Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shuichi shuffled through the door, shoulders slumped, exhaustion clinging to him like a second coat. He didn’t even notice Kokichi lounging on the couch, arms crossed, eyes sharp in the low glow of the living room lamp. Instead, he dropped his bag with a muted thud, pressing a palm to his eyes as if he could rub the day out of his skull.

He rounded the corner on autopilot, drifting toward the kitchen, thinking vaguely that a glass of cold water might wake him up.

A soft chirp broke the silence. Dice had hopped onto the counter, tail flicking, bright eyes fixed on him. Shuichi managed a faint smile, scooped the cat into his arms, and pressed a gentle kiss to his head before setting him back down. The warmth of the moment was automatic, almost unconscious.
“…Wow.”

The word was drawn out, low and sharp, slicing through Shuichi’s fog like a blade. His head snapped up. Kokichi stood in the doorway now, head tilted, grin curling at the corners in a way that promised nothing good.

“You walked right past me,” Kokichi said, feigning a pout that didn’t reach his eyes. “But Dice gets his kiss first? I see where I rank in this house.”

Shuichi’s eyes widened, heart sinking. “W-wait—I wasn’t thinking, I’m just tired, Kokichi—”
“No excuses.” Kokichi’s pout snapped into a smirk as he slid off the frame and sauntered closer, barefoot, loose-limbed, predatory. His voice dipped sweet and dangerous. “You need to be punished for
your cruelty. If you want to make it up to me, you better follow my rules.”

Shuichi swallowed hard. He knew that tone. “…You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Mmhm~.” Kokichi’s grin widened like a trap. “Sit. Touch yourself. But you don’t come until I say so. Or else Dice won’t be the only one sleeping alone tonight.”

Heat flooded Shuichi’s cheeks. He let himself be guided out of the kitchen, Kokichi’s hand light but insistent on his wrist, and pushed down onto the couch. He practically sank into it, the cushions swallowing him, while Kokichi perched nearby with feline stillness, eyes glittering.

The air felt heavy, a slow drag in Shuichi’s lungs. Kokichi’s gaze pinned him in place, a look so fixed it bordered on hunger. Even when Shuichi glanced up, wide-eyed and startled like a deer in headlights, Kokichi’s expression didn’t soften. One hand trailed up Shuichi’s thigh, slow and deliberate, and the tremor that rippled through him only made Kokichi’s smile twitch wider.

Shuichi’s head spun. He was flustered, humiliated, a part of him scoffing at how Kokichi could take something so trivial and spin it into a control game. And yet—arousal was curling, tight and hot, beneath the embarrassment. He hadn’t seen Kokichi all day. He’d been stuck at the coffee shop for hours longer than he’d intended, and Kokichi had pouted over text but ultimately said nothing. Now, in the low light, Kokichi looked like trouble incarnate: hair still damp from a recent shower, purple ends curling against his neck, wearing nothing but boxers and one of Shuichi’s shirts. The sight sent a pulse of want through him.

Kokichi’s mischievous voice cut through his drifting thoughts like a whip. “Didn’t I just give you a command?” His eyes stayed locked on Shuichi’s. “Touch yourself.”

Shuichi’s throat went tight. But he obeyed. His trembling hand slipped past his waistband, slow and tentative at first, until Kokichi’s sing-song voice lilted again:
“Faster. …No, slower. Don’t think, just listen.”

Shuichi let out a choked sound, biting his lip as his body jerked under the shifting pace. Kokichi leaned closer, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
“Stop.”

Shuichi froze mid-motion, panting. “K-Kokichi, please, I can’t—”

“Pathetic.” Kokichi’s fingers skimmed his thigh, just shy of where Shuichi needed them, a ghost of touch that burned hotter than contact. “You’re begging already? Guess Dice really is better at following rules than you are.” He pretended to look at his nails, faking boredom, adding to the bit.

Shuichi’s face burned, shame and need twisting together. “I’m trying, I really am—don’t make me stop again—!” He tilted his head to the side, away from Kokichi, who noticed immediately.

Kokichi tilted his head, grin wicked, voice soft enough to crawl under Shuichi’s skin. He grabbed Shuichi's face, holding on a bit too tightly. “You’re not allowed to hide your face. Look at me. I want to see how desperate you get.”

Shuichi’s breath hitched as his hand moved again, too close, too much—

“Stop.”

The word hit like a slap. Shuichi whimpered, shoulders curling, breaking apart with frustration. “Please, please let me— I won’t forget again, I swear. I’ll give you all the kisses you want, just… let me finish.”

For a long moment Kokichi only studied him, eyes roaming his flushed face, his trembling hands. The smirk softened into something warmer but no less smug, a look of someone who’d gotten exactly what they wanted.

“Hmm… tempting,” Kokichi murmured. “But I think I like you better like this—flushed, needy, begging.”
He leaned in, lips brushing Shuichi’s ear, voice low and intimate.

“Next time, remember who gets the first kiss. Otherwise…” His chuckle vibrated against Shuichi’s skin. “You’ll be punished all over again.”

Shuichi’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. He continued, pace quickening. Every nerve in him screamed for relief, but Kokichi’s ironclad voice pinned him in place more effectively than any restraint ever could. His hand twitched, aching to move, to obey, to finish—yet Kokichi’s sharp eyes tracked every breath, every quiver, and Shuichi dared not disobey.

“See?” Kokichi drawled, brushing his fingers against Shuichi’s jaw to tilt his flushed face up. “You can follow orders when you really want to. You just needed… motivation.”

“Kokichi, I—please—” Shuichi’s words cracked apart, tangled in the heat and ache surging through him.

Kokichi leaned back, legs crossed casually as if this was nothing more than a game he’d already won. “You want permission? Then prove it. Say it.”

Shuichi blinked through the haze, his pride warring with need. He kept the pace, excruciatingly close to the edge. “I… I’ll never forget again. You get the first kiss, always—just, please—”

The grin Kokichi gave him then was sharp and beautiful, satisfaction dripping from every edge. “Good boy.”

The words shattered the last of Shuichi’s composure. Kokichis eyes flared with fascination, his voice casual and devastating. “Come for me.”

Shuichi’s body obeyed before his mind could catch up—his head tipping back, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as heat broke loose inside him. The tension snapped like a bowstring, leaving him trembling, undone, every muscle singing with release.

Kokichi leaned in while Shuichi was still shuddering, catching his chin in his hand, pressing a slow, claiming kiss to his lips at last. The taste was soft and taunting all at once, as though reminding him who he belonged to.

When Kokichi finally pulled back, his eyes glittered with mischief and victory both. “Mm. Much better. Don’t forget next time, Shuichi… or you’ll end up right back here. And maybe,” he added, sly and sing-song, “I won’t be so nice.”

Shuichi rolled his eyes and smiled, planting another kiss on his boyfriend's lips.

Chapter Text

The lamp on the nightstand cast a warm pool of light across the futon, catching on the tousled green waves of Rantaro’s hair.

Strands clung to his flushed cheeks, damp with sweat, sea-glass and gold in the low glow. His shirt hung open, fabric slipping off one shoulder, baring smooth skin that was already blooming with faint red where Kiyo’s mouth had passed.

Pinned beneath the scholar’s steady hands, Rantaro looked almost fragile — wide-eyed, trembling, every shallow breath betraying him. He tried to laugh it off, but it came out shaky, broken by the restless shifting of his hips.

“You are trembling already,” Kiyo murmured, leaning just close enough that his hair brushed Rantaro’s cheek. “And yet… I have not touched where you most desire it. Fascinating.”.

Rantaro swallowed, biting down on a shaky sound that wanted to escape. He shifted beneath Kiyo’s hold, muscles taut, the ache between his thighs unbearable. “You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered, half a plea, half a laugh. “You’re not even—”

“Touching you?” Kiyo interrupted smoothly, tilting his head in thought. His eyes gleamed, lips twisting into an innocent smile, sharp and unrelenting. “Precisely.”

He bent down, lips brushing the slope of Rantaro’s collarbone. The kiss was deceptively gentle, but when he pulled away, the faint sting of teeth remained, followed by a bruise already blooming purple. Rantaro gasped, back arching, hands straining against Kiyo’s grip.

One by one, Kiyo left more: along his throat, across his chest, down the ridge of his ribs, each mark purposeful, almost clinical in their arrangement. He catalogued the reactions as though taking notes — the hitch in Rantaro’s breath when teeth grazed his sternum, the way his thighs clenched when lips dragged across the inside of his hip.

Rantaro gasped, head tipping back, his green hair spilling over the pillow like a halo turned wild. His chest rose sharply, ribs visible in the lamplight, skin stretched and trembling as he tried not to pull free. The marks stood out vividly on him, like ink bleeding across a canvas — each one proof of what he had surrendered.

Rantaro writhed helplessly, flushed head to toe. “Kiyo—please, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Kiyo’s tone didn’t waver, though his grip tightened slightly on Rantaro’s wrists. “You cannot endure my restraint? Or perhaps it is that your body confesses before your words do?”

He feels like shadow and ritual, a careful scholar dissecting every reaction, but not without reverence. His touch is sparse, his movements slow — each kiss or bite calculated like a signature.

The question unraveled Rantaro further. His hips bucked upward without conscious thought, his body chasing friction that never came. Every brush of lips, every lingering kiss just shy of where he needed it, wound him tighter and tighter.

Kiyo’s mouth hovered by his ear now, voice a steady current that sank into Rantaro’s bones. “You are undone by anticipation alone. How remarkable… that your devotion could carry you to the edge without even a touch.”

Rantaro whimpered, laughter cracking under the strain. “Kiyo… I—I’m going to—please…”

“Not yet,” Kiyo whispered, voice steady, eyes never leaving Rantaro’s. His fingers traced along Rantaro’s ribs, hips, shoulders — leaving faint impressions but deliberately sparing the places that burned most. “Your body will obey without me touching where you most desire. Let us see just how far anticipation can take you.”

Every word made Rantaro’s pulse spike, thighs quivering, chest rising and falling in chaotic rhythm. He jerked under Kiyo’s precise touches, though none of them met the place that throbbed the hardest. His wide green eyes, still scattered with desire and embarrassment, flicked up at Kiyo, silently pleading, confessing.

It was too much. The ache coiled inside him until it snapped, white-hot and overwhelming. Rantaro came with a strangled cry, back arching, hands clenched hard in Kiyo’s grasp. His whole body shuddered, marked skin flushed and glistening with sweat, undone by nothing but voice and restraint.

For a moment, the room was only the sound of his ragged breathing.

Kiyo released his wrists at last, removing his gloves with slow precision before brushing damp hair back from Rantaro’s face. The analytical sharpness in his gaze softened, though the satisfaction remained. He pressed a kiss to Rantaro’s temple, lingering, almost reverent.

“Exquisite,” he murmured, fingertips tracing over the bruises he had left, soothing the sting. “You have painted yourself in proof of me. These marks will remind you until I may leave more.”

Rantaro, still catching his breath, managed a soft laugh, half-teasing, half-dazed. “Guess I really am your canvas, huh?”

Kiyo only hummed, lowering himself beside him and drawing him close. His lips ghosted over each bruise in turn, sealing every mark with tenderness. Possession transformed into care, the two indistinguishable in his hands.

And in the quiet of their bed, with the lamp burning low, Rantaro let himself be held, body still trembling, every mark a reminder of the devotion he had offered freely.

Chapter Text

The room smelled faintly of wine and citrus, the soft hum of music floating through the low-lit apartment. Glasses were scattered across the coffee table, half-empty, some tipped with condensation. Miu perched on the couch, knees pulled close, a rosy flush creeping across her cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol — or so she told herself.

Kaede lounged beside her, one hand brushing a stray lock of hair from Miu’s face, her touch gentle and deliberate. “You look amazing tonight,” she murmured, voice low, teasing just enough to make Miu’s stomach flutter. “That color really suits you.”

Miu shifted, trying to hide the heat spreading through her chest. “I-I’m fine… that's just the alcohol talking!” she stammered, though her wide green eyes betrayed her.

Across from them, Tenko grinned mischievously, propping herself on the edge of the armchair. “Mm, someone’s getting shy… why do you get so cute when you blush?” She leaned forward, teasing fingers brushing against Miu’s knee, grazing the soft curve beneath her skirt.

Miu gasped, hands flying to cover herself, though her body betrayed her. She leaned instinctively toward Kaede when the girl’s hand traced lightly along her arm, heat pooling deeper. Kaede’s grin softened into something warmer, more intimate, and Miu’s resolve melted with each passing second.

The teasing escalated — Tenko’s hand slid up Miu’s thigh under the guise of a joke, while Kaede leaned in close, brushing lips along Miu’s jaw in a whisper. “See? You can’t hide how much you like all this attention,” Kaede murmured, eyes glittering with amusement and something more tender.

Miu wriggled, flustered, and the alcohol in her system made her cheeks burn hotter, nerves alive and buzzing. “I-I can’t… you’re both… stop teasing me!” she laughed nervously, voice high, breath catching with every lingering touch.

But neither of them stopped. Tenko’s teasing was bold, playful, a constant nudge to break Miu’s composure, while Kaede’s attentions were softer, lingering — every gentle press of her hand, every brush of lips, pulling Miu closer, coaxing her to lean into the feeling.

Soon the couch was a tangle of limbs. Miu’s laughter dissolved into soft gasps as both Kaede and Tenko hovered near, one whispering into her ear, the other trailing fingers across her exposed skin. She pressed into them both instinctively, caught between the warmth and confidence of Kaede and the teasing, daring energy of Tenko.

“Fuck,” Miu gasped again, biting her lip, though her body already betrayed her words. “I-I… I like this…”

Kaede pressed a soft kiss along Miu’s collarbone, tender and claiming, while Tenko’s hands slid higher, playful yet confident, drawing whimpers from her lips. Miu arched instinctively, overwhelmed by the attention, her blush deepening as heat pooled between her legs.

The room held their laughter, sighs, and soft whispers as the night deepened. What started as a casual girls’ night had become something more electric, a dance of teasing, tender touches, and daring confessions. Miu, flustered and flushed, melted into their care, a center of warmth and attention for both Kaede and Tenko — the night’s energy building, teasing toward a crescendo that promised intimacy without needing words.

Kaede smiled softly at her, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “You’re so pretty. You like all this, don’t you?” she murmured.

Miu could only nod, breathless, cheeks burning, caught between the warmth of Kaede’s hands and the playful fire of Tenko’s. And in that intimate, tipsy haze, the line between laughter and desire blurred, leaving them all suspended in the glow of the night — teasing, flustered, and entirely alive.

Miu’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling as her hands instinctively clutched at Kaede’s arm and Tenko’s, holding on as if for balance. Her cheeks were flushed, hair falling in soft waves across her shoulders, lips slightly parted as the room hummed with quiet laughter and murmured reassurances.

Kaede leaned closer, brushing a damp lock of hair from Miu’s temple, eyes soft yet playful. “Just relax,” she murmured, thumb stroking along the curve of Miu’s cheek. “We just want you to feel good tonight.”

Tenko grinned, fingers trailing teasingly along Miu’s arm, then slipping beneath the hem of her shirt to brush her side. “Exactly. No rush, no pressure. We’re just… here to have fun with you.” She leaned down, pressing a light kiss to Miu’s neck, teeth grazing gently, eliciting a startled shiver and a soft gasp.

Miu blinked, overwhelmed but smiling through it, the blush on her cheeks deepening. Her hands moved hesitantly, brushing against Kaede’s chest, then Tenko’s arm, testing their reactions — both of them laughing softly, encouraging, hands guiding her.
Kaede’s lips found Miu’s shoulder, then jawline, gentle and claiming, while Tenko’s teasing fingers traced over her sides and hips, alternating between playful nips and soft, deliberate strokes. The sensations layered together, a mix of tenderness and playful boldness, and Miu’s breaths came faster, body trembling in response.

“You’re doing so well,” Kaede whispered, voice warm, eyes gleaming with admiration. “Just let yourself enjoy it.”

Tenko leaned closer, head brushing Miu’s, fingers moving with deliberate teasing, whispering, “See? You can let go. We’re right here. You’re perfect like this.”

Miu moaned softly, tilting into their touches, surrendering to the combined attention. Nothing felt rushed — every stroke, kiss, and brush of fingers was measured, exploratory, teasing — making her ache in all the right ways. She squirmed, hands clinging to Kaede and Tenko, hips shifting slightly as their touches drew her further into the shared warmth.

Kaede rested her forehead lightly against Miu’s, whispering, “Just this…feel how good you are, how much you deserve this.”

Tenko laughed softly, nipping the edge of Miu’s earlobe, whispering, “You’ve got us wrapped around you, genius. Both of us.”

Miu gasped, a shiver running down her spine, body strung tight with anticipation and desire. She was flushed, trembling, entirely caught between them, but neither Kaede nor Tenko pushed her — they were attuned, adjusting their touches to every breath, every flicker of a gasp or shiver.

Miu shivered, breath hitching, hands clutching at Kaede’s arm and Tenko’s shoulder. Every touch sent ripples through her body — teasing nibbles along the neck, gentle kisses along her shoulder, fingers gliding along sensitive curves. The alcohol in her system loosened her, allowing her to melt into the attention, teasing, guiding herself against the heat of their combined presence.

Kaede’s lips moved lower, brushing softly along Miu’s side, warm and deliberate. Tenko’s hands mirrored the teasing, exploring lightly, guiding, watching every flinch and shiver. Miu tilted her hips instinctively, gasping as dual attention layered over her, sending warmth rushing through her in waves.

“You’re doing so well,” Kaede murmured, eyes locked on Miu’s, soft and admiring. “Just let yourself enjoy it.”

Miu whimpered, tilting further into Kaede’s touch, trembling under Tenko’s playful fingers tracing along her thighs. Kaede pressed a gentle kiss against the apex of her thighs, warm and attentive, eliciting a soft gasp and a hitch in Miu’s breath. Tenko grinned, brushing teasing fingertips elsewhere, keeping Miu achingly aware of both of them.

“Oh… f-fuck…” Miu’s words dissolved into moans, face flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands roamed tentatively over Kaede’s hair, fingers brushing Tenko’s arm, the sensation of attention from both of them leaving her trembling and delightfully overwhelmed.

Kaede’s lips and tongue traced slow, attentive paths, soft and teasing, responding to Miu’s reactions, pausing just long enough to make her squirm and arch. Tenko’s playful nips and whispered encouragement layered on top, her hands gliding in sync, sending shivers through Miu’s body.

Miu gasped, body tightening, trembling against their warmth and attention. Every touch, every flick of a tongue, every whisper pushed her closer, until a wave of release crashed through her — soft, quivering, gasping, her body writhing in pleasure. Kaede’s hands steadied her, lips brushing across every flushed patch of skin, while Tenko’s teasing continued just enough to prolong the delicious tension, laughter and gasps mingling into a melody of warmth and intimacy.

The room smelled faintly of wine and warm skin, soft music still playing in the background. Miu sat between Kaede and Tenko, cheeks still flushed from the previous intensity, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Okay…” she began, voice small but steady, “now… I want to see if I can do that.” Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for Kaede, who raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a teasing smile.

