#bas writes

A few hours ago, he received a call that had his heart run in loops, equally excited and anxious. You needed help with a broken egg incubator and asked him, not Maru, which, obviously, had to mean something. He wasn't sure what exactly, but the hopeful seed fell on fertile ground, feeding the side of him that Sebastian desperately tried to ignore. Since you've arrived at Pelican Town and taken over your grandfather's farm a few months ago, you've sunk your roots deep in Sebastian's heart, much to his despair—and many other emotions he couldn't place in either positive or negative category.

He doesn't dislike you, of course, but trying to frame your relationship, and especially his own feelings, gives him a special, painful kind of panic. His crushes fade as fast as they appear, this one has, however, lasted way longer than Sebastian would ever give himself a capability to hold, and is speeding in direction that has his face turning red just at a thought.

And as if it wasn't developing fast enough on its own, Sebastian adds fuel to it with the fervor of a zealot.

He took an obscenely long shower, and spent hours in front of the mirror, grooming himself like a maiden before the first serious date. He even used the cologne Demetrius gave him last Christmas, which he theatrically refused to wear but he had to admit it smelled right on point between raw masculine and pleasant. After a short hesitation, he put on some make-up, too; just eyeliner and a smudge of eyeshadow, but it'd been years since he wore any, and he felt even weirder than usual when mom gave him a knowing look.

All of that came to waste a few steps into the forest, when the clouds Maru warned him about decided to burst and pour everything they got over his head. Tucking his toolbox under the jacket, Sebastian broke down the valley. Yoba didn't like him but apparently not enough to get rid of him—despite slipping a few times, he somehow didn't fall and break his neck.

Now, tucked in towels and hunching on your sofa, Sebastian comes to the conclusion that death would be merciful. His current situation is like a distorting mirror of his secret dreams; you're home alone and he's naked but his boxers and can stare at your enticing body all he wants—but he looks like a drowned raccoon with his wet hair and smudged eyeliner, and you're busy with adding wood to your old-fashioned fireplace.

Under other circumstances, if he was calm, dry, and less self-conscious, he would notice you're wearing an outfit way too sophisticated for late farm work, that you're bending and exposing your butt more than necessary, and that the egg incubator he supposedly was called for is nowhere to be found. A tiny voice at the back of his head begs him to pay attention; Sebastian shoves it into a comfortably wussy drawer and curls under the towels, hoping you don't notice the quick, skittish looks he gives to your curves.

"It'll be warmed in a moment," you smile over your shoulder, misreading his body language. Butterflies flutter in Sebastian's stomach; he buries himself deeper into the sofa, hiding eyes under the fringe, wet, flat and miserable.

Crouched by the fireplace, you're soaked in a warm, golden light. It's attractive and forbidden in an equal measure, intimate in a way Sebastian feels he doesn't deserve to witness. He can't bring himself to turn away, though, not with how it underlines your cheekbones and jawline, with how delicious your breasts look in this position. He stares for a little too long, letting himself be caught, and when you smile again, looking for eye contact, his cock pulses with interest.

He quickly looks away and crosses legs. Please, Yoba, have at least some mercy, and don't let them connect the dots.

"Would you like something to drink?" Even if you noticed something, you don't pry. "Or to eat, maybe? I don't think it will end anytime soon."

You nod towards the only window in the area serving as a kitchen, hallway and dining room. It's dark outside and rain furiously drums against the glass.

"I hope it doesn't flood…" Not waiting for his answer, you move to the kitchen corner and pour water into the kettle. You don't put it on yet, peeking outside instead and scrunching your nose. "It looks nasty."

Sebastian carefully shifts positions, leaning more forwards and gathering a bunch of towels in his lap. The old sofa betrays him and creaks with a refined and malicious timing.

"You can stay for the night." The sound snaps your attention back at him. Your expression is hard to read from a distance, golden glow replaced by cozy shadows, mysterious and blowing Sebastian's head with naughty thoughts. "Are you cold? Wait, I'll bring you a proper blanket—"

When you pass by him, he catches a whiff of your scent: fresh, floral and warm. Sebastian closes eyes, prepared for a surge of lust, but not for yearning that squeezes his insides and floods his head with images and sensations. You in his arms. You running fingers through his hair. You cutting an apple and sharing a piece with him. You fresh out of the shower, towel flirtatiously slipping down your shoulder. You drowning in pillows, turning his way with a dreamy smile, reaching to cup his cheek, your lips soft and sweet against his, and—

The missing puzzle falls into Sebastian's hands. He finally knows and understands, but instead of relief, there's only panic, and if not for the raging downpour outside, he would bolt out straight as he is, in boxers only, with a towel over his shoulders.

Oblivious, you return with blankets in your arms. With nowhere to run, Sebastian slumps forward and covers his head with a towel. Lost in thoughts and sensations, he hasn't dried his hair properly; droplets drip down his wet bangs and onto his lap. You're close, right in front of him, he can smell you again, and he almost stops breathing, anything to not be caught with thoughts written all over his face.

"Come here," you demand after an uncomfortable moment of silence, your voice soft but decisive.

Sebastian raises his head like an obedient dog, wet hair in his eyes. You gently cup his head between hands, then move his bangs away with thumbs. Your skin is warm and way softer than he imagined; he almost whines when the contact is broken and replaced by the towel.

You start vigorously, almost aggressively, shaking moisture out of Sebastian's hair. But soon, your moves slow down; you gather excess droplets from the nape of his neck, ears, jaw and temples. It's a comfortable, confident touch of someone who's learned hard work but hasn't forgotten how to be gentle—and Sebastian leans into it shamelessly, his eyes not closed only because you look for them and hold them with warmth in your own.

From so close, Sebastian can smell not only the floral note from earlier, but also your clothes, with wet fabric undertones to them, your hand cream, and the most delicate of them and most personal—the raw scent of your body. If he focused enough, he could grasp it better and imagine all the missing undercurrents, suppressed by all the scents you're wearing. But all his focus is gone, replaced by months of touch starvation finally finding their share of pleasure, the best kind, seeping straight from heart wide-open. When your hands move to the back of his head, cradling it like in a hug, his whole body arches and screams for more.

He feels like screaming, too. But only a whimper breaks through desperately sealed lips, having you jolt in surprise. You back half-step, the abandoned towel slips down his neck, and Sebastian trembles, now truly realizing how badly he needed it.

You've lost some confidence but not the attention, you still keep the eye contact—or at least try to, as Sebastian blinks like a sleepy cat, sipping on the remnants of your hands in his hair. You can't read him, he feels it under skin and hears it in your slightly trembling voice, "Sorry, have I—"

" Don't stop." He growls, unaware how low and deep his own voice has fallen. "Please."

He didn't mean to sound so demanding but your hands are back on him, so he welcomes the pan of initiative leaning to his side. His mind, so anxious just a moment ago, is full of bliss, mushy and gooey, blooming on his scarlet-red face. His skin is burning, from his nose to the tips of his ears, and tears come to the corners of his eyes, wide open and big now—and devouring the sights in front of him, low-key expecting to be pushed away and kicked out.

He's testing his luck. And if he's already pushed it that far—

"I love it." Sebastian follows the move of your hands and throws his head back, exposing his lips, neck, and soul. "I love you."

Hands stop.

There it goes, a push, a slap, maybe even a punch. He braces himself, he waits, he stops breathing under the weight of your gaze, shocked, warm, when you lean close, so close he can feel the warmth of your breath.

He could close the distance without standing up—and, with heart thrashing in his chest like a spooked bird, he does so.

Your lips have already been parted when Sebastian meets them. He wants to start gently, but he loses control as soon as he tastes you on his tongue. It's been seconds and he already can't imagine living without this flavor, softness, and the harsh pull on his hair when you lose it too and force him closer, until breathing and awkward position makes you both stop at the same moment.

"Should I take it as—" Sebastian throws the towel away and leans to the back.

