To Paint Another (Man’naka)

Title: To Paint Another (Man’naka)
*The “True” Origin of “Gimmick Game”*
Pairing: Ohmiya
Rating: PG13
Warning(s): Meh heh heh… Not full nudity but pretty close!! And it is… kinda erotic, ne?
Note:.
I split it into three parts… to make it easier to read. I really wanted to do an Ohmiya fic, and this is how it turned out! Please enjoy! *Hopefully I lived up to the expectations =__=;;*
Owari! CLICK!

——

Ohno looked at him impatiently, his eyes burning. Nino realized that he wanted to paint… and now. Nino scrambled to pull of his shirt and felt a chill as the coldness of his house reached his skin. Ohno seemed to take no notice and ordered him to lie on his back on the newspaper that was now strewn all over the floor of Nino’s house.

            Nino lay still, staring up at the ceiling while Ohno situated himself and his paints. Nino wondered faintly why Ohno was doing this, and why him? He also felt a faint thrill course over him. Ohno would be painting him. How would he turn out?

            Nino hadn’t noticed that Ohno was settled and jerked as the paint-clad fingers brushed against his skin, sending goose bumps across the surface of it. Staring at his chest, Ohno frowned, refusing to look at Nino’s face. “Don’t move,” he scolded and got back to painting Nino’s body.

            Nino only obeyed partly, craning his neck so he could properly see Ohno’s face. His artist face was intense. But beyond that look was the same one Nino hadn’t been able to place before. He struggled to think of what kind of emotions were behind the artist’s eyes, but gave up as his senses took over.

            He still stared at the painter’s face, but his mind was focused on the feeling of the fingers stroking his chest, covering it in designs that Nino couldn’t yet see. A finger circled one of his nipples causing Nino’s breath to hitch, stumble, then speed. What is Riida trying do to me?? He thought, breaths coming out in near gasps. Yet, he didn’t say anything. Ohno was too engrossed to answer, anyway.

            The hands and fingers continued their journey down Nino’s body. Sometimes making him shiver and shudder others making him have to bite his lip to keep from uttering a whimper or moan of pleasure.

            At one point as the artist reached Nino’s stomach, he reached up to scratch his neck, leaving an array of colors there. But as he did so, the other hand kept working on Nino, never leaving his skin.

           As the minutes ticked into hours, the silence and the soft touches started to become excruciatingly hard to lay through. He was bored by the silence, but entranced by the fingers running rampage across him. They reached his abdomen and Nino almost squirmed. The touch was too soft, too powerful, for him to think those fingers were just those of an artist. He looked at Ohno’s face again and the artist look was now overlaid with the one that had once been behind it. Nino was about to figure out what the look meant when Ohno reached the lining of his pants which were just inches below his belly button.

            Ohno stopped and looked at Nino’s flustered face. “Take off your pants,” he said in a mild undertone. Nino started, staring, once again, at the artist who was taking advantage of his body. Ohno sighed. “I want to be able to paint a bit more,” he explained, looking away. Nino understood but was still hesitant. He shimmied out of the jeans, trying breathtakingly hard not to touch his upper, paint-encased body.

            With his pants off, Nino felt utterly naked and exposed to the elder. He was exasperated and confused. Why me? He thought again. “Move your boxers down a little,” Ohno ordered him. Nino’s eyebrows clipped together in a frown. He was about to protest when Ohno raised a multicolored hand to silence him. “I would do it myself, but my hands are still wet.”

            “Oh-chan,” Nino grumbled, sliding his boxers down. “Why are you doing this to me?” Instead of answering, Ohno plunged back into the artwork that was Nino causing waves of pleasure to course through the smaller man’s veins. A groan escaped his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut. It’s too much, Nino thought morbidly. This’ll kill me.

            The touch of Ohno was sending electric shocks across the surface of Nino’s skin as he ventured lower and lower. Nino clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut tighter so that stars shot back at him from behind his eyelids.

            One finger stroked right above the waistband of the boxers and sent one last thrilling shudder through Nino. The hands didn’t stroke his body again and he dared to open his eyes. He realized that his fists were clenching wads of newspaper and let go, embarrassed. Slowly, he arched his neck to look at the painter and a shock coursed through his body.

            Ohno was staring at Nino’s face, all traces of the artist that had been in his eyes were now gone. For once, Nino could place the emotions that had laid beyond the artist eyes. They equally scared and pleased Nino to no end. The regret, passion, sorrow, lust, loss, love, guilt, accomplishment all bound together in one man’s black-coffee eyes. There was something intensely erotic about that look and Nino slowly lifted himself up so that his face was level with the larger man’s.

            He saw the elder blink tiredly and watched as he leaned forward to kiss Nino’s forehead lightly. A paint-clad hand reached up to hold his neck and Nino let his eyes flutter shut just after he reached up at do the same to Ohno, smudging the paint at the nape of his neck. He felt the lips move away from his forehead slowly then re-touch him on the lips. Nino’s lips parted in immediate response.

            The lips jerked away from his and Nino’s eyes popped open in surprise. The hand slid off his neck and Ohno stood unevenly. His eyes hadn’t changed much, except now there was intense sorrow and desire mixed in his eyes and splayed across his face. He reached down to gather his paints and without looking at Nino said, “Go, shower it off.” His voice was shaken and Nino saw a tear drip from the man’s chin. He longed to reach out and tenderly wipe that tiny drop of pain, sorrow, guilt, loss, regret away, but Ohno raced out the door. Nino was left sitting upright, painted, in his boxers, in the middle of his newspaper strewn house. He felt tears prick his eyes but made no move to swipe them away as the fell silently to leave little, disappearing circles on the newspaper.