“Is that so?” Kaede murmured, leaning back slightly, letting Miu take the initiative. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Tenko leaned in, grinning, hands resting lightly on Miu’s shoulders. “Don’t be shy. I’m watching too — teach us how good you are.” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes were warm, encouraging, giving Miu the confidence to explore.

Miu’s hands hovered for a moment, fingers brushing Kaede’s skin cautiously. “H-how do you…?” she whispered, still uncertain.
Miu lay back on the bed, hips propped slightly on a pillow, heart racing with a mix of anticipation and newfound confidence.

Beneath her, Tenko shifted carefully, head aligned with Miu’s hips, warm breath and teasing lips making her shiver. Above her, Kaede leaned over her upper body, mirroring Tenko’s movements, lips and hands attentive, giving Miu the same warmth and guidance she had received earlier.

“See? You can do this,” Kaede murmured, eyes soft but playful, watching Miu’s every reaction. “Pay attention… and don’t be afraid to explore.”

Tenko grinned beneath her, hands steadying herself against the bed, voice teasing yet encouraging. “Exactly. You’re in charge now — guide us, learn what we like. Don’t hold back.”

Miu’s fingers trembled slightly as she reached toward Kaede, lips brushing along soft skin, while her other hand guided Tenko’s attention with careful, teasing movements. Every shiver, gasp, and flutter of reaction gave her confidence. She was learning, experimenting, and giving pleasure in a way she hadn’t before.

“Oh… M-Miu…” Kaede whispered, rolling her hips slighly, eyes half-lidded in delight. “Just like that… perfect.”

Tenko’s low laugh vibrated beneath her, teasing and playful, matching the soft hums and gasps she drew from Miu’s attentive touch. “See? You’ve got it… guiding us, teasing us… you’re incredible,” she encouraged, fingers and lips moving in sync with Miu’s newfound rhythm.

Miu’s hands and lips moved in tandem, alternating between the two, exploring carefully, adjusting pressure and pace with every gasp and sigh. She leaned into Kaede’s warmth, fingers tracing along Tenko’s sides, lips brushing where Kaede had taught her attention should fall. The layered, staggered alignment let her give attention to both partners comfortably, heightening her confidence and delight.

The room filled with soft laughter, gasps, and the shared rhythm of pleasure. Miu’s shyness melted into playful control, her body humming with exhilaration, cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and pride. She was not just receiving — she was actively giving, learning the delicate balance between attention, teasing, and mutual enjoyment.

“Oh… Miu…” Kaede gasped, tilting back slightly, eyes half-lidded, “I… can’t…”

Tenko’s head tilted back beneath her, hair falling across the cushions, a low hum vibrating from her chest. “Miu… don’t stop… I’m—mm!”

The combination of responsive pleasure, deliberate teasing, and attentive guidance sent ripples through the room. With a soft gasp and a fluttering arch, Kaede and Tenko both reached release, trembling in Miu’s attentive care. She shivered with delight at the weight of their reactions — the warmth, the soft sighs, the gratitude in their eyes. Her confidence bloomed fully, flushed cheeks and racing heart proof that she had not only received pleasure but given it fully, attentively, and playfully.

The room was filled with soft gasps, giggles, and murmurs, a rhythm forming between them. Miu’s confidence grew with each response she drew — the way Kaede shivered, the hums Tenko made, every small gasp and moan reinforcing that she could give pleasure just as well as

“See?” Kaede murmured, voice soft, pleased. “You’re a natural.” Her hands guided Miu’s subtly, a gentle teacher as Miu navigated this new role.

Tenko laughed softly, tilting her head. “I knew you had it in you, genius. Look at you… taking charge.” Her hands trailed teasingly along Miu’s sides, encouraging her to explore further, giving gentle feedback through shivers and hums.

Miu’s confidence grew with every touch, every response she drew. Her cheeks still burned, but now from playful excitement, not just embarrassment. She leaned closer, alternating kisses and teasing nibbles between Kaede and Tenko, learning the delicate balance between attention, sensation, and control.

“You’re… amazing at this,” Kaede whispered, breath hitching, voice low, every word giving Miu courage.

“Don’t stop,” Tenko urged, laughing softly as Miu’s hands and lips moved with more intent, tracing sensitive spots, teasing
reactions, coaxing pleasure with careful attention.

Miu was flushed, hair damp with soft kisses and laughter, body humming with exhilaration. She collapsed against Kaede, Tenko draped across the other side, heart racing, mind buzzing with newfound confidence. She’d been the center of attention before — now she’d learned how to give it back, and the intimacy felt deeper for it: playful, attentive, equal, and fully
shared.

The room settled into a warm quiet afterward, Miu flushed and sated, Kaede brushing strands of hair from her damp forehead, Tenko grinning as she traced light patterns across Miu’s skin. No words were needed — laughter, quiet whispers, and lingering touches said it all. They were all relaxed, basking in the shared intimacy, wrapped together in soft light and warmth, the night stretching lazily around them, unhurried, intimate, and utterly devoted to making Miu feel adored.

Chapter Text

One flaw of their apartment was the living room’s obnoxiously large window. Half-covered by blinds, it still left the room vulnerable if someone tall happened to peer in. Rarely had it been an issue… but a few scenarios had arisen where private moments might accidentally be exposed. And of course, Kiyo always knew how to exploit it.

Rantaro straddled Kiyo, knees braced on either side of his hips, bodies flush, breaths ragged, trembling with the growing tension and pleasure. He moved only as his body allowed, shuddering sharply when Kiyo hit that perfect spot, sending sparks of sensation up his spine.

The soft rustle of clothing and faint creak of the couch were the only sounds… until the breeze shifted the curtain near the open window. The thought of someone potentially watching, of faint noises carrying outside, added a delicious tension to every movement. A shadow lingered on the edge of the glass — perhaps someone could see, perhaps hear.

“Shh,” Kiyo murmured, pulling Rantaro down so his lips brushed his ear. “You feel that? Someone’s… around. Can you stay quiet for me?”

Rantaro swallowed hard, cheeks burning. “I-I’ll try…” he whispered, his heart hammering at the confession.

Kiyo’s smirk deepened, predatory and teasing. “Good. But you’re going to have to… work for it.” One hand pressed along Rantaro’s side, guiding him, while the other traced the length of his body. Every brush was deliberate, calibrated to draw reaction — every shiver, gasp, and subtle jerk restrained beneath the weight of potential exposure.

Suddenly, Kiyo shifted, thrusting deliberately upward. Rantaro’s eyes widened, a soft moan escaping despite his best efforts.

“You like that, don’t you?” Kiyo whispered. “No sound, though. Not a peep. Show me how quiet you can be while I make you lose yourself.”

Rantaro’s body trembled under the pressure, thighs tightening, fingers clutching Kiyo’s shirt as it rode up. Heat pooled in ways he couldn’t hide, and the thought of being seen — fully, visibly, every movement betrayed — made him flush deeper. His eyes switched between wide-eyed panic and fluttering under pleasure. Yet Kiyo’s calm, commanding presence held him steady, tethered to the rhythm of the teasing.

“Keep moving,” Kiyo urged softly, sliding a guiding hand against him. “I know exactly what you like. Don’t hold back… or we’ll start over.”

Rantaro gasped internally, pressing a hand to his mouth to stifle the inevitable sounds. The tension of potential exposure made every touch, every coaxed movement, burn hotter. His body jerked involuntarily under Kiyo’s careful guidance, flushed face turned to the ceiling, trying desperately to hide any outward signs.

Kiyo’s voice, low and almost a whisper, brushed his ear. “Yes… just like that. Good boy. Keep still… keep quiet. Let me see how far I can push you.”

Rantaro’s heartbeat thundered, every shiver a battle between restraint and desire. Outside, the unsuspecting neighbor could see him perfectly — flushed, trembling, lips parted with hand clasped over his mouth to stifle moans — while Kiyo remained hidden, orchestrating every movement, every rising tension, every exquisite gasp like a maestro controlling a symphony.

Rantaro’s chest heaved, hands clutching at Kiyo’s shoulders and the blankets, cheeks flushed hot, eyes wide with desperation. “K-Kiyo… I… I can’t—” he stammered, voice tight as he pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the involuntary whines escaping past his lips.

Kiyo’s smirk was sharp, predatory, leaning close enough that Rantaro could feel the warmth of his breath along his neck. “Can’t what?” he murmured, teasing, deliberate. “Can’t hold it? Can’t stay quiet? Or… can’t resist?”

Rantaro’s body trembled violently, a shiver running from spine to toes, every nerve alight with sensation. “I-I’m close, Kiyo… please…” His voice was nearly inaudible, muffled against his hand, but every word carried the weight of both desperation and secret arousal.

Kiyo’s eyes glittered, dark and amused. “Please? Keep begging, You have to try harder. I want to see if I can make you fail.” One hand pressed firmly along Rantaro’s side, guiding his hips, while the other teased in just the right spots, forcing him to twitch, shiver, and fight the mounting pleasure.

Rantaro’s fingers gripped at the blanket on the couch, knuckles white, body coiled tight. Every brush of Kiyo’s hands, every subtle shift in pressure, sent pulses of sensation straight through him, and the thought of being visible through the window — fully exposed, trembling, lips pressed to stifle every sound — made it even hotter, more impossible to resist.

“I… I can’t—” he gasped again, jaw clenching, body quivering, “I’ll… I’ll—”

“Shh,” Kiyo whispered, lips brushing against his ear, teasing, soft, and maddening. “Almost… just a little longer. Stay quiet. Show me how desperate you can be before I let you go.”

Rantaro’s breaths came faster, each one a battle between control and release. His body jerked involuntarily, shivers racing through him, heat pooling, cheeks burning. The voyeur outside would see everything — his trembling hands, flushed skin, the slight rise and fall of his chest — but Kiyo remained the calm, masterful presence, orchestrating every movement, every coil of tension.
Finally, a soft, commanding whisper: “Now.”

Rantaro’s body surrendered in a shuddering release, hips bucking slightly against Kiyo’s guiding hand. His muffled whines, stifled against his palm, mixed with the rush of heat and pleasure, every nerve alight. Kiyo held him steady while his own orgasm hit, focused on letting him come fully, still brushing and teasing to prolong the final moments, making them burn exquisite and
unforgettable.

When Rantaro collapsed ontop of him, trembling and flushed, Kiyo’s lips brushed his temple, thumbs tracing along tense muscles. “See? Even under observation, even with temptation all around, you did perfectly. Flustered, obedient… and utterly mine,” he murmured, soft but triumphant.

Rantaro’s breaths slowed, heartbeat still racing, body tingling. He hid a small, shaky smile behind his hand. “…Y-Yeah… I guess I… liked it,” he admitted softly, still flushed, still trembling from the tension and release.

Kiyo chuckled, pressing a warm kiss to his hair. “I know you did. And next time… I might make the audience a little closer.”

Rantaro moved to sprawl across the couch, cover up with the throw blanket, riding out his trembling. His cheeks were still flushed and breaths uneven. Kiyo’s hand rested along his side, thumb brushing soothingly, lips pressed in a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“You… survived,” Kiyo murmured, voice teasing, eyes glinting with mischief. “Even with someone watching.”

Rantaro groaned softly, burying his face in the throw pillow. “I… I can’t believe that just happened… I’m… so embarrassed.”

Kiyo chuckled, shifting to straddle him gently, fingers tracing along the curve of his spine. “Embarrassed? Or… secretly thrilled?”

Rantaro’s ears burned hotter. “Hm… maybe a little of both,” he admitted, voice muffled.

“Good,” Kiyo said, brushing his lips along Rantaro’s temple. “Because next time, you might want to show me how quiet you can be… with someone else watching.”

Rantaro’s heart skipped, a mix of dread and excitement rushing through him. “…You mean… really watching?”

Kiyo’s smirk was sly, fingers teasing along the small of his back. “Maybe. Maybe not. But either way… I like seeing you like this. Flustered, obedient, and still enjoying it.”

Rantaro shivered, warmth pooling in more ways than one. “Y-You’re… terrible,” he whispered, though there was no heat of anger in his voice — only awe, lingering arousal, and a small, shy smile.

“And you,” Kiyo countered, pressing a soft kiss behind his ear, “are irresistible.”

They sank into the afterglow together, the thrill of the secret, the teasing, and the intimacy wrapping around them like a warm, mischievous cocoon. Even the faint memory of someone unsuspecting outside couldn’t diminish the connection — it had only made it more electric.

Chapter Text

It had been an off day for Kiyo, for sure. Memories of his past, of his life with his sister, had resurfaced — things he insisted should remain buried, yet could not ignore. While Rantaro stayed steadfastly supportive, he also allowed Kiyo to “suffer through it” in his own way. Kiyo insisted on it; it was the only way he could process the heightened emotions tied to those old traumas.

That didn’t mean Rantaro didn’t help. All day, he stayed close, worried that if he let even a moment pass without his presence, Kiyo might crumble. Tea had been brewed, the apartment tidied on a near-obsessive cleaning spree, Kiyo’s tomes read aloud with care, his hair brushed and pinned delicately. Every action was meant to remind Kiyo that he was safe, loved, and seen. That was the kind of partner Rantaro was — gentle, patient, unwavering.

Eventually, Kiyo began to ‘reset,’ grounding himself in the present, embracing the life he’d built with Rantaro and the security of his home. Yet, as relief washed over Rantaro, so did a subtle wave of guilt: while caring for his beloved, he couldn’t entirely shake the thoughts of how his hands might feel along Kiyo’s throat. He banished the idea quickly, knowing the evening belonged entirely to Kiyo’s terms.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Shadows pooled in the corners, wrapping the bed in warmth and intimacy. Kiyo lay with shoulders tense, jaw tight, eyes flicking to Rantaro with a mixture of trust and caution. Rantaro settled beside him, calm and deliberate, gaze darkening with intent.

“Relax,” Rantaro murmured, pressing a hand along Kiyo’s side. “I want to see you… really feel.”

A shiver ran through Kiyo’s spine, subtle resistance coiling in the curve of his shoulders, but Rantaro was patient, coaxing him carefully. Sliding his hands beneath Kiyo’s arms, he pressed them above his head, holding them gently but firmly. Kiyo’s eyes widened, breath catching at the vulnerability of restraint.

“Stay still,” Rantaro whispered, leaning close, lips grazing the sensitive skin of Kiyo’s neck, tracing the line of his jaw. “I want to watch you.”

Kiyo tried to compose himself, throat tight, but Rantaro’s fingers danced along muscles that tensed involuntarily, teasing over sensitive skin. Each brush drew a sharp inhale; each subtle twitch was mirrored in Rantaro’s darkening gaze, deliberate and predatory.

Then, slowly, carefully, Rantaro took one of Kiyo’s fingers into his mouth, sucking and nibbling just enough to make Kiyo gasp, tilt his head back, and bite lightly on his own lip. Kiyo’s hands twitched against the invisible hold, chest rising and falling faster, a single tear welling and tracing down his face, catching the lamplight.

Rantaro’s eyes flicked to it, dark and approving. “Good boy,” he whispered. “Look at you… can’t even hide the way you feel.”

He alternated teasing touches — fingertips brushing along sensitive spots, lips grazing the nape of Kiyo’s neck, gentle bites along his collarbone — before returning to the finger in his mouth. Kiyo shivered, trembled, and whined quietly into the mattress, every small movement and reaction fueling Rantaro’s control. Through it all, Kiyo’s hips ground slowly against him, involuntary,
responsive, while the sharpness of Rantaro’s teeth sent sparks through his spine. Each gasp, each whimper, each shiver only spurred Rantaro further, a perfect mixture of care, dominance, and erotic tension.

Kiyo’s breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, tears now spilling freely as the overstimulation built. He tried to focus, to hold back, but Rantaro’s calculated pace, his precise touches, his whispers in Kiyo’s ear — “Don’t hide it… let me see every reaction… just like that” — made restraint impossible.

Kiyo’s breaths hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers twitching as Rantaro held them above his head. “R-Rantaro… I… I can’t—” His voice cracked, barely a whisper, lips parted as a tear slipped free and traced down his cheek.

Rantaro’s gaze darkened with both adoration and mischief. “Can’t… or won’t?” he murmured, lips brushing Kiyo’s temple, then trailing down to the nape of his neck. “You feel too much, don’t you? Every touch, it overwhelms you… and I love it.”

A shudder ran through Kiyo’s body, involuntary, trembling under Rantaro’s deliberate hands. He tried to pull back slightly, but Rantaro’s firm grip along his sides and the gentle tug of his fingers kept him grounded. The slow, purposeful grinding of Rantaros hips against his paired with the teasing finger-sucking, had him on the edge, trapped between desire and self-control.

“I-I’m… so close,” Kiyo whimpered, cheeks flushed, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Please… I—”

“Shh,” Rantaro whispered, brushing a lock of damp hair from Kiyo’s forehead, fingers still tracing along his trembling body. “Quiet. Let me watch… let me see how far you can take this”

Kiyo’s hips jerked involuntarily, a sharp moan threatening to escape despite the hand pressed to his lips. Rantaro’s teeth grazed the sensitive pad of Kiyo’s finger again, eliciting another shiver, and his own lips brushed along Kiyo’s ear. “Look at you…
trembling, overwhelmed, and still trying to hold yourself together. You’re perfect.”

The overstimulation built relentlessly. Kiyo’s breaths became ragged, shallow, punctuated by quiet whines and the occasional sob as a few more tears slid free. Rantaro’s deliberate pace — the finger-sucking, the teasing touches, the gentle bites — forced him to the edge, and finally, Kiyo broke entirely.

A shuddering moan tore past his lips, muffled by his hand, body trembling as waves of release coursed through him. He cried softly, a mixture of pleasure, vulnerability, and relief, head pressed into the pillow, fingers still held in Rantaro’s mouth, hips grinding weakly, utterly consumed by sensation.

Rantaro’s hands slid along Kiyo’s body, soothing, steadying, tracing his spine and shoulders, pressing soft kisses to his temple and cheek. “There,” he murmured, voice low, intimate. “See? Tears, trembling, all of it… it’s beautiful. You don’t have to hide a thing with me.”

Kiyo lay curled against Rantaro’s chest, still flushed and trembling, a faint sheen of sweat and lingering tears on his skin. He buried his face into Rantaro’s shoulder, half-embarrassed, half-relieved, trying to disappear into the warmth.

Rantaro smirked, tilting his head down. “You know… your little whines earlier?” he murmured, voice teasing. “They were… unforgettable.”

Before Kiyo could respond, Rantaro leaned closer and let out a perfectly exaggerated imitation of one of Kiyo’s soft, breathy moans. “Mmm~… ahhh~…!”

Kiyo froze, eyes wide, hands flying to his face. “…R-Rantaro! That’s…you’re t-terrible!” he stammered, cheeks burning, a small laugh escaping through the embarrassment.

