kai doesn’t like to call himself a gamer

you think this is particularly funny because when he’s not doing idol things, school work, or spending time with you, he’s, well, gaming

he might not be a gamer in the traditional sense; he doesn’t stream on twitch, and shooters just aren’t really his thing

but when he’s really into something, whether it be a mobile game that he can play on the go, or a story-driven rpg that takes up way too much space on the boys’ shared playstation 5, he’s so fucking cute it’s almost unbearable

he’s not competitive at all, which just makes it better. it means that he never ends a session in a rage, and hardly ever lets a loss impact his mood

he’s the perfect little gamer boyfriend with all of the perks– a rainbow keyboard, headphones shaped like cat ears, a desk just tall enough for you to fit under– and none of the complications

so, as much as you like actually doing activities with him, you don’t mind sitting across the room on his bed, phone in hand, while he clicks away on his keyboard, one ear peeking out of his headphones just incase you call for him

if you ever want him to stop playing, he will. the game will be shut down in seconds, and he’ll swivel around in his chair, attention fully focused on you

you never ask him to stop, though. not when the alternative is much more entertaining

he doesn’t even flinch when you walk over to him, slow, before dropping to your knees by his side. he merely scoots the chair back a bit to make room for you, and you take the opportunity to crawl under his desk

he’s tall, legs always sort of in the way, but you’ve learned to work around them by now. and this is where he’s good also, where he’s the best boyfriend you could ever ask for; he never expects anything from you

if you yearn to be close, to merely sit with your chin on his knee as he plays his game, then he’s fine with that. he’ll sneak a hand down every now and then to sweep long fingers through your hair, or boop your nose with his thumb

the fact that he’s just so content to be near you however you’ll let him is so– you’ve never had anything like it before. never had someone like him. you find that his kindness makes you more eager to please him

when he’s at the dorm, he’s either wearing sweats or boxers. both are easy access, and you find you don’t prefer one over the other. the boxers are nice because of the space his cock takes up inside of them when he’s totally hard, but the sweatpants are just as mouthwatering, especially when he’s so turned on he begins leaking through them

if you want to get him hard quick, it’s easy enough to do so. mouthing along the fabric just over his clothed cock, or sweeping your thumb along the head has him squirming beneath your touch in no time. he won’t ask; never does, but he doesn’t need to

when he’s hard just from gentle, lingering swipes of your fingers, or hot breaths against his cock, you carefully tug him out of his clothes, fabric scrunching up beneath his length

you always start with your hand, swiping your tongue along your palm to slick it up. the way you twist your wrist on each upstroke has him breathing harder, abdomen flexing, thighs twitching

he is quiet at the start, but it never lasts long. neither does his focus

the moment you brace up, up on your knees, one hand pressed against his thigh for balance as you slowly take his cock between your lips, tongue dipping into the slit to gather precome, to taste. 

he sighs prettily. you hear the occasional click of his keyboard as he attempts to multitask, but then you wrap your hand around the base of his length and slide down as far as your throat allows, and he grunts, both hands in your hair in an instant

they just rest there, at the top of your head, strands sliding through his long fingers. he doesn’t pull; doesn’t push you further than you’re ready to go, or demand anything of you

but when you reach up, tapping his knuckles twice, a silent, “go ahead, i want you to,” he’s quick to appease

his right hand tightens in your hair, hard enough that your scalp stings, while his left gently cups your jaw. he tilts your face to the side as much as he can with his cock still in your mouth, subtly, this way and that. testing the waters

and then, then, he pulls

you gasp, his grip tight enough, and strong enough, to have you sliding all the way off of his cock

he taps the head of his cock against your lips, and your mouth falls open, willing, waiting. he lets out a shuddery breath, and you can’t quite see his face from where you are, but you know his eyes must be closed

his right hand gives a great twist, hair pulled taut between his fingers, and then he pushes you down, down, onto his cock. he doesn’t stop when you sputter, doesn’t let up when you gag. he holds you there for a second, two, three, and then lets you up to collect yourself

