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The hotel door clicked shut, sealing out the muted hum of the city outside. Nanami let out a long, slow sigh as he set his briefcase down by the desk. He reached to loosen the knot of his tie with a sharp tug before pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the arm of the single chair.
Before he could even take off his suit jacket, his phone vibrated in his palm. The caller ID brought a sudden, subtle shift to the tight line of Nanami's jaw. He slid the screen open, pressing the phone to his ear as he leaned back against the desk. "Hey, love," he murmured. His voice was lower than usual, roughened by hours of corporate small talk, but laced with a quiet, easy warmth reserved only for you.
"Hey," your voice came through the speaker, instantly cutting through the lingering tension in Nanami's shoulders. "How was your day today?"
"It wasn't too bad," Nanami replied, his eyes drifting down to his leather shoes as he kicked them off. "Still exhausting, though. I just made it back to the hotel. Have you eaten dinner yet?"
"Mhm, had some takeaway," you said. There was a brief pause on the line, the kind of quiet that carried the weight of the distance between you. "I miss you."
The words hit him right in the chest, a sharp pang of longing making Nanami close his eyes. "I miss you, too," he said softly, meaning every syllable. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, pushing the strands back. "Alright... I'm going to have a shower."
"Okay," you hummed, a yawn clipping the edge of your words. "Call me back when you're done. I love you."
"I love you. Speak soon."
Nanami waited for the line to go dead before lowering the phone, the sudden silence of the room feeling twice as heavy now. He stepped over to the bed, reaching out to click on the bedside lamp. The small knob turned, instantly bathing the crisp white sheets in a warm, low glow.
Standing in the newly lit space, Nanami finally shed his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. Reaching into the inside breast pocket of the jacket—the secure spot where he always kept his most important items—his calloused fingers brushed against the familiar, stiff edge of a photo.
He pulled it out, intending to just set it on the nightstand before his shower. But as he unbuttoned his shirt and stripped down to his dark blue boxers, leaving his tailored clothes in a rare, disorganized pile, Nanami’s gaze locked onto the small square of film.
In the dim, sterile glare of the lamp he had just switched on, the polaroid felt like a visual hallucination. The lighting in the photo was golden and overexposed, radiating a warmth that this room desperately lacked. There you were, caught mid-laugh on that beach in Malaysia from your last trip together. The ocean breeze was catching the hem of your white sundress, a single strap slipping carelessly off your shoulder. You looked bright, carefree, and entirely alive in the heat of the coast.
The shower was forgotten.
Nanami moved away from the chair, the weight of his exhaustion swallowed by a throbbing, pulsing ache. He sank onto the edge of the mattress and shifted his large frame back against the pillows. As he settled, his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose—blurring the rest of the room and leaving nothing but you in sharp focus.
Squinting through the shadows, his eyes traced the deep, low dip of the white sundress in the polaroid—the way it beautifully revealed your cleavage made his throat go completely dry.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away. His breathing hitched, a sudden, punishing ache tightening in his groin as his gaze lingered on your cleavage. Your skin still gleamed in the photograph from where he had slowly rubbed sunscreen over your body, his palms smoothing the lotion down the slope of your breasts until you were glistening in the sun—deliberately slipping his thumbs under the fabric of your dress to tease your nipples until they were hard under his touch.
The dark blue fabric of his boxers was already beginning to strain, his length thickening painfully against the cotton from the sheer force of the visual. Hearing your voice just moments ago had been no comfort, but seeing you like this now, with his skin still burning from the memory and the distance between you feeling like an ocean, it was an agonizing temptation.
His mind instantly raced back to that night in Malaysia. He remembered taking you back into the villa, his fingers catching on the fabric of your sundress to slide the straps down your arms. Burying his face in the crook of your neck—his tongue licking a wet trail up your throat, sucking greedily at your skin until you whimpered beneath him. His broad, calloused palms clamped around your breasts, kneading the soft flesh.
Nanami could still feel the exact sensation of sliding his thick, leaking cock between them, using the tight, sweltering cleavage of your chest to ruthlessly pump his length—watching your tits hug his slick shaft while he rasped how badly he wanted to stretch you wide open. The memory was so loud, so violently clear, that his restraint completely dissolved.
