leftwinger | Open post [ACTION]

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Open post [ACTION]

For action/prose. For epistolary and texts, there's another post for that.

[It's sentimental and maybe a touch embarrassing, but hearing Sakusa refer to this place as his home pulls at Wakatoshi's heartstrings and he can't help the soft smile that cracks his lips because of it.

He accepts the gift basket wholeheartedly, and the smile widens.]

I appreciate it. I saw some videos online where people stripped their laundry with some of these ingredients and I've been meaning to try it for myself. So, thank you, Kiyoomi.

[Wakatoshi accepts the kiss just as well as he accepted the basket, even presses in a bit further because, yes, he's very thankful and he's happy and excited to have Sakusa in his home. He'd always imagined what it would be like and now that it's happening, and Sakusa's here and blushing and apparently satisfied with the state of things, he can't drop the dopey grin from his face.]

If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask.

[--murmured, just as Sakusa sidles up to him and he tenses with anticipation, waiting for his boyfriend to make the next move. Sakusa is particular about things -- or everything, it seems like -- and Wakatoshi doesn't want to disturb this routine. It's his first time here, so it has to go accordingly. He understands.]

Of course. I did not want your first time in my home to be a negative experience. You don't get a second chance to make a first impression, my mother always said.

[He smooths down his apron, curious at first, but it slowly turns him a bit smug. It's a simple and solid-color unisex apron that his mother had packed for him when he moved out of the house. It serves its purpose well, apparently.

He follows Sakusa into the small but efficient kitchen. Everything is cleaned and stored away, save for the retro Flower-brand food processor that's neatly stowed against the wall by the toaster oven. He makes too many protein shakes to justify putting it into a cabinet.

Anyway, he gestures to the refrigerator -- also clean and neatly organized.]

The ingredients are in there, if you could take them out? I'm going to wash my hands and then wash the rice to prepare it for the cooker.

[Sakusa's gifts tend to be simple and direct: air fresheners for homes that smell, trash bags for homes that have lots of trash, pocket hankies for everybody else. To have put so much effort and have it be warmly accepted (for once) makes his heart skip a beat. There's a brief smile of appreciation and excitement, offer out before he can think about it:] I can show you how to do that later.

[If he hadn't had a curl of attraction before, that would have certainly done it. Yet Sakusa composes himself. He's here for a purpose, after all. (He may or may not steal another glance at Ushijima's apron before moving to the kitchen, but it's all completely necessary.)

The kitchen is just as pristine as the living room, and Sakusa beelines for the sink to wash his hands before opening and closing various drawers and cabinets without warning. He grunts softly, some more fond than others, as he rifles through Ushijima's things, determined to know what kind of person Ushijima is by the state of his kitchen. Finding it well stocked and organized, Sakusa makes little fuss about following directions.

He'd spent hours memorizing different hayashi rice recipes since they'd texted about it, so he knows exactly what to pull out, even if Ushijima hadn't clustered the ingredients together in his fridge. Sakusa's process is both methodical and efficient, sorting ingredients by when they're called for and also by which ones need to be prepared and which only need to be measured. He slides all the ingredients that need to be washed to Ushijima.]

Wash these too. I need to grab my apron so I can help you prepare.

[Like Ushijima, Sakusa also has a cooking apron. It's different than his cleaning apron, naturally, but there is something a little special about this one. He silently leaves and returns within a minute, and takes to rummaging the cabinets for the small mixing bowls and measuring spoons, as though his kappougi trimmed with ruffles at the leaves and hem is perfectly normal.

He only interacts with Ushijima when it's time to prepare the meat, elbowing him away from the sink to wash his hands again before he opens the meat.]

Do you have a recipe in mind?

[Despite the kitchen's relatively small and cramped space with just one long-limbed athlete moving within, let alone two, Wakatoshi's able to easily maneuver his way around it without bumping into Sakusa or any of the cabinets. It's natural, like they've been doing this for years.

On his third cold-water rinse of the rice, he nods with affirmation toward Sakusa. And once the rice water runs clear -- and only then -- does he move on to washing the mushrooms and onions. Vigorously. After his parents' divorce, his grandmother was often around the home to help out, and he remembers distinctly how she'd bring in vegetables from the garden and how she'd wash them in the sink, meticulously, for what seemed like an eternity. The people that eat your food will be able to taste the love and care you put into it, so make sure to do it properly, Wakatoshi.

