You open the door a sliver and peek in to see Kento with his head propped up in one hand, the other poised over a pile of documents. Still working, as you thought. And a full hour past quitting time, which explains why his brow is pinched with annoyance.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asks, eyes locked on yours.

“I was, uh…lonely. Just wanted to see you,” you grin sheepishly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. He says nothing for a moment, just looks you over with those sharp, observant eyes. Those eyes that burn through you, pooling molten warmth in your gut. You fidget under the weight of his gaze and squeeze your thighs together, trying not to look as desperate as you feel.

“Hmm,” Kento murmurs, sitting back in his chair with a wry smile. “Lonely isn’t the word I would use.”

You stiffen, crossing your arms over your chest. He’s right, but hey. “Well, what word would you use then?” you huff, bottom lip poked out in a pout. He smirks.

“Needy.”

You splutter for a moment, caught. You try to explain it away, tripping over your words, while Kento observes you with an amused smile.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he interrupts you once he’s had his fill of your stammering, eyes glittering with mirth. He pats his thighs, his slacks stretched deliciously taut over the thick muscle. “Come here.”

Your heart swells, embarrassment forgotten. You rush over with the intent of clambering into his lap. He stops you for a moment, holding you at arm’s length as he smooths your hair out of your face. You’re so pent up that even that innocent action makes you want to whimper. But his smile has tempered back to a serious expression, so you bite back your desperation and try to show him you’re listening.

“I need to get these papers sorted tonight,” he says. You frown, and he sighs. “I know, I don’t want to do them either, but they need to get done. It shouldn’t take long. If you can be good and occupy yourself until I’m finished, then…”

He trails off for a moment, grazing his thumb over your bottom lip. Your nerves buzz at the short, tender contact. “Then I’ll take care of you. Understood?”

Heat unfurls at the base of your stomach. “Understood,” you salute, overeager. He chuckles.

Kento leans back to make room for you. You settle yourself in his lap, facing him, hooking your legs over his hips and pressing yourself to his broad, warm chest. He’s so tall, it’s easy enough for him to hook his head over your shoulder and keep working. You press your face into his shoulder and breathe in the fresh, familiar scent of his aftershave. You should feel calm, content, like you often do when he holds you like this. Instead you just feel even more hot and bothered, and you can’t help but want to fidget and find some friction against him.

Kento said to be good. But he also said you could occupy yourself. And then he let you climb onto his lap. So, really, hasn’t he given you permission to occupy yourself… using his lap?

A little rub wouldn’t hurt, you reason. It might help ease the sharp burn of desire between your legs—reduce the tension that has you all strung out. He already knows that you’re all worked up. You’re just taking care of yourself until he can do it for you. Yeah, you think, a little rubbing would be fine.

You shuffle your hips against him experimentally, holding your breath for a reaction. Kento does shut down your bratty antics from time to time. But he doesn’t stir, doesn’t chide you, just keeps scratching away at whatever documents he’s tending to. You shift your hips down again, more deliberately—it can’t be mistaken for repositioning. Still, he says nothing. So you shift forward again, and this time you fully grind down with the pressure you need. The friction is delicious, and a little moan bubbles up from your throat.

You feel Kento’s hand come up to grasp the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing against the sensitive spot under your ear. You freeze, a pleasant shiver running through you. He hasn’t scolded you, but his gentle grip on your neck makes you feel like he wants you to ask.

“Kento,” you mumble into his shoulder, “…Is this okay?”

“Is what okay, my love?” he replies, seemingly indifferent—as if his warm hand isn’t smoothing down the length of your back before stopping to grasp at the soft flesh of your hip. You let out a shaky breath as you shudder.

“…R-Rubbing myself on you? While I wait,” you say in a soft rush of air. You press your face into his neck, cheeks prickling with warmth.

Kento lets out a slow, measured exhale and squeezes your hip. He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling and so obviously pleased.

“Do as you like, sweetheart.”

You hear him pick up his pen again, but his non dominant hand keeps a firm grip on your hip. You feel his promise to take care of you seared into you with each pad of his fingers.

You start grinding down on him again, building a rhythm. It feels so good— the pressure and friction and warmth of him against you, even through layers of fabric. You feel him start to harden beneath you, and you smile to yourself. Even if his mind is occupied with silly paperwork, Kento’s body belongs to you and only you.

A wicked little idea starts to take form in your mind.

You let soft, deliberate sounds of pleasure spill from your lips as you grind into Kento’s steadily growing erection. You pant as you rock against him, fanning warm breath across his neck with each exhale, your lips just barely brushing his skin. You relish in how your usually unflappable lover stiffens, your soft lips and sweet little sounds curling a shudder down his spine. You don’t push it too far—you agreed to be good after all. But you dance up to the line, feeling equal parts giddy and greedy.

Emboldened by Kento’s small reactions, you slowly swirl your hips the way you know he loves, and you let out a breathy sigh of his name. You feel the muscles of his neck tense, and he clears his throat. You think he might finally chide you, but he doesn’t. Wordlessly, he reaches between you to readjust his cock so it isn’t pinned to the side as it strains against his slacks. He aligns it vertically, his flushed tip peeking out from his waistband. You grin widely, having won your prize. You’re not the only one who’s needy now.