“I’m terrible?” Rantaro teased, he leaned in again, mimicking another one of Kiyo’s soft whimpers, this time with an exaggerated sigh. “Ahh…please! I can't- ahh~!” His tease was broken by laughter, “You sound just like that!”

Kiyo peeked up from beneath his hands, cheeks still flushed but eyes sparkling with mischief. “…Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” he murmured, voice soft but teasing.

Rantaro raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’m clever? I was just… appreciating your… vocal talents.”

Kiyo let out a quiet, mischievous laugh, pressing his lips to Rantaro’s neck in a light, teasing kiss. “Well… if I’m adorable, then you’re about to learn how it feels when the tables turn.”

Before Rantaro could react, Kiyo traced his fingers along Rantaro’s side, teasing just enough to make him shiver. He leaned closer, whispering against Rantaro’s ear, "I'm going to make you demonstrate your vocal talents.”

Rantaro groaned softly, feigning protest, but couldn’t hide the grin spreading across his face. “Alright, alright… I see how it is. You’re lucky I like it when you fight back.”

Kiyo giggled, curling closer into him, both of them flushed and laughing softly. The teasing had shifted into a comfortable intimacy — a playful, equal give-and-take that left them warm, content, and still tangled together in the soft glow of the lamp.

Kiyo relaxed into him, letting the warmth, laughter, and gentle teasing wash over him. Even with the playful mockery, he felt utterly safe, loved, and cherished — a sweet, mischievous afterglow that left them both smiling, flushed, and tangled together in comfort.

Chapter Text

Shuichi ended up drinking way too much on their date. Not because he was careless, but because he underestimated just how strong the mixed drink he had chosen would be. Kokichi had warned him — teasing, smirking, reminding him that he couldn’t hold his liquor as well as Kokichi. Shuichi, of course, had taken it as a challenge.

By the time he drunkenly paid the bill, hands shaking slightly, cheeks flushed, and lips curved into a dreamy smile, Kokichi had to half-support him as they stumbled out of the restaurant. The cool night air hit them, sharp and bracing against Shuichi’s warm, flushed skin. He leaned against Kokichi, giggling softly.

“You… you smell really good tonight,” Shuichi slurred, nuzzling against Kokichi’s shoulder. “And… you look… so good. I’m… lucky to have you… really lucky…”

Kokichi’s grin widened, a flicker of heat sparking in his chest. The compliments, slurred though they were, set him alight. He had to restrain himself from pulling Shuichi into a quiet alley or a hidden corner right then and there. But part of the thrill was walking this line, keeping Shuichi flustered, desperate, and exposed.

“Careful,” Kokichi murmured, voice low and teasing, brushing his hand along Shuichi’s arm. “You talk too much when you’re drunk… and everyone could hear just how obsessed you are with me.”

Shuichi laughed, leaning closer, tipping his head back slightly. “I can’t… help it… I just… want you…” His words were soft, breathless, a little reckless. “You’re… mine, right?”

“Always,” Kokichi purred, letting his hand drift lower along Shuichi’s side, feeling the subtle shiver that ran through him. The night air, the alcohol, the potential for anyone to see them… all of it made Shuichi feel exposed in a way that made Kokichi ache with anticipation.

By the time they reached the small, shadowed park Kokichi had been leading him toward, Shuichi was swaying lightly, leaning entirely on Kokichi. A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead, the faint glow of streetlights casting pools of golden light and shadow. Kokichi pressed him gently against a tree, voice low and warm.

“You’re far too easy to tease tonight,” he murmured, brushing a lock of damp hair from Shuichi’s forehead. “I could make you beg right here, and you’d love it.”

Shuichi gasped softly, heat rushing to his ears. “Y-You wouldn’t… wouldn’t do that, right?”

“Maybe I would,” Kokichi whispered, pressing close, letting Shuichi feel the hardness of him through his pants. “Maybe I’ll see how loud I can make you… without a soul around to hear.”

Shuichi’s knees went weak, a soft whine escaping his lips. “K-Kokichi… please…” he murmured, flushed, distracted by the thrill of being outside, by the possibility of exposure, by Kokichi’s predatory grin.

Kokichi tilted his head, eyes glittering in the dim light. “Please… what, exactly?”

Shuichi could only shake, voice trembling. “Please… make me feel… everything… don’t wait until we get home… I… I can’t—”

The words, slurred and desperate, were all Kokichi needed. A low laugh escaped him as he pressed forward, capturing Shuichi’s lips in a bruising, teasing kiss, one hand sliding down to guide Shuichi’s hips. The thrill of the outdoor, half-exposed encounter pulsed through them both, and Kokichi whispered against Shuichi’s ear, soft but dangerous:
“Good… so good… now, let’s see how loud you get, little drunk boy… no holding back.”

The cool night air brushed against Shuichi’s flushed skin, goosebumps rising along his arms as he stumbled slightly against Kokichi. His head was dizzy, the alcohol making his movements slower, softer, more unsteady than usual. Kokichi grinned, noticing every tremble, every sloppy movement, and the faintly tipsy way Shuichi’s lips parted.

“You’re so… easy to tease tonight,” Kokichi murmured, voice low and predatory, pressing Shuichi gently against the rough bark of the tree. “Flustered, drunk, and so desperate to please me…”

Shuichi whimpered softly, cheeks burning as Kokichi’s hand guided him. “…I-I want… I’ll do… anything for you…” he slurred, swaying slightly. His lips brushed against Kokichi’s skin, shaky and uncoordinated, but earnest.

Kokichi chuckled low, leaning closer, pressing firmly against Shuichi’s side. “Good… but let’s see how good you are at really following orders.” He gave him a quick kiss before slowly pushing him downwards, Shuichi watching his eyes as he lowered. “Kneel.”

The command sent a shiver through him, the alcohol coursing through his decision making. He fumbled with unzipping Kokichis pants and watched as his cock came free from its restraint. Kokichi hummed as the cool air hit it. He shifted, letting Shuichi’s lips fall to the place that made him shiver instantly. “That’s it… now, take me properly.”

Shuichi’s throat tightened, a faint gag escaping involuntarily as he tried to comply. The alcohol made him clumsier, more unsteady, but Kokichi’s weight and teasing guidance kept him in place. “S-So… big…” he gasped softly, cheeks flaming, swallowing down both embarrassment and rising desire.

“Hmm? You like it?” Kokichi teased, hand threading through Shuichi’s hair, tilting his head. “You sound pathetic… gagging for me like this, and you love every second, don’t you?”

Shuichi’s throat tightened again, flush deepening, heart racing. “…I-I… can’t… I’m… sorry…” His words were breathless, slurred, but Kokichi only grinned wider.

“That’s perfect,” Kokichi murmured, pressing just a little harder, letting Shuichi feel how much control he had. “Keep going. Use that sloppy little mouth… show me how desperate you are. You’re mine, right?”

Shuichi’s hands trembled as he gripped Kokichi’s hips for support, trying to steady himself as he gagged softly, the humiliation burning bright in his cheeks. But beneath it, the secret thrill, the way Kokichi’s weight and guidance made him feel… utterly wanted, completely consumed, made every awkward, messy motion feel intoxicating.

“Such a good little drunk boy,” Kokichi whispered, voice rough, teasing. “… so desperate… and still… trying to please me. God, you’re perfect.”

Shuichi’s eyes watered slightly — a mix of embarrassment, pleasure, and the sting of the alcohol — and he let himself be guided, every gag, every soft choke, every trembling inhale only making Kokichi’s grin widen. “…I-I’m… yours…” he managed to murmur between breaths, cheeks blazing, completely exposed yet utterly devoted.

Kokichi’s hands were firm but gentle, threading through Shuichi’s hair, encouraging, pressing, teasing, never letting him relax fully. “Yes… that’s it… just like that. Don’t stop. Let me see how far I can push you while keeping you flustered, baby.”

Shuichi’s chest heaved, lips pressed around Kokichi, heart hammering, flushed from the humiliation and thrill. Every sloppy motion, every gag, every wet, messy sound that he tried to stifle only heightened the erotic tension, and Kokichi leaned down to murmur:

“You sound so cute like this… I could watch you all night.”

Shuichi whimpered softly, eyes watering, body trembling, but a small, secret thrill curled inside him. He hated the embarrassment… but loved every second of being Kokichi’s, completely at his mercy.

Shuichi’s throat tightened, chest heaving, every tremor and gag magnified by the cool night air and the flush creeping up his neck and ears. He pressed against Kokichi’s hips as best he could, lips sloppy but eager, hands gripping Kokichi’s waist for balance. Each soft whine, each trembling inhale, only seemed to excite Kokichi further.

“You’re such a mess,” Kokichi murmured, voice low and predatory. “You love being embarrassed like this, don’t you?”

Shuichi’s soft whimper came out as a shaky nod, cheeks burning hotter. “…I-I… can’t help it… I… want you…”

“Mm, that’s it,” Kokichi purred, pressing a hand to the back of Shuichi’s head, tilting him just right. “Take me fully. Don’t stop. Show me how much you need me, my little drunk boy.”

Shuichi gasped, gagging lightly as Kokichi pressed him deeper, the alcohol and tipsy loss of control making him helplessly sloppy. Every whine and soft choke only fed Kokichi’s grin, letting him watch Shuichi’s embarrassment bloom into secret delight.

Finally, Kokichi pressed closer, one last push of teasing dominance sending a shiver through Shuichi’s body as he came right into his throat. The liquid was hot, moving quickly past Shuichis gag reflex and going down his throat. Kokichi let out a satisfied sigh, trembling with aftershocks. He pulled Shuichi off gently, his eyes wide and bright with a mix of embarrassment and afterglow. He leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Shuichi’s temple. “There… good boy. You did so well, didn’t you?”

Shuichi pressed himself closer to Kokichi, flushed cheeks pressed to the warmth of his chest, still trembling from the release. The cool night air made goosebumps rise across his skin, highlighting every sensitive shiver. He could feel the lingering heat between them, and even though he wanted to hide, he couldn’t help the faint, involuntary moans that slipped past his lips.

Kokichi wasted no time, fingers traced teasing circles along Shuichi’s side, brushing over the warmth of his stomach and the sensitive dips of his ribs. Every touch was calculated — enough to make Shuichi squirm, enough to make him flustered, but never enough to give relief again.

“You look ridiculous, yknow,” Kokichi whispered, lips close to Shuichi’s ear. “All red, all flushed, trembling like a little leaf in the wind… and you love every second of it, don’t you?”

Shuichi’s hands clutched at Kokichi’s shirt, hiding his face as a soft whine escaped. “…I-I’m not… I mean… maybe…”

Kokichi chuckled low, pressing a teasing kiss to Shuichi’s temple. “Maybe? You’re dripping wet, shaking, and your face gives you away. You’re completely mine right now. And you know it.”

Shuichi’s breath hitched, half from embarrassment, half from the memory of Kokichi’s teasing touch still lingering against his skin. “K-Kokichi… everyone could… someone could see—”

“Shh,” Kokichi interrupted, voice low and predatory. He placed a hand on Shuichi’s face which was still hot with effort. “Let them see if they want. You look so… perfect like this.”

Shuichi’s throat went dry, chest rising and falling rapidly, face heating further. He tried to protest, but his voice came out as a shaky murmur. “…I… I can’t… I’ll… I’ll get in trouble…”

Kokichi’s grin widened, teeth flashing in the dim light. “Trouble?” he teased. “Or do you mean… you can’t handle me teasing you like this?” He pressed close, letting Shuichi feel the firm weight of him, the subtle heat, the controlled dominance that made every tremble more intense.

Shuichi’s knees weakened, and he buried his face into Kokichi’s chest again, soft, breathless whines breaking past his lips despite his efforts to stay quiet. Kokichi’s hand drifted lower, brushing against the sensitive spot that made Shuichi tremble instantly. He let his touch linger, drawing out gasps that Shuichi tried to stifle, heightening the embarrassment that made him feel
simultaneously exposed and utterly owned.

“You’re so cute when you try to be quiet.” Kokichi murmured, voice rough with amusement.

Shuichi’s lips quivered, heart pounding, heat pooling in ways he couldn’t control. “…I-I’m… so embarrassed…” he admitted, voice soft, almost inaudible over his shallow breaths.

Kokichi leaned in, pressing a teasing kiss to Shuichi’s temple. “Good,” he whispered. “Good that you’re embarrassed. Shows me how much you care… how much you need me.” He brushed fingers along Shuichi’s side again, making him shiver violently. “And don’t think I’ll let you forget it. Not tonight.”

Shuichi whimpered softly, face flushed and heart racing, every touch sending shivers down his spine. He was exposed, vulnerable, completely under Kokichi’s control — and he couldn’t deny he loved every second of it.

The night air wrapped around them, the faint rustle of leaves and distant hum of city lights only intensifying the secrecy and thrill. Kokichi’s whispered dominance, Shuichi’s embarrassment, and the intimate closeness between them created a charged, electric atmosphere — one that left Shuichi trembling, flushed, and entirely lost in Kokichi’s teasing, commanding presence.

Kokichi's hands pressed Shuichi closer, letting them roam with deliberate slowness, tracing along the curves of his pants. Shuichi’s breaths came in ragged gasps, face buried against Kokichi’s hairt, cheeks aflame, every shiver and tremble amplified by the cool night air.

“You feel so good,” Kokichi whispered, lips brushing Shuichi’s temple, teasing and warm. “So flustered, so desperate… and you’re trying so hard to stay quiet.”

Shuichi whimpered softly, hands clutching at Kokichi’s shirt, knees trembling. “…I-I… I can’t—” he stammered, voice low and breathless.

Kokichi’s grin widened, low and predatory. “Yes, you can. Moan for me.” He guided Shuichi’s hips just enough to draw out every involuntary movement, keeping him on the edge, heart racing and body aching.

Shuichi’s knees buckled slightly, a soft whine breaking free. “P-Please… I… I’m gonna—”

Kokichi pressed a finger gently to Shuichi’s lips, silencing him with a soft, teasing shush. “Not yet,” he whispered, voice rough with amusement. “I said… not yet. Quiet, little drunk boy… let me see how patient you can be.”

Shuichi’s hands twined into Kokichi’s shirt, still trembling, still flushed, but feeling safe and cherished in the warmth of Kokichi’s arms. Even with the teasing, even with the embarrassment, the outdoor thrill, and the tipsy vulnerability, he felt utterly loved and completely entwined with Kokichi. Kokichis hands dripped beneath the waistband oast the layers of clothing to touch bare skin.

“Fuck!” Shuichi slurred under his breath, barey a whisper. He moved his hips against Kokichis hand, desperate to chase his ever growing climax. It felt too good to stop. His breathing hitched, he let out a whimper before spilling hot white all over Kokichis hand. His body trembled, legs barely able to keep balance and stay still, but he rode out the intensity of his orgasm.

Kokichi only smiled mischieviously.

Shuichi stumbled slightly, Kokichi’s arm looped securely around his shoulders, keeping him upright as they navigated the quiet streets. The cool night air brushed against Shuichi’s flushed cheeks, goosebumps prickling along his arms, his hair slightly mussed from the evening’s chaos.

“You’re so ridiculous,” Kokichi teased, voice low and amused as he leaned close. "You're still stumbling… and you keep talking about how good I look tonight.”

Shuichi buried his face into Kokichi’s hair, muttering something incoherent, his drunken slur making Kokichi chuckle even more. “I-I… I just… wanted to… you… smell… nice…” he stammered, voice high and embarrassed.

Kokichi’s grin widened, fingers brushing teasingly along Shuichi’s side. “Mhm, I know exactly what you meant, beloved. ‘You’re so good, so lucky to have me…’” He pressed a playful kiss to Shuichi’s cheek. “And now you’re walking home, flushed and flustered, still thinking about me. You love embarrassing yourself, don’t you?”

Shuichi groaned softly, face heating further. “…I-I… it’s… not like that…” His words were muffled, weak against Kokichi’s teasing, and even to himself, the confession was half-lied — half him trying to hide his secret thrill.

Kokichi laughed, low and warm, tugging Shuichi gently closer. “Oh, I know it’s like that. You’re adorable, honestly.”

Shuichi’s knees weakened slightly as they reached a quieter part of the street, and Kokichi steadied him, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his shoulder “…I… I just… want… you,” Shuichi admitted quietly, voice muffled into Kokichi’s hair, face still burning red.

“You already have me,” Kokichi murmured, smirking, playful yet affectionate. “Your drunk confessions and all your little tipsy compliments… I’ll take it all. And I’ll probably tease you about it forever.”

Shuichi groaned softly, muffled laughter mingling with embarrassment. “…I’ll… hate you for it…”

Kokichi pressed a finger to Shuichi’s lips, mock serious, then grinned. “Yeah, yeah… but I know you secretly love it.” He gave Shuichi’s hip a playful squeeze, keeping him close as they continued home, the quiet streets wrapping around them like a private world — a mixture of mischief, warmth, and the lingering intimacy of the night.

By the time they reached the house, Shuichi’s steps were unsteady, cheeks still flushed, hair mussed, but his heart was light, and his pulse still hummed from the thrill and teasing. Kokichi opened the door for him, sliding an arm around his waist.

“You survived the night, Shumai” Kokichi teased, leaning over to press a playful kiss to Shuichi’s jaw. “And honestly… you looked perfect doing it.”

Shuichi groaned again, half laughter, half exasperation, melting against Kokichi. “…I… hate… you…”

Kokichi grinned, brushing a hand through Shuichi’s damp hair, tugging him closer. “And yet… you’ll come crawling back for more, won’t you?”

Shuichi just wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, cheeks flaming, heart racing — a perfect mix of embarrassment, desire, and the warm safety of being completely and utterly his.

Chapter Text

The room was dim, shadows pooling across the bed, the soft glow of a lamp creating a private, intimate cocoon. Rantaro sat on the edge, heart racing, nerves buzzing with anticipation. His wrists rested lightly on his knees, tense, ready.

Kiyo knelt before him, eyes dark and commanding, fingers brushing over Rantaro’s wrists before sliding them up, securing them gently above his head. “Remember the rules,” Kiyo murmured, voice low, deliberate. “Any hesitation, any tap, and I stop. Understood?”

Rantaro swallowed hard, chest tightening. “…Y-Yes,” he whispered, voice trembling, a shiver running along his spine. He was already burning with the thrill of being completely under Kiyo’s control.

Kiyo’s hands moved with deliberate precision, tracing slow lines along Rantaro’s shoulders and collarbone, pressing lightly at first, then teasing scratches along sensitive skin. Rantaro’s body reacted immediately—hips lifting slightly, breath hitching, soft whimpers escaping despite himself.

“You’re so… sensitive,” Kiyo purred, teeth grazing a tender spot on Rantaro’s neck. “You love this, don’t you?”

Rantaro gasped, cheeks flushing, lips parting. “…Y-Yes… I… I do…” His hands twisted in the sheets, body quivering, every nerve alight with the mix of pain, pleasure, and trust.

Kiyo’s fingers found a particularly tender spot along Rantaro’s side, pressing just enough to make him flinch, shiver, and moan softly. “Good boy,” Kiyo murmured, lips brushing his jaw. “So responsive...”

