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indulta(originally written for #SWAG2016)
When Ennoshita opens his door, Futakuchi's initial reaction is surprise—and then again, surprised that he was surprised in the first place. Ennoshita's dorm is just as it always has been, tidy and minimalist, bedsheets carefully rumpled to create the artifice that he ever sleeps, except there's one new addition. A camera. His video camera, presumably, set up on a tripod and facing the bed, red light sitting stable to indicate that it's already switched on and ready to record.
Futakuchi's fresh from volleyball practice and climbing over the gate to Ennoshita's college, covered in sweat and feeling generally disgusting. "If you wanted me to model for you, couldn't you at least have asked me on a night off?"
"It doesn't matter if you're not at your best," Ennoshita says. "Anyway, some people like the, uh, active look." He pauses, closing the door behind Futakuchi. "And who said this was modelling?"
Well, all Ennoshita's text had said was, Can you swing by my dorm later? There's something I want to try. Futakuchi belatedly realises that it could mean anything—and knowing Ennoshita, it's definitely more likely to be something outlandish.
"There's a camera pointing at your bed," Futakuchi says, untucking the side of his practice shirt to scratch his hip. "I'm guessing you want me to take my kit off and look—"
"Please don't finish that sentence," Ennoshita says, cutting him off. "Actually, I felt a little bad for never letting you act in my movies, so I thought you might want to help out with some of the behind the scenes work."
Futakuchi gets the feeling that Ennoshita's not entirely telling the truth, but he's got his back to the door now, bending down to adjust his camera. "What sort of stuff goes on behind the scenes?" he asks.
"This is for a class project," Ennoshita explains. "We make a short film every semester to a given stimulus, and this semester is romance. It's usually something I stay away from, because... well, because I find it so hard to bring to the screen."
"So how am I helping?" Futakuchi asks.
"I want to work out the best angles for filming intimate scenes, like kissing." Ennoshita turns around from his camera and looks Futakuchi dead in the eye. "And I need someone to kiss."
"And you picked me," Futakuchi says weakly.
Ennoshita laughs. "I thought to myself, which friendship do I want to ruin today?"
"Couldn't you have asked a couple?" Futakuchi asks, ignoring the jab.
"That'd be voyeurism," Ennoshita says matter-of-factly. "I can't do that."
"And it's not if you're one of the people kissing?"
"Of course not."
"Well," Futakuchi says, resigned to his fate—kissing his crush for the first time on camera, which is a pretty ridiculous fate—"I'm always happy to help out a friend in need."
He feels like a prize idiot for blurting out something so corny, but his embarrassment is almost immediately mitigated by the grin that spreads across Ennoshita's face. "Great!" he says. "Then let's get started."
Futakuchi drops his bag by the door as Ennoshita leads the way to his bed, and they sit down next to each other in front of the camera. It's painfully awkward, but Futakuchi steels himself with a deep breath. "How do you want to do this?"
"How do you like kissing?" Ennoshita counters, reaching forward to switch on the camera.
"With tongue," Futakuchi blurts. "I mean—"
He doesn't finish his sentence—can't, with Ennoshita's hands on his shoulders, turning him so they're facing. "Tongue is good," Ennoshita says. "I can do tongue."
"Should I be relieved?" Futakuchi asks.
"Absolutely," Ennoshita says. "I've been reliably informed I'm a pretty decent kisser."
And he doesn't waste any time in proving his point. Within seconds, Ennoshita closes the distance between their faces and launches straight into a proper kiss, his tongue roaming the side of Futakuchi's mouth, and Futakuchi easily concedes that he is more than "pretty decent" at it. Then again, Futakuchi is biased, given that he's wanted to do this pretty much since he first met Ennoshita all those years ago at the March prefecturals just before their third year. And now, he's resting his hands on Ennoshita's thighs and feeling like the horny teenager he thought he'd left behind as soon as he discovered his university volleyball team's intensive training regime.
