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hangmanshands · 4 years

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Hangman’s Commissions #2

This is Part II of @hicsaster‘s commission. This is NSFW! Summary: Soraru and Mafumafu have some much-needed alone time. Established relationship. TW: Hiccup Kink, Explicit Sexual Encounter.

Feel Like Makin' Love (1717 Words) [Mafu, I'm Comin' Home Part II]

“Mafu, go brush your teeth.”

Mafu looks over at Sora. “What?”

“Brush your teeth,” he repeats. “I plan on kissing you as many times as humanly possible tonight, and I’d prefer not to partake in second-hand masochism.”

“Second-hand masochism?” Mafu echos, intrigued and amused. “Capsaicin can be transferred through skin to skin contact. I’m not trying to burn my lips off.”

Mafu laughs, amused at his boyfriends continued antics. It’s a joke that no longer gets old. “I suppose I can humor you. This time.” He disappears into the bathroom.

Sora smiles after him and turns lights off on the way to the bedroom. He takes off his road clothes and gets in bed despite the fact that he never got his shower. There’s always tomorrow morning. The mattress is almost heaven to him. After a long stretch on the road, these little comforts of home become the things that matter, and his blanket is a delicacy he’s missed.

Mafu comes back a few minutes later, mouth clean, in a pair of boxers and a white shirt. He smiles, mirth crinkling his eyes at the corners. “You comfortable?” he teases.

Sora nods. “I love this bed. I’m never going on the road ever again.”

“Never again?” Mafu asks, turning off the light and following his boyfriend’s example. He puts himself squarely in Sora’s space.

“Never again,” he confirms, wrapping one arm around Mafu’s waist and sliding the other under the pillows. “I’m staying right in this bed until I die.”

Mafu presses into Sora’s chest. “That’s gonna get boring.”

“Nope,” he insists. “Because you’ll be right here with me the whole time.”

“I’m going to what!” Mafu says with a laugh.

Sora hums. “Right here. At my mercy.”

“That sounds more like cruel and unusual punishment than mercy to me.” Mafu playfully tries to pull away from Sora’s grasp.

Sora renews his efforts to keep Mafu close. “‘Cruel and unusual?’” he echoes, shocked at the accusation. “I’ll show you cruel and unusual!” Soraru swings himself up, trapping Mafu between his knees. He leans over his handsome boyfriend and snakes his fingers up his t-shirt. His fingers trail feather-light over his sides.

Mafu wiggles. “Sora, no!”

“Sora, yes,” he insists, doing it again in a new pattern, stimulating new nerves.

Mafu lets out a strained giggle. “Sora, I take it back!” he pleads. “I would love to spend forever in bed with you.”

“It’s too late for that,” Sora says solemnly. “I’m afraid you’ve been tried for treason and found guilty. Your punishment is tickles until your jailer deems you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I didn’t even plead my case!” he protests, trying to stop the steady procession of Sora’s fingertips. “I’m not guilty!”

Sora smirks a little. He pushes Mafu’s skinny arms above his head and pins them there with one hand. His free hand continues its pillaging. “I’m afraid Soraru’s law is hard, but it is the law.”

“No!”

Mafu’s laughter is near hysterical, now. Even in the semi-darkness of night in the city, Sora finds the joy on Mafu’s face to be a welcome change from the state in which he found him upon arriving home. Sora finds arousal and happiness twining together in his stomach.

Sora finds himself on his back. Damn. He’d spent too much time looking at Mafumafu and left himself open to attack.

There’s nothing between Mafu and Sora’s skin. He’s still laughing as he gets his fingers under Sora’s arms and in the creases of his neck. Sora writhes, spitting laughter like sunflower seed shells.

“How do you like it?” Mafu demands through his giggles. “If laughter is the best medicine, you definitely need a taste of your own!”