Rantaro arched, trembling, lips parting in a quiet whine. “…Kiyo… please… harder…” he begged, voice breaking, heart racing. The mix of embarrassment, anticipation, and sheer arousal made him completely vulnerable.

Kiyo’s grin deepened, predatory but tender. He leaned close, teeth brushing along Rantaro’s collarbone, leaving a faint red mark.

Rantaro moaned softly, hips lifting instinctively, throat tight, eyes fluttering closed. “…Yes! I… I’m yours…”

Kiyo’s hands alternated gentle bites and teasing scratches, lips and tongue tracing along Rantaro’s reddened skin, fingers pressing into sensitive spots. Every shiver, every tremble, every small whimper fed Kiyo’s control, the intensity of their connection, and Rantaro’s secret delight in surrendering fully.

A small trickle of blood appeared from a particularly sharp bite, and Rantaro’s eyes widened, cheeks flaming. “…Ah… I… can’t…!” he gasped, trembling violently under Kiyo’s deliberate, measured attention.

“You’re so responsive,” Kiyo murmured, teeth grazing Rantaro’s shoulder again, pressing just enough to draw a tiny bead of blood. “Every whimper, every shiver… I can feel how much you want it. How much you need it.”

Rantaro gasped, hips arching, a flush spreading across his chest. “…Kiyo… please…It hurts...hah.. feels so good—”

Kiyo’s hands and lips continued their calculated teasing, fingers pressing along sensitive spots, teeth grazing just enough to sting deliciously. “Shhh… I know,” Kiyo whispered, lips brushing Rantaro’s ear. “Let go. Let me push you… feel everything you’ve been holding back.”

The warmth of the blood, the sting of teeth and nails, and the control of Kiyo’s hands combined to send Rantaro spiraling. He shivered violently, hips bucking slightly, moans broken and muffled, eyes fluttering closed. “…Ah… ahh! I… I’m—”

Kiyo’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “Yes… let go for me… come apart….” He leaned closer, mouth brushing along Rantaro’s reddened, trembling shoulder, coaxing every tremor and gasp.

A particularly sharp bite along Rantaro’s collarbone drew a small trickle of blood, and Rantaro gasped audibly, shaking. “O-oh fuck… I… I’m gonna—”

Rantaro’s climax hit hard, body convulsing, moans spilling uncontrollably, hands twisting in the sheets, chest heaving. Blood mingled with sweat along his collarbone and shoulders, the intensity of sensation and trust sending him over the edge. Kiyo’s hands and mouth never wavered, controlling, teasing, heightening every final shiver until Rantaro was spent.

Rantaro lay sprawled against the bed, chest rising and falling rapidly, a warm flush still coloring his skin. Faint traces of red glimmered where Kiyo had bitten or nipped, and the metallic scent of blood mingled with sweat and the lingering warmth of their bodies.

Kiyo hovered over him, fingers gentle but firm, dabbing antiseptic onto each mark. “You know,” he said, mock sternness in his voice, “you’re lucky I’m meticulous. One wrong bite, one careless flick, and you’ll be infected.”

Rantaro rolled his eyes, lips twitching into a small smirk despite the lingering heat and embarrassment. “…Yes, yes, I know… you’re scary enough without adding germs to the mix,” he murmured, letting Kiyo’s hands move over him.

Kiyo smiled, leaning closer, pressing a soft kiss to Rantaro’s temple. “Scary? Maybe. Caring? Definitely. Every little mark… I take responsibility for. And you’re lucky, because I’m very thorough.” He dabbed another bead of antiseptic along Rantaro’s collarbone, tracing it slowly. “Especially when it’s my bite.”

Rantaro shivered at the touch, chest rising and falling faster again, heat pooling low in his belly despite himself. “…You’re ridiculous,” he breathed, but the warmth in his voice betrayed just how much he appreciated Kiyo’s attentiveness.

Kiyo smirked, tilting his head. “Ridiculous, yes. But you love it. Admit it—you like being all flushed and trembling under my hands.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Rantaro’s nose, then a teasing nibble to the corner of his mouth.

“That’s the point, my dear,” Kiyo continued, voice low, playful, yet tender. “I mark you, I tease you, and then I take care of you. That’s the full experience. You get the thrill and the reassurance.” He brushed a hand along Rantaro’s side, fingers lingering, coaxing a small shiver.

Rantaro let out a soft laugh, still flushed, curling slightly into Kiyo’s chest. “You’re insane,” he murmured, voice trembling between amusement and contentment.

“Probably,” Kiyo agreed, voice softening, leaning down to press a tender kiss to Rantaro’s temple. “But I’m your insane. I’m here to make sure you’re safe, cared for, and feeling loved. That’s my job, my responsibility. And yes…” He smirked again,
brushing a hand along Rantaro’s jawline, “…I’ll tease you about it for as long as I want.”

The room fell into quiet intimacy, Kiyo’s hands gentle, Rantaro’s breathing slowly evening out, the mix of playful teasing and tender care leaving them both flushed, sated, and utterly connected.

Chapter Text

Miu had spent the last hour adjusting her lighting, fixing her hair, and muttering about “visual appeal” while Kiibo obediently sat cross-legged on her bed, watching.

“Alright, fool,” she said, slapping the webcam into position with far too much force. “We’re about to make history. This is peak erotica, the kind that melts servers. My genius will be archived for generations.”

Kiibo tilted his head. “Will this be uploaded to the public domain? Should I prepare a consent statement?”

Miu blinked. “God, you’re so dense—it’s not about lawyer crap! It’s about capturing raw passion! You just need to sit there and let me take control.”

His optics whirred faintly. “Understood. Should I dim my chest light for better contrast?”

Miu paused, then snorted so hard she nearly knocked over her tripod. “You’re so fucking adorable it hurts. Ugh, whatever, leave it on—gives the whole thing a sci-fi porn vibe.”

When the red light on the webcam blinked to life, Miu’s whole persona shifted. She tossed her hair, smirked, and crawled into Kiibo’s lap like she was auditioning for a role only she could invent.

“See this, boys and girls of the world?” she purred, pressing herself close enough to make his cooling fans kick on. “This is the future of sex! A girl and her perfect mechanical partner—”

“Ah, Miu,” Kiibo interrupted, his voice still polite, “are you supposed to be arching your back like that? You look uncomfortable.”

Her eye twitched. “Don’t you dare ruin my flow, robo-romeo.”

“But your spine angle—”

“SHUT UP AND KISS ME.”

Kiibo blinked, then leaned forward with the kind of earnest precision that made her breath hitch. The kiss started clumsy, but when his hands instinctively tightened on her hips, she really felt it. A little noise slipped out—high, breathy, completely unplanned.

Kiibo froze. “That sound. Why do you always do that when I apply pressure here?”

Miu went beet-red. “You—you can’t just ask that with the camera on!”

“Is it a mechanical fault?” he asked sincerely, moving his hand again. She squeaked. “Fascinating. The reaction is consistent. Should I—”

“Don’t experiment on me, you stupid hunk of hardware!” she whined, wriggling, trying to glare and failing because her own body was betraying her.

He tilted his head again, all innocent curiosity. “But Miu, I thought this was your experiment. Am I doing it wrong?”

The smirk she’d been wearing for the camera was gone, replaced by flushed cheeks and breathless stammers. “N-no, you’re… not wrong, you’re—ah—god, you’re too good at this without even trying!”

The camera caught every second of her crumbling act: the great Miu Iruma, genius inventor and self-proclaimed sex goddess, folding like paper while her “test subject” calmly kept asking questions that only made her squirm harder.

“Do you want me to stop?” Kiibo asked, utterly sincere.

She buried her face against his chest, muffling a loud groan. “You’re killing me, you shiny bastard.”

“I was not aware death was on the table.”

“IT’S A FIGURE OF SPEECH!”

The webcam blinked on, still recording every ridiculous second of their collapse into a tangle of laughter, whining, and half-stifled kisses. Eventually, Miu slapped her hand over the lens and muttered, “Experiment over, failed, shut it down before the whole world sees me acting like this.”

Kiibo just blinked, voice warm in its confusion. “But Miu… I thought we succeeded?”

Miu’s hand was still clamped over the webcam, her face buried in Kiibo’s shoulder, when he shifted beneath her with a mechanical hum that made her squirm. His chest panels vibrated faintly, some
cooling system kicking in, and the shiver it sent through her spine nearly made her yelp.

“Y-you’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” she accused breathlessly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kiibo replied, tone maddeningly polite. His hands adjusted on her waist, holding her steady as the vibrations deepened just slightly. “I only activated a subroutine to compensate for the rise in temperature. It seems you are… very warm, Miu.”

She half-laughed, half-gasped. “Warm, my ass—you’re teasing me!”

He tilted his head, all wide-eyed innocence. “Teasing? But wasn’t that the purpose of the experiment?”

Her laugh broke into a strangled moan, sharp and unguarded, before she could stop herself. Her body betrayed her, hips jerking against him as her nails dragged across his shoulders. “Ugh—I hate you—I
hate how good you are at this without even knowing what you’re doing.”

“Should I stop?” Kiibo asked softly, blinking down at her with that infuriatingly calm expression.

The furious shake of her head said otherwise, strands of blonde hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. “Don’t you dare—don’t you even think about—” Her voice cracked into a needy whimper, cut off as the relentless rhythm sent her tumbling past the edge.

Her whole body arched, rigid, before shuddering apart under the force of release. A sharp cry slipped free despite her attempt to smother it against his chest, her thighs trembling, her breath catching in broken gasps. She clutched him like a lifeline, every nerve sparking, the heat and pulse of it overwhelming.

When it finally ebbed, she collapsed against him in a dazed sprawl, panting hard, sweat dampening her forehead and neckline. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, lips parted and trembling with the aftershocks still running through her.

The little red light on the webcam blinked cheerfully in the corner, still recording every second of her undoing.

Kiibo tilted his head, watching her slump against him in a trembling heap. His hands hovered awkwardly at her sides, unsure if he should steady her or let her collapse. “Did… did you just…” He paused, eyes widening slightly. “Miu, did I make you orgasm?”

Her groan was muffled against his chest, half embarrassment, half indignation. She smacked a weak hand against him. “D-Don’t say it like that, you bucket of bolts—of course you did, I’m not short-circuiting for fun over here.”

“Oh.” His voice held a quiet note of awe, like he was cataloguing data he’d never expected to receive. “I thought you were only exaggerating earlier. But this was… real.”

Her head shot up, cheeks burning. “What the hell kind of idiot fakes an orgasm on camera?!”

“You could have been performing,” Kiibo said innocently. “Isn’t that what a webcam is usually for?”

She glared at him, still trembling from the aftershocks. “You’re lucky I can’t stand right now or I’d kick your ass.”

Kiibo blinked, then smiled softly, carefully brushing a damp lock of hair from her forehead. “You looked… very beautiful, Miu.”

Her whole face went crimson, hands flying up to cover it. “Ugh, shut up! Don’t say stuff like that while I’m still dripping all over you…” But her voice cracked into a tiny laugh anyway, betraying the way her heart fluttered at the sincerity in his tone.

The webcam light blinked again, recording it all: her fluster, his gentle fascination, the strange balance they’d stumbled into together.

“Oh hell no,” Miu groaned, dragging herself up just far enough to smack the stop button. “Nobody’s seeing that. That was… ugh, that was my weakest moment, I looked pathetic.”

Kiibo looked down at her, still holding her gently, optics glowing faintly. “I thought you looked… extraordinary.”

She blinked at him, then smirked despite herself. “…You cheesy tin can. Don’t think compliments are gonna stop me from uninstalling your filter software tomorrow.”

“Would that make you happier?” he asked.

Miu groaned, pulling the blanket over both of them. “Shut up before I fall in love with you or some stupid crap like that.”

Miu slumped back dramatically against Kiibo’s chest, still panting, strands of her blonde hair sticking to her lips. “God… if anyone ever saw that video, I’d have to fake my own death. And then fake a new identity. And then fake my tits smaller just so no one would recognize me.”

Kiibo blinked. “You would… intentionally reduce your breast size?”

“It’s called commitment, Tin Man,” she shot back, jabbing a finger against his chest plate. “And don’t think for a second you’re off the hook. You’re the one who practically—” she made a vague spiraling gesture with her hand, “—turbo-charged me in front of a camera! Like some kinda sex toy with a face!”

He tilted his head in thought, processors whirring faintly. “If that was your experience, then I consider this experiment highly successful.”

Miu groaned into her hands. “Ugh, stop calling it an experiment. You make it sound like I’m your lab rat.”

“Would you prefer… partner?” Kiibo asked, voice soft but earnest.

That made her freeze. Just a second too long. Then she swatted at him again, cheeks flushed. “D-don’t get sappy on me, you bucket of bolts! I’ll puke all over your cooling vents.”

Kiibo only smiled faintly, stroking a hand along her back in a surprisingly tender gesture. “Noted. No sappiness.”

Miu pulled the blanket tighter around them both, still glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. “…You’re dangerous, you know that? All polite and innocent and then—bam! You’ve got me gagging like some cheap camgirl for your fan club.”

“You were very loud,” Kiibo admitted thoughtfully. “I was concerned the neighbors would overhear.”

Miu sputtered. “OH, thanks, yeah, let’s add public humiliation to the list while we’re at it. Next time you should just project me on a billboard!”

Kiibo paused, considering. “…I could, if you’d like.”

She smacked his shoulder with the pillow, laughing despite herself. “You absolute menace.”

Miu groaned dramatically and let herself fall sideways, head landing on Kiibo’s chest with a soft clunk. “Ugh. I can’t believe you just turned me into your personal content creator. I’m basically a one-woman show now.”

Kiibo’s hands hovered for a second, then he carefully rested one on her shoulder, fingers stroking the curve of her arm. “You’re not a show. You’re Miu. That’s… why I wanted to do it with you.”

Miu made a noise halfway between a scoff and a squeak. “Ugh, don’t get all sincere. You’re gonna ruin my whole bad-girl image.”

“I don’t think anything could ruin it,” he said without missing a beat. “It’s part of your data signature.”

She snorted, hiding her face against his chest. “You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re… very warm,” he said softly, processors humming a low purr. “It’s nice.”

Miu shifted under the blanket, the last of her bravado melting out of her posture. “…It is nice,” she muttered, barely audible. Her hand found his and squeezed once. “God, if anybody saw me right now—
blonde bombshell Miu Iruma cuddling a tin man after a cam session—I’d never live it down.”

Kiibo tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “I would protect your secret,” he said simply.

Miu’s mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re tired,” he corrected.

She rolled her eyes and gave him one last weak swat with the pillow. “Shut up, you’re lucky you’re cute.” Then she tucked herself into the crook of his shoulder with a soft sigh.

Kiibo looked down at her, at the mess of blonde hair against his chestplate, at the little furrow of her brow as she fought off sleep. He very carefully adjusted the blanket around her and dimmed his eye-lights. “Goodnight, Miu.”

She grumbled something incoherent but didn’t move. A moment later, her breathing evened out.

Kiibo sat there, perfectly still, a faint warmth lingering in his chest cavity where her weight rested. He reached up once to brush a strand of hair from her face, then let his arm settle protectively around her shoulders, processors humming like a lullaby.

Chapter Text

The rope was coiled neatly on the bedspread, like an altar display prepared with reverence. Rantaro sat cross-legged nearby, watching with an amused little smile tugging at his lips.

“You’ve been planning this all day, haven’t you?” he teased, voice lilting.

Kiyo’s gloved hands brushed along the first coil as though it were delicate glass. “Preparation is the soul of art. These bindings are not arbitrary, Rantaro. Each knot serves balance. Function. Form. Beauty.” His voice dipped into that cadence he always fell into when the topic demanded seriousness.

Rantaro leaned back on his hands, grinning wider. “You’re totally geeking out right now.”

The edge of Kiyo’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps. But you will see what I mean… once it is on your body.”

The first loop circled Rantaro’s chest, snug against his ribs, pressing his arms back. The rope whispered against skin as Kiyo pulled it taut, his movements deliberate, almost ceremonial.

“Notice how it lies here,” Kiyo murmured, fingertips ghosting over the diamond weave forming across Rantaro’s sternum. “The placement restricts your arms, yes, but it also forces you to breathe differently. Shallower. You will feel it as tension mounts.”

Rantaro shivered, the explanation landing just as heavy as the rope. His teasing grin faltered into parted lips, soft panting.

Another knot. Another pull. His body was becoming a pattern. Bound and bared, yet still seated like a subject before a teacher.

Kiyo stepped back briefly to admire the weave. His voice softened, reverent. “You are art, Rantaro. A living canvas… trembling under my hands.”

By the time Kiyo pressed him flat against the bed, Rantaro’s pulse was thundering. He tried to move, to reach, but the ropes held him in perfect helplessness.

Kiyo didn’t ask permission. His hands slid down Rantaro’s torso, gloved fingers trailing between knots, claiming, exploring. Every touch felt magnified, channeled by restraint.

“You are mine to use now,” Kiyo said simply, his tone not cruel but absolute. “Every sound you make, every tremor… is proof the bindings are correct.”

Rantaro whimpered, hips jerking involuntarily. “Kiyo, I—”

“Quiet,” Kiyo interrupted, voice a low command. “Do not think. You gave yourself to the rope. You gave yourself to me. That is all that matters.”

And then he pressed harder, quicker, as though conducting an experiment. Each gasp, each arch of Rantaro’s body was cataloged, dissected.

Rantaro’s eyes were glassy, his voice broken as he begged: “P-please… I can’t—”

“You can,” Kiyo countered, tightening his grip. “Your body adapts. The rope teaches you surrender. Every mark it leaves is knowledge carved into your skin.”

Rantaro’s moans turned ragged, high-pitched, humiliating in their desperation. His body bucked against the restraints, utterly given over, no choice but to take everything Kiyo gave him.

Kiyo leaned close, breath brushing his ear. “Yes… look at you. Perfectly bound, perfectly undone. You endure because I calculated precisely how much you could take.”

Rantaro’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts, the ropes forcing every breath into something tight and deliberate. The harness squeezed against his ribs with each gasp, his body twitching as though the knots themselves dictated his rhythm.

Kiyo hovered above him, gloved hands tracing the diamond pattern binding his chest, every movement slow and clinical. His voice was a whisper of control: “You see? The rope makes you obedient without thought.”

Rantaro tried to nod, but his head barely moved against the mattress. A broken moan slipped out instead, cheeks blazing. He hated—no, loved—how weak he sounded, how little he could stop himself.
Kiyo pressed a knee between Rantaro’s thighs, shifting his hips downward, grinding in calculated pulses that left Rantaro squirming. His breath hitched, back arching against the pull of the knots.

“Too much?” Kiyo asked, but his tone was mocking, not merciful.

Rantaro shook his head frantically, his voice cracking. “N-no, don’t stop—please—”

“Pathetic,” Kiyo murmured, a smirk curling beneath his mask. “Begging like this… and you call yourself shameless?” He pressed harder, sharper, watching as Rantaro’s thighs trembled against the ropes. “Look at you. Writhing. Gasping. You would let me take you like this until you broke apart completely, wouldn’t you?”

