so obsessed with the idea of endo slowly corrupting sakura until he’s aching and left yearning for his touch when he’s not there… clumsily jerking himself off and grinding against his pillow because it’s how endo taught him to “feel good,” yet it’s nothing compared to being held by the real thing at all
it begins with subtle groping when they’re alone at sakura’s apartment, endo sliding his hands up sakura’s shirt when he gives him a hug from behind, casually massaging his waist as sakura cooks, moving along his thigh with his fingers and kneading the skin dangerously close to his crotch…
“wha— what the hell are you—?”
“hm? oh. do you not like it? should I stop? you know I would never do anything you hate, sakura.”
and the worst part is sakura assumes that this is all normal, just something part of endo’s perverse nature (it is) which he can’t seem to understand. his brain would overload if he tried to make sense of it, and so, he lets endo do as he pleases, gradually getting accustomed to the sensation and the intense warmth gathering below his belly.