So here he is, washing root vegetables and making sure the bits of dirt and whatever else are cleaned off.

He's squeezing a lemon, bare-handed and with only minimal effort, into a bowl intended for the beef when Sakusa returns donning an apron. For some reason, he presumed Sakusa's own apron would be a simple and utilitarian one like his. The ruffles and, oh, everything else are completely unexpected. And before he realizes it, he's squeezed every bit of juice and seed out of the poor lemon.]

...

...yes.

[That's all he can manage right now.]

[Sakusa had been open to cooking, just because it was with Ushijima. Most people weren't careful enough to rinse every speck of dirt off their own food, some not even knowing that rinsing the ingredients was an essential task. Sakusa nods approvingly of Ushijima's work, satisfied that he doesn't have to wrangle the vegetables out of Ushijima's hands and rinse them himself. Yet another reason Sakusa desired this man so.

Turning to his own task, he begins to assemble the measuring bowls and spoons.]

Okay, salt. How much?

[It's a simple question, so when there's no response, Sakusa casts a suspicious look to his boyfriend, and finally takes notice that.......the lemon is all ruined!]

Ugh, that needs to be redone. Here, give it to me.

[There are more important things than Ushijima's wide eyes or tightly-held fist. Namely, there are seeds in the bowl, and Sakusa knows for a fact that won't do. He disposes of the seeds and juice separately, and makes quick work of squeezing one of the spare lemons he brought into the bowl properly. Sakusa hands the bowl back, only to see that Ushijima's still staring. Sakusa's face remains neutral, eyebrows tilting into a confused pout instead of their usual glare.]

...What? I washed my hands already.

[Oh. Right.

By the time Wakatoshi blinks back into reality, Sakusa's already fixed his mistake with the lemon and is handing it back to him. He shakes his head and, quietly, takes the bowl back and resumes -- or tries to resume -- his earlier work.]

...sorry, it's nothing. I was distracted.

[He's not lying.]

The recipe calls for a pinch of salt and pepper to the beef once it's cleaned and drained. Afterwards, we can cut the beef, and chop up the vegetables as well. Would you like to do that honor or would you prefer to get the rice started in the cooker?

[Shit, he's pouting. Rather than risk staring again, Wakatoshi looks down at the beef in the bowl, long and hard. He should rinse it, he knows, but his thoughts keep getting distracted by his pouting boyfriend in his ridiculously cute ruffled apron.]

That's unlike you. You have to remain focused in the kitchen. It could be the difference between having five fingers or four.

[So he scolds, but...Sakusa cares. Ushijima is clearly in the middle of shaking off whatever has him acting strange, so he hovers over Ushijima's station as well, moving a bowl into place to catch the juice continuing to drip out of Ushijima's clenched fist. He also pulls out a cloth from his pocket and offers it to Ushijima. It has a ruffle that matches the apron along one edge.]

You're getting it everywhere. Use this.

['Use this,' Sakusa says, but he's the one patting Ushijima's hand dry with it, fingertips lingering just a second longer than strictly necessary. Once he's ensured Ushijima is capable of returning to his cooking duties again, Sakusa rinses his hands and turns back to the measuring bowls once again.]

I'll prepare the meat and vegetables. I like chopping stuff. It reminds me of spiking somehow.

[Maybe it's the repetitive motion or the forcefulness of it, but whatever the case, he likes it. He practically smiles while confiscating the onion and mushrooms, immediately setting to work. Sakusa starts with destemming the mushrooms and diligently slices them in even, steadfast motions. He knows his way around a knife, experienced hand ensuring the knife never slices too high and carefully resting his second knuckles against the flat blade so that he doesn't cut himself. He pauses after the mushrooms are cutting, pout back in full force as he watches Ushijima struggle with the meat and rice.]

Hmm. I expected you to be more competent.

Apologies. I will try to be more careful.

[And now Sakusa's dabbing at his hand with a hanky. He's equal parts endeared and embarrassed. When his hand is clean and dry and not in danger of losing any phalanges, he folds the hanky, with the damp side in of course, and sets it on the counter far and away from everything else.