Sora stops fighting the onslaught--that’s a fruitless endeavor. Mafu’s fingers are too deft, sneaky. Clever. Instead, he fights through the mind-fogging nature of a good tickle fight. He reaches up under Mafumafu’s little butt and starts to squeeze, targeted. Mafu’s body tenses and he wails with laughter.

“Sora!” he says, indignant, squirming.

Sora allows him a moment’s reprieve, still laughing. Mafu sucks down as much air as he can, making the dizzy feeling start to subside. His giggles are low and breathy. Sora slides a hand into his pale white hair, enamoured. “Mafu....” he says quietly.

Mafu’s thin body shakes once, almost a rocking motion. His eyes widen with surprise and he brings his hand to his lips. “Oh! Excuse me.”

Sora bites his lip, waiting.

Mafu’s body jolts again.

Sora grins. “You’re cute,” he says.

“Oh, shut-hut up,” Mafu says, eyebrows furrowed.

“Absolutely not.” He slides his hands up Mafu’s side, palm to skin, pressed tight. He feels the force of the hiccup on Mafu’s body and laughs again, delighted by the development. His boyfriend is adorable.

“Don’t make-ake fun of me!”

Sora shakes his head. “I’m not!” He leans up to get closer to Mafu’s pretty mouth. “I just think you’re cuh-cute.” He pauses. He and Mafu look each other in the eye.

Mafu starts laughing again, interrupted at seemingly random intervals by violent hiccups. “That’s karma, Sora!”

Sora pushes Mafu back into the bed, reversing their positions again. He presses his body against Mafu’s, feeling the jolts that accompany the hiccups. He grins against Mafu’s shoulder, palms flush against his thighs. “Keep bein’ so cute, I’m gon-onna have to fuck you.” Mafu’s long fingers curl around Sora’s biceps. He whines, breath and body catching in the middle.

Sora presses soft kisses to Mafu’s neck, feeling the pulse flutter under the skin, the rhythmic muscle spasms rip through. He pushes Mafu’s shirt up and over his head, tosses it off the bed. It hits the door in time with Mafu’s chest shaking. He slides his fingers up from thigh to hip, stomach to chest, cups Mafu’s neck and jaw. He kisses Mafu hard, desperate--it’s been months, after all. Mafu fists a hand in Sora’s hair, keeping him close. He bites Mafu’s lip after he hiccups into Sora’s mouth, and Mafu gasps, sharp, eyes fluttering closed.

Sora can feel through the thin fabric still separating their skin that Mafu wants this as badly as he does. He pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together. “You want to?” he asks, softly.

Mafu nods, a tiny movement. “Yes. Please, Sora.”

Sora pulls off Mafu’s boxers and reaches for the lube in the nightstand. He slicks up his fingers and presses one slowly into Mafu, his other hand on his cock. Mafu hiccups through a moan. Sora lowers his head to hide a smirk.

Sora takes his time stretching Mafu on his fingers. He likes to see the pale man blush and writhe and beg. It’s so different from the gruff exterior he’s used to, and lightyears from the relationship they let the fans see. Mafu, laid bare.

Exquisite.

Soraru waits until Mafumafu is appropriately taken apart. “Are you ready?” he asks, coy.

Mafu hits him with the side of his foot, ineffective. “Don’t tease me, Soraru,” he says, bratty. His breath comes labored. “You know I’m ready. You know better than anyone.”

Sora enjoys the stroke to his ego. “Alright,” he says, generous. “I’ll take mercy on you.”

“Finally!” Mafu huffs.

Sora pulls his fingers out of Mafu and rubs his cock down with lube while Mafu’s fingers grip his wrist with a considerable amount of force. “Sora!”

“Okay, okay!” He laughs to himself and lines up with Mafu’s hole. He slides in, slow and easy.

Mafu’s back arches more than it should. He squeezes Sora’s wrist and fists his hand in his hair. “Oh, fuck, Sora!”

