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He's there because of many reasons but mostly vengeance and the desire to get higher than Akinori and Kuroo usually get with him. Which is also because of vengeance.
Takahiro was watching a movie about valkyries last night, then he read a few issues of Thor from the 90s where valkyries were there, then he texted Issei some bullshit.
He can't bear to look back at his own pathetic, moviestar dialogue so he woke up, had two bowls of cereal, and called up Terushima Yuuji.
It's been thirteen days of no Issei. No calls, no proper texting, Issei had sworn to Skype him soon but his janked up hand me down black Dell computer finally shuffled off this mortal coil. And he'd sent a hurried voice note before boarding the train to work, four days ago.
That Takahiro replayed no less than thirty nine times because that's how much he's missing that voice. That constant tinge of embarrassment, the gruff apology, that low, sweet tenor, the bass when he gets quieter. The clear frustration when he's cut off by the arrival of his ride.
He sounds good frustrated. But what good can frustration do from a different prefecture. Issei isn't even any good at sexting and his thumbs are too big to type for too long without getting a cramp in his palm and his phone speakers are fucked, too. For someone so obsessed with his fancy new job, you'd think he'd get himself the new iPhone.
Terushima is in the shower. It's sickeningly cringey how long his showers are. Takahiro wonders if he's expecting to bottom. Takahiro wonders if he's actually expecting to get laid. Takahiro wonders if he's at that point yet.
The doorbell buzzes. Takahiro sits up, hair tousling. He’s sure it’s stuck up at the back, and briefly he entertains a fantasy, on his way to shove his upper body out of the window and lean over, precarious—that it’s Issei behind the door, like he often fantasizes. Behind every door, he wishes it was Issei. He peers around, craning his neck to try and get a glimpse of whoever it is standing at the door to the flat, lucky for the wraparound open balcony hallway because he can see whoever's there around the corner. It’s around five A.M and the sun is beginning to gleam around the lower edges of the skyscrapers and flats all around. All he can see at the door is a dark, curly head.
His stomach flips.
Hands in his pockets, giant body slightly hunched. No way.
Takahiro skids on his way to the door, hand sweaty on the jamb. When he opens it, it’s Issei.
‘What?’ Takahiro says, heart in his throat.
Issei’s body unfurls a bit like a flower, when they meet eyes. His face is dark and furious. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets.
‘What the fuck,’ Issei says softly, ‘are you doing here.’
‘How’d you get here!’ Takahiro says, astounded.
‘Where is here?’ he returns. His voice is calm and low but his eyes look mildly crazy.
Takahiro is so breathless and excited, he’s sure he looks even crazier. He feels completely wound up and bright now, with delirious joy. Issei is right in front of him.
‘You found me,’ Takahiro breathes.
He goes in for a bruising hug, throws his whole body at Issei like a kid. Issei catches him, a palm firm on his thigh and one to his nape. It crawls up and he turns them, tucks Takahiro against the doorframe and looms.
‘Answer me first,’ he says quietly.
Takahiro wets his lips. Reassesses a bit. His lips are still parted, and Issei’s gaze doesn’t even shift down to watch them with that lustful look he usually gets, no, he is singleminded. Takahiro peers down at what he’s wearing. It’s dark wash jeans and a white shirt that should’ve been crisp at some point in wearing it, but now it’s crumpled and crushed at the ends and untucked, collar skewed. Sleeves shoved up. His fingers twitch against Takahiro’s nape. Thumb hard and locking him in place.
‘Why’s my baby mad at me,’ Takahiro says, feeling completely hilarious. He even flits his tongue out again, poking at his canine. Flashing Issei with the sight of it.
Issei’s expression doesn’t even change. He looks even more pissed.
‘Takahiro,’ Issei says evenly. ‘It’s almost five in the morning. It took me hours to get here. You’re looking like sex at another man’s apartment. You sent me a hundred needy voice messages last night—’
‘Weren’t that needy,’ Takahiro says, flustering.
