#tw.caged

Your fingers caress across his lips, soft and pink from the flurried kisses passed between you since the door to your bedroom closed. His tongue meets the pads, reminiscent of how it had an hour prior when you’d fed the sugared gummy into his pretty mouth. Your now salt replaces then herbal sweet, but he remains eager, bloodshot eyes half hidden as his tongue meets the web of your fore and middle.

“Easy.”

Kazutora whines pretty, letting you lower him back down into the fluff of your bed. It’s familiar now, so many nights spent in comfort and pleasure between the sheets and duvet- face pressed into the mattress. Into your skin. Against you. Nose buried somewhere between pulse and bone, where your scent comes through the strongest. And he can lose himself a little more.

His hips move of their own accord and he whines again, low and breathy.

“Focus, Tora. Look at me.”

You lean close, the glint of his chain around your neck flashing before his eyes before they find yours. He melts a little further into the cotton below him, a plea on the tip of his tongue for you to taste as you kiss him again, leaving his head to spin at the myriad sensations his brain has to make sense of. Somehow.

His hair comes loose out of its half-bun at your tug, your hands free to roam and grip, when and where you want. Where you want him.

“Did you enjoy dinner?”

Don’t stare at him like that. So intently. He’ll fall apart, he knows it too well.

“Yeah, it was good.”

Your hands trail over his outer layer, fingertips kneading light into his chest. Lower. Lower. Meeting the swell of his full stomach.

“I’m glad you liked it. It took me a while to find that recipe. Was it worth it?”

“Uhn… uh-huh.” It’s getting more and more difficult to keep his thoughts in line, pressure building inside sleek black confines. It’s not the jingle of his earring that keeps him held above the surface before he drowns completely. “I’d eat it again.”

“I’ll save that one then. Let’s get you undressed, yeah?”

“Mm.”

That’s all the sound he can get his vocal cords to make, thighs tense in hopeful anticipation. It’s only been through the day that he’s had to live with the constant reminder of your hold on him. Wandering the XJ Land sales floor with it ever present in his mind.

The collar of your sweater falls forward and out tumbles the little key that locked him snug this morning, hanging from his chain, and he can’t help but moan.

“Kazutora.” Your voice yolks him up as well as your fingers dug into his collar would, pulled to sudden alertness, bright eyes blinking up at your little frown. “Answer me.”

His thighs fall open, inviting you the way his foggy mind tells him you’ll like- swallowing thick and attending to his breath.

“Yes, please.”

Your smile returns, hand proffered to help him to shaky feet, then your weight in turn.

“I’ve barely done anything to you, Tora. You sure you’re alright?”

He thinks to how far his balls are pulled away from his body -how hard he should be- and isn’t sure what constitutes ‘alright’ for a moment, a high completely separate from the one you fed him influencing the need in the depths of his stomach.

He craves so much of you. Your taste. Your touch. Your attention. Your praise. That look you give him when he’s done well for you.

“Please. Fuck, I’m alright, just… Fuck-”

His heart seizes. He needs so much. Too much to communicate with any hope of accuracy, swallowed whole by foreign emotions he didn’t fully comprehend until he knew you.

“Is it too much, baby?” Your hand snakes down, cupping the neat package of him through unforgiving denim. “You’ll be out in a sec, okay love?”

Love…

He’s getting used to it. Giving and taking and wanting. Being able to want and receive. He never thought it would feel quite like this. Like you make it feel. How your love fills his chest ‘til he’s both drowning in its ocean and soaring through bright, open skies.

How his stomach feels like a bottomless pit when he goes without it for too long.

Without you on long days. Longer nights.

He didn’t think living with love meant constant hunger.

“I’m fine,” he assures, covering your hand with his own so you grip him that much tighter- own him that much more. “Just feels good to be yours.”

You blink up at him through dim and moonlight, lashes fluttering in shock, preceding a long breath through your nose as you push his cardigan off one shoulder. “You are, Kazutora. Entirely. It makes you this happy?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t say how he wants so badly to fall to his knees and bury himself in your cunt. For you to grind down on his face until you meet a blissful end on his tongue, lapping up all you would give him. He doesn’t say it but you feel his cock pulse beneath your hand at the thought.

“You’re really getting off on this. That’s adorable, Tora. It’s only been a day and you’re- you’re really so pretty, aren’t you, baby?”

