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“Hey, c’mon, that’s—Yuuji, enough, that’s enough, stop—Yuuji—”
Yuuji doesn’t stop. Satoru’s not even sure he heard, if he can hear anything with how he’s acting as if the whole world has narrowed to the space between Satoru’s legs.
Satoru plans to try again, he does, but then Yuuji lets out a low, throaty noise that lashes against heated, hypersensitive flesh, and his mind shudders into static.
He’s not given time to recover from that before Yuuji stops lapping at his hole to lick into him.
Satoru’s nails sink into the tatami mats, clawing right through them to score groves along the wood underneath.
Yuuji forces his hips a little higher, burying his face more firmly in Satoru’s ass.
His mouth is relentless, monstrous.
Satoru can’t remember when it started, his infallible grasp on time turned to a red, writhing mess of sensations by Yuuji’s lips and tongue and teeth. He can’t remember how many times he’s come already, but he knows it’s at least one too many, the ceaseless pulsing of his limp cock more pain than pleasure.
He thinks he begged Yuuji to stop sucking on it. He thinks that’s why Yuuji’s there now, slaking his inhuman thirst with another piece of flesh.
“Yuuji…” he says weakly, swallowing another tight, throaty noise when teeth scrape his rim, hard and mean but followed by a warm, wet tongue, and if it’s meant to soothe, it doesn’t, only sending another cascade of serrated pleasure all through him.
His cock’s still throbbing; it hurts.
Satoru likes pain. He likes being torn open by hands and teeth and cock.
This isn’t that. This is—
Yuuji’s tongue curls into him, slow and sweet. Leisurely. He was frantic the first time, shoving it into Satoru like he’d die without a taste, but even with his brain threatening to melt into sludge, Satoru can tell Yuuji’s anything but frantic now. He’s taking his time; he’s practically making love there, his mouth married to where Satoru’s wet and hot and open.
It’d be sweet if Satoru weren’t dying.
He throws an arm over his eyes, as if sparing himself the sight of that deceptively innocent pink head will make this easier on his mind or his body. It doesn’t. All it does is make him blisteringly aware of exactly what Yuuji’s mouth is doing to him.
Tongue, wet and hot and somehow thicker than it looks, spearing him open over and over like it’s greedy for his flesh, and there’s not an inch it can reach that it hasn’t already tasted, but Yuuji keeps twisting it inside him, the tapered tip digging into a new patch of oversensitive muscle every time. And when it pulls out, it’s just to press hotly to the rim, the flat of it massaging his clenching hole. Satoru’s so messy there, wet and slippery like Yuuji’s gone and tongued open a cunt for himself. The spit doesn’t dry before Yuuji’s slobbering all over him again, and tiny rivers of it trickle down his crack to pool on the floor.
It’s dirty. He’s dirty, and he likes it, he does, but it’s so much, and it’s been so long, he can’t—
Teeth, again, and oh, oh, fuck, that’s Yuuji’s whole mouth open over him, two rows of sharp teeth digging into delicate skin made ten times as sensitive by what feels like hours of tender unmercy, and it skewers Satoru like a blade through the gut, gets him jolting and yelling, and there are no words, but Yuuji must be able to hear, he must know, but he doesn’t—
They scrape Satoru raw, and he only knows he’s bleeding when his cursed energy reacts, pooling where Yuuji tore skin to heal it sweet. Yuuji makes another noise that burrows into his hole, as hot and solid as any bit of flesh, and sets his teeth to the newly healed skin, tongue prodding a spot like he’s tasting Satoru’s power.
He bites and his tongue plunges deep. Satoru’s brutally opened up, inside and out.
He crushes a handful of wood, and the splinters that lodge in the meat of his palm don’t hurt as sweet as Yuuji’s teeth. The pain is sharp and real, grounding him for a second before his reverse cursed technique kicks in again, pushing them out of his flesh and healing every cut.