Sora runs his fingers over Mafu’s thigh. “I know, Sweetheart. You feel good, too.”

“I’m ready,” he insists. “Sora, now!”

“Needy,” Sora teases. He doesn’t make Mafu wait any longer, however, starting to move inside of him, a slow and steady pace. He trails his free hand over his boyfriend’s pretty skin.

Mafu sings for Sora, his moans and keens better than any song he’s ever produced. Sora could listen to it forever. He holds Mafu around his waist, pulling their bodies closer. He’s missed Mafumafu more than anything, and he wants him to know. Mafu wraps his legs around Sora, keeping him close--as if he could ever leave. He runs his hand through Sora’s hair, pressing their foreheads back together. He knows. He feels the same.

The world disappears, or narrows, or both. The only sensation he feels is Mafumafu, the only thing he hears is breath. There is only one point left in the universe, and it’s the two of them.

Mafu digs his fingernails into the skin of Sora’s bicep. He barely notices. Sora digs his teeth into the point of Mafu’s pulse. His breath catches.

Mafu’s fist tightens in Sora’s hair. “I’m close,” he whispers.

Sora is, too. He presses his cheek to Mafu’s jaw. “Come for me, Sweetheart.”

There’s no hesitation. Mafumafu’s body tenses like a bow’s string, fires with a moan of relief and ecstasy, and returns to rest. He breathes like a man starved for air, hot and rapid, chest heaving. His hands release and fall to the bed.

Sora keeps moving through it, but can’t last much longer than his boyfriend. Sora throws his head back as he comes inside of Mafumafu, thighs tight with strain, quivering with the release.

Sora breathes, letting the Earth fall back down into place around him. Sounds creep back in--traffic and the air conditioning, the sound of the clock. He uses one hand to get dark hair out of his face, and rests the other on Mafu’s stomach, fond. Mafu’s hand comes up to pin it in place. They smile at one another.

Mafu brings his other hand to Sora’s elbow. “Lay with me,” he demands.

Sora complies easily. He pulls out and falls to the side, still tangled up with Mafu. He pulls his boyfriend close and kisses his sweaty hair. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you,” Mafu says back, nuzzling into Sora’s chest once again. He lets the waves of euphoria leave his body and the exhaustion take its place. He’s had a rough few days, and, safe in Sora’s arms, can rest easy for what feels like the first time since his boyfriend left three months ago.

Mafumafu dreams of light.

#hangman's commissions #mafu im comin home #part ii #soramafu #utaite fic #nsfw #nsfw fic #thank you for commissioning sweetie!

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hangmanshands · 4 years

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Hangman’s Commissions #1

Here it is! My first commission ever. A big thank you to @hicsaster for working with me through this process and, of course, for commissioning me! This series was a lot of fun to work on, and I hope we work together more in the future! Please enjoy! Summary: Soraru returns home from tour. Mafumafu's been having a hard time since he's been gone. Established relationship. TW: Mentions and discussions of self-harm, stalking, threats of various kinds.

Home, Sweet Home (1684 words) [Mafu, I’m Comin' Home Part I]

Soraru has been on his latest tour for three months. The rush of playing directly for his fans, digital avatar on screen for their amusement, is nearly unparalleled. It’s better than any drug, any rollercoaster, any thrill--except one. He loves his job, just like he always hoped he would as a child, but he’s beyond excited to finally be going home. He lands at four p.m. and has his bag by four-fifteen, impatient to get home to a shower, to his bed, to Mafu. He rushes out to find the car they’ve sent for him.

It’s easy to find. They always send a nondescript silver car, something like a Volvo, a vehicle middle-class middle aged white men might drive. Nice and vague. Surely nothing that the face behind a famous Vocaloid would ever be caught dead in. Soraru’s team arranged for it to take him from the airport directly to his home. His driver is the retired father of one of the members of the marketing team this time. They change it up frequently--even more often now, considering the threats Mafumafu’s been receiving lately.