You press down against him, rutting your clothed cunt against the underside of his cock. His breath hitches as the soft material of your shorts catches against his sensitive tip, and you know soon it’ll be smeared with precum. You rock against him with a fervor now, trying to shift your hips at a better angle each time, pitching your pelvis forward to try and catch more of your clit on each down and upward motion. Trying to get more of that delicious friction that’s pooling wetness in your panties. But even as you pant softly into his shoulder and work yourself against him, you know it won’t be enough.

It’s all Kento’s fault. Before you met him, an orgasm was a simple delight that your own fingers could give you with ease. But now your body knows him. It knows how he feels pressed deep into you, snug against your cervix, filling you up completely. It knows the true depths of pleasure that you’re capable of feeling only when he’s inside you. Even if he hasn’t left any lasting marks, Kento has engraved himself into your body.

You need him to fill you. And right now, you’re warm and wet, but so empty.

You whimper, rocking yourself faster, more desperately. It feels good—really good—but the more you try to chase that goodness to an orgasm, the quicker it seems to slip away. You’re riding a wave that refuses to crest and crash down—it just undulates over and over. You screw your eyes shut, trying to focus on that small flame inside you, trying to get it to burn just a little bit brighter.

Then all of a sudden, Kento’s other hand is sinking into your hip and he’s griiinding up into you with so much pressure that you gasp.

“Not enough, is it?” Kento says, his voice husky and strained.

You let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a sigh of relief. “Not enough. I need you,” you pant, your hips still bucking against his—chasing the heat of his reciprocating friction.

Without warning, Kento stands up, and you squeal as you lose balance on his lap. You lock your legs around his waist and throw your arms around his shoulders to avoid falling. He uses one arm to hold you up, and with the other hand he neatly gathers and tucks his documents into a drawer. With a soft grunt, he sits you down on his cleared desk.

You start to release your koala-like hold on him, only for him to pull you into a searing kiss that has you scrabbling at the nape of his neck for purchase. His tongue licks into your mouth with a force and precision that makes you moan. You kiss him back in earnest, your legs still locked around his waist, drawing him in as close as you can.

You both part, panting. Kento caresses your cheek with his thumb as he looks at you with those dark, lust-glazed eyes that say without words that he intends to devour you. Then he places a hand in the center of your chest and gently pushes you down on your back. You stare up at the light fixture, dizzied, as he lifts your legs from around his waist and scoots you further back onto the desk.

You gasp when you feel him lift your hips and remove your shorts and panties in a single, sharp tug. You’re bare to him now—the cool air making your wet folds feel icy cold. But only for a moment. Because then he presses that searing hot tongue to your core and oh. You can’t help but arch up into the sensation as the flat of his tongue slides through your folds, lapping up the mess you’ve made while waiting for him.

“Sweetheart.” You feel the affectionate name rumble against your sensitive folds. “You’re dripping. All this for me?”

“Y-yes—fuck, Kento,” you whimper as he dives in again, working his tongue into your sopping entrance before slowly licking back up to your clit. “I couldn’t wait—I need you, Kento, please—“

You’re cut off by your own moan as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks. Your hips lift off the desk to meet the hot, wet suction as best you can. He lets you press yourself into his mouth, sucking hungrily at the sensitive nub until your thighs are trembling. Then he releases your clit with a wet sound, and he works back into your soaking folds to taste you again, groaning softly as he slurps and swallows down your arousal.

That small flame you were chasing while grinding against him is now building into an all-consuming fire. You can feel the pulse of it deep in you as the sensation mounts, stronger and hotter. The pleasure Kento gives you is so intense and sudden after hours of restraining yourself, you feel your body starting to run away with the feeling—a freight train gaining speed, out of your control. You’re going to come if he doesn’t stop, and this isn’t how you want it, even as good as it is.

“Kento, gonna come,” you gasp out, clawing at the smooth surface of his desk. “Don’ wanna come—stop, stop, I don’t want to come yet—“

Kento lifts his mouth from you the moment you say stop, but he doesnt remove his face from between your legs. He peers up at you from there with those sharp eyes, half-lidded and dark. The visual alone could send you over the edge if you weren’t desperately trying to stave off your own orgasm.

“And why don’t you want to come yet?” he asks with suspicion—seemingly resentful that you pulled him away from such a delicious meal.

You swallow, trying to catch your breath. You know what you want, and embarrassment aside, you’re determined to have it.

“Wanna come on your cock,” you say softly.

It’s not just dirty talk, or a move to play up his ego. You need it. You’ve needed it all day—to come undone with him splitting you open, filling every inch of you.

The moment you make your request, Kento’s expression shifts, and for a second, your desperate desire is mirrored on his face. Then in a quick succession of motions, he’s standing up, undoing his belt, pulling his cock out of his pants, and yanking your hips towards him with such sharpness that you yelp.

“You’re so good, you know that?” he murmurs as he leans over you, one hand aligning his cock with your entrance. He cups your face, tilting it so you look into his eyes as he presses the blunt head against your opening. You whimper at the beginning of the stretch.

