leftwinger | Open post [ACTION]

Oh. I've never seen that movie.

[~~This is starting to kinda remind his mun of an old thread~~.]

But I think I understand what you mean, in a general sense. Everything is going so well.

[His head tilts, almost expectant, before he suddenly jerks and straightens himself up when the soft cotton of Sakusa's sock brushes up against his ankle. Their low-key game of footsie earlier aside, he hadn't expected this turn of events at all.

Steadying his knowing gaze on Sakusa, one of his thick eyebrows arches high up on his forehead; and after he takes in their surroundings, he adjusts his posture so he appears more relaxed...and lets his long legs spread beneath the table.]

I shouldn't be so trusting? Why not?

~~[life imitates art, what can i say.]~~

[Sakusa raises a brow. After all, despite any complaints, Sakusa doesn't take action unless he approves or feels a risk is certain. Ushijima saying that everything is going well could be interpreted as surprise, which Sakusa will have none of. It only makes him want to retaliate stronger, a feeling compounded by Ushijima's startled reaction at his touch.]

I think you know why already. [He toes along the bone and muscle, nearly halfway up his calf, lifting the hem of his pant leg before pulling away.]

[That spidery-crawl of toes up along his leg is a silent challenge. There's no doubt about it. But rather than sit there and take it without responding, Wakatoshi waits until Sakusa starts to pull his foot away before he reaches beneath the table and cups his large hand around Sakusa's ankle. Smoothly, and without much fuss, he tugs the foot closer to him and lets it rest atop his thigh.]

...I fail to see why I shouldn't trust you, Kiyoomi. Or, rather, that I shouldn't be so trusting, as you say.

Edited 2021-04-06 03:47 (UTC)

[That... That was unexpected. Sakusa's caught off guard enough that there's no resistance to Ushijima grabbing him by the ankle and guiding it to rest.

It takes a moment for the minutia of the situation to register, the only visual indicator being the immediate and four-degree pinched slant of Sakusa's brow. At this point, Sakusa realizes that Ushijima's not backing down and that...intrigues him. Finally taking the situation on as a challenge, Sakusa glances from side-to-side without moving his head, calculating the nearest tables and an idea of how loud they can be without garnering attention. At this point he relaxes and shifts his foot inward. There's a slight tension to his hold on Ushijima's hip, front seam of his sock barely resting along the zipper and leather belt.]

You're too trusting. Somebody might try to take advantage of that.

[How Wakatoshi's able to keep his voice even and his expression set into neutral (somewhat) is a testament to his own self-discipline. Sakusa's foot moves forward, as he had expected -- and hoped -- and all he has to show for it, aside from a slight shudder, is a very pointed and slow inhale-and-exhale.

He's wearing boxer-briefs tonight, which is both a curse and a blessing. If he chose boxers, no doubt Sakusa would already start to feel him hardening right away against the sole of that warm foot.

He shifts his hips a bit, the movement pushing his bulge against that foot, his gaze still leveled on him as if to counter Sakusa's challenge.]

Who in their right mind would try to take advantage of me?

[Sakusa recognizes that shudder. He'd trained himself to memorize it ever since he saw it, naked and tangled up in his lover's body, the first time. So Ushijima could make expressions like this out of bed as well... Sakusa files that fact away, a tight, growing smirk barely tugging the edges of his lips upward as his foot delicately slots into place. At this angle, the arch of his heel perfectly rests on the bulge between Ushijima's thighs, which he experimentally pirouettes his heel into.

Sakusa reaches out for his wine and takes a sip, placing it back on a coaster with a motion that's slightly too stiff to be perfectly at ease.]

There are people out there who would like seeing how you squirm beneath them. I can think of a few.

[For his efforts, Sakusa is rewarded with, simply, a grunt. Which, in the grand scheme of things, is quite the response from someone who's usually unreadably quiet as Wakatoshi. Especially while out in public.

Sakusa digs in his heel, quite literally, and Wakatoshi's forced to shift around in his seat yet again. Once he's in a...less compromising position, he sneaks a hand down below, strokes his callused fingers up and down the line of Sakusa's foot, from root to tip, mirroring the same actions he would something else.]

Oh? Like who?

[Sakusa is at one disadvantage, and that's inexperience. He's not used to being touched there, let alone fondled, and he barely manages to choke back a giggle from how it tickles. His foot twitches in Ushijima's lap, and while he quickly regains composure and double downs on petting Ushijima's bulge with his sole, his tight grimace makes it clear he's annoyed about losing higher ground. Maybe it's pettiness that drives him to say it. (Maybe it's jealousy.)]