‘Sounding like you had two fingers up your cunt—’
‘I was not doing that!’ he responds, heated and more embarrassed now.
‘And I follow your location and find you here, at some random fucking apartment under the name of some guy I have never heard of,’ Issei says, voice raising a bit. He exhales, then his fingers flex again, shifting to grip Takahiro’s throat. He looks so stupidly worked up. Then he breathes, and gets close, dark skin and his nose dragging against Takahiro’s hot cheek. Murmurs, ‘Who is he, then? I want answers.’
‘You’re such a psycho,’ Takahiro says, and tries to bite his nose, chasing with his mouth and he leans back with a grunt. ‘How do you know who’s name it’s under?’
‘Bobata Kazuma posted a new flat picture on Google maps,’ Issei says.
Takahiro stares at him, goes crosseyed. Then he cracks up a bit. ‘I don’t even know who Bobata is,’ he says, laughing hysterically. Issei’s palm digs into his throat and he’s still not even smiling. He looks so grim. Takahiro is so high, it doesn’t even feel like an issue.
‘Oh my god, unclench,’ Takahiro says through laughter. ‘You’re acting crazy. I’m just here to get high.’
‘You’ve done that,’ Issei observes. ‘Let’s go home now. Go get your things.’
‘I’m not doing that,’ he retorts, wriggling a bit. Issei’s hands get rougher, pinning him back in place. ‘Hey, seriously, lemme up. I told Yuuji we’d hang for a bit. He’s in the shower—’
‘You’re here with Yuuji?’ He actually looks pissed now. ‘That fucktard who sells you weed?’
Takahiro is starting to get ticked off, too. ‘Yes, I’m here with Yuuji. You know, my friend? The guy who actually makes time for me, even though he’s doing a really tough degree—’
Issei scoffs. ‘He skips all his classes to get stoned, don’t call it tough… he’s a piece of shit. A fucking bum and an asshole. There’s no way you’re cheating on me with Yuuji.’
‘Who’s cheating?!’ he demands, incredulous. He wriggles harder, bucks his hips up and Issei’s thick thigh slides in, and his dark, curly head is turning to stare into the apartment like Yuuji might walk out any second in a towel smelling like purple shampoo.
‘You sent me voice notes where you were crying for me,’ Issei responds, teeth gritted, ‘and your location is at some dude’s house at four A.M—’
‘My schedule is fucked!’ Takahiro hollers, squirming wildly.
‘Yeah, I bet,’ Issei says roughly. He genuinely looks so out of his mind with fury. His whole head is damp with sweat, he must’ve come straight from a night shift at the morgue, he smells good but heavy, like he’s been sweating and there’s oil, too, motorbike oil. This is starting to paint a crazy picture in Takahiro’s mind. He turns his head up and scowls up at his not-boyfriend.
‘I cannot believe you right now,’ Takahiro says, seething. Almost sobered up. ‘Throwing around these literally mental accusations, you moron, you crazy moron. Like, you could’ve just responded to my texts or picked my call, no, but you never make time for me anymore—’
‘—I don’t make time for you?’ Issei repeats. His palm isn’t soft anymore, just roughly squeezing Takahiro’s throat and this close it’s always dizzying because it’s just his dark, unfathomable eyes and the divot in his brows that makes him look so tense, all the time. But it’s worse, now, hand to Takahiro’s neck and there go his fingers. Wrapping. All firm and forbidding.
Takahiro hates when he takes advantage like this.
‘Get your hand off, I’m already pissed,’ he warns. His voice probably cracks in the middle of that.
‘Shut your mouth. I come here from Miyagi,’ Issei says, voice dangerous now. ‘At your beck and call, like a dog—’
Blinking hard, eyes flickering, he’s getting a bit dizzy now, ‘Hand off, Matsukawa—’
‘I don’t make time for you,’ he repeats, and he’s shaking his head now. Scoffing. And Takahiro’s struggling, hands trying to pull away Issei’s stupid forearm and he’s readying for a kick when Issei squeezes his throat lightly and all of Takahiro’s fire melts between his legs.