“So fucking good for me. So perfect,” he rasps, his eyes burning. “Asking for what you want like a good girl. You want to come on my cock? Then go ahead and come, sweetheart.”

He slams into you in one precise thrust that has you squealing at the sudden, blinding-hot stretch of it—the press of it into the deepest parts of you all at once. Even if you’ve had it a thousand times before, the way he fills you still hits you like a boulder. He thrusts once, twice, three times, each devastatingly deep, and you’re gasping for air as if he’s fucked all the breath out of you.

This. This is exactly what you needed. To be taken apart by him in the way only he can. You can’t contain the blaze that’s been built by your dry humping, and the wet heat of his tongue, and him, just him—the man that drives you wild just by sitting there and doing paperwork. Kento holds your gaze as he fucks into you, looking at you like you’re a treasure, like he wants to eat you alive, so utterly devoted that it makes your heart swell, and it’s too much. It’s all too much, in the very best way.

Everything locks down and the heat explodes. You cry out his name when you come, your body shuddering and writhing with the force of it. Kento stills his hips and lets you pulse and clench around him as it works, and you swear you only ever want to come with him inside of you—the fullness radiating pleasure into the deepest parts of you.

When you finally come down from your high, you’re still trembling, and Kento is smoothing your hair out of your face as he studies you. His expression is soft but dark in an indecipherable way.

When your lucid eyes find his, he asks, “Did that feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod weakly, and you feel his cock jump a little inside you. He smiles softly, tracing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“Mm, that’s good, love. Now give me another.”

Before you can process it, before you can open your mouth to protest, he’s drawing out of you and plunging back in with full force, and you scream.

Your brain and body are already fried from your first orgasm, haven’t had time to recalibrate—and he wants another. And he seems determined to take it from you.

Kento sets an unforgiving rhythm, pounding into you with deep precision, bottoming out every time he rolls his hips into yours. Every drag of his girth against your walls feels like it sprays off sparks of electricity, and you can’t help but try to curl back from him, trying to escape the intensity of the feeling. Your recoiling is met with a firm grip on your neck—not enough to truly choke you, but enough to keep you from scrambling away.

“No running,” he says in a warning tone, snapping his hips forward with each deep thrust, never slowing his pace.

“‘s too much,” you slur out. You’re trying not to run, you’re trying your best to take it, but it’s so hard when every stroke feels so white hot.

“You can take it, sweetheart. Give me another, I know you can,” Kento coos—and you want to. There’s nothing you want more than to give Kento whatever he asks for, especially when he’s sweating and flushed and looking so in love as he thrusts into you.

“I’m trying, ‘m tryin’” you whine, hot tears starting to prickle in your eyes at the overstimulation.

“It’s okay, love, just let go. Let go and give me another,” Kento says, more softly now, moving his hand from your neck to cradle the side of your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he works deep in you. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, bottom lip trembling as the tears spill down your cheeks. “I wan’ to, I want to—but I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. You’re going to right now, love, I can feel it,” he says lowly, and oh. Oh. Oh fuck. He’s right.

Your body’s feedback to your brain must be delayed, because you don’t even feel your peak building until it’s suddenly there—looming over you, drawing your whole body up taut before crashing down like a tsunami. Your second orgasm blazes through you in an instant, and you let out a strangled cry as it takes you by surprise.

“Good girl, there it is,” Kento soothes as you writhe and sob through it. He finally slows his pace as you shudder and whimper and grab at his shirt to keep yourself grounded—trying to keep yourself from completely falling apart.

You lose focus of his face for a moment—your eyes must roll back, because you hear him say “Eyes on me, love” in that low, smooth voice of his. With some effort, Kento swims back into your vision—his expression a portrait of lust and reverence. If you weren’t in the throes of such miserable pleasure, you might notice how his hands are starting to shake, how his jaw is clenched, how his hips stutter as he slowly, slowly strokes in and out of you now—on the edge of losing control.

You gradually come down from your peak until you’re back on solid ground. You blink up at Kento, dazed, your head resting heavy against the hard wood of his desk. You devour the sight of him above you. He’s panting softly, a few strands loose from his usual slicked-back hair and now hanging into his eyes. His tie is loose and his dress shirt is rumpled from where you gripped it. An unkempt, sex-mussed Kento—the sight makes you throb, and you wonder how your body can still respond to him after coming twice.

At least his hips are still now, which is a small mercy for your blindingly sensitive cunt. You gaze up at him, eyes soft, as he wipes the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. You turn your head to catch his thumb in your mouth and suck it, and he lets out a low groan.

“Don’t do that unless you’re ready to give me one more, sweet girl,” he warns.

You promptly release the digit, which makes him laugh. He presses his thumb back between your lips and watches lovingly as you lave over it with your tongue then release it with a final, wet kiss. He can’t help but shudder a little, and you notice.

“Are you close?” you ask softly, and he nods.

“Don’t know if I can hold back. I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, looking a little pained. You can see now the visible signs of his restraint, and it warms your heart that he’s worried about you. Even when he takes you beyond your limits, he’d never push you to the point of breaking.

“I don’t know if my pussy can take any more right now,” you admit, your thighs still trembling. “…But if you want, you can fuck my mouth,” you grin, your mouth watering at the thought.