“You don’t have to say it like that…”

“And you’re pretty when you pout, too.”

Said pout deepens to a near scowl, his gaze turned away, and face feeling like it burst into flames. All over your incessant teasing.

He finds himself immediately redirected back, face-to-face and held by your fingers on his chin.

“No one said you could look away from me, Kazutora.” There’s crystal light shining around the edges of his eyes, gloss over liquid gold at the prospect of your upset. “Be good for me, sweetheart.”

“‘M trying.”

His fingers dig into your waist to speak true his efforts, pressing his deepest intentions for you to pick up on. He thinks he communicates them well when your palm connects soft to his cheek, thumb ghosting over the beauty mark you love on him so much. Enough to toe up and kiss, plush and sweet. Gentle with him until you’re not.

He’d meet you there either way.

“C’mere, by the window, ‘kay?”

He follows your lead, guiding hands that leave him bathing under the form of the waxing gibbous hung overhead as you linger in his shadow.

The night moves beneath your apartment’s linen-filled balcony and his cardigan comes the rest of the way off, your tending aimed next at the beige tee he chose tonight, noting the dots of sweat collected within the cotton- the warming mix of his cologne, ginger, citrus, and woods that clings to the fabric.

You circle to his front, dipping and tracing each mark of definition and prominence you find on your way, “Doing so well, Tora. You wanna cum tonight?”

“Yes, please.”

His immediate answer; eagerness he can’t seem to shake no matter how many times you bring him into your bed, leaves you smiling, responding to his spark with fire.

You turn your back, hair held out of the way for him to access your nape, and the key to his freedom tonight.

“Take it off for me, Tora.”

Reverence. He thinks that’s what he feels as his breath fans hot over your exposed skin. His lips press to the delicate column of your throat, fingers working the clasp loose- metal sent to cascade into your waiting palm.

Your smile stays soft as you turn back ‘round to face him, fingers running through his black and gold to kiss him tender. Layers flay beneath the press of your tongue on his, arms looping his tatted neck as he does your clothed back, the need to feel you more leading to bunched cable knit between his fists. But in your care, patience reigns supreme. You, and your plushy iron grip, are undeniable, even as it falls away off his shoulders, tits running the length of his torso in your eased slide down to the floor.

His belt comes undone under your nimble fingers, button popped and zipper teeth opening, your shining eyes holding his all the while until the outline of his caged cock comes into view.

“Oooh, Tora honey. Look at you.”

Or rather, at the sizable stain of pre that darkens the fabric still hiding him away. Regardless, he whimpers, doing his best to simply… keep still. Exist without coming apart at the seams.

Your finger marks the oblong splotch, pulling back sticky with his flavor that lands on your tongue not a second later.

Your own predator rumbles.

“Delicious. You’ve been so good, baby.” Whether he can do more than whimper as he looks down at your face, obscured by the bulge of cock and cage both, you don’t know. But it doesn’t stop you from pressing further into his thighs, unwrapping him so agonizingly slow. “You like being pent up, Kazutora?”

His balls ache and the squeeze around his cock is too much to ignore anymore with you kneeling before him, but he nods all the same, a breathy ‘yes’ pulled from the depths of his chest.

You answer with a purr from yours, lips fleetingly pressed to the spot on his boxer briefs before those too go, pulled off along with his jeans in one fell swoop.

The urge to cover himself lingers, hands flexing with the denied itch he knows he cannot scratch with you marveling at him stuffed inside the encompassing plastic, crooning over how his cute cock slit tries it’s best to reach past such unrelenting hold. You pet over those exposed nerves and his whole cage jumps. He gasps; you giggle.

“Stay just like this, I’ll be right back, okay?”

His hips receive a reassuring squeeze before you walk off behind him and he is left to stare out the slider doors, anticipation spiking beneath his skin with the time he now has to be observant.

Fluffy pillows and blankets line the usually bare patio floor, all hidden away behind the solid partition that he has no doubt will separate you from the rest of the world as you—

“Did you notice?” His head whips around to find you returned, a bowl and washcloth balanced on your hip. Cleanup, he supposes. “You don’t think it’s too cold, do you?”