Low and frustrated, he groaned under his breath, finally reaching down to cup the heavy bulge straining against his boxers. His hand moved downward past that golden line of hair—the faint blonde happy trail disappearing beneath the dark blue cotton—his gaze locked entirely on the curve of your waist in the photo.
A ragged, breathless sound escaped his throat as he grazed his thumb over his throbbing tip through the fabric—making his stomach muscles flex tightly as the first slick beads of pre began to dampen the material. Unable to handle the restriction for another second, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and finally released his aching cock.
As the veiny, heavy weight sprang free, Nanami's calloused hand wrapped around it desperately—fisting the pre-cum up and down his hard length, his thumb deliberately smearing the wetness over the sensitive head to begin a slow, torturous stroke. Nanami was a man who prided himself on absolute control, but right now, every ounce of usual discipline was utterly gone, burned away by the raw ache of missing you.
He dragged his palm down to the very base of his shaft, knuckles brushing against his thighs before wrapping tightly to pull all the way back up to that leaking head. The slick pre coated his skin, creating a wet, sliding friction that had him closing his eyes just to focus on the sensation.
His brow furrowed deeply, sweat beginning to bead along his hairline and dampen his blonde strands. He kept his eyes wide—refusing to blink, his gaze entirely captivated by your carefree smile, the thin fabric of the sundress hugging your tits, and your warm, shiny skin glowing in the polaroid.
In the sudden heat of illusion, the sterile white noise of the hotel AC unit transformed into the distant crash of ocean waves. He wasn’t in this lonely room anymore. He was back in that villa, pinning you down into the mattress, pressing his lips to the sensitive column of your throat and breathing in the intoxicating scent of salt air and perfume, burying himself balls deep inside you.
Nanami’s hips twitched against the sheets as a large hand clamped around his length, pumping his fist up and down his shaft. Eyes shuttered tight, the memory consumed him entirely—imagining the slick drag of his cock against your wet, parted lips, the crushing friction of being squeezed tight between your tits, and the maddening sensation of driving deep inside your cunt. The urge to hammer into you over and over until you were stretched wide, stuffed completely full of hot seed, almost made him cum right there.
"Ah... fuck," he breathed out. The wire rimmed glasses slid further down his nose, utterly forgotten as his grip tightened. A faster, desperate pace took over, driven by the pleasure coiling tight and demanding inside his lower belly. Here was a man completely stripped of his carefully constructed rules—entirely at the mercy of a single polaroid of you.
His chest heaved, the stark white hotel sheets bunching beneath his massive frame as the rhythm fractured. Keeping a slow pace was no longer an option. Nanami’s knuckles went white, his rough hand fisting his veiny, engorged shaft with a punishing, frantic speed.
The sound of wet squelches filled the quiet room, his jaw locking as his thumb smeared slick over the rigid edge of his head. He brought the polaroid closer to his face, vision blurring with sweat as his eyes traced the line of your collarbone, the curve of your waist, and the soft smile he missed so dearly.
“So beautiful... ah,” he choked out, his voice dropping roughly into a low, rumbling groan. “You're so fucking beautiful, sweetheart...'"
The praise was a desperate murmur, breathed directly into the empty air of the hotel room—as if you were right there beneath him to hear it. His hips jerked upward, mimicking the exact rhythm of driving into your cunt. His thumb swept over his leaking pink tip sending a jolt straight to his groin. The coiled tension in his lower belly tightened into a hard, inescapable knot—his balls tightening. He was right on the edge, completely consumed by the ghost of your touch.
Nanami choked out your name—a ragged, breathless prayer against the quiet room as he finally came. He ruined his hand as the first hot bursts of cum shot straight past his fingers, splashing against his lower stomach before the rest of the thick, heavy load spilled over his knuckles and flooded the blonde patch of hair at his groin.
“F-fuck, I miss you so much,” he groaned, his voice completely undone. Desperate fingers refused to stop, milking his length dry, forcing the oversensitive shaft through those last few strokes while thick, hot cream continued to drip down his twitching cock and palm.
He stayed frozen like that for a few seconds, his chest heaving, his fingers trembling where they still gripped his settling length. The lingering echo of the Malaysian surf dissolved back into the sterile, humming silence of the hotel room.
Slowly, the drugged fog of pleasure began to recede, leaving behind an aching exhaustion. Nanami let out a long, unsteady breath that trembled past his lips. He let his head sink back into the pillows, his glasses sitting crookedly on his nose. With slow movement, he used his clean hand to lift the polaroid back up to his face.