Ennoshita pulls back, cheeks flushed red and not quite meeting Futakuchi's eyes. "I'm going to change the lighting and angle, and we'll go again, okay?"
"Ah well, if you insist," Futakuchi says lightly, although his brain is screaming, Yes! Fuck yes!
The change involves a barely perceptible tilt of the camera and an instruction for Futakuchi to move just a bit to his right—and then, Ennoshita switches on his desk lamp and turns off the main light, angling the lamp so that it illuminates them from the side. It's more than a little romantic. Futakuchi swallows, pursing his lips in anticipation. Suddenly, there's an atmosphere to this. It makes it feel a little bit more real.
"Ready?" Ennoshita asks, sitting back beside him.
"When you are," Futakuchi says, which must be the right answer because Ennoshita's on top of him in seconds, hooking one leg over Futakuchi's and balancing his other knee on the bed.
"Just want to see how this sort of positioning looks on camera," Ennoshita says. "We'll switch back to something a little more tame afterwards."
As it turns out, they don't.
Ennoshita's got his hands on Futakuchi's shoulders, and he directs Futakuchi to put one arm on his neck—"Left, away from the light,"—and the other down by his waist. It feels very forced, though, and Futakuchi gets restless easily, so it's hardly unnatural that his hands start shifting of their own accord as he gets more and more into it. The hand at Ennoshita's waist slips beneath his shirt, moving around to his back, pulling him closer. Ennoshita pulls back for a second and lets out a gasp, and Futakuchi is suddenly and acutely aware that he is going to walk out of this room, climb over the gate, and hobble all the way back to his college with a boner, and probably a whole lot of regret.
It's then that he gets an incredible, genius, terrible idea. He pulls his mouth away from Ennoshita's, and Ennoshita asks, "Ready to switch to the next angle?"
"Not quite," Futakuchi mutters, twisting his neck so that he can kiss his way from Ennoshita's earlobe to his jaw and down his neck. Because that's the thing—this doesn't have to be behind the scenes for Ennoshita's romance film. They're in a dimly-lit room on a bed and they're already kissing, so Futakuchi sees absolutely no reason for it not to go further.
He certainly gets the desired reaction—Ennoshita tilts his head backwards and his eyes flutter closed. Futakuchi glances up in time to see Ennoshita biting down on his lower lip, which is an excellent sign. He'd always pegged Ennoshita as the quiet sort, but if he's holding back from making noise and they're only kissing, then Futakuchi can only imagine how great something more would be.
As it turns out, he doesn't have to wait long for something more, because Ennoshita pulls away only to shift their positioning, and places his palms splayed on Futakuchi's chest. "Thanks for all your help," he says, breathless and, without missing a beat, shoves Futakuchi backwards onto the bed and follows through, straddling him and leaning down, hair falling in his eyes.
"Any time," Futakuchi says, and he hopes Ennoshita knows just how much he means it.
Ennoshita's response goes one better than confirming that he understood—he dips his head and runs his tongue across Futakuchi's neck before biting hard. As much as Futakuchi knows it'll leave a mark and that his teammates will comment on it tomorrow, he can't bring himself to care. Maybe he lets out a slightly embarrassing noise, but Ennoshita doesn't stop, sliding his hands under Futakuchi's shirt and up along his chest. Futakuchi lifts his shoulders off the bed, just a enough that Ennoshita can slide his shirt off and discard it somewhere outside Futakuchi's vision—or, maybe his peripherals are just failing him because he only has eyes for Ennoshita, as stupid as it makes him feel. Ennoshita keeps going further down, teeth and tongue trailing down Futakuchi's chest, until he reaches the waistband of his volleyball shorts.
"May I?" he asks.
"Do you honestly think I'd want to stop?" Futakuchi asks in return, staring at the ceiling his in case his face is displaying some kind of emotion.
"Just checking," Ennoshita says, running a finger along the line of Futakuchi's hip bone, "since the camera's still switched on and all."
Oh shit. "I forgot about the camera," Futakuchi says honestly.