“Not with you around,” he jokes, though it comes out more sincere with how dry his throat is and he remembers that swallowing is a thing. “It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah?” Brisk air flows over his skin, the door sliding open under your force. You step outside, into the night, and he can’t help but be reminded of the rapture that is you. All of you. For all of him. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

He is powerless to your summons.

One solid step plants him by your side, your dried laundry curtaining his exposure well from prying eyes. He hadn’t noticed before but most of your clothes are gone as well, only a tank top and panties left to keep you hidden away, and not doing a very good job of it.

Don’t keep me waiting.

But what if he can’t wait either?

“Gonna touch you,” he mutters, warning given for you to intercept if need be. But you don’t. You let his palm rest against the small of your back. Let him squeeze the sides of your right tit over the top, so your pert nipple stands vulnerable to his enveloping lips. The fabric soaks through with his spit, clinging to you like a second skin when he pulls away to switch sides. His name in your sigh kicks up a breeze, sheets fluttering around you- teasing peaks provided to the undeserving outside world.

“Lay down with me, baby.”

Lay he does, cradling your precious body down against his all the while, and keeping you held tight as he nestles into your side. The straps of your tank hang off your shoulders by his hands, fully revealing your pillowy chest to the streak of lips and tongue. A stark contrast to his cage resting hard on the top of your thigh, whines pulling from within Tora’s occupied mouth, latched to your nipple once more.

His hands roam everywhere he can reach: breasts, ribs, sides, hips, ass, thighs. Kneading, groping, touching, feeling- until all that’s left to him is the eternal warmth that hides beneath your panties.

His fingers run the waistband, a silent request to touch more. Consume more. Pull more from you for the sake of your needs combined.

“Please.”

Permission. Permission. Permission.

All he needs is your permission while your chest labors under heavy breaths and the swirling in your gut. You need and want in the way your lover does, beyond sense. Reason. Words spoken in the language of skin and sweat and blood; animal answering animal.

“Do it. Touch me, Tora. You can.”

He dips under before you can even finish, leaving you to squeak your last syllables as you throw your calf over his legs- make room for him to access the dripping mess of your cunt.

He glides through your silken folds, dipping into free flow, spreading the petals of your pussy open until your clit twitches for attention- a beck and call he can’t deny. Not with the soft sounds of your pleasure egging him on and your nails digging into his bicep.

He finds the head of your bud with practiced ease, teasing the hood just behind where she peeks through, and your hips stutter.

It won’t take much to get you off the first time. And maybe not the second either if he should be so lucky.

“Just like that, baby. Just like that. Doin’ so good.”

Your pulse flutters through your tit, the other shaking without the support of his cheek just as the rest of your body does the closer you creep to completion. Until the creep becomes a race, liquid heat burning through your veins, and swallowing you whole beneath waves of scorch and singe that have your hips rolling against Kazutora’s palm.

And just as he thought, from smouldering embers, you blaze with his fanned attentions, second orgasm blanketing satisfaction and ash over his earth when your thighs crush his fingers in between their plush.

You still whine when he pulls himself free, a kiss placed to your warm cheek before his fingers pop into his mouth, tongue lapping up every trace of you that he can. His head falls light, resting on your chest as he savors the taste of your pleasure- attempts to slake the hunger roiling inside him, if only just a little.

Your cum tastes like freedom.

“Your turn, Tora.”

You push. He pulls. A tremor shakes his foundation when his back meets fluff and cushion, warmed from your residual heat below, and above with you sat on his thighs.

“You ready?”

He finds the corners of the pillow underneath his head- holds them for dear life as the key comes back into view. His thighs tense. His mind melts. The world could crash and crumble around you and he doesn’t think he’d give the slightest damn with you in reach.

“Ready.” Slot, twist, click, and relief. You’re careful with him, folding the cage’s ring away and his balls waste no time in settling back into your hand; full, achy, and sensitive. So, so sensitive as you roll them between your fingers.

“Don’t tease me. Please, I-”

Your massage veers harsh, just for a second, but that’s all it takes to cut him short, words garbled between a gasp and a cry; an arch forward and a curl away.

“You what, Kazutora?” And now you deign to ease his cock free, every twist and tug aided by precum and lube. “What is it? What were you gonna tell me?”

What was he going to tell you? He can’t seem to recall with the ridge of his cock gliding around inside smooth plastic. Not with the way his cock descends to full length and your devious hand pumps his shaft the more he fills out. Not with his full focus dedicated towards bringing air in and out of his lungs.