In the dim, warm light of the bedside lamp, you were still there—smiling, carefree, and beautifully out of reach. He stroked a thumb over the glossy surface of the photo—as if he were truly touching you—before setting it gently on the nightstand.
He forced his heavy limbs to move, sitting up on the edge of the bed to clean himself up. The cold reality of the business trip settled back over his shoulders like a lead weight, but as he looked back at the small square of film under the lamp, the lingering warmth in his chest reminded him exactly what he was working so hard to return to.
Nanami reached to grab a few tissues from the nightstand, his fingers still trembling slightly from the aftershocks of the release. But just as his hand brushed the box, his phone buzzed loudly right beside it. He paused, a drop of sweat rolled down his jaw as he looked down at the bright screen.
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sunlight peaked through the curtains of your shared apartment. it was early morning, but the exact time was unclear. you had woken up a few minutes ago and suguru was stirring beside you. you felt him first: his big arms wrapping around you, soft lips leaving wet kisses down your neck, and the hard tent in his pants pressing against your ass.
wasting no time, you slowly grinded against him, earning a low grown from the raven haired man. his soft lips ghosted over your skin while his hands gripped your hips. you instinctively opened your legs as he inched closer to you. the only thing you had on were your flimsy sleep shorts and matching tank top. suguru snaked his hand in between your thighs and tugged off your shorts. arching into him, you spread even wider so he could reach where you ached the most.
“already so soaked for me,” he murmured. using his fingers, he spread your slick across your folds a low hum. all you could manage was a small nod. he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before slipping two fingers inside of you. you moaned into your pillow and shuddered. his long fingers reached where your own couldn’t. he curled them and you bit the pillow to muffle your embarrassingly loud moans.
he cupped your face and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “don’t hide from me. i wanna hear you.” your cunt fluttered at his words and you whimpered his name.
“you’re taking my fingers so well my love,” he cooed, picking up the pace a little. broken moans left your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. you didn’t hold back this time, letting him hear just how good he made you feel.
“my baby is so needy in the morning, isn’t she?” suguru pressed his lips to your neck. a soft cry escaped your lips, your thighs shaking as he curled his fingers again.
you shattered, the pleasure taking over you. you whispered his name quietly as you came down from your high. suguru pulled out his fingers with a wet squelch before bringing them to his lips.
“mmm,” he moaned shamelessly. you glanced over your shoulder and watched as he swirled his tongue to taste you. he smirked when he realized you were watching him, then pulled down his boxers.
precum was already oozing from his mushroom tip. you reached behind you and pumped the base of his cock, earning a low groan from him. as you glided your thumb across the head, he twitched in your palm and bucked his hips into your hand slightly.
after you teased him a bit, he did the same suguru teased your entrance, smearing your wetness with his length before pushing inside. you gasped at the stretch. he split you open as he slowly buried himself deeper and deeper inside of you. once he fully bottomed out, he began to move his hips slightly.
the angle was more agonizing than his pace. his thrusts were shallow, he barely pulled out before slipping back inside of you, but the way his tip nudged that spot deep inside made you shiver. your velvet walls clenched around him with each stroke, taking every inch.
“my pretty girl,” he whispered. you whined softly, too tired and too fucked out to think properly. "perfect, just perfect."
he rolled his hips slowly. you arched your back and grasped the pillow under your head. his dick bullied your cunt, making your brain go all fuzzy. the way he whispered sweet, yet filthy things to you wasn’t helping either.
“you take me so well, my love. the way you melt like putty in my hands drives me crazy.” he smiled into your skin. “milking the shit out of me as a ruin you. so tight, you’d think i never take care of you.”
but that wasn’t true. mornings like this with suguru were a reoccurring thing. he always found himself slipping inside of you, reaching where you needed him most.
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︵ ೀ mdni. quickie with shiu during his lunch break
“you’re more sensitive than usual.”
shiu leans back in his office chair, hands steady on your hips as you move in his lap. panties shoved to the side, and you’re riding him slow but deep, chasing the feeling you’ve missed for weeks.
after weeks of busy schedules, today you both finally lined up a free lunch slot and you showed up at his door flushed and impatient.