Oikawa Tooru, probably.

[And this time his pointed stare is more than mere observation. A test, perhaps?]

Probably.

[Repeated not to mock Sakusa, but to drive the point home that while it's a well-executed strategy -- and one that Wakatoshi's impressed by -- it doesn't gain him the advantage here. Still, the name makes his jaw tighten, and he's forced to reach for his own wineglass.]

Oikawa had numerous chances to try. And he failed. Every. Single. Time.

[Each beat a squeeze of his fingers around that twitching foot. His own cock's hardening in the bunched up fabric of his boxer briefs, the light pressure of Sakusa's foot against it making it feel, at once, better and worse.]

...anyone else?

[Not as much of a reaction as Sakusa had wanted, but he settles into place, gently toeing the zipper back and forth from base to button. His shoulders are still stiff as he eyes Ushijima calculatingly, looking for any sign of discomposure.]

Wakatsu Kiryuu. Bokuto Koutarou. Me.

[That last one is accompanied with planting his foot firmly along the protrusion. Feeling the entire outline makes his throat dry and hard to swallow. Sakusa's lips twitch back into a smirk, massaging the bulge more forcefully each time he reaches the belt.]

Those two, they can wish all they'd like. It doesn't mean it will ever come true.

[Sakusa smirks and his foot is effectively rubbing Wakatoshi's cock into a full-blown erection now -- it's only because it's Wakatoshi, and he's so accustomed to being stone-faced and quiet by default that he hasn't slumped back in his chair and loosened his tie with an obscene moan. He certainly understands the desire for it...

But rather than alarm the other diners and staff of what they're doing, Wakatoshi is more discreet. With just one hand, he blindly, unbuckles his belt and undoes the button and zipper of his trousers. There's too much pressure bunched up down there. He needs to breathe, even if means being a little less restrained.

By now, surely Sakusa can feel the entire outline of his erection.]

As for you.

[He sips at his wine again, voice hovering just above a growl.]

...you tell me.

[The thing is, Ushijima's not even being cocky about it. It's a fact that he's as powerful as he claims, and he has all the confidence (unlike Kiryuu) without all the showboating (like Koutarou). And he recognizes Sakusa's power and talent not because they're dating but strictly because of his skill and talent.

It's overwhelmingly erotic to Sakusa.

He shifts in place, feeling his own arousal stir when Ushijima's unzipped pants allows his sock full access to the girth and size they'd been hiding. The ball of his foot brushes every inch that Sakusa's dutifully and fondly committed to memory, and, once his instep cups the head of what Sakusa knows to be a glorious cock, he begins stroking along the length properly.

Sakusa takes a settling breath before his own words turn him on too much. Both his hands had been visible on the table. One is gripping his fork hard enough to turn his knuckles white. The other slips beneath the tablecloth.]

It's no secret that I want to best you. Conquering Japan's number one ace and seeing him squirm beneath me... The others can want, but I'm the only one capable of managing it.

...However. I wouldn't take advantage of you. I want to take you down on equal footing.

[The adjustment and newfound pressure against his cock makes Wakatoshi switch from the wine to his ice water. With him so hot under the collar and so wound-up, yet unable to do much about it that won't attract much attention, it's a necessity at this point.

And despite this, and the patches of deep pink over his throat, nose, and cheeks, the spark of challenge does not leave Wakatoshi's eyes. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a slight smirk, his thick brows furrow just the slightest bit more.]

...you're always welcome to try.

[He moves his hips and spreads his thighs just enough to encourage his length further against Sakusa's foot. It's still not enough -- his cock still confined in those boxer-briefs, it'll never be enough -- and he knows this, but he's still willing to try. Wakatoshi is determined, if nothing else.

But fuck if it doesn't feel agonizingly good.

He thinks about removing the briefs altogether or, at the very least, opening the flap at the front and letting Sakusa figure the rest out. It's dark enough in the restaurant, they're secluded, and the tablecloth's doing a great job of hiding what they cannot show. They can get away with it...

And just as he's thinking about tugging down at the waistband, their waiter returns with two large trays of food. Their main course, and all the little side-dishes and everything that comes with. The portions are small but there's lots to go around, apparently, because it seems to take him an eternity to clear their table and set the plates neatly and accurately.

(Or maybe Wakatoshi's patience is running thing.)

When the waiter asks if there's any else they might need, Wakatoshi tells him to keep walking.]

Who knows when you'll get your next opportunity.