‘You’re so full of bullshit.’
‘Get off of me!’
‘Tell me why you’re at his house. I’m not playing.’
‘To smoke up!’ Takahiro cries out, incensed. ‘That’s fucking it, you asshole!’
‘Let me in, then, let’s see,’ Issei says, like there’s gonna be a big sign above the bed that says ‘GET CHEATED ON.’ Takahiro gapes at him but Issei glares back and shoves him along, hand on his elbow and pushing him roughly. Takahiro stumbles, he’s looming at his back and shoving and spitting insults, they wind up in front of Terushima Yuuji’s messed up bed. It’s nothing more than a cheap, borrowed mattress on a rickety iron frame, with a fitted sheet that’s tearing down the middle. It stinks of soda. Takahiro’s body had just been laid on it, so it’s dipped in where he’s been slung out. There’s a bottle of opened lube on the mismatched bedside table. Issei’s grip gets slack, then firm again.
‘You can’t be serious,’ Takahiro says, and gestures at the half empty packet of chips next to it. ‘That, you’ll find my fingerprints on.’
‘Yeah, I’d wanna be the one to open you up, too,’ Issei says quietly. His breath hot near his ear, his hand is on Takahiro’s wrist, and he crosses his arm, so they’re in this weird backhug where Takahiro is stiff and prickly and Issei is tucking his fingers over the back of his palm, pressing his open hand out and away. It’s like a trap, he tests the hold and Issei clicks his tongue.
‘Why’s he need lube, you always get wet enough with me,’ he says, goadingly.
‘You’ve lost your mind.’
‘Unless you’re such a slut now, you’re giving him your other hole,’ Issei says, pissed again at the idea.
‘You’re a creep sometimes. Genuinely.’
Issei’s only response is a soft exhale through his nose.
Then he’s being walked forward and turned, with rough hands. ‘Being more of a dick than usual, all this manhandling,’ Takahiro says warningly.
Issei kisses him. Their lips slide together, soft and slick and Issei sucks at the corner of his mouth, hungry kisses and the sound of his brief, quick inhales in between makes something in Takahiro’s brain turn off.
And this, he’s familiar with. Issei’s unrelenting, lazy kisses, just a never ending loop of low humming and suckling and the way he chases, the fit of their mouths together until finally his hands, palming Takahiro’s chest and hips, pinch hard enough that his mouth opens on a brief gasp and Issei’s tongue swallows him up, licking at his teeth. Takahiro loves Issei’s tongue, the way it muscles in and takes the air from his lungs, loves how his big hands always crawl up to grab his jaw and hold him still for it, like Takahiro’d ever move away.
He moves away. ‘Gotta breathe,’ he snaps, when Issei chases after.
Issei would laugh a bit here usually, and kiss his cheek. Instead he bites down on his throat and Takahiro throws his head back at the wet scrape of teeth, sliding down his skin and eliciting a shiver. He trembles, hips rising and falling back. Issei’s hips slide down, rut forward almost casually, like it’s an every day make out session with no end in sight like they’re back in Sendai and university is light years away. It’s so good. Takahiro gets his shirt off, buttons popping open easily under his nimble fingers and Issei’s chest is rough with hair, his abs more or less gone but his stomach clenches under Takahiro’s teasing palm. His arms are still big, thicker than last time, and Takahiro is about to bite his delicious looking shoulder when Issei’s lips meet his collarbone and he rubs his face against it, slow and deliberate. Takahiro moans at the scrape of his two day beard, and Issei’s slow, biting sucks to his sensitive throat crawl up like a spider, his long fingers unzipping Takahiro’s fly suddenly loud.
His front meets Issei’s, and his leg lifts almost automatically. The way Issei catches his thigh is muscle memory. The mouth of his jeans spread like they wanna fall off his hips.
‘Wanna?’ Issei breathes, right in his ear, hips thrusting slightly.
