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Edgar is on his knees in front of Ranpo.
That’s new. They haven’t been intimate for long ― not for lack of trying, especially on Ranpo’s part, though Edgar is glad they haven’t rushed through their relationship: it’s wonderful to wake up every day and know that there is something new to discover, some uncharted territory to explore together ― and the few times they were both in the right mood and free of their jobs and occupations Ranpo was more than eager to gently lie him back and take him apart expertly, so smoothly and knowingly that Edgar couldn’t help but wonder if Ranpo’s power of deduction actually extended this far (or if Ranpo simply spent enough time fantasizing about it that he figured out what would work the best. But that thought was almost dangerous, that thought made him shiver.)
Ranpo is always perfect with his hands, always perfect with his mouth, but it is high time for Edgar to return the favor. He has more than enough bite marks on his thighs that prove it.
As confident as he has been so far ― guiding Ranpo down until he was sitting on their couch, swallowing his surprised laughter in a kiss as he knelt in front of him, running his hands along his sides until they met the waistband of his pants ― he has to admit that he is a little... hesitant. His fingers shake, consequence of a weird mix of anticipation and trepidation, as he unzips and unbuttons Ranpo’s pants, all of a sudden conscious of how he looks right now. It’s a silly concern, but is Ranpo’s heart stuttering in his chest the same way Edgar’s had when their roles were switched? What is he thinking, what is he feeling?
Suddenly, just as he manages to open the front of Ranpo’s pants, a hand slides through his hair. He looks up, meeting Ranpo’s eyes and his wide smile. “You should pin your hair back,” he says, pushing Edgar’s bangs away. “Wouldn’t want it to get dirty.”
Edgar flushes at the implication, but Ranpo’s touch sends electricity coursing through his veins, chasing his nerves away. He blinks up at him, as innocently as he can, despite the way his pulse quickens. “Aren’t you going to come in my mouth, Ranpo-kun?”
Ranpo’s breath hitches, and Edgar bites back a smirk. Ranpo’s voice is less steady when he answers, “As always, I like the way you think, Poe-kun.”
Finally, Edgar shuffles Ranpo’s pants down, aided by Ranpo himself, even though he doesn’t take his hand away from Edgar’s hair. It makes a chill run down his spine, a stark contrast to the way his whole body is nearly burning.
Ranpo is already half-hard, his erection visible behind his boxers, likely from their earlier kisses ― now, that is a boost to Edgar’s confidence ― and Edgar pries his knees open wider and comes closer. He lets instinct drive him and Ranpo’s stuttering exhales motivate him, leaning forward until he can press firm kisses over the fabric. His hands slide up, fingertips fidgeting with the hem of Ranpo’s boxers.
“Hey― Come on,” Ranpo says, his tone of voice nearly a whine, tweaking a strand of Edgar’s hair. “Edgar.”
Ranpo’s cock is so stiff, so hot under Edgar’s mouth, and he finds himself having to swallow the saliva pooling under his tongue. Ranpo may be impatient, but he doesn’t know of the way excitement is making Edgar’s own stomach churn ― or does he? This is Ranpo, after all.
“Yes,” he murmurs, reaching up again to drag Ranpo’s underwear down as well.
Ranpo sighs when his cock is freed, his body tipping farther into the back of the couch. The hand on the crown of Edgar’s head moves to pull him closer, the gesture assertive in that way that often makes coherent thought fade from Edgar’s mind. Edgar is still fully determined to see Ranpo fall apart for him, from him, but there is something comforting in it ― it’s so easy to let Ranpo lead him and to let himself be led, to follow his instructions and cues.
And that’s what he does: he palms at Ranpo’s cock to coax him to full hardness, wrapping his fingers around the shaft to run his thumb along the slit. He can feel it swell in his hand, and it twitches when he laps at the precum beading on the tip; it all makes his head spin, the way he can take notice of every little thing. It makes him bold.