Soraru frowns.

He feels guilty, having left Mafu to field such a dangerous--and, to be frank, treacherous--time alone. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to be done. Contracts are contracts, and he’s got to honor them. They won’t get anywhere if they’re not selling music; the harassment and the protection have the same origin. He sighs. He wishes there was more he could do about it. But, he’s not police or security, after all. He’s just a concerned boyfriend.

It takes an hour to get home because of the traffic. Despite pleasant conversation with whoever’s father this is, it leaves Soraru in a sour mood. He thanks the older man shortly, and heads up to the apartment he shares with Mafumafu. His heart feels heavy as he inserts his key into the lock, but joy creeps in as his door creeps open. “Mafu!” he says. “I’m home!”

He closes the door behind him, dropping his bag and stretching. Home smells like peace, like quiet. He stretches, satisfied. The lights are off, so he makes his way to the bedroom. He needs to freshen up as much as he needs to see his boyfriend’s sleeping form. He’s sure he’d have heard if something had happened to Mafumafu while he was gone, but it’s infinitely better to see him in person.

He walks in the room with a big, loud greeting ready, but Mafumafu is very much a curled lump on the bed. Soraru imagines that this is the result of Mafu not watching his diet as closely as he should. As much as Mafu likes to say that it’s under control, but he’s as guilty as anyone about being lazy when no one holds him accountable for how his eating impacts his health and this causes him to end up in bed feeling sick more often than he’d like. Sora is used to this.

The bathroom light is still on, illuminating a single stripe that crosses Mafu’s body. He aborts the greeting and heads to the bathroom instead to freshen up before waking his boyfriend up.

Sora takes the state of the bathroom in, and comes to a very simple conclusion. His normally picture-perfect bathroom strongly resembles a fucking crime scene.

At least, the kind of romantic, stylized crime scene Sora’s seen countless times in movies and on television--there’s signs of a struggle: soaps knocked off of the edge of the sink in a hurry, cracked caps spilling pearly soap in pools on the tile, skidmarks through the wreckage. There’s a pile of disheveled towels, the top one stained crimson and turning maroon with half-dried blood. There’s discarded bloodied toilet paper and ripped bandage wrappings in the garbage. They half-obscure discarded glass shards. The sink is coated in rivulets of dried, cracking blood, smeared and half rinsed away. There’s blood on the box of band-aids and gauze threads stuck in the residue caking the basin. There’s a bloody thumb impression on the medical tape. Tweezers. And the mirror. Cracked in a spiderweb pattern around a singular impression--sized for one small, bony fist.

Sora very easily pieces together what kind of struggle took place in the bathroom before he got home. Mafumafu knocked the soaps to hell. Mafumafu threw a punch. Mafumafu shattered the mirror. Mafumafu used the broken glass to hurt himself. Mafumafu tried to fix it. Mafumafu went to bed.

Sora reaches under the sink for the Clorox wipes. He cleans the sink first, tossing everything bloody in the trash. He uses a towel to clean up the soap and throws away the unsalvageable bottles. They can always buy more. When he’s finished, he throws the towel in the hamper and the wipes in the garbage. The bloodied towel joins the trash.

Soraru leaves the light on and the door wide open when he exits the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and runs his hand over Mafumafu’s side. “Sweetheart,” he says softly. “Are you awake?”

Mafu flips over and wraps his body around Sora’s in the fetal position. “Thank you for cleaning up,” he responds, voice just as hushed.

Ah, so he’s been awake.

Sora pets Mafu’s white hair. “Want to tell me what’s happened?”

Mafumafu sighs quietly and presses his head into Soraru’s hand. “Suzumu called me while you were gone. A lot of times.”

Sora feels his stomach turn over and over, as if in the dryer. “What did he say?”