It can’t push Yuuji’s teeth out of him, but it tries. Yuuji laps at it, his tongue a wicked curl around where his teeth are buried a mere millimeter in Satoru’s flesh.
Satoru wonders deliriously whether Yuuji’s eating that too.
Suction follows, hot and filthy. Satoru’s skin stays torn long enough for it to sting, but it’s only worse after the pain goes away, electric sensation sparking up his nerves. Yuuji’s mouth is a devouring thing, threatening to swallow his insides and leave him hollow.
There’s a brief respite, Yuuji’s mouth detaching from his hole. Warm breath flutters over it, and if Satoru focuses, he can hear Yuuji pant for air over the ragged sounds of his own breathing. He raises his arm to stare down at Yuuji, taking in the hunched shoulders rising and falling rhythmically under Satoru’s splayed, trembling legs. For a moment, he’s hopeful, but wary too because he remembers what happened the last few times he thought Yuuji was done. Still, hope flares bright when Yuuji straightens up, easing Satoru’s legs off his shoulders to wrap them around his waist.
He’s a vision, his whole face flushed and gleaming with a dirty mix of sweat and spit and come. His mouth looks swollen.
Satoru wants to kiss him.
Anyone would want to. Anyone would be distracted, Six Eyes or not.
Yuuji’s already mouthing at his cock when Satoru registers the look in his eyes—the still-live, still-lashing hunger.
“No, no, Yuuji,” Satoru mumbles, even as the hope dies and his body quakes, and Yuuji does hear him this time, big brown eyes gone dark with lust flitting up to meet Satoru’s own, and they look so cutely confused, like Yuuji can’t even imagine why Satoru’s telling him no. It’d be innocent too, if not for the pretty pink tongue bullying Satoru’s cock. “I can’t—”
Yuuji swallows him whole, and Satoru breaks off with a shout.
Agonizing pleasure bites into his cock, coaxing more blood into its limp length, and Satoru doesn’t want to get hard again, it hurt so much the last time, but his body’s a machine of his own making, and it gives and gives and gives.
Satoru’s in no place to appreciate the irony of the automated healing he lost control over due to mind-rending pleasure being what’s keeping him trapped writhing in that same savage state.
Yuuji, sucking on his hardening cock with a happy hum, seems to appreciate it way too much.
And Satoru tries to get away, he does, bracing both hands and feet on the floor and shoving, and it’s clumsy, unbecoming of even a two-bit sorcerer. Satoru’s a hell of a lot more than that, but there’s a mouth burning on him from a boy who’s been burning since Satoru met him, and it’s a greater binding than any vow.
He arches off the floor, his spine a wounded curve.
He gets nowhere, crashing right back into the torn-up mats and that tearing mouth.
Yuuji’s hands tighten on his hips, which never left the floor to begin with. Satoru makes the mistake of looking down at him.
It’s the mouth that kills him first, spread so sweetly around Satoru’s girth and sucking with a dedication that was charming and arousing and everything in between the first time Yuuji did this, inexperienced but determined and so, so willing to learn, and Satoru taught him, scooping up his youth by the fistful to swallow it hot. Yuuji let him then, and now the look in his eyes says it’s only right that Satoru lets him do this, have this, and that’s what kills him next.
Satoru thrashes weakly on the floor; the parts of him in Yuuji’s grasp don’t so much as twitch.
Yuuji releases his cock, but Satoru knows better than to hope this time, and sure enough, the lingering suction is soon replaced by wide strokes of Yuuji’s tongue, a hand leaving Satoru’s hip to hold his dick in place for that busy mouth. It laves him from root to tip—hot, dripping, wet. Each stroke shudders through him, too sharp to feel good and too soft to hurt.
“Yuuji,” he rasps, “please.”
And Yuuji has to know what he means, what he wants; Satoru had to beg last time too.
All he gets is a kiss to the flushed, aching head. It’s sweet until it turns open-mouthed and hot, swallowing him with a slow, scorching slide.