[As grateful as Sakusa is to see a meal on the platters and not just rabbit feed, it could not have come at a more inopportune time, his foot stilling just after it'd slid right into place. Keeping still proves difficult when all he wants to do is fondle the full size of his boyfriend's giant cock, and Sakusa masks none of his displeasure, scowl returned as a stranger invades their space.

Then again. The table apron was long and Ushijima had kept quiet this long... 'You're welcome to try.' His focus returns to Ushijima while the waiter stacks their used table set with all the care and aesthetic a cooking magazine might take for an editorial insert. From the waist up, both of them had the strictest postures and most solemn of expressions, but his foot moving once more told a different story, gentle at first but increasing with pressure with every plate that's taken away.

Ushijima had chosen Japanese-French fusion, and that means a lot of forks are laid out next. Sakusa alternates position for this stretch, planting the ball of his firmly into the head of Ushijima's cock while teasing his heel from side-to-side. His smirk returns about the time the spoons are replaced, a simple, knowing thing that promises the best is yet to come.

Sakusa resumes stroking up and down only when the actual food is served, careful not to be too quick with his movements lest he accidentally kick up the table skirt. Every time Ushijima shifts, Sakusa pulls his foot off just slightly, then digs back in, taunting him until they're left alone again.

More delicious than the food on the table is how Ushijima acts throughout it all. Strong, welcoming, flawless, each shudder and clench of his jaw is a small, yet hard won victory for Sakusa. He sinks into a slouch, calculating his next move.]

Then, with your blessing...

[At the same time Sakusa reaches for his glass of Merlot, he pushes his foot flat against Ushijima's stomach. When he pulls it back, his heel catches on the waistband of Ushijima's underwear and he slowly drags it down the length of his cock, just enough to hook his foot inside the elastic. Sakusa pets the bare erection while offering up a stiff toast.]

To a wonderful evening. Bon appetit.

[Sakusa pausing when the waiter shows up was, admittedly, what Wakatoshi had expected. Engaging in anything further would have convinced him his boyfriend had some sort of exhibitionist kink (or was just extremely competitive and wanted to get the last laugh, no matter the cost).

So when the young waiter, still blissfully unaware of what's going on beneath the tablecloth (or, if he was, he made no indication of such), moves to Wakatoshi's side of the table to set the entree platter on the placemat before him...just as the pad of Sakusa's foot pushes into the swollen head of his cock, forcing a thick pearl of pre-cum to leak out, staining the expensive underwear he'd purchased specifically for this date. Oh dear. His fist slams onto the table -- not too hard, just enough to rattle the silverware -- startling the poor waiter and forcing Wakatoshi, jaw-clenched and red-faced Wakatoshi, to push through his agony and offer up a meek apology and insistence that they're fine and don't need anything right now, thankyouverymuchsir.

The waiter nods and smiles dutifully before he bowing and going off to service other customers not involved in mind-blowing footjobs elsewhere. Just in time, too, because half of Wakatoshi's cock springs free and he lets out a ragged groan, barely muffling it with the back of his hand.

One hand daintily curved over his wineglass, the other clamping tight around Sakusa's ankle, he shoots a look across the table.]

...Meshiagare.

[Sakusa has always been a sucker for how traditional Ushijima is, and the Japanese sends a thrill down his body, right down to his curling toes. He carefully tips his glass back to match Ushijima's actions, and, though stuttery in movement, his smirk is in place when he lowers his glass.

Sakusa attempts to act the part of ordinary diner, but he's not nearly as good at it as Ushijima. When Sakusa dislike something, it's plain to see. And when Sakusa is focused on getting something, it's plain to see. His eyes burn pure want as he takes a handful of bites, slow and careful enough to focus on chewing and grinding in tandem.]

This isn't bad. Caviar, right?

[Sakusa can try to carry on like nothing's amiss, but he knows both of their minds are focused in one place only, and it isn't the food. He tests the give of Ushijima's grip, massaging Ushijima's dick in deep, slow circles.

In a way, Sakusa has already won what he wants. The pounded fist, the clenched jaw, the muffled grunt. And yet Ushijima still hasn't given in, not in the way Sakusa craves. He won't be pleased until seeing this through.]

You're looking a little tense, Wakatoshi. Something the matter?

[It's just observation, an observation paired with his foot rubbing directly against the leaking head, but it could very well be taken as provocation. Sakusa stills and waits for an answer, anxious to see what Ushijima does without the stimulation.]