From there, he sets back to work: filling the rice cooker with the clean grains and just the right amount of water then adjusting the temperature and cook-time to the best settings. That's the easy part. Cutting the beef into evenly-sized pieces proves to be a different beast altogether, as it turns out the butcher mixed in fatty beef with the pricey wagyu pieces.]

What do you mean?

[Pointedly not looking in Sakusa's direction, as he can already tell he's doing that cute Pout again.

The cut pieces are placed into another clean bowl for later use.]

This is fine. I haven't cut myself or made too much of a mess, have I?

The feeling I get in my hand is the same.

[Sakusa peels and minces the garlic next, saving the onion for last. He could manage the garlic with his eyes closed, so he steals a glance just to confirm how Ushijima is managing. He's still not looking at Sakusa...]

No, but... Are you feeling well?

[Not vocally, but Sakusa is truly becoming concerned. It's one thing for Ushijima to be off his game. It's another for Ushijima to act like a novice in his own kitchen.

Luckily for Ushijima, Sakusa starts on the onion. He turns on the kitchen fan before starting to cut, but a few tears still manage to pool through. Sakusa neither flinches nor blinks. He doesn't wipe his eyes either, since that would require washing his hands and he kind of needs them for this task. Now he's squinting and pouting. And sniffling.]

I'm fine.

[He separates the fat from the meat on another chunk of beef. Not his cleanest slice. And that's when he sighs softly--]

You're distracting, Kiyoomi.

[It's true. And instead of making him worry even further or, worse, instead of lying to him, Wakatoshi deems it better to just tell the truth. It's what he's known for; it's what's expected of him, so why not?

And he's feeling a little better. Until he glances over at Sakusa and notices the sniffling and the pouting and the squinting, and god.]

...very distracting. I was not prepared for it. I apologize. I did not mean to cause any alarm.

[Wakatoshi, who has had his tongue deep in Sakusa's mouth and in his ass, is distracted by Sakusa in an apron cutting vegetables.]

[If nothing else, Sakusa's observant. Ushijima admitting he's distracted is no surprise, anybody could tell that, but that behavior only started when...

...Oh. Sakusa's attention shifts to his arms, where the ruffled sleeves end just above his wrists, and then to the laced neckline on his chest. He's never thought anything of it before; if anything, some might say it's what a housewife might wear.]

My apron? Really?

[His stare would be more judgmental, but that's kind of hard to manage when his tear ducts are watery and red. He sniffs.]

It's cute. Very cute.

[As if that explains everything. To Wakatoshi, it does.]

Not just appearance-wise, though that's endearing as well. It's seeing you in something typically reserved for housewives and cute girls, yet knowing you're an athlete capable of rendering someone immobile with just a look...

[Gap moe is the term.

And the sniffling -- he can't handle it. It's too much. Wakatoshi finishes cutting the beef and, after rinsing his hands clean, he takes a fresh paper towel sheet and carefully -- carefully! -- nears Sakusa.]

Your eyes. Let me see.

I didn't choose it for its looks, you know. These types of aprons are best for cooking, and this one had the best reviews.

[Perhaps for other reasons, now that Sakusa thinks about it... Personally, Sakusa could understand the appeal had it just been left at cute. The apron was objectively cute, after all, even he had to admit. But knowing that Ushijima's riled up from seeing him specifically in the apron... That fills him with equal parts pride and self-consciousness. His face mirrors the conflict plainly, obvious pout and thick blush at odds with each other.

Maybe it was a little too cute for somebody like him... Back when he'd purchased it, he'd thought something similar, but by now it was such a regular fixture in his life that the style no longer registered as anything out of the ordinary. Tilting his chin toward his boyfriend gives Sakusa time to think, and it comes with the added bonus of cleaning his face, which he couldn't do with messy hands anyway.

Since becoming a pair with Ushijima, he's slowly warmed up to being touched in new ways, but his eyelids remain sensitive and every time he blinks at the gentle petting, it makes his lashes bat up and down. He's grown comfortable with being this close to Ushijima, even pressing closer while careful to keep his dirty hands away.]

Thank you.

[Sakusa remains close after Ushijima's patted his eyes dry, though there's no reason to maintain the closeness. His half-lidded, dark eyes look Ushijima directly in the eye for what has to be a minute too long to be comfortable.]