Yuuji sucks, tongue writhing along the underside and throat constricting around the head.
Satoru just burns.
He’s given up, half limp on the floor with hitching breaths and blurry eyes, all of him narrowed to the wet heat eating him alive, when there’s a new kind of pressure at his hole. For a second, he doesn’t even recognize it, the flesh there too used to a wet, wicked touch, and Yuuji’s already fed him two fingers to the last knuckle when Satoru realizes what he’s feeling.
He whines, clenching helplessly around the digits. They burn, spreading him wider and reaching deeper than Yuuji’s tongue ever did, but the pain is more welcome than the pleasure, almost soothing.
That lasts until Yuuji finds his prostate.
The first touch has Satoru convulsing on the floor, and the second sends his fingers through another patch of tatami and wood. Yuuji pulls out his fingers, only to thrust in with one more, all three hooked at an angle that makes Satoru see stars.
“Yuu…ji,” he grits out—
—and regrets it when Yuuji hums around his cock, the sound whipping at him.
Satoru flinches away, but there’s nowhere to go, his body flush to the floor, and Yuuji follows every frenzied twitch of his body zealously, mouth attached to his cock and fingers unerringly returning to his prostate, and it’s not nice, teeth flirting with his crown and nails dragging along his insides while Yuuji fights to keep him, and the little bursts of pain aren’t as soothing as they should be, not when they’re followed by hot suction and piercing pressure.
Satoru stops squirming in hopes of…mercy, maybe, or something softer, quieter, like Yuuji will let up if Satoru makes himself still enough, small enough.
He does and he doesn’t; the teeth and the nails are put away, but the mouth stays and the fingers don’t waver, and Satoru’s left quivering in the throes of the most loving death to ever find him.
Coming hurts.
Yuuji’s fingers milk it out of him, and his mouth follows suit. Satoru shakes and shudders, lips wide open for needy noises to spill out gracelessly, endlessly. They ring in his ears, loud and mocking.
Yuuji drinks him dry and keeps sucking until Satoru starts shaking under him, his muscles violently out of control. And he thinks Yuuji will keep going anyway, and then he will die, but Satoru will come back, he will—
To this boy, for this boy, he will always—
Yuuji’s lips part, releasing Satoru’s cock. The sudden absence of that heat makes the whole world feel cold.
Satoru opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing, blinking once and then twice to clear his vision, and looks down. The long expanse of his own torso takes a moment to resolve into recognizable lines.
His cock is limp, curled sadly against his own thigh. It’s gleaming with spit, but there’s not a drop of come on it.
Satoru wonders whether he gave Yuuji anything to swallow. His mind shies away from trying to remember how it felt. But there can’t have been much. Or anything. He’s only a man.
He was a god, but Yuuji makes him wholly, stupidly human.
“Sensei, I’m thirsty.” It takes Satoru a moment to realize Yuuji spoke and then another to parse the words. “I’ll be right back.”
“Right…” Satoru swallows, trying to make his cotton-tongue work. “Right back?”
But Yuuji’s already gone—not far, only a few feet to the side where they lay down the water bottles and towels before the spar. Satoru’s memory is a little hazy on how that fury of fists and feet devolved into this messy affair of flesh and teeth, but the bruises Yuuji’s violence left have long since faded, even as the ones from his mouth continue to eat at him.
His own throat aches at the sight of Yuuji gulping down water, head thrown back to bare the strong lines of his neck. Water trickles down, joining the sweat glistening there.
Satoru’s worn body warms dangerously.
He…needs to get up.
His limbs don’t quite cooperate. It’s ridiculous how pleasure weakens him in a way pain hasn’t managed since he was a child, but it’s hard to mind when Yuuji’s sweet mouth is the culprit. Still, it’s the memories of battles past that he draws on to make his body move, wrangling shaky limbs and hollow muscles into something functional and utterly graceless. Just turning over to his side still exhausts him, leaving him panting and sweating, but he perseveres, pushing himself up onto all fours.