Then, ‘Right here, your little boyfriend on the other side of the wall, think he can hear when I make you see stars—’
‘Stop, stoppp, he’s not—oh!’
Issei’s always been a biter. He’s gonna feel those teeth for days.
Takahiro can’t help it though, Issei’s lips sucking at the shell of his ear and he’s whimpering, legs wrapping around his waist and writhing under him but he glances over at the bedroom door, left gaping open. The bathroom really is just a wall across. He can still hear the faint fall of water, long fucking shower, seriously, and Terushima is probably jacking off or something because he’d been singing before and now he’s silent.
Issei’s tongue is in his ear and his mind goes blank.
‘You’re so mean,’ Takahiro gasps. It’s wet and sucking and tracing the inner edge and Issei has always taken advantage of every weakness Takahiro has the second they’re alone and on a bed. He doesn’t have the decency to spread them out over weeks like Takahiro does. But Issei always calls him a tease.
‘You’re thinking about him while I’m on you,’ Issei rumbles, agonized, a pinch between his thick eyebrows. Takahiro’s hands are on his back, scratching mindlessly. He slips one up to curl into his hair and tug, rough until Issei’s off his neck and back in front of him, a few inches gap.
They both breathe hotly. Issei’s panting. Takahiro is probably worse.
‘Thinkin’ about who,’ he says wetly, making his eyes go hazy and dumb.
Issei’s ego probably swells for only a second before his eyes go heavy lidded again and darken.
‘You’re having fun with this,’ he says lowly.
‘You’re always fun,’ Takahiro admits. Even though it wretches him to be honest when everything in his body, every atom, every inch of skin burning to be touched and bitten and seen by Issei, screams to make him work for it.
He always likes working for it, because all it takes is a darting glance over his shoulder to make Issei’s eyebrows narrow.
‘Fun,’ he says, and they kiss again. Harder, and Issei’s tugging at his jeans. Takahiro’s commando because he hadn’t been expecting to take anything off and all his three boxers are in the load of laundry Akinori’s gonna toss in when he’s done with his next test. And he’d never wear one of his prettier things to Terushima’s house. It just frustrates Issei more, that he’s met with fuzzy, trimmed hair and Takahiro’s humiliatingly wet cunt. A quick swipe of long, brown fingers that makes him shudder and Issei’s holding them in front of his face.
‘Soaked,’ he says. Face grim.
‘For you, you moron,’ Takahiro sighs wantonly, nuzzling his heated cheek against his hard jaw and all that stubble has been scraping his neck, no wonder he’s so wet. Takahiro mouths at him, kissing his gritted teeth when his lips part and then his cheek, the sweat off his nose. ‘You make me so wet, Issei, I get so fucking wet when you talk to me. I missed you!’ Takahiro draws it out, kisses sweeter, worshipful kisses along his temple and thick throat. ‘I missed you, seriously, I’ve been so, so pent up…’
Licks his cheek. Issei palms his mouth and says, ‘Listen.’
Takahiro waits, something in him purring. Issei’s palm on his nose and mouth, shifting. It’s hard and firm and so familiar. He wants to lick but he’s flushed and dazed and just revelling in it, Issei, Issei after weeks of nothing, Issei’s rasp of a voice and his legs around Takahiro’s, his mouth panting against Takahiro’s slicked up hairline.
Then he hears it. Skin on skin. This distinct, ridiculously obvious fapping sound accompanied by loud breathing. Over Issei’s broad, muscled shoulder, the door looks half shut now.
His eyes meet Issei’s, wide and disbelieving. No way. Issei’s are empty pits, and it takes a quick foot to his crotch, quickly shoved between their bodies to stop him from moving off and tearing Yuuji’s throat open. The foot to the cock also make his eyes shut with desire.
Takahiro slides it down, and rubs up and down his boner for a moment until they open again, dark gaze pleading, watching as he shakes his head, pointed. Don’t.