[The foot begins to move and Ushijima, narrowing his eyes just enough to convey a warning toward Sakusa that he's well-aware of what he's trying to do without having to actually say it. And if that doesn't work, or gets misinterpreted somehow, he's also squeezing his hand around Sakusa's mischievous foot, holding it firmly in place against his cock.

So he can rub them together, in tandem, of course.

It's like frotting, only not. It's only his cock that's rubbing nice and slow along the thick sole of that foot aided by the slickness of the pre-cum, though it can hardly qualify as a fitting substitute for Sakusa's cock, with a little imagination and more sips of his wine, he can pretend.

He takes a few bites of the food, lapping up a bit of the sauce that had dribbled onto his bottom lip.]

Ah, caviar. It's a delicacy in the West.

[He groans out the word 'delicacy', and it's a wonder the people in the nearest table didn't hear him.]

...I'm absolutely fine. Are you enjoying yourself, Kiyoomi?

[...That's more like it. Sakusa visibly shifts in place, considering if it's worth jerking himself off under the table as well. He decides against it, since the thoughts of cleaning up his own spunk or walking out trying to hide his boner turns him off, but he has no qualm with continuing to jerk off his date. Now sandwiching Ushijima's dick between his boyfriend's hand and his own foot, he strokes his sole up and down, at first a bit clumsy, but quickly finding a rhythm that involves twisting his arch into Ushijima's cock. It's more fun than Sakusa would like to admit, and maybe using both feet next time is something to consider.

'Next time,' he catches himself thinking. If it's a red flag, Sakusa pays it no mind, instead pressing one of the forks too enthusiastically into a soy and yuzu-infused duck à l'orange. Sakusa licks his lips clean of the meal while dragging the precum with his toes.]

I am. I'd enjoy myself more if you took my sock off though.

[It's the first either of them have mentioned their game outright, and Sakusa flexes his foot demonstratively.

He also slides over one of the small dipping dishes filled with olive oil.] This might help.

[Sakusa carries wet wipes in the way most men tuck a condom into their wallet. This can work.]

[Sakusa flexes his foot and even though it might seem like a subtle change, to Wakatoshi and his trapped dick, it makes the difference between steadily calm and being on the verge of coming. He hisses, face pinching with repressed pleasure, then breathes out like he'd been taught in those yoga classes the team's athletic trainers had them take. He never imagined using those techniques outside of their appropriate setting, but then again, he never imagined he'd be getting an under-the-table footjob, either. Not outside of a masturbation fantasy, anyway.

The suggestion to remove the sock is meant with a reaction that could only be described as frenzied. Maybe overly enthusiastic? Wakatoshi pulls the sock right off in one swoop, and has enough sense to fold it up, nicely, and tuck it into his blazer pocket instead of tossing it aside somewhere.

He pauses and blinks at the olive oil dish, a little confused at first, until Sakusa's bared foot, drags against his shaft and there's some resistance and friction that, while not painful or bad, could feel a bit better. Everything clicks. With a nod, he dips three fingers into the oil then brings them down to his cock, letting it mix with the pre-cum that had leaked from the head; he repeats the process again and again, until his cock, and part of Sakusa's foot, is coated with enough of the oil to create a smooth and slippery base. Perfect.]

Is this any better?

[He asks, while using his free hand to pour some caviar over one of the sliced breads. The other one curves snug around Sakusa's foot, coaxing it into a rhythm up and down his twitching cock, the oil easing it along, making the movements smoother and faster. All calm and collected, despite the beads of sweat starting to dot his brow.]

[Only in Sakusa's mind would an act such as pulling off a sock, folding it to prevent wrinkles, and tucking it safely into a pocket be considered erotic. If he wasn't in the middle of dinner and so sockless, he might have stood up and kissed Ushijima for it. Since he can't, he stores the visual memory for a jerk off session later.

He flexes his foot appreciatively instead, careful not to get in the way until Ushijima has coated his entire length with the table oil. It's different than the sock, and Sakusa shivers in place at the first smooth slide of warm skin on skin contact. He knew Ushijima was thick, but without the barrier between their bodies, he feels longer, girthier. It's different to the touch too, the shape surprisingly well suited to the arch of his foot and the touch of it feeling softer against his rougher sole than in his hand. His ankle bumps against Ushijima's wrist, but only for a second. Next thing he knows, Sakusa's stifling a moan of his own, Ushijima aggressively chasing his own pleasure by moving his ankle as he pleases.]

Yes. [Sakusa says it as though agreeing to taste the anguille sashimi.]