“He threatened our home. Our cars. My family.” He swallows, closing his eyes tight. “He said he’d spread rumors about how terrible I am to you, discredit my work, say that I believe in horrible things and hate women. He said he’d turn all of our friends against me, and then you.”

Sora feels Mafu tremble under his hand.

“He said he’d have people find me and hurt me, Soraru.”

Anger blossoms, explosive, in his chest. Every cell in his lungs is a match head, aflame. “He won’t,” Sora says, vehement and venomous.

Mafu continues, “I started to panic after his last voicemail. I know I shouldn’t listen to them, but I can’t help it. I have to know.” His voice is weak, apologetic. “I locked myself in the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. I looked so scared and helpless. I looked so....” he makes a disgusted noise. “I looked like a child, useless and reliant on his mother. I couldn’t stand it. I... I punched myself in the mirror.”

Mafu snakes his hand out of the blanket and shows Sora the damage. There’s gauze wrapped around his knuckles like boxing tape, lightly stained with blood. Below that, a large brown bandage needs changed, a red rose bud soaking through the pad. It’s not nearly as bad as the bathroom looked, and that alone makes Sora feel better.

“I’m sorry, Sora,” Mafu says. “I know I promised I would stop. I didn’t mean it, I-I just needed to ground myself! I was out of control--he’s driving me crazy. A bird flies in front of our window and I scatter like a cockroach.” Mafu clenches his fist and lays it on Sora’s leg. More red stains appear on his gauze. “I couldn’t take it--I still can’t. I had to, Sora. It would have been worse if I hadn’t.”

Sora pulls Mafu up and holds him tight against his chest. “I know,” he whispers. “I know. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” Mafu leans back, his unharmed hand on Sora’s chest so Mafu can look at him.

“No,” he promises. “I’m just glad you’re okay, Mafu. I know how hard all of this has been on you. I’m not mad at you. I’m not disappointed in you. You’re getting better still, and doing your best to do so. This is a hiccup. I’m glad you could control the situation to the extent you did. I’m glad I came home to you, alive. That’s what’s important to me. Recovery isn’t linear, and I’m so proud of you.”

“You swear?” Mafu asks, red eyes big and teary.

Sora nods. “I swear. I’m very angry at Sumuzu. No one should treat another person like this. Especially not one that I love. But, you have to know he’s full of hot air by now. He’s all threats and no action. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, and it’s going to take a lot more than that... that... soulless copycat to take you away from me, Sweetheart. I promise you that.”

Mafu throws his arms around Sora, pulling him tight. The dam--full of three months’ dread and fury, helplessness and loneliness, and pure, cleansing relief--breaks. He cries with his cheek against Sora’s shoulder, ugly and too-hard. He can’t control this, either, and it’s freeing. The catharsis of falling apart in the place you’re the safest is unlike anything in the world.

Sora kisses his head, tender. He rests his cheek against the back of Mafu’s head and speaks softly. “I’ve got you,” and “I’m here, now,” and “I won’t let anything happen to you,” and “Let it out,” and “It’s okay, Sweetheart,” and “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

When there’s nothing left inside of Mafumafu but the calm, he leans back up and wipes his face. He looks up at Sora and smiles. “Thanks,” he says, almost embarrassed. “I needed that.”

Sora runs a hand through Mafu’s pretty hair. “Feel better?” “Much,” he agrees. He pauses. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Sora says with a shrug.

Mafu smiles. “I’ve been so nauseous-anxious for the last couple days, I haven’t really eaten.”

Sora’s eyes are the size of tea plates. “Mafu!” He peels the blankets off of his boyfriend. “Get to the kitchen! Go!” He pulls Mafu off the bed by the uninjured hand. “What do you want?”

“Something spicy?” he asks, playful.

Sora makes a disgruntled noise. “I said I thought you were doing better!”

Mafu laughs, following Sora into the kitchen.

#hangman's comissions #mafu im comin home #part i #soramafu #utaite fic #thank you for commissioning sweetie!

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