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Song of Freedom and Binding

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It was Clear who had undressed him and laid him onto his bed—it was his way of making Aoba comfortable before proceeding. Aoba, in turn, was in love with how tender Clear could be in his insistence, that he could never refuse. He never needed Clear to promise that the pleasure would be worth it, for he never doubted.

Today seemed to especially matter to Clear, and Aoba could only trust him when he said to have prepared thoroughly. When Clear had told him the gist of it, he immediately dove into his own thoughts, resurfacing only when Clear had fussed about it being a bad—no, a terrible idea.

But so, so sensual, that Aoba focused his gaze on Clear's lips, and moaned. His memory of the moments that followed were foggy, and rationality only came to him when the bed—Aoba's bed, which cured him of more than his headaches—held him in his nakedness.

"Clear."

"Aoba-san?"

"Tie me down."

"Aoba-san?"

After some bargaining, Clear had removed his coat and bound Aoba's wrists to the headboard. For a moment, Aoba was sorry—knowing how highly Clear valued freedom, no form of restraint would arouse him—and he did not know of any other way of reassuring him other than to come without touching himself.

Oh, and the anticipation made him forget his shame. He looked up at Clear, who knelt by the bed, and squirmed for him.

Clear began to hum. Aoba watched his pale lips for a few seconds, before shutting his eyes and letting his voice fill the room. He sighed before feeling tingles, along his scalp, under his pectorals, between his toes. He made slight movements—a bend of his knee, a turn of his head, a curl of his finger—only to find out that it wasn't numbness that afflicted his body.

Clear's voice teased his skin with the softness of silk and the selflessness of water. And this was only humming.

When Aoba opened his eyes, Clear opened his mouth.

A gentle wave seemed to shoot at Aoba from Clear's throat. He felt it skim along his naked ribs, even caressing his navel, before traveling upward, inching to his nipples. He gasped, leaning his head backward to expose his neck, and just as his nipples were caressed, Clear vocalized again, striking at his nape and just under his ear.

"Unh!" Aoba drew his stomach inward, his breath halted by the strokes. They had barely started, but it already felt much better than what he had assumed. When he heard Clear speak—not sing—he bit his lip to prevent a whine.

"Aoba-san," Clear murmured, rubbing a palm on Aoba's raised bicep, "how are you feeling? Are you hurt?"

"Nn," Aoba shook his head, his breaths shallow. "Just tense." He arched his chest to Clear, "It felt good here. Could you..."

With a slow nod, and his hand moving from his arm to his cheek, fingers tangling in his hair, Clear puckered his lips into a small "o" and hummed again. Aoba turned his head to expose one side to Clear's touch, and opened his body to his voice.

When Clear formed words, Aoba's thighs gave a little shake. Clear sang of the taste of chocolate, of the smell of spring, of the sun over the mountains lining their island. Aoba listened carefully, initially for any arousing imagery that Clear may have used, and when he found none, he continued to listen. The sweetness of his lyrics touched his tongue, through which it entered his body and seemed to make him dance upon his bed. He glanced down and easily found the tent below Clear's belt, and grinned as he watched Clear's face redden, his eyes fog.

As if in reward, his cock began to respond. Not to the sight, Aoba noted, but to the song. No, the music felt like a solid palming his shaft, and yet like liquid trickling down the sides of his balls. Aoba instinctively closed his legs, and sparks flew between them like he closed a circuit.

"Clear!"

He had planned on keeping silent, so as not to distract Clear, or worse, drown out his song, and when Clear did stop, he followed his cry with a whimper of remorse. For the first time, Aoba struggled against his bonds. "I'm sorry."

"No!" The sudden volume of Clear's voice revealed all his passion. "I'm sorry. I should have...Aoba-san, what should I—"

"Don't stop," Aoba interjected with some difficulty, the pressure in his nether region frustrating his body. He turned to lie on his side, facing Clear, while pointing his knees the other way. "I mean I'm sorry for sounding out. For surprising you. Clear, don't stop, not when I'm only—ah! Aaahh!"

Perhaps to confirm it himself, Clear ran a gloved finger along Aoba's leaking slit, peeking from his closed legs. The touch of real silk electrified him, and his hips jutted before going lax, his thighs spreading apart.

"Aoba-san," When Aoba regained focus, he felt Clear's breath against his ear, closer, louder. "I want to hear you, too."

And without waiting, he sang again. He had lowered his pitch, making it louder in a way, and allowed his breath to tickle around his ear. The hand on his cockhead went further down, and poked at a place where his song had yet to reach.

"Ahhn..." Aoba closed his eyes again, and twisted and turned himself to Clear's music. The silk of his voice was touching him everywhere now, down his arms, and up his legs, entering through his mouth, his ears, and now the finger teasing his hole. When he tried to close his legs once more, Clear stopped him by digging his nails against the tender flesh of his inner thighs.

But when he listened, Clear now seemed to punctuate his song with thank you thank you I'll always be with you I'll never leave you I love you I love you I love you.

He didn't think that such saccharine words would spike his arousal so much. With a dry sob, his body entered a frenzy, arching his torso, curling his toes, grinding his backside against the bed, writhing towards Clear's finger, which would still not enter him, and maybe didn't mean to. He felt his stiff cock swaying in the air, and he felt the music enveloping it, much like how Clear's tongue would.

In a surge of gratitude and desperation, Aoba stretched one leg off the bed, and pressed the top of his foot against Clear's clothed erection, toes scraping against his thighs. He breathed through his smile when he felt Clear grinding against his foot, but with a firm scrape of silk from his perineum to his hole, and his song ending in "My beloved,"—

"Clear! Haa, Clear!"

—The foot that remained on the bed planted itself firm and lifted, raising his hips and one side of his back up, cum shooting in Clear's direction. Clear himself grasped one of Aoba's hands and devoured his mouth, humping Aoba's leg until he gave a loud grunt and a momentary paralysis indicated that he'd come.

As heavy breathing replaced the music, Aoba's eyes fluttered either out of exhaustion, or at the sight of Clear's naked frame climbing naked into the bed, semen spread across his abdomen and trailing down his legs. When Clear bent over to unbind his wrists, Aoba immediately threw his arms around his neck and turned, pushing Clear's back onto the bed, one hand already cupping and handling his balls.

Needless to say, he had proven to Clear that his song could be used for functions other than soothing. Lowering down to kiss him, he felt Clear's smile.

"Let's do some more."