Kento’s eyes widen, then darken, and a soft groan slips from his lips as he surges forward to kiss you.

“You dirty little thing,” he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip before soothing over it with his tongue. “So good for me. Get on your knees.”

You scramble to comply, and Kento helps lever you up and off the desk so you can kneel at his feet. He grabs a cushion from his chair and leans down to slip it under your knees, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he draws back to his full height. Your heart brims with affection at the simple sweetness of the action.

You look up at him with wide, adoring eyes, and press soft kisses to his thigh that make him shudder. His cock is hard and heavy between his legs, flushed and shining with your own wetness. You grab the base, testing the girth in your hands, and Kento lets out a soft, strangled sound.

“You really are close, huh?” you giggle, licking a stripe from base to tip, tasting yourself on his hot flesh.

He grits out a moan, squeezing his eyes shut as you take his swollen tip between your lips. You suck on him gently, circling your tongue around the head, and you feel him throb on your tongue in response. Kento’s hand finds its place in your hair, gripping firmly as he slowly rocks into your mouth. You open your jaw further and meet his shallow thrusts with eager bobs of your head, sucking greedily around him.

You love taking Kento in your mouth, if for no other reason than to drink in his reactions. The soft grunts and pants and groans you pull from him make you preen. You watch him through your eyelashes—the way his brow is knitted, his jaw slack and bottom lip trembling with restrained pleasure. You do your best to burn the image into your mind. Though there is one part of this gorgeous vision that could be improved. You pull off his cock with a wet sound and rest his throbbing shaft on your cheek as you squeeze the base with one hand.

“Eyes on me, Ken,” you grin, parroting his earlier words. The irony isn’t lost on Kento, who lets out a sound between a scoff and a chuckle. He dutifully opens his eyes and peeks down at you, his pupils blown wide with lust. When his eyes meet yours, he groans and turns his head away, his cock twitching against your cheek.

“I really won’t last if I look at you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice breaking with the effort to restrain himself.

“I don’t care if you last. I want to taste you already,” you grin. He huffs out a shaky breath as you rub his tip against your slick, swollen lips. “Fuck my mouth, Kento. I want you to come down my throat,” you urge him, your eyes burning into his.

His breath hitches, and you feel his hand tighten its grip in your hair. “…I can’t be gentle,” he warns you, eyes flaring and voice tight.

“Then don’t be,” you hum, smiling before kissing the tip of his cock. Kento’s hips twitch, and he groans.

“Fuck. I am going to ruin you,” he murmurs, cupping your jaw and rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “If you can’t take it, slap my leg. If you don’t, I won’t stop.”

A thrill runs through you, and you feel your pulse throb through your cunt. You nod, dizzied and giddy with the promise of Kento using your throat.

You slacken your jaw and place his tip on your tongue, then look up at him with expectant eyes—waiting for him to set the pace. He hisses a breath out through his teeth as he readjusts his grip in your hair—then he plunges his cock into the waiting heat of your throat.

You gag at the intrusion, but you do your best to open your throat, even as your body jerks as you choke around him. He sets an unforgiving pace, stuffing his cock down your tight, wet throat as you try diligently to take him—fresh tears burning in your eyes from the effort.

He moans as you take everything he gives you, his gaze fixed on the way your lips stretch around him—a slick mess of spit and precum clinging to his shaft and dripping down your chin as he fucks into your mouth. Tears are streaming down your cheeks now, but you don’t tap out—you just dig your fingers into Kento’s thighs, deliriously happy to choke around him if it’s for his pleasure.

“Fuck—sweetheart, you’re so fucking perfect—taking me so well, choking on me—gonna make me f-fucking come—“

Mindless praise spills from Kento’s lips like a prayer as he rocks into the wet heat of your mouth, his pleasure threatening to surge up and over the edge. You can sense how close he is now, and the thrill of it has your aching cunt throbbing again. Kento watches in amazement as you slither your hand between your thighs, rubbing haphazard circles around your clit as you gag on his cock.

You force your eyes open, tears clinging to your lashes as you look up at Kento, desperately wanting to see how he looks right now, so close to coming. You expect him to have his eyes squeezed shut with impending bliss, but you find he’s staring at you, mouth agape, gaze reverent and drunk from pleasure. And the moment your glassy, tear-filled eyes lock with his, he’s gone.

Kento comes with a choked sound, snapping a final deep thrust into your throat before stilling as his hot cum spurts down your throat.

You do your best to swallow it, but you can’t take it all. You pull off with a wet gasp, coughing and spluttering as you try not to choke on the cum coating your mouth and throat. Kento shudders through the aftershocks of his orgasm, transfixed by the sight of you gasping for air, thick strings of saliva and cum running down your chin and connecting your mouth to his cock. That heady mixture of spit and cum drips and splatters on your shirt, your thighs, the floor, as you cough and catch your breath.

Mind still hazy with pleasure, Kento fumbles around to help you. He digs through his drawers and finds a handkerchief. He kneels down, cups your jaw, and begins to wipe your wet mouth and chin. He cleans your face gently, dazed and murmuring praises—before you cut him off with a whine.

