ammonite: (smoke)
ammonite ([personal profile] ammonite) wrote2009-07-19 05:09 am
Entry tags:

Spin Spin Sugar, Persona 3 - Bebe/Minato

So this is...

I don't even know. I'm only up to the beginning of July in Persona 3, but lord, is Bebe ever asking for it and no one seems to ever write about him. So here you go. I used the main character's name from the manga, Arisato Minato.

           It was only a lollipop.
           Just spun sugar on a stick, on sale for 60 yen at the conbini on my way to school that morning. God only knows how long they'd been sitting there behind the counter; most of them were cracked or melted, the colors fading from sitting in the sun. Just because I found the one that still looked edible, just because it was red and purple and only a little too large for his mouth; it didn't mean he had to go and eat it like that.
           He was sitting on the sewing table, his back half-turned to me, pressed up against the elderly machine. I doubted this equipment had seen much use in the past decade, until he showed up; all clever fingers and obscene attention to detail. The outdated contraption was probably still warm, still humming a little from an afternoon of being put to good use.
           Good use. That thought led to others, led to wondering if he was warm in his uniform jacket, with the door shut and the windows closed and the stuffy, late spring air circulating through the vents again and again. He was humming a little, too, under his breath but just loud enough to catch as he slowly licked his way down the candy's length.
           His tongue flickered out across the lumpy, melting cylinder, small and pink like a kitten's and the motorized needle in front of me stitched a jagged, bright orange line across my project. It had been shaping up into a half-way decent shirt, something trendy I could wear back at the dorm without Iori calling me out. I grumbled a little, tearing the fabric free from the machine and fumbled about for a seam-ripper. God, I hated the fact that I even knew what a seam-ripper was, much less how to use it.
           “Something distracting you, Minato-sama? Usabarashi?” he asked over his shoulder, mispronouncing my name ever so slightly. I hadn't corrected him about the honorific yet because – well, I'd been meaning to, I just hadn't gotten around to it. He jammed the rounded top of the stick in his mouth, eyes half shut in an utterly salacious pose as he slowly slid it back out. His lips made a wet, sucking noise and I figured now was as good a time as any to call his bluff. He watched me slide the chair back from the table, that sticky little mouth turning up in an impish smile when I leaned across the desks.
           He stopped smiling when I grabbed him by the collar and tugged him forward, dropping the lollipop to the ground in surprise. He made a sound deep in his throat, not kittenish at all, and I pressed my mouth against his to taste the leftover sugar on his lips. My hands tangled in his pale, silky hair, holding him there as his mouth opened to my explorations. I felt him sliding forward across the desks, slowly inching closer to the edge and I slid one hand down his back to draw him close.
           It surprised me a little when he pried off his shoes and wrapped his legs around my waist. His lips left my mouth to travel down my cheek, working their way along my jaw while he clung to my neck. For all his obvious flirtations, all the times I'd found him waiting for me after class like an attention-starved animal, I still hadn't expected him to be so forceful, or so…
Hard. He rocked his hips against mine, giving me an electric shock when his not-insubstantial erection slid against my own, even through two solid layers of starched linen. I don't think I'd ever hated my school uniform quite as much as I did right then. I pushed back, desks squeaking in protest beneath us as he licked my throat, throwing off my hesitant rhythm. “Fuck,” I gasped, my words lost in his hair, and I felt his breath hot against my cheek.
           “If you'd like.”
           I think I may have actually considered it, too, but it's difficult to remember specifics once your brain has relocated to your trousers. His fingers were definitely busy unbuckling my belt when the door opened.
           “Hey, Arisato-kun, Yuka-tan said you might be - “ Iori's words ended in a strangled sort of cough, followed by a yelp as a large black fan connected with the door frame. He slammed the door shut behind him, hurried footsteps dying away in the sudden silence. I bit my (swollen) lip, suddenly uncomfortably aware of a patch of sweat-damp hair plastered to my face. Fucking Junpei, barging in and ruining the mood. Now I had to think about what I'd started; now he had a chance to back out, say it was a mistake.
           He was still glaring at the door, but the look of annoyance faded when he brushed the hair away from my eyes. I swallowed hard. The frantic, intense focus of the last five minutes might have vanished, but my hard-on hadn't gone anywhere. He leaned back across the desks, tugging gently at my tie until I followed him down, burying my face against his neck. I knew my skin was flushed, my hands clumsy, but he seemed to know his way around. I took a chance and licked at a drop of sweat beneath his ear, gratified when he squirmed and tugged harder on my shirt.
           I slid my hands along his arms until I felt him loosen his grip, pinning his narrow wrists above his head with one hand. I held him down and kissed him, soft and slow until he moaned against my mouth. His lips still tasted like candy, and he sighed when I pulled away to work my way back down, thrusting his hips up to meet the hand that unfastened his belt buckle. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, and my hand shook a little as I tugged his zipper down.
           I think his briefs were peach colored, almost pink, but I know they were slippery and a little wet beneath my fingers. I don't remember much except the way his cock was outlined beneath them, a tiny spot of moisture spreading across the silk. I teased him through the fabric, or at least I tried; his breath hitched as I trailed my fingers across his erection and I lost any patience I might have had. He wrapped his ankle around my leg, squeezing as I pushed down his briefs and stroked, hard. His head was hanging off the desk, his cock already slick in my hands as he thrust against my palm. Once, twice, again and again until he came with a startled, inarticulate yell.
           He laid there for a moment, breathing heavily, before pushing himself up on his elbows. His face was red, his eyes watery and I couldn't help but smirk, just a little. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side as he sat up and fastened his trousers. He leaned in, pressed his sweat-damp forehead against mine as he shrugged off his (oops) stained blazer. “You are - “ he began, breath still ragged and uneven. “- full of surprises, Minato-sama. Anata.”
           I pondered correcting him about that last, but he was sliding off the desk and pushing me back onto it. I stopped caring about anything coming out of his mouth when his hand found the zipper on my pants and tugged. He was on his knees, my pants around my ankles before I could even draw a breath, and his mouth – oh, god, his mouth was doing things you would not believe.
           Unless you'd seen him lick a lollipop; then you'd understand exactly what I mean.
I gripped the desk, my toes curling inside the shoes I hadn't managed to remove in time. I thought I was going to explode if he did that thing with his tongue one more time, and I heard his name coming out of my throat in a voice I didn't recognize.
           “Ah – oh god, Jean, I'm gonna - “
           And then he stopped. If there had been any blood flowing to my brain, I might've thought to kick the little bastard. As it was, I just stared stupidly, opened mouthed, as he wrapped his fingers around the base of my cock and squeezed.
           “Don't call me that,” he demanded, his voice infuriatingly calm. “You know what I want you to call me.”
           My mouth formed the syllables, but I couldn't speak. I knew what he wanted; I'd known that since the first day I met him. That's why I never called him by that stupid nickname, not even in my head. It was a child's name, a dog's name, and I wanted no part of what it meant. His hand moved infinitesimally, slower than a blade of grass growing through a crack in the sidewalk and he twisted just enough on his way down towards my head to break me open.
           “Bebe,” I moaned, and then again, softer, whispering his name as his thumb swept across the slick indentation and brought me off with a hoarse, shuddering cry. I'm not sure how he ended up so clean; if our positions had been reversed I would have just taken a load to the face. Then again, I wasn't in the habit of inviting total strangers to meet me in an empty clubroom three days a week and seducing them by pantomime.
           I brought him another lollipop on Friday.

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