Inspired partly by the song, which is named Siberia also, by the Backstreet Boys.


Siberia
by crazi4draco


Choutarou watches.

He never says anything when he watches. Watches every fluid movement, every twist of his lithe body as he hits return after return-- never missing as thing.

Choutarou wants.

He's never wanted this bad before. He's had small crushes on girls, but this-- this is different. He wants him. More than anything.

Choutarou moans.

He's never done this before and maybe it shows, but his mouth is on Choutarou's and they are sliding together and there is unbelievable friction and pleasure and he whispers "Choutarou", hot and wet in Choutarou's ear and then he's coming, and he's coming and they're both coming together and it's somehow perfect.

Choutarou cries.

He's never had this-- until now, and then all of a sudden it's gone. He cries, as he swallows, eyes sad and pitying. Cries as he says he's sorry, he's sorry he found someone else and that Choutarou has to move on. Cries as Shishido walks away.

Choutarou wanders.

He's never been much of a dreamer. He's always been a thinker, yes, but never a dreamer. Now, he dreams of Siberia. A cold, heartless place where the loveless dwell. He wanders there-- cold and aching. Aching for a warm touch, a tender smile. He aches, for anything.

Choutarou gasps.

He's never thought of him much before. He wasn't always around much. But they've been talking recently, and his hand is on Choutarou's and Choutarou is trembling. He jerks his hand away-- too soon, it's too soon-- and he's mumbling an apology as he runs-- escapes and hides in his Siberia, cold and without love.

Choutarou watches.

He swore he'd never watch again-- yet, he is pulled, like a moth to a flame, and his eyes never leave him-- watching the sweat run down that body, watching as a tongue snakes out to moisten lips before darting back inside. Watches as he looks up and two pairs of eyes-- watching, waiting, wondering-- lock, intense and questioning and answering.

Choutarou moves.

He's never been the one to move first. He's never had to take matters into his own hands. But he's the one who fumbled the last time, so he has to make it right. He calls his name, and he stops, eyes fierce, yet soft making Choutarou shiver, out of Siberia. He moves, hand brushing against a cheek, foreheads pressing together, hot breath mingling. He kisses-- soft, tender and warm-- and Hiyoshi kisses back and Choutarou leaves Siberia-- escapes the cold and stays in the warmth of Hiyoshi's embrace.




The End

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