Cool air hits his ass and thighs, strangely soothing against the skin Yuuji bruised to burning. It does nothing for the aches inside, only making Satoru acutely aware of how open and exposed he is with his ass in the air like this.
He needs to—
“You’re so impatient, sensei.”
Satoru freezes; it’s not a mistake only because nothing could’ve saved him.
Warm, calloused hands settle on his hips, deceptively gentle. More heat follows, snug against his ass and stretched along his back. Yuuji kisses his nape before nuzzling at his undercut, so sweet that Satoru could choke on it.
“Yuuji,” Satoru says, and his voice comes out breathy, a warning without any bite. “Yuuji, don’t—”
Yuuji does, blunt pressure the only warning before Satoru’s cleaved to the gut.
His arms buckle, forearms slamming against the floor, and it’s unthinking instinct that keeps his face from following suit. Noise lashes at his ears, taking a long, ringing second to resolve into the cry that escaped his own mouth and his name a startled gasp on Yuuji’s lips.
“Easy,” Yuuji’s telling him, stroking Satoru’s flank like he’s a spooked horse. “I’ve got you, sensei.”
That’s the problem, Satoru thinks.
When he opens his mouth, all that comes out is wordless keening, like he really is an animal.
Yuuji’s motionless, for now, and it’s no mercy. The initial shock of the penetration eases into blistering sensation, and Satoru’s left choking on the fullness. He knows this cock, its shape carved into his insides, but memory isn’t immunity. It pulls him open every time, stretching him wide and skewering deep, and Satoru can take it, revel in it, but not today, not now, not with his insides still steaming from Yuuji’s tongue and sore from his fingers.
Not when his whole body is still one exposed nerve.
And it’s worse because Yuuji’s cock is incomparably thicker and longer, and the hole that felt so open and wet just moments ago is now straining around its girth, trying in vain to close around all that hard flesh. It reaches deeper than Yuuji’s fingers did, and those parts feel torn open, brutalized, burning even hotter than that invading heat.
Satoru can feel it in his throat.
Yuuji’s still petting him, the hips flush to Satoru’s ass not even twitching. It feels indulgent and dangerous.
“Yuuji,” Satoru says helplessly; nothing else comes out.
“Sensei.” It’s warm, almost sweet. Yuuji always sounds so sweet. “Are you ready?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
Satoru chokes on the feverish drag of that cock exiting his body, on the soul-deep certainty that he won’t get another moment of respite.
Yuuji stops with only the head inside, and he stays like that, a second turning into another turning into a screaming eternity, Satoru empty and not, his rim twitching around that thick head while muscles deeper inside clench around a hot hollowness, and he doesn’t know what he wants, Yuuji pulling out and letting him breathe or shoving in and making him whole, and he’s not allowed to decide, the cockhead popping free of his body with a too-loud noise that Satoru identifies a little too late as his own plaintive cry.
Hungry fingers sink into the meat of his ass to spread him open. Satoru doesn’t need the Six Eyes to know where Yuuji’s looking, and his slutty hole twitches like it’s winking at Yuuji, begging for more.
He’s not.
Satoru doesn’t want more, he doesn’t, he can’t take it, he’s not—
“You’re so pretty here, sensei,” Yuuji says, savagely sincere.
Satoru whines.
Yuuji reacts predictably, groaning like a gutted man and guiding his cock back into Satoru, and he takes his time now, rubbing it over the twitching rim, smearing precome all over it, and Satoru thinks deliriously of how wet he is, how wet Yuuji’s made him, soaking him in spit and come and precome, and it should be sweet, should be nice, but Satoru’s just burning.
He’s filled to the brim in one, vicious thrust.
Satoru drops his head, the dull pain of his forehead impacting the floor doing nothing to distract him from the scorching fullness. He’s not given time to adjust before Yuuji pulls out, and there’s no lingering limbo, no idle admiration, only a sharp change in direction, Satoru fucked full before his bruised muscles can recover. His whole body jolts with it, electrified and hot.
