#satoshichi

Satoru’s breath is heavy. The air that pushes from his lips bordering on literal steam as it puffs into the crook of Shichiro’s neck. The sound of it low and rhythmic, matching the low smack of flesh meeting flesh. Hips driving into ass to create a low groan that breaks through.

With a smile, his mouth curls into a grin and moves towards his partner’s skin, edging for a kiss to the throat that never comes while he drives further in. Every part of him watching in amusement as the man wrapped inside his forceful hold, shudders under his touch. His arms wobbling under the pressure of his pleasure, causing Satoru to hum.

“Aw, barely been at this and you’re already whimpering like a little pup.”

His voice is low and chastising. The desire to tease higher on his list of things to inflict as his fingers imbed themselves into Shichiro’s roots to roughly yank and pull back his head, smirking when their eyes finally meet.

“Thought you were tougher than that, Chiro.”

In response, Shichiro grits his teeth, a low growl emitting from his throat that only drives Satoru to pull away his hips and piston back. The rough sensation only making it harder for him to think of a comeback.

Because now that his mind is far focused on the feeling of Satoru’s cock wedged deeply in his ass, he can’t really think straight. Not when there’s this pressure building inside of him; the steady flow of movement practically ripping him apart as he wobbles on sore hands and knees against the floor.

So, instead he takes it. The pounding of Satoru’s cock; the teasing tone of his annoyingly smug voice; the pain of knowing he’ll inevitably lose this round and never hear the end of it. He takes all of it begrudgingly, knowing that, despite wanting to argue —to defy and conquer the man he often seeks to pick fights with— he just has to relent for once. To give into his more human desires in the form of groan that just makes Satoru laugh.

“So noisy,” he teases. “Might have to muzzle you next time, huh?”

Again, Shichiro just growls, not really helping his case. Especially not after Satoru’s hands start to roam to new places including his own cock to gently stroke and make him twitch. A shiver of motion running through his spine that has the man wrapped roughly around him starts to pick up the pace. Both his cock and hands moving in tandem to render Shichiro practically useless.

Panting loudly, his fingers dig into the floor beneath him, itching to hold onto something as he’s stimulated to all hell. Every part of his body allowing that same pressure to build without protest as Satoru works him up, muttering words of humiliation in his ear —telling him what a pathetic mess he is, until Shichiro’s coming in the man’s hand. His breath absolutely ragged as his head dips down and his eyes close, everything becoming too much as Satoru refuses to stop.

At which point, his gaze gets a little hazy. Alongside his emptying mind, all he feels is the subtle pain of continued pleasure. The sensation bordering the exit of enjoyment as Satoru continues to have his fill, pushing harder and faster while his hand moves back to Shichiro’s hair for support —the other digging his fingers into his hip.

“Fuck, Toru, I—“

Satoru huffs, his hips alternating positions until he feels himself teetering on the edge, his body leaning forward to engulf his partner. “Just be a good boy for me, yeah? Just —shit— just for a sec.”