji’s brown eyes blown wide.
The people around them don’t matter, and Megumi’s body is drunk and light enough that he doesn’t care anyway as his other hand snakes down Yuji’s chest, over fabric, before cupping the hardness behind the zipper of Yuji’s jeans.
Squeezes once. Yuji’s head falls forward onto his shoulder as he moans, loudly, loud enough for Megumi to feel it up and down his spine, but not loud enough to interrupt the music around them.
He lifts Yuji’s chin up again. Looks at his flushed cheeks, wide eyes, washed-out and pleading expression. Keeps him there as he palms him through the fabric again.
Yuji bites his cheek and whimpers, but doesn’t break eye contact.
And Megumi walks away without another word, knowing that Yuji will follow.
