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he's good for something

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“Feel good?”

Face pressed into the soft sheets of Jyuto’s bed, Riou thinks someone is talking to him. He’s sure of it. He blinks, long and slow, turns his head to seek the owner of the voice and just as he does the wicked tongue between his cheeks laves over him slowly and points, dipping inside him and every thought flies from his head. He moans, thin and raw and strung out because his throat is strained from overuse, and his body shakes, overwhelmed by the stimulation.

“He is good for something,” The voice continues, and Riou must be losing himself because it sounds distant, filtered through a fog. The fingers that touch his head, though, are as real as he’s sure he is, and they card through his hair soothingly, blunt nails gently scratching along his scalp. He breathes out, soft, sweet, and then cries as that tongue twists, withdraws, drags along the flushed and sensitive skin around his hole.

Riou can’t- he can’t think. He should respond, he thinks, but his lips seem only capable of spilling garbled nonsense into the damp sheets beneath him--damp with sweat? drool? he doesn’t know, doesn’t care. All he knows are the fingers in his hair, the hands on his thighs, the way his knees burn from jerking against the carpet, the searing mouth against delicate skin. Nothing else matters except this and now- now the slick, calloused hand palming his oversensitive dick.

“Oh,” he says, breathy and loose, “Oh.”

“Is he touching you?” The voice is closer now, right in his ear, the fingers catching harsh in his hair, “You deserve it. You’ve been so good.”


Those words burn through him, light a fire in the center of his chest that sizzles down to his toes and the tips of his fingers. The pleasure feels solid, filling his ribcage, crawling up his throat until it’s pouring out his mouth in stuttered half-words and his eyes in stinging, salty tears. Suddenly, he can’t be still and malleable; his fingers twist into the sheets and his knees jerk forward, like he’s trying to curl into himself. The hand in his hair locks so hard his scalp aches, keeps his head still and pressed into the sheets, and the one on his thigh squeezes till he’s sure he’ll bruise.

“Sh,” Lips against his ear, “We’ve got you. It’s okay.”

The hand on his cock wraps around and jerks down once as the tongue curls and it’s-- too much. It’s so much. He’s teetering on the edge of something that’s beyond him, beyond what his fractured mind can comprehend.

“Iss- I-” he slurs, body shaking, “I-”

“You can do it,” The voice has dropped lower, quieter, a rumble vibrating through his skull, “You can come, Riou.”

Riou’s lips part, but he’s silent now. He thinks, nonsensically, that the sheets are going to be ruined as his orgasm rips through him, white his vision, rockets through every hollow place in his body. His dick gives a pathetic shudder as his body quakes, the whole of the universe silent around him as his world narrows to lips and hands on his skin, to burning pleasure and quiet words.

“That was four, right?” he hears distantly when the searing mouth over his hole retreats, leaves him empty and trembling.

“I’m sorry, did you forget how to count?” replies the voice, somehow further away.

Mouth slack and body still, Riou closes his eyes.

When he opens them, he’s no longer bent over the foot of the bed. He’s dry and swathed in soft blankets that smell of Jyuto’s laundry detergent and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke. Samatoki’s doing, he knows, because Jyuto doesn’t smoke in his apartment. The thought warms his chest, despite the fog still clouding his mind.

“There you are,” The voice from earlier--Jyuto, of course it’s Jyuto--says from his left. He turns and finds that he’s sitting up beside him, a book open on his lap and a bottle of water in his hand. Riou realizes his mouth his dry.

Jyuto helps him sit up and presses the bottle into his hand--Riou’s barely moved to twist of the cap when Jyuto already has it off. Riou looks up, sillily startled, and Jyuto smiles gently at him. “Drink,” he says, and Riou doesn’t have to be told twice.

The bottle crinkles noisily as Riou drains half of it, and Jyuto takes it from him when he releases it to catch his breath. He replaces the cap and sits the bottle between his knees, within Riou’s reach.

“How do you feel?” Jyuto asks, and he raises a hand to brush along the still damp hair clinging to Riou’s temple, “We figured you’d fall asleep, but you were out for a bit.”

Riou leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as he takes stock of his own body. He feels- wrung out, tired, stretched thin, but good. Undeniably good. He says as much, but his voice is little more than a rasp that makes Jyuto chuckle before he’s offered another sip of the water.

“Where’s Samatoki?” He asks when he’s emptied the bottle. His eyes sweep the room and find no sight of him--his absence twists a knot of anxiety low in Riou’s gut, uncomfortable in the warm afterglow.

“Just having a smoke, he should- ah-” The door swings open noisily and Jyuto makes an unhappy noise at the careless way Samatoki treats his home.

The acrid smell of cigarettes clings to Samatoki, and despite his usual distaste for it, the scent relaxes Riou, drains what little tension was still clinging to his muscles. Samatoki’s shirtless, and he shucks his unbuttoned jeans before clambering gracelessly into the bed.

“Hey Riou,” he greets, pressing a brief, hard kiss to the crown of Riou’s head, “Y’ made it to four this time. New record.”

Riou hums, acknowledging, and decides to take his word for it. He doesn’t think he’d know either way, with the way his orgasms blur into muddled streaks of pleasure in his memories. Samatoki settles in close, phone in his right hand and his left arm flung out for Riou to pillow his head on as he lays back down.

Blinking slow, he listens for a moment as Jyuto chastises Samatoki for opening his doors so harshly and leaving them open, and as Samatoki distractedly snaps that no one else is in the apartment so who cares? It’s a familiar cadance, affectionate rather than malicious, and Riou lets his eyes slip closed.

He feels soft hands that must be Jyutos brush over his forehead again, and then he sleeps.