Ranpo’s fingers scratch his scalp pleasantly, surely a reward, when Edgar finally takes the wet, flushed cockhead in his mouth, and he can’t help but hum around it.
Ranpo echoes the sound with a groan. “That’s it,” he says, his voice trembling a little. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”
The pet name makes goosebumps break out over Edgar’s arms, his eyes shutting as he slides farther down Ranpo’s cock. Could he do anything but obey him, when Ranpo asked him like that? He guesses he should be embarrassed by how easily he acquiesces to his requests, but he can’t bring himself to when the result is so sweet.
“Mmh, fuck.” Ranpo’s hold on him tightens. Edgar shivers, the lazy tug on his scalp half pleasant and half painful and all thrilling. “Good boy, ah , such a good boy, Edgar―”
The praise said in that breathy voice makes Edgar’s toes curl, and he can’t hold back a whine as his hands clench on Ranpo’s thighs, his long nails digging into the warm skin. There’s another choked curse from above him, and then Ranpo is yanking him forward by his hair and thrusting into his mouth all the way with no warning.
Edgar’s loud moan is mostly muffled when Ranpo’s cock hits the back of his throat, but nothing can be done about his gag reflex ― which is pretty terrible, but he can’t blame Ranpo for not thinking about it ― and the way his eyes water slightly at the feeling. And yet― he only gets harder, and his desire to make Ranpo feel good only grows. It might be foolish, but Ranpo is always so collected, seemingly imperturbable: it is a privilege ― Edgar’s privilege ― to draw such reactions out of him, to see Ranpo’s composure fray at the edges in time like a well-worn cloak.
He pulls back to sputter to the side and breathe, but soon he’s sucking Ranpo down again, swallowing around him to hear more of those wonderful, winded sounds.
Ranpo’s body jolts when Edgar’s nose buries in the hair at the base of his cock. It pulls a ragged gasping noise from him that makes Edgar’s heart pound.
“Holy shit, Edgar,” he pants, his fingers tangling deeper into Edgar’s curls. “Look at me, honey.”
Ranpo’s voice is low and syrupy sweet around the command, and Edgar’s eyes slide open immediately ― he even forgot he had closed them, focused as he was on Ranpo’s pleasure. He’s suddenly very aware of how watery his eyes are, now that the tears aren’t trapped behind his shut eyelids. His vision is blurry with them, and he reflexively blinks to clear it, making the tears fall. At least now he can clearly see Ranpo’s expression, how rosy his face is and his parted lips, the sweat beading above his brow. Warm satisfaction curls at the pit of Edgar’s stomach.
“So pretty,” Ranpo breathes out.
Edgar can feel heat fan across his cheeks now. So pretty with a dick in my mouth? He almost wants to quip, but he is currently occupied.
He hums around Ranpo’s cock again instead, bobbing his head up and down slowly, building up an even, measured rhythm. If Ranpo wants him to go faster, he is sure the hand twisted in his hair will find a way to let him know.
However, Ranpo doesn’t seem to mind the pace Edgar has set. Sweet, shallow sighs escape him; they drip slowly in Edgar’s ears, and soon his focus completely zeroes in on Ranpo, just him ― the noises he hears, the taste in his mouth, the smooth skin under his fingertips; he’s all he can sense.
“You really should see how you look, Edgar,” Ranpo says, his voice unusually quiet and frail. Edgar tongues at the sensitive underside so that it breaks on the following words. “So― ah― so perfect, honey.”
A thrill runs down Edgar’s spine, making him whine. He squeezes his thighs together; his cock aches in his pants, but he doesn’t dare (or want, even) to take his hands away from Ranpo, so he will do with the slightest bit of friction he can get.
“Haah, you like that? When I tell you how perfect you are?” Ranpo pets his head appreciatively. He’s grinning― or at least it sounds like he is: Edgar’s eyes are too cloudy and he’s blinking too often to see anything very clearly anymore.