you have a system. a pinch to kai’s thigh will let him know that he’s being too rough, that you need a break, but you’ve never needed to do it before. you certainly don’t need to now

he sets a pace, after that

you place your hands on his knees, your own aching from being pressed into the carpet, as kai pulls you up on his cock, head dotted with precome, and then pushes you back down, throat instinctively constricting as you breathe through your nose, and will yourself not to choke

he makes sure that you take him fast, that your head doesn’t move unless he wants it to. he plants his feet on the floor, slides down in his gaming chair just so, and makes tiny, aborted movements with his hips like he just isn’t quite deep enough; like he won’t be satisfied until you’re coughing around him, stuffed full of him

he’s whimpering now, voice high on each exhale, trailing off heavy and breathy towards the end. he’s still got his headphones on, unaware of how loud he’s being, and you love him like this, needy and unabashed

your tongue swirls along the head of his cock each time you’re tugged up, and the slide is easier now, slicked with your spit, so you rub your thumb at the base of his length while you lap at the slit just to feel his hips twitch beneath your touch

his left hand moves from your jaw, down your neck, to your shoulder. he grips you there, fingertips pressing into the bone, just holding on, like he needs you to steady him while you simultaneously pull him apart

his cock jerks in your mouth at the feel of your teeth catching the crown, just there, ever so slight. he likes a little pain with his pleasure, and you know his limits just as well as you know your own

his whimpers have grown into moans now, long, pulled out from back of his throat. they are raw and strained; scratchy each time he thrusts up into your mouth, gaming chair squeaking beneath his movements

his coordination fails him the closer he gets to finishing, until he’s just holding your head in place, hips twisting, rolling up into the tight circle of your mouth, cock sliding along your tongue

he is all breath now, all shaky exhales and gasps and little whispers. tiny litanies of, “so good,” and, “ah, i’m– oh, oh.” he never gets out a full sentence, can’t think long enough to, and you know he’s close the moment his hand tightens on your shoulder enough to bruise, and his thighs flex beneath your palms

he gasps loud in the quiet of the room, pulling you off of his cock long enough to rush out, “i’m– where should i-”

“my mouth,” you tell him, no hesitation. your mouth falls open, and you stick your tongue out, eyes falling shut.

he is quick to slide back into you, cock prodding at the back of your throat, fingers catching in your hair. he shudders once, twice, knees bracketing you in

when he comes, it’s with a groan, back bowed so much so that the chair nearly rolls out from beneath him

his come shoots down your throat, and you sputter, tears pooling in your eyes. but he doesn’t stop, you don’t want him to stop, and you twist your tongue around the head, the crown, dip it right into the slit just to milk out more of him

he fills your mouth, his come hot against your tongue, and you swallow around him. there is spillage; there always is. it rolls down your chin, and onto the carpet

he lets out these exhausted little whines each time he breathes out, and though his hand on your shoulder has fallen away, the one in your hair merely loosens its grip, but stays. he pats your head once, and gently massages your scalp with his fingers

he is slumped back against his chair now, spent, worn, and when you shift so that you can look up at him, his eyes are shut tight, cheeks ruddy red. his bottom lip is swollen and wet and pink, like he’d been chewing on it during the excursion, and there’s a flush running down his neck, along his collarbones, creeping into his shirt. so, so pretty

when he comes to, he rolls back in his chair, and carefully helps you out from beneath the desk. your knees ache, and he tugs you into his lap, kissing the apple of your cheek, and the tip of your nose

“you made me lose my game,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he minds all that much. his big hand slides along the small of your back, and he smiles, so small you almost miss it. “gotta find a way to make it up to me, don’t you think?”

and so you end up in his gaming chair with him beneath the desk, your legs spread, thighs on either side of his head as he tugs your bottoms down, tossing them out of the way. you knew it’d end up like this– it almost always does.