"That was the whole point of the exercise," Ennoshita says. "Although seeing as it's turned into something a bit different, I thought you might feel..."
"Uncomfortable?" Futakuchi guesses.
He looks over Ennoshita's shoulder and at the blinking red light that very firmly means recording. They could just stop. It's not like he's never done this sort of thing before, but it's the first time with Ennoshita, and Futakuchi has no idea just how much more experience Ennoshita has—although he assumes it's a lot, because it's always the quiet ones, right?—so it could get embarrassing and fumbly, and Futakuchi doesn't want to be responsible for a disappointment. Then again...
"Leave it on," he says decisively.
"Oh, thank god," Ennoshita says. "I was so hoping you'd say that."
"You're into that sort of thing, huh?" Futakuchi teases, resting his hands a little lower down Ennoshita's back.
"I'm a filmmaker," Ennoshita says, like that explains everything, coming from the guy who'd earlier expressed an aversion to being branded a voyeur. Futakuchi supposes it's different when you're the one in the video. Anyway, he's not one to quibble over terminology when Ennoshita is hovering over him expectantly, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, his eyes half-closed and still not quite looking at Futakuchi. He's probably a little bit embarrassed too—which, honestly, just makes him more attractive, Futakuchi thinks.
Ennoshita looks over his shoulder, then back at Futakuchi, and suddenly his entire expression's changed into something a little more into it. Futakuchi responds well to that sort of expression, and hooks a leg over Ennoshita's back, pulling him closer. Ennoshita responds well to that, throwing himself forward and into a kiss that's so much more than their earlier ones, when it was still about making it look good for the camera. Futakuchi pushes Ennoshita's shirt off in seconds, barely registering that Ennoshita's doing the same to his shorts, knocking them backwards and to the floor. They're dangerously close, and Futakuchi thinks it's only a matter of time before this escalates further.
It starts slow, with the sort of quick contact that confirms for Futakuchi that Ennoshita's as hard, as he is and nothing else, but it happens again, and again, and then they're grinding together and kissing and Futakuchi realises that Ennoshita is sweating just as much as he is, without even the exertion beforehand to get him there. Well, it's a hot summer night outside the dorm, and Ennoshita doesn't even have his fan on.
As fast as it had escalated, Ennoshita stops suddenly, rolling sideways off Futakuchi and towards his desk. Kneeling on the floor, he opens a drawer and sticks a hand in. After a few moments of rifling around, his hand emerges with a condom grasped between his index and middle fingers and a tube of lubricant between his other two fingers and palm, and he holds them up triumphantly.
Futakuchi registers this as he's lying sprawled on the bed in the camera's direct view, and he realises that must look an absolute wreck. He's morbidly curious if he'll ever get to watch this tape back, to see first-hand what he looks like. The idea's exciting—and that's something new. But then, you never know what you'll like until you try it, and Futakuchi is very firmly a "try everything once" sort of guy. Sex is pretty near the top of his list of things to try at least once—although preferably more than that—but he never imagined it'd be under these conditions. "First time for everything," he mumbles to himself.
"This is your first time?" Ennoshita asks, reappearing over Futakuchi with the condom wedged behind his ear, like a pair of glasses or a pencil.
"Don't go easy on me," Futakuchi says. Yes would've been simpler, but he's never been one to back down from a challenge.
"Let's make this a first time to remember, then," Ennoshita says.
"It's on camera," Futakuchi reminds him—he's treated with the most radiant smile on Ennoshita's face, and if he weren't so turned on he'd probably start waxing poetic about it. As it is, he just smirks back—and he's entirely unprepared for Ennoshita mirroring the expression with a glint in his eye that means trouble.
Ennoshita wasn't lying, though, when he said he'd make it memorable. That's the only thought that crosses Futakuchi's mind as Ennoshita sticks out two fingers and runs a line of lubricant along each of them. He throws the tube to one side on the bed and, with his clean hand, unzips his shorts and—well, Futakuchi can't see where his fingers go, but he has a pretty good idea.
