It’s funny how their sparring matches go. Despite their seemingly equal, endless stamina, they both get more pent up and sweaty by the end, with a near insatiable, carnal hunger. Thana points out his raging hard-on with some cheesy porno line (he can’t help it; it’s what good fights do to him…), he challenges them to do something about it with an equally cheesy quip of his own in turn (it’s what fights with them do…), and it escalates to them having their hands on each other, tearing the other’s clothes off.
Kogami has Thana pinned against a vacant locker room wall by the wrists under a single hand. He draws away from their seedy kisses to redirect his own towards their jaw and neck where he hungrily bites and suckles, intent on leaving velvety marks for the entire office to see. Already, those spots have gone pink and red, marred with his teeth marks.
Before he can descend to give their breasts this same treatment, they slip right from under him, grabbing him by the waist to shift their positions so his back is against the wall.
“Shit—“ he curses, and his breath stutters when he feels their fingers wrap tight around his arousal coated hard, throbbing cock.
“Babe, I need to fuck you,” He growls, jutting his hips up as if emphasizing so.
He whines with a huff when they push his hand away as he tries to sneak it between their legs — but his short lived protests come to a screeching halt when they lower to their knees and languish his cock with a drawn out lick.
Oh. He’s actually very okay with this.
He bears his back against the wall, maintaining as much control as he can muster, keeping his glassy, lust filled gray eyes fixed on them as they take his tip into their mouth, and descend on his full length, swirling their tongue on every throbbing vein.
He laces his fingers into their white hair, biting back moans when they lock their lips and bob on his cock.
He’s only a little sorry for the way he grips their hair harder when they bring him further into their throat.
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Kogami always knows what to expect when Thana shoots him with a ‘come over’ text, and once he’s divested himself of his jacket at their door, they direct him to their couch where they shove him down, straddle him, and initiate a make out session.
He’s all for it, making contented sounds, resting his hands at their waist. “You’re such an animal.”
Not that he’s any better, his pants having gotten far too uncomfortably tight for him in under five minutes of being there.
His blood rushes exactly where they both want it to as Thana touches him in a way that spells out trouble; pushing him around, hands on his chest. He growls against their mouth, and glides his hands along their sides. He situates his fingers at their pants zipper, but protests against their lips when they draw away.
“Is something wr—“ —ong, he immediately thinks, but,
❛ touch yourself for me . ❜ @vtriol demands.
Those words linger in the air, and in his lustful daze, he stares at them with blushing bewilderment.
He pouts once he’s fully processed it.
“I want to touch you.”
But they remain firm with their demand, smacking his hands away when he tries to undress them himself.
He gets the message; and with a lopsided (begrudging) grin, he slips his pants off of himself, sighing with relief as the cool air hits his hot, bare skin. As usual, he’s got no boxers or briefs.
His flushed, hard cock curves in slight, a bead of precum settled at the tip.
He wants to give it to them; the thought alone makes his cock twitch.
But it’s not what they want right now, and he’s a good boy, so he’ll take orders and behave.
“You’re so mean,” he sighs out, wrapping his fingers around himself to start off with languid, but tight strokes. He spreads his legs apart further and rest his head back against one of their cushions. His breath stutters as he’s careful to maintain this pace, intent on giving them a show. This is absolutely not fair.
Their word goes with him.
“Fuck—“
It keeps him going: imagining them mounted and bouncing on him, squeezing his cock inside them, biting his neck bloody, getting religious. His hands don’t quite compare, his imagination can only go so far; and they know it.
They really like seeing this debauched side of him that they alone remain responsible for.
And under their evil, blood red eyes, he unravels himself, rocking his hips with his strokes, his slack jawed breath quickening, doing little to stifle the way he needily moans their name.
