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The apartment is quiet and humid when Teru walks in, lets his bag fall to the floor, and locks the door shut. The day has been tiring. He’s tempted to rest, but he can’t, he reminds himself, and stares at his bag as he stretches his arms.

He sighs and inhales his own scent, a mix of early spring sakura (while brushing loose petals off his jacket) and the obvious sign of an afternoon gym class. For all his middle-school boasts that he could run a mile without breaking a sweat he’s the epitome of a commoner, and his body shows it as soon as he shrugs off his uniform jacket and loosens his tie.

Puberty, he’s learned, is nothing short of a bitch.

The growth spurts haven’t been bad (though Kageyama-kun ending up taller than him, or Reigen, is the subject of as much amusement as embarrassment for his friend) but there’s only so much aftershave and deodorant can do, and the weather is clearly showing no mercy on him. Teru looks outside and wonders when April switched places with August. Even the weather girl on that morning’s news had warned of an unusually warm spring this year.

The sun lands in his eyes as he wanders back to his bed and throws off his tie, then unbuttons his shirt and discards it. A quick look and a splash of fabric lands in the laundry basket. He walks to the mirror and looks into it. The bite mark under his collarbone has almost healed. As it should be , he thinks, before checking his neck. Not a spot of bruising, no remnants of love bites or long-gone smears of lipstick, nor a hint of a scratch on his hip bones as he peels his uniform pants off of his legs.

The more he looks at himself, the more he feels something is missing, but he doesn’t want to dwell on it too much, so he grabs his towel, and heads off for a shower. The water is cold, and it’s not as pleasant as the hotter showers he normally takes, but somehow even that is too warm for him this time. He finds himself staring at the walls in the absence of steam, and for a moment he wishes he wasn’t alone. The moment a face pops into his memory, he shakes his head and tells himself that he’ll wish it away. It doesn’t leave. He starts to remember. He leans forward. The cold wall chills his forehead, and he starts to stroke, then picks up a rhythm, refusing to call out a name.

The name comes regardless. He groans, and washes his hands of it all.

Only once he’s sure the shower wall is as clean as his skin does he turn off the water. He steps out. By then he’s not sure how long he’s been in the shower, but he’s on his own in the apartment and no-one will scold him, he thinks to himself as he gets dressed in something more casual—a shirt and sweatpants, barefoot—and dries his hair.

He throws the towel into the laundry and vows to do it later. Homework comes first. He goes back to his school bag, finds the relevant book and flicks to the assignment, re-reads it and finds he looks forward to it even less than he did before the shower, but what has to be done has to be done, so Teru plops it down at his work desk, then sits and starts thinking of what to write.

He squeezes out a few patchwork sentences on a spare sheet of paper, crosses one out and rewrites it. It’s hard to think in the warmth of his apartment. Even the windows he has open aren’t doing much. There’s no breeze outside, and the faint sweat is making it harder to keep his focus on the paper, not when the last time he was this hot was due to something completely unrelated to the weather.

Even if his mind disagrees, his body gives him no mercy, and then the thoughts— oh fuck —have taken over again. The words on his sheet disintegrate, and instead, he puts his head down. He’s not going to think about her. He’s thought enough already. Work takes priority. Teru sighs, picks up the pen again, and forces himself to write the first kanji of the next sentence.

He forces himself to stare down, so hard he screams internally at himself to ignore the very distinct change of psychic signatures in the air; forces himself to ignore the violet threads that have started to cut through his faint focus-induced neon waves. He can feel it. He’s not stupid, but he has to ignore. He has to be the better of the two of them, the sensible one, the one with a head on their shoulders. He’s not going to let such a small sign drive him over the edge.

He tries not to react when he feels fingers descending and touching his shoulders, but it’s easier said than done. Teru furrows his brows. He presses down harder, the tension in his hands amd in the psychic center of himself threatening to break the pen.

A pair of slender, skilled hands rubs his shoulders, as if to relieve stress, but the effect is the opposite. They slide down, trailing over his chest, and then, long, silken hair tickles the exposed skin of his neck. She’s clearly leaned over, more so by the second, as he catches the smell of a familiar perfume, close to his skin.

Shimazaki Ryoko’s smooth voice, playful yet electric, sends a shiver right through him. “Someone’s hard at work.”

He wants to respond, but knows it’ll only enable her, and stares harder at the homework instead. The hands on his body start to rub little circles over his shirt. She smells as much of perfume as she does of temptation, and it’s hard to not pay attention; not when the lines he’s written for homework have never looked so unappealing. If not for the back of his chair, he would have been tempted to lean onto her chest—but even then, he’d have only been tempted. He’d have resisted. Shimazaki is a trickster, a fox, and it’s what she’d want, and he’s not going to fall for it this time.