At the sight of Ennoshita looking like that, towering above Futakuchi with the light hitting him from one side and making him look positively illuminated, Futakuchi can't help that his own hands stray downwards, pushing his underwear out of the way and palming himself, just a bit, just enough to keep the tension.
"Steady," Ennoshita says, more air than voice. "I'm nearly there."
Futakuchi forces himself to sit up, and takes the condom from behind Ennoshita's ear. Propping himself up with one hand, he hovers with his lips just millimetres away from Ennoshita's. "Behind the scenes, huh?"
"Sort of a weak excuse," Ennoshita says. "Worked, though."
"Like I would've said no," Futakuchi says, leaning forward that bit extra and kissing Ennoshita as gently as he can manage.
"Hey," Ennoshita says, "don't go easy on me."
In response, Futakuchi kisses a little harder, tangling his fingers in Ennoshita's hair, pushing sweat-soaked strands back from his forehead. After a moment, though, he pulls back and shifts so he's sitting unassisted, using both his hands to unwrap the condom and get himself ready—then, he lies back down and just lets himself admire the way Ennoshita looks.
"So," Ennoshita says, shifting a bit, "ready to make cinematic history?"
"Ready when you are," Futakuchi says. He turns to look straight into the camera, and he almost imagines he can see himself reflected in the lens. He grins at himself, or at himself in the future, watching this back.
"Oh," Ennoshita says. "One question first; is this a one-off?"
"Do you want it to be?" Futakuchi asks. "I mean, we didn't really manage to get through all the possible camera and lighting angles—"
He's cut off by Ennoshita laughing. "Then we'll do it again, as many times as we need to," he says. "Maybe I'll even take you out afterwards."
Futakuchi raises an eyebrow. "Is that a promise?"
"It's a date," Ennoshita says. He stills, glancing across at the tripod, squinting as the lamp light hits his eyes. "Lights, camera—"
"—action," Futakuchi completes.
After that, he forgets that the camera's there entirely.
When Ennoshita opens his door, Futakuchi's initial reaction is surprise—and then again, surprised that he was surprised in the first place. Ennoshita's dorm is just as it always has been, tidy and minimalist, bedsheets carefully rumpled to create the artifice that he ever sleeps, except there's one new addition. A camera. His video camera, presumably, set up on a tripod and facing the bed, red light sitting stable to indicate that it's already switched on and ready to record.
Futakuchi's fresh from volleyball practice and climbing over the gate to Ennoshita's college, covered in sweat and feeling generally disgusting. "If you wanted me to model for you, couldn't you at least have asked me on a night off?"
"It doesn't matter if you're not at your best," Ennoshita says. "Anyway, some people like the, uh, active look." He pauses, closing the door behind Futakuchi. "And who said this was modelling?"
Well, all Ennoshita's text had said was, Can you swing by my dorm later? There's something I want to try. Futakuchi belatedly realises that it could mean anything—and knowing Ennoshita, it's definitely more likely to be something outlandish.
"There's a camera pointing at your bed," Futakuchi says, untucking the side of his practice shirt to scratch his hip. "I'm guessing you want me to take my kit off and look—"
"Please don't finish that sentence," Ennoshita says, cutting him off. "Actually, I felt a little bad for never letting you act in my movies, so I thought you might want to help out with some of the behind the scenes work."
Futakuchi gets the feeling that Ennoshita's not entirely telling the truth, but he's got his back to the door now, bending down to adjust his camera. "What sort of stuff goes on behind the scenes?" he asks.
"This is for a class project," Ennoshita explains. "We make a short film every semester to a given stimulus, and this semester is romance. It's usually something I stay away from, because... well, because I find it so hard to bring to the screen."
"So how am I helping?" Futakuchi asks.
"I want to work out the best angles for filming intimate scenes, like kissing." Ennoshita turns around from his camera and looks Futakuchi dead in the eye. "And I need someone to kiss."