‘Ohhhh, you fucking asshole,’ Issei mouths, almost a whine. Takahiro tugs him forward and Issei kisses his cheek, and then tugs roughly. Once, twice, and both their jeans slide down just enough that Issei’s boner slides against his stomach through the thin, ridiculously threadbare Batman boxers he’s got on. Takahiro almost rolls his eyes but his dick feels big as always so he gets a pass.
Takahiro’s leg gets shifted in between so he’s not expecting the palm to his pussy.
Issei kisses him, gentle and wet. Prising open his mouth again, and two fingers spread his soaked folds, oversensitive and needy.
‘So pink,’ Issei teases. ‘I missed this cunt, baby.’ His voice carries.
Takahiro stares up at him. He can’t be serious. He sounds like porn. Behind the door, the sound stops for a second.
‘Did she miss me?’ Issei asks, and two long fingers slide in so easy. He laughs, almost soundless, just pants. Leans in forward and quirks a brow testingly. ‘I know she did.’
His stomach flips, and blood floods his face at the same time his pussy clenches around his fingers.
Issei grins lewdly.
Takahiro’s heel beats against his back. Issei just keeps looking him dead on as his fingers fuck slowly, sliding the curve of Takahiro’s leaking cunt. He’s licking his lips, and nudges Takahiro’s nose with his own.
‘C’mon,’ he coaxes.
His palm slides off Takahiro’s face, and grips a handful of pink hair at his crown. Takahiro arches and a thumb is playing slowly and just ever so slightly at his clit so he moans, and mid-way Issei bites the shell of his ear again so his moan breaks louder, desperate.
Takahiro bucks up, then grits out, ‘Issei, oh my god, you’re so—’
Silenced again with a kiss this time, and Issei’s murmuring in between kisses, ‘Louder, you better be—say something sweet, like when you’re—so sweet—he’s listening, you better not piss me off, now.’
His forehead gleams, when he leans all the way back, and rolls his shoulders. Takahiro’s eyes don’t even know where to go. The quirk of his heavy mouth, the sweat on his face, the way he’s lazily rutting against the meat of Takahiro’s thigh. His wrist tensed, forearm flexed as he slides in knuckle deep and fucks up, crooks one finger, longer, his middle—Takahiro’s thighs are trembling.
‘I love your fingers,’ Takahiro moans, high.
Issei groans, slips them out and rubs his wet, wet knuckles against Takahiro’s clit in several mind-numbingly good strokes, rubbing, rewarding. Takahiro’s hips are fighting to stay down and he’s making awful, needy noises he doesn’t even want Terushima hearing but Issei’s cocky look, the satisfaction oozing from him when Takahiro arches into his palm desperately just makes him so wet. It makes his toes curl.
‘That’s my good boy,’ Issei says. ‘I like that.’
And he can hear a steady slap slap slap outside the door and Issei’s fingers tease at his hole, Takahiro keens, rubs at his shoulders needily before Issei hums and then his pace in his cunt starts matching it, the sound of Terushima jacking off to the sound of them in his bed.
‘Yeah, like it? You needed it from me, right?’ Issei goads. His other hand slides to Takahiro’s waist, and they’re both slick now with sweat, his palm and thumb fitting against the dip of his side and rubbing up and down. Takahiro squirms around because he always gets dizzy when Issei feels up his stomach, and it comes a second later, his low, knowing laugh and his palm, sliding up and down his taut belly.
‘Hiro, baby,’ Issei says, and they kiss again. Takahiro kisses back hard, licks at him desperately, the seam of his mouth firm and almost a smirk, and then his hand slips away from his cunt and Takahiro is so fucking empty he whines a complaint, out loud, ‘No, back in me, inside, please, I was so needy for weeks, Issei—’
‘Know you were,’ Issei says, kisses him once, but his lips still don’t part mid-kiss. He hovers back, looming above him and a drop of sweat hits Takahiro’s cheek, and he almost whimpers.
‘I know you missed me,’ he rumbles. Those deepset eyes, hypnotizing him. Takahiro feels like he might faint.
‘I missed you so bad, Matsukawa,’ Takahiro whispers.