"Yes. Hundred times yes." You straddle his lap and press your weight straight to the bulge growing in his boxers. He moans and grabs your hips. "Kiss me."

Wrapping both arms around you, Sebastian steadies you right where he needs you. You adjust to his frame, filling the crevices between your torsos and squeezing his hips between your knees. Sneaking one hand under your shirt and tracing the strap of your bra, Sebastian guides you closer—the last bold move he dares to take before he sacrifices all of himself to you.

You take the reins with grace and grind against his hard-on. Lust and bashfulness pulse in Sebastian's ears; he kisses like you demand and gropes like you ask for as his head spins far above the clouds. The old sofa groans under your red-hot bodies, your connected weight forcing the seat down and slumping in the gap between it and the back. Sebastian holds on to your waist to adjust and thrust up, earning your throaty moan pressed to his cheek.

His cock twitches, demanding direct attention.

"You're so beautiful—" He rasps and moans himself when your lips find his Adam's apple, nibble and suck. "So beautiful… F-fuck— "

You like how his voice breaks; he sees it in your smirk and feels it in a seductive sway of your hips. Sebastian must close his eyes; with how painfully hard he is, he fears he might cum right here and now. He's not able to care what you might think about it, but if he allows himself to reach the high before he can feel at least your hand or lips, he will never forgive himself nor dare to look at you again.

"Please—" Whether he's begging his body to calm down or for your mercy, he's doing it like a prayer.

You kiss him again, sealing his moans until he's out of breath. Sebastian feels dizzy; tension leaves his body, and he melts into the sofa. Anxiety finally catches on him and tries to settle, his face is burning, and he averts his eyes before hiding them in the crook of his elbow.

Luckily, you don't let him slump.

"Come." You slip off his lap and pull him with you. "I have a more comfortable spot."

Sebastian follows, too horny and shy to think twice. You make it to the bedroom; it's dark here and he must trust you more than his eyes, but the light from the fireplace seeping in is enough for him to see the outline of your body when you push him on the bed and strip.

His hands feel empty without your waist in between; he reaches for you as soon as you climb over his hips and pull you on top, with greed that surprises you both. You giggle, your breath hot and moist against his neck, and continue what the sofa didn't let you, from the sweet spot under his jaw to the crook of his neck, where you finally settle.

One of your hands trails down, nails scratching his ribs and waist, fingers toy with the elastic band of his boxers.

Sebastian takes a sharp breath; his own hold tightens. So far, his mind has been mostly foggy with lust, but anxiety is still there, scratching at the door of his consciousness and flexes to pounce as soon as it's given any space. He's going to be bare and vulnerable right in front of you, right after an unexpected turn of events, as ready as he can be—but doubting his perception with every ounce of, however tiny, sane part of his mind.

His boxers are meanwhile lowered to his thighs. You peel away from him to pull them all the way down, the lack of your weight and warmth has him squirming. When you playfully run fingers through his pubes and compliment how neatly trimmed they are, Sebastian gives up and groans, hoping the pillows will swallow him, his shame and his anxiety always getting in the way.

"What are you scared of?" You stop right before touching his cock. He can't see your face, but he can hear the concern in your voice and feel how you settle by his side and lean away from his hips. "I love you."

You pepper his chest and neck with soft kisses, slowly crushing the fragile wall between you two, until Sebastian is breathing heavily again and arching into your touch. Not until then you touch his cock; Sebastian's eyes roll back in his head when you gently stroke him and swipe thumb against the extra sensitive tip.

He tries to warn him that he's too close to feel safe under such a tender attack but all he can word is a long and needy moan.

"I love you," you reassure him again and lie by his side, leg thrown over his hips and encouraging.

Sebastian follows, one hand holding your thigh close, the other resting by your head when he finally rolls over and traps you underneath, for the first time on top. Oh, how he wishes one of you took time to turn the lights on; he can roughly see the outline of your face cradled by soft pillows but not your expression nor how your lips open with a soundless moan when he dares to press on you with the whole weight of his body.

There will be time for that, he decides in his mind, his attention swallowed by the warm and wet spot he feels with his fingers when he reaches between your thighs.

"Go on." You purr. Reaching behind to hold on the pillows, you give your breasts a shape that makes him hold his breath. "Don't be shy."

Sebastian is not shy anymore, but he still starts slow, teasing, testing and learning. He soaks his fingers with your arousal, slowly spreads your labia to feel you better. When he finally finds the spot he's been looking for, you moan and sink nails in his shoulders. A pang of pain has his cock twitching hard, control threatening to slip through his fingers; he hides face in the crook of your neck and ruts against your hip but doesn't stop rubbing your clit.

You melt, squirm and cry under him, leaving deep scratched marks on his arms and wordlessly begging, and his mind is foggy with pleasure. He craves your body with every ounce of his, your smell and the feel of your soft body pressed tight to his are overwhelming—but so is happiness filling his heart to the brim, left yearning and longing for so long he can't remember the last day he still knew peace. When he peels away to sit on his heels and take an aim, he's immediately crushed by the need of you, flesh- and mind-tearing, full of the sweet taste of your arousal he licks off his fingers before he guides his cock to your entrance.

He lasts a second or two before he slams himself all the way in and collapses on top of you. You swallow him so eagerly he almost finishes half-way; he stills and breathes heavy into your ear, waiting for his frantic nerves to calm down and to let him collect the loose reins.

You twitch around him, impatient with the break. Sebastian wants to kiss you, but he fears it might be the spilling drop, "I won't last if you— Fuck, don't do that."

"I don't mind." You laugh and squeeze his cheeks. You press lips to his, then rub your noses together; a sweet and simple gesture that has him almost melting on spot. "Let go, if you wanna."

"Not before you."

It's just putting on a brave face, but Sebastian is determined to at least try. Torn between bringing you pleasure and having you as close as possible, he somehow fits a hand between your squeezed bodies and rubs your clit while thrusting, slow and shallow, just enough for some friction.

You're perfect like this, open for him, sweet and sexy, moaning dirty praises directly into his ear and scratching his scalp. The more he wants to lose control, the more he focuses on you, on every little detail of your pleasure; he chases your lips and sips wet, desperate kisses straight from them. He moans whenever you squeeze him tighter, always on the edge of finishing—and holding back by sheer miracle.

"I love you," he repeats like a prayer, drooling all over your neck and lips, sucking on your tongue and bruising your body where he holds on to you so desperately. Your hips thrust upwards, your slick walls constricting around him as you finally cum. Sebastian has to stop and clings to you, swaying your bodies together when you ride your high. Your face must look heavenly now, but he doesn't dare to check if he can see anything; he's stuck in his place over your shoulder, eyes closed shut for a good measure, and praying he can last long enough to pull out.

Maybe he would be heard out if you hadn't thrown leg over his hips and nudged him closer—until he had no choice but to fill you up.

Rain and wind rampage outside. Sebastian sighs in relief when you wrap arms around him and start playing with his hair; he returns the gesture and nuzzles up to your neck, overwhelmed by your warmth and your smell he can finally witness in its raw glory. He's dizzy, spent, and so happy he feels like crying—and maybe he would indulge in a tear or two if not for curious fingers gliding up his sides until he's twitching and laughing instead.

"Oh, good, I thought you died on me." You lazily stretch vowels—and stretch your back as much as the coil of Sebastian's arms lets you. You throw both legs over his hips now and cross them: a squeeze that has his cock twitch with interest again. "Hm? Someone is eager here…"

He lifts his head enough to kiss your nose—and to hide in his favorite spot right after. He's started to regret the darkness but he's glad no one has turned the light on yet; his face, neck and ears are burning with blush, and he's not sure if he wants you to see, " You are doing this to me."

"And you are making me do this." You kiss the crown of his head before you ruffle his hair. Sebastian hums in pleasure—your nails against his scalp are to die for.