“been a while, hasn’t it?” he murmurs against your neck. he sounds a little surprised every time you get like this, but he doesn’t push the thought. instead he guides your rhythm, letting you bounce at your own pace while his thick length fills you completely.
you whimper softly and roll your hips harder, thighs trembling around him. every drag of him inside you feels fuller and hotter than usual after the dry spell. he notices right away.
“easy, baby. you’re shaking already.” his thumbs stroke your waist under your top. “all that time apart and now you’re this worked up. couldn’t wait, could you?”
you nod, biting your lip as you keep moving, taking him again and again. the chair creaks quietly under you. the thought of someone walking past his office door adds a rush, but you don’t slow down. you needed this. needed him.
shiu lets out a rough breath, eyes heavy as he watches you. “fuck… you feel so good. missed this so much.” he thrusts up to meet you, burying himself deeper, and you gasp at the sudden spark. he’s so hard, so warm, stretching you so right after weeks of nothing.
“so greedy,” he says, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “guess going without for so long made you extra needy.” his hand slides up your back, pulling you closer so your chest presses against him. “sneaking into my office just to ride me on lunch break. you really couldn’t hold out anymore, huh?”
you moan against his shoulder, moving faster. the ache in your body builds quick and heavy. he feels it too—the way you tighten around him. and he’s enjoying it so much, watching his pretty young girlfriend use him like you want. his cock throbs inside you, rock hard and pulsing as you ride him faster.
“don’t stop, baby,” he whispers near your ear. “keep bouncing on me. i want to feel you cum all over my cock before my next meeting.”
neighbour higuruma loves to watch you masturbate through your bedroom window.
the first time was an accident. higuruma had just arrived home after a long day of work, shoulders heavy and eyes barely holding themselves open. a flash of light had caught his attention—you, his neighbour, light bracketing you as you pass your window in nothing but a small, lacy bra. his attention caught like a fly to honey, he’d found himself a slave to his own desires as he laid witness to your nightly routine. he’d watched you pull yourself apart, and wished it was his hands putting you back together.
it quickly becomes the small pleasure that lights up his day. he feels disgusting every time—he knows he should tell you, knows that he should stop looking. it’s invasive in a way that makes him sick to think of others doing the same to him. you’d hate him if you knew.
he watches anyway. it rapidly integrates itself into his nightly routine. he works until the sun has dipped below the horizon. he returns home with an unending ache in his back, a throbbing pain in his fingers, an iron weight around his heart. then he sheds his coat, runs a hand through his hair, and settles down on the armchair in his living room and watches as your bedroom light highlights your silhouette.
you always look so beautiful like that. you prance around your apartment in your underwear, lit up by the warm lights you always keep on. every time you retreat to your bedroom, he feels like it’s a show just for him. you grab a toy—this time a vibrator—and look down at it for just long enough for him to get a glimpse. when you lie down on your bed, arching your back and stretching indecently, he knocks his knees slightly wider.
you’re beautiful. you always take it so slow to start, tracing meaningless patterns around your breasts, your thighs, streaks of sensation beneath feather-light fingertips. he palms over himself idly, watching with heavy breaths. by the time you dip between your folds, fingers sliding easily, he’s hard enough to carve stone from the wait. you really know how to tease. he frees his cock from his pants as you spread your thighs wider, tracing slowly around your clit. he rubs his thumb over his cock as you arch on a gasp, fingers pressing with more pressure. when you finally bring your vibrator to your core, rubbing it where you’re sensitive, he strokes himself at a pace as steady as it is passionate; a physical means of getting off on the internal high of watching you fall apart. he comes with your name on his lips, a broken groan that tears itself from his chest.
when it’s done, he cleans himself up and watches you disappear into the shower, wishing you a quiet, guilty good night. the sickening clarity after the act almost outweighs the high of watching it. still, come the weekend, he’s out on his balcony talking to you from yours; you giggle at a joke he makes, invite him to come over, and he feigns unfamiliarity like he hasn’t memorised the layout of your apartment from his nights perving through your window. when he returns home, it doesn’t take long for you to pull out a dildo—it doesn’t take much longer for him to notice.
(one night, you’re going to catch him looking and come harder than you have in months. he’ll be so sick with guilt he avoids you for weeks. yet, every night you’ll keep masturbating with your curtains open and your lights on, hoping with a blooming perversion. every night, he’ll find himself watching.)
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