His hard dick, throbbing against Takahiro’s hip. Like he gets horny at that, the tease of a memory. Takahiro tilts his body up till it fits between his legs, and Issei’s slow smile creeps up.
‘Condom?’ he says.
Takahiro slaps his back, and then twists a bit to slap his face, too. It meets his cheek hard, and on impact Issei moans immediately low and flustered in his throat, jerking. He gets all red and his head ducks, whiny like a dog, into Takahiro’s chest, flat and arching.
‘You’re lucky I don’t go actually find someone—’ else, he means to finish with, but Issei’s voice, quick and low and jealous, finishes, ‘Better, is that it? Try behind the door, try him out, see if he can fill you like I can.’
Takahiro hears a rough whimper.
Then all he can feel is his cock, tip swollen and nudging against the slippery smallness of Takahiro’s pussy. He thumbs at Takahiro’s clit, and fresh slick spills, his thighs feel so wet with it, there’s gonna be a fucking wet, patch, the perverted asshole. Then Issei keeps rubbing, fingers rubbing through his wet folds and Takahiro moans, feels opened up under his hand.
‘I want your cock, please, already.’
‘My cock? You want my cock, right?’
‘Your cock, Issei, yes,’ Takahiro ruts into his big, magic fingers. They slow down, and slick up his cock with wetness gathered from playing with Takahiro’s cunt. Issei strokes his cock a bit, this dirty shlick noise as he teases himself up and down. It’s still dry so he makes eye contact and spits into his palm and Takahiro feels himself get pinker.
‘Ready?’
‘You did not stretch me enough,’ Takahiro complains.
‘You like that, though,’ Issei protests, rutting almost needily against his cunt now, slippery between his thighs. His thick, huge dick, the head prodding Takahiro’s hole. His fingers spread at it, and Takahiro shivers, clamps his eyes shut at how small he feels under him, at the phantom stretch already.
‘Slow?’ Issei asks. Pupils dilated. ‘Or all at once?’
Takahiro’s legs are already weak so he goes to say slow but Issei’s hand clamps down on his mouth again and Issei says, eyes gleaming, ‘Shit, sorry, I just love that look in your eyes.’
Then he’s forcing his way in with one thrust, and Takahiro’s mouth is freed just in time to let out a loud, completely awful wailing call of his name.
‘Issei, Issei, Isseii~’
‘Say my name, baby,’ he sighs lowly, victorious.
‘Issei, go h-hard—’
He goes hard from the get go. Deep thrusts ramming in, that shove Takahiro up the ruined bed and the ironframe is creaking, squealing against the floor. Takahiro’s near squealing too, because the pads of Issei’s fingers have his clit caught between and he’s flicking it, toying as his hips give powerful thrusts.
Plap, plap, plap..
It’s his ego talking. Takahiro’s never seen him like this, animalistic grunts and gasps as he ruts forward, slow and hard, into the cradle of Takahiro’s hips. Elbow propped above Takahiro’s head and even the sight of hair tufting dark from his armpit makes Takahiro’s mind empty. He’s never been so stupid from sex.
His cock feels unbelievably thick, deep and hard, balls slapping against Takahiro’s taint. Issei’s hand folds one of his legs up, and Takahiro groans at the stretch before he’s groaning worse at the feel of Issei’s slow slide out, the devastating way his hard cock teases the lips of Takahiro’s cunt, kissing at the slick opening before he’s sucked back in.
‘Your pussy doesn’t wanna let me go,’ Issei drawls. Mean streak, he’s switched to his thumb, rubbing slower circles. His hand grabs Takahiro’s face and hard fingers dig into his cheeks, his lips fishing out. Takahiro tries to get away, whimpers but Issei says, ‘C’mon, admit it. Admit it, baby, your sweet pussy missed me…’
‘Missed you,’ Takahiro manages, sighing bonelessly as Issei’s cock pounds hard into him.