“‘M sorry, Kento,” you whimper, looking genuinely disappointed.

“For what, love? You were perfect,” he soothes, confusion knitting his brow. You meet his gaze with a frown.

“I wasted your cum. I really wanted to drink it,” you say glumly, staring at the mess of cum staining your shirt and your thighs.

A beat passes as Kento stares at you with amazement, then he huffs out an incredulous laugh. He pulls you to his chest, shaking with mirth, as he smooths a hand down your back. You melt into him, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s alright. There’s more where that came from.”

You feel his wet, spent cock stir against your thigh.

———

Your frown deepens, and you try to pull yourself into a more dignified position, but your feet slide on the icy concrete. You squeak as you hold tighter to the lamppost, your feet slipping in a frantic sort of dance until you finally find a precarious balance again.

“This is all your fault. You’re the one who bought me these boots,” you glower at him.

“I assumed you knew how to walk, kitten. Forgive me.” His shit-eating grin is illuminated by the light of his phone. You’d like very much to smack it off his face.

Finally, he slips his phone back into his pocket. He extends a hand towards you—the picture of a gentleman, if it weren’t for his self-satisfied smirk. You scowl, but you’re not above accepting his help at this point. You reach a mittened hand out to his, stretching your arm as far as you can, but you can’t quite close the distance without losing your balance. Sylus takes a step closer, about to clasp your hand in his, but then there’s a blur of movement and a grunt of surprise and—

He’s flat on his back, limbs akimbo. He looks up at you from the icy ground, bewildered and disoriented.

You literally point and laugh—howling with mirth, shoulders shaking. Sylus heaves himself into a sitting position, unimpressed, as you double over with the force of your laughter. You’re giddy with delight at the karmic justice that has unfolded; Sylus, however, isn’t so accepting of fate.

There’s a snap, a curl of red mist, and the world suddenly tilts as Sylus pulls you down to the ground with him, his chest to your back and his arms wrapped around your waist. He lands straight on his ass, you in his lap, and you shriek as the two of you slide several feet down the sidewalk, spinning as you go. By the time you’ve skidded to a halt, you’re both laughing and breathless.

“You absolute bastard. I hope you ripped a hole in your fancy pants.”

“You want the whole world getting a peek at my ass? Thought it was for your eyes only, sweetie.”

“Sylus!”

You wriggle and kick in his grip, but he just buries his face into the softness of your hair, still chuckling and trying to regain his composure. He must be a sight—the infamous leader of Onychinus on his ass in the street, giggling like a schoolboy, with his pretty Hunter in his lap. He savors the moment a second longer before dropping a kiss to the top of your head and releasing his grip.

You extricate yourself and find your way back onto your feet, warily testing the grip of your shoes on the sidewalk. Finding it adequate, you extend a hand to Sylus and help pull him up. Neither of you fall this time. You dust off your hands and turn back in the direction you were walking, ready to resume your treacherous journey.

Sylus stops you with a hand at your waist. You turn to look at him, then you’re suddenly scooped up into his arms, bridal-style.

“Um??” you squeak as he shifts, settling you more comfortably in his arms, your head nestled against his chest. Your feet dangle—your useless boots finally freed from their futile task.

Sylus glances down at you, a twinkle in his eye, as he starts walking in the direction of home.

You hear him huff out a desperate, debauched—but also frustrated—breath. You open your eyes to find him, eyes half-lidded and dazed, cheeks glowing with heat, glasses smudged and fogged up and askew on his nose. The glasses must be the great offender, because he rips them off—tossing them aside before drawing you back in, his lips pressing wet, messy kisses down your jaw and neck, until you cry out a “Wait!”

Zayne stops, his momentum only carrying a few more sloppy kisses across your heated skin before he grinds to a halt, panting into the crook of your neck.

“W-What? What’s wrong?” he murmurs, pulling back for a moment, and you feel bad now, seeing how ruined and needy he is—so unlike his usual polished self.

He looks down at you with pleading eyes, trying to be attentive and concerned, trying to hold back the beast that has clawed to the surface of him, but his expression screams: Please please please let me keep going, I need to keep going, I need you, I need you, I—

“Put em back on,” you say, breathless.

He blinks. “Huh?”

You turn and rummage around on his desk, then your hand emerges, triumphant, with the glasses he’d discarded.

You place them back on his nose, and you do a bad job. The glasses are still smudged and even more askew now, and Zayne just stares at you, dumbfounded.

You smile sheepishly, adjusting his glasses until they’re seated correctly.

“…What? I have a thing for the glasses.”

Another beat passes, then Zayne lets out a sound between a laugh and a scoff, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“Pervert.”

“Wh—”

He silences your offended cry with a kiss. Then another. Then another, then another. He nips at the soft skin of your neck, his glasses scraping across your jaw, and you mewl, your fingers twisting in his hair.

Zayne groans, a gravelly, primal sound as he licks the salt from your skin. He bites down on your shoulder, grinning to himself as you whimper between his teeth. The beast has him now—and he’s all too happy to succumb to it.

