⤷ tags: SMUT, 18+, kissing practice, dry humping
That’s the lie you tell yourself, because you aren’t supposed to fantasize about the way your best friend tastes.
It’s just practice, he comforts you, as you sit on the edge of your childhood bed, too big when you were young, but now just barely enough to fit both of you, gazing up at the man who’s seen and chosen every version of you.
It’s what you think as he cradles your chin, gentle at first as he tilts your head to meet his gaze. It’s how you ignore the heart racing in your chest. And how you explain away the heat that rises to your cheeks as his golden, captivating eyes lock onto you. They’re the sharp, focused eyes of a predator that’s just honed onto his next meal.
Your breathing hitches as Keigo’s face inches close to yours, but he is kind enough not to comment. He has already picked up your fluttering pulse, stark beneath the pads of his fingers.
He doesn’t pause, having already promised that he would not unless you asked. Because you’d wanted him to take the lead. To guide you.
His mouth meets yours, and you nearly melt at the contact.
The kiss only lasts a short moment before he pulls away, gauging your reaction.
You barely flutter your lashes open, resisting the whine that lodges in your throat for how short the kiss lasts.
Thankfully, he reads the need in your eyes, and is quick to dive in once more, pushing the kiss deeper.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.
The feeling of his lips on yours tingles. There’s a surge of need, a deep desire for more.
You shouldn’t enjoy it as much as you do, but it’s just too good. Too perfect.
You didn’t know kissing someone could feel so addicting.
He hikes a knee onto the mattress, pushing you onto your back. Your hair spills across the covers, and he’s careful to push it out of the way as he braces a hand next to your head.
His hand cupping your chin squeezes for a second, before trailing down your neck and over your chest. The contact sends a shiver through your body.
The longer the kiss drags on, the hotter a dangerous heat coils in your core. It whispers in your ear, urges you to ask for more.
Your rational side argues back. It’s just kissing practice. You’re not supposed to demand more.
But his tongue slips between your lips and slides across your teeth. And you let him in, greedily sucking.
He makes a pleased noise. If the two of you bothered to open your eyes, you’d witness the sheer desperation in his.
You drag your nails against his scalp, down his nape and along the muscles between his shoulder blades. He shudders at the chills it sends along his skin. And he shakes with the level of control you unwittingly require him to hold. He’s almost afraid of just how badly he wants you. How badly he needs you.
This ridiculous request is perhaps the cruelest thing he’s ever agreed to. But if it’s the only way you’ll let him have you, he’ll damn well take it.
He’s so big, so solid. His muscles are hard beneath your curious hands, which do nothing to help him contain himself. He doesn’t think he can any longer.
He breaks away, murmuring your name softly. “I can’t… if you keep doing that…” he glances to where your hand rests against his forearm, shamelessly teasing him with the light trail of your nails.
And it’s reckless and selfish, but you lock eyes with his. His pupils are blown wide, his golden irises nearly lost to the depthless black that matches the striking angles accenting his eyes.
Maybe you aren’t entirely innocent, and maybe you are sick enough to take advantage of the thinly veiled longing in each look you catch.
“Touch me, Keigo,” you plead softly.
His face crumples. With what, you don’t get to analyze, because his mouth is on yours again, and he moans unabashedly against your lips.
He’s a man just as guilty as you are. He isn’t supposed to want you. But he does, and he goes to bed every night dreaming of you in ways he shouldn’t, and waking up with a painfully hard problem he has to take cold showers to fix.
He lets his desires and instinct take over. The pajama set you wear is simple, but the shorts are scandalously short, betraying the cuteness of the pattern. The conflicting images mess with his head that just drives him even crazier. He shoves the material of your shirt up, bunching above your chest, which he paws at roughly and indulgently.
Keigo moans, blood rushing straight to his dick. He should be ashamed of how much he’s dreamed of this, to feel the warmth and softness of your body in his grasp.
His shameless want sends dopamine rushing through your brain. You arch into his touch, craving more.
