It’s vaguely alarming that you have not unfollowed this tumblr yet. “OTL
For those of you interested, I finally cataloged all of my fanfics
which I am not embarrassed to bring up/share. I’ll maintain this flavors.me page for fanfics. I’m revamping my entire original fiction, so that’s another story.
I thought of many closing remarks, and somehow, they all ended with a long ramble about writing (mostly, complaints and bitchery). I’m deeply touched by the requests to continue but as I’ve learned over and over again (mostly, from Shounen Jump series), it’s very necessary to end the project before the project ends on me.
Setouching has come a long way. Thank you for staying with me, and for your support and encouragement. This is going to sound really obnoxious, but I hope to see other similar projects……?
Will some one please do 100 Days of Toyotomi / Oshuu Happy Family / Yukimoe / Anything?! WHINEEEE
Anyway, I’m going to cut the following so my babble doesn’t clutter the dash.
"Stealing is a crime," Mouri growled as he entered Chousokabe’s hotel room that night.
The boy glanced up from his laptop and grinned with such absolute abandon that Mouri felt the sudden need to bash his head into the wall.
"Technically, it’s not stealing?"
”How is it not stealing—”
"I replaced yours with mine. And plus, you could have gotten another one at the front desk."
A pause rolled through the room. Behind his lips, the boy ran his tongue along his teeth with anticipation. A pupil dilated when Mouri threw his briefcase against the floor. Under the burning gaze of that lonely baby blue, thin shoulders shrugged that black suit jacket off and slender fingers loosened a dark green tie. Chousokabe bit down on his bottom lip when the older man approached his seat. He had, the boy had wanted to wait, to wait for those slim hips to slide on over his seat and for Mouri to unbutton his own shirt, but desperation rushed through his blood and Chousokabe reached out.
Later, when the boy licked the last of Mouri’s cum off his hands, he asked, “Doesn’t this feel like returning home?”
Mouri Motonari slides open the window blinds of the hotel room just a crack. The high noon Friday sun weaves across the dusky room like cobwebs drenched in sepia, and he blinks quickly at the sudden onslaught of light. Behind him, over the heaped blankets, a large figure yawns against a pillow and falls back asleep. Mouri bends and peels off a torn orange condom wrapper stuck to his heel, and tosses it into the trash.
He met Chousokabe Motochika four days ago, when he first checked into his room down the hallway. Normally, he wouldn’t have batted an eye at another’s presence, but this presence towered over him, especially with those armfuls of complimentary shampoo bottles, lotion, slippers, and towels. The platinum-haired boy caught Mouri’s dark eyes as he made his way past the businessman, and the latter started slightly when he caught sight of the bizarre scar running down the ghost of a left eye.
"What?" the boy unabashedly asked with arms full of loot. "I’m a university student. Poor as shit."
Mouri just shrugged and walked into his hotel room.
The whales did not stop that night.
The university student joined his breakfast table the next morning. The businessman, however, did not even bat an eye from the newspaper when the boy blocked the ceiling light out as he leaned in.
"Hey, aniki," the boy began.
"I’m not an aniki, and certainly not yours," Mouri promptly cutted in as he turns a crisp page.
The boy contemplated this tidbit, and then tried, “Really? You don’t look like an ossa—”