[A comment about how I work hard for you, dear dies on the tip of his numb tongue, the words lost in the drool threatening to escape his mouth. He swallows them down and just in time, too, as Sakusa takes that moment to sink to his knees and makes his intentions known; and it's all Wakatoshi can do to not collapse. He doesn't, somehow, so long as he remembers how to breathe.
Even if Sakusa isn't, physically, the very image of a picture-perfect housewife or Wakatoshi himself of a husband, it's so easy to buy into the fantasy like this. He can easily imagine himself as a salaryman, coming through the door after a long days' work and throwing his keys and briefcase on the sideboard, only to have Sakusa waiting for him in the genkan with his slippers and helping him out of his blazer with a quip about how his day went and how he was home now, so he could finally relax...
Okay, so maybe there was something to those maid-cafes the Shiratorizawa boys always cooed about wanting to visit whenever they went to Tokyo for Nationals.
Still in a bit of a daze, Wakatoshi follows dumbly behind Sakusa and drops into his seat without even remembering how he got into this room or what happened to his apron. At this point, he honestly doesn't care. His knees spread apart, he clutches at his thighs to give his hands something to hold on to. For now.
Pupils already blown wide, he stares down at Sakusa as more and more desire unravels from the pit of his belly. Wakatoshi swallows, the thick tension making his Adam's Apple bob. It's cool inside the apartment yet his shirt is starting to stick.]
...of course, dear. Go right ahead.
[Honestly, 'no' was never an option because with Sakusa, Wakatoshi never has the resolve to resist him.]
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Even if Sakusa isn't, physically, the very image of a picture-perfect housewife or Wakatoshi himself of a husband, it's so easy to buy into the fantasy like this. He can easily imagine himself as a salaryman, coming through the door after a long days' work and throwing his keys and briefcase on the sideboard, only to have Sakusa waiting for him in the genkan with his slippers and helping him out of his blazer with a quip about how his day went and how he was home now, so he could finally relax...
Okay, so maybe there was something to those maid-cafes the Shiratorizawa boys always cooed about wanting to visit whenever they went to Tokyo for Nationals.
Still in a bit of a daze, Wakatoshi follows dumbly behind Sakusa and drops into his seat without even remembering how he got into this room or what happened to his apron. At this point, he honestly doesn't care. His knees spread apart, he clutches at his thighs to give his hands something to hold on to. For now.
Pupils already blown wide, he stares down at Sakusa as more and more desire unravels from the pit of his belly. Wakatoshi swallows, the thick tension making his Adam's Apple bob. It's cool inside the apartment yet his shirt is starting to stick.]
...of course, dear. Go right ahead.
[Honestly, 'no' was never an option because with Sakusa, Wakatoshi never has the resolve to resist him.]