“Busy, aren’t you?” She laughs. “Well, you’re committed. I chose a good boy, didn’t I?”

Teru butts back without thinking. “Shut up.” 

“Oh, that’s a little rude of you. Maybe you’re tired.” He can feel her leaning in further; until her breath tickles the shell of his ear. “You’ve had a long day at school, haven’t you?”

“It’s been fine,” he murmurs, with as little enthusiasm as possible. It might make her leave.

“You don’t sound happy. I think you could do with a break.”

“I’m trying to finish.”

“It won’t take long. Besides, I think we could do something a little more fun than just homework.”

“I know what your idea of fun is.”

He’s known since long before she demonstrated it to him. It’s in her voice, her hands, the slight movements of her sly tongue, the playful winks of her empty eyes. He might have known from the day of their first meeting, from the way she’d swiped touches of him between blows, when she’d used every slip to catch a flash of skin under his shirt, when she’d kicked him and shown the strength in her legs, when she’d leaned in close enough to have kissed him and told him he’d entertained her.

He doesn’t grow hard at the memory— he doesn’t, he doesn’t, not even when she leans in so that her breasts are pressing up against the back of his head, and he can tell she’s not wearing a bra under the thin, teasingly threadbare fabric of her top.

“Isn’t it your idea of fun too, Te-ru-ki?”

Her tongue dancing on syllables sets his pulse racing. Gritting his teeth, he tries to calm down. He’s not going to say it. He’s going to go pick up the pen that he dropped on the table, and focus on the sentence he’d left unfinished instead. He’s not going to fixate on her scent, on what her perfume reminds him of, on how his sheets had smelled like it, mixed with sweat and semen, the morning after.

Disgusting, intoxicating—confusing, no, he has to look at this paper and focus, think only about it—

“You’ve gone so quiet. Maybe you should go to sleep.”

I should, Teru thinks, once you’ve gone.

“But then you’ll leave me all neglected and lonely… that wouldn’t be good, would it?”

Her hands move to the hem of his shirt. Her nails, cut back—he knows why, his body remembers why—graze at the skin that the fabric doesn’t quite cover, before slipping under more boldly to touch his stomach and chest.

He grabs her wrist and pulls it off. Clenching tight, he channels his frustration into it, and hopes she’ll get the message. “Let go.” 

“Oh, you’re going to be naughty?” She doesn’t seem scared. “Then how about I make you obey me?”

“Shut up,” he demands. He pushes his work away, turning around to look straight at her. “Leave me and—“

“I just want you to be a good boy. For me.”

“I’m not yours. And don’t call me—“

“How about I remind you, then?”

He doesn’t know what comes first: his grip feeling empty all of a sudden when her wrist disappears, or his room, wall to ceiling, blurring as his chair wobbles and starts to fall back. Gravity sends him toppling over—but then the chair falls and he’s not in it anymore, and what he’s on now is much softer, much more familiar; rumpled sheets and knocked-about pillows, but she’s beneath him, between him and the bed. He can feel her chest rise and fall against his back, her soft breasts, the slight scratch of her lace underwear against his lower back. He was right, and she’s almost undressed and her thighs are as toned as they were in his memory, but this is now, she’s right there behind him, he’s between her legs and the ceiling is above and—

Her hands slide into the gap between his pants and hot skin. “My, my, looks like you weren’t being honest.”

He tries to break free, but she’s not letting go. When he tries to thrust his hips out of her hold, it backfires; she grabs his cock and suddenly he’s jerking into her hand. He can’t think like this. “Get the hell… off me…”

Shimazaki’s tongue drags around his ear. “You’ve been lying to me, haven’t you? I don’t think you’ve been good enough.”

He hisses at her. “Fuck…”

“No, you really haven’t been good.”

He knows turning around will just appease her; any moment, she’ll tease him for his facial expression and call it cute and before he can fight back she’ll start fingering him, or bite into the skin on his neck the way he tells her not to, not when his teachers or classmates could see. He knows she’ll take advantage, but he can’t help but look at her. He catches a glimpse. That same playful look, the Cheshire cat smile, how thin the straps on her crop top are, how it covers her breasts, nipples visible through the fabric, but not much else.

He can’t stop getting turned on, fuck it, god damn it...