Rantaro bit his lip, muffling a cry, but his body betrayed him—hips jerking upward, desperate for more friction. His hair clung to his damp forehead, eyes shining and dazed.
“Answer me.”

“Yes,” Rantaro panted, his voice high, wrecked. “God—yes, Kiyo, I’d let you—please, I can’t—”

Kiyo’s gloved fingers clamped along his jaw, tilting his face up sharply. “Do not say you cannot. You can. The rope ensures it. I ensure it.” His thumb pressed against Rantaro’s lower lip, prying it open.

“You endure because I allow you to. You come undone because I command it.”

The words sank deep, wrapping tighter than the rope itself. Rantaro whimpered, his blush spreading to his neck, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes from the sheer overload. Every nerve felt lit, his body convulsing against the knots as Kiyo worked him harder, faster, relentless in his precision.

The humiliation of being bound, begging, used—it burned through him until he was sobbing with it, gasps dissolving into broken sounds.

“Yes,” Kiyo hissed, pressing his mouth close to Rantaro’s ear. “Cry for me. Show me how completely the rope has you. Show me you are mine.”

And Rantaro shattered—voice raw, back arched hard against the restraints, every sound spilling out despite his attempts to hold them back. The ropes creaked with his desperate movements, body locked in trembling surrender.

“Perfect,” Kiyo murmured, voice low and reverent, though his eyes gleamed with hunger. “Completely helpless. I could do anything I wish right now.”

Rantaro’s lips parted, a shaky exhale slipping out. “Y-you always can…” he whispered, but the words faltered as Kiyo’s hand slid down, casually pressing against the ache between his legs.

“Ah, but this is different,” Kiyo said, his tone darkening. “You’re bound. Stripped of control. There’s no question of whether I can… only how long I decide to use you.”

Rantaro’s blush deepened, heat flooding his cheeks. His body jerked under Kiyo’s touch, straining against the ropes, but he couldn’t close his thighs or stop the slow, merciless strokes.

Kiyo’s lips brushed the shell of his ear. “You’ll come when I allow it. Not before.”

The humiliation burned hotter than the friction—being treated like a vessel, pliant and exposed. Rantaro whimpered, every sound muffled against the back of his bitten lip, but his hips rolled involuntarily, begging for more.

Kiyo shifted his weight, pressing fully inside him, grinding with calculated pressure. “You’re already dripping through the ropes,” he teased, smirking. “Pathetic. You’d let me use you like this until you broke, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes—god, yes,” Rantaro gasped, head tilting back against the pillow. The words tumbled out unfiltered, raw. The burn felt so good, Kiyo always knew the angle to hit that would send sparks up Rantaros spine.

“Then don’t hold back,” Kiyo ordered, driving his hips in harder, faster, until the sound of rope creaking mixed with Rantaro’s strangled cries. Each thrust pushed him closer to the edge, but Kiyo never slowed, never gave pause. He was relentless, a puppeteer pulling at bound strings.

The intensity tore sobs from Rantaro’s throat, humiliation mingling with the shuddering bliss coursing through him. His body trembled violently, every nerve wound tight as the rope itself. He tried to talk, but it came out incoherent, his eyes fluttering close with delirious pleasure.

“Look at you,” Kiyo hissed, voice low and commanding. “Nothing but a body for me to use. My perfect captive.”

Rantaro’s eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping free as he broke—voice raw, hips jerking, the orgasm crashing through him like a violent tide. The ropes held him in place, forcing every convulsion into something taut, controlled, helplessly displayed.

Kiyo buried deep inside him, letting Rantaros body do the honors of finishing him off. He trembled, both staring at one another with wide eyes, coming down from the high.

Aftercare
The room smelled faintly of sweat and rope fiber when Kiyo finally reached for the shears and began freeing him. He was meticulous, loosening knot by knot until Rantaro’s arms fell limp.

Marks crisscrossed Rantaro’s chest and shoulders. He traced them with a dazed grin. “Gonna have rope burns for days…”

“Indeed.” Kiyo fetched a tin of salve and cotton pads, settling back at his side. “Bruising is common, but circulation is intact. Observe—your skin flushed, but no lasting damage. I will apply ointment to
reduce irritation.” His tone had slipped right back into academic explanation as he dabbed carefully at each line.

Rantaro chuckled weakly. “You’re literally lecturing me about my rope burns while rubbing lotion on my ass.”

“It is important knowledge,” Kiyo insisted, though his ears burned faintly red beneath his hair. “A careless practitioner could cause nerve damage. I would never permit that.”

“Mmhm. And yet you totally enjoyed turning me into your little research subject,” Rantaro teased, rolling his eyes playfully, though his smile was soft.

Kiyo’s hand paused on his shoulder, pressing gently. His voice softened, stripped of lecture and command. “You are not a subject, Rantaro. You are… my partner. That is why this art matters.”

Rantaro’s smirk melted into something tender. He caught Kiyo’s wrist and pulled his hand against his chest, over his heartbeat. “Yeah. I know. And I loved it.”

Chapter Text

Shuichi sank into the couch beside Kokichi, sighing as the opening credits rolled on the movie they were “watching.” His shoulders were stiff from a long day, and for a moment he let himself relax, eyes half-lidded.

Kokichi, sprawled lazily beside him, twirled a strand of his purple hair between his fingers. “You know,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “I think you’ve broken a rule.”

Shuichi blinked, glancing at him warily. “A rule? What rule?”

Kokichi’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hmm… let’s see… you didn’t greet me properly when you came home this morning. And I definitely think that deserves… a
punishment.”

Shuichi groaned, rubbing his face. “Kokichi, that’s not a rule—it’s not even real. You literally made that up!”

“That’s the point,” Kokichi said, voice dropping to a slow, velvety purr as he leaned closer. “Rules are only real if I say they are. And you… have so clearly broken this one.”

Shuichi’s cheeks warmed, a flustered smile tugging at his lips. His eyes couldn’t help but roam—Kokichi’s sharp, mischievous gaze glinting like a predator, the way his purple hair fell slightly damp at the ends, the boxers and loose shirt clinging just enough to hint at the lean curves beneath. Even the faint scent of his shampoo mixed with that subtle, intoxicating natural scent made Shuichi’s stomach flutter nervously.

“You’re ridiculous,” Shuichi murmured, though his voice was barely above a breath, betraying how acutely aware he was of Kokichi’s nearness.

“And that’s exactly why you need to be punished.” Kokichi’s fingers trailed along Shuichi’s arm, brushing the sensitive skin near his wrist, eliciting a sharp inhale. “My favorite kind of punishment.”

Shuichi swallowed hard, heart hammering. “Wait—punishment? In what world is—”

“Shut up.” Kokichi’s voice cut him off, low and commanding, lips brushing the shell of Shuichi’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “You’re not allowed to talk when I’m punishing you.”

Before Shuichi could protest further, Kokichi shifted, letting the couch dip beneath him as he positioned himself in front of Shuichi. The predatory glint in his eyes never wavered, every movement deliberate, enticing, and entirely confident. “This,” Kokichi murmured, tilting his head, “is your punishment.”

Shuichi’s breath hitched, chest tight, as he took in the sight before him: the possessive, teasing grin; the taut line of Kokichi’s jaw; the way he seemed to dominate the space with ease. Every instinct screamed at him, and yet… he couldn’t help but ache for it.

Shuichi blinked, flush deepening. “…Kokichi, how is this punishment?”

Kokichi didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in closer, lips grazing Shuichi, and the answer became painfully obvious.

Shuichi’s protests turned into quiet whimpers as Kokichi’s teasing mouth and hands left him trembling. Every gentle flick of Kokichi’s tongue, every deliberate pause, every pull and hold,

“Shuichi,” Kokichi whispered, voice velvet, “no talking. Just feel… just obey.”

Shuichi’s breath hitched, thighs tightening instinctively, as Kokichi’s hands guided him, fingers pressing in all the right places. Every touch, every teasing motion, made him tremble, ache, and flush deeper, his eyes drawn irresistibly to Kokichi’s face—the sharp jawline, the mischievous glint in his eyes, the subtle rise and fall of his chest with each calculated motion.

Kokichi leaned closer, low and dangerous. “Look at you… so obedient, so flustered. You think you can argue with me now?”

Shuichi whimpered, head tilting back slightly, lips parting. “…I-I can’t…”

“That’s better,” Kokichi purred, pressing closer, letting his lips brush against him with deliberate, teasing patience. Every flick of Kokichi’s tongue, every soft suck, made Shuichi arch, whimpering softly despite himself.

Shuichi’s body betrayed him, every nerve alight with sensation. He wanted to argue, to insist
again that this was not a punishment—but the words caught in his throat as Kokichi’s control tightened, dragging him higher and higher.

Hours—or maybe minutes, time lost in the haze—passed as Kokichi meticulously toyed with him, alternating slow, teasing attention with bursts that made Shuichi ache with want. Every attempt to speak was silenced with a flick of Kokichi’s hand, a nuzzle, a whispered command.

“You’re so easily flustered,” Kokichi teased, one hand gripping his hips while the other toyed gently with him. “I could make you beg… and I’m not even close to done yet.”

Shuichi’s breathing became ragged, his thighs trembling. “K-Kokichi… please… I—”

“Shh,” Kokichi cut him off with a whisper, lips brushing against his ear. “No words. I want to see how quiet you can stay while I make you ache.”

Kokichi alternated between slow, precise movements and sudden, demanding pressure, dragging Shuichi higher and higher. Every twitch, every gasp, every shiver was magnified by the awareness of Kokichi’s control — the way he could stop at any moment, denying release, making Shuichi’s need build unbearably.

Shuichi’s fingers dug into Kokichi’s hair, trying to hold on, trying to ground himself, but every tug only made Kokichi smirk and move with more intent. “You like this too much,” Kokichi murmured. “Look at you… begging without a word. Isn’t this fun?”

He dragged his tongue all the way up the length while maintaining perfect eye contact. That sight alone would have been enough to undo him if he hadn’t been at the mercy of Kokichi.

Shuichi’s back arched involuntarily, his thighs trembling as Kokichi’s teasing mouth and hands left him on the edge again and again. His sharp inhales and quiet whimpers that escaped his lips made Kokichi smirk, leaning closer, whispering in that predatory, velvet voice:
“Look at you… can’t even think straight, can you? You’ve earned this, little rule-breaker.”

Shuichi’s fingers clutched at Kokichi’s shoulders, nails digging in, his breath hitching. “K-Kokichi… I—I can’t—”

And then, with a deliberate, controlled rhythm, Kokichi drove Shuichi past the edge, prolonging the sensation until every nerve was alight and his body trembled helplessly.

Shuichi gasped, shuddering, eyes fluttering closed, his hips jerking as the tension broke.

Kokichi’s grin widened as he leaned in closer, guiding him through the release, letting Shuichi’s climax spill out over his own skin, warm and shivering against Kokichi’s chest and shoulder. Shuichi could only clutch at him, face buried slightly, flushed and trembling, his body melting entirely under Kokichi’s control.

When the tremors subsided, Kokichi’s hand stroked soothingly through Shuichi’s hair, brushing damp strands from his forehead, teasing just enough to make him flush again.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Kokichi teased, eyes sparkling with wicked satisfaction. “Otherwise, I’d have to punish you all over again.”

Shuichi groaned, half exasperated, half blissful. “…I hate you,” he whispered, though the lingering smile betrayed how much he’d enjoyed being entirely at Kokichi’s mercy.

Kokichi leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Shuichi’s temple. “And that, my little rule-breaker,” he murmured, “is exactly why you’ll always come back for more.”

Chapter Text

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows that pooled around them. Rantaro lay beneath Korekiyo, still trembling from the aftershocks of their intimacy, chest rising and falling rapidly. The familiar warmth of Korekiyo’s body loomed over him, eyes dark with that calm, predatory focus that made Rantaro shiver every time.

Korekiyo’s fingers gently tilted Rantaro’s chin, forcing him to look up, locking their eyes with an intensity that made Rantaro’s stomach tighten. The usual intimacy between them had always been electrifying, but tonight Korekiyo’s calm dominance carried a boldness that left Rantaro wide-eyed.

He placed a kiss to his lips before trailing slow, deliberate kisses down Rantaro’s torso, fingers brushing possessively along his sides. A flick of Korekiyo’s tongue traced lightly across Rantaro’s lower stomach, teasing, sending a ripple of heat and tension through him.
Rantaro barely realized the implication, lost in the warmth and careful attention, until
Korekiyo moved back up with precise, controlled motions, straddling him once more.

Before Rantaro could react, Korekiyo tilted his head, pressing close, and gently slipped his thumb against Rantaro’s lips, parting them. Rantaro’s mouth opened instinctively, eyes wide with a mix of confusion, vulnerability, and a strange, thrilling arousal.

With a fluid, precise motion, he spit the taste into Rantaro’s mouth, holding him there firmly.
A hand rose to cover Rantaro’s mouth, fingers pressing lightly but commandingly.

Rantaro froze, wide-eyed, overwhelmed by the audacity and intensity.

“Swallow.” Kiyo whispered, hand covering Rantaro’s mouth gently but firmly, holding him still. “You will take this. You will obey.”

Rantaro’s mind screamed, heart racing, but the trust and connection he had with Korekiyo outweighed hesitation. Shakily, almost reverently, he obeyed, submitting to the strange, overwhelming intensity of the moment.

Rantaro’s chest tightened, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as he obeyed, swallowing shakily at first, then with a trembling rhythm. Every instinct screamed in shock and disbelief, yet a deep, consuming thrill coursed through him—Korekiyo’s dominance was absolute, and his compliance only strengthened the bond they shared.

Kiyo’s lips curled into a satisfied, possessive smile, his hand lingering, holding Rantaro with a grip that was both controlling and caring. “Good boy,” he murmured, voice low and approving. “See? You always belong to me… every part of you.”

Rantaro’s pulse thundered in his ears, a mix of shock, awe, and arousal coursing through him.

Though stunned by the boldness of Korekiyo’s act, a deep, consuming warmth spread through him—an intimate surrender that only made their connection feel more intense, more electrifying.

Rantaro sagged against the pillows, still flushed and trembling, heart hammering like it might burst from his chest. Kiyo reclined beside him, one hand gently stroking his hair, the other resting possessively along his side. His predatory intensity had softened just enough to show a hint of warmth, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips told Rantaro he wasn’t done teasing.

“You’re flushed,” Korekiyo murmured, fingers brushing lightly over Rantaro’s temple. “Do you always react so… predictably?”

Rantaro groaned softly, burying his face in his hands. “God, Kiyo, I cant help it. You… you’re impossible,” he mumbled, voice muffled but tinged with a shaky laugh.

“Impossible?” Kiyo tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “I call it… skilled artistry. And you… are my favorite canvas.”

Rantaro peeked out from behind his fingers, cheeks still red, lips twitching despite himself. “…You’re ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Korekiyo admitted, letting his fingers trail teasingly along Rantaro’s jawline. “But only because you make it so easy to be this way with you.” He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Rantaro’s temple before his lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “You’re lucky, you know… most would break under my care so thoroughly.”

Rantaro shivered, part embarrassment, part thrill. “…Lucky?”

“Yes,” Kiyo whispered, smirk softening into something almost tender. “Lucky that I adore every part of you—even the parts that make you whimper like that.”

Rantaro groaned again, half-laughing, half-exhaling. “Shut up!”

“And yet… you keep coming back,” Kiyo replied, brushing Rantaro’s hair behind his ear,
thumb lingering over his cheek. “I suppose… I should be pleased.”

Rantaro’s lips curved into a tired, shy smile. “I… guess I am,” he admitted softly.

“Good,” Korekiyo murmured, pulling him closer, the warmth of his body a grounding, intimate
contrast to the earlier intensity. “ You’ve earned it—and I’ve earned teasing you about it endlessly.”

Rantaro groaned softly, snuggling into Kiyo’s side. “Please… just… a little less teasing.”

“Not a chance,” Korekiyo murmured with a quiet laugh, brushing his fingers through Rantaro’s hair. “But… I’ll let you think it’s gentle. That’s all the mercy you get.”

Rantaro rolled his eyes but let out a contented sigh, the warmth of Kiyo’s presence washing over him. Even with the teasing, even with the intensity, he felt entirely safe, completely claimed, and—somehow—utterly cherished.

Chapter Text

Shuichi’s stomach twisted as he adjusted the frills of the maid outfit, tugging nervously at the hem. The thigh-high stockings clung to his legs, the tiny bows brushing against his skin in ways that made him acutely aware of every inch of himself. He tried to straighten his back, hoping Kokichi wouldn’t notice the heat in his cheeks—or the way his hands fidgeted in his lap.

“Look at you!” Kokichi said, voice smooth and teasing, eyes glinting in the lamplight. “So… delicate. So… proper.” He tilted his head, letting a slow grin curl across his lips. “And here I thought you were bad at following orders.”

Shuichi swallowed, heart hammering. “S-shut up,” he stammered, even though every fiber of him wanted to hide from the way Kokichi was looking at him.

“On your knees,” Kokichi said suddenly, voice sharp, but laced with amusement. The command hit Shuichi like a jolt, and he obeyed immediately, sinking down until his legs tucked neatly beneath him, hands resting hesitantly on his thighs. The frills rustled with the movement, every inch of lace reminding him just how exposed he was.

Kokichi sauntered closer, eyes roaming over him with that familiar, predatory gleam. “You look… so good like this,” he murmured. “But don’t get too comfortable. I’m not done with you yet.” His fingers brushed lightly along Shuichi’s side, tracing teasing patterns over the lace, making him shiver.

Shuichi bit his lip, cheeks burning hotter. “I-I… Kokichi—”

“Shh,” Kokichi interrupted, leaning down slightly, voice dropping into a slow purr. “You’re not allowed to talk when you’re on your knees like this.”

The words made Shuichi tremble, part embarrassment, part something much darker and more thrilling. He could feel Kokichi moving behind him, the heat of his body pressing closer. Every rustle of the outfit, every delicate sigh, seemed to draw Kokichi in even more, feeding the tension between them.

Kokichi’s hands finally found their mark, resting lightly on Shuichi’s hips. “There,” he murmured. “Perfect. Just like this. Stay still… stay obedient. And maybe I’ll let you feel how good it can be to follow me.”

Shuichi’s breath caught. He couldn’t tell if he was more flustered by the outfit, the kneeling position, or the weight of Kokichi’s gaze—and the playful, dangerous smile curling across his lips. Either way, he knew one thing for certain: being seen like this, vulnerable and teased, made him ache in ways he wasn’t entirely ready to admit.

Kokichi’s hands slid more firmly over Shuichi’s hips, guiding him gently yet insistently as he leaned closer behind him. The warmth of Kokichi’s body pressed against Shuichi’s back, sending shivers down his spine.

“You know,” Kokichi murmured, voice low and teasing, “kneeling like this… it really suits you. Makes you look… so obedient… so pretty.” His fingers traced along the lace, the sensation making Shuichi flush deeper, lips parting with a small, startled gasp.