"I hope this is not a dream," he whispers, more to himself than to be heard.

He is heard, though. You squirm under him, as if suddenly uncomfortable, so Sebastian lifts head to check on you.

"You take so many words out of my mouth tonight." You say when he rests chin on your chest. "First 'I love you', now this." When he tilts head, nothing better coming to his mind to let you know of his confusion, you reluctantly continue. "When you're yearning for so long without any answer, it's hard to believe that 'yes' is not a wishful thought."

Sebastian ponders over the next words. He's never been good with them, and it's even worse with blissful sleepiness creeping on him after orgasm, so in the end he only rolls his hips, hoping to find a reaction—and soon you mewl and squeeze legs a little tighter.

"If we wake up next to each other after making love for the whole night—" he lifts himself on straight arms to reach deeper "—would it make for a perfect answer?"

higuruma hiromi

cw: intercrural sex, clit stimulation

"Just a little more—" Hiromi's voice shatters with each breath. He's fighting brave but his own excitement is his greatest opponent, and each drag of his hips brings him closer to the delicious defeat.

With your thighs pressed tight together and bent over the kitchen counter, you're at mercy of his thrusts. This position is a little uncomfortable, your elbows will hate you for that later, but little do you care about it in the heat of the moment. It's happened too fast, too; one moment you're melting into your partner's embrace as he gently scoops you from behind and prompts his chin on your shoulder to see the work of your hands better—the other he's pounding into you like an animal in heat.

"Just—" He pants into your ear, chest flush to your back, both of his hands groping at your rolls and softness. Half-unbuckled belt digs into your exposed ass; he hasn't undone his pants properly, just moved clothes enough to slam himself against your slick.

He hasn't sunk himself inside though. The roll on top of your thick thighs, his beloved part of your body, bewitched him and swallowed the first, desperate thrust. He hasn't abandoned it since, forcing your legs to close and squeeze his cock in between. You feel it throbbing against your slit; he's hard, hot and gushing, right on the verge of finishing but somehow savoring the moment, only thanks to his stubborn temperance.

You would love to watch his fat tip poking through your clenched legs whenever he bottoms out. No chance for it in the current position, but from the sensation alone you can picture it—your own imagination has you drooling and needy.

"They're so soft..." Hiromi's voice is on the verge of crying. He nuzzles face into the back of your neck, teeth grazing your skin but not daring to take a bite. He's too busy fighting for air and chasing his pleasure.

He rocks himself whole against you, the sheer force of his moves forcing you into the counter and bruising your torso where it meets the edge. His arms around you tighten, his hands full of your chest and stomach, and his hips relentlessly meet your ass. He likes to take you from behind to watch it ripple but even this view can't rival the intoxicating warmth of your thick thighs. He won't pull away even for a second, not before he's covered them with his cum, milked of everything he has for you tonight.

The way he whines your name, broken 'I love you's and praises spells the finish—but Hiromi is stronger than that. He powers through it, almost crushing you in his arms all the way he can wrap them around you, and finds a new reserve of energy to rut into you with fresh pacing and angle. He's pressed closer to your cunt now, so close he's almost slipping in, but he's too lost in it to focus and buckle down to it a little more.

He can bump your clit right now, though, unintentionally edging you both together and eventually breaking you into moans and spasms, your legs too weak to withstand your weight and his enthusiasm.

"Keep it for me—" He growls when you start to falter, yanking you into the right position with impatience you would never suspect him of. "Please."

ino takuma

cw: weight-related insecurity, face-sitting talk, against the wall

"Why not?"

You wonder if Takuma is aware how soppy he looks now, cheek nuzzled into your thigh and looking up at you with a mix of shock and pleading in his eye. Just a moment earlier he's been relentlessly building up the churning in your abdomen with hasty kisses and greedy work of his tongue; his breath is still short after endless adoration of your rolls and curves. It's soothing the fresh hickey right under the edge of your groin, place that's stopped him in his tracks once he took a whiff of you, daring him to jump on you with an unexpected and selfish request.

"I don't want to— You know." You flounder between still heavy breathing and explanations. The answer is obvious with how there's nothing hidden between you two, all insecurities stripped naked for him, but it still doesn't want to pass your lips. As if you would crumble all of the courage and confidence you've built to be here with him if you admitted to the problem outright.

Takuma gets it and is having none of that at the same time.

"You think you could hurt me?" There's a shade of hurt ego behind his laughter. "Babe, please. You've seen the things I carried."

"Well... You've never carried me."

As if you ever let him, time after time escaping grabby and eager hands. Not in front of the others, not when you're wearing that, not when it's so hot, another day, another day, finally never. And you see it in the fire pushing the teary and pleading look in his eye away. His ego is one thing but being played like this right after being denied a delicious treat could not escape unpunished.

Still on his knees, Takuma hooks arms under your knees, still spread wide to fit his enthusiasm and adoration, and yanks you up. For a moment you're in the air with no support but your hands in panic grabbing any part of his body they could reach—but soon you find balance, supported by his strong grab on your ass. He holds you as if you were nothing, cheeky grin pushed right into your face as he's advancing on the nearest wall, soon having your back pushed against it, so tight and close you can't take a full breath anymore.

"If you don't want my face—" He adjusts the grip, having you with one arm while reaching down to align his cock with you— "we're gonna play this way."

You're dropped down just a little, enough to have him sinking inside with the help of gravity alone. Both of you groan in pleasure, your lips an inch away and soon meeting in a chaotic, wet kiss. He doesn't keep it for long, focused on raw and ruthless pacing, the deeper and faster the more you helplessly claw into his shoulders and back, your legs just useless and dangling by his sides.

"How are you feeling?" Takuma rasps into your neck, by no means tired, just barely restraining himself from destroying you right here, against the wall in the living room. "Still worried you're too heavy for my face?"

As if you could answer him, choking on moans, your eyes rolling back in your head on the deep and rough highway to your orgasm, the first of a few waiting for you tonight.

gojo satoru

cw: cowgirl, overstimulation, implied creampie

Your knees are slowly meeting their limit.

Luckily, this orgasm is not as strong, gently washing over you and having you shudder and sigh deep. Satoru holds you through it with patience, unheard of except intimate moments like these, but under the comforting pressure of his big hands creeps the insatiable need for more. You've been chasing him as best as you could, for the years you've been sleeping together already used to his habits and much better at this race than you were at the beginning—but in the end you're a human only.

No amount of stamina could ever satisfy the strongest.

He leans backwards but doesn't pull you with him, letting your bodies cool down each on their own. He's lying beneath you now, a delicious treat for your gaze. Disheveled, pink taint brushing his pale skin, sweat pearling all over his toned chest and abs, white happy trail wet with your juices, blindfold crooked and revealing one of his deep-blue eyes, following each move of yours with attention... You could never have enough of how pretty he is, of how lucky you are to have him like this for yourself only.

The swaying of your hips ceases, heaving of your chest the only move you have left for now. You feel discomfort in your knees, thighs and groin, not too much yet, but really close. If not for his girth still pulsing like mad deep in you, you would gladly help yourself and roll off him for a much-deserved rest. But after all those orgasms he's given you—well, mostly with the work of your body in his lap—it's just unfair to leave him unsatisfied. It's nothing you wouldn't solve with your hand or mouth, but you would not hear the end of it if your once-in-a-week treat for a whole night hadn't finished with him cum inside of you.

"C'mon, move a little." Satoru pokes your stomach, not so gently this time and smirking at your whine and a little wiggle of hips. He knows you adore when he's touching you there and he's gotten way too good at using it in his favor.

"Let me—" You haven't even collected your breathing and thoughts yet. "Just a moment, okay? Give me—"

With a bratty smirk, he plants heels into the bed and bumps you up, his huge cock finding a new angle to slide even deeper into you. Sudden spark of pleasure shakes your body whole, from eyes rolling in the back of your head to toes curling by his sides. When teetering on the edge of overstimulation, it's so easy to fall into another orgasm.