With a curse, his mouth strays from yours, kissing down your jaw and along your neck. You curl your fingers into the sheets as he works his way down, making a stop at the tit he’s cupped up. He gives a teasing lick, glancing at your face for your reaction.
Your eyes, half-lidded and curious, betray nothing as you gaze down at him. But your hips buck, hot arousal bundling and seeking more. The ache between your legs grows stronger, and you don’t think it can be ignored for much longer.
But words fail you, and all you can think is how unfair it is that you cannot have him. As Keigo’s mouth encloses around your nipple, you’re consumed with how badly you want it to be him.
It shouldn’t be the mystery man your parents have chosen for you based off of contractual agreements. He isn’t the one you want to go to bed with every night nor the familiar face you want to wake up to every morning.
But that scary, looming future fades from mind as fast as it slips in. Keigo rolls the nub of your breast under his tongue, playing with it until it’s hard and sensitive between his teeth. The sensation between your legs, warm and needy and pulsing, hits a different level of demanding. You whine softly as your legs wrap around his hips, tugging him down. The scrape of his very solid, very large bulge against your cunt satisfies you in a way your fingers cannot, and you instinctively rut against him again, seeking more.
“Fuck, baby,” he curses, and cuts off in a way that tells you he didn’t mean for that to slip.
But it did, and you’re slammed by how much you want to hear him direct that kind of tone with you more. His honeyed timbre accented with a gruffness brought on by the throes of arousal, sets off something primal.
It’s as if the jolt to his dick shocked him back into the reminder of your reality. Of where you are and what you’re supposed to be doing. Because your chest is sadly abandoned, but at least he returns to your mouth. It still tingles from your prior kiss, but you’re both craving more, and more than pleased when your lips meet once again.
Except it’s not enough anymore. There’s conflict warring in your head. Part of you tells yourself to savor this, to commit his taste, fresh with minted toothpaste, to memory. Because you’re not supposed to go further. The temptation of your lust should not be indulged more than it already has. But another part of you has awakened, and there’s a burning need you need satisfied or you think you might die. Especially if you never get the chance to reach there with him at least once.
The ache in your chest only worsens as his fingers slip between yours where they rest next to your head. Perhaps unconsciously, he grinds subtly against you, but it’s too shallow.
You lock your ankles behind him, yanking him down. Your cunt throbs, pleased with the drag and pressure.
A disgruntled noise gets caught in the back of Keigo’s throat, and he pulls away, just far enough to say your name in a soft warning.
But you’ve decided what you want, and you unapologetically rut right up into him. “Please, Keigo.”
And he looks at you. Takes in your big, pleading eyes, the lovely, aroused flush to your cheeks, and just how overall beautiful you look beneath him, vulnerable and needy, and decides he has and will never be able to deny you what you want.
The muscles in his jaw feather as he makes up his mind. The sight is incredibly attractive, and just further cements how devastatingly handsome your best friend is.
He flips you over, a fine balance of gentle yet domineering, and it pushes you further into the heaty mood that was always inevitable when you made your request.
As he does, he gives your ass a light smack, unable to resist. It sends a sharp sort of pleasure through your veins, and you ask him to do it again. Harder, this time.
Both amused and surprised, he slaps your butt again. You sigh happily. Yeah, you really liked that.
He drapes himself over you, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “It’s just practice,” he reassures, and it makes you melt all over even more.
Of course he knows. He knows your inner turmoil, and just the right words to reassure you, even if they are an arbitrary territory between lie and truth.
Your shorts and underwear strain as he slips a hand inside of them. There’s a simultaneous moan and curse from both of you as his fingers slip over your cunt.
He soaks his fingers in your slick, moaning at how absolutely wet you are. He teases your clit by sliding it between his forefinger and middle finger, the two forming a V around the bud, then pressing directly onto it on their path back.
Your fingers curl into the sheets, your cunt squeezing at the sensation. You moan out, falling into the haze of pleasure permeating your brain. It’s tingly and warm, and all the better because you know it’s Keigo behind it.
He lines his hips up, allowing the bulge in his sweats to rub against your ass as you rock into his fingers.