Shuichi swallowed hard. “I—”

“Shh,” Kokichi whispered, pressing close so that Shuichi could feel the heat radiating from him. “No talking.” Kokichi leaned down slightly, brushing his lips along Shuichi’s shoulder, and the teasing pressure of his hands at Shuichi’s hips made it impossible not to tremble.

Shuichi could only whimper softly, pressing his palms into his thighs, trying to ground himself even as Kokichi’s presence overwhelmed him. The teasing and proximity, the subtle power exchange, made every sensation sharper, every movement more electric.

Kokichi’s grin deepened as he whispered, “Good. That’s exactly how I like you. Obedient, vulnerable, trembling…”

Shuichi’s breath hitched at the words, cheeks burning hotter, heart hammering, yet he stayed kneeling as instructed, caught between embarrassment, desire, and the thrill of letting Kokichi take control. Every brush of Kokichi’s hands, every whispered tease, made the tension coil tighter inside him, leaving him on edge, aching for the next command, the next touch.

Kokichi leaned back slightly, letting his hands linger possessively on Shuichi’s hips, his gaze dark with amusement and desire. “Stay still,” he murmured, voice softer now.

Shuichi’s chest rose and fell rapidly, knees trembling beneath him, lips parted in a quiet
whimper. Despite the embarrassment, despite the vulnerability, he couldn’t deny the thrill, the heat, or the way every teasing word and touch made him ache for more.

Kokichi’s hands pressed firmly against Shuichi’s hips, tilting him slightly forward. Without much warning, he pressed forward into Shuichi, who winced at the sudden stretch. Shuichi gradually accepted him, heat almost becoming unbearable within him. The embarrassment of being so readily available for use clung to him. He almost choked out a plea for Kokichi to start moving, but he remained silent and trembling.

“Ah… that’s it,” he murmured, voice low and predatory. “Just like that… perfect angle. You’re so easy to read, Shu.”

Shuichi’s breath hitched, thighs quivering, and he could feel the heat pooling low in his stomach. The frills of his maid outfit rustled with every subtle movement, and the combination of embarrassment and arousal made his chest tighten.

“You like that, don’t you?” Kokichi whispered, leaning closer, lips brushing the shell of Shuichi’s ear. He gently moved his hips, a teasing pace.

Shuichi’s hands clawed at the couch beneath him, trying to steady himself, but Kokichi’s grip was firm, unyielding, expertly guiding him. A low, teasing chuckle rumbled from Kokichi’s chest. “Careful, Shumai… I’m about to push you over the edge. Can you handle it?”

Shuichi could barely form words, only a shaky whimper escaping as Kokichi’s hands shifted slightly, finding the precise spots that made him shudder uncontrollably. The sudden pressure and movement made him lose his balance, tipping slightly forward onto the soft couch cushions. His face burned crimson, a mix of humiliation and the intense, undeniable pleasure that Kokichi orchestrated so effortlessly.

His hands guided Shuichi with expert precision, tilting him just enough that every touch, every teasing angle, drove him closer to the edge.

“K-Kokichi!… fuck!” Shuichi’s back arched involuntarily, lips parting in a quiet gasp, eyes fluttering shut as the tension coiled tighter and tighter. His words immediately dissolved into incoherent pleas, a common occurrence when Kokichi was hitting his prostate in the perfect spot.

Shuichi trembled violently, a muffled cry caught between lips, his entire body quaking with the intensity of it. Kokichi held him securely, letting him ride the wave, murmuring soft, possessive words in his ear as he trembled. He buried into him deep and filled the trembling maid with his own release.

Kokichi stayed there for a few seconds longer, breathing hard against Shuichi’s neck, his grin lazy and satisfied. When he finally pulled back, Shuichi collapsed onto the sheets, limbs loose and trembling, hair sticking adorably to his flushed face.

“Wow,” Shuichi managed weakly, voice wrecked and hoarse. “That was… a lot.”

Kokichi hummed as if considering it. “Mhm. About an eight on the Richter scale. I’ll file the paperwork later.”

Shuichi gave a halfhearted groan into the pillow. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” Kokichi sing-songed, flopping down beside him. He snagged a towel specifically for these kinds of activities from the bedside drawer and gave Shuichi a delicate wipe down. “Can’t have my pretty maid all sticky. You’ll start collecting dust.”

Shuichi swatted at him, cheeks deepening to a new shade of red. “You planned that?”

Kokichi’s grin turned wolfish. “Oh, I plan everything, Shuichi. You think ‘accidentally’ bending you over that far was improvisation?”

Shuichi buried his face back into the pillow, trying and failing to suppress a small, embarrassed laugh. “You’re unbelievable!”

Kokichi tossed the used napkin into the trash and leaned over him, resting his chin on Shuichi’s shoulder. “And yet here you are, still shaking. Guess my performance reviews are glowing as ever.”

“Maybe I’ll dock points for arrogance,” Shuichi mumbled, turning his head slightly toward him.

Kokichi pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his tone softening around the edges. “You wouldn’t dare. You love when I brag.”

Shuichi hesitated, then smiled, eyes sleepy and fond. “Maybe.”

Kokichi snickered, tucking the blanket up over them both. “Good answer.”

They lay there quietly for a while, the silence stretching warm and easy. Shuichi’s breathing slowed, and Kokichi idly traced a heart over the faint marks he’d left on his skin.

“Hey,” Kokichi murmured, voice low. “I think I'm going to dress you up again.”

Shuichi gave a sleepy hum. “No frills.”

Kokichi’s grin widened. “Oh, absolutely frills.”

Chapter Text

Kaede shifted awkwardly on the bed, the weight of the strap in her hands unfamiliar but strangely… exciting. Miu had practically shoved it at her the second they got into her room, chattering a mile a minute about how only a genius inventor could “engineer such realistic cock physics.”

Now, Miu was sprawled out, hair a wild mess against the pillow, thigh-high socks askew, grinning up at her like she’d just pulled the world’s filthiest prank.

“Well? What’re you waiting for, Piano Princess?” Miu taunted, voice dripping with bravado.
“Scared you’ll get addicted to railing my brains out? I’d hate to ruin your sweet-girl rep, but—”

Kaede surprised herself when she pressed a palm against Miu’s stomach, holding her there. “Stop talking for a second, Miu.”

The room went quiet. Miu’s grin faltered—just slightly.

Kaede leaned closer, her cheeks warm, but her voice steady. “I want to try. Let me.”

Miu blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. “Hah! Oh, this I gotta see. Fine—knock yourself out. I’ll even pretend it feels good—”

Her sentence cut off in a choked gasp when Kaede slid into her with a deliberate, steady rhythm.

“Pretend?” Kaede asked softly, her lips brushing Miu’s ear as she pressed her down by the wrists. “You don’t sound like you’re pretending.”

Miu squirmed, biting back a whine, her bravado crumbling with every careful thrust. “Y-you—hah, you don’t get it! I’m just—testing the structural integrity of your thrusting skills, dummy—!”

Kaede smiled, a little breathless herself, but she didn’t falter. Her hands stayed firm, guiding Miu, pinning her when she tried to buck too wildly. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

The whimper that broke out of Miu’s throat at that nearly made Kaede falter—but instead it steadied her. She found the rhythm that made Miu unravel, her earlier laughter twisting into curses, gasps, and needy pleas.

“You’re—fucking—kidding me—” Miu panted, clutching at Kaede’s shoulders. “I should be the one—making you squeal—!”

“You are,” Kaede whispered, pressing her forehead against Miu’s. “You always do. Just… let me return the favor.”

Miu’s breath hitched, her body shuddering as the fight bled out of her. For once, she couldn’t come up with another filthy retort—only Kaede’s name, breaking raw and desperate on her tongue.

Kaede adjusted her pace, careful but deliberate, watching the way Miu’s body arched against her hold. She couldn’t help but notice the sharp edges of Miu’s bravado softening, her voice slipping from taunts to broken gasps.

“Still pretending?” Kaede teased gently, her lips brushing along the curve of Miu’s jaw.

Miu’s nails dug into Kaede’s shoulders, her voice cracking into something almost desperate. “S-shut the hell up! I—hah—I’ll never—give you the satisfaction—!”

But the tremor in her voice betrayed her, as much as the way her thighs quivered around Kaede’s hips.

Kaede pressed her forehead to Miu’s, her rhythm steady, coaxing. “Miu… it’s okay. You don’t have to hide how good it feels.”

Kaede kept her movements steady, watching with quiet amusement as Miu’s cocky smirk cracked into a bitten-back moan.

“Still running your mouth?” Kaede teased, her voice calm but smug.

Miu bucked against her, whining even as she tried to glare. “Y-you wish! I—I’m just… letting you… hah—think you’re winning for once, Piano Princess—!”

Her words cut off in a sharp cry, nails dragging down Kaede’s back as Kaede shifted her angle just right.

“Mm. Doesn’t sound like losing to me,” Kaede whispered against her ear.

“Sh-shut up!” Miu’s voice broke, high and unsteady. “This is just—just data collection, that’s all! I—I’m testing your stamina, n-not—”

She dissolved into a moan that Kaede swallowed with a kiss, muffling Miu’s frantic babbling until her body tensed and shuddered. Her release tore through her with a sound that was half scream, half laugh, utterly unguarded.

The tension snapped soon after—Miu’s back arching hard, breath breaking into a sharp cry, her body convulsing under Kaede’s control. She clung to her, clutching fistfuls of Kaede’s shirt like she’d drown without the anchor.

Kaede held her through it, slowing only when Miu’s body sagged, boneless and trembling beneath her.

When the high finally ebbed, Kaede eased back, brushing damp hair from Miu’s flushed face. “You okay?” she asked softly, worry edging her voice now that the heat of the moment was cooling.

Miu blinked up at her, dazed, cheeks burning. For once, there was no immediate string of insults or dirty jokes. Instead, she let out a shaky laugh, hiding her face against Kaede’s shoulder. “…D-damn it, Piano Princess. You’re not supposed to be that good.”

Kaede smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “Guess I like proving you wrong.”

Miu groaned, shoving weakly at her chest but refusing to let go. “…Don’t think this means you’re the boss now. Next time I’m—”

“—going to let me take care of you again,” Kaede finished for her, still calm, still steady.

Miu collapsed back against the sheets, panting, hair sticking to her forehead. She still
managed a crooked grin, even if her voice wobbled. “…N-not bad, Kaede. You get a solid… six out of ten.”

Kaede raised a brow, brushing sweat from Miu’s temple. “Six? Really?”

Miu cackled weakly, smacking her shoulder. “What can I say? I’m a tough critic! You’ll just have to, ahaha, practice on me more if you want a perfect score.”

Kaede rolled her eyes but smiled, tugging the blanket over her. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to grade on a curve.”

Miu sputtered, half a protest, half a laugh, before finally sighing, the fight bleeding out of her. “…God, I hate how much I like you.”

Kaede chuckled quietly, pulling the blanket over them both. “I like you too, Miu.”

For once, Miu didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

The quiet hum of the late evening clung to the walls of their shared bedroom room. A single lamp burned low, throwing golden light over the spines of neatly stacked books and the ceremonial precision of his workspace tucked into the corner.

Rantaro sprawled lazily on the bed, shirt hanging open, hair mussed from where he’d been tugging at it absentmindedly. His emerald eyes tracked Korekiyo with a fond sort of amusement as the other adjusted something at his desk, movements as methodical as always.

“You know,” Rantaro started, voice warm with teasing, “you’re kind of terrifying when you’re in control like that.”

Korekiyo didn’t look back, though the tilt of his head suggested interest. “Terrifying?” His tone was thoughtful, as if tasting the word. “Or… compelling?”

“Both,” Rantaro admitted with a laugh. “You’ve got this whole 'I own the room, I own you' kind of vibe.” He smirked, folding his arms behind his head. “It’s a little unfair.”

At that, Korekiyo turned, his hair shifting like dark silk as he faced Rantaro fully. His gaze was sharp, unwavering, predatory in its stillness. “Unfair? And yet you continue to test my patience with such remarks.”

Rantaro raised a brow, playful as ever. “Maybe I like seeing what you’ll do about it.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility. Then Korekiyo moved — slow, deliberate steps that brought him to the edge of the bed. He loomed over Rantaro, one hand braced against the bedding, the other coming to rest at the hollow of Rantaro’s throat. The touch wasn’t harsh, not yet, but it carried the promise of something deeper.

“Do you know what happens to insolent mouths?” Korekiyo asked softly, his thumb brushing over the pulse point, feeling it quicken.

Rantaro’s grin wavered into something shakier, though no less mischievous. “You shut them up?”

“Precisely.” Korekiyo’s voice dropped into a purr, his eyes gleaming with a predator’s delight. “And you, my love, will thank me for it.”

Rantaro tilted his head into Korekiyo’s hand instead of away from it, that teasing grin tugging at his lips again. “Mm, you always say you’re going to shut me up,” he murmured, deliberately letting his voice go lazy and taunting, “but I’m still talking, aren’t I?”

Korekiyo’s thumb pressed fractionally harder against his throat—not enough to restrict, but enough to send a shiver down Rantaro’s spine.

“Careful,” Korekiyo warned, his tone still measured but threaded with heat. “You confuse my patience for indulgence.”

Rantaro chuckled low in his chest, eyes flashing with mischief. “Maybe I like testing how much you’ll indulge me.” He reached up as if to touch Korekiyo’s hair, but deliberately stopped short, letting his fingers hover in the air just to see if he’d be caught.

That earned him a sharper response—the kind that made his pulse kick. Korekiyo’s hand shifted, long fingers tightening just enough to remind Rantaro who held the reins. His other hand pinned Rantaro’s wrist against the bed with precise force.

“Defiant,” Korekiyo murmured, dark amusement curling his words. “Always so certain you’ll get away with your insolence.”

Rantaro’s breath hitched, but he still managed a grin, even as the hold at his throat kept him pliant. “Because I know you like it when I push back.”

Korekiyo leaned closer, hair brushing over Rantaro’s cheek like a silken curtain, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you truly believe I need your resistance to justify taking what’s mine?”

Rantaro’s smirk only widened when Korekiyo’s grip tightened, a flutter of arousal racing through him at the perfect precision of it. “God, it feels so good when you do that,” he rasped, voice catching just enough to betray how much it affected him. “Almost makes me want to talk more, just to hear you get serious.”

Korekiyo tilted his head, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable. “Your masochism is insatiable.”

His thumb pressed harder against Rantaro’s pulse, gauging every flicker beneath his skin, every shallow breath. “But if you beg for it, I’ll indulge you.”

Rantaro’s laugh was ragged, unsteady, but full of delight. “Beg? Oh, no. I’ll just keep mouthing off until you can’t help yourself.”

That earned him exactly what he wanted. Korekiyo’s grip tightened suddenly, forcing Rantaro’s jaw slack, his next word caught in a strangled gasp. The sound vibrated against Kiyo’s fingers, sharp and needy, and it spurred him further.

Rantaro barely had time to register the shift before Kiyo’s weight pressed him down, the blunt heat of him pushing forward in one decisive thrust. The stretch stole his breath, spine arching as a broken moan tore free despite the hand at his throat. His fingers scrabbled at the sheets, grounding himself against the overwhelming wave of sensation.

Kiyo didn’t relent—he drove in deep, hips grinding until he was fully seated inside, every inch a declaration of possession. “Now,” he whispered, reverent and dangerous all at once, his breath hot against Rantaro’s ear, “you’ll make the sounds I allow. Nothing more.”

Rantaro’s reply was incoherent, just a whimper muffled beneath Kiyo’s palm, his body already giving itself over completely.

Rantaro’s back arched, hips jerking upward as the pressure at his throat blended pleasure with that dizzying edge of danger he trusted Kiyo to navigate perfectly. The harder it got, the more his body betrayed him—straining against the pin, muscles taut, eyes shining with need.

He managed a muffled, breathless laugh. “Y-you’re… really trying to shut me up now, huh?”
Kiyo’s hand shifted just enough to let him drag in a desperate breath, only to steal it again with a firmer squeeze. His other hand slid down Rantaro’s chest with aching slowness, nails scraping lightly, a predator savoring the shiver of his prey.

“Precisely,” Korekiyo said softly. “You mistake my control for mercy. But this—” he squeezed again, forcing Rantaro’s lips open in a ragged groan, “—is mine to decide.”

And god, Rantaro loved it—loved how safe he felt in that loss of control, knowing that no matter how hard Kiyo pushed him, he’d never be dropped, never abandoned.

Korekiyo pressed down harder on Rantaro’s throat, savoring the ragged gasp that escaped him. But instead of relenting, he slid his free hand upward, thumb brushing against Rantaro’s lower lip, testing.

“You talk too much,” Kiyo murmured, voice low, measured. “Perhaps I should give your mouth… another purpose.”

Before Rantaro could retort, two fingers pressed past his lips. The taste of skin and faint tang of antiseptic soap filled his mouth, his instinct to close around them immediate. Kiyo pushed deeper, fingertips grazing the back of his tongue.

Rantaro’s eyes fluttered shut, incoherent noise spilling from him as the intrusion forced him into silence. Every attempt at a word was swallowed into muffled, garbled sounds—half whimpers, half moans.

Kiyo tilted his head, watching with clinical fascination. “There. Much better. Quiet… compliant… yet still trembling under me.” His voice dropped into a reverent whisper. “So beautiful.”

Pinned beneath him, Rantaro’s body writhed involuntarily. Each thrust of Kiyo’s hips left him reeling, and the weight of fingers filling his mouth made the pleasure feel sharper, disorienting. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—only feel.

His teeth grazed against Kiyo’s knuckles, not in defiance, but in desperate grounding. A line of drool slipped down his chin, humiliation blooming into something electric in his veins.

Korekiyo’s thumb lingered at the corner of his mouth, deceptively gentle, almost affectionate—before pressing in with quiet dominance. “Swallow,” he commanded, low and unyielding.

Rantaro obeyed before he even realized he had, throat working helplessly around the intrusion. The motion unraveled him—mind fogging, eyes glassy, body trembling at the simple act of surrender.

Then it hit. Korekiyo’s hips snapped forward with a sudden, merciless rhythm, every thrust sharp enough to knock the air from his lungs. The tender cruelty of the fingers in his mouth left his moans strangled, warped into wet, broken sounds. He tried to gasp, to speak, but the intrusion reduced him to nothing but muffled desperation.

In a dizzy blur, Kiyo shifted, folding Rantaro’s legs up onto his shoulders, angling deeper—leaving Rantaro wide open, pinned beneath a punishing rhythm. A choked cry escaped, only to be silenced by Kiyo’s fingers sliding back past his lips, pressing down until his jaw slackened helplessly.

Rantaro clawed at the sheets, knuckles whitening, nails catching uselessly on the fabric as his body trembled between the sharp bite of pain and the molten ache of pleasure tearing through him. His vision blurred with tears, hot trails slipping sideways into his hair, but still his hips arched up—driven by instinct, need, obedience.