"And you picked me," Futakuchi says weakly.
Ennoshita laughs. "I thought to myself, which friendship do I want to ruin today?"
"Couldn't you have asked a couple?" Futakuchi asks, ignoring the jab.
"That'd be voyeurism," Ennoshita says matter-of-factly. "I can't do that."
"And it's not if you're one of the people kissing?"
"Of course not."
"Well," Futakuchi says, resigned to his fate—kissing his crush for the first time on camera, which is a pretty ridiculous fate—"I'm always happy to help out a friend in need."
He feels like a prize idiot for blurting out something so corny, but his embarrassment is almost immediately mitigated by the grin that spreads across Ennoshita's face. "Great!" he says. "Then let's get started."
Futakuchi drops his bag by the door as Ennoshita leads the way to his bed, and they sit down next to each other in front of the camera. It's painfully awkward, but Futakuchi steels himself with a deep breath. "How do you want to do this?"
"How do you like kissing?" Ennoshita counters, reaching forward to switch on the camera.
"With tongue," Futakuchi blurts. "I mean—"
He doesn't finish his sentence—can't, with Ennoshita's hands on his shoulders, turning him so they're facing. "Tongue is good," Ennoshita says. "I can do tongue."
"Should I be relieved?" Futakuchi asks.
"Absolutely," Ennoshita says. "I've been reliably informed I'm a pretty decent kisser."
And he doesn't waste any time in proving his point. Within seconds, Ennoshita closes the distance between their faces and launches straight into a proper kiss, his tongue roaming the side of Futakuchi's mouth, and Futakuchi easily concedes that he is more than "pretty decent" at it. Then again, Futakuchi is biased, given that he's wanted to do this pretty much since he first met Ennoshita all those years ago at the March prefecturals just before their third year. And now, he's resting his hands on Ennoshita's thighs and feeling like the horny teenager he thought he'd left behind as soon as he discovered his university volleyball team's intensive training regime.
Ennoshita pulls back, cheeks flushed red and not quite meeting Futakuchi's eyes. "I'm going to change the lighting and angle, and we'll go again, okay?"
"Ah well, if you insist," Futakuchi says lightly, although his brain is screaming, Yes! Fuck yes!
The change involves a barely perceptible tilt of the camera and an instruction for Futakuchi to move just a bit to his right—and then, Ennoshita switches on his desk lamp and turns off the main light, angling the lamp so that it illuminates them from the side. It's more than a little romantic. Futakuchi swallows, pursing his lips in anticipation. Suddenly, there's an atmosphere to this. It makes it feel a little bit more real.
"Ready?" Ennoshita asks, sitting back beside him.
"When you are," Futakuchi says, which must be the right answer because Ennoshita's on top of him in seconds, hooking one leg over Futakuchi's and balancing his other knee on the bed.
"Just want to see how this sort of positioning looks on camera," Ennoshita says. "We'll switch back to something a little more tame afterwards."
As it turns out, they don't.
Ennoshita's got his hands on Futakuchi's shoulders, and he directs Futakuchi to put one arm on his neck—"Left, away from the light,"—and the other down by his waist. It feels very forced, though, and Futakuchi gets restless easily, so it's hardly unnatural that his hands start shifting of their own accord as he gets more and more into it. The hand at Ennoshita's waist slips beneath his shirt, moving around to his back, pulling him closer. Ennoshita pulls back for a second and lets out a gasp, and Futakuchi is suddenly and acutely aware that he is going to walk out of this room, climb over the gate, and hobble all the way back to his college with a boner, and probably a whole lot of regret.
It's then that he gets an incredible, genius, terrible idea. He pulls his mouth away from Ennoshita's, and Ennoshita asks, "Ready to switch to the next angle?"
"Not quite," Futakuchi mutters, twisting his neck so that he can kiss his way from Ennoshita's earlobe to his jaw and down his neck. Because that's the thing—this doesn't have to be behind the scenes for Ennoshita's romance film. They're in a dimly-lit room on a bed and they're already kissing, so Futakuchi sees absolutely no reason for it not to go further.
