potosi | am i so sure which pill i'd choose?

[ here.

[ conversation leading up to it aside, the breakneck pace is nothing unfamiliar. samatoki was ichiro's first a long time ago, and, some part of him thinks he might be his last--what a strange thing to think, stepping back to years before when they'd been at each other's throats--so it's not like he hates it.

it's the opposite, actually. samatoki's always brought out a fire in him, from when he was a cocky teenager to now. it's sometimes been wildfire, sometimes been a low, burning flame, and he's grinning like a little shit the minute samatoki yanks him in. ichiro doesn't have to say anything. he's plenty satisfied with his victory of riling samatoki up this much, and it's all over his face.

victory tastes sweet. it tastes hungry, if the kiss is any indicator, and he returns it with the same amount of energy. his hands jump up into samatoki's hair and grip hard, turning his head in the direction that he likes best to be kissed, even if it was already heading that way. his mouth meets his smirk and he opens up into it, pushing his tongue into his mouth immediately. ]

Edited 2018-09-09 00:50 (UTC)

( samatoki has always been impatient. it's a constant part of who he is that hasn't changed, no matter how much time has passed. ichiro burns with the same eagerness and energy that drew samatoki in, like moths to a flame. he can't get enough of it, can't get enough of ichiro. he can't stop kissing him, not even when he can feel ichiro smirking, no matter how much that annoys him.

he ought to punish him for being such a brat.

he bites ichiro's bottom lip, just a tiny bit, before fighting his tongue for dominance, eager to make him fall apart. his hands are roaming now too, ultimately slipping inside ichiro's shirt to grope every curve of muscle. he isn't going to mess with his dumb hoodie; he'd learn his lesson from the last time he tried. only ichiro would wear something that neither zips all the way up or down... so that's why he's removing the shirt and hoodie from pushing it over the brat's head.

it pulls them away from each other too, for a short while. )

Y'know, I think I remember telling you that you're gonna have to work for this.

( so why is he stuck doing all the work? ~~let's forget he's the one who started it too.~~ )

[ the bite doesn't deter that smirk too much, though it does successfully pull a little noise from the back of ichiro's throat: the combination of his tongue and his mouth and the brief sting just gets him as riled up as samatoki, enough that he wants to give back the best he can give. his back arches up off of the door when he starts touching him like that, too--samatoki's hands are calloused and surprisingly warm (and so, so familiar), just a prelude to everything that's coming.

he's not the only one handsy, either. ichiro's hands drift out of his hair down his back, nails already biting into the skin underneath his shirt, but he's very rudely interrupted in his process of getting samatoki's clothes off by his hoodie coming over his head.

rude. ] Mmpht. [ but, obediently (?) for once, he tugs off his stylish sweatshirt thank you and his jacket, letting them both drop to the floor in the entry way. it's when he's getting his wrists through the sleeves that he says "you're going to have to work for this" that he pauses.

ichiro doesn't even really say anything: he just raises his eyebrows, lets his gaze drop down to his crotch, then brings it back up again to fix him with a look. he's going to have to work for this, huh.

tone completely straight: ] I think I'm working just fine. [ and very pleased with himself. but, just in case there's a possibility that samatoki might strangle him before they get too far, he pushes off the door to get a hand between them and squeezes through the front of his pants, still wearing that shitty grin. it pushes them away from the wall a little, but whatever. there are plenty of perfectly good surfaces to fuck on in this apartment. ]

( ooc. no seriously look at this hoodie. like wtf ichiro how is a guy supposed to strip you??? )

( ichiro gives him that look again, wearing the same shit-eating grin that drives him crazy. samatoki has no idea how to fight against it, but let's face it: it's been years since they got together, came close to almost killing each other, before falling into place like nothing's ever happened, and samatoki knows he can't win. he was doomed from the very beginning, and maybe, maybe, he doesn't really mind it deep down, but fuck if it makes ichiro even more infuriating than he already is. )

Fuck you.

( he says, but there's no trace of venom in those words. if he can't win by talking, then he's going to resort to something sneakier. ichiro is kneading him through his pants but he puts a stop to it when he grabs him by the wrists, pinning both hands against the door again. sure, there are plenty of surfaces to fuck on in this apartment but samatoki isn't interested in moving from here. they're staying put. he even wedges a leg in between lean thighs, brushing up against ichiro's own hard-on. )

You really know how to piss a guy off sometimes, you brat.

( LISTEN, IT'S FASHIONABLE. HE'S HIP. COOL. i cosplay him it's the stupidest fucking thing in the entire world i can't stand it )

[ that 'fuck you' makes it worse, even if just for a second. he knows he's won, which is the greatest feeling in the world ever when it comes to samatoki, especially nowadays. these "fights" are much more harmless than anything they ever got up to back when they were in divisions proper and he enjoys them that way. picking at each other, bickering, those are the natural order of things. were, before, and are, now. it's nice.

his smug expression doesn't last for too long, though. ichiro makes a startled noise when his hands get grabbed, a half cut off-- ] He-ngnghn.

[ because his leg gets jammed up between ichiro's thighs and that first burn of friction is so good. his head hits the door with a quiet 'thunk', but he didn't even feel it, as his hips immediately jerk forward up into the pressure. ] You're just--easy to piss off.

[ his fingers flex, experimentally, testing the strength of the grip, but he's not going anywhere. it sends another thrill down his spine entirely. ]

( ooc. omg ichi cosplay... cute. )

( samatoki doesn't want to admit that the reason why ichiro gets under his skin so well is because he knows what makes samatoki tick. it's a scary thought, one that he doesn't think he'll ever breathe a word about, but that's fine, he thinks. it's better than giving ichiro another reason to be a bigger brat than he already is (even though it won't surprise him if ichiro already realizes it, too). )

At least you're easy to shut up.

( it's a small comfort, sure, but samatoki will take his little victories. a smirk graces his lips when he feels the other's hips jerk up against him, as if seeking for more friction. samatoki rewards him by pressing a little harder, staying still for a few seconds longer before he pulls back. he lets go of the hands he pinned against the door, fumbling with a zipper so he can wrap his fingers around ichiro's cock. his pace is slow, a bit torturous, but that's what ichiro gets for pissing him off. )

( always gotta rep the best boy )

[ god. ichiro can practically feel that smirk before he cracks open an eye to actually look at it. samatoki would be right, he does know him, because for years with the dirty dawgs, he idolized him. he followed samatoki's every move, trying to be just like him, a fascination with his senpai. things have changed a lot since then, but it doesn't change the fact that his raps were more effective because he knew him--not that samatoki doesn't have it the other way. sometimes it's infuriating how easily he can pick at him or predict him, but it's what makes the game of one-upping each other so fun.