Kiyo leaned down, unshaken, savoring the sight of Rantaro unraveling beneath him. His voice came quiet but heavy, reverent and possessive all at once. “Do you see now?” Fingers flexed against his tongue, commanding silence. “No words. No resistance. Only need. Only obedience. Mine.”

The single word struck like a brand, sending Rantaro spiraling. His muffled whimper cracked into a sob, saliva slipping past Kiyo’s hand, his chin slick with proof of surrender. His body convulsed, thighs trembling violently as pleasure swallowed him whole.

Kiyo pressed his fingers deeper, sealing his hand tighter over Rantaro’s mouth until his whines were nothing but guttural hums. His other hand clamped down on Rantaro’s hip, bruising grip anchoring him in place.

“Good boy,” he breathed. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

The shame, the control, the absolute possession of it all pushed Rantaro over the edge. His back arched violently, every muscle tightening as release tore through him. The orgasm ripped from him hard and messy, his muffled cry swallowed into Kiyo’s palm.

Kiyo didn’t stop until Rantaro collapsed beneath him, boneless, chest heaving, lips still stuffed around his fingers. He eased his hand away only after a moment, dragging his wet fingers slowly from Rantaro’s mouth. The string of saliva that clung between them gleamed in the dim light.

Rantaro lay trembling, eyes glassy, lips swollen and red. Kiyo traced a thumb over his chin, smearing the mess across his flushed skin. “Exquisite,” he murmured. “I push you, and still, you shine like this.”

All Rantaro could do was blink at him, breathless, voice hoarse when he finally managed to whisper, “Y-you’re insane…”

Kiyo chuckled, low and satisfied, pressing a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. But you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

Rantaro was still trembling when Kiyo finally eased out of him, careful, almost reverent now that the storm had passed. He collapsed against the sheets with a ragged sigh, his chest rising and falling as though he’d just run for miles.

Kiyo didn’t retreat far—he reached for the cloth he’d left by the bedside, already damp from earlier preparations. With steady hands, he began to clean Rantaro, slow strokes against overheated skin. His thumb brushed the bruises on Rantaro’s hips, tracing them as if memorizing their shape.

“You look positively ruined,” Kiyo mused softly, a ghost of amusement threading through his tone. “Tears, drool, sweat… I should take a photograph. A monument to your surrender.”

Rantaro gave a hoarse laugh, swatting weakly at him. “Shut up. I can barely move and you want to make it evidence?”

Kiyo tilted his head, mask catching the light, voice dripping with faux thoughtfulness. “Ah, yes. Perhaps not a photograph then… though the image is forever imprinted in my mind. You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

That line made Rantaro pause, his cheeks still pink and damp. “...You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but the soft curve of his lips betrayed him.

Kiyo leaned in, brushing a strand of sweat-slick hair from Rantaro’s forehead. “Ridiculous, perhaps. But honest.”

He pulled the blanket up over Rantaro’s bare skin, tucking it around his shoulders with surprising gentleness. “Rest now. I’ll fetch water. You’ve earned it.”

Rantaro smirked faintly, voice still ragged. “Water and… maybe an apology? You nearly choked me back there.”

Kiyo’s chuckle rumbled low, dark and warm. “Apology? Hardly. You clung to me through every moment. You wanted it as much as I gave it.” He brushed his thumb across Rantaro’s swollen lower lip, the corner of his eyes narrowing with affection. “And yet you survived. More than survived.”

Rantaro rolled his eyes, too weak to argue properly, so he just murmured, “Don’t be too long, ill get separation anxiety.” before nuzzling into the pillow.

Kiyo leaned down, pressing one last kiss against his damp hair. “I would never dream of making you wait, love.”

Chapter Text

The theater was nearly empty, save for a couple rows of scattered strangers. It wasn’t lost on Shuichi that Kokichi had picked the late showing of a B-list thriller on a Tuesday night. The odds of being caught were slim — which was suspicious in itself.

Shuichi adjusted his collar, sinking lower in the seat. The previews flickered across the screen, bright colors flashing against the dark, while Kokichi casually swung an arm over the back of Shuichi’s chair. Too casual.

Shuichi narrowed his eyes. “You planned this.”

Kokichi tilted his head, feigning innocence with a grin Shuichi couldn’t see in the dim light but could absolutely feel. His fingertips traced a meaningless pattern at the edge of Shuichi’s shoulder. “Planned what? I just wanted some quality time with my boyfriend.”

“Mm.” Shuichi tried to sound skeptical, but his pulse betrayed him. The way Kokichi’s hand shifted, sliding from shoulder to collarbone, was deliberate — slow enough to keep Shuichi tense, not fast enough to push him into a decision.

Shuichi’s breath caught when Kokichi leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “You always look so tense when you’re trying to behave.”

“Kokichi…” Shuichi’s warning came out more like a plea.

“Hm?” Kokichi’s voice was soft and maddening, playful and possessive all at once. His hand wandered lower, to Shuichi’s thigh, applying the faintest pressure as though testing how long it would take for Shuichi to break.

Shuichi clenched his fists in his lap, determined not to give him the satisfaction. But then Kokichi’s mouth found his neck. The first kiss was featherlight, almost mocking. The second was firmer. By the third, Kokichi was sucking just enough to leave a mark — right where Shuichi could never hide it the next day.

Shuichi flinched, biting back a gasp. “You—someone will—”

“That’s the point,” Kokichi whispered, lips curving against his skin. Each kiss was a brand, each mark a signature. He trailed them slowly, deliberately, making Shuichi feel every second of it. “Besides, no one’s watching us. They’re too busy staring at the screen.”

Shuichi’s suspicion had been right. This was always a plan. The empty theater, the late-night slot, Kokichi’s “innocent” grin… he’d set Shuichi up from the beginning. And yet, even knowing that, Shuichi melted back against the seat, unable to fight the hand tightening on his thigh or the heat rushing through him as Kokichi’s teeth grazed his pulse.

“Relax,” Kokichi purred. “The movie’s just getting good.”

Shuichi tried to glue his attention to the screen, but every second Kokichi’s mouth lingered against his neck, every sly press of his fingers against his thigh, pulled him further away from the film. His heart hammered louder than the surround sound.

“Kokichi…” Shuichi hissed under his breath, daring to grab his wrist. “Not here.”

That earned him a low laugh, quiet but cutting. Kokichi didn’t pull away; if anything, he leaned in closer, his breath hot at Shuichi’s jawline. “That’s the cutest thing about you, y’know? You say no, but your body—” his fingers inched higher, squeezing— “is already saying yes.”

Shuichi went rigid, teeth gritted against the flush threatening to give him away. “I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know.” Kokichi tilted his head, nipping lightly at his collarbone before pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. His gaze gleamed in the dark like something dangerous. “That’s what makes it so much fun. You’re so serious… until you’re not.”

Shuichi swallowed hard, torn between shoving him away and yanking him closer. He hated—loved—how Kokichi always looked at him like prey, like the whole world narrowed down to the way Shuichi squirmed under his touch.

Kokichi hummed, satisfied with Shuichi’s silence, and pressed a more insistent kiss at the corner of his jaw. His hand traced deliberate circles on Shuichi’s thigh, each one closer than the last.

“You’re shaking,” Kokichi whispered, his tone a mix of mockery and reverence. “So… should I stop?”

Shuichi’s lips parted, no sound coming out at first. The screen flickered, throwing shadows over Kokichi’s grin, his eyes waiting for an answer he already knew.

Shuichi’s hands trembled where they fisted the fabric of his jeans. “…no,” he admitted, voice barely audible.

The victorious spark in Kokichi’s eyes was blinding. “Knew it.”

And just like that, Kokichi sank lower in his seat, his hand sliding further up Shuichi’s thigh with devastating certainty. The movie thundered on, forgotten, as Shuichi’s world narrowed to the touch he’d been pretending not to want all along.

The previews were over, but Shuichi barely registered the film starting. Kokichi’s hand had moved with intent, sliding firmly over the thin fabric of his jeans. His fingertips pressed teasingly, deliberately, drawing gasps that he forced Shuichi to stifle against the seat.

Shuichi’s face was flaming, heart hammering, every nerve screaming, but Kokichi’s eyes — sharp, predatory, thrilled — dared him to resist. “Mmm… so tense,” Kokichi murmured, brushing his thumb over the sensitive spot near Shuichi’s hip. “You're pathetically desperate. Keep quiet for me?”

Shuichi’s lips parted, trembling. “…I’m trying…” he whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of the movie.

Kokichi chuckled softly, leaning in to press a warm, lingering kiss against Shuichi’s neck. “Trying isn’t enough,” he teased. Fingers brushed higher, over the boundary of Shuichi’s self-control, and Shuichi jolted, squeezing the armrest to keep from crying out.

The thrill of being caught — even though the theater was mostly empty — made every touch sharper. Kokichi’s hand moved with deliberate pressure, coaxing trembles and gasps that Shuichi could only muffle into the crook of his shoulder. The mixture of fear and arousal left him trembling, yet he couldn’t deny how right it felt to be completely at Kokichi’s mercy.

Kokichi’s voice, low and commanding, cut through his haze: “You like this, don’t you? Wanting it but too stubborn to admit it… huh?”

Shuichi could only manage a shaky nod, face pressed to the seat. Kokichi’s grin widened, his fingers working expertly, never letting Shuichi’s control settle. Every subtle movement, every tiny sound, was a game — and Kokichi was winning.

By the time the theater lights dimmed further with the movie, Shuichi was a quivering mess under Kokichi’s touch — flushed, breathless, and fully exposed, yet achingly desperate for more. The semi-public thrill made it sharper, hotter, every nerve electrified by the knowledge that any slip could reveal him… and Kokichi knew it.

Shuichi’s breaths were shallow, lips parted as he tried desperately to muffle the sharp gasps that Kokichi’s fingers drew from him. Every nerve was alight, every touch amplified by the fear of being caught — the knowledge that anyone walking past, anyone glancing in, could see him trembling like this.

Kokichi’s grin was wicked in the dim glow of the screen. “Shh… keep quiet for me.”

Shuichi could only nod, chest heaving, hands clutching the armrest as Kokichi pressed closer, warm body brushing his, every inch a calculated tease. Kokichi’s fingers moved with relentless precision, and Shuichi’s thighs twitched, hips lifting involuntarily with every touch.

“You’re so good at hiding it,” Kokichi whispered, lips brushing Shuichi’s ear, “but I can see every little reaction.”

Shuichi whimpered quietly, embarrassed beyond belief, but the humiliation only spurred his arousal higher. Kokichi leaned in, hands guiding, mouth ghosting along the curve of his jaw, and Shuichi’s control slipped further.

“Can’t hold back, can you?” Kokichi murmured, voice low and teasing. “That’s the point.”

Shuichi’s knees weakened, body trembling, and with one final, deliberate touch, Kokichi pushed him past the edge. His muffled cry caught only in his own throat as pleasure cascaded through him, burning hot and sharp. Kokichi’s hands didn’t relent, keeping him teetering on overstimulation, dragging it out, prolonging every delicious second.

When it finally ended, Shuichi sagged against the seat, flushed, breathless, and utterly undone. Kokichi’s fingers lingered, coaxing out the last shudders before pulling back just enough to let him catch his breath. The semi-public thrill lingered, making Shuichi’s embarrassment and desire burn even brighter.

Kokichi leaned close, brushing a kiss across his temple. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His voice was soft now, teasing but tender, like he’d claimed every shiver and gasp as his own.
Shuichi could only press his face to the seat, cheeks flaming, muttering a weak, “You’re terrible.”

Kokichi dug into his pocket with a sly grin. “Lucky for you, I always carry emergency napkins,” he said, brandishing a small stack like a mischievous hero. “Not that I planned to need them… but accidents happen.”

Shuichi groaned, hiding his face in Kokichi’s chest. “You’re joking,” he muttered, though the warmth of Kokichi’s touch made him melt anyway.

“Oh, me?” Kokichi teased, patting Shuichi’s shoulder as he wiped him down gently, the napkin brushing over sensitive skin. “I’m just being prepared. Can’t have my favorite human sticky and uncomfortable, now, can we?”

Shuichi blinked, cheeks still bright, but the teasing made him giggle despite himself.

He pulled him close, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. “See? All taken care of. Nobody even knows what just happened.”

Shuichi leaned against him, sighing, letting the embarrassment melt into warmth. “You… really are something else,” he murmured.

Kokichi smirked, playful yet tender. “And you… just let me be, didn’t you? That’s why I’m so good at this.”

The city lights outside the theater glimmered faintly through the glass, but inside, wrapped around Kokichi’s arms, Shuichi felt utterly safe — even after the wild, semi-public escapade.

Chapter Text

Miu’s workshop looked like a junkyard had exploded and decided to call itself a laboratory. Cables dangled from the ceiling, prototypes hummed on half-finished tables, and the air smelled faintly of solder and strawberry gum. It was oddly comforting.

Kiibo sat in the middle of it all, perfectly upright, as if good posture could protect him from whatever new invention Miu was about to unleash.

“Okay, robo-boy,” she said, tightening a small receiver around his neck. “Prepare your delicate little sensors for science!”

“That name is… concerningly vague,” Kiibo replied. “You said this experiment would improve my ability to experience human sensations.” He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, urged to pull the receiver away from him to examine it first.

“Exactly!” She held up a small silver remote, wiggling it between her fingers. “Behold! The Empathic Response Calibrator version one-point-awesome.”

Before he could object, she pressed the first button. A soft vibration rippled through his systems. Kiibo blinked once, startled.

“Report, subject!” Miu barked in her best imitation of a serious researcher.

“Mild… stimulation detected,” he said after a moment. “Temperature neutral. No adverse reaction.”

“Boring,” Miu huffed. “Let’s give you a little more empathy.”

The next press deepened the hum to a low pulse that traveled up his spine. Kiibo’s posture wavered; his eyes flickered once in surprise.

“And now?” she prodded.

“A tingling sensation,” he admitted. “Localized along the spinal servos. It feels… pleasant.”

The word hung between them. Kiibo’s internal fans whirred faster, a quiet imitation of breath. He shifted in his seat, small, uneven sounds slipping from him as the vibration thrummed deeper through his frame.

“Pleasant!” Miu chirped, scribbling nonsense on her clipboard. “Look at you, Mr. Feelings. Now for the advanced calibration!”

The next click sent a warmer current through him—less mechanical, more alive. The pulse rolled from his back to his chest, expanding until his hands gripped the armrests hard enough to make the metal creak. His fingers flexed, trying to ground himself against the rush spreading
through every circuit.

“Miu,” he said, voice distorted, “feedback intensity is surpassing optimal parameters.”

“Science waits for no bot, sweet-cheeks,” she grinned. “For the record—describe exactly what you’re feeling.”

His processors stuttered, words dragging through static.

“Heat rising. Circuits… resonating. My systems are—responding as if under strain, yet the response is… pleasant. It mimics a human adrenaline surge.”

He looked almost dazed, optics bright, vents fluttering with every unsteady intake. Whatever this was doing to him, it was more than he’d expected—and he didn’t seem to want it to stop.

“Translation: you like it!” Miu teased, pretending to jot another note.

“Miu, this level of input is unnecessary for empathy research,” he tried
again, his tone breaking between synthetic composure and something startlingly human.

“Of course it is! That’s how innovation works!”

One more twist of the dial, and a shudder ran through him. Kiibo made a noise halfway between a gasp and a static burst, then went rigid. The air filled with the rising hum of his energy core; light pulsed across the seams of his frame like a heartbeat. For the first time, Miu hesitated, suddenly aware she might have gone too far watching him tremble under the overload.

“…Oops.”

The hum subsided, and Kiibo’s shoulders slumped as his systems cooled. He looked at her—calm, composed again, though a faint blue glow lingered at the edge of his cheeks.

“Phase two,” he said evenly, “will require significant safety limits.”

“Agreed,” Miu said quickly, tucking the remote behind her back.

A pause. Then he tilted his head. “Your enthusiasm, however, appears boundless.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, trying not to smile.

Chapter Text

Kiibo had learned to anticipate Miu’s tone when she was up to something.
It always started as casual curiosity — then dipped into that pitch where every word felt like a challenge.

The lab was alive with the hum of random machines and th sharp scent of solder, strawberry gum, and chemical gel. Kiibo stood stiffly in the center, optics tracking Mius every movement as she held up a small controller with an entirely too self satisfied grin.

“New firmware update,” she announced, “It’s supposed to improve your obedience processing. I, uh, might’ve added some custom commands.”

“Define ‘custom,’” Kiibo said cautiously. He knew his tone carried that subtle twinge of anticipation he couldnt quite hide.

“You’ll see, tin-can.”

Her finger hovered over the remote. The soft click sent a ripple through his systems — a coded hum threading through his auditory receptors. His back straightened automatically, every servo aligning.

“Good,” Miu said, stepping close. Her voice dropped just enough to feel like static against his skin. “Now, let’s test response time. Kneel.”

His body obeyed before his processors finished parsing the command. He lowered himself with perfect mechanical precision, eyes tilted upward.

“Response time: excellent,” she murmured, jotting a note she clearly didn’t care about. “How does that feel?”

“Strange,” he said softly. “It bypasses voluntary control… but not sensation. There’s pressure — warmth — concentrated in the chest cavity.”

“Warmth, huh? That’s new.” She circled him slowly, gaze running over every exposed panel like she was memorizing his blueprints. “Let’s push it a bit further. Hands behind your back.”

Another click. Another shiver. His fingers flexed uselessly before locking behind him.

“Miu,” he said, voice edged with distortion. “You’re exceeding standard testing parameters.”

“Yeah, but I’m getting fantastic data.” Her breath brushed the edge of his ear. “Tell me what it’s doing to you.”

He hesitated. His internal fans whirred softly, the mechanical equivalent of a trembling breath. “Sensory feedback is… heightened. Circuits are… reactive. I can feel—”

“—Reactive, huh?” she interrupted, her voice a whisper against his neck.
He shut his eyes briefly, sensors firing bright under her proximity. “Miu, if this continues—”

“Then I’ll have to calibrate you manually,” she teased, but the words came out low, almost reverent.

He looked at her then — a flicker of something dangerously close to desire in his eyes. “You enjoy this,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
“Of course I do.” She smiled. “You’re finally learning to listen.”

Another command pulsed through his system, sharper this time, and his breath hitched. He struggled to keep his voice even. “Please… issue another.”

Miu froze, caught between pride and disbelief. Then her grin returned, slow and sure.

“Good boy,” she murmured, setting the remote aside. “Lesson one complete.”

The hum between them thickened — electric, alive. Neither moved, not at first. Then she reached out, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw — curious, unguarded.

“Next phase,” she whispered.

She leaned over the workbench with her goggles perched crookedly on her head, sleeves rolled up, and a grin that could make any system overheat. She rummaged through the drawer and retrieved conductive gel, holding it up to the light as if debating whether to use it.

“Environmental stress calibration!” She chirped.