Is this some kind of fetish? You haven't been able to look at me this entire time. It's just an apron, so there's nothing strange about it if you look...

[Because maybe, just maybe, he wants to be looked at. Especially now that he knows Ushijima likes it. He shifts in place just enough that the lace bunches up, one of the ruffles fluttering.]

[Of course Sakusa will pick an apron for its practicality and reliability over any sort of visual appeal. Wakatoshi believes him. It doesn't change anything, though. Sakusa could have been dressed like an old school marm and Wakatoshi would have found it attractive -- especially when he's pouting and pink in the face and looking at him through tears clumped in those thick, black eyelashes.

The eyes dry and clean now, he moves to toss the towel into the trash, only to stop cold in his tracks by a knowing stare and the heat it makes creep up his throat.]

Fetish? No. That...would imply I would appreciate the apron more than the person wearing it. Or that anyone could wear it and I would be attracted to them, which is not the case.

[The lace is bunching up, the whisper of moving fabric capturing Wakatoshi's attention almost instantly. He breathes in, nice and deep, and steels himself.]

...It's you, Kiyoomi. I don't know what it is beyond just that, but you're making me want you. Perhaps you're not even aware of it, but it's true.

[A pause, as he breathes deep again, this time to ready himself for when he meets Sakusa's gaze head-on.]

Can you turn around for me, please?

[Now that Sakusa's all cleaned up, it confronts him with the indisputable sight of Ushijima's reservations beginning to crack: eyes flickering to catch the movement, his slow, heavy-chested inhales, and the careful selection of words. Anybody else might think Ushijima the stoic type, but Sakusa's always known how to focus on the details otherwise missed: the hungry twitch of a finger, the flare of a nostril... Sakusa watches Ushijima's restrained desire grow just as carefully as Ushijima had eyed his apron. Sakusa had welcomed the attention, but now that he's on the receiving end, he feels impatient, cheeks rosy with reluctance and flattery.]

...Okay, but don't laugh at me.

['Can you turn around for me, please?' could mean a number of things. On the most basic level, Sakusa could just turn his back to Ushijima to fulfill the request. But no, knowing that Ushijima is into the piece of clothing stirs Sakusa's playfulness as he takes a step back. It's a little too stiff to be sexy and obviously takes a great deal of effort for Sakusa, who is usually so lowkey in tone and expression, to twirl just once, enough for the sleeves and trim to catch some air and flutter. He strikes a pose when it settles, hands crossed over his lap like the polite image of a housewife greeting her husband after a hard day of work.]

Welcome home, dear. Would you like dinner? A bath? Or perhaps...me?

[Actions, tone, expression. All of it is deadpan.]

[In all honesty, Wakatoshi would have never bet on Sakusa taking things an extra step further. He's well aware that his request was, at the least, awkward and devoid of any sense -- the type of request that someone as particular as Sakusa loathes. Even Wakatoshi himself is having trouble trying to rationalize it beyond just wanting to take in a nice, long eyeful of his boyfriend in something so incongruently feminine and ruffled...yet it's so him. And yet, Sakusa not only indulges him, but offers up the roleplay act...

Tendou had lent him some manga in the past, many of which had a trope where excited males would often get nosebleeds. Wakatoshi thought those were dumb: how can a nose bleed from excitement? It's scientifically impossible.

And yet, here he is, feeling the blood rush to his nose. It's to his dick, actually, which has created quite the tent in his pants, visible through his own apron draped over it. With the way his short-circuited brain throbs at just the idea of Sakusa uttering goshujinsama, he thinks he'd be forgiven for mixing the two up.

Without a word, Wakatoshi swallows. Somehow, he keeps his hands to himself, despite every synapse in his lust-adled mind telling him to just go for it, Ushijima.]

...you're teasing me.

[Never in his wildest dreams could Sakusa have ever imagined that a measly cooking apron could render Ushijima Wakatoshi, the Ushijima Wakatoshi, speechless and hard. The tent in his apron is answer enough to Sakusa's little quip, a very obvious option three. And if Sakusa's being honest, he's feeling it too.

No, he's not bursting out of his apron like Ushijima is about it, but Sakusa feels...sexy. Knowing that he's turning Ushijima on turns him on too, and all the attention to his girly apron suddenly makes it feel all the more taboo. Besides, he doesn't really have to put on an act when it comes to behaving like he lives solely to please Ushijima emotionally and physically.]

