![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valmora"ill-fitting", snippety thing, Yukan Club, Miroku+Seishiro, PG-13 for desired sexing-up, please do not sue as I do not own and this was written for my own enjoyment.
Miroku is only sort-of paying attention to what everyone is saying, maybe a quarter paying attention to the surroundings of the You Can van. Not much. He looks like a bored driver for a clothes-cleaning company, left to look after the van while his fellow employee does deliveries. Or, in his case, while he waits for his best friends minus Bido to decide what they’re going to do about this particular forger, who so far has managed to evade the clutches of both Miroku’s father (not particularly difficult) and the Boss’s gang (more surprising).
In the rearview mirror Miroku can see that Karen is mumbling something, Miroku doesn’t really know what, and peering over Seishiro’s shoulder at the cameras; Seishiro has his headset on and is relaxed in his seat, farther back from the surveillance setup than he would be on an important mission. From the knees down he looks casual, and that’s how Miroku knows that Seishiro isn’t worried. Seishiro is still sitting up straight, but his heels are hooked around the feet of the chair, knees on the outside ridges of the seat, hands resting flat on his thighs.
Seishiro sitting like that should be declared an affront to public decency, because whenever he sees Seishiro sitting like that Miroku’s thoughts go in entirely indecent directions.
He’s been having daydreams, the past few months, about that posture, because Seishiro’s slacks don’t fit quite right, all sleek lines down his legs even when he sits. And Miroku shouldn’t be this aware of his gaze sliding up Seishiro’s thighs, lingering at the join, the faint clothing-elided suggestion there that makes him want to trick everyone else into leaving the van, fall to his knees in front of Seishiro and just. yield, sex and submission.
Miroku is only sort-of paying attention to what everyone is saying, maybe a quarter paying attention to the surroundings of the You Can van. Not much. He looks like a bored driver for a clothes-cleaning company, left to look after the van while his fellow employee does deliveries. Or, in his case, while he waits for his best friends minus Bido to decide what they’re going to do about this particular forger, who so far has managed to evade the clutches of both Miroku’s father (not particularly difficult) and the Boss’s gang (more surprising).
In the rearview mirror Miroku can see that Karen is mumbling something, Miroku doesn’t really know what, and peering over Seishiro’s shoulder at the cameras; Seishiro has his headset on and is relaxed in his seat, farther back from the surveillance setup than he would be on an important mission. From the knees down he looks casual, and that’s how Miroku knows that Seishiro isn’t worried. Seishiro is still sitting up straight, but his heels are hooked around the feet of the chair, knees on the outside ridges of the seat, hands resting flat on his thighs.
Seishiro sitting like that should be declared an affront to public decency, because whenever he sees Seishiro sitting like that Miroku’s thoughts go in entirely indecent directions.
He’s been having daydreams, the past few months, about that posture, because Seishiro’s slacks don’t fit quite right, all sleek lines down his legs even when he sits. And Miroku shouldn’t be this aware of his gaze sliding up Seishiro’s thighs, lingering at the join, the faint clothing-elided suggestion there that makes him want to trick everyone else into leaving the van, fall to his knees in front of Seishiro and just. yield, sex and submission.