Yuuji sets a pace that could break a man, slamming into Satoru with a fury that melts his flesh and shatters his bones.
It’s not pleasure that tears at Satoru’s insides and writhes through his veins, but it’s nothing as straightforward as pain either. Yuuji’s good—good with his body, good with Satoru, good with this dance they learned together a gentle lifetime ago. Satoru’s too spent to dance with him, his cock still limp as it sways between his legs with every bone-rattling thrust. Inside, he’s sparking up in all the wrong ways, all the wrong places, and Yuuji’s cock is a live wire.
Hot air washes over his face, damp and heavy with helpless hurt.
Yuuji’s fingers sink deeper into his flesh. He speeds up.
Satoru doesn’t have the air to scream, but his whole body feels like one. Yuuji cleaves right through the renewed resistance, breaking Satoru open like he owns him.
Doesn’t he?
Hurry, he thinks, until the wet slap of flesh on flesh drowns that out too.
Satoru’s name cuts through the air; Yuuji rams into him with enough force to shove him forward an inch, the friction raw on his forearms and knees.
Satoru gasps wetly as heat drenches his insides, seeping into the space Yuuji hollowed out. Yuuji fucks him through it, slowing but never stopping, and the hands gripping Satoru’s ass spread him obscenely wider. His already sore rim throbs, a hot sting that makes Satoru hiss through gritted teeth, and he can’t help looking at Yuuji the way he’s been trying not to. Line of sight is no detriment to the Six Eyes, but Satoru knows that seeing Yuuji’s face will only make this worse. He also knows what he’ll find.
He’s right on all counts. There’s naked hunger on Yuuji’s face as he watches his cock fuck his come back into Satoru. It’s primal, possessive. Yuuji looks like a beast, eyes all pupil and lips peeled back over his teeth. Satoru feels liquified in the face of it, all his bones a molten thrum.
He wants this boy to devour him.
Yuuji only stops when his cock is soft, and it slips out of Satoru with a shudder-sweet sting, teasing his taint before Yuuji shifts his hips away. He keeps Satoru open, keeps looking, and Satoru has no choice but to feel every excruciating second of Yuuji’s come trickling out of him, tracing a dirty path down his own body.
He screws his eyes shut and buries his face in his forearms, directing his ever-active eyes to the darkness there, but that doesn’t save him from the rest of his senses. His skin burns where Yuuji’s touching, where he touched—inside and out, everything feverishly hot. His own breathing rings in his ears, but he can hear Yuuji too, breathing raggedly with an edge Satoru recognizes as satisfaction. The ripe scent of sex clings to the inside of his nose, his throat; he can almost taste it.
It’s almost a relief when Yuuji’s touch changes, one of his hands easing its grip to stroke along Satoru’s ass. It cups the inside of his cheek, squeezing gently, possessively.
A shudder runs through Satoru.
Knuckles brush his abused hole, light and idle enough that Satoru’s tempted to dismiss the touch as incidental. But it’s not. He knows Yuuji; it’s not.
A thumb replaces the knuckles, rubbing wetly at the come still seeping out of Satoru. It tucks itself inside, tugging the rim down. It’s not a cruel touch, but Satoru still feels like he’s been whipped there.
“Yuuji,” he grits out, raising his head just enough that his voice won’t be muffled, “stop it.”
“Sorry,” Yuuji murmurs, but he doesn’t sound sorry and doesn’t take his hand away, that lone thumb keeping Satoru filthily exposed.
Satoru reaches back despite how it makes him tremble, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, what he wants to do, but it doesn’t matter anyway because Yuuji catches his hand with his free one, linking their fingers before lowering their hands to settle on the small of Satoru’s back, and it’s a trap, a prison, but it feels so sweet.