But you've withstood this one, hands clenched on his wrists so hard you mark his skin with your nails.

"Move," he orders half-heartedly, threatening with another thrust building in his hips—so you move, as much as your exhausted and strained legs let you.

It's enough for the insatiable beast for now. Pleased, Satoru pushes both hands against your stomach and kneads your rolls. At first, it's just a motivation for you to ride him faster. But something clicks and he's not teasing you anymore, blind and indifferent to everything but the feeling of your softness and the sight of your skin pouring around his fingers.

You test your luck, cease your moves again—just for the hold to squeeze you tighter and force you to pick the rhythm up. Hypnotized, Satoru is even more selfish and merciless.

geto suguru

cw: canon compliant geto, exhibitionism, cockwarming, dom/sub undertones, dumbification vibe, public sex, geto kills someone

The man kneeling in front of you two might have an idea what's going on, but he would never dare to let you know he's aware—yet to vocalize his confusion or indignation. He's sweating profoundly under the weight of Suguru's stare, mumbling chaotic explanations and excuses, his eyes transfixed on Suguru's feet.

You don't even know who that is and why has he's been dragged to writhe and babble. Before a different matter has occupied the top spot of your attention share, you've understood enough to recognize him as one of the windows sympathizing with the cause. But why did he fall from favor? Maybe it has been addressed already, maybe Suguru himself is not clued in enough, just treating the man as an excellent opportunity to play with you instead.

It doesn't matter. You're perched in his lap; you're engulfed by his greedy touch and perverse ideas. You're pressing against him with your whole weight, exactly as he likes, and squeezing his cock in your hot and tight hole.

Countless, wide layers of Suguru's clothes can cover your union with ease. Having one of his arms loosely wrapped around you, he hides the most of your body behind the sleeve. The other, resting on top of your lap, secures the rest. For a casual, lost eye, he's only holding you close, his favorite, his beloved toy, his doe-eyed innocent thing he treats like a comfort object. In reality, he's keeping you to cockwarm him in front of everyone who'll pass through this room until he'll be bored with torturing you and will take you on the same chair or on the floor next to it.

With no one around, if you're lucky.

As the man squirms on the floor, almost kissing it with the way he bows lower and lower, Suguru mindlessly traces your love handles. You twitch when he brushes a particularly ticklish spot and squeeze him even tighter. But you don't move, your face slotted in the crook of his neck, eyes focused on his handsome face and full of adoration. Part of you is terrified of delicious consequences, part wants to spare yourself overstimulation. With your nerves tense and teased relentlessly for what feels like hours, you're constantly on the edge of snapping. Even Suguru's breathing is like a torture; oh, what you would gladly give away to have him finally move and sate the fire between your legs.

"Did you hear him?" Suguru takes your chin into hand and brushes thumb against your slightly parted lips. When you can't stop the tiniest of mewls, he squeezes your cheeks, maybe with an encouragement, maybe with a warning. "What do you think, my sweetest, should we kill him?"

You roll your head further into him, feinting a whispered advice but in fact—wordlessly begging for this farce to end. You're meeting your limit, a minute more and you'll lose the last strand of dignity left in you and beg instead to be fucked right here and now, accidental voyeurs be damned.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood today." Suguru's eyes rest on the man, now crying in relief and thanking him in the sweetest words, but the sentence is for your ears only.

Suguru turns the unwelcomed witness away with an impatient flick of a wrist, closes both arms around you tight even before he leaves the room. You hear a loud thud by the door when a curse pierces through the man's back, killing him instantly, but the aftertaste of reaction is faint and soon disappears midst Suguru's deep kisses.

kusakabe atsuya

cw: big breasts fetish, handjob, reader in lingerie

When you unclasp your bra and let your breast pour out of its confines, Atsuya throws everything he's been holding and pounces on you right away.

You haven't seen each other for a whole weekend—weekends should be crossed out of his agenda, but luck wasn't on your side this time—and you know it was rough to him. He put on a brave mask and casually brushed off all your proposals, from the facetime to exchanging nudes, but his curt messages and taut voice through the speaker just reeked of desperation. He's been pent up for a while now, crumbs of intimacy he stole from you along the week not enough to sate his libido. 

Just to think he warned you beforehand that he might be too tired for you; since the day he's taken you for the first time you're the one who has to beg for mercy from his relentless desire.

You set a little trap. Lingerie Atsuya bought you for your anniversary hasn't been tested yet in action, its tight fit and very feminine appearance needing a particular opportunity and mood. Opportunity couldn't be better, the mood set itself as soon as his face went red and mouth agape at the sight. Work and travel exhaustion is gone in second—and the only thing you have to worry is whether the delicate lace will withstand how strong he grabs and pulls.

Atsuya buries his face into your bust straight away, no word said, no touch stolen from the other parts of your body—just a lewd moan muffled by your mounds and hands scooping them from sides to cushion himself better. He rubs himself into your warmth and scent, growls, pleased, when he catches your natural tinge not yet washed away after the day. The tent in his pants grows crazy fast; you don't lose a moment and free him as soon as he leaves you an opening for it.

He throbs against your palm so hard that you worry your surprise might be finished way too early. Atsuya withstands the temptation, somehow, but does nothing to control himself in any other way. He's more fucking your fist than letting you stroke him, his precum dripping down your fingers and turning your grip slick, almost too much.

Holding himself between your tits until he's out of breath, Atsuya finally peels away enough to look at you, "I missed you. I missed them."

He licks and sucks, peppers your breasts with kisses and hickeys until he settles on one of your nipples. He's rougher than usual, brushing at the line of discomfort and letting you feel his teeth; you will be too sensitive for a bra for a day or two to come, but you still pull on his hair and prompt him closer. You missed him. You missed that.

With the first hunger satisfied, you finally find the right, united rhythm. His hips slow down enough to let you work for him, your hold on him is gentler and leaving him more space and freedom. Atsuya is not going anywhere though, only once taking a sudden turn to kiss your neck, but the delicious valley between your breasts bewitches him again.

Both arms wrapped around you, hands adoring your love handles, he pulls you whole into him, having you perched in his lap, and groaning when you find a new angle to jerk him off. "I missed every piece of you."

Atsuya takes a sip and dips his thumb into the glass again. This time round, he lets you suck; you go for it deliberately, licking the droplets of wine off his skin. Then, mindful of your teeth, you wrap your lips around his finger and soak up the full nose of flavors.

"I'm not gonna scold you, if you bite, little thing," he hums, a smile in his voice and warmth in his gaze. "Just like that… You look so good right now."

You look up at him with doe eyes as he likes, not averting them even when Hiromi finally joins in and moves closer to touch you. His slender fingers glide down your neck and along the ropes he's put on you himself, then he tucks them under your chin and forces you to release Atsuya and turn his way.

They never bump into each other, a perfect tandem moving so smoothly as if they could read each other's minds. Atsuya gives way to Hiromi but stays close, so close you could paw at his slacks if your hands weren't bound. Watching you pleasure the other man is as pleasant as feeling you himself; he stares at your lips and thin trickles of saliva dripping from the corners of your lips.

Hiromi is a man of contrast; he's either overly gentle or so intense he knocks you off your feet. He lets you drink wine from his fingers before he shoves two so deep you spasm and chases after you when, led by instinct, you buck backwards.

"There, there," he coos, as if speaking to a startled horse. "Be good for me."

He teases the soft roof of your mouth and withdraws, waiting for you to hollow your cheeks and suck—then goes in deep, again. While Atsuya is patient tonight, he's testing your potential. Where Atsuya would be intentionally cruel, he's inquisitive like a child, intense only because he's fascinated by your reactions. And his long fingers are made to toy with your throat.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you keep them open and fight against the gag reflex. Saliva has flowed far past your chin, sticky patches matching the slick warmth covering the lips between your legs. You're painfully empty, untouched since stripped, but being full wouldn't match the high of having them in your mouth. You're grateful for the position they chose for you; if not for the ropes and stiff, numb knees, you would have forgotten about being good a long time ago and just took the offered treat as you like.