—

Thus ensued a game of tag that you sorely lost. Not only that, but you had forgotten your own coat in a heap by the door. By the time Kento came to drape it over your shoulders, you were already wet and cold from tussling in the snow with Yuuji. Kento said to go back inside and change, but Yuuji insisted the two of you must make a Nanamin snowman right that instant. Enamored by Yuuji’s sweet smile, you had wrapped your coat over the cold wet of your sweater and endured it until the toddler tuckered himself out.

Now you’re paying for it, curled up into a ball in front of the fireplace, Kento’s pursed lips saying without words: he told you so.

You pointedly ignore him, focusing instead on chasing the chill from your body. Your front feels warmer now—but your poor back and butt still feel cold to the bone. Staying crosslegged on the floor, you shuffle yourself 180 degrees until your back has been rotated towards the fireplace. You shiver, waiting for the warmth to spread through your chilled flesh.

Kento leans against the arm of the couch, his smile softening with fondness. He appraises you with one eyebrow arched, his amber eyes glittering with amusement.

“You’re like a rotisserie chicken, trying to get warm on all sides.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “It works, okay? My butt is cold!”

Kento chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “I could help with that.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. A new kind of warmth prickles your cheeks.

“…Well, if you’re offering,” you say after a moment, opening the blanket wrapped around you to invite him in.

He lifts the blanket off of you instead, and you protest with a startled, “Hey!”. A chill washes over you without your precious extra layer, but only briefly. Kento scoops you up and settles you on his lap, both of you facing the fire, and he rearranges the blanket across the two of you. Then he wraps his arms around your waist, his broad chest pressed to your back and his chin hooked over your shoulder. Cradled in his larger frame, warmth blooms through every inch of you, and you let out a happy sigh as you snuggle further into your personal space heater.

“Better?” he murmurs, nosing into the side of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there.

“Mm, much,” you hum in response. You set your cup down on the hearth so you can warm your hands on him instead—slipping your chilly fingers under the sleeves of his sweater to trace the warm, thick muscles of his forearms.

Kento shivers very slightly, but doesn’t protest—just lets you steal his body heat as much as you please. He nips at your earlobe, then grazes his teeth across the cold shell of your ear, his breath warming you there. A pleasant shudder rolls down your spine, and you relax further into him, feeling boneless and sleepy. The two of you sit like that for a while, a comfortable silence between you as you look into the crackling flames.

“You know, you were right,” Kento breaks the silence, his voice a soft rumble.

“Hm? Oh. I’m always right.” You giggle when Kento pinches your waist. “But what exactly was I right about?”

You feel him smile into your neck.

“Your butt is cold. Like an ice cube on my—”

“Kento!” You smack him, laughing and incredulous. He pulls your cold butt further into his lap, playfully grinding up into it. You wriggle around, trying to escape his grasp, but he just tightens his arms around you, his muscled forearms flexing under your hands as you try to pry them off.

You stare at the ceiling, slightly dizzy, as your husband bustles about in the kitchen. Soon he’s by your bedside with a glass of cool water, a small plate, an apple, and a paring knife.

He guides the glass into your hands, watching approvingly as you take a long sip. Then he picks up the apple and the knife and begins peeling it. You watch him with a smile, your cheeks and lips flushed rosy with fever.

“How did I ever deserve such an attentive husband,” you murmur, your voice like warm gravel. Kento’s hands falter for just a second. He clears his throat and resumes cutting small slices of the fruit. He feels the beginnings of a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

“Hush. You know I love taking care of you.”

Your chuckle is like a soft burble of water, punctuated at the end by a sniff. Kento holds a piece of apple up to your mouth, which you dutifully open for him. He pokes the piece between your lips, his thumb grazing your bottom lip as he withdraws his hand.

“Mm, tastes good,” you hum, low and soft, around the mouthful of fruit. The sound goes straight to Kento’s groin, and he coughs to dislodge the breath that catches in his throat. You peer up at him, concerned.

“You’re not getting sick too, are you?”

“I’m fine,” he assures you, smoothing your hair from your forehead. You catch his wrist and tug, trying to pull him closer, even weak as you are in this state. He leans forward to humor you. You scrutinize him with eyes soft and glassy from fever.

“You’re flushed, Kento. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?” you worry, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. He lets out a soft sigh at the contact, his eyes fluttering for a moment.

“I’m not sick, sweetheart. Just guilty of loving my wife too much,” Kento murmurs. He pulls your hand from his forehead to place a soft kiss to your palm. You shudder at the tender brush of his lips on your skin, made extra sensitive from fatigue and fever.

“Do you love her enough to give her a kiss, even though she’s full of germs?” you wheedle, eyes crinkling at the edges as you smile at him. He chuckles as he laces his fingers with yours.

“I love her enough to give her much more than a kiss,” he smirks. You shiver again, this time not from fever, and you clench your thighs together as Nanami traces the softness of your bottom lip with his thumb. You let out a breathy sigh as he noses into your cheek before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“But, as enticing as you are, you need your rest, love.”

You pout, letting out a disappointed sound as Kento pulls back. His gaze is soft but firm.

“Don’t whine. Get well first, then I’ll lavish you with all my saved up affection. I promise,” he says, his voice hushed, as he presses a final kiss to the top of your head.