Yeah, but only because you like it.

[There's not an ounce of sarcasm in his tone; anybody could see how sincerely captivated by Sakusa's apron he was, and Sakusa was willing to indulge him. He closes the distance between them again, hands carefully placed on either shoulder before slipping up and over to rub at that broad backside. He places one off-center kiss just on the seam of Ushijima's lips, gentle and silent, as his hands drop lower, fingertips pushing and pulling in comfortingly. He does his best to recreate the sense conveyed in TV scenes when a wife comforts her husband in her embrace, but affectionate and romantic are qualities at odds with his usual behaviors.

Sakusa tucks himself close enough to rest his face in the crook of Ushijima's neck and shoulder, lips resting as gently against his Adam's apple as they had against his lips. Meanwhile, one hand drags around Ushijima's hip while the other keeps venturing lower. By the way his hand silently rests against the mound, it's clear he won't be cooking again, not for awhile.]

I could give you a back rub...or this. [He gropes Ushijima's erection shamelessly.] Which do you prefer, darling?

[Only because you like it. Fair enough. Wakatoshi would be lying through his teeth if he said he didn't like this when literally every part of it appeals to him in some way, shape, or form.

Chest rising with the deep inhale he takes when Sakusa approaches him, he holds his tongue and waits with bated breath for his lover to make the next move. The kiss is nice and calming, a cool salve over his anticipation of what's going to happen next; the nuzzle and next kiss, a warm compress. It'd be easy for him to just sigh and relax and return Sakusa's affections...assuming that's where the loving touches end.

But Sakusa's crafty, and his spindly fingers curling over his erection without pause as he continues the doting-wife routine shatters the few remaining bits of Wakatoshi's resolve.

He latches onto Sakusa's ass, greedily, the immaculate and soft fabric bunching up into his large, rough hands as he starts to tug and rub at any part of both Sakusa and the apron he can touch.]

It's...it's been a rough week, dear...

[His voice is gravel, tinged with desperation. It sounds foreign to him.]

...you know what I need.

[A simple word, 'dear,' is all it takes for Sakusa's posture to shift from a slouch to upright, eyes going wide. His entire body stills but resumes not a moment later, like a physically hiccup. With a single pet name, Sakusa completely, utterly, and thoroughly understands the appeal of the fantasy.

'Handsy,' Sakusa thinks to himself, with no small amount of pride. It's not like Sakusa isn't just as hands-on, rubbing his firm grip steadily thumbing over Ushijima's apron in a promise of what's to come, though it's difficult to maintain composure with all the force of Ushijima pulling him closer and clawing at the same places he'd left red welts not a week ago. Sakusa squirms as the dull ache mixes with new want, every little shift brushing the ribbons' ends over Ushijima's arms.

He hadn't planned on the roleplay seducing himself, but Sakusa quickly imagines and loses himself in a fantasy that places him on his knees and between his lover's thighs. Though it's not something they've tried before, Sakusa would be lying if he said he wasn't interested in it. Ever since the first time he held Ushijima's cock in his hand, he'd wondered what it would feel like in his mouth, and what was more housewifely than pleasuring one's husband? Sakusa doesn't require convincing.]

You work so hard... Isn't it about time you relaxed? Let me take care of you.

[Giving nothing less than his all even in this housewife act, Sakusa's usual monotone is laced with a hint of coyness and a pinch of a fluster. The words taste foreign in his mouth yet there's no way he'd give the act up now, not with Ushijima kneading his ass and his own mouth drooling in want.

Pulling away is unfortunate, but it's necessary for what Sakusa intends. He gently hooks a hand around Ushijima's wrist to lead him to the dining table and then ushers Ushijima into the seat. It's also going to be necessary to get that apron out of the way, no matter how cute Sakusa finds Ushijima in it. He wastes no time unfastening the apron and removing it from Ushijima, folding it neatly and placing it on the table; that part very well might not be part of the play, Sakusa naturally inclined to tidiness. He does, however, exaggerate his gestures, making certain his ruffles flounce.