...not that it's that fun right now. okay, well, it is, but he should have known he was going to go slow like that. ichiro hisses, a noise that's thrilled and displeased at the same time, if only because he knows he's being messed with, but it doesn't stop the natural reaction of his hips arching into the grip again. it doesn't stop the boyish, natural ways his cheeks flood with color, either.]

Samatoki, you fuck-- [ he can't even get it out. long lost is the samatoki-san, and it comes out much more whiny than he initially meant it to, using his now freed hand to grab onto the back of his neck and try and anchor himself to this spot. nails bite just a little into the skin there, in what will surely leave cat scratches in the morning. ]

( sometimes he forgets how easily things fell into place, when they first met. it was by chance that they even found one another, and samatoki was so captivated by ichiro's fiery energy that he naturally gravitated towards him, wanting to see more. the childish admiration that came with ichiro wanting to impress his senpai is something that will always be cherished — nevermind how many times samatoki denies it — guarded and hidden somewhere not everyone can reach.

he came close to losing that spark. he won't let it out of his sight ever again.

it's why he's so possessive nowadays, even though things are better. he doesn't want the world to see ichiro like this, wanton and craving for his touch. that's a sight for his eyes to savor; every kiss, every noise, that's all his to enjoy. )

Hmm? Can't hear you.

( his strokes are agonizingly slow, thumb lazily rubbing circles at the tip, spreading the precome. when he feels nails dig into his skin, he smirks again because it means ichiro can't handle it, and he doesn't quicken the pace at all. he can do this all night. ichiro made him wait after all. it's only fair, right? )

Fuck off. [ he finally manages to grit out, but compared to years before, it's lacking a lot of heat. samatoki may be an ass, and cranky, and obnoxious, but he's ichiro's, and despite their endless bickering and his own complaining at the moment, he wouldn't have it any other way. he's glad to have him back like this, glad at how easily they fell back into pace. (convincing his brothers things were alright again has been an entirely different beast, but they're possessive of him and it only makes him fond, which is a solid 25% of the problem.)

but, he's protective of this alone time, too. it's something he used to chase after a lot when he was younger, challenging him to mic battles just to get a little of his attention and time. now it's nicer, as easy as bickering over what takeout to order or laying in a heap on the couch watching a movie, comfort in the close proximity that used to just mean war.

...not that ichiro at the moment is feeling all that soft and tender. he sees that smirk and feels a nerve snap, but it's at odds with the slow, achy arousal that's coming along with it, a wave that prickles goosebumps at the back of his neck and makes his toes curl in his sneakers. samatoki wants a war? fine. he's getting one.

ichiro's pretty much never satisfied with being cornered or stilled, so he takes the opportunity to try and overcome the noises he wants to make into the ceiling and instead ducks his head forward, those fingers on his neck curling up into his hair to give his head a tug to the left. it opens up a space for him to latch onto, teeth nipping at the skin of his neck before he starts sucking down, fully intent on leaving as big of a hickey as he can manage. his hips still twitch forward into samatoki's hand, trying to beg him for more, but he'd actually rather die than do that verbally, so retaliation wins. ]

( there it is. it's just what he's been waiting for. the frustration and the defiance, all the little things that make up ichiro. samatoki doesn't want to admit (to himself, to ichiro) that he missed this, that every time anything triggered a spark of nostalgia, back when they were at odds, he did all he could to destroy it. it just shows the extent of ichiro's effect on him, just how much the brat has him wrapped around his finger —

fuck.

there's teeth on his skin, biting down. he hisses, fingers stopping mid-stroke for a few seconds before he goes back to what he's doing. if his earlier pace was torturous, now he's just being downright mean: dragging his fingers along the underside, barely giving him the friction he desperately wants. meanwhile his other hand is roaming, tracing every dip and curve of muscle it can reach. he pays special attention to the parts that blur the line between ticklish and pleasurable, just to be a bigger dick. )

You really want me to fuck off, brat? I can leave you like this. ( aching and unsatisfied. ) Any time I want to.

( another challenge, one he fully expects ichiro will take. )

[ oh.

that's it.

ichiro likes to think he's become a pretty patient person. he's definitely grown up a lot in the years since he ran with the dirty dawgs. he's got a stable job, he raised his brothers, and samatoki aohitsugi instantly takes all of that and brings his maturity down to a middle schooler's. there's the brief smug flash when he gets samatoki to fucking stop messing with him, finally, but it only lasts a second when his fingers skirt at his ribs and make him twitch ticklishly, things get worse, and that challenge...

well. there's a flare of that delinquent temper immediately, and ichiro pulls away from his handiwork with a bite of his teeth, not even taking the time to admire the purplish red mark he's left behind. rather, he narrows his eyes at samatoki as if considering it. there's a brief pause, a second that could let either of them catch their breath.

and, like always, ichiro immediately rises to the challenge.

since his hands are free, he reaches up to grab the front of his shirt and give him a push, not letting go. it's not particularly violent, especially considering he immediately follows right after, prowling off of the door and straight for the closest wall, the entrance to the hallway. ichiro's the one to cage him in this time, the one to shove him up against the wall by the front of his stupid always half undone shirt always taunting him like it's been doing since he was sixteen--

god. the swap gives ichiro the upper hand. finally, finally, which means he's not about to waste any time thinking about that. the hand not fisted in the front of samatoki's shirt goes straight down to his hips, grabbing on tight. ] God, you know just how to piss me off.

[ it's a little more growly than the tone from before, that temper coming out in the best ways. and even though he says it like that, there's a thrill of adrenaline to it, too, the same way ichiro always gets fired up when they're in the same room together. no one else can ever make him feel like this--frustrated, passionate, thrilled, excited, annoyed--all at once. no one ever.

he uses the new grip on his hips to pull samatoki flush to him, getting that friction exactly the way he wants it, hard enough to push them back into the wall. the first motion's slow, but after that, it picks up pace immediately, and he ducks his head right back down to get back to work on that hickey, leaving a second one next to it and latching on.

what a brat, indeed. ]

( whatever smug look he's wearing is wiped off almost immediately when ichiro practically slams him against the nearest wall. samatoki is rarely caught by surprise, and even though he expected this (he was counting on it, really), there's shock flickering in his eyes like he didn't see it coming. there's a pause, tension finally dropping — and then he's laughing. an uncharacteristic laugh that doesn't suit him at all, but it's genuine nonetheless.

this is why he can't get enough of provoking ichiro. regardless of who started it, they'll match each other step for step, outdoing one another until someone caves in. this time is samatoki's turn, but it's not like he minds. he figures he's punished ichiro enough for making him wait — ) You're just easy to piss off.