“Only good boys can look,” she says. “And you haven’t deserved that. Bad boys can only be punished.”

Before he can leap out of her hold, or even summon a bolt or a whip of psychic energy, she’s pushed him over. It’s sudden, sharp; his face hits the mattress, and it hurts a little, but not as much as it hurts when she moves to her knees, when the bed creaks and it’s not her body beneath his that’s the cause, but the other way round. She slams down his shoulders. Her push is so hard he lets out a yelp, stifled by one of the pillows. 

“No, no,” she says, fingertips dancing over, then under the hem of his shirt. She leaves his pants alone, and he doesn’t know if it’s relief or torture. “I don’t think you’ll get to look. You haven’t deserved it, have you?”

Teru tries to snap back with an answer, but one of her hands reaches to yank back his hair, and all that comes out is a half-stifled cry.

“Have you? Tell me you have.”

“I—“

Before he can finish, his ears ache with a loud slap, and the skin on his ass starts to burn through his sweatpants. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

“No—“

She slaps him again, interrupting. He bites his tongue. Hearing the sound in his throat, she pulls down his pants. Before he can say anything, she strikes, skin on skin, so much harder this time—then again, like the crack of a whip, like the flash of a knife. “Say it.”

“No—“ Slap.

“Say it.”

“No.“

She doesn’t let him. Teru won’t obey her, either; no matter how hard she hits him, no matter how he both hates it and craves it, how hard it makes him, how hot he is against the cool sheets. Shimazaki gives him no mercy, and he feels shocks with every slap she gives him; as if her psychic energy is infused into the strikes, as if she’s trying to electrocute him, and it burns him, inside and out, until he’s gagged by the pillow and his face is as hot as his cock, unable to not give away his erection even when it’s pressed into the sheets.

A light chuckle behind him makes his hairs stand on end. “You won’t say it, hm?”

“…No,” he gasps. “Not… not you.”

“No?” There’s a hint of outrage in her voice, but it’s contained, as if it’s part of a plan. With one last strong slap, she stops; by then Teru feels like the skin on his rear might as well have burned off. The waist of his pants is down at his knees, and with a swift movement, they’ve slipped down further, exposing more leg.

She slaps him one more time; he barely stifles an involuntary gasp.

“That’s a shame. Looks like I’ll have to find other ways to teach you a lesson.”

Her hand lingers on one of his ass cheeks, giving it a firm squeeze, before it slithers under his chest and picks out a nipple to fondle and pinch. The other hand moves from his back, letting Teru breathe, but doesn’t give him respite, taking hold of the other half of his chest. He’s too out of breath from the spanking to fight her when she squeezes his pecs and pulls him back, and his knees buckle in unwilling obedience. The feeling of the back of his head against her chest is familiar, but he’s well into the battle this time. This time, he won’t fall prey to her.

He can’t really lean back when she’s in control, or when he’s trying to make her think that she is. It’s part of the act, he tells himself, when Shimazaki catches the hint of a slump and she yanks his hair hard enough to make him cry out.

“No sleeping,” she states, before another slap rings through Teru’s skin. She pulls at his shirt, sharply enough that the hem threatens to slit his stomach. He doesn’t have time to snap at her, or take it off at his leisure—not when she shoves him, grabs the shirt he’s wearing, and thrusts it over his head. Teru realizes too late when she’s finally taken it off him, still feeling the sting on his ass more than the phantom graze and rub of clothes being removed. He can still feel where his pants are, and Shimazaki knows too. It’s clear when he feels her nails first, raking down his thighs, and then she moves down to push the waistband further down too, until he’s—deliriously—forced to kick the garment off one foot, then the other.

It’s part of the act, he tells himself. Any moment, give me a moment, I’ll trap her...

“Seems you’re learning your lesson,” Shimazaki hums. “But that’s not enough.”

Her hands linger at his thighs, before jerking up to his hips, and pulling back. He falls into her lap, now completely exposed. Her left hand catches his cock and slides down to the balls.

“You’re going to need a little more discipline.”

Her other hand coils around his body, her legs keeping him trapped as she starts to stroke him. She’s skilled, knows him well enough by now, knows him enough from how many times she’s jerked him off at her whim. He could protest, but he’s too turned on. Maybe now, he has a chance. Now, he could deceive her, find her weak point and push her back and then roll her over until she’s the one underneath, until he’s stuffed her to the brim with his cock, like he did once.

(She took it with a coy, clever smile on her face, before forcing him back and riding him from the top—better than nothing, or even better, a step closer to what he’s after, one day: her submission.)