With the apron that had been hiding that delicious lump out of the way, Sakusa drops into seiza, pries Ushijima's knees apart, and scoots into the newly opened space. Sakusa unzips Ushijima's fly, careful to keep the apron on display while he leans forward and hooks his fingers inside the band. He wants nothing more than to yank his waistband down and the rest of his pants along with it, but the fantasy calls for asking for permission. And so Sakusa looks up through his black eyelashes, not even properly lifting his face, and his pout tells Ushijima he won't take, 'no,' as an answer to this next question. He'll just have to make it so that, 'no,' isn't an option.]

May I, goshujinsama?

[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.]

[There it is, 'dear' again. Sakusa grins to himself at the pet name while petting Ushijima through his underwear. It'd be so easy to be quick about this, but that doesn't fit into the roleplay. No, he needs to take it slow, really indulge the man in front of him, who was just as perfect as the fantasy and deserved every part of it.

Sakusa's long fingers slip into the waistband and follow the length down to his balls, where he cups them and begins petting the soft pair. His free hand eagerly twitches as he finally pulls down the waistbands, and Sakusa stares when Ushijima's cock bobs free off its confines right at his eye level. It smells amazing and looks even better. He can't wait to suck it...]

I've waited a long time for this.

[He admits it in the same tone he'd been using all along, but this remark is sincere. Since he'd had the cock inside of him, he had touched himself, fantasized, and, hell, dreamed about sucking it. He smiles at it, then smiles back at Ushijima, pressing the cock against the softest part of his cheek and then turn turning to place three open-mouthed kisses as his lips drag up the cock.

Sakusa connects his forefinger and thumb around Ushijima's balls and gently tugs at them just as he lavishes more kisses on the treat in front of his face. His first kisses are chaste and sweet, like the little pecks usually pressed into Ushijima's cheeks. The hand that had pulled down his clothes begins to knead into a thigh, grip becoming firmer at the same time those kisses take a sloppier turn.

Sakusa takes only the head into his mouth to keep it in place while lapping at the precum dribbling down the slit. Some of it continues to leak out the side of Sakusa's lips, mixed with drool of his own, but Sakusa licks that dry as well, then licks his lips clean in a manner that isn't entirely just for show. He's always liked bitter and salty, after all. Up to this point, his focus had been entirely on Ushijima's cock, but now he looks up again, hugging his cheek against the head of his cock.]

Mm... You taste good. [Sakusa's confession makes his own cheeks flush. Right, this is supposed to be play.] Honey.

[Embarrassment is a foreign concept to someone like Wakatoshi. He's not even sure if it's suitable to call what he feels now as embarrassment, honestly, as he's always associated that emotion with a certain level of discomfort -- which is far from what Sakusa's smooth fingers snaking down to his groin make him feel -- but the extra attention he's being given, the smile, the admission that Sakusa's wanted this for a long time...

It's embarrassing. Everything is embarrassing. How much this is affecting him. How much he likes this. How hard he already is...at this rate, it won't take much to make him come, something that Wakatoshi, and his stamina and control, can't help but feel a certain way about.

Wakatoshi blushes. Deep, hot, and all over. Any minute now, he's going to melt into the chair, he's sure of it. His hand comes over his face -- his eyes, mostly -- as if to protect Sakusa from this vulnerability. Not that it does much: his imagination's working overtime and his other senses are so hypersensitive, he can see what Sakusa's doing without having to watch him.]

Fuck, baby...

[Wakatoshi squirms, the motions making him sink into a slump and, unintentionally, pushing his cock further out into the humidity of Sakusa's mouth. Not too much, thankfully, but still enough for Wakatoshi to guiltily pull his hips back and mutter an apology.]

Mmf.

[Ushijima thrusting into his mouth takes him by surprise, but more surprisingly than that...Sakusa likes it. He closes his eyes and hums into the thrust, eyelashes fluttering as his eyes roll back and his mouth sinks deeper. It's the combination of the name, baby, and Ushijima unable to control himself.

Baby. It's odd, since such a soft, cute nickname is such an unsuitable thing for a man like Sakusa, who is more bone than muscle, and what muscle he has is firm and sinewy, not like the plush muscles Ushijima's sculpted. Yet hearing it fall from Ushijima's mouth heats Sakusa's cheeks and spurs on his desire to swallow Ushijima whole.