“Lookit how wet your cock is, baby,” you coo, dripping slick down his leg. You’re far, far too empty, and your pussy reminds you furiously with each ticking second. “But is it really yours, Tora?”

His head sits snug in the cage, your fingers poised to give him what he wants, what he’s been dying for since you turned the key this morning before he left for work. And you would prolong it against the need that consumes you both, if only to see him writhe beneath you as you lean so your nipples press against his sweating chest.

“Whose cock is it, Kazutora?”

“Needta cum- Please-”

“That doesn’t answer my question, love. Who does this cock belong to?”

His head feels light, cheeks engulfed in flame, knowing the answer in his soul. In the brand you etched into it. Just like every other part of his existence-

“It’s yours,” he pants, need glowing bright in his golden eyes. He can’t blink. Can’t look away. “This cock is yours.”

You smile in his face, wide and wicked, and for a second he thinks he got it wrong- that the words lined up in his head came out as scrambled as his insides are.

Your excitement eats you alive; you nearly knock over the thermos you kept tucked in the corner. Nearly slosh half the warm water outside of the bowl you set to the side.

“That’s right. It’s mine, Tora, just like you.”

There’s glitter in your eyes as you grip his shaft, steadying his bob, twitch, and sway to pull the cage off his tip and Kazutora doesn’t remember the wind feeling quite so cold. Goosebumps and more goosebumps break out along his skin, shivers sent through his whole system when you pull back his foreskin to get a good look at him.

“So pretty-”

He is. Deep pink colors his cockhead. The veins you know by heart stand pronounced as ever. Pre leaks out the tip like it’s crying for you before you dab it away with the soaked washcloth.

“And who would I be if I didn’t take proper care of what’s mine when it’s as pretty as this?”

If you meant for him to answer, he thinks you must be the cruelest person on earth when you circle the damp cloth around his bare tip, stomach flexing as he wails, tears falling past his long lashes.

His hips buck when you jerk him, every fiber an agony he doesn’t know how to bear without squirming under your weight.

Your tendrils unfurl as he hiccups, begging begging begging for mercy. Lenience. Anything that will cease the torment of not being inside you. Not being able to cum when he wants to so desperately. ‘Wait’ you’d said. ‘Inside me’ you’d said. Endure- that’s what you command of him. He just wants to make you happy.

“Kazutora.” He’d never thought he’d love the sound of his name so much when you say it, your fingers pushing his sweat-drenched hair away from his face. “You did so good for me. Keep being good, alright?”

Your hand, blessed and soft, wraps around his base. He doesn’t dare move. Dare breathe. Just places his hands on your hips like you’re the one a hair’s width from shattering.

“I will.”

It’s his promise as you swallow him in his entirety ‘til your clit drags tack through his happy trail.

“That’s my good boy. Always-” Finally, you begin to crack, gasping for air to fill your molten lungs as you grind in his lap. “Always so good for me. Oh, fuck, Tora!”

He wishes he had the words to say how beautiful you look with the moon and stars shimmering on your skin. How all he wants in life is moments like this with you again, and again, and again until time’s end. Maybe he will, when you lie against his side once more, exhaustion blending you together to a puddle of satisfied bliss. Maybe he will when your cunt flutters around his cock and stars collide and you stand together at the edge of the universe you live in. Or maybe he’ll say it in the way he can right now- with hands supporting your ribs and thumbs cupping the underside of your bouncing tits.

Maybe words will never be enough when he exists to make you happy. Bring you joy. Maybe this is the only way.

Or maybe he’s an idiot and none of it matters if he doesn’t share in that paradise lost and found with you.

“Cum, Tora. You better fucking -mnh!- cum with me. Right now!”

Death would suit him better than denial of you.

His chemistry sparks, nuclear reaction within synapses that have him bolting up to hug you against his chest- waves rolling to crash against your shore, moving silt and and stone and earth. He moves like Mother Nature tells him, where all life comes from and one day returns to. But in the in between, that’s where you find your joint ends.

With mouth against mouth to share breath. Cheek-to-cheek to mix tears.

“Gonna love you forever,” he pants, heavy and wet against your collarbones, “‘cause I’m yours.”

You sigh, smile tired as you hold the back of his head, and blink up at the moon watching over you.