cerasi

• Translation Requests
• Drabble Archive

• Twitter
• Ao3
• CuriousCat
• Email

Translation Requests

10/21: I am taking a hiatus from new requests while I study for the JLPT. I will open requests again in December! Apologies for any inconvenience.

Guidelines:

DISCLAIMER: My Japanese reading ability is moderately good for dialogue but not highly advanced, and I don't have any training in translation. I'm doing translations for fun / practice, and I can't guarantee 100% accuracy. I won't post anything unless I feel confident in the overall meaning, though.

Feel free to @ or DM me (@cerasific) with any questions!

<< back

Drabble Archive

<< back

They shouldn’t have started with this, Miyuki decides, too late.

Even on a good day, the truth is he usually has to get off once before he can fuck Nabe properly. It’s embarrassing, but between the sensation of it and the way Nabe reacts, it always ends up being too much. Thankfully Nabe has better stamina, and Miyuki has no complaints about being on the receiving end more often.

Tonight, though, this is what he wanted. Nabe is in his old team’s colors, wearing the replica of a jersey Miyuki doesn’t even think he still has, and it’s doing something absolutely ridiculous to him.

“Come here?” Nabe asked, when he came back from changing a little while ago. He sat down at the head of the bed and pulled his bare legs under him like some kind of softcore porn designed expressly to target Miyuki’s brain. He smiled shyly, and Miyuki scrambled over to kiss him. When Nabe pulled him down and wrapped his legs around Miyuki’s waist, already reaching for lube, Miyuki couldn’t think about asking him to wait.

Now he’s buried inside Nabe, feeling like he’s going to die if he doesn’t start moving; like he’s going to come as soon as he does.

“Kazuya,” Nabe whimpers, his legs tightening as Miyuki pulls back slowly. Miyuki bites his lip and pushes back in, and Nabe moans out loud. “Oh, Kazuya—”

“Nabe, stop,” Miyuki begs, then presses his forehead into Nabe’s collarbone and groans. “Sorry,” he says, “you’re fine, I just… can you be quiet for a minute?”

“Alright,” Nabe says, and grins up at him.

Miyuki kisses his cheek in apology, then closes his eyes and tocuses his mind, running through pitch sequences in his head as his body acclimates. Finally he’s gotten a hold of himself, and he can work his way up to shallow thrusts, then a few deeper ones. “Okay,” he whispers into Nabe’s ear when he’s picked up a rhythm, “I—I think I’m good now.”

“—Ohhhhhhhh,” Nabe moans, like he’s been holding it in. His hands clutch at Miyuki’s sides, the fabric of his undershirt. “Ohh, oh—”

“Shit,” Miyuki hisses, pulling out of him. “Turn over.” He’s still probably not going to last long, and he needs to see this first.

Nabe clamors obediently onto his knees, and the sight alone is enough to stop Miyuki speechless. The jersey is riding up Nabe’s back a little, exposing the divots at the base of his spine, but the number and Miyuki’s name are clearly visible. Nabe makes a soft, impatient noise, his hips moving back and forth like he’s begging with his whole body for Miyuki to return.

Miyuki groans and buries his face in the curve of Nabe’s neck as he pushes back inside. Oh, god, he’s really not going to last long, but it’s too good, he doesn’t care. Nabe is letting him do this, he realizes, not even trying to get himself off; he’s letting Miyuki use his body, letting him see in plain letters that Nabe is his, has always wanted to be his—

He sucks in a heady breath and slows himself down, his hips shaking with the effort of it. “Hey,” he says, leaning down near Nabe’s ear, “is it okay if I take the condom off?”

“Huh?” Nabe asks, hazily. “Yeah, sure.”

They’ve done it this way before; there’s no reason they can’t—it’s just kind of a mess, and at least in Miyuki’s case, it makes lasting long enough to satisfy Nabe even more impossible. Nabe doesn’t seem to care today, though, and as for the mess… well, Miyuki isn’t planning on coming inside him.

He rolls the condom off and tosses it onto the floor, deciding he’ll deal with it later. Then he applies a little more lube to himself, lines up, and pulls Nabe back by his hips.

Nabe gives a drawn-out cry, and Miyuki bites down hard on his tongue. It’s really, really too much, but he keeps going anyhow, gets his hands onto the mattress and fucks Nabe hard, reveling in the unfiltered pleasure of it. Nabe just moans and grips the pillow above his head, and Miyuki gives up, slamming into him until there’s no hope of stopping.

He groans and doesn’t quite pull out in time; the first shot of his load ends up inside Nabe after all. Luckily there’s more, and when he pushes Nabe off of him, onto the bed, it spatters beautifully across his back.

“Fuck,” he moans, his heart pounding as he comes down. “Oh, fuck, Nabe.”

Nabe moans softly in return, and Miyuki leans down to kiss the back of his neck. He knows Nabe was doing this for him, but he’s pretty eager to get Nabe off, too. He kisses Nabe again, on his ear, and Nabe smiles and starts to turn over.