He certainly gets the desired reaction—Ennoshita tilts his head backwards and his eyes flutter closed. Futakuchi glances up in time to see Ennoshita biting down on his lower lip, which is an excellent sign. He'd always pegged Ennoshita as the quiet sort, but if he's holding back from making noise and they're only kissing, then Futakuchi can only imagine how great something more would be.
As it turns out, he doesn't have to wait long for something more, because Ennoshita pulls away only to shift their positioning, and places his palms splayed on Futakuchi's chest. "Thanks for all your help," he says, breathless and, without missing a beat, shoves Futakuchi backwards onto the bed and follows through, straddling him and leaning down, hair falling in his eyes.
"Any time," Futakuchi says, and he hopes Ennoshita knows just how much he means it.
Ennoshita's response goes one better than confirming that he understood—he dips his head and runs his tongue across Futakuchi's neck before biting hard. As much as Futakuchi knows it'll leave a mark and that his teammates will comment on it tomorrow, he can't bring himself to care. Maybe he lets out a slightly embarrassing noise, but Ennoshita doesn't stop, sliding his hands under Futakuchi's shirt and up along his chest. Futakuchi lifts his shoulders off the bed, just a enough that Ennoshita can slide his shirt off and discard it somewhere outside Futakuchi's vision—or, maybe his peripherals are just failing him because he only has eyes for Ennoshita, as stupid as it makes him feel. Ennoshita keeps going further down, teeth and tongue trailing down Futakuchi's chest, until he reaches the waistband of his volleyball shorts.
"May I?" he asks.
"Do you honestly think I'd want to stop?" Futakuchi asks in return, staring at the ceiling his in case his face is displaying some kind of emotion.
"Just checking," Ennoshita says, running a finger along the line of Futakuchi's hip bone, "since the camera's still switched on and all."
Oh shit. "I forgot about the camera," Futakuchi says honestly.
"That was the whole point of the exercise," Ennoshita says. "Although seeing as it's turned into something a bit different, I thought you might feel..."
"Uncomfortable?" Futakuchi guesses.
He looks over Ennoshita's shoulder and at the blinking red light that very firmly means recording. They could just stop. It's not like he's never done this sort of thing before, but it's the first time with Ennoshita, and Futakuchi has no idea just how much more experience Ennoshita has—although he assumes it's a lot, because it's always the quiet ones, right?—so it could get embarrassing and fumbly, and Futakuchi doesn't want to be responsible for a disappointment. Then again...
"Leave it on," he says decisively.
"Oh, thank god," Ennoshita says. "I was so hoping you'd say that."
"You're into that sort of thing, huh?" Futakuchi teases, resting his hands a little lower down Ennoshita's back.
"I'm a filmmaker," Ennoshita says, like that explains everything, coming from the guy who'd earlier expressed an aversion to being branded a voyeur. Futakuchi supposes it's different when you're the one in the video. Anyway, he's not one to quibble over terminology when Ennoshita is hovering over him expectantly, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, his eyes half-closed and still not quite looking at Futakuchi. He's probably a little bit embarrassed too—which, honestly, just makes him more attractive, Futakuchi thinks.
Ennoshita looks over his shoulder, then back at Futakuchi, and suddenly his entire expression's changed into something a little more into it. Futakuchi responds well to that sort of expression, and hooks a leg over Ennoshita's back, pulling him closer. Ennoshita responds well to that, throwing himself forward and into a kiss that's so much more than their earlier ones, when it was still about making it look good for the camera. Futakuchi pushes Ennoshita's shirt off in seconds, barely registering that Ennoshita's doing the same to his shorts, knocking them backwards and to the floor. They're dangerously close, and Futakuchi thinks it's only a matter of time before this escalates further.