When he looks up, Ushijima is covering his face, and that simply won't do. He pulls off to snap, and a filmy line of saliva sticks to his bottom lip, still connecting it to Ushijima's cock.]

Hey. Look at me.

[Watching started this whole thing, so Sakusa can't help but feel like it's a waste if Ushijima doesn't do just that. Besides, his pride won't stand for it. He'd been acting his part of the cute housewife, and damn it if he doesn't give Ushijima a sight worth watching. His brows narrow as he gets to work again, this time sticking out his tongue and kitten licking along the slit before taking his cock back into his mouth.

Sakusa hollows out his cheeks and that's the only indication he gives before swallowing down as much length as he can manage. He maintains eye contact while sinking down the length, tongue flat against the underside and tracing the veins. Another 'mmmf,' is joined by a sloppy, wet pop as he begins bobbing his head up and down.

'So big,' Sakusa thinks, pleased, but his thoughts come out as a garbled 'hhh-hmmf.' The vibrations from his throat rouse Ushijima's cock, which in turn prompts Sakusa's hips to squirm in the seiza. His own breathing picks up, even though it's not his cock getting coated in saliva and enthusiasm, and his hand finally slips up from Ushijima's balls to the soft pubic hairs, where he digs and strokes where his mouth can't reach.

He breathes carefully and pulls off with a slurp, letting his hand take over for his mouth in the meantime. There's no coyness or show this time, Sakusa's tone hoarse and demanding. It's clear from his tone alone that he doesn't intend to keep his mouth empty for long.]

In my mouth or on my face?

[Thankful that he hadn't done any damage with his thrusting, Ushijima tries -- oh, does he try -- to settle down in his seat and ride out this wave of pleasure that is threatening to crest within him as still as possible. This proves impossible right away, as 1) the vibrations of Sakusa's hum add another layer of sensation over him that have him on the verge of sobbing, and 2) Sakusa pulls away, and he really does end up sobbing. Low, though, as it's on the tail end of a piteous groan.

He pulls his hand away from his face, now blushing so hot and so fiercely it feels like it might bruise, and gazes down at Sakusa still knelt between his legs, beautiful as ever, still playing the role of a devoted housewife.

His mouth opens, prepared to offer up an apology, only for him to let out a strangled noise that he'd be embarrassed about later. The hand he'd been trying to hide under, unable to come over his face, latches hard onto the chair's armrest and squeezes tight as the rest of his body follows suite, practically lifting off the chair. Even his toes begin to curl.

Head thrown back and both eyes pinched shut, and he lets out a half-sob, half groan when presented with a choice. His mind feels like it's being split open and Sakusa wants him to answer properly?

His hips lift again, only slightly, and as he feels the head of his dick brushing at the back of Sakusa's throat, he can only silently hope for forgiveness.]

Your mouth... nngh, your mouth. Please. I want -- mmmn -- you to taste me. I want to taste you...

Please...

[Wakatoshi, practically out of his chair now and on the edge of reason, has to force himself back down.]

Nng!

[The first time Ushijima's cock pushes into his throat, Sakusa nearly gags. He tears up immediately, but swallows upon contact, pushing through on effort alone. It's an intoxicatingly delightful burn, and one that is over before it begins.

It's beautiful, watching Ushijima come undone for him like this. He's a man so sincere that there's no other way to interpret his choked moans, his trembling thighs, his knuckle-white grip. Sakusa smirks while drinking it all in, not out of some sense of felling the infallible Ushijima, but from knowing that every delicious squirm and heave is his doing. He's accomplishing what he set out to do, and that is, for the first time perhaps ever, topped only by the sight before him.]

Of course, dear. Whatever you want.

[Sakusa kisses the leaking tip of Ushijima's cock as sweetly as he'd peck his cheek, and ensconces the head with his lips for a final time. Carefully tucking his teeth beneath his lips, Sakusa nods up and down the shaft, devouring Ushijima's cock in two deep inhales and tonguing at the bumps and ridges in tickle-soft strokes. He doesn't intend to stop until Ushijima's screaming his name this time.

Ushijima's trembling is so intense that Sakusa has to hold him down with both hands. His strength as a spiker proves an unexpected asset as he's barely able to restrain Ushijima from the waist down, and even then Ushijima's movements are spirited enough to jostle Sakusa's mouth and shoulders. Sakusa likes it better like that, the challenge of taking Ushijima apart enough to roll his eyes into his skull and make his hips jerk.