“Hold on, take this off,” Miyuki says, stopping him, “it’s going to make a mess.” He pulls Nabe into a seated position and tugs up on the jersey’s sleeves.

“Huh?” Nabe lifts his arms. “What’s going to…” Then he looks over his shoulder, his eyes going wide. “Wait, did you come on my back?”

Miyuki starts to laugh as he pulls the jersey over Nabe’s head. “Um, yeah?”

“Oh my god,” Nabe says, and tears the jersey from his hands as soon as it’s off. “Kazuya! What the hell?”

He actually sounds a little mad. “I…” Miyuki says, and laughs again, sheepishly. “It had my name on it?”

“Oh my god,” Nabe says again. He tosses it aside, pushes Miyuki down onto the bed again, and straddles his waist. “You can’t just come on things because they have your name on them!”

Miyuki can’t imagine that’s a guideline that’ll be relevant very often, but he nods. “Sorry,” he says, and grins. He should probably feel guilty, but honestly, he feels too good. He reaches down and pumps Nabe’s cock in his hand a few times, and Nabe’s outraged expression wavers.

“God, Kazuya,” he says, as his face slides into something pleasured, “I’ve had that jersey—” he gasps as Miyuki finishes pouring some more lube into his hand and strokes him with it firmly, “—for twelve years, and I let you see it once—” He’s starting to grin, now, his eyes taking on a teasing sparkle, but Miyuki finally feels a pang of regret.

“Sorry,” he says, more contritely. “I’ll—wash it.”

“Uh-huh.” Nabe presses Miyuki’s shoulders into the mattress as he starts to push his cock through the channel Miyuki makes with his hand. “Yeah, you’ll wash it. God, you were planning on doing that, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Miyuki admits. He tightens his hand and brings his other hand to join it, trying to make it as good for Nabe as he can. “I mean, not until after we started.” He gives another guilty laugh. “It seemed like a really good idea in the moment.”

“Yeah,” Nabe says, and then moans a little, squeezing his eyes shut as he starts to fuck Miyuki’s hands faster. “I—bet it did. Shit, Kazuya—losing it all over my back like that, god—” His voice goes high as his cock pulses in Miyuki’s hands. He takes a few panting breaths when he’s done, his face flushed.

Miyuk sits up and puts his sticky hands on Nabe’s sides. “Sorry,” he says again. He really does feel bad now. “I should have asked you.”

Nabe giggles. “Uh-huh,” he says. Then he leans in and gives Miyuki a kiss. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll go soak it with some detergent. It probably won’t stain if I do it now.”

“Wait, you’re going to get it even dirtier,” Nabe says, and grabs it before Miyuki can reach for it. He holds it up. “Wow.”

Miyuki winces. He already got off once this morning; he’s not quite sure how he managed to do as much damage as he did. The fabric of the jersey is white, at least, but on the bold black numbers the effect is a little obscene.

“You know,” Nabe says, thoughtfully, “it’s not like I’m ever going to wear this in public.”

Miyuki’s mind stalls. “...Uh-huh.”

“You don’t need to wash it right now.” Nabe’s still staring at it. “Maybe you can even leave it like this.”

“Uhhh—” Miyuki laughs, high-pitched. “I—don’t think it’ll age well,” he says, and then laughs again, presses his forehead to the tip of Nabe’s shoulder. “God, stop looking at it.”

“It’s like you signed it,” Nabe says. He nudges Miyuki off his shoulder and grins at him. “Makes it more valuable, right?”

“Fuck,” Miyuki says. He covers his face and falls back on the bed. “Nabe, stop, you’re gonna kill me. Just let me wash it.”

“Hmm,” Nabe says. He sets it down on his lap, and Miyuki has a second to be relieved before Nabe slips his hands into the opening at the bottom and starts to put it back on. “Take a picture first, at least?”

“—Nabe.”

Nabe turns away and smiles over his shoulder. “What?”

Miyuki swallows at the sight. “Okay,” he says, and sprawls out to grab his phone as Nabe laughs.

“I should have gotten your rookie card, too,” Nabe muses, when Miyuki is done taking pictures. “Or a poster, you know, so you could have jerked off onto the whole collection—” He yelps as Miyuki tackles him face-first onto the bed.

“Shut up,” Miyuki says, his face hot, “it was a moment of weakness.”

“Mmm,” Nabe says, and twists his head, smiling. “You can make it up to me.”

“Whatever you want,” Miyuki says, honestly.

Nabe nudges him off and pushes himself up on one hand. “Wash my sheets, too,” he says. He flops onto his back and slides his knees around Miyuki’s waist again.

“Oh, god,” Miyuki groans. “I’ll do my best.”

“I believe in you, Mr. Rookie of the Year,” Nabe says, and then laughs as Miyuki leans down to kiss him.

⬥

<< back