That next time, she won’t be smiling—but now isn’t that time. She’s doing almost too good a job, the pad of her thumb circling over the tip, the edges of fingers toying with the vein threading his shaft. When she stops at the base of his cock and refuses to move, he tries to thrust and protest. She catches him, and only grips tighter.

“No,” she says, before planting a kiss that ends with a bite on his neck. Teru hisses, knowing it’ll be noticeable. “Only when I say.”

“Say it, then…”

She squeezes him tight, and then sharply lets go. “Eager.”

Before Teru can say anything else, she’s back to stroking him, faster this time. Maybe, someone else would have called this obliging, but to Teru it’s as painful as it is pleasurable. Every movement is her decision, every second she’s in control and it’s a reminder to him of where he should be: in charge, the dominant party, like he’s been with every girl he’s ever pulled into bed after a handful of dates and a few whispered words. If it’s because she’s older, then it isn’t fair, because Teru knows he has to win this battle one day and age is a fight he’s not winning.

He lets her have her way, because it’s getting jerked off all the same, and right now he’ll take that over worthless, meaningless lines. Even when it’s her hands, in the pit of his stomach it’s all the same, and with his eyes closed, he tries to imagine it’s not her aura burning his back and burrowing into the bends of his joints, slipping between his legs to stroke the underside of his cock when her hand isn’t there, that it’s not her hair brushing against his shoulders, that it’s not her breath that his heart is beating in time with.

When he comes it’s involuntary, eyes closed and knees shaking, attempting to think about anything but whose hands are still touching him, what is around him, where anything is. It feels too good to fall forward, into a waiting pair of long-fingered hands, and he shouldn’t let himself, but he does, and feels her lean too, until her just-covered breasts are against his back again and her lips are leaving small kisses on top of the love bites, as if to soothe the sting but causing more ache in the process.

She pulls him back by the shoulders, and it’s then that he feels how wet one of her hands is.

“To think you’re such a messy boy…” She tuts. “Don’t think you’ve been forgiven yet.”

Before he can say anything, she’s brought her sticky palm to his face, not to clasp over his mouth but to hold it close enough that he can smell his own cum on her. “Go on. Clean up.”

“Hm?”

“Good boys clean up their messes.”

Her other hand—not as sticky, to his relief—grabs a handful of hair, and pushes him down. Teru’s nose hits her palm, and the smell is strong, but the flush on his face is far more intense, so intense it could burn. He’s deluded, so high off the orgasm (and it’s stupid, he thinks, so fucking stupid, one orgasm, and one she brought on) that he doesn’t think straight and starts to lap it up without thinking, running his tongue over her palm and the joints of her fingers, then back down, head line and heart line, until she moves her hand and he’s forced to suck on her fingertips.

A slip of saliva rolls down his chin. He can’t keep his eyes open. There has to be something in the air, in the warmth of this summer-like spring. He knows he would never do this to anyone else, or to Shimazaki for all it matters. It’s just the mood, the time, something strange, a drug, a change in the weather, something that he’d bring over Kageyama-kun’s master for if a certain female esper wasn’t in the picture, and that’s why he’s like this.

Nobody can come over right now. No-one can see him like this, weakened, in her control, not until he’s won it back.

“Good,” she finally says, slowly dragging her wet fingertips out from between his lips. “You’ve learned your place, haven’t you? You’re not going to lie any more, are you?”

Any more compliance and she’ll make a fool of him; the thought makes Teru burn with a heady mix of shame and arousal, but the latter is even worse to admit. “I don’t answer to you.”

“Oh?” She asks, mock-hurt. “Maybe you need a little more teaching.”

Her palm, spread wide, pushes on the small of his back and sends him, face first, into the pillow again. Her other hand moves fast; she clamps over his shoulders, until he’s half-prone, barely able to keep himself up on his knees. She’s so fast that he wonders how she can do it, even without teleporting. The thought has kept him up with curiosity for years, the question unanswered.

He shudders in her hold when her dry hand returns to his now-flaccid cock, giving it a gentler, more teasing stroke.  “You really were keen for me. And you’ll want it again, won’t you?”

Teru looks up, face hot from the pillow. “No.”

“To think you’d want to hide it. I think you’re a little too big for those things, aren’t you? Hm, I wonder if this will fit?”

He knows the answer. Shimazaki knows too, because she found out once. He’ll prove it to her again if she says one more thing—and one more, he’s sure, is all it’ll take for his aura to burst from its threshold and coil around her long legs and slip her damn panties off, and make light work of that stupid thin crop top.