‘Yeah, getting all sweet now,’ Issei sighs back. ‘All you need is my dick in you before you get like this, right? Stop thinking. Just lay back and shut up…’
‘Haahh—hn, hnn, Issei, don’t stop!’
‘Pussy so fucking addicting, I couldn’t, pinky.’
Biting kisses, Takahiro’s legs spread for them. His tongue feels slack and Issei’s licking at it, they meet in the middle, licking at each other and saliva is dripping down his chin and chest, and he can’t hear anything, not the creaking bed, not Yuuji still pumping himself against the doorframe over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Issei’s pace slows down and he kisses sweeter, softer at Takahiro’s cheek, jaw, his neck, peppering them all over and then licking at sweat. Takahiro feels like a kitten.
Issei laughs breathlessly, rubbing at his pink, peaked nipple. ‘My sex kitten, yeah…’
‘More, Issei…’
A kiss to his mouth, rewarding. ‘Mmm.’
He’s so close, suddenly. He’s getting rocked up and down the bed, and Issei’s palm slides up the slick length of his arm, squeezes his wrist once and then their fingers intertwine. He pulls and then Takahiro’s sitting up on his cock, bouncing once and almost yelping at the deeper slide of his cock.
Issei bites his throat and Takahiro moans with his tongue out, and makes dazed eye contact with Terushima.
He’s leant against the wall and hunched over, stripping at his cock wildly. His eyes are wide and fixed on Takahiro’s face. Takahiro goes pink and groans, embarrassed. Issei’s growl in his ear is no help, a hand to his hip is, though, forcing his body into a better pace, bouncing up and down the hard length of his dick. Takahiro’s ass meets the rough material of his jeans, somehow, and it’s even more exciting, the messy nature of it all. He arches, squirms against Issei’s mouth, eating away at his neck.
‘Issei, he’s—’
‘I know, baby,’ Issei rumbles, right in his ear. A palm slides between their slick, meeting bodies, thumb at the bulge in his stomach where Issei’s cock is fucking up inside him. Takahiro’s eyes squeeze shut, sweat in his eyelashes, a silent whine.
‘Tell him who’s fucking you.’
‘Issei,’ he hiccups. He doesn’t know when he started crying.
‘Louder, tell him who’s your daddy.’
‘Issei, fuck—’ off, he wants to say, but Issei kisses his ear and thrusts up, on his knees on the bed, and Takahiro’s heels scramble desperately for purchase around the small of his back.
‘Who fucks this pussy?’
‘You do, always, nobody, love—’
‘I love you, baby,’ Issei sighs, nuzzling into his ear. ‘I love you, love you..’
Takahiro cums around his dick, he always cums around Issei’s dick. He can’t remember a time he was speared on this cock and he didn’t have a mindblowing orgasm. Issei’s gnawing at his ear when his eyes open again, mouth an o, shivering from aftershocks.
Issei’s still pumping rope after rope deep inside him, mouth open on a biting pant, slack against him.
Takahiro doesn’t want to see Yuuji cum so he buries his burning face in his partner’s shoulder and whimpers.
He falls onto the bed a moment later, legs slack.
Someone puts a handrolled cig to his mouth. It’s Issei’s hand, but he knows damn well who rolled the stupid blunt. Takahiro exhales, and his mind goes blank again. He sighs, tips his head back.
‘So… Uh. Is this Matsukawa?’ Yuuji asks weakly. He’s crouched next to the bed with a pinched look on his face and his wet blond hair slicked back. He looks desperate. ‘The dude you’re always talking about?’
Issei’s jaw works. Takahiro watches his face, and smiles pretty when Issei prowls up over him and takes the blunt from his fingers. Takes a hit, exhales onto Takahiro’s face.
‘It’s Issei,’ he says evenly, and hands the blunt off to Yuuji.
Takahiro smiles wider as he slides down in one smooth move and folds Takahiro’s legs over his shoulders, dark eyes focused on him as his mouth meets Takahiro’s clit in a suckling kiss. It’s only six A.M, after all. They’ve got the whole day ahead of them.