Lather. Rinse. Repeat

[Notes and Disclaimers]

Kou's hands slammed against the tile, fingers scrabbling for a grip - any grip - on the slick surface. It was utterly useless; the next moment, his hands were wrenched away and he found himself pinned to the wall, chest and cheek flush against the cool tiles as his arms were twisted behind his back. His feet were kicked apart and, without ceremony, he was impaled, drawing a ragged groan from his throat as the thick cock penetrated him, bringing him up onto his toes for one long, endless moment. His breath caught in his throat, escaping in a ragged whine, and then the thrusts began in earnest. His own swollen cock, neglected, bounced with each rough slap of contact, but Kou no longer cared as the cock within him stroked over the hidden gland that sent impulses directly to his primitive pleasure centers. He arched up on his toes again, the tile so cold against his flushed skin as to nearly burn, and whimpered, too focused on the tight fist of impending orgasm to be ashamed of the weak sound. Abruptly, the fist was released and Kou sobbed as he came, straining against the grip binding his arms, straining against the cock that pulsed within him, spasming as it flooded Kou with liquid heat.

Kou's arms were released almost immediately and he lifted them to relieve some of the pressure of the wall against his cheek. His fingers were trembling, jittering over the tile before his eyes as he slowly levered himself away from the wall to lean into the heat at his back. The cock slid from him an inch at a time, and Kou sighed as the tip slipped from within him, feeling drained and empty.

The closeness had evaporated.

"Clean yourself up."

A washcloth was draped over his shoulder, where Kou left it as he twisted on the faucet. The initial blast of water against his shoulders was startlingly cold, jolting his mind from the post-coital fog in which it had been lost, and he closed his eyes as he adjusted the temperature to his liking. "How's the editorial coming?"

A soft snort was his answer, followed by the sound of water running in the sink and the soft rasp of terrycloth over skin. "Don't try and get all homey. You don't care about my job any more than I care about yours."

Kou didn't bother arguing, turning his face briefly into the spray, then slicking back his wet hair as he reached for the soap. "Making small talk. There's nothing wrong with that; all we do is fight or fuck otherwise."

"You knew what you were getting into when you saved my life; if you wanted something else, you should have let me die."

"True," Kou agreed, looking down at his hands as he rubbed the bar of soap against the washcloth until the fabric's bright blue was masked beneath white lather. "Still wish I'd let you die, Dauragon? At least this way, you get laid more often."

Dauragon snorted again and the water in the sink shut off. There was a brief splash as the washcloth was wrung out, and Kou glanced through the glass blocks of the shower wall to see the vague shape of Dauragon donning his robe. "I have work to do," Dauragon answered shortly, then Kou was left alone as the bathroom door shut behind the blonde.

Sighing absently, Kou scrubbed himself clean, reaching for his shampoo to complete his earlier aborted shower as the water sluiced suds down his legs; his shift at Fate had been enough to leave him desperately in need of a shower, even without Dauragon's attentions. Lathering his hair, Kou paused, fingers sliding down to curl loosely around his lax cock, stroking without purpose. Dauragon had seemed entirely focused on his laptop when Kou had returned to his small apartment, never so much as looking up as Kou grabbed a handful of pretzels and munched as he'd headed for the bathroom. When the bathroom door had slammed open to be filled by the blonde, Kou had barely had enough time to set down the towel he'd been holding before his world had narrowed to Dauragon.

It was true enough: all they ever did was fight or fuck. Admittedly, it was more the latter than the former, but that may have been mostly due to the fact that he was gone most of the time and, in the remainder, Dauragon had raised ignoring him to an artform. He didn't mind, really; the sex was good, particularly once Dauragon had healed enough to use the force Kou craved.

Shaking himself, he realized that his cock was stirring again and hastily pulled his hand away to instead rinse the lather from his hair. Shutting the water off, he wrapped a towel around his hips and draped another over his shoulders, stepping from the shower stall to lean against the edge of the sink. The brushing of his teeth was a perfunctory affair, then he pushed the door open and ambled from the bathroom.

Dauragon was settled before his laptop again, robe open and gaping to his waist as his fingers flew over the keys. He didn't look up as Kou emerged, only commented dryly, "I trust that you no longer stink."

"You didn't seem to mind the stench when you were fucking me," Kou grouched without heat, crossing to the tiny kitchen and pulling a beer from the fridge. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry? I think I have some cup ramen back here. We need to go shopping, or your majesty might be reduced to eating my cooking."

"Suffocating in space would have been a more merciful death."

Ignoring Dauragon's mutter, Kou rattled the pots until he found the one he wanted, dropping it noisily on the countertop. "I get paid in three days. Why don't we go out? Or maybe we could order in, and you could fuck me over the table for dessert. That would be more interesting than those cinnamon twists you like so much."

"Kou," Dauragon began, shutting the laptop with a quiet 'snick', "do you ever shut up?"

If Kou heard him, he didn't give any indication, head buried in the fridge as he rooted through its meager contents. He emerged with bagged snow peas caught between his teeth, beef in one hand and bottles in the other, and bumped the door closed with a hip as he dumped the foodstuffs gracelessly on the counter. Leaving the rest for the moment, he pulled the beef to the cutting board and was reaching for the knife when Dauragon's hand reached it first, fingers curled loosely around the wooden handle.

"I'd rather not have a repeat of the sweet and sour shrimp. Sit down."

Kou laughed, unoffended, and pulled a chair from beneath the table, flipping it around to straddle it. "Fine by me; I'd hate cooking even if I could do it." Folding his hands over the back of the chair, he rested his chin on them and studied the blonde as he deftly sliced the beef into thin strips. "How's your leg?"

Dauragon stiffened slightly and shifted his stance to not favor his right leg and the weakness lingering there since his beating. "It's fine," he answered shortly, the knife punctuating his sentence with a sharp thwack against the board.

"Mm." Kou leaned back, chair balancing on its rear legs as he considered Dauragon again. "I'll rub it for you later," he said, then, before Dauragon could protest, continued, "You know, you don't have to wait up for me. It's sweet and all, but you don't have to."

The knife strokes paused, then resumed with jerky motions. "I am not waiting up for you. I can only work when you are not making your inane chatter at me, and must take advantage of every moment I can."

"Of course." Dauragon didn't have to look at Kou to know he was smirking. "You know, you've got a knife right there; you could kill me now if you wanted to, and you'd be a free man."

The steak strips hit the hot pan with a violent sizzle, a brief puff of smoke wafting up before Dauragon stirred the strips with his chopsticks, nearly shoving the meat from the pan with his vigor. "You would only come back to haunt me, I am certain. At least with you alive, you must occasionally leave me be."

"Mm," Kou replied noncommittally, the front chair legs thwacking against the floor as he rose. "You know, I don't believe you hate me." He grinned when Dauragon only ignored him, and crossed to stand behind the blonde and playfully lip the fine strands of his hair. "You may even like me a little, when you aren't paying attention."

"For such a smart man," Dauragon began dryly, not looking away from the browning steak strips, "you are incredibly stupid."

- tsuzuku...? -

Notes and Disclaimers

The Bouncer is © Square Co., Ltd.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat is part of a larger, as-of-yet-unwritten piece, and assumes the knowledge of some information. Kou saved Dauragon's life, rather than leaving him to die in space. No one but Leann knows that he is alive of yet, and he is bound to Kou because of this. To supplement income - and to keep himself from going insane with boredom - he's begun writing editorial columns.