“But I don’t think we’ll find out. You’ve not earned it today.”

The mattress shifts under Shimazaki’s weight, and Teru feels her form, the violet beat of her aura on his skin and in his ears like a second heart melted into his own. She’s moving above him, the hand on the underside of his cock barely able to stay in its place as she stretches, then reaches, with her free hand, under his pillow.

When she pulls back, there’s a black satin pouch under her fingers. Its color hides the shape of what it contains, but Teru knows it well enough, hard enough.

She forces him down, and it’s not just the hidden strength in her muscles, but telekinesis, the same force that had thrown him through office walls and windows the day after they’d met. This time, the battle is in a bedroom and she’s far less dressed, but it’s no different. Pyrokinesis warded her off once, and he wonders if it’ll do it again, even though he’s already burning-hot wherever she touches...

“You like this, don’t you? You want to be punished?”

Teru’s about to protest: who in their right mind, until the hand on his cock whips away, and he almost longs for it back. The pressure is still tight on his back, spread over his shoulder blades and coiled around his thighs. It’s too strong to shrug away. He might be able to, he thinks, but maybe not now, not yet. He has to bide his time.

The sound of sliding fabric, then something being pulled tight, drags him out of his thoughts. It’s as slow as it is agonizing, before the sudden snap of a plastic bottle lid opening shocks him into alertness.

“Of course you do.”

Then, there’s that cold hand—but not just wet with saliva this time, and not just teasing his cock, but instead, two slicked-up fingertips circling the rim of his entrance.

Teru gasps. “Fuck...“

Her thrusting in breaks off his voice. He can only grit his teeth at the feeling, bracing himself for the moment she’ll slip in another finger without any warning, or when she’ll push deeper. “No need for that kind of language. Or are you going to want more of my discipline?”

He doesn’t answer. She doesn’t relent, probing further inside of him. “Maybe I won’t give you more of my fingers if you keep that up. Do you want that? Rough and hard, like you deserve.”

It’s not a matter of deserving, but a matter of what’ll hurt so bad he really will throttle her, so strongly that he’ll beat her right away and the fight will end, just like that—and it doesn’t feel fair, and it’s not what he wants. Teru breathes in and holds tight, clutching at the bedsheets in the silence that Shimazaki so relishes, and feels every slide, every thrust, every press of her fingers. He hears a light, tiny chuckle in her voice and he takes it as praise, because then she adds a third finger and fuck, she strikes something that makes the feeling in the pit of his stomach twist and threaten to burn. He’s starting to grow hard again, and the anticipation of what’ll come next makes it worse.

“You wanted me, didn’t you?” She beckons, kissing the back of his neck and leaving him shivering. “You touched yourself in the shower just thinking about this, didn’t you? What a naughty, troublesome boy you are…”

It wasn’t for you, he wants to insist. His mind had just wandered. He wouldn’t be caught dead thinking of her with his dick in his hand. What he did in the shower was his own business, but the image of her, slipping in to join him, her mouth on the wet surface of his skin, makes him wish she’d made her presence known if she’d been in the apartment earlier.

“Were you waiting? Were you wishing I was there, that I had you against the wall?”

Teru flushes redder. The pillow is cold in comparison.

“Maybe I should have gone in and given you a treat. Maybe then you wouldn’t have been so bad… Would you have liked that?”

He doesn’t have time to say anything when he lifts his head up, because she probably sensed it, and by then she’s already pulled out of him. Her hands find their grip on his hips, and her nails threaten to leave crescent marks, but she doesn’t do that, and in his impatience, Teru pushes back, trying to rut against her. His ass doesn’t meet her skin, but something colder and harder instead, slick with the same lube she used.

She’s done this before. He tries to turn around to get a better look, but one hand leaves his hip and slams him back down into the mattress. He braces his shoulders, trying to keep himself up. The cold, firm tip prods his ass, and he fails, driven mad with the anticipation.

“You… can’t…” The bed muffles him.

Shimazaki laughs, her hands back at his hips. “Oh, I can.” Her palms circle gently, as if signalling. “Now, be a good boy and take your punishment.”

Flushed, inebriated by the heat and haze and whatever this goddamn weather is made of, he tries to rut back again. It confuses him, what with his head down and thighs aching. He can’t tell if he’s going towards her, or away from her, or both at the same time when she starts to penetrate him. His hands are shaking; she’s prepared him but fuck, she could have done more, and that’s why he hates her. He has to hate this—hate the way the strap-on fills him up, the way her nails, even when cut, dig into his skin, how when she pushes in deeper he feels her thighs move either side of his legs, and then her voice when she teases him over the edge of stability.