You chew your lip before giving him a reluctant nod. You snuggle back under the covers, your eyes slipping shut. You’re filled with the determination to heal now, if you’re to get what you want out of your husband.

Kento watches you as your breathing evens out, your brow relaxing as a feverish sleep pulls you under once again. He sits there for a while, just admiring you—the way your hair splays out on the pillow, your warm cheek smushed so cutely against it, your lips parted as a soft, sleepy moan escapes you.

“Oh, we’ve got oranges! Lemme get one for you,” he says brightly, leaping up to fetch one. He swipes one from the fruit bowl and presents it proudly to you, arm outstretched.

“What if I said I don’t feel like peeling it?” you grin, tilting your head at him.

Without missing a beat, Yuuji says, “Then I’ll peel it for you! I can cut it, juice it—I can even sauté it. Whatever you want, baby.” Yuuji tosses the fruit up in the air and catches it with ease before flashing you a bright smile.

“Aw, thank you, baby,” you laugh. You pull him in by the waist so you can press sweet kisses all over his cheeks.

Yuuji happily peels the orange for you as you watch him with a smile. He manages to get the peel off in one long, continuous piece, which he dangles for you proudly. He splits the orange in half and gives you the larger half. You eat the fruit together, getting sticky sweet juice all over your fingers.

🍊 Megumi

“You know what I’m in the mood for?” you prompt, peering at Megumi from the other side of the couch. You try not to look like you’re up to something.

Megumi glances up from his phone to look at you. You have the vague sense that he’s clocked you, but if he has, his expression betrays nothing. “What?”

“An orange.” You blink at him expectantly.

“….Okay,” he says after a beat, “Then have an orange. You bought some yesterday, didn’t you?”

“I did,” you sigh dramatically, letting your eyes close as you sag against the cushions of the couch. “But I don’t feel like peeling one.”

You wait for Megumi’s response as you feign laziness, your eyes still shut. When nothing comes, you crack an eye open to find he’s not even looking at you, just scrolling through his phone again. You scoff loudly to let him know you’re very offended at being ignored.

“If you want something, you gotta use your words,” he says without looking up.

You stick your bottom lip out in a pout. “You’re no fun, ‘gumi.”

He glances over at you, one eyebrow raised, his expression otherwise unchanging.

“…Fine,” you relent, softening your pout to a beseeching look. “Will you peel an orange for me, please?”

He looks at you a second longer before exhaling and pushing himself off the couch. “Was that so hard?” he hums, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

You stick your tongue out at him, and he retaliates by ruffling your hair as he passes you on his way to the kitchen. He grabs an orange from the fridge before plopping back down next to you.

“Thanks, ‘gumi,” you grin, feeling pleased with yourself. You snuggle up against him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“So spoiled,” he mumbles as he starts peeling, his ears turning a faint shade of pink.

Megumi carefully pulls the peel away from the fruit, saving the bottom piece for the orange to rest on. He pulls out the fibrous middle and gently parts the segments before handing it to you to eat. He watches silently as you enjoy your snack, and he lets you poke the occasional piece between his lips as repayment for his services.

🍊 Kento

“Honey, I’m hungry,” you hum, surreptitiously glancing over at your husband before looking back at your phone.

Kento looks up from his book and checks his watch with a flick of his wrist. “It’s only four, but I can start dinner now. I bought steak and potatoes yesterday. And I can toss together a quick salad too. How does that sound, sweetheart?” he offers, rising from his armchair and stretching his arms.

Damn, it sounds delicious. But you’re on a mission to get him to peel an orange, so you have to decline.

“I don’t know, I kind of want something lighter,” you hedge, trying not to give yourself away with your expression.

Kento raises an eyebrow at you as he leans against the armrest of his chair. He makes a soft, pensive sound as he thinks. “Then how about I go pick something up from the bakery down the street? I can get you a casse-croute or a pastry to tide you over until dinner.”

You bite your lip, trying not to smile. Kento’s so sweet, you can’t help but feel delight fizz up in you, even if you’re trying to steer him in a different direction.

“I dunno, I think I just want, like, a snack,” you say, your voice wavering with the giggles you’re fighting to contain.

Kento’s expression shifts, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, and you know you’ve been caught. You flatten your lips into a line as you try to hold back your grin. He crosses his arms over his chest as a wry smile pulls at his lips.

“If you already know what you want to eat, why don’t you go ahead and tell me, my love. No need for games,” he says, his expression caught between fond and stern.

“…Can you peel me an orange?” you ask sheepishly, giving him an apologetic grin.

He lets out a soft sigh as he pushes off from the armrest. He approaches where you’re curled up on the couch and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Of course I can.”

Kento tests each orange in the fridge with a gentle squeeze to find the one that’s perfectly ripe. He cuts it into precise, even slices and brings it to you on a little plate. He returns to his book, but he watches you over the edge of the pages, a barely-there, satisfied smile on his lips as you enjoy the fruit.

🍊 Satoru

“Y’know what I’m craving right now?” you prompt, your eyes flitting over to Satoru lazing on the couch. He perks up immediately, a stupid grin spreading across his face.