Sakusa's normally so controlled and precise, but he loses himself in his and Ushijima's body shivering as one, tongue sloppily swirling, rolling, and flicking as he tries to suck an orgasm out of his lover. He looks up through thick, dark eyelashes, eyes hooded in a lustful look that's equally focused and dazed. Ushijima looks, feels, and tastes so perfect like this, hot and hard in his mouth. He moans around it again, swallowing to hug all its width in his velvety soft heat.

It's not long before Sakusa sinks himself far enough for Ushijima's cock to push into his throat again, but this time he's more prepared, familiar with his own pace and the rhythm of Ushijima's hips fucking into his mouth. It's welcome, even, and so Sakusa closes his eyes, relaxes his jaw, and lets Ushijima fuck his face. He swallows along the girth diligently, little grunts of, "mmh, mmh, mmh!" barely sealing the spittle and precum drooling between his lips and down Ushijima's cock.

It should be impossible for Ushijima to get any thicker, yet his penis throbs in his mouth and Sakusa moans around it. He's close, Sakusa can tell. Their bodies rock in tandem at every thrust pushes against the back of his throat, and Sakusa swallows each and every time. He has to hold his boyfriend by his thighs just to keep his head in place, but the inertia of his movement keeps ruffling up the apron as Sakusa lets himself get face fucked. With Ushijima begging so beautifully with his words and body, Sakusa would be willing to give him anything.

Sakusa's moans grow erratic and loud as his mouth fills with the first taste of actual cum. It's alkaline and sharp, something that Sakusa revels in for its pristineness. The burn is intense, but nothing that Sakusa can't manage, especially when the cum starts pouring into his mouth as Ushijima roars beneath, above, and all around him. Sakusa holds him in place to drink him down, determined not to let even the smallest drip slip away from him. He sucks and sucks until Ushijima's thighs settle beneath him, and then he sucks again.

Sakusa pauses, breathes through his nose for a few minutes, and swallows down the remaining, sucking as he pulls off and then licking any residue off the shaft. He licks his own lips next, a small, "mmm," escaping him before he pets Ushijima's cock, gives it a kiss, and then tucks him back in with a zip. Sakusa remains kneeling between Ushijima's legs, leaning his sore jaw on one of those thighs, his voice mingled with a satisfied hum.]

Did you enjoy yourself, Wakatoshi?

[Part of Wakatoshi wishes he could say that once his dear lover gave him expressed permission, he came and it was nice and blissful and perfect, the end. Except that's just the tip of the iceberg and it doesn't do Sakusa and the literal magic he can create with his mouth any justice.

He doesn't remember the moment his orgasm truly begins or when it ends. Vaguely, he recalls his hips bucking and Sakusa kissing his dick, tongue and lips and all, before his trembling thighs are held down and the rest of his body jolts in protest, at first, then surrenders to the welcoming heat of Sakusa's mouth. He trembles all over, dick pulsing as his hips move up for the last time. Then it's too much and something within him crests, and he lets out a strangled sound, mouth open in a silent scream as he shoots his load and pumps his lover's mouth full.

He collapses back onto his chair, barely aware at that moment that he'd even lifted off of it, a panting and sweat-drenched mess. Though his eyes are halfway open and lifted towards the ceiling, he can't see anything except brilliant dots and the overhead lights. He's out of his mind, half out of his body, with relief flowing through and out of him.

Sometime after the numbness throughout begins to fade, Wakatoshi feels -- rather than sees -- Sakusa peck him and put him away, prompting him to glance down through the bangs plastered to his forehead, sticky with sweat.

Fuck, he's so beautiful.]

Haah...

[Chest still rising and falling so fast that it's downright embarrassing, Wakatoshi averts his gaze, attempts to sit up straighter. (And fails, on both counts.) His hand reaches out, cupping Sakusa's cheek, the thumb stroking across the shine of his lip and over his chin, fond and careful.]

...I did.

[The huskiness of his own voice sounds foreign to him. Nevertheless, he smiles, continues to stroke his lover's cheek.]

Didn't...realize how much I needed that. Thank you, sweetheart...

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i need flustered icons for him

yessss

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