He isn’t hard enough yet to come, far from it, and he won’t come for her if this is all she’s doing to him. She settles only when she’s buried completely in him, and by then he doesn’t know if he can take more, even if he’s sure he took something bigger last time. What feels good, what hurts, what he could threaten to fight her about; all of it blurs into soup, and by then he’s too laden with sweat and arousal to think straight about it.

“There,” she says. “Now will you obey me?”

His voice is barely a murmur, distorted by the feeling of being full to the brim, but he won’t give up. “Hn… no…”

“Oh? That’s a shame. I might have to give you some more punishment.”

She starts to thrust, holding on tight, and he can’t escape, but he won’t fall to her, either. Teru gathers his strength and tries to lift his upper half up, but that familiar aura pushes him down, and just as he’s sure he can push back against it, a quick but deep thrust makes him collapse. It pins down his shoulders like a lead blanket, asbestos containing a fire, so thick it could choke him if he fought back with brute force.

Aura cloaks him all over, blotting out the yellow in the back of his mind, and she replaces it with her forceful, sharp violet until it’s filled his eyes and he’s surrounded by her on all sides. A stray ribbon of power makes its way under his stomach and coils around his erection. Shivers bolt up his spine. He can’t take it; he needs it off and he needs to jerk himself off, because she’s having far too much fun with him.

He tries to move one hand down, even when his other arm is struggling to keep him up, but Shimazaki’s own hand slaps it away. “No. Beg for it and I’ll let you.”

“Why… should I…?”

“Because you’ve deserved this.” Her hand swings and slaps his ass hard. Teru lets out an audible sound: whine or moan, he can’t tell. He’s fully hard now, so hard, and every thrust, every twist of her aura, in sync, is making it worse. “This is what you get for disobeying me. Hurting me. You thought you could get away… but I don’t think you want to, do you?”

“No…”

“You’re hard for me, and you know it.”

“Hn…”

“Is that a yes?”

“Hah…”

She slaps him again, harder this time. “Say it like a good little boy.”

The answer is buried inside him. Another hard spank, and a thrust and another hit in perfect time, and it slips out—involuntarily, completely not of his own free will or rational mind. “Yes…"

“Do you want it harder?” Her aura coils tighter around his cock.

“Fuck…”

“Do you?”

“Yes—agh…”

Her hands let go of his hips for a moment, then latch on just below, and the angle of her next thrust sends him over the edge. Teru shudders in her grasp, trying to rut back against her so she can sheathe her strap-on all the way inside. He only feels half of her continued thrusting as he tries to ride out the orgasm, but loses track midway, disoriented and caught up in lust.

He doesn’t protest when her nails rake down his hips and over his thighs, or when she leans over, still penetrating him, to kiss his shoulders and spine. When her hands raise and return to his body, the touches are gentler, still firm but somehow affectionate, gently rubbing rather than scratching or scraping this time.

“Couldn’t hold it in, could you?” Her voice sounds, as she pulls out of him. When she presses up against him to pull him back upright, the strap-on dildo trails slick over his lower back, but he’s too dazed to care.

Sighing, he leans against her, eyes shut and head up towards the ceiling. They’re so close he’s almost sat in her lap. “Now you know,” she says. “You’re mine. Aren’t you?”

“Huh… yes…” If it’s barely audible through heavy breathing, then it doesn’t count.

“You don’t come this hard for anyone else.” One hand settles around his shoulder, while the other moves down grasps his flaccid cock, and runs her hand up his stomach. “Do you?”

“Hah… no…”

“Good. I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

Her hands leave his body, and in that moment, Teru swears he’s never felt more lonely, even when she’s beside him. He’s too exhilarated still to watch her adjust her harness and remove the strap-on, but he hears it. He almost doesn’t mind it, the longer he thinks about it, almost —but orgasms mess up his rational mind, and he knows that too well.

He’s regained most of his sanity by the time she returns to him, this time pulling him all the way down to the mattress, onto his back. His knees are still bent awkwardly, and he half-expects her to slap him again when he adjusts them, but to his surprise she doesn’t, and instead just looks down from above, her long black hair like a veil, threatening to wrap him up and never let him leave her domain.

He could push himself back and put his head on her lap, if he wanted, and maybe that’s her goal, but he won’t give it to her.

“You are cute, don’t you know, Teruki-kun?” She says, leaning down from above, as if to look closer even when Teru knows she can’t see.