( throwing ichiro's words right back at him, just to get the last dig in before allowing the other to do whatever he wanted. a low growl escapes, hips jerking to match ichiro's graceless pace, craving the friction just as much. he's been neglected the entire time he was busy pissing ichiro off so even he's a little thankful for the attention. but it's not enough, it's never enough.

exhaling sharply, he reaches out to change the angle of ichiro's head just so he stop him from wreaking mor havoc on his neck. he kisses him, all impatient and just as hungry — if not even more so now. for all of ichiro's complaining, he sure is taking a while to get to the good part too, but he plays along, grinding against him without holding back anymore.

he needs this just as much, if that wasn't already obvious. )

[ that laugh may not be characteristic, but it soothes any of the burn that might have been there (there wasn't any, not really) and draws the situation easily across the line of fun instead of anything else. it's infectious, actually, and ichiro ends up grinning too, even when he's pressing those kisses to his neck, ducking his head just a little with a huff of a laugh of his own, so his forehead presses against his shoulder, charmed. it's unfortunate, that for as much as there's a part of him that gets immature and angry around samatoki, the teenage part that was infatuated with him is still there, too. this is the stupidest situation for his heart to give a little flutter in, but it does anyway. ]

Fuck you. [ he says again, though there's zero heat to it, that smile widening a little as he's pulled up for another kiss. he dives into it, mouth occupied and hands moving off of his hips to get to his belt, only pulling away from the friction of the grind to get it off and pull his fly down, pop the button and start shoving his pants off of his hips. ichiro isn't particularly graceful out of it, but they both need to be out of their clothes yesterday: he won't admit it, but samatoki was right. that wait was seriously too long. if ikebukuro wasn't the best division in the world, he'd maybe consider moving closer.

maybe.

the heat of the moment's redirected from tension to buildup, now, actually getting to it, and ichiro keeps being handsy as they're kissing, shoving his hands down the back of his pants to get them off of him properly, ever the opportunist to cop a feel while he's at it, fingers kneading a little before he actually shoves them out of the way, stepping back and starting to hastily get at these stupid buttons on samatoki's stupid half open shirt instead. he only breaks the actual messy kiss to look away from him for a second, cheeks flushed, mouth kiss bruised, letting him get out of his pants himself. his hands shove his shirt off of his shoulders halfway, too, palms spreading across his chest, now, straight down, callouses brushing across a nipple, needing more more more and too impatient to wait. ]

[ which is why he pulled away to ask, hasty: ] Is there any--do you have-- [ like, anything nearby. he's not exactly thinking of their usual hiding places around the apartment (the bedside table, for instance, or near the couch), nor is he all that thrilled with the idea of getting away from samatoki long enough to actually go hunt for it. ]

( samatoki can feel the smile against his skin before he ever heard ichiro's laugh. it brightens up the mood entirely, not that it needed it to begin with. any trace of annoyance, frustration — all of that melts away when he feels the other's forehead against his shoulder, a moment of intimacy that makes his own damn heart skip a beat. it surprises him more than anything else that ichiro has done tonight, and realization dawns on him too but he crushes it before it manifests completely.

he's not that uncool, but lately it hasn't mattered as much.

his own smile melts away when he starts kissing ichiro in earnest, tongue prodding at his lips, wanting to be let in. he can feel his clothes finally being pulled off him, thanks, took the brat long enough for someone who didn't like how slow things were going. he's also taking the opportunity to remain handsy, helping ichiro out with shedding the rest of his clothes until they have to break apart again.

samatoki looks at him like he said something stupid, and you can practically see the vein popping on his face. the annoyance is back, but it's not as sharp as before. ) Thought you came prepared? ( why does he think he got jumped at the door, this dumbass. ) You little shit.

( he grumbles under his breath, grabbing onto ichiro's wrist before dragging him over to the living room. he doesn't care if ichiro trips on something on the way. the mood is effectively ruined, anyway, as samatoki, in all of his birthday suit glory, has to unceremoniously shove the other on the couch. he reaches for the lube and condoms, tossing them at ichiro's chest as he growls: ) You didn't forget how to use these, right?

( he doesn't give him a chance to reply, because he takes his spot on top and just starts kissing him again. if it's a little rough, he's not that sorry. ichiro had his chance, he blew it, and now he'll have to something special if he wants to appease samatoki's wrath. )

[ in typical samatoki and ichiro fashion, a moment like that can't last forever. their relationship depends on this, the pushes and pulls they've exhibited at each other since ichiro was young, and he'll eat it up just as much as he might eat up something nicer, too. his relationship has its spikes, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

the pace picks up quick, and ichiro's barely paying attention when samatoki finally pulls back at to look at him, giving him a little bit of a look. he doesn't have time to respond, either, not to the grumbling or to being shoved over, or, even, to properly catch everything that gets tossed at him. a hand spreads out on his chest to keep anything from falling over. ichiro ends up grinning at him again. mood ruined or not, it's back to the shitty, cocky one from earlier, because he's clearly ticked a nerve, and the actual second he climbs over him the friction from before returns, and at least ten times better.

no, of course ichiro didn't forget, rude. he makes a noise against his mouth, protesting, but his hand comes up to curl against the back of his neck and hold him there, kissing him back as good as he gets, nipping at his lower lip, letting the packets fall off of his chest so he can sit up a little and drag his hands down samatoki's sides, to his hips, guiding him down against him with it. turned on to all hell and ready to give into it...he's still not going to let samatoki get the last word.

he closes the rough kiss with a peck, something softer, though it's not nearly so sweet. cheerfully: ] You were taking too long. [ see, who can parrot now. but, ichiro's not an idiot, and as fun as it is to argue and tease and bicker and fight, he doesn't want to drag this out into something unpleasant. instead of saying anything back or kissing him again, he finds samatoki's hand and pulls it up to his mouth, taking two fingertips against the flat of his tongue and letting his cheeks hollow, sucking down around them, mismatched eyes fluttering shut. it's not an unfamiliar position (though usually otherwise located), and he's plenty aware of it, his long fingers curled around his wrist to hold samatoki's hand in place for a few seconds. his remaining hand squeezes against his hip since his mouth's otherwise occupied, and he pulls away with a pop, lashes fluttering open and mouth drawing into a smirk. ] You can find out yourself, if you want.

[ maybe he'll just ride him. that'd be nice. it'd be nicer if samatoki did it, but he did go to all that work. well...he'll throw him the bone anyway, hips arching up off of the couch a little, enough to lift them both up, offering the chance. ]

( the two of them are constantly bickering with one another, no matter what the reason is. nowadays it's a lot more playful rather than deadly and full of unhealthy notions, but it doesn't mean either of them make things any easier for one another. it's the constant push and pull they keep doing that makes their relationship as interesting as it is to samatoki, so it's not like he's complaining. he's pretty sure ichiro isn't either. this is what they need from each other, and it's what they give just as much.

the bratty grin isn't lost on him. if anything, it just makes his annoyance spike even more — the little shit is clearly enjoying it too, and it doesn't make it any better. he grinds their hips together, rough, maybe a little needy, one hand making its way to touch them both until ichiro makes it obvious he has other ideas in mind. with an arched eyebrow, he watches ichiro lick his fingers. fuck. the sight of it excites him a little bit too much. )

Shut up.