Hiromi finishes his wine and hands empty glass to Atsuya before he unzips his pants with one hand and frees his cock for you. He's heavy and bulging but not fully hard; you suck his fingers harder at the sight.

"Not yet," he clicks his tongue and presses down yours, having you whine around his digits in desperation. He likes the sound; you can see it in his eyes but doesn't chase the temptation of toying with you further. "Where are your manners? The host has preference."

You don't dare to look away, however focused with every fiber of your body on Atsuya's steps heading towards the kitchen and back. Hiromi's fingers keep you grounded, sink into you with sadistic precision until you finally gag and struggle against the shackles.

Atsuya's hand is comforting, drawing calming circles into the back of your head and neck, "Shhh, it's for your good. You don't want to choke on either of us, right?"

He rubs your shoulders and chest; rough fingers toy with your nipples—and the tiniest of whines almost dies around Hiromi's fingers still deep in your mouth. As if on cue, Hiromi releases you.

Atsuya unbuckles and unbuttons his slacks, steps right by Hiromi's side—so close all it takes for you to reach him is turning your head.

"Help your master out," he nods towards the bulge tautening against the zipper.

You don't need to be told twice. As gently as you can, you tug and pull until you can feel him through the fine barrier of his briefs. He's radiating with warmth and delicious, manly smell that has you shivering with need. With no objection nor order, you nuzzle into his erection and lick it through strained cotton—eager to wet it with your own saliva, if it's what it takes to feel every detail of his cock better.

"Such a hungry thing…" Atsuya helps you out, tugging on the elastic band until he springs out free right in front of your starved mouth. "Not yet."

Ropes dig into your wrists and shoulders from how your body twists in protest. Quelling a frustrated groan in your throat, you rub your face into him but not an inch further—and especially not between your lips. Patience. Obedience. Reward.

Tense like a string, you wait and watch, attentive for the slightest nod or sound signaling a permission. Atsuya is almost as still as you, bar calm but deep breaths and an occasional twitch against your cheek.

Hiromi sheds his jacket, rolls sleeves up and unbuttons the top of his shirt before he wraps hand around his cock and gives himself a few lazy strokes. He leans in, not for you, but to reach Atsuya. You shudder in jealousy at the sight of his tongue slipping between his lips and Atsuya's free hand sneaking into his hair. Each groan and slurp is like a red-hot needle pressed to your perking clit.

"You may," when they're finally done, Atsuya rasps out an order and meets your mouth half-way.

Relief washing over you when you finally taste his tip is almost as good as an orgasm. Despite everything, you start slow—you know he doesn't like it when you're too hasty and sloppy. You taste every inch and let him rest against the flat of your tongue, and even then, you don't let yourself be lost in the sensation. Every lick and suck is controlled, every bitter droplet of his arousal is appreciated, and not for a moment you look away from his eyes, half-closed in pleasure.

Hiromi doesn't have a particular preference, so you allow yourself more when it's his turn to fill your mouth. As always, he needs a moment before you bring him to full mast; he grows in your mouth as you suck with fervor and the last thing you see before you close your eyes is his hand groping his own chest through a gaping shirt.

By turns, you're left empty and guided towards the other. At first, you can tell the difference and adjust, but the first time Hiromi's patience snaps and he thrusts into your mouth, your control is gone alongside his. Sensations melt into one—their taste and smell become a potion you're sipping like fresh water, and no matter which way your head is turned, you suck with the same wild dedication.

Some things manage to sneak past your oral fixation: Hiromi's hand pulling at your hair, Atsuya's coarse pubes grazing your nose whenever he takes your throat, the loud and obscene slurping when they make out with each other, ropes painfully biting into your arms. There are praise and chaotic words that could as well be just moans, there's the salty and bitter flavor mixing with the sharpness of wine—and finally, the burning hot pulse of your body, constantly urging for more.

But in the end, everything drowns in one and the same vortex of submissive ecstasy, the sweetest sensation of them all, leading to state when you forget how to be a person and become a toy for them to fuck.

However, the vortex eventually loosens its tentacles. You shudder and throb when your mouth is left empty for too long.

"Open your eyes." It's Hiromi's order and you reluctantly listen. The dim light of Atsuya's bedroom is blinding, at first, you can tell only the shape of their bodies, standing so close they seem one.

Lips swollen and messed with saliva, their faces beaming with immense pleasure, they're embracing each other and pressing their cocks together, guiding them in the same direction. They're both generously proportioned, Atsuya's however noticeably thicker, and slick with the mess of your saliva and their precum.

You lick your lips at the sight and almost beg for it, for a split moment forgetting about your role and place.

"Good thing…" They say almost at the same time when you stay silent and open your mouth wide, struggling to fit both tips on the flat of your tongue.

higuruma hiromi

cw: intercrural sex, clit stimulation

"Just a little more—" Hiromi's voice shatters with each breath. He's fighting brave but his own excitement is his greatest opponent, and each drag of his hips brings him closer to the delicious defeat.

With your thighs pressed tight together and bent over the kitchen counter, you're at mercy of his thrusts. This position is a little uncomfortable, your elbows will hate you for that later, but little do you care about it in the heat of the moment. It's happened too fast, too; one moment you're melting into your partner's embrace as he gently scoops you from behind and prompts his chin on your shoulder to see the work of your hands better—the other he's pounding into you like an animal in heat.

"Just—" He pants into your ear, chest flush to your back, both of his hands groping at your rolls and softness. Half-unbuckled belt digs into your exposed ass; he hasn't undone his pants properly, just moved clothes enough to slam himself against your slick.

He hasn't sunk himself inside though. The roll on top of your thick thighs, his beloved part of your body, bewitched him and swallowed the first, desperate thrust. He hasn't abandoned it since, forcing your legs to close and squeeze his cock in between. You feel it throbbing against your slit; he's hard, hot and gushing, right on the verge of finishing but somehow savoring the moment, only thanks to his stubborn temperance.

You would love to watch his fat tip poking through your clenched legs whenever he bottoms out. No chance for it in the current position, but from the sensation alone you can picture it—your own imagination has you drooling and needy.

"They're so soft..." Hiromi's voice is on the verge of crying. He nuzzles face into the back of your neck, teeth grazing your skin but not daring to take a bite. He's too busy fighting for air and chasing his pleasure.

He rocks himself whole against you, the sheer force of his moves forcing you into the counter and bruising your torso where it meets the edge. His arms around you tighten, his hands full of your chest and stomach, and his hips relentlessly meet your ass. He likes to take you from behind to watch it ripple but even this view can't rival the intoxicating warmth of your thick thighs. He won't pull away even for a second, not before he's covered them with his cum, milked of everything he has for you tonight.

The way he whines your name, broken 'I love you's and praises spells the finish—but Hiromi is stronger than that. He powers through it, almost crushing you in his arms all the way he can wrap them around you, and finds a new reserve of energy to rut into you with fresh pacing and angle. He's pressed closer to your cunt now, so close he's almost slipping in, but he's too lost in it to focus and buckle down to it a little more.

He can bump your clit right now, though, unintentionally edging you both together and eventually breaking you into moans and spasms, your legs too weak to withstand your weight and his enthusiasm.

"Keep it for me—" He growls when you start to falter, yanking you into the right position with impatience you would never suspect him of. "Please."

ino takuma

cw: weight-related insecurity, face-sitting talk, against the wall

"Why not?"

You wonder if Takuma is aware how soppy he looks now, cheek nuzzled into your thigh and looking up at you with a mix of shock and pleading in his eye. Just a moment earlier he's been relentlessly building up the churning in your abdomen with hasty kisses and greedy work of his tongue; his breath is still short after endless adoration of your rolls and curves. It's soothing the fresh hickey right under the edge of your groin, place that's stopped him in his tracks once he took a whiff of you, daring him to jump on you with an unexpected and selfish request.