I should be the one asking you that, but it's obvious enough. You're handsome like this.

[It might not be noticeable to anybody else, but to Sakusa, it's plain as day. Ushijima's doing a fine job of looking composed, and even that, Sakusa revels in.

But he's not one to be outdone by the pace Ushijima's set, rolling his ankle to aggressively grind against the top of Ushijima's dick and from side-to-side while Ushijima sets the pace. Every third stroke, he twists his ankle to touch with the top side of his foot instead. It's sloppier, clumsier than usual, and not at all how Sakusa would normally like to have to sex, but it's exciting too, and he finds himself smirking mischievously around a mouthful of eel, caught in the same kind of unexpected play as when he first fell for his boyfriend.

Eventually Sakusa pushes his date's dick between his toes. It is a bit of a workout, especially at this angle, but Sakusa has never been a quitter. When the angle gets tough, he starts moving his leg by the hip to switch up the angle, jostling in his seat a little bit. It swishes the wine in their glasses and flickers the flame on their tealights, but there's no rattle otherwise. He's also unable to keep eating while concentrating like this, focus only on Ushijima and the yummy expressions on his face.]

Wakatoshi. You don't have to hold back anymore. Come for me.

Ah.

[Pleased that Sakusa is finding this impromptu footjob, along with the olive oil serving as an admittedly messy lube substitute, gratifying and worth smirking so devilishly over, and humbled by the compliment, Wakatoshi's skin flushes pink, glowing from the heat practically radiating off of him.

It's stuffy around the table now, and he can't tell for sure if it's because the temperature inside the restaurant has actually gone up or if it's his own body's response to the bombardment of stimuli, courtesy of one crafty, smirking Kiyoomi Sakusa. All Wakatoshi knows is if this keeps up, he's going to have to remove his tie and unbutton his shirt, and that he's not come across as the composed and smooth man he was when he first sat down to anyone passing by. Their waiter might call for a doctor. What a hassle that would be...

The change in angle, the toes getting in on the action, the added weight and pressure... More than that, though, it's Sakusa's expression. Smug and self-satisfied as it is, there's obvious strain on his part. He, too, like Wakatoshi, can barely keep his mouth closed.

It's got no right being that hot, yet there they are.]

Mmmhm.

[Wakatoshi clenches his jaw, his lips pressed tightly together as he fights to keep from doubling over too much as the first wave of his orgasm hits him, causing him to squeeze tighter all over and especially around poor Sakusa's foot. He comes in a continuous stream rather than in spurts, spilling hot over oil-drenched toes and the front of Sakusa's foot. Body quaking, he keeps coming, somehow quiet throughout aside from a soft and drawn out Hah... that he keeps muffled with one hand. The other stays curved around his softening dick and that foot, even as he slumps back in his chair, dazed and panting for breath.

He looks like he's slightly flushed, the rise and fall of his chest visible even beneath his jacket and shirt. Not too out of the ordinary. Inside, he feels like he's been through the ringer, like he's been through several rounds of intense sex. In a way, he has.]

[When Ushijima finally comes, Sakusa has to bite his lip to stifle a moan that should be all Ushijima's to make. The satisfaction sinks in as he watches all the small tells shift across Ushijima's face, shoulders, and chest. It's kind of thrilling to think that nobody has noticed what they've gotten up to while the staff and guests are none the wiser, and Sakusa drinks in the sight of Ushijima coming down, accompanied by a small smile that's reserved only for when they face each other on opposite sides of the net.]

You looked wrecked. You should see yourself.

[Once Ushijima's breathing evens out, Sakusa pulls out his wallet to retrieve his credit card and a wet wipe for himself and his date. He tucks both of the wipes into the napkin that had been spread across his lap, folds the napkin into a neat lump, and hands it across the table.]

Here, for cleaning up.

[He'd clean his own foot, but he'd still be sockless, and passing the wipes over the table is easier than passing a sock. He leaves his heel resting on Ushijima's thigh, careful not to overstimulate him. It's a nice option, but there are certain things for Sakusa's eyes only, and he wouldn't risk leaking that to unsuspecting eyes.

Besides, if Sakusa has his way, he doesn't intend to put that napkin to use for the rest of the evening. Ushijima might have gotten off, but Sakusa's still squirming, just barely, in place, his breathing even but heavy. Anybody else might not be table to tell how pent up he is, how he wants to be far louder than is appropriate at the dinner table. Sakusa slides the credit card he'd pulled out visibly into the waiter's view. It's black and, like their evening, limitless.]

That main course was very satisfying, but I want dessert.