“Shut up…”

“Back with the insults, are you?” She leans down to kiss his damp forehead. “I do all these nice things for you, Teruki-kun, and you hurt me like that.”

He’s not scared of her. “I’ll hurt you more.”

“Do you need to be punished again?”

He knows all she wants is a reply. He won’t give it to her, and when she’s the first to break after the silence drags on, Teru adds one small victory to his tally.

“No? Oh, but I think there’s something else you could do. You’ve not treated me yet, after all… that’s not very nice of you, is it?”

“You don’t deserve that.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

Teru rolls over, then gets to his knees. He leans in, purposely invading her space and looks straight into her eyes in defiance. “I’m not going to listen to you.”

He takes the opportunity, arms no longer shaking and muscles much more at ease now that the haze of orgasm has worn off, and grabs her by the hips, past the red lines her harness has left. If she wants a fight then he’ll give it to her, like he fought her all those years ago on the side of good against Claw. If she tempts him again he’ll show her all that he’s made of: the muscles he’s refused to neglect over the years even when no villain’s showed their face in Seasoning City, the quick mind he’s been praised so much for even when he’s said he doesn’t need it, the powers he won’t ever use on other people again because she’s the exception.

Her aura brushes his shoulder blades as he kisses her stomach, then slips his head under the loose fabric of her crop top. A glimpse of her nipples through the fabric isn’t enough. He nuzzles at the gap between her breasts, and trails his tongue over them, not quite stopping to suck on her nipples but giving her just a few licks beneath them, hoping she’ll taste the same torment she’s made him feel so many times. He doesn’t take her top off, as tempting as it might be, and instead, moves a little lower, grazing his teeth over her skin.

Her stomach muscles tense underneath, and he continues to move down, until he’s at the waistband of her panties. He kisses her just above, intent clear.

Shimazaki laughs, and runs her fingers through his hair. “Seems you do have a little good in you after all.”

Teru sits up and moves back when she moves towards him to give herself more room on the bed. She doesn’t seem to care that she’s on the wrong side, and neither does he—not when her aura pulls him towards her, and he nuzzles the hem of her panties. She’s wet through, the smell of her overwhelming. He can’t not take advantage. He could tease her for hours, but the bolt of violet electricity at his neck doesn’t let him, so he takes the initiative, tries to throw her off guard with one more quick kiss, before his hands settle over her panties and pull them down, until they’re over her thighs, and he backs off for a moment to let her remove them.

He cups her ass and squeezes it back, like she did to him. He’s not going to spank her, but he is going to give her something, and he makes that clear when he settles between her now-spread legs and lays down, and doesn’t give her a moment to breathe before he runs his tongue over her lips.

“Good,” he hears her purr contently above him. “Good boy…”

Teru ignores it, and the shiver of pleasure that runs through him, and licks her slower, with more pressure this time. He’ll take this chance and unravel her, turn her to silk and string between his fingers, until she can’t stand, until she can’t live without him and that’s all he needs—to know she’s reliant, to know that no-one else is like him. He laps at her cunt, as if to tease her until she dares to lash out, and when his tongue finally enters, her aura is weaving around his arms and over his back like a braid, anchoring him to the bed and to her until he can’t part without being branded with heat and barbed wire. He’ll mark her as his, too, mark her with the tip of his tongue when he tastes inside of her, every nook, every inch, until he’s mapped her out and she won’t think of letting anyone else have her.

He angles his tongue up and over her clit, and when her legs reach over his shoulders to rest on his back he can feel her movements and shivers stronger than ever. He can’t part from her, either; not when the scent is inescapable, so much he can barely breathe, and she’s so hot and slick inside that he knows she was waiting for him, that he drove her to that point, that no matter how hard she plays the dominant game she can’t deny she isn’t like this for him.

“Mh… Teruki…"

Shimazaki’s moan makes him cling to her tighter. If he leaves scratches, then it’ll be his revenge for what she’s done to him today and all those times before; all of the love bites and red lines down his back. Slowly, he drags one palm over her hip and back towards himself, but the moment he tries to touch her between her thighs, the hand on his hair lets go, and his fingers are met with a slap.

“No,” she orders, somehow retaining composure in spite of the rise and fall of her chest, breathing telling him she’s close to orgasm. “Just your mouth.”

If she won’t let him finger her, then fine—he’ll just make her regret that choice. He goes back to groping her ass, squeezing as she locks her legs over the top of his head and forces him to lick harder. She’s trapped him, but he doesn’t mind, not when she’s the one on the verge of coming, and after what she did to him, it feels like revenge.