( it's a weak comeback. he knows it, ichiro knows it, he doesn't really care.

steadying himself, he keeps his body propped up as the other finally releases his fingers with a lewd pop. there's a half-hearted glare, a moment of consideration. ichiro is heavily implying he's already prepped himself, has been since they texted each other, but does samatoki really want to take the chance after things have been going? simple answer: not really. complicated answer: he didn't consider this when they started, but... )

Don't even bother saying anything, brat.

( it's the only thing he really says about the matter before shifting how his other hand and legs are supporting himself, so it's easier for him to reach down his ass and slide fingers right where he wants them to be, both at once. teeth gritted at the sudden pressure, he falters, nearly collapsing on top of ichiro but he catches himself. he doesn't manage to stop the sharp groan from escaping though, right by ichiro's ear. other colourful words are part of that too, including a growled order for the other to lube up or so help him he's going to walk away from this. )

[ he doesn't even need to say anything. samatoki's comeback speaks for itself, and ichiro grins at him, his cheeks dimpled, looking simultaneously thrilled and overly pleased with himself, that same spark in his eyes that's stuck around since he was sixteen and falling in love with running with the dirty dawgs. the same one that powers his raps, that gave the buster bros the boost that kept them protecting ikebukuro even with saburo and jiro's then age. his energy and drive are almost unbeatable: he's hungry. he always has been.

here is really no different. the glare just gets a brief raise of ichiro's eyebrows, the don't have to you can read all over his face, but it gives way to curiosity and anticipation as samatoki shifts over him. even that gets a little touch of friction going, but he's not about to shut his eyes, not when he can watch--that, there. even close to his face like that, he can predict the face samatoki's making, and it's so so good. addictive. attractive. the way it's been most of his life, half of a decade later. he breathes out, gusty, and even if he can't see anything over samatoki nearly over him, ichiro's more than capable of using his imagination. ]

Fuck. [ okay, maybe he did have to say something. it sounds pleased, surprised, maybe even a tiny bit awed, and for once in his life, ichiro's willing to be completely obedient. he removes his hands from samatoki's hair, his back, fumbling around for the packet to soak his hand properly and stroke himself, adrenaline starting to make his actions a little more rushed. even from here he can feel the heat of his body, almost feel his wrist moving, so, so close. there's no more teasing or messing around, no more bickering or back and forth. things are here to click into place, like, eventually, they always have. ]

C'mon, c'mon-- [ he shifts his hips underneath samatoki to get into a better spot. and some of that impatience colors through here, too. ichiro's not so smooth and composed, really, either, not as much as he puts on, and certainly not as much around samatoki. he has this way of--even when ichiro hated him--making him feel so wildly alive. ]

( that same spark, the fire in ichiro that keeps burning, keeps him hungry, is the one that made samatoki gravitate towards his orbit and keeps him there. it spurs an emotion deep inside him that he can't put a name to, doesn't really want to acknowledge it, if only because of how much it scares him. it's powerful, it's overwhelming, it nearly swallowed him up when ichiro first walked away from his life — only surviving the brunt of it by turning it to anger, to misplaced hatred — and now it feels like butterflies inside his ribs.

(he wonders, maybe, if there's a better way to put it. in three words: no more, no less.)

ichiro looks so good underneath him, even better now that the brat is finally silent and not yapping away with snappy retorts like he has been all night. he never wants to lose this again. he won't allow it. )

Thought so. ( a bit too smug and pleased. he kisses ichiro again for good measure before pulling away again. ) If this was all it took to finally shut you up...

( he might have considered doing it this way, way earlier. but it's fine, they got here somehow one way or another. and with ichiro canting his hips like he can't wait any longer, samatoki also decides he has prepared himself enough. he nips at ichiro's ear one last time before sitting upright, fingers reaching for ichiro so he can position himself and guide him in. stray locks of hair end up covering one of his eyes as he looks down at ichiro, wanting to see each and every reaction.

a second passes, he slowly sinks down, letting his own weight guide him until he bottoms out. there's a hiss, followed by a deep exhale, and he waits, waits for him to get used to feeling full before he starts to move. )

[ back in the old days, ichiro remembered being (certainly internally) starstruck (or at least pretending not to be, externally) at even getting a hint of samatoki's time, his respect. ichiro had given everything he had to get it, and samatoki had inspired him to be better, more clever with his rap, stronger to use his hypnosis mic. he'd been a huge part of his world in the dirty dawg days, and he used to look on that with anger and bitterness of his own. what was i thinking, respecting someone like you.

he didn't mean it. it took years to discover that. hatred and love walk a razor's edge together: love letters and threats, things that could barely be told apart, but ichiro's gained it back, now. it's settled again, from admiration to anger to animosity to this, something more real than anything he could've rapped about at fifteen.

not to mention...falling into bed with him had pretty much ruined him for any girl he slept with in the time between, enough that ichiro didn't bother to pursue it. there was nothing that compared to samatoki, who was someone he looked up to, someone he admired, someone he --well, someone he loved, which he may have admitted internally at the time, too.

there's nothing that compares to quite how good that feels, when he sinks down on him like that, though ichiro'd actually rather die than admit that to samatoki. he doesn't really have to, not out loud, because the grin he flashes at him when samatoki looks down at him like that reads a flash of affection before it fades. his eyes flutter shut and his brows pinch together, mouth starting to fall open. it's an honest expression, completely unguarded. open.

his hands come up to rest on samatoki's hips as he makes his way down, fingers squeezing tight to let the feeling roll through him. the warmth and tightness both fit perfect, and a noise comes out of him immediately, deep and low in his chest.

samatoki doesn't give him much time to get used to it, either. he's impatient enough that he's ready to get into it immediately, chomping at the bit, and when samatoki moves, he's rewarded with another noise, a low swear as he squeezes his hips tight and rolls up into him, too. it's a little awkward on the couch, but they've done this in weirder places. ]

( the respect ichiro gained back then is something that stuck with samatoki even when they both left their old lives behind. it haunted every lyric, every verse he spat when they battled for territorial rights: that same push and pull, the tug of war that drew them closer and further apart all at once. he was weak enough to be unable to hide it, how much splitting off affected him, and he's pretty sure ichiro knows all about it. has exploited it whenever the chance sprung up.

it's a respect that still lingers, that has now blossomed into something else. something deeper, something heavy and light at the same time. it makes him reach for one of ichiro's hands, subconsciously intertwining fingers like he never wants to let go. he doesn't want to let go. it wrattles him to the bone. the thought comes up: what if ichiro lets go again?

samatoki won't let him. his grip is tighter than ever.

it's hard to get the leverage he wants while they're on the couch like this, but he makes do, using ichiro's grip on his hips to steady him as he moves up and down. he shifts every time in an attempt to find the right angle, and when he does — heavy pants start to spill out of him. sharp breaths, hushed noises. even back then, samatoki had never really been loud. that was all ichiro. but his expressions will always make up for the lack of sounds. they're just as unguarded. sincere. overflowing with an honest emotion he doesn't know how to hide.