It starts slow, with the sort of quick contact that confirms for Futakuchi that Ennoshita's as hard, as he is and nothing else, but it happens again, and again, and then they're grinding together and kissing and Futakuchi realises that Ennoshita is sweating just as much as he is, without even the exertion beforehand to get him there. Well, it's a hot summer night outside the dorm, and Ennoshita doesn't even have his fan on.
As fast as it had escalated, Ennoshita stops suddenly, rolling sideways off Futakuchi and towards his desk. Kneeling on the floor, he opens a drawer and sticks a hand in. After a few moments of rifling around, his hand emerges with a condom grasped between his index and middle fingers and a tube of lubricant between his other two fingers and palm, and he holds them up triumphantly.
Futakuchi registers this as he's lying sprawled on the bed in the camera's direct view, and he realises that must look an absolute wreck. He's morbidly curious if he'll ever get to watch this tape back, to see first-hand what he looks like. The idea's exciting—and that's something new. But then, you never know what you'll like until you try it, and Futakuchi is very firmly a "try everything once" sort of guy. Sex is pretty near the top of his list of things to try at least once—although preferably more than that—but he never imagined it'd be under these conditions. "First time for everything," he mumbles to himself.
"This is your first time?" Ennoshita asks, reappearing over Futakuchi with the condom wedged behind his ear, like a pair of glasses or a pencil.
"Don't go easy on me," Futakuchi says. Yes would've been simpler, but he's never been one to back down from a challenge.
"Let's make this a first time to remember, then," Ennoshita says.
"It's on camera," Futakuchi reminds him—he's treated with the most radiant smile on Ennoshita's face, and if he weren't so turned on he'd probably start waxing poetic about it. As it is, he just smirks back—and he's entirely unprepared for Ennoshita mirroring the expression with a glint in his eye that means trouble.
Ennoshita wasn't lying, though, when he said he'd make it memorable. That's the only thought that crosses Futakuchi's mind as Ennoshita sticks out two fingers and runs a line of lubricant along each of them. He throws the tube to one side on the bed and, with his clean hand, unzips his shorts and—well, Futakuchi can't see where his fingers go, but he has a pretty good idea.
At the sight of Ennoshita looking like that, towering above Futakuchi with the light hitting him from one side and making him look positively illuminated, Futakuchi can't help that his own hands stray downwards, pushing his underwear out of the way and palming himself, just a bit, just enough to keep the tension.
"Steady," Ennoshita says, more air than voice. "I'm nearly there."
Futakuchi forces himself to sit up, and takes the condom from behind Ennoshita's ear. Propping himself up with one hand, he hovers with his lips just millimetres away from Ennoshita's. "Behind the scenes, huh?"
"Sort of a weak excuse," Ennoshita says. "Worked, though."
"Like I would've said no," Futakuchi says, leaning forward that bit extra and kissing Ennoshita as gently as he can manage.
"Hey," Ennoshita says, "don't go easy on me."
In response, Futakuchi kisses a little harder, tangling his fingers in Ennoshita's hair, pushing sweat-soaked strands back from his forehead. After a moment, though, he pulls back and shifts so he's sitting unassisted, using both his hands to unwrap the condom and get himself ready—then, he lies back down and just lets himself admire the way Ennoshita looks.
"So," Ennoshita says, shifting a bit, "ready to make cinematic history?"
"Ready when you are," Futakuchi says. He turns to look straight into the camera, and he almost imagines he can see himself reflected in the lens. He grins at himself, or at himself in the future, watching this back.
"Oh," Ennoshita says. "One question first; is this a one-off?"
"Do you want it to be?" Futakuchi asks. "I mean, we didn't really manage to get through all the possible camera and lighting angles—"
He's cut off by Ennoshita laughing. "Then we'll do it again, as many times as we need to," he says. "Maybe I'll even take you out afterwards."
Futakuchi raises an eyebrow. "Is that a promise?"
"It's a date," Ennoshita says. He stills, glancing across at the tripod, squinting as the lamp light hits his eyes. "Lights, camera—"
"—action," Futakuchi completes.
After that, he forgets that the camera's there entirely.