He doesn’t even need his hands. He smirks as he laps at her, drinking up every drop and marking every spot as his with his tongue, and—it’s unbelievable, how she arches her back when he goes back to her clit, how he glimpses her hand grasping the bedsheets when he digs deeper, how he can almost hear his own name in amidst her little gasps and desperate noises. She was tall enough to loom over him, probably even without her heeled boots, when they met, but now she’s so far from that. Now she’s just the wily, sly, gorgeous thing on his bed and his nose is brushing over damp pubic hair and she’s almost clinging to his hair, not to force him through a car window but to make him lick up every drop when she comes.

Shimazaki presses him closer, almost smothering him up against her, and he thinks deep in the back of his mind that he might not mind dying like that, but it remains unsaid. He brushes it aside when he hears her call out for him, knowing that he’s finally got one up on her, knowing he’s done his share and he’ll have one more point in their endless tally of fights and fucks and thrown fists; all the years and months he’s lost count of.

When she finally lets go, he pulls back for air. It strikes cold against his damp skin, and he licks his lips, savoring the last taste he got of her. He hopes he can feel it with her scattering, fading aura. He can feel it receding, back to her body, and his own almost longs to flow and melt into hers.

“Good…” She finally gasps out with a shudder. “Mh, you were so good…”

Naturally, he would have said, if she was a classmate, or someone he’d met in a club for a quick fuck, his age as false as his name. Shimazaki isn’t like that, though; he’s not tried to impress her, and won’t. The only target she’ll be to him is the literal, violent kind.

She lifts her arms, and Teru half-expects her to pull her top off, finally, but she doesn’t, her stretching clearly a mockery. Instead, she stretches out and inhales, before dropping down to all fours, and moving closer, as if to straddle him. He moves back, expecting more, but she only lays down, wrapping her arm over his shoulder and forcing him to lie back on the bed, the right way round this time, head on the pillows. Her hair flows over the sheets like a river of oil.

Her eyes remain closed, but her fingers trail over his collarbone, up his neck, slowly sliding up to his jaw.

“So good of you… my Teruki…”

He rolls his eyes, and wipes the last of the dampness off his lips and chin with the back of his hand. “Shut up.”

She smiles like a cat, contented and careless. “You’re adorable, Teruki. Simply adorable.”

“Stop saying that. You don’t even see.”

“I don’t need to, you know.”

“You don’t even know what adorable is.”

“I don’t have to. You’re adorable in all the other ways I can sense you in.”

She sits up for a moment, and then finally, god damn it finally, throws her top off. Her breasts feel warm against Teru’s side when she lays back down, her chest pressed to his side. He can feel her heartbeat.

“Say,” she beckons, lazily running her fingers over his ribcage. “I think you could get back to that homework a little later. Or maybe…” she yawns, “do you think you’ll have time? I think we could have a nice weekend…”

“A weekend’s too long,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. His face is starting to flush. He’s about to say something else when her lips press to his warm cheek. He blushes, involuntarily, and she kisses him there again, letting out a small laugh.

“See?” She smiles. “You are adorable, aren’t you?”

He sighs. “Enough…”

“Well, looks like you’ll be my adorable good boy all weekend. I brought over a few more little treats.”

The way she says the last two words make Teru shiver with something he denies could be want. “Don’t call me that. And don’t break into my apartment again.”

“Oh, how rude…” She shakes her head, and kisses his forehead so suddenly he pushes her back by sheer instinct alone—and that’s all she needs to start the next round, to have him pinned down so quickly he swears she must have teleported, and now he can’t stop staring at her—for strategic reasons—after she’s taken that top off. “Do I have to teach you all over again, whose good boy you are?”

Her hand slips from his shoulder, over his throat. She could gag him if she moves fast enough, but he won’t let that happen. His skin under hers is so hot he can’t just blame it on the strange warmth of spring.

He clasps one of her wrists, smirking back. “Not a chance.”

The look she gives him, as shiver-inducing as she gets without opening her eyes, tells him all he needs to know, long before she seizes his jaw and steals her own taste from his mouth. When she parts from him, he’s breathless, more aware than ever that neither of them have their clothes on, and that he might have met his competitive match in her skin, in her eyes, in her tongue when she traps his arms against the bed and trails her waiting, smooth lips over his jaw, then his ear.

“Well, a little more teaching wouldn’t hurt,” she whispers, and elicits a shudder. “Just a shame you’ll have no time to do that homework all weekend…”