Once again, his free hand finds yours, prying the sheets from your fist and curling his fingers between yours instead. You know your bond will never be the same. The lines that you have crossed, the trust and vulnerability you’ve shared, and the intimacy you can’t undo.
It feels pathetically close to love making, and if you were drowning a little less in your pleasure, you might’ve sobbed at what you can’t have.
But instead, you focus on how he hoists your hips up, and moan as he slips a finger inside of you. You still, sucking in a deep breath. He pauses, kisses that same spot behind your ear. “I’ve got you.”
It’s so soft and sweet that it makes you hot all over again for him.
Once your body relaxes and he feels the muscles loosen around his finger, he slides in another, and another. He pumps them once, twice, before you’re once again rocking against him.
His fingers curl, and white explodes in your vision. You cry out, hips jerking.
He flexes his arm muscles, and suddenly you’re held up tight against him.
Since you can’t go forward, you squirm what little you can in his grasp, gasping and pleading as he pumps his fingers inside of you.
His moans mix with yours, the strain in his pants painful. He can’t believe he has you like this, squirming against him, crying out from the way he’s touching you.
Gods, he wishes he could be inside you. He wants nothing more than to cum inside you and mark his territory.
But he’s coherent enough to know that isn’t his blessing to take, and he curses the bastard that does get to have you like that.
It’s a bitter thought, one he quickly shoves aside to focus on his task at hand.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, a show of something far beyond what the two of you are supposed to have, but he also thinks that line was crossed long ago.
He glances down, taking in the sight of you. Your body is magnificent. It’s so fucking hot and gorgeous, he wants to spend a life time worshipping it.
He tugs at your shirt, freeing your boobs from its confines. He enjoys the show of your nipples hardening, stimulated with every brush against the covers as he thrusts and knocks your body forward.
He’s so honed into the view and the sensation of your body beneath his, that he instantly catches the moment your squirming becomes erratic, the whines in your throat pitching with desperation.
Your eyes are squeezed shut, focused on the pleasure he’s giving you. The full intensity of your orgasm hits you so fast you don’t even have time to warn him. But Keigo knows, and he finger fucks you through it until your tensed muscles settle once more.
You don’t have a clue, but the initial wave had you clenching so tight around his fingers that he nearly went dizzy at the thought of his dick in place of his fingers.
He’s still reeling from the fantasy as you settle below him. He untangles your intertwined fingers, insistently tugging at your shorts. He pulls them to your knees, moaning at the sight of your soaked panties. The material is thin and absolutely wrecked. He doubts if they’re even salvageable. But he doesn’t care about that and tugs those down too, mouth salivating at the true prize of your sopping cunt, shining from your juices.
He grabs both of your hips, pressing his groin right into your post-orgasm mess. His grip tightens as he grinds into you, eyes rolling to the back of his head. His sweatpants quickly darken in the front, and a filthy, disgusting part of him notes that these have be his favorite pair moving forward.
Your voice is soft, worn out by what you just experienced. But he's so tuned into you that he hears it, and stops immediately.
The smile you give him at the nickname makes his heart flutter. It's a soft, affectionate smile that you've only ever given him, and he wonders if you have any idea of it or what it does to him.
You're sprawled all over the covers, and he also wonders if you know how damn attractive you are. You glance down at his situation before looking back up at his face.
The bulge in his pants is impressive, enough to make you salivate and your toes curl. You need to see it. You need to see what he looks like, even just once. You'll commit the sight of him to memory, so you'll have something to fantasize, even if you can't ever have this ever again.
You roll over, beckoning him forward. Like a sailor trapped by a siren's song, he follows, curious about your motives.
"Sit against the pillows," you tell him. He obeys, fixing them into a small pile before settling against them. You kick off your shorts and pry off your ruined panties, before sliding the shorts back on. The cold, soaked material of the crotch clashes with your own wet, but you ignore it as you settle on top of his thighs.
You glance down at his lap, at the giant wet spot stark against his grey sweats. You cast your gaze back up, just to check, and find him waiting with bated breath.