Satoru squeezes Yuuji’s hand, and Yuuji squeezes back.
His thumb turns inside Satoru before slipping out, and the howling emptiness doesn’t last even a second before Yuuji slips two fingers into him. It’s slow, exploratory; they press gently into the damp flesh, doing a circuit like he’s mapping out everything he stained.
It’s strangely intimate. Satoru can’t bring himself to pull away, to even protest.
Then the angle changes, the pressure changes—
Yuuji licks at him, a searing line from taint to rim.
Satoru jolts with a warning cry, and it doesn’t stop Yuuji, who laps hungrily at Satoru past his own fingers, and every second of it is exquisite hell, all of Satoru brutally reminded of how it felt to have Yuuji attached mouth-first there till the flesh was a fever-hot, spit-soaked pulse of painful pleasure.
He tears his hand out of Yuuji’s and shoves his forearm forward, crawling away from that mouth.
Yuuji yanks him back with the fingers hooked into his hole.
Satoru screams.
“Sensei!” It’s startled, sincere except for the laughter threaded through it. “Calm down!”
Calm down, as if his fingers aren’t crooked cruelly inside Satoru, knuckles straining against the rim and nails digging into the muscles. As if Satoru’s whole body isn’t still howling like a wraith from the vicious strength that pulled him back to hold him hot at the tips of those fingers.
“It hurts,” Satoru says dazedly, barely able to feel his mouth moving. “It hurts, Yuuji, you’re hurting me—”
“You like that though.” Yuuji sounds so guileless, and he’s petting Satoru again, inside and out, and it burns, it— “You like this, sensei.”
“No,” Satoru mumbles, but it’s weak compared to Yuuji’s soft, assured claim. “Not—too much, it’s—I don’t—no, wait, Yuuji—”
His own throat strangles him, closing up tight around his protests as Yuuji licks into him, bolder and deeper, and his fingers are still there, a wicked curve right past the rim, and when Satoru wails, they fuck him quiet, and when he writhes away, they haul him back onto Yuuji’s waiting mouth.
Yuuji sweetly, savagely pulls him apart.
Satoru’s whimpering by the time it ends, but there’s no relief in it, his skin still clinging to the phantom bite of wet, vicious heat. It feels like Yuuji’s tongue is still there, ghosting along his clenching hole and plunging into the shuddering insides. It feels like it’ll always be there, fucking him to delirium.
Yuuji pats his hole, the flat of his fingers tapping the rim.
It’s comfort; it’s a taunt.
Satoru’s breath hitches, cutting off that endless stream of pathetic noise.
Yuuji rolls him over.
Unfair, is Satoru’s first thought. Yuuji looks good, flushed and damp with exertion but so damn pretty, from his swollen mouth to his plastered hair. He looks like some forest god, looming over Satoru like this. The scars darkening his mouth and eyebrow brand him as wholly, painfully human, but they sharpen his beauty into something that could carve you open into a bloody feast.
Satoru feels carved open and feasted on, but it doesn’t kill the helpless surge of want he feels just looking at this boy.
“Sensei,” Yuuji murmurs, dipping his head low till his breath steams over Satoru’s face. It smells like sex. “I want more.”
The words take a long moment to register.
Yuuji’s already moving, a hand under Satoru to tilt his hips up, angling him right for the—
“No,” Satoru rasps, all of him tightening painfully as that familiar blunt pressure threatens his hole. “No, no, Yuuji, no—”
Yuuji takes him anyway.
Satoru’s instinctive resistance is smothered by Yuuji’s equally instinctive response; his flailing legs are caught and yanked around Yuuji’s waist, and his cock faithfully follows the arch of Satoru’s hips. Yuuji topples forward, palm slamming down on either side of Satoru’s head as their bodies slot together forcefully.
Yuuji’s face is the picture of pleasure.
All of Satoru is screaming for mercy.