“My di—”

“An orange,” you interrupt him, your expression deadpan. He pouts for a moment, lolling his head back against the cushions, but he brightens again as an idea strikes him. He leans over to rustle through a plastic bag full of convenience store snacks, and he emerges with a bright package of fruity candy.

“Here, I have some orange gummies! Don’t confuse them with the mango ones though,” he says, tossing it to you. You catch the package on instinct, but you shake your head as you set it down on the coffee table.

“I want a real orange, Satoru. Y’know, the fruit. With nutrients. I bought a couple yesterday.”

“Ah, I ate those already.”

You blink at him, your eyebrow twitching. Sensing your displeasure, Satoru throws his hands up in a placating gesture.

“In my defense, you didn’t tell me they were yours.”

“…Since when do you eat anything other than sweets?” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“They were sweet,” he says wistfully. Your grimace deepens, and he laughs.

“Relax, baby. I’ll replace them. I’m ordering some right now,” he says, tapping away at his phone as he places the delivery order.

Twenty minutes later, Satoru hops up to answer the door and returns with a paper bag. He drops two enormous, beautiful oranges into your lap, each one wrapped in delicate foam netting. The stickers on the fruit are black and gold, which you imagine signals their luxury quality. You turn an orange over in your hand, amazed.

“This is the fanciest orange I’ve ever seen. How much did this cost?”

“I dunno, I didn’t check. I just got the best looking ones,” Satoru says idly, tearing into a package of cookies he ordered for himself and popping one in his mouth.

“Well, thank you.” You extend the orange in his direction. “Will you peel it for me, ‘toru?”

Satoru grins and swallows the food in his mouth. “Sure. Anything for you, baby.” He dusts the crumbs from his hands and grabs the orange from you. “Plus, I wouldn’t want you tiring out those pretty little hands peeling fruit. Not when they can be put to much better use,” he says with an exaggerated wink. He bursts into laughter when you shove him.

Satoru pulls back the peel in a bizarre shape with five strange appendages. You eventually realize he’s made it into the vague shape of a man. It’s cute for a second, until he shimmies the fruit out while leaving the fibrous white middle dangling between the legs of the orange peel man. He laughs heartily at his attempt at a dick joke. You groan and snatch your orange back from him, and he immediately whines that he wants some.

So you let him of course, because when have you ever been able to deny him anything. You lay back on the bed and let him pull off your clothes before settling himself between your legs. He grins up at you from between your thighs as he flattens his tongue against you, wet and hot as he slides it through your folds. He laughs, his eyes gleaming with delight when you let out a weak, whimpering sound. Then he begins his work in earnest.

He eats you out like he’s starving, like you’re truly delicious, like he wants to devour you whole. He loses himself in it, tasting you for his own pleasure as much as yours, his hips rutting his hard-on against the bed. And when you finally come in his mouth, he moans and praises you as he swallows you down.

Part of him wants to give you time to recover, but he really can’t hold back for another second with his cock so hard and leaking in his pants. He begs you to let him put it in your sloppy little cunt.

“Please baby, lemme feel you. So wet and tight just f’ me. I know you want this cock t’ fill you up. Say you want it, baby.”

And even though you’re still sensitive and trembling, you say it, because you love the way he fills you. You both groan as he pushes in, inch by inch, until he bottoms out inside you—the stretch of him warm and delicious. Then he throws your leg over his shoulder, pushes your thigh to your chest, and starts fucking into you at a dizzying pace. He whines and moans, praise spilling from his lips as you take everything he gives you.

“Fuck, you take me so well, baby. Lettin’ me stretch that pretty little pussy—such a good fuckin’ girl for me. Gonna fuck you full of my cum if you keep suckin’ me in like that.”

He fucks you until you’re babbling and gasping, and he lets out a low, desperate groan when you come again, clamping down impossibly tight on his cock. He never lets up his pace, chasing his own pleasure as you shudder through your orgasm. He strokes into you with increasingly wet, obscene slaps each time his hips connect with yours.

You can tell he’s about to come when his eyebrows scrunch together, his breath starts shuddering, his thrusts turn sloppy and erratic. So you pull him in for a kiss, and you let him gasp and moan into your mouth as his hips stutter one final time before he empties himself inside you. He gives you everything he has, then he collapses against you. He murmurs mindless praise into the crook of your neck as he relaxes against you, his mouth pressing wet, sloppy kisses over your heated skin.

“Mm, I filled you up good, huh, pretty baby? Y’re so perfect, y’know that? Took my cock so good, like you were made for it. Could fill you up every day just like that.”

Once you’ve both caught your breath, he slowly pulls his spent cock out of you, a dribble of his cum leaking from your aching entrance. He definitely makes some stupid pun about a cream-filled donut as he watches his cum drip out of you. He cackles when you groan and weakly try to swat him away. He fetches a wet cloth and wipes you down, tender and loving, making sure to clean you thoroughly. His gentle touch after your strenuous activities nearly lulls you to sleep.

But right as you’re about to tip over the edge into a blissful sleep, you hear a comically loud crunching sound next to you. You crack one eye open to see Gojo happily eating the pastry you brought him—and getting crumbs all over the damn bed.

—