A sudden wave a shyness hits you and you have to look away. Still, you're determined to finish, and while you stare at a fascinating spot on the wall, you tug both his pants and boxers down.
He reaches out, snagging your wrist. Your snap your gaze back and find his wide and imploring, his face tight with the self-control he just barely manages to cling onto. "Are you sure?" And the softer, underlying message, you don't have to; we shouldn't.
You merely smile knowingly at him. "It's just practice, right?"
His eyelids shutter. The truth of the sentiment withers the further you go. But he wants this just as badly as you do, so he acquiesces, settling once more.
Finally, you look down at him, at the part of him you’ve always wondered about when you shouldn’t.
And gods, he does not disappoint.
You remember back in high school, when he started wearing baggier pants because tighter pairs couldn’t always contain how big he was, even when he wasn’t hard.
His length is considerable, and the girth of him just barely allows your fingertips to touch. Shivers ghost down your spine as you imagine what it might be like if you just ignored reality and you allowed him to put that thing inside of you.
It curves towards his stomach, the head shining with his precum.
You bite your lip as you lower yourself on top of him, grinding your hips experimentally.
His head buries back into the pillows as he groans to the heavens.
You test your hip movement, struggling for a moment to find a good rhythm.
But then his hands clamp onto your waist, guiding you along.
Though you’re the one on top, the weight of him against you is delicious, and you tip your head back as you let him use you.
He lets go momentarily to unbutton your pajama shirt, whistling in admiration as he watches the bounce of your tits.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he compliments. He pulls you down harder on top of him, and as your clothed cunt rubs against his cock, you can’t help but wish you weren’t wearing your shorts after all, so that maybe he could “accidentally” slip inside of you and fuck you already.
“I wish it was you,” you whimper. “I need it—“
“Don’t say things like that.” He cuts you off, and there’s a strain in his voice that contrasts the bliss swimming in his gaze. “It’ll just make things harder.”
“But I mean it,” you protest. You lean into him, bare chest hitting against his shirt. The shirt that smells like his wind-kissed, sweet musk. A familiar, comforting scent you aren’t ready to let go of. Your fingers curl into that shirt, the one he’s let you borrow at impromptu sleepovers. “I want it to be you.”
His touch is gentle as he guides your chin up. Tears prickle in your eyes as you look at him. It’s him. It’s always been him. And you know it’s always been you for him, too.
He doesn’t say any more, simply claiming your mouth with his. And you cling onto that, cupping his face between both hands as he continues to chase his climax. His moans pour into your mouth, uninhibited. You feel it in the way he clings to you, so hard you know you’ll have marks of his hands on your hips tomorrow. He wants it, too. With every fiber of his being, he wants to be the one who gets to have and hold you, to cherish you until the earth reclaims you, and maybe even beyond.
You whimper against his mouth. You want to say fuck all to the values you’ve been raised on. You want him to have you right now.
But you know he won’t. He respects you enough to not allow you to throw away your values like that. But maybe he would, if you asked, and that’s exactly why he won’t let you pull away from him.
So his mouth melts desperately into yours, savoring the taste of you while he can have it.
You don’t know how to tell when he’s cumming, so when he does, it takes you by surprise. It’s a sudden, harsh thrust of his cock into your shorts and a tightened grip on your body. It’s his head falling back, a string of saliva chasing his lips, as he lets out the loudest, most wanton moan he’s released yet.
You watch in fascination as pleasure washes over him, his handsome face screwed up tight in concentration.
When he’s finished, your shorts are soaked all over again, this time with his cum. But something about it satisfies you, and the feeling curls nicely in your gut.
He pulls you in again, dragging you into another kiss.
It’s short-lived and leaves you craving more. But he merely tucks you against him, arms wrapping around you. He presses a kiss to your forehead.
Softly, you confess, “I love you, Keigo.” It’s a little sad and pathetic, but you need him to know.
He hesitates. Debating if he should dive into this territory. He draws you closer.
“I love you, too. Have for a long time.”
He admits it, deciding that the looming fight for you is worth it. This was never just practice, anyway.
tags: @sakuramimi-chan @keigos-lover