(he loves him too. no matter how hard he denies it.)

the pace quickens as if it's trying to match how fast his heart beats inside his chest. the rhythm is still sloppy, but it feels good. every thrust hits him just right, and he wants more more more. any other day and he might have bitched at ichiro for making him do all the work, but tonight feels different. tonight, just staying close like this — it's enough. )

[ if samatoki really wanted ichiro to shut up, this probably wasn't the best way to do it. sure, he's not making smartass comments anymore--even ichiro yamada, silver tongued enough to rap with the dirty dawg while he was still in high school, doesn't have much shitty to say when samatoki's sunk down on him like that, taking him like it's easy and setting the pace.

it doesn't make him quiet, though. the squeeze of his body around his dick is so good, tight and warm and probably not quite prepped enough, but right now he doesn't give a shit; things between them are rarely all that gentle, even now. he makes a noise when samatoki bottoms out on him, pulled out of his chest, and they keep going each time he comes back up, staccato and unabashed, unlike samatoki's. it's not as loud as he gets the other way around, but he's not shy about showing how much he likes something--at least not like this. his actions rarely speak louder than his words, and ichiro's always kept those honest.

as he reaches for his hand, though, maybe things can be a little gentle. even as he's snapping his hips up into samatoki's to keep with his rhythm when he hits that spot, sticking with him as they settle into things like two gears clicking together, even as he's half propping himself up on the couch and forcing himself not to shut his eyes to watch the look on his face-- ]

Sama--nnghn-- [ --his fingers slide between samatoki's and he holds on, too. because he's not letting go, because he did that once and things between them were destroyed, because he might never build his trust back again, but he'll be damned if he's letting this person who has been the center of his orbit since he was fifteen (through good and bad, through love and hate) get away from him, either. he holds onto his hip and his hands and squeezes tight, letting the honesty of the moment speak louder than any noise he could possibly make. ]

( if samatoki really wanted to shut ichiro up, there are many other ways to do it for sure, but that's the thing — despite what he's been saying all night, he wants to hear every soft gasp, every little noise ichiro makes. it's addicting, intoxicating, the way he sounds when the pleasure becomes too much to handle, and samatoki can't get enough of it.

it doesn't matter if the friction burns because he didn't stretch himself out enough. every downward motion is still accompanied by a flash of pure bliss so he doesn't stop, doesn't bother slowing down for either of their sake's. if anything, he speeds up, finally used to how he's riding ichiro out and how much his own heart skips too many beats every time he manages to draw out a moan in the shape of his name. but then ichiro hits that one spot deep inside him, and he —

he almost falls apart. he almost lets go.

they haven't fallen into a rhythm that works, they can't really do it, not anymore, not after what happened between them. it's like they're two pieces that used to be a whole trying to fit in with each other, but it doesn't work. it's not like how they used to be. a huge part of that is because samatoki is so hesitant thanks to how it felt like when his world drowned in the shadows, when ichiro walking away meant taking every bit of sunshine he had left out the door with him. it wasn't a good thing, and it isn't something he's all that into experiencing once again.

so as they hold hands, samatoki couldn't hold back the look on his face. it's a mess of emotions: happiness, sadness, love, doubt, confusion. there's a hint of what can probably count as contentment but something stops him from experiencing it fully, and he likes to believe he doesn't know what it is but that's a lie. he doesn't think they can ever go back to how they used to be, but he still kisses ichiro like he means it. it comes with everything he can't ever say out loud —

don't go. please don't let go. )

[ for the longest time, it felt like ichiro was chasing samatoki's back. when he was younger, he was constantly following it, trying to stay in the great shadow samatoki cast behind him, lightly stepping into his footsteps to try and catch up. he wanted to be as good as samatoki but there was more than that--maybe then, a part of ichiro knew he could be better than him, too. it felt like an unattainable, impossible goal. as he got older (and they fought and clashed and tore at each other until they bled), he learned samatoki's back wasn't that unattainable, and ichiro was the one to turn his on him, to walk down a different path. he shed every part of being a gangster and grew up, and samatoki was in the crossfire, collateral damage that turned into (or maybe never changed from) target number one.

but, as time went on, as ichiro battled and fought and clawed for every piece of territory ikebukuro could hold on to, as he protected his brothers from every onslaught MTC could throw at them, in battle after battle after battle, he saw that back get closer to him. and when he finally was able to break free and step in front of him, he won.

(there was no victory sweeter than "you beat me." there's no emotion in the world tangible or comparable to the way he felt when he held out his hand to help samatoki back to his feet, to the sheer, unbridled, crazy joy ichiro felt when he flung his arms around his neck afterwards and held onto him like nothing had ever changed. every insult flung between them dropped to the ground when he, clumsy, twenty-one, wiser than sixteen, pressed his bloody lips to samatoki's and gave him a kiss that might have been boiling underneath the surface all along.)

in the end, it wasn't a mentor he needed. it wasn't an enemy, either. it was a rival--more than that, it was a partner. isn't that what a rival is? someone who matches you step to step? lovers to enemies to something, to standing shoulder to shoulder like ichiro used to dream of. here they stand, no longer yakuza and delinquent, gangster and his puppy dog; just samatoki and ichiro, two grown ass men trying to pick up the pieces of something samatoki stepped on and ichiro shattered. it's not perfect. it might never be perfect again.

ichiro wouldn't change it for the world, though. not now. not again.

from where they're settled, his thoughts aren't so poetic. they're scattered and abstract, his eyes shut tight as he arches his hips up into samatoki's, keeping the pace as ever, letting him squeeze tight and warm and perfect around him with every thrust in. he flutters them open just before samatoki comes in to kiss him, stop and go eyes half lidded, and he's rewarded with that expression, alight with a thousand things.

it aches, in his chest, and he feels the fierce determination he's always felt when it came to samatoki (to loving him, to beating him, to earning his respect). it's a purposeful movement, that when samatoki kisses him like that, he lets the hands on his hips squeeze tighter and pulls him down to him, holds him there for a moment, slows the pace down. the angle's still good, but he wants to enjoy it, slower and sweeter than the near breakneck pace that brought them here, and he's kissing it into samatoki's mouth too, insistent and affectionate, an unstoppable force into an immovable object.

ichiro's fingers lock against samatoki's, the squeeze tight, thumb curling against the back of his hand. the presence is grounding, with the newer pace he takes control of. the kiss screams it too, the muffled moan between their lips when samatoki bottoms out against him again, the way he always seems to fall apart just a little in samatoki's hands.

i'm not going anywhere. if it takes him a hundred years to prove it, then so be it. ichiro's always been stubborn; there's not a thing in this world samatoki could do nowadays to shove him back out of his life.

he's seen his worst. ichiro's ready for a compromise. ]

[After they finished one of his jobs Kuukou was in a pretty good mood. He had some money to spend, time to waste, and he didn't have another job until tomorrow. Kuukou had a couple of plans for the money he earned he could treat himself with a new shirt, it's been awhile since he did that. Then again he could grab some of his favorite sweets too or get a meal that wasn't from a convenience store when it hit him. He could use this money to get something for him and Ichiro! Ichiro could use the break.