Past the first flood of sensation, Satoru can’t help breaking down what he’s feeling into its component parts. The heat hits first, his body scorched clean through by Yuuji’s burning cock, and it’s no better outside, everywhere they’re pressed together a simmering blend of warmth and sweat. It wouldn’t have been unpleasant, except it’s not just heat, it’s weight and girth and length, impaling him at an angle that resurrects old hurts and forges new ones. Satoru can’t breathe without clenching all around Yuuji’s cock, and once he starts, he can’t stop, his muscles fluttering and flinching around it over and over and over, and the worst part is that he can’t even tell whether his body’s trying to shove Yuuji out or keep him there.
His legs are no different, clamped tight where Yuuji put them. His hipbones are digging into Satoru’s inner thighs, and his back muscles flex lightly against his calves even though Yuuji’s not moving at all. He’s warm and sturdy and so big, inside and out, and despite the pain, despite the sheer exhaustion, Satoru wants to touch him, hold him, keep him.
“Sensei,” Yuuji says thickly, and Satoru’s eyes fly to his face, a noise quivering in his throat when he finds those eyes open and fixed on him, even the irises a brown so dark that it looks black.
“Yuuji,” Satoru breathes, “please.”
Yuuji lowers his body, chest and stomach and hips all pressing into Satoru, and it’s a shock to his system, the heat growing teeth, and he’s already gasping when Yuuji’s mouth finds his, an unwitting invitation that Yuuji claims without hesitance, licking into Satoru with a throaty groan.
The taste, it’s—
Satoru finds himself clinging to Yuuji’s shoulders with no memory of moving. They’re broad and strong, silken skin stretched taut over solid muscle, and they don’t flinch away from Satoru’s desperate, bruising fingers. Yuuji only kisses him deeper, pushing more of that unmistakable, indescribable taste into Satoru’s mouth, till he’s ripe with it from tongue to throat.
His taste, drenching Yuuji’s mouth and spreading to him like a fever.
Yuuji’s mouth doesn’t waver as his hips start moving, and this time, it’s Satoru’s nails that sink into flesh, scoring helpless lines down the length of Yuuji’s back, and Yuuji jolts, but only to fuck him harder, deeper. It’s nothing like the frenzied thrusting from earlier, Yuuji’s current pace a violently controlled thing that drives his cock into Satoru in deep, damning strokes that threaten to bruise him in places he didn’t know could be touched, and it’s no kinder pulling out, the curve of it feeling like it’s dragging Satoru’s guts out with it.
His insides feel tenderized.
Yuuji’s flesh tears under his nails, slicking their skin with something hotter and stickier than sweat. Yuuji doesn’t pause or slow, his mouth and his cock relentless and hungry, but there’s a new intent in the air, thickening it in ways Satoru can feel in his knotted, pulsing gut.
He says…something. A question, a name, everything. It’s just noise on his tongue, his mind, and it doesn’t matter anyway, every sound swallowed by the open mouth pressed wetly to his. Yuuji’s tongue slides over his like he wants to taste Satoru’s words too, but it’s Satoru who’s left choking on the taste of his defiled body blended with a familiar, well-loved flavor that’s all Yuuji.
Yuuji fucks into him at a different angle, bullying new swathes of helplessly clenching muscle. Satoru returns the favor, his nails digging into hot, rippling flesh to claw it open. And Yuuji shifts over him, inside him, and his mouth doesn’t let up, worrying at Satoru with lips and tongue and teeth, and it’s a lot, all of him a scorching demand, and Satoru loses himself to it, and it’s not so bad like this, the bite of oversensitivity soothed by the warmth and weight pressing him against the floor, against his own bones.
Satoru can take this. He can lie there and let Yuuji have this, have him—
A white-hot explosion, raking through his guts to burst his spine wide open.
Satoru shouts, tearing his face away from Yuuji and pushing him away, and Yuuji goes nowhere, all of him warm granite, but he doesn’t chase Satoru beyond a damp, dripping kiss to the jaw and a sigh that flutters hotly against the skin there.
