#@kento

it’s a pain, he acts cold and distant — he’s simply trying to hide his boner half of the time. he zones out while you speak — your lips are distracting, he can’t hear a single word you speak. he can only think of the many ways your lips would shape and shift when you moan and whimper his name the deeper he sinks his cock in you. also, can you fit all of him down your throat? oh, can you—

fuck…

his cock gets hard under the table, forcing a sense of panic in him while he ponders whether he’s visibly leaked and stained his slacks or not. terrified to look down, because he knows. he’s so fucked.

he needs to wait a bit before you leave the restaurant, to cool off a bit, calm down. but it only gets worse from there.

he drives you back home, but doesn’t leave the car to walk you to your doorstep. his cock is hard again, aching so bad it limits his movements. besides if he steps out and stands tall before you — you will see, this time you definitely will. he’s embarrassed. and on top of that, he feels like an ass, the lowest of the lowest, for treating you so poorly.

the entire car ride was torturous to him, courtesy of your scent so close to him in the passenger seat, along with the way you tucked your hands between your thighs every now and then — perhaps the awkward silence got you nervous. he wondered all the way to your house how you smelled and tasted, down there.

you think the whole date was a disaster, and that he’ll never call you again but little did you know, the first thing he did when he went back home was jerk off — not once, not twice, but three fucking times, thinking about you. furiously.

later, he texts you. you blink a few times in utter disbelief.

dinner tomorrow? i’ll cook

sitting in the kitchen, coffee on the table, some light breakfast to go along with it, and you — next to him.

his legs crossed, the newspaper rested on his lap, he casually takes your hand into his and intertwines his fingers with yours as he works his way through the word game. every now and then drawing your hand close to his lips and planting a soft peck on it.

his expression rarely changes, no matter how tricky the clue is — he always approaches it calmly. because, he always has the answer.

except for this one.

“could you please take a look at this?”, he asks, without peeling his eyes off the paper.

this is a surprise, it must be quite the question — you think, but — “sure”, you mutter. “let me see”, you lean in as he points at the clue with the tip of his pencil.

proposal, asking for a hand — it reads.

you squint. hmm.

14 letters — you count. hmm . . .

“w-i-l-l y-o-u m-a-r-r-y m-e”, you spell out loud. easy. you wonder why he got stuck on that one in the first place—

oh.

the realization hits after you look at him.

his eyes are still expecting, your answer.

“what do you think? will you?”

he used to join you for lunch along with other coworkers, he also always used to sit next to you during meetings. but now he skips his lunch break and sits as far away from you as possible. doesn’t even make eye contact with you, even when speaking to you — with a dull voice and a stoic expression, he looks at the notes in front of him.

it really bothers you. did he perhaps notice your secret crush? and is this his way of silently rejecting you? — you dwell on it, but can’t bring yourself to confront him out of worry that things might get even more awkward than they already are.

besides, it’s not like he would ever tell you the real reason behind his sudden change of attitude even if you did confront him.

he can’t possibly admit that he had a wet dream about you one night, and now anytime he looks at you his body reacts — he gets so hard he can’t do his job, which on its own leads to overtime. all he can think about is bending you over his desk and having his way with you.

he once fantasized about this even during a meeting, all while listening to you speak. he left the room last, because his erection was, to put it lightly, very wet and remarkably prominent, and went straight to the bathroom. he had to dry the crotch of his slacks on the hand dryer because he leaked a lot before he could take care of the problem down there.