Kuukou pulled out his phone and sent him a quick message.]

Hey! I got some money to spend and time to kill! Meet me at our usual spot!

[ nice. well, hey, ichiro's not gonna complain. he's off of an odd job earlier than he expected, so kuukou gets a text back after about ten minutes. ]

k

[ chatty as ever, but he makes his way towards their alleyway dutifully. seeing kuukou's usually a pretty good way to end the day. it doesn't take him long to show up, either. ]

[While he waited Kuukou went through his phone, going through messages to check if there was anything worth while for later, when he saw Ichiro coming towards him. He jumped off the rail he sat on and waved at him.]

Hey! My last job paid off really well so I have extra money to spend! I racked my brain on what I could do with it when it hit me we could do something together! It's good to spread the wealth and good fortune around. Wherever you want to go we can go. Wait, do you have any more jobs tonight? I don't need you running off to another job in the middle of our fun.

[ well, mozuku hasn't come a calling with more territory for them to take over, or anything, so it seems like it's going to be a quiet night. ichiro tips his head up towards kuukou in the universal 'sup' gesture, and trots towards him.

a night out, huh...it's not like ichiro can really afford those things, but if he's going about this being a buddhist thing, well. it's not like ichiro to (really) deny his best friend.

he shrugs his shoulders, expression mostly neutral, but jams his hands into his pockets. ] Sure, I guess. 'm not busy. [ he even finished his homework!! ] Every time you say I should pick, you've got something in mind.

[ a raise of his eyebrows. waiting... ]

[Kuukou grinned as he rocked back and forth and placed his hands on the back of his head.] You know me so well! I do have an idea on how to use this extra money. We have just enough to get a room for the night and food too! We'll have more when we put our money together. We get to live the good life for the night! There's nothing wrong with a little indulgence it makes life even better.

[He walked over and placed his arm around Ichiro's shoulders.] So what do you say? You in?

[ from here. ]

I'd like to see someone try. [ for the most part, people from ikebukuro know to give ichiro a wide berth. he's got quite the reputation, one that hasn't changed any now that he's a member of the dirty dawg. at only eighteen, too.

...no one would think he's very scary at the moment, considering he's jogging down the way to samatoki's apartment complex and smiling like a fucking idiot. ] --'sides, you'd get to hear me rap them down that way, anyway. Even if I'd rather just fight somebody with you.

[ a pause, before he admits; ] Kinda don't want to hang up. [ he really, really can't get enough of the sound of samatoki's voice on the other end, right now. ]

Edited 2019-06-13 12:57 (UTC)

[ God, shit— Samatoki needs to control himself because Ichiro saying he doesn't want to hang up is cute as hell. He's almost as cute as Nemu— wait, shit, he can't think that. Nemu is the goddamn cutest. Not even Ichiro's thick and pert ass can beat Nemu's bright smile that's as heavenly as the sun. ]

You can't say that kinda shit!

[ Except, wait. Is he angry? He sure as hell is yelling on the phone. Unintentionally, though. He notices his delivery as soon as he says it and promptly takes it back the way Samatoki can. ]

I mean— Shut up. [ WAIT.

He can't think straight. He's flustered in a way that he's never been flustered before and he doesn't like it. Afraid that may have scared Ichiro away though, he says, quietly: ]

... are you still there?

[ maybe this is the reason this works so well; not only are ichiro and samatoki sometimes freakishly alike, but there's not a chance in hell ichiro could ever be scared away by anything he does or says. his short temper's familiar--because he has one too.

also this tsundere act is the cutest? his animes have prepared him for this moment.

the only reason he even went quiet was because he picked up the pace a little. samatoki's high rise is in sight, and ichiro's grinning so hard his face is starting to hurt.

he huffs a quiet laugh into the phone, intimate and warm. ] Still here. [ what a puppy dog. ] I'm really close. Is the door unlocked?

[ samatoki might hear the sound of his feet on the pavement picking up, and then finally, nothing but soft street noise as he approaches the building for real. man. he's so glad samatoki-san lives in bukuro. ]

[ The live commentary of Ichiro heading over to Samatoki's place is both cute and annoying at the same time. It makes the yakuza antsy, because every second that Ichiro narrates adds to the counter of him having to wait. Samatoki is impatient by nature. He has a very low tolerance for a lot of things, which includes waiting. It's a miracle he'd managed to keep the fact that he'd been wanting to wipe Ichiro's cute smile off his lips with his own for some time.

Another thing that Samatoki is is that he's not very good when it comes to emotions. Growing up and presenting a tough exterior to everybody does that to you, and there are only so few people he would be willing to be soft to. ]

Really close still feels like a long time, y'know.

[ (Because Ichiro isn't at his door yet.) ]

I'm waitin' by the door.

[ Literally. He's at the hallway in front of his apartment now. ]

Kay. [ this time, maybe even more breathless. ichiro let samatoki slip away from him once, when he didn't team up with him right away, and he learned his mistake from that really fast. there's not a chance he's missing it now.

which means samatoki's gonna hear ichiro's footsteps picking up. patience isn't exactly his strong suit either, and when he gets into the building, he doesn't even bother with an elevator, instead running up the stairs, sounding more like a herd of elephants than one teenage boy. whatever. he's too excited to care, heart pounding in his ears as he rounds the corner and-- there he is.

ichiro brightens. it's like the sun is present in this very hallway. he keeps the phone to his ear even as he's making his way there, and has to stop just a footstep away, brimming with excitement, still holding the phone. he's right there, samatoki-san let him come over and he's here and he likes him and - ]

...Hi. [ like an idiot, this is what comes out of his mouth. only staring at samatoki now like if he looks away he'll disappear does he hang up the phone. ]

[ Oh, god. Ichiro looks like a goober, and Samatoki almost wants to point it out. The problem with pointing it out means he'll have to fight an impending grin because Ichiro looking so happy is adorable as hell. So instead of saying anything about it, he just nods towards his open door then steps inside. Ichiro was here just a moment ago—not even two hours ago—so there's not much difference with what he'll be able to see. Samatoki's at least washed the dishes, so, you know. If Ichiro wants to compliment the older man on how well he is when it comes to rubbing sponge against ceramic. . .