"I don't want to— You know." You flounder between still heavy breathing and explanations. The answer is obvious with how there's nothing hidden between you two, all insecurities stripped naked for him, but it still doesn't want to pass your lips. As if you would crumble all of the courage and confidence you've built to be here with him if you admitted to the problem outright.

Takuma gets it and is having none of that at the same time.

"You think you could hurt me?" There's a shade of hurt ego behind his laughter. "Babe, please. You've seen the things I carried."

"Well... You've never carried me."

As if you ever let him, time after time escaping grabby and eager hands. Not in front of the others, not when you're wearing that, not when it's so hot, another day, another day, finally never. And you see it in the fire pushing the teary and pleading look in his eye away. His ego is one thing but being played like this right after being denied a delicious treat could not escape unpunished.

Still on his knees, Takuma hooks arms under your knees, still spread wide to fit his enthusiasm and adoration, and yanks you up. For a moment you're in the air with no support but your hands in panic grabbing any part of his body they could reach—but soon you find balance, supported by his strong grab on your ass. He holds you as if you were nothing, cheeky grin pushed right into your face as he's advancing on the nearest wall, soon having your back pushed against it, so tight and close you can't take a full breath anymore.

"If you don't want my face—" He adjusts the grip, having you with one arm while reaching down to align his cock with you— "we're gonna play this way."

You're dropped down just a little, enough to have him sinking inside with the help of gravity alone. Both of you groan in pleasure, your lips an inch away and soon meeting in a chaotic, wet kiss. He doesn't keep it for long, focused on raw and ruthless pacing, the deeper and faster the more you helplessly claw into his shoulders and back, your legs just useless and dangling by his sides.

"How are you feeling?" Takuma rasps into your neck, by no means tired, just barely restraining himself from destroying you right here, against the wall in the living room. "Still worried you're too heavy for my face?"

As if you could answer him, choking on moans, your eyes rolling back in your head on the deep and rough highway to your orgasm, the first of a few waiting for you tonight.

gojo satoru

cw: cowgirl, overstimulation, implied creampie

Your knees are slowly meeting their limit.

Luckily, this orgasm is not as strong, gently washing over you and having you shudder and sigh deep. Satoru holds you through it with patience, unheard of except intimate moments like these, but under the comforting pressure of his big hands creeps the insatiable need for more. You've been chasing him as best as you could, for the years you've been sleeping together already used to his habits and much better at this race than you were at the beginning—but in the end you're a human only.

No amount of stamina could ever satisfy the strongest.

He leans backwards but doesn't pull you with him, letting your bodies cool down each on their own. He's lying beneath you now, a delicious treat for your gaze. Disheveled, pink taint brushing his pale skin, sweat pearling all over his toned chest and abs, white happy trail wet with your juices, blindfold crooked and revealing one of his deep-blue eyes, following each move of yours with attention... You could never have enough of how pretty he is, of how lucky you are to have him like this for yourself only.

The swaying of your hips ceases, heaving of your chest the only move you have left for now. You feel discomfort in your knees, thighs and groin, not too much yet, but really close. If not for his girth still pulsing like mad deep in you, you would gladly help yourself and roll off him for a much-deserved rest. But after all those orgasms he's given you—well, mostly with the work of your body in his lap—it's just unfair to leave him unsatisfied. It's nothing you wouldn't solve with your hand or mouth, but you would not hear the end of it if your once-in-a-week treat for a whole night hadn't finished with him cum inside of you.

"C'mon, move a little." Satoru pokes your stomach, not so gently this time and smirking at your whine and a little wiggle of hips. He knows you adore when he's touching you there and he's gotten way too good at using it in his favor.

"Let me—" You haven't even collected your breathing and thoughts yet. "Just a moment, okay? Give me—"

With a bratty smirk, he plants heels into the bed and bumps you up, his huge cock finding a new angle to slide even deeper into you. Sudden spark of pleasure shakes your body whole, from eyes rolling in the back of your head to toes curling by his sides. When teetering on the edge of overstimulation, it's so easy to fall into another orgasm.

But you've withstood this one, hands clenched on his wrists so hard you mark his skin with your nails.

"Move," he orders half-heartedly, threatening with another thrust building in his hips—so you move, as much as your exhausted and strained legs let you.

It's enough for the insatiable beast for now. Pleased, Satoru pushes both hands against your stomach and kneads your rolls. At first, it's just a motivation for you to ride him faster. But something clicks and he's not teasing you anymore, blind and indifferent to everything but the feeling of your softness and the sight of your skin pouring around his fingers.

You test your luck, cease your moves again—just for the hold to squeeze you tighter and force you to pick the rhythm up. Hypnotized, Satoru is even more selfish and merciless.

geto suguru

cw: canon compliant geto, exhibitionism, cockwarming, dom/sub undertones, dumbification vibe, public sex, geto kills someone

The man kneeling in front of you two might have an idea what's going on, but he would never dare to let you know he's aware—yet to vocalize his confusion or indignation. He's sweating profoundly under the weight of Suguru's stare, mumbling chaotic explanations and excuses, his eyes transfixed on Suguru's feet.

You don't even know who that is and why has he's been dragged to writhe and babble. Before a different matter has occupied the top spot of your attention share, you've understood enough to recognize him as one of the windows sympathizing with the cause. But why did he fall from favor? Maybe it has been addressed already, maybe Suguru himself is not clued in enough, just treating the man as an excellent opportunity to play with you instead.

It doesn't matter. You're perched in his lap; you're engulfed by his greedy touch and perverse ideas. You're pressing against him with your whole weight, exactly as he likes, and squeezing his cock in your hot and tight hole.

Countless, wide layers of Suguru's clothes can cover your union with ease. Having one of his arms loosely wrapped around you, he hides the most of your body behind the sleeve. The other, resting on top of your lap, secures the rest. For a casual, lost eye, he's only holding you close, his favorite, his beloved toy, his doe-eyed innocent thing he treats like a comfort object. In reality, he's keeping you to cockwarm him in front of everyone who'll pass through this room until he'll be bored with torturing you and will take you on the same chair or on the floor next to it.

With no one around, if you're lucky.

As the man squirms on the floor, almost kissing it with the way he bows lower and lower, Suguru mindlessly traces your love handles. You twitch when he brushes a particularly ticklish spot and squeeze him even tighter. But you don't move, your face slotted in the crook of his neck, eyes focused on his handsome face and full of adoration. Part of you is terrified of delicious consequences, part wants to spare yourself overstimulation. With your nerves tense and teased relentlessly for what feels like hours, you're constantly on the edge of snapping. Even Suguru's breathing is like a torture; oh, what you would gladly give away to have him finally move and sate the fire between your legs.

"Did you hear him?" Suguru takes your chin into hand and brushes thumb against your slightly parted lips. When you can't stop the tiniest of mewls, he squeezes your cheeks, maybe with an encouragement, maybe with a warning. "What do you think, my sweetest, should we kill him?"

You roll your head further into him, feinting a whispered advice but in fact—wordlessly begging for this farce to end. You're meeting your limit, a minute more and you'll lose the last strand of dignity left in you and beg instead to be fucked right here and now, accidental voyeurs be damned.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood today." Suguru's eyes rest on the man, now crying in relief and thanking him in the sweetest words, but the sentence is for your ears only.

Suguru turns the unwelcomed witness away with an impatient flick of a wrist, closes both arms around you tight even before he leaves the room. You hear a loud thud by the door when a curse pierces through the man's back, killing him instantly, but the aftertaste of reaction is faint and soon disappears midst Suguru's deep kisses.

kusakabe atsuya

cw: big breasts fetish, handjob, reader in lingerie

When you unclasp your bra and let your breast pour out of its confines, Atsuya throws everything he's been holding and pounces on you right away.

