#bbf!mattsun

"Like this?"

There's a part of Issei that knows he should feel guilty right now as he gazes down at you.

"Yeah," he nods, talking around the joint tucked between his lips as he inhales, a stilted vacuum of air hissing through his teeth. The exhale of smoke that follows is slow, measured. Late afternoon sunlight catches in the lazy trail.

“Just like that.”

He's yet to put the joint out, despite the fact that you're currently kneeling between his legs with eager eyes and swollen lips. Because, if nothing else, he knows the odds of him making this situation worse will in fact greatly increase if he has two free hands.

As if he hasn't already fucked himself entirely by agreeing to teach his best friend's sister how to suck dick in the first place.

You gag a little, trying to take him deeper. Issei nearly cups your cheek, but you quickly relax your jaw, and his dick twitches at the sight of a stray tear wriggling free from your fluttering lashes.

A small laugh escapes you.

The black ink that trails up the back of Issei’s hand flexes against his protruding veins as he grasps the edge of the couch cushion, heels pressed deep into the soles of his shoes as he resists the urge to buck his hips.

“Can I…” your fingers curl around his balls, stroking.

issei's been trying so hard to forget the way you looked at him with big, wet eyes while he carefully tore open the fresh needle's packaging and asked him if it was going to hurt.

the way you absently dragged a finger over one of your pert nipples while you waited for him.

he's been trying to forget how you absently grabbed his upper thigh, fingers digging into his jeans while he guided the needle through your first nipple. how he swears your little whine of pain ended in a moan as he pierced the second one.

he hates it's been long enough since he pierced them that you can finally switch the jewelry out. issei hates that he knows you did because he can see the outline of heart-shaped metal hugging your nipples beneath your swimsuit top.

issei just nods over a can of beer when you corner him in the kitchen and ask him if he'd mind checking them out to see how they healed. like he hasn't had half a hard-on all afternoon staring at your wet tits across the pool.

(and if the sound that leaves your mouth when he reaches out to thumb your nipple is undoubtedly a moan this time. if he glances up at you with half-lidded eyes when you start to card your fingers through his hair. if he ends up sucking on your tits right there in the bathroom like his goddamn life depends on it—)

(well. makki doesn't need to know.)

“my brother would probably kill you if he walked in here right now.”

matsukawa’s slow to extricate his lips from the nipple he’s been sucking on, the pert bud left wet and sensitive in the wake of his undivided attention.

he drags his thumb across it while he turns his gaze to you, blinking slowly, the corner of his lips twitching. your cunt aches as a fresh gush of arousal leaks into your underwear, the material long-since molded to your plush slit.

he’s hardly even touched you yet, besides mouthing his way along the swell of your tits spilling out of your tight tank top. and yet you’re wholly soaked, thighs clenching tightly together, drool pooling on your tongue as you resist the urge to whine.

the mattress groans as matsukawa’s body weight shifts, his thigh finding a home between your legs. you inhale sharply at the sensation, at the pointed way his firm muscles press against your cunt. he smiles while you unconsciously buck into it, when you moan softly as you start to hump his thigh.

brother's best friend!mattsun who you've had a crush on for longer than you can remember.

who shows up at your university grad party at your parents' house, all lazy smiles and dark eyes as he tucks an unlit joint between his lips in the kitchen and salutes you with a wink before heading upstairs to hang out with your brother.

who completely ignores the way some of your girl friends have been trying (and failing) to flirt with him as he sits on the back deck later that night, his eyes trained solely on you as you argue with your shitty boyfriend. who stands up and stretches before telling your boyfriend he can leave when you head inside to go use the bathroom.

mattsun, who finds you crying in the bathroom. who asks if your boyfriend even bothered to tell you how pretty you look in that dress. he kisses your temple and wipes away the tears streaming down your cheeks, ignoring the feeling of his phone vibrating in his back pocket (your brother, probably) in favor of taking in the almost desperate way you're looking back at him.

it's risky, how he doesn't pull away when you lean in, your mouth caressing his bottom lip.

he grasps your hips instead, setting you down on the edge of the bathroom counter, his nose brushing against your cheek as his mouth comes to hover own your own.

then you whisper it—"issei"—before you close the gap. and you can feel the way he stiffens, the way his hands twitch against your upper thighs before he kisses you back. hard.

(you come on his fingers, dress rucked up, thighs spread wide, your moans muffled by his tongue as you writhe and buck into his wet thrusts.)