[He looks across the table, eyes dark and wanting, hoping that Ushijima catches his drift.]

[Wrecked, Sakusa says. That matches up perfectly to what he feels, yeah. Still and somehow, he's able to keep up the appearance he always has in public, that of a serious and reserved young man who knows what he wants...especially when it's sitting across from him, giving him that suggestive small smile they've been teasing each other with since middle school.

With a grateful sigh and nod, he takes the offered wet wipes and napkin, unwrapping them with surprisingly nimble fingers and using them to wipe off the mess from his dick down below. Lucky for him, barely any of his cum spilled onto his pants, with Sakusa's foot catching the majority of it. He's still going to the dry cleaners anyway, but it's good to know he won't have any suspicious stains on it. Now with the second wipe, he cleans as much of his lover's foot as he can with thorough and painstaking care, making sure to go in between the toes and the underside with as much of the clean surface as he can. No careless and blind swaths here.

When the foot is cleaned to his satisfaction, he carefully folds up the wipes, dirty sides inward of course, then folds the napkins over those before setting the pile onto the corner for the busboy to take.

Clean and clear, in more ways than one, Wakatoshi glances back over to Sakusa, noting the labored breathing and just as he's about to comment on it and put Sakusa's sock back on for him, the credit card's being slid over, forcing him to pause. And blink.]

Do not worry, Kiyoomi. I've already covered this dinner in advance.

[Because of course he did. Spoiling him and paying for things just seemed like the appropriate thing to do, though he is flattered that Sakusa was willing to pay even if Wakatoshi had been the one to drag him out here.

With a small smile, he slides the card back, gestures for their waiter to come by with the check for him to sign. And of course the loyal little puppy of a waiter leaps at the opportunity to suck up for a bonus, which Wakatoshi casually signs over and all but shoves the card holder into the waiter's (comparably) tiny hands.

He rubs at Sakusa's foot, then pats it gently on the side, a silent gesture for him to prepare himself.]

But we can certainly have dessert at home.

[With a nod of his head towards the door.]

Ready?

[It shouldn't come as a surprise that Ushijima had been this thorough, but it is, and the extra care charms Sakusa further. His thighs clench in want as he slides the card back back into his wallet and, while his hands are beneath the table, pries himself away from Ushijima to tuck himself back into his shoe. Ushijima had done a satisfactory job of cleaning them both up afterward but particularly his foot, wiping it clean, dry, and sliding his sock on as if nobody were the wiser of what they'd been up to. It's a fairly intimate act that has Sakusa nearly moaning over the table, but Sakusa manages to keep shut and shiver while held still, eyes on the prize. Ushijima's impeccable manners were just another thing Sakusa looks forward to rewarding his boyfriend for as soon as they're home and behind locked doors.]

Yes. Let's.

[Sakusa can barely contain his enthusiasm as stands up, grabs his roses, and casts one final cursory glance at the waiter. He can't get out of here soon enough, a sigh of relief escaping him.]

The service was terrible.

[Getting up from the table takes some effort. Even though he's certain he looks fine, Wakatoshi isn't certain he looks as pristine as he did when he first stepped into the restaurant and if any of the other diners or the staff have noticed -- snooty rich types tended to be so critical of such things, especially when directed towards (somewhat) celebrity athletes and the like.

It's also difficult to seem so unaffected when Sakusa, meanwhile, is practically doubled over their table and getting a look of absolute hunger burning behind those impossibly-black eyes. But Wakatoshi manages, even offering Sakusa his elbow once he's sure his suit is smoothed out and he's retrieved all of his belongings, including his credit card.

The waiter bristles, apparently overhearing Sakusa's commentary but ever so dutiful and professional, despite getting his balls torn off verbally, he does nothing except smile and nod as the two men turn and head toward the restaurant's exit.]

Very sorry about the subpar service you received, Sakusa. I'm hoping to make it up to you with dessert at home...

[Which he really does intend to, once they make it home. The trip back is mostly forgettable -- Wakatoshi sprung the extra cash for a cab ride instead of a standard train ride, not wanting their suits to get dirty, and if it was to get a chance for him to sneak and run his large hand over Sakusa's thigh and crotch for the entire trip while the driver was blissfully unaware, that was just an added bonus and certainly nothing he'd planned for.

They're barely three steps into his abode, with their shoes neatly removed and placed on opposite sides of the genkan when Wakatoshi undoes the button of Sakusa's slacks, reaches in through the open fly of his underwear, and starts blowing him right then and there.]

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