Once they're in, Samatoki closes the door behind them. This is kind of awkward, he doesn't know what to say. Samatoki doesn't consider it awkward, though. It's just the whole situation of there being silence would make one think it's awkward...

Until Samatoki speaks, anyway. ]

So, how were you gonna make a move on me?

[ (Or he would just make things worse.)

There's a dumb smirk on his face as if he's challenging Ichiro to sweep him off his feet. That's precisely what he's doing, though. If they had a Flirt Off, Samatoki would be a hundred percent down with it. Somehow? He thinks this is perfectly normal even after they've spoken over the phone already. ]

[ the thing is that ichiro is absolutely, 100%, going to rise to this completely abnormal flirt off. he's practically going to vibrate out of his skin at all of the things that were just opened up to him--there are so many things he could do--that it's almost overwhelming.

but, ichiro yamada's never been one to back off of anything. he'll never settle for "good" when he could have great. he'll never stop, his bullheaded intensity only a match for one person that he's ever met.

...the same person who challenges him with that smirk. ichiro's eyes narrow, perceptibly, and he shoves his iphone into his front pocket. alright samatoki-san, you want a challenge? that's exactly what you're getting.

he takes a step forward to close some of the distance between them, emboldened by the fact that suddenly this is a competition and he has to win it. ] Well. I wanted to do it the first time we fought together as the Dirty Dawg. I came home with you, and I was gonna make a move. [ another step forward. ] But, your sister was home. Nemu-chan couldn't be around-- I've got mad respect for her, I'm not doing her like that.

[ ichiro also drinks that respect nemu juice, because nobody understands a siscon quite like a brocon, or something. somehow it's not gonna ruin the mood. ] So I was gonna wait till we got a minute alone, y'know? I wanted to tell you a whole bunch of shit. [ that he liked him, that he made him like himself more, that the's the coolest guy ever, his role model--but all of that's embarrassing, so he's not saying that out loud right now. instead, ichiro closes the distance a little further, intentionally, as if backing samatoki closer to the wall. he's not expecting him to jump out of his space. ] But I kinda decided I just wanted to kiss you first.

[ a pause, and now some of that embarrassed, cherry boy flush comes back, and he grins. it's the perfect "you little shit" grin, a little sheepish, complete with his dimples. ] ...didn't really plan after that.

[ Samatoki remains unperturbed throughout Ichiro's little speech. Indeed, he's forced to take a step back, then another, then another, until his back softly hits the wall and there's nowhere else to go. Samatoki revels in being cornered, though. He's never declared to himself that he's in trouble when backed in a corner with nowhere else to go. In a situation like this where someone he likes is being truthful to him and is being cute as hell gives him zero worries. This is not at all intimidating, nor is it a situation he'd consider a pinch.

He does, however, frown at the mention of Nemu. It's a good thing Ichiro respects her, because the two of them would have a problem otherwise. And whatever's gonna happen—at least, whatever Samatoki envisions would happen—he'd prefer if his little sister's eyes weren't anywhere near it. ]

s'fine if you don't got a next move. [ Samatoki's voice is serious, as is his expression. He doesn't smile, even though he's excited and his heart could leap out of his chest at any given moment. He won't falter. He'll be the serious one between the two of them, because someone has to be it. ] I'll take over for you.

[ Ichiro said he wanted to kiss Samatoki, but he hasn't done so yet. Samatoki decides to grant the boy a favour. In this case, it's to grab Ichiro by the wrist so he can't run away and before he leans forward to press his lips against the other's. ]

[ that's why they make such a good team, right? the dirty dawg's vanguard, practically able to read each other's mind. he and samatoki were a match made in somewhere from day one, when they teamed up to take down mozuku and ichiro never stopped thinking about how amazing it felt to rap at his side. so "i'll take over for you" doesn't feel at all offensive.

it's adrenaline, instead. samatoki's so close he can smell his cologne, cigarettes and something spice, and he feels himself leaning forward before it's even started. ichiro's leaning in, too, meeting him halfway there. seriously, sometimes samatoki-san can be so cool-- and just like that, ichiro's getting to kiss him.

like hell he's running. he makes a noise against his mouth somewhere, shoulders almost melting with the relief that comes with it, forcing himself not to smile and utterly ruin it. he'll also not tell samatoki it's his first kiss, even if it's probably blatantly obvious. instead, the wrist being held shifts so he can get his hand to curl in his shirt at the waist, and the other comes up into a fist to rest at the wall near his head--it might have been a kabedon if it'd been more forceful. instead, it's just that want to be close. to kiss samatoki, again and again, to not pull back even an inch.

to want to stay anchored to this earth before he flies off like some cartoon character. this is officially the (third) best experience of his life. (the first two? his baby brothers being born, naturally. ♥) ]

[ This sure as hell isn't a dream come true, but it feels like it. It feels fulfilling, to finally be kissing Ichiro. It's a little sloppy on Ichiro's end, which Samatoki assumes is because the younger boy hasn't exactly kissed that many people. It's got its charm, though, which makes the Samatoki smile as he leans even further to kiss him again. His lips are curled upwards, a sign of happiness, but the kisses he provides aren't hungry or needy. It's just enough to show Ichiro his affection.

This is crazy, though. Samatoki certainly didn't expect this night to end up being this way. He'd never complain about it, but he hasn't felt this light and glad in literal ages. He'd forced himself to grow up so Nemu could have a better future. There's a lot he had skipped in terms of experiences, and there are more things he'd given up just to be able to provide meals on the table for himself and for his little sister. He thinks life isn't fair, but right now, it's fucking giving back and it's so new and—

—he pulls away, finally, for a breather. There's a soft chuckle that he lets out, accompanied by a hot puff of breath. ]

Heh. I could keep kissin' you all night.

Do it then. [ what a stupid thing to challenge someone to?? and yet, here he is! challenging him. because what else does an idiot hothead do when faced with the other idiot hothead that he's really into returning his feelings?

except its less yelling at each other in a sauna and more giddiness. a genuine joy that makes ichiro want to smile and keep smiling--something that he once thought he'd forgotten how to do. it's really been samatoki (and by proxy, nemu) who helped show him that side of himself again. that he was worth so much more than being mozuku's errand boy, that he could raise his brothers if he wanted to. just like samatoki was doing with nemu--at this moment, ichiro admires him more than almost anything.

so yeah, when he speaks his little challenge, it's more breathless and stupid than anything else. ichiro looks up at him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, looking almost a little wondrous that this is happening, too. he keeps his hands curled gently in his shirt, too, belaying every bit of eagerness he's feeling.

he does have to go home, at some point, but that's the actual last thing he's thinking about right now. ]

[ Maybe Ichiro shouldn't go home? Samatoki would want to suggest that he doesn't have to, not that where Ichiro's staying now is a home to begin with, but it's such a selfish request that he can't bring himself to do it. The last thing he wants to be is a bad influence to the younger boy... Hence, ]

Or maybe not, [ he finally says before taking Ichiro's mouth in his again. Samatoki's not at all being gentle anymore, that small bout of shyness has gone out the window with how excited he is and with how excited Ichiro is. It's contagious, and Samatoki would much prefer them being passionate over tiptoeing around one another, anyway. ] You gotta get back, yeah?