His mind is hazy, too, but he manages to think that Ranpo is still a bit too composed for his liking, at the moment. He breathes in through his nose and pulls back slightly, making sure to let Ranpo’s tip drag along the roof of his mouth, and then he speeds up his movements and hollows his cheeks, wrapping one hand around the base of Ranpo’s cock where his lips can’t reach consistently.
This time, Ranpo’s moan is louder and abrupt. His back bows a little, his hips rutting forward. “Shit, Ed―” he heaves, using his grip on Edgar to guide him, slide him down his dick. “That’s so good― ah, you were made for this, weren’t you?”
Shuddering, Edgar closes his eyes tightly ― more tears fall down, he notes distantly ― and whimpers. For you, he would like to say, if he could.
“Y-Yeah,” Ranpo stutters ― stutters, really, Edgar doesn’t think he has heard that before, and arousal burns hotly in his stomach, his cock pulses within his boxers. He opens his eyes to look up, terribly curious, but Ranpo has thrown his head back; Edgar’s gaze hungrily traces the column of his throat. “Made for sucking dick with that pretty mouth― c-close, honey, you’re so good―”
Edgar’s cheeks are red-hot and tear-stained. Drool dribbles from the corners of his puffy lips, staining his chin, surely making him look as much of a mess as he feels. His temples are damp with perspiration, and his bangs stick uncomfortably to the sides of his face. And yet, with Ranpo’s loving praise washing over him, and the warm touch of his hand stroking through his hair, Edgar has never felt more desirable.
Very suddenly, the need to see Ranpo’s eyes slams into him: those beautiful, beautiful green eyes―
He pulls back, replacing his mouth with his hand to pump Ranpo’s cock, and speaks, as resolute as he can when his voice is hoarse and raw, “Look at me, darling.”
It’s a little surprising, how quickly Ranpo does just that, tilting his head again to glance down at him. Edgar’s other hand finally darts down to his own cock, hard and aching behind his pants, and he grinds against the press of his palm― Ranpo’s eyes are half-lidded, dark with lust, piercing as always, and he makes a shrill noise at the sight before Ranpo moans and Edgar has to squeeze his eyes shut when he feels ropes of cum hitting his cheeks.
His first instinct is to flinch back, but Ranpo holds him still; Edgar quivers a little in his grip, but doesn’t stop rocking desperately against his own touch, and when Ranpo exhales a soft, content sigh his orgasm lances through him, stars bursting behind his closed eyelids.
Before he can do much more than take a few fast, heaving breaths to calm his racing heart, Ranpo’s fingers land under his chin, tilting his head up. Edgar’s eyes flutter open. Ranpo’s own chest is rising and falling quickly, but he’s smiling and his tone is firmer now when he says, “Told you you should’ve pinned your hair back.”
Edgar blinks incredulously. Thoughts still a little muddled, but now dreading the thought of having to clean cum out of his hair, all he manages, quite dumbly, is, “You came on my face.”
“You came in your pants,” Ranpo counters, lightly kicking one foot against the inside of Edgar’s thigh, dangerously close to where he’s most sensitive. Edgar winces, frowning up at his boyfriend ― but from the way Ranpo chuckles, he guesses it might be more of a pout.
“Hey, don’t worry, sweetheart.” Ranpo reaches for the box of tissues on the corner of the coffee table. He rubs one over Edgar’s lips, down to his chin, up to his cheekbones. “It didn’t actually get into your hair.”
“Wonderful,” Edgar mutters, but he leans his face into Ranpo’s touch. Once he’s done, Ranpo balls up the tissue and throws it somewhere behind him; before Edgar can chide him for that, Ranpo has fisted a hand in the sweat-damp collar of his shirt and is yanking him up, crashing their mouths together for a few, intense moments.
“You did well, so you deserve a reward,” he says once he draws back, with a feral grin that could make Edgar’s already-weak knees buckle. “My turn now.”