You haven't seen each other for a whole weekend—weekends should be crossed out of his agenda, but luck wasn't on your side this time—and you know it was rough to him. He put on a brave mask and casually brushed off all your proposals, from the facetime to exchanging nudes, but his curt messages and taut voice through the speaker just reeked of desperation. He's been pent up for a while now, crumbs of intimacy he stole from you along the week not enough to sate his libido. 

Just to think he warned you beforehand that he might be too tired for you; since the day he's taken you for the first time you're the one who has to beg for mercy from his relentless desire.

You set a little trap. Lingerie Atsuya bought you for your anniversary hasn't been tested yet in action, its tight fit and very feminine appearance needing a particular opportunity and mood. Opportunity couldn't be better, the mood set itself as soon as his face went red and mouth agape at the sight. Work and travel exhaustion is gone in second—and the only thing you have to worry is whether the delicate lace will withstand how strong he grabs and pulls.

Atsuya buries his face into your bust straight away, no word said, no touch stolen from the other parts of your body—just a lewd moan muffled by your mounds and hands scooping them from sides to cushion himself better. He rubs himself into your warmth and scent, growls, pleased, when he catches your natural tinge not yet washed away after the day. The tent in his pants grows crazy fast; you don't lose a moment and free him as soon as he leaves you an opening for it.

He throbs against your palm so hard that you worry your surprise might be finished way too early. Atsuya withstands the temptation, somehow, but does nothing to control himself in any other way. He's more fucking your fist than letting you stroke him, his precum dripping down your fingers and turning your grip slick, almost too much.

Holding himself between your tits until he's out of breath, Atsuya finally peels away enough to look at you, "I missed you. I missed them."

He licks and sucks, peppers your breasts with kisses and hickeys until he settles on one of your nipples. He's rougher than usual, brushing at the line of discomfort and letting you feel his teeth; you will be too sensitive for a bra for a day or two to come, but you still pull on his hair and prompt him closer. You missed him. You missed that.

With the first hunger satisfied, you finally find the right, united rhythm. His hips slow down enough to let you work for him, your hold on him is gentler and leaving him more space and freedom. Atsuya is not going anywhere though, only once taking a sudden turn to kiss your neck, but the delicious valley between your breasts bewitches him again.

Both arms wrapped around you, hands adoring your love handles, he pulls you whole into him, having you perched in his lap, and groaning when you find a new angle to jerk him off. "I missed every piece of you."

Compared to the rest of their offer, it borders on modest, but it's the simplicity and elegance that catches the eye. Black and sleek, prudent with lace, it rivetingly covers the crucial, and teases with the symmetry of exposed strips of skin. Panties—a thong accented with gracious ribbons tied on sides—are the most frivolous within the composition, and the spicy contrast is what has grabbed your attention and refuses to let go.

At first, you just slowed down to get a closer look. But in a few days, you were stopping whenever passing by, and soon your thoughts streamed into one and only direction. How their eyes would follow the line of hold-ups and hook on the panties. How their fingers would trace the ribbons, pulling oh so gently, just right to tug but not to untie. How their hands would cup your breasts and watch them trying to pour over the top. How their eyes would widen in surprise, feeling bare skin where the supposedly modest underwear should cover your buttocks. How confident and sexy you would feel in this set, despite never being interested in lingerie before.

You can easily imagine it would fit you like a second skin.

But for some reason not once you've considered really trying it on—yet, buying it before the collection runs out of time. You stop in front of the shop at least twice a day, let your thoughts wind you up and leave you hot and moist, but you don't have it in yourself to take that one last step.

Until one day the step takes itself.

"Do you like it?" Hiromi often drags his feet and stays behind but today he's decided to leave the office together. He followed the same path and stopped as you did, a respectful pace behind—but close enough you can feel his breath in your ear as he leans in for a better look.

"It's nice."

You're not sure what to say. In the vortex of fantasies and plans without defrayal, you've lost the core of the question. You like the idea of wearing this set, you have no doubt about that, but would you like it the same, if you wore it?

"I think he would like it." Hiromi adds, with confidence of coming to a decision. He looks straight at you through the faint reflection in the windowpane overlaying the set on display—warm eyes of a man who never faltered in expressing his love for you and your body, anchoring you against the insecurities you've buried so deep that you forgot they were there in the first place.

Of course you like it. How could you doubt your perception—your desire?

"How about you?" You step back, finding his chest with your back and giving him leverage to grind against you. It's a blink and you will miss it moment, a glimpse of oblivion Hiromi doesn't allow to swallow him when uninvited eyes could witness his desperation.

"Let me treat you." His nose traces the line of hair at the back of your neck. He takes a breath of you, shallow but undoubtedly tasting its full bouquet. "Let me watch, too."

When you enter the store, the shop assistant gives you a knowing look of someone who's waited for you way too long.

The set has served its sentence in the closet until the right mood comes.

You didn't get a chance of putting it on right away and have lost interest since. Maybe it's the shadow of your insecurities sneaking in again, maybe you haven't fallen into the same mindset as when Hiromi laid hold of his wallet, maybe you resented him a little for stepping into your fantasies so abruptly—you're not sure. You hung it where Atsuya's eyes couldn't reach and it waited for you, silent and patient.

Hiromi didn't press either. He's withdrawn to his everlasting cycle of overtime and bringing work home, and you wouldn't be surprised if he just forgot.

Yet, when you appear in the living room in nothing but lingerie and high heels you've bought to accompany the set, his expression is relaxed and smug.

Atsuya's, meanwhile, teeters on the line between shock and primal desire. The book he held open falls to his lap with the tiniest thump and he awkwardly cleans throat. His eyes struggle to focus; frantic, they wander up and down and try to look away just to be, immediately, pulled back.

It's even better than what you've been imagining. It takes a lot from you to stay still and not rub your thighs in anticipation.

"You—" Atsuya licks his lips, his gaze finally set still on the line of your panties. "Shit. Come here."

You step between his legs, fluffy rug muffing the clicking of your heels. His hands are immediately on you, heavy and rough, pawing at your hips with greed.

"What do I have here?" he says with half-breath, so absorbed by the views that he forgets Hiromi is sitting nearby, chin prompted on hand and observing the scene like a cat watches its prey.

Heat that has barely tingled so far is brought to boil and radiates up and down your body at the same time.

Pleasant confusion on Atsuya's face is replaced by the most hot and bothered indecisiveness you've ever seen on him, on anyone. He's a man who knows what he wants—and he wants to devour you whole, always, intensely, selfish at times, leaving only crumbs for Hiromi. But in front of an exotic feast, he struggles. He's greedy but wants to savor you, you see it in his eyes and shallow breathing.

He guides you closer. His lips meet you right above your navel and sip your warmth, leaving a moist and ticklish trace leading to the edge of your panties. He stops there and closes eyes, then presses his whole face into you with a feral growl.

Heaving a blissful sigh, you run fingers of both hands through his hair and pull him in.

Hiromi watches in silence; his armchair rustles under him as he leans to the back and relaxes. With the corner of your eye, you see him palming himself, his gaze heavy.

Atsuya smells you, relishing your softness, gently rubbing his face against your lower abdomen and mound. His hot breath is a sweet torture, having your knees tremble with so little it's embarrassing. He holds you still, rough hands on your bare buttocks, and stays almost motionless himself, lost in the moment and selfish.

When you breathe out his name, he gives you a deliberate look under half-closed lids, "What is it, sweet thing?"

You struggle to answer and he's not making it easy, kissing along the hem of your panties, along the ribbons, down the little crevice between your thigh and crotch, down your leg until he meets a stocking and nibbles there, pulling on the nylon belt.

When he releases it with a snap, you let out a soft moan and tug on his hair.

Atsuya flicks his eyes up again. He doesn't say anything, but his smirk tells you everything you need to know.