[ They could make the most out of tonight, or Samatoki could just give Ichiro just enough to make him come running back to him the following day. Or his next free day. Time is their enemy right now... And also that kind of thinking just proves that Samatoki spells himself out to be a bottom daslkghsdg ]

[ he needs to respond, probably, but before he can even say anything that's remotely intelligent, samatoki's kissing him again, and ichiro lets all of the intelligence bleed right out of his ears. his mouth's warm and hot and the sensation is so new that he's eager to chase after it, open mouthed, with all the intensity and fire he comes at every situation with. he could do this for the rest of his life--

oh, shit. he said something. ichiro pulls back just a tiny bit when samatoki speaks again, putting a little space between them, enough to try and gather up his thoughts. ] ...Later. [ way later. years from now later. centuries. ichiro doesn't give two shits about going anywhere near that orphanage at this moment, because samatoki's place is more of a home than it ever was. because samatoki is closer to home.

yeah. definitely later. ichiro's going to take the brief pause to shift his weight, forearms resting on either side of his head, now, elbows near his shoulders, close enough to move his hands into his hair. he's as bold as he ever was, though ichiro pauses before he goes back in for another kiss; he tilts his head a little to actually look at samatoki proper, and there's the first sign of hesitation in his eyes, searching his face for an answer for once, instead of the other way around. so maybe he is a little new at this. maybe he's still a bit of a cherry boy himself. maybe he looks like a puppy, waiting for his master to tell him it's okay to stop doing "stay". ]

...if you're cool with that. [ but he's still got more latent top energy than samatoki so as soon as he gets the all clear he's getting kissed again. ]

[ continued rom here!

nemu's mouth is so, so soft, and her kisses are so, so sweet. he's plenty riled up by her outfit, sure, but he's already been into nemu, and has been for a good chunk of his adult life, now, so getting to do something like this is wish fulfillment. his tongue slides into her mouth, and getting tugged closer like that makes everything feel a little more intense. ichiro shifts to sit up proper, and the motion moves the ruffles down her thighs--it's a nice sight--and he only breaks away from the kiss to press his mouth to her jaw, her neck instead, nipping ticklishly in a couple of spots.

he'd leave a mark, but...well, he's not looking for samatoki to take his head clean off of his shoulders. instead, he trails down further, over the soft swell of her chest, peeking up at her with a look on his face that can only be described as a kid in a candy store. ] Kinda wanna keep it on.

[She finds him charming, always has, and she suspects...always will. The kisses never just stop at her lips. With Ichiro she feels like her entire body head to toe will always be appreciated. She never worries with him.]

Keeping it on could be part of the fun, but...what if we get it dirty?

[Removing bodily fluids isn't easy, but don't put it past her. She's already come prepared for that sort of situation.]

The bottoms at least need to go, Ichiro-kun. ♥

[ appreciated is an understatement. ichiro shifts down a little further, not quite burying his nose in her cleavage but getting close to it. shifting his weight to one hand, he lets the other one come up to pull at the material at the top, away from the (still accurate, he still loves this) bra so he can take a better peek, cheek tilted to rest against her soft skin. ] Sounds like a challenge.

[ but she's got a point. the panties (cute as they are) definitely have to go. he lets go of the material so the elastic snaps, gently, then, rather abruptly, pushes himself down the bed further and sticks his head right up her skirt. it's not long enough to cover too much of him, and he can see just fine, well enough to grab the edges of her underwear and tug them down and out of his way, tossing them off to the side somewhere behind him to be found hours from now. (or not.) it takes a little maneuvering, but it's just enough to get them out of the way before he's latching his mouth onto the inside of her thigh, pressing kisses to that absolute territory above her stocking, soft and sweet...and also a little bit of a tease. ]

[And maybe it is a challenge! With Nemu, she seemed to have a strange habit of making everything a challenge. Making things fun and interesting. The cosplay was to indulge not only him, but herself too. Maybe she'd been invested into the series with him. As something they shared.]

Can you meet the challenge?

[Of course he can. That's a silly question! But her legs fall open for him a little more, her eyes watching as he kisses. She's already aroused, and that's definitely not a secret right now.] You tease!

[ of course he can. the challenge thing works great for ichiro--it runs in the aohitsugi family, clearly, and he's never done anything to avoid a challenge in his entire life. especially one like this, where he's basically being indulged in one of the best fantasies he's ever had by the prettiest girl that he's known in his entire life. rising to it is an understatement.

her complaint gets a huff of a laugh, just loud enough to be heard where he's muffled by ruffles and soft skin. ] Sorry, sorry. [ no he isn't, in fact, he still sounds vaguely gleeful. ] What kind of a fan am I gonna be if I don't savor it?

[ oh, yeah. definitely savoring it. he's not patient enough to make this last as long as he could, though, and he trails a series of wet kisses up the inside of her thigh, parting her legs a little further. nemu always tastes good, and when his tongue slides between the soft, slick folds, it's just as much body worship as anything else to this point has been. by all means, he will happily eat out his girlfriend underneath her perfectly accurate cosplay skirt. absolutely. he'll stay here for hours. ]

[There was a vague thought of sitting on his face so ehwas under the cosplay skirt she spent so many hours making to accuracy. But that could wait until her next costume, she thinks. Especially when their next season drops. Nemu is unsure of when she fell so deep into this anime hole-- but having her boyfriend excited like this was well worth it for her.]

Mmm, I'd question you.... [She gasps quietly, under her breath at first. She's not trying to alert the entire neighborhood of what she's doing here. Her hands are very quick to find Ichiro's hair. Fingers sliding through in encouragement. Yes. This was perfect.]

Ichiro... [She tugs his hair, a little more insistent.]

Edited (wtf dw tools no) 2019-08-25 23:54 (UTC)

am i so sure which pill i'd choose?

continued from tfln

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I had a thought and gonna roll with it

aw yeah

\o/

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why is it always samatoki and ichiro. (cont from sexting)

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god finally i am here now...

welcomes u back w/ open arms

aohitsugi ship post 2k19 apparently -> nemu

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