His hand stays stubbornly curled around Satoru’s cock. It’s half hard, somehow, but the sensation skewering him each time Yuuji’s thrusts force it to rub against his fist is a thousand times removed from pleasure.
“No,” Satoru snaps, shoving at Yuuji’s shoulder, and that doesn’t earn him anything other than an indulgent smile and a slow, shuddering thrust that makes Satoru excruciatingly aware of every inch of flesh that’s wrapped around Yuuji’s cock and every inch that’s hollowed out in its wake. He swallows a whimper, says, “No, Yuuji.”
Yuuji has the gall to pout at him; his hips don’t even slow.
“Just one more,” he coaxes, nuzzling Satoru, and it’s sweet, it is, but Satoru can’t—he can’t— “Please, sensei.”
He’s not asking. Satoru knows that. It’s pretty and sweet, but Yuuji’s not asking.
Satoru’s stomach turns to lead—molten, melting lead.
“No,” he says, and it comes out weak and whispery, and Satoru can’t look away from Yuuji’s face, his eyes—the animal intent there. He still tries: “I don’t want to, please, Yuuji—”
Yuuji’s hand tightens around Satoru’s cock. His hips shift and speed up, every thrust rubbing his cock along Satoru’s overworked prostate and making his swelling dick slide against his fist, and it’s torture, a maddening medley of sensations that scream through his flesh. He’s sensitive, too sensitive, and it almost makes him numb, except he’s not numb enough, and he feels everything, but it’s to the left of what it should be, pleasure twisting into pain and pain sparking into pleasure.
Yuuji gets rougher, slamming into him hard and fast and viciously deep. His cock drags Satoru along like a ragdoll. He keeps squeezing Satoru’s cock, idle and cruel and everything in between.
Something gapes open in the pit of his belly, a black hole of sensation.
“Yuuji,” Satoru whimpers, and he means to beg or snap or rage, anything for a respite, but all that comes out is the closest thing to a prayer that’s ever touched his mouth— “Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji—”
The pink on Yuuji’s face ripens to red.
His body becomes brutal, and the prayer on Satoru’s tongue becomes a howl.
Yuuji drinks it from his mouth and fills Satoru up with his breath, a fiery blaze that spreads down his throat to join the screaming pulse of his cock and his hole.
His body becomes a pyre, burning out.
-
When Satoru comes to, he’s supine on the floor, empty and spent and apparently allowed to stay that way. It’d be more jarring if not for the weight crushing him, Yuuji sprawled on him like he’s still fifteen—several inches shorter and a good fifteen kilos lighter.
Satoru’s still bigger and broader, so he endures it. He decided when Yuuji actually was fifteen that he wants to spend his life enduring it.
He tries to say Yuuji’s name, but all that comes out is a throaty rumble.
Yuuji reacts anyway, detaching his head from where it was buried between Satoru’s tits. His hands stay as they are, fondling each pec. Satoru knows this boy well enough to tell exactly how he was entertaining himself after fucking Satoru insensate. And the fresh wetness inside him, seeping slowly out even now, says what he’d been doing before that too.
Satoru tries not to focus on the raw ache of his cock. There’s no sticky mess there, but he can guess what Yuuji did to that too.
“Little pervert,” Satoru says, and this time, his voice behaves, even if it shows everything that’s been done to him a little too well. “You used to be such a good, nice boy.”
Yuuji doesn’t bat an eye at the accusation. His eyes are heavy-lidded and full of soft, sated heat, and there’s something unspeakably possessive about the way they survey Satoru’s face, lingering on his eyes and his mouth.
“That was fun,” Yuuji says, and his voice is hoarse, but that doesn’t detract from the warm contentment in it. “We should do that again, Satoru.”
Never ever, Satoru means to say.
“Marry me,” is what comes out.
Yuuji makes a low, considering noise and pats a perky nipple. “Ask me again when I’m older.”