He shimmies closer to the edge of the sofa and nudges you to rest one leg over his shoulder. You're not used to wearing high heels; standing on one you quickly start losing balance. Atsuya holds you, but still, your ankle wobbles and you instinctively push forward, about to ruin what he's been looking for.

"Need a hand?" Hiromi moves from his spot, approaching slowly, almost prowling. Without shoes on, his steps are barely audible; when he touches your sides, both you and Atsuya budge. You've forgotten he's been here all the time.

Hiromi pulls you back against his steady chest, and it lets Atsuya continue with his plan. Holding on your open thigh with one arm, he reaches between your legs and cups your whole pussy with ease—big, warm palm against the most sensitive part of your body, soaking through fine panties.

He would tease you for how easily you became wet for him, but his attention is elsewhere, buried into the softness of your inner thigh and sleek nylon right under. While stroking and rubbing you, not without care but also not quite there with his mind, he licks and sucks right where your skin meets the holdup.

Hiromi is less greedy, more controlled with how he runs his hands up your sides. They're gentler than Atsuya's, narrower, with long fingers and cooler than your body, having you shudder. He hushes you with a gentle kiss pressed to the back of your neck, then another leading towards the crevice where the curve of your shoulder meets your collarbone.

By this time, he's made it to your chest; kneading it earns him a moan and buckling of your knee.

"I'm here," he assures, tracing your skin with the very tip of his nose. "I'm not going anywhere."

And he means he's not letting you run away, from him, from Atsuya lost in wordless adoration, so focused on licking and kissing you through the nylon that he's forgotten about the tent in his pants, almost tearing them open. Cheeks flushed and hair ruined with your fingers, he struggles to breathe—and yet, constantly reaches for more. Whenever an impulse of pleasure makes you sink your nails into his scalp, he groans, almost whimpers, vibrations of his voice running through your body.

It's weird to have them switch, to have Atsuya losing his mind while Hiromi hangs in there despite his bulge pressing against your ass. Weird and exciting, their synchronized attack arousing you more than you've expected, more than you've been daydreaming about. Your clit perks under Atsuya's attention, your nipples burn thanks to Hiromi's fingers stroking them through the bra, and your mind slowly spirals into the state of blessed oblivion.

Why have you been putting this moment away for so long? Silly thing, as Atsuya would say.

Meandering blindfold, he finally finds the right point and pressure. Electric shock shots through your body, pulling you out of sweet waves of pleasure into the open ocean of madness. But you're not quite there; it's been easy and fast but enough, and if Atsuya wasn't so lost in worshiping your thigh, he wouldn't let that slip past.

But Hiromi is there to help. He takes a deep breath of you straight from the line of your hair and sinks teeth into the back of your neck—an anchor you need to sink all the way to the bottom.

Mewling a hectic mix of their names, you ride against Atsuya's palm and soak it with your juices. Hiromi holds you through it, firm but gentle, just enough to stop you from melting to the floor.

Atsuya barely noticed a thing. While you shudder and fight to find your breath again, he's still going, lost in a fetish he's just unlocked…or always had but you never gave him an opportunity to let it out with you.

"We'll have to let him finish before we continue," Hiromi whispers and presses an earnest kiss to your cheek. His lips are warm with a smile. "I told you he was going to like it."

He recoils and immediately regrets it. The sudden move stirs you awake; you let out a little groan and roll to your back, one eye cracked open, then both wide and startled.

"Oh—" You bite on a curse at the last moment and awkwardly crawl away, the duvet pulled to your chin. "Uhm. Good morning?"

You've taken most of the cover with you, Kento has no choice but to look down and discover all the other sources of pain. His nipples are swollen and purple from constant mistreatment; marks of your teeth spill from them up his chest, to his neck, as he guesses from the throbbing needles there. His biceps are adorned with bright red lines; their dull burning reaches his back and below. You've had your claws even in his ass, god damn it.

"Is there a reason you’re in my bed?" He blurts out, the smartest he can figure out when shocked, hungover and, much to his embarrassment, weirdly turned out by the whole turmoil.

You collapse into giggles and try to sit down in the least revealing way before you give up and let the duvet fall to your lap. Kento sees marks left by his own lips and teeth, and his ears start to prick in shame.

"Do you really expect me to explain the details to me?" You rub your temples. "If so, you'll have to forgive me, because I can't remember a damned thing."

"Water? Coffee?"

"Water first, please. Lots of it."

Strands of memories slowly crawl to his mind when he goes through the pantry and tries to overtake the mess. New Year's party at Shoko's and more booze than anyone but her could stomach. A few new faces, yours included, and a modest meeting turning into an uproarious welcome. One of the interns hitting on you and him stepping in, like a good supervisor. You in his lap a few moments later and him kissing you like no supervisor ever should. Desperate and mad scramble after taxi drove you to his place. Black boards and lewd images in between, and a strain he feels in his hips whenever he moves.

Oh, holy shit. Oh, holy fuck.

When he makes it back to the bedroom, with a glass of fresh, cool water for you, you're sitting on the bed all naked, holding a used condom on your palm.

"Usually, I'd insist on a coffee first but—" You lift it by a tied end. Kento's face explodes with a blush. "It wasn't bad. And I don't have a grudge against you. Shit happens, right. A few times, sometimes…"

There are a few more condoms scattered around the bed. Kento picks them up as fast as he can with a growing headache and trembling hands.

"I hope I'm not your coyote ugly." You hand him the last one and cling to the glass. It's empty with a few drafts. "But if you want me to disappear right away—"

"It would be highly inappropriate to ask anyone to leave under current circumstances. I owe you breakfast and a shower, at least." Kento's voice somehow doesn't falter, and he doesn't feel any urge to look away. After a moment of hesitation, he adds. "You're not ugly."

"Well, thank you." You put the empty glass away and stretch, not without a strained groan. Kento catches a glimpse of dried cum on your tum. Shit. I hope this is where my stupidity ends.

"You are, in fact, very attractive." He doesn't mean to, but he stares at the body he had all night long; every way he wanted, every way he still wants, he realizes, feeling the familiar warmth dribbling to his cock.

You stare back, your eyes move along the bite and scratch marks, down his thick happy trail to the base of his penis, shyly showing the first signs of interest. Kento suddenly realizes he's standing too close, close enough for you to touch him, if you wanted.

Of course you want to.

"I had this inside and didn't die?" You compare his size to your hand, genuine awe in your voice. "I would never have thought you're so…endowed— Oh shit, I'm sorry, was it too far?"

"I doubt there are many things left in the 'too far' territory after what we were doing all night long."

You flick eyes up to his face, then down again, and wrap fingers around him, letting a little gasp at his girth. Kento's temples are throbbing, his loins are stiff and the world spins around if he moves head too fast, but his cock still acts accordingly. It's slow but constant—he's brought back to life thanks to your attention.

"Is it too much?" Whether you mean the situation or possible overstimulation, Kento doesn't mind, and bucks into your palm. A moment ago almost mortified, he's now putting the scattered puzzles together. That night wasn't just an accident; he had his eyes on you for a while and his advances, however cautious due to his position, haven't fallen on reluctant ground. If he wanted, if he wasn't so reserved and paranoid, he could have had you a long time ago. The party, the New Year's kiss and the gallons of booze you both poured into your mouths were only the pinnacle and excuse.

You're gentle but determined. You stroke him to full mast with great patience, and when a bead of precum gleams at his tip (how on earth does he still have anything in him left?), you lick it with the very tip of your tongue. The way Kento's whole body pulsed has nothing to do with the hangover.

"I hope you're not having any urgent business to take care of today?" Your lips brush his sensitive head as you speak, impish flickers in your eyes driving him—sober and conscious—crazy.

"Not at all."

When he pushes you down on the bed and opens your legs to take you one more time, you welcome him with enthusiasm that nearly knocks him off his feet. So warm and needy. And finally—his.