A splash. Cool liquid met warm synthetic skin. The gel she’d been testing slithered down his chest plates in uneven streaks, pooling at the seams of his abdomen where nerves met circuitry. Kiibo’s processors buzzed with every pulse she triggered. His movements became less about obedience and more about steadying himself, trying to process what the
“experiment” was doing to him. Every brush of her hand, every
adjustment, sent sparks—synthetic and emotional—through his system.His breath caught—simulated, yes, but still felt.

“Miu!” he stammered. “That is not lab procedure!”

“Oh, it’s totally lab procedure,” she said with a wink. “See? Controlled chaos. Realistic conditions. Dont you like real?’’

He didn’t, in fact, like it. Or maybe he did. His processors couldn’t decide.

He could only tilt his head, optics bright, chestplate humming, as it felt like a lens heightened to only her; warmth, laughter, impossible tension between them, her unwavering attention. Every motion she made—the brush of her hand smearing away the excess gel, the faint heat from her skin, the way she looked at him like he was a puzzle she wanted to break—fed into the same impossible loop.

“Miu, your actions are—are—”

He stopped, voice glitching faintly as a tremor ran through his frame.

“Hot?” she teased. “Sticky? Sciencey?”

“—compromising system integrity,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction.

“Good,” she purred, pushing him gently back against the bench. “That means the experiment’s working.”

He stared at her, face flushed in a way no program could fully explain. “This is… highly unsanitary.”

“Relax, I’ll clean you up. Eventually.” Her grin softened, just a bit. “You trust me, don’t you?”

He wanted to protest again, to lecture her about procedure, but she was already tracing a fingertip up his throat, leaving faint streaks of gel and warmth in her wake. The room blurred—lights, static, heartbeat simulation rising too fast.

“Miu,” he said, voice quieter now, “this feels… too—”

“Real?” she finished, voice almost gentle.

He nodded, and that single flicker of silence that followed was all the permission either of them needed.

His circuits pulsed uncontrollably, each sensor firing in rapid succession. Heat built along his frame, and his optics flickered bright, struggling to process the surge of input.

An involuntary tremor ran down his spine as excess energy cascaded through his systems. Even the cooling fans whirred faster, trying to regulate the sudden surge.The lights along his chassis pulsed erratically, syncing with the vibrations running through his frame, while a soft whir escaped him that sounded almost… breathlike.

His processors overheated briefly, forcing an emergency recalibration. For a moment, his body went rigid, then relaxed slowly, as if savoring the sudden release.

Kiibo still kneeled, trying to recalibrate systems and composure simultaneously. “…Your methodology is… incredibly inefficient,” he said, though there was a faint note of something like awe under the mechanical cadence.

“Yeah,” she replied, brushing a lock of hair from her face and smirking. “But admit it—you learned a lot.”

He exhaled softly, sensors quieting. “Affirmative… though I would suggest improvements for future… experiments.”

She laughed, leaning closer to tap his shoulder. “Good. Now, help me clean this up before someone sees.”

He followed dutifully, but his systems still buzzed faintly, echoing the memory of every pulse. Miu trailed behind him, smirking and scribbling fake “research notes,” teasing as he muttered complaints about lab efficiency, balance, and “scientific responsibility.”

By the time the lab was halfway presentable, both were flushed, slightly sticky, and undeniably alive with the residue of their experiment.

Chapter Text

Kokichi grinned, leaning casually against the doorway, one shoulder brushing the frame. “You’re going to have to do better than that, babe,” he teased, tilting his head. “I don’t just follow orders because you say so.”

Shuichi’s gaze narrowed, calm but firm. He stepped forward, closing the small space between them until Kokichi had nowhere to move. “Not a suggestion,” he said quietly. “Stay.”

Kokichi stiffened for a moment, then smirked. “Oh? And what are you going to do if I don’t?”

Shuichi’s hand came up, pressing lightly against Kokichi’s chest, guiding him until his back hit the wall. The sudden contact made Kokichi inhale sharply. “I think you’ll find out,” Shuichi murmured, voice low, steady.

The grin faltered. Kokichi wriggled once, playful, challenging. “Pfft. You wouldn’t—”

“Stop moving,” Shuichi interrupted, not harshly, but with a weight behind the words that made Kokichi pause. Every little twitch and protest only drew him closer, pressed flush to the wall.

Heat pooled along Kokichi’s sides where Shuichi’s hand lingered. His pulse sped, heart hammering in tandem with the unspoken tension. He tried to laugh, tried to wiggle, tried to act unfazed—but even his own body betrayed him.

“See?” Shuichi whispered, tilting Kokichi’s chin slightly up. “You like this.”

Kokichi’s voice cracked halfway through a defiant, “I’m—” before cutting off into a sharp inhale. He glanced away, cheeks flushed, tailing his smirk with a faltering smile. “Maybe a little…”

Shuichi’s fingers traced a line down Kokichi’s arm, guiding, holding, but never letting go completely. “Good,” he said softly. “That’s exactly where you belong.”

The bratty protest slipped again, quieter this time. “Y-You’re ridiculous…” Kokichi breathed, back pressing against the wall. Heat, tension, and something unspoken coiled tight inside him. Every shiver, every faltering laugh, every half-worded objection fed Shuichi’s quiet certainty.

Kokichi’s defenses crumbled fraction by fraction, until he could no longer mask the rush of sensation, the flustered warmth spreading beneath Shuichi’s steady touch. His hands tensed at his sides, jaw set, breath hitching, the space between them electric with the intensity of their silent battle.

Shuichi leaned in, whispering low against Kokichi’s ear, “No more fighting. Just… stay.”

The smirk finally fell, replaced by a shaky, reluctant surrender. His breath came faster, shoulders lifting and falling as he leaned completely against the wall, trusting Shuichi to hold him steady.

For a long moment, nothing needed to be said. Heat, tension, and silent agreement stretched between them, raw and unspoken. Shuichi’s hand brushed back a stray lock of hair from Kokichi’s forehead, gentle now, grounding.

Kokichi’s purple eyes locked onto Shuichi’s gold, searching for the tiniest crack, any weakness he could exploit. There was none. Only the shiver of anticipation lingering between them—though it was impossible to tell who was truly shivering.

Shuichi’s hands moved to Kokichi’s hips, drawing him flush, their bodies pressing together. He leaned in, lips capturing Kokichi’s in a bruising, urgent kiss. A soft, helpless whine slipped past Kokichi, swallowed immediately by the heat of the moment.
Kokichi, ever the brat, nipped at Shuichi’s lower lip, earning a sharp, restrained sound from the boy above him. Shuichi’s gaze narrowed, annoyance flickering across his face, though it was impossible to miss the edge of desire beneath it.

Then, with a quick motion, Shuichi spun Kokichi, pressing his chest against the wall. Kokichi’s breath hitched—somewhere between gasp and moan—as Shuichi’s hands roamed along his sides and hips. Every press, every careful touch was measured, dominant, and deliberate.

Shuichi’s lips trailed along Kokichi’s neck, each kiss lingering just enough to burn, leaving heat in its wake. Kokichi squirmed slightly, teasing resistance fading with every second of Shuichi’s controlled, patient dominance.
The room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with tension, anticipation, and the unspoken agreement of power exchanged and tested.

Kokichi whimpered as Shuichi’s hands moved with practiced precision, tugging his shorts down in one swift motion. A single finger pressed against him, tentative at first, testing the heat and reaction. Kokichi’s soft gasp spurred Shuichi on, guiding the finger further inside, drinking in every small sound.

As Kokichi’s body began to relax, Shuichi added another finger, and then another, adjusting each movement with careful consideration — like calibrating a game to a higher, more thrilling level. A sharp, involuntary shriek of pleasure escaped Kokichi as Shuichi’s fingers brushed his prostate: delicate, deliberate, enough to send a spark radiating through him.

“Fuck, Shu, j-just fuck me! I-I don’t want to wait!” Kokichi cried, pressing back against the fingers, seeking any angle that would sharpen the stimulation.

Shuichi paused only briefly, thinking ahead, and pulled out the almost-empty bottle of lube — a remnant of their spur-of-the-moment escapades. He hurriedly applied it, fingers slick, before undoing his own pants. The anticipation coiled tight, every movement deliberate; he wanted to be inside Kokichi without hurting him, to match urgency with care.

"Turn around- I wanna see your face." Shuichi commanded, voice husky and full of need.

Kokichi finally obeyed, spinning around with a mix of desperation and anticipation written across his face. Shuichi pressed him back against the wall, the familiar firmness of the surface holding Kokichi steady. He wrapped his legs instinctively around Shuichi’s waist, using both the wall and Shuichi’s body as support.

Kokichi’s arms curled around Shuichi’s neck as he adjusted, the blunt head pressing against him with a teasing, torturous edge. The expression on Kokichi’s face — a blend of longing, heat, and want — imprinted itself on Shuichi’s mind, burning with intensity.

Shuichi shifted his stance, gripping Kokichi tighter to steady them both. The surge of heat coiling inside him was almost overwhelming, every inch of contact radiating pleasure through him, but he held firm. He let them both adjust, letting the moment stretch just long enough to savor the anticipation, to ensure Kokichi was ready for exactly what he was about to give.

Then, with a deliberate, measured movement, Shuichi gave in to the heat and need. He pressed forward, the wall providing leverage as he entered Kokichi fully, every motion a careful balance of control and passion. The tightness, the warmth, the desperation — everything coiled into one perfect, consuming moment, binding them together in unspoken, urgent rhythm.
Kokichi pressed his forehead against the wall, voice trembling and breathless.
“
Pleas-se, f-fuck me, t-take me—hah, GOD!—Ma-ake me your bi-itch, please!” he shrieked as Shuichi rocked into him, the desperation in his voice only driving Shuichi further. Tears slipped down Kokichi’s cheeks, highlighting the utterly fucked-out expression he wore so well. Every rare, frantic plea drew Shuichi higher, his arousal spiking at the sight of Kokichi completely undone.

Shuichi shifted slightly, angling himself with precision. He could make this boy see stars if he timed it just right. Kokichi’s next shriek echoed off the walls:
“There! T-There—please, Shumai, please—!” He threw his head back, letting it connect with the wall carelessly, oblivious to the sharp sound it made. Every instinct had gone primal; his mind was consumed by Shuichi’s pistoning, by the heat radiating between them, by the overwhelming pleasure bleeding into every nerve.

No words were needed now. Kokichi’s eyes rolled back, body tensing, muscles rigid under Shuichi’s grip. He increased the pressure on Kokichi’s sides, guiding him closer, feeling the way the boy’s body quivered in response. Then, with a sudden, shivering release, Kokichi climaxed, his body shaking, heat pooling between them, sticky and undeniable.

Shuichi, teetering on the edge himself, captured Kokichi’s lips in a fierce, desperate kiss, letting him ride out the wave as his own pulse thundered. Every movement, every tremor of Kokichi beneath him only intensified the sensation, until the heat of his own release nearly consumed him.

Finally, Shuichi pulled back, breath ragged, chest heaving, completely spent. Kokichi leaned against the wall, shivering, eyes half-lidded, the quiet aftermath of their shared intensity settling over them. Both panting, flushed, and utterly satisfied, they stayed pressed together, savoring the quiet warmth that lingered between them.

Time seemed to stretch, slow, and almost melt around them as Shuichi held Kokichi flush against the wall. Their breaths came ragged, uneven, but somehow in sync, a rhythm that belonged only to them. For a long moment, they just stared at one another, eyes glazed, hearts hammering too fast for words.

Finally, with a low, shuddering groan, Shuichi eased back, carefully releasing Kokichi from his hold. Every movement felt heavy, as if his limbs were made of jelly. Kokichi sagged, knees giving out, slowly sinking to the carpet. His chest rose and fell erratically, and his hair fell into his eyes in damp strands.

“Good God, Shu… I think you broke me,” Kokichi mumbled, voice soft and utterly spent, lacking even a trace of his usual defiance.

Shuichi let out a shaky laugh, a mix of relief and lingering tension, and sank down beside him, back resting against the wall. The two of them sat there in quiet chaos, pantless and sticky with heat, limbs tangled and breathing heavy.

All else fell away. No words, no teasing, no games. Just the soft, overwhelming intimacy of being utterly spent together. Skin brushed skin. Heartbeat pressed against heartbeat. Heat lingering, a faint sheen glimmering across Kokichi’s flushed cheeks.

They didn’t move, didn’t speak, just existed in that shared aftermath, letting the world shrink to the slow rhythm of breath and pulse, warm and fragile and utterly theirs.

Chapter Text

Rantaro leaned casually against the edge of the table, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “You always act so serious, Kiyo. Maybe it’s time someone loosened you up a little,” he said, circling the other man like a predator inspecting prey.

Korekiyo’s sharp gaze followed him, unblinking. “I do not loosen. Any attempt would fail,” he replied, voice clipped but betraying the tiniest flicker of awareness under Rantaro’s attention.

Rantaro’s grin widened. He brushed a finger lightly along Kiyo’s arm, letting the contact linger just long enough to make him flinch. “Is that a challenge? Or are you just scared?” he teased, leaning in close, letting his breath ghost over Kiyo’s ear.

Korekiyo stiffened, jaw tightening. “I am not afraid,” he said, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. A shiver ran down his spine where
Rantaro’s touch lingered, small goosebumps rising along his arms.

Rantaro’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Really? Because it seems like you’re already… feeling me.” His hands traced lightly along Kiyo’s wrists, letting him strain instinctively against the gentle restraint of fingers.

“Do not presume my reactions indicate weakness,” Kiyo whispered, trying to reclaim composure. His lips pressed together, muscles tensing under Rantaro’s careful inspection.

“Of course not,” Rantaro murmured, producing a soft set of cuffs from behind his back. “Just… indulge me for a moment.”

Korekiyo’s sharp glare met his, but the subtle twitch in his shoulders, the shallowing of his breath, betrayed his anticipation. “Very well… I will indulge. But do not mistake this for submission,” he warned, voice tight, controlled, yet wavering.

Rantaro chuckled softly, securing the cuffs around Kiyo’s wrists with deliberate care. “Oh, I know exactly what this is,” he murmured, sliding the silk blindfold over Kiyo’s eyes. Darkness swallowed his vision, leaving
every other sense magnified.

Korekiyo’s chest rose and fell quickly, every nerve acutely aware of Rantaro’s proximity. He could feel the warmth of Rantaro’s body, the faint brush of a hand along his arm, the low hum of his teasing breath.

Rantaro straddled him lightly, hands resting on Kiyo’s shoulders, his grin hidden in the dark. “You’re trembling,” he observed, voice low and smooth. “Or are you pretending not to be?”

Korekiyo exhaled sharply, every sense alive, unable to hide the way his body betrayed him. “I am… merely attentive,” he murmured, tension coiling tight, “to every… detail.”

“Good,” Rantaro whispered, leaning closer, letting Kiyo feel the deliberate weight of his presence. “That’s exactly where I want you.”

Every subtle touch, every deliberate movement heightened the intensity. Kiyo’s restrained hands, blindfolded eyes, and taut muscles left him entirely vulnerable to Rantaro’s careful, playful control. The air between them thickened with anticipation, desire, and unspoken trust, each breath shared in the quiet, electric dark.

For a long, suspended moment, Korekiyo could do nothing but exist in the heightened sensations, attuned completely to Rantaro’s body, every whisper, every brush, every teasing inch of control.

“You look good like this,” Rantaro runs his hands through Kiyos hair, electricity sparking wherever his fingertips go. The lack of sight makes every touch feel illuminated. Kiyo hums and leans into the touch.

Kiyo stiffened, muscles tense under Rantaro’s weight, a shiver betraying him. “I… I wish I could at least watch your face,” he murmured, trying to retain composure, though his breath hitched.

“You’ll just have to imagine it,” Rantaro replied, voice low, teasing, warm against his ear. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Kiyo’s.

The first kiss was gentle, exploratory — a teasing brush of lips. But Rantaro’s hands guided Kiyo subtly, straddling him more firmly, tilting him back against the cushions. Every touch sent shivers through the restrained man beneath him.

Korekiyo’s lips parted, hesitated, then pressed back against Rantaro’s in a heated exchange. He tried to pull back slightly, testing the boundaries of his restraint, but Rantaro’s steady weight kept him in place. Kiyo’s voice caught, faltering mid-word, betraying the anticipation and tension that coiled tight in his chest.

Rantaro’s lips moved over Kiyo’s jaw, brushing along the curve of his neck before returning to claim his mouth again. Kiyo’s hands, bound lightly, could only twitch against the cuffs, struggling slightly in a playful attempt to regain control. Every small movement heightened the contact, every muffled gasp or breathless whine a testament to the intensity.

Korekiyo’s chest rose and fell quickly, shivering where Rantaro’s hands and body pressed, lips brushing against his own in a heated rhythm.
Rantaro’s grin was audible in his breath as he leaned closer again, lips capturing Kiyo’s with deliberate intensity. The playful teasing mixed with dominance made every kiss feel electric, every tilt and press amplified by Kiyo’s inability to see, to move freely, to anticipate.

For a long, suspended moment, Korekiyo existed entirely in the sensation — lips, heat, pressure, and the teasing, commanding presence of Rantaro straddling him. Breathless, tense, and completely alive, he surrendered, if only in small increments, to the overwhelming intimacy and control of the moment.

Korekiyo shivered again, lips parting, pulse racing, and a faint flush coloring his cheeks. Every movement of Rantaro’s mouth, the teasing brushes of lips and tongue along sensitive areas, felt magnified against the blindfolded darkness. The tongue ring added a subtle, electric texture with each contact, sending unpredictable shivers along his spine.

Korekiyo exhaled sharply, tension coiling and uncoiling in a mix of anticipation and restrained surrender. His usual composure slipped further with every press, every brush, every deliberate tease. The weight, the warmth, the teasing dominance left him suspended entirely in the moment, senses magnified and acutely attuned.

Rantaro’s hands guided him subtly, tilting, pressing, shifting just enough to draw reactions, his lips and the slight, tantalizing sensation of the tongue ring amplifying each shiver and gasp. Korekiyo’s restrained,
blindfolded form trembled under the intensity, every nerve alive, utterly
absorbed in the electrified intimacy pressing down on him.

“Good… exactly like this,” Rantaro murmured, low and intimate, letting every deliberate movement, brush, and flick heighten the tension. “Completely focused… completely mine… and entirely suspended in the dark.”

Korekiyo’s lips parted, a soft, helpless sound escaping, body taut, pulse racing. He existed only in the sensation — Rantaro’s teasing presence, weight, and the unexpected texture of the tongue ring leaving every nerve impossibly alive.

Korekiyo’s breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts, chest rising and falling rapidly under the weight of Rantaro straddling him. His hands twitched helplessly against the soft cuffs, small, futile attempts to regain control that only heightened the tension.

“I… R-Rantaro… I…” he tried to speak, voice faltering mid-word, the words breaking off into a soft, breathless gasp. Every nerve felt like it was on fire. He tried to warn the other man, tried to assert some shred of control.

Rantaro’s low chuckle rumbled against Kiyos hip. “I know,” he murmured, lips brushing along the sensitive skin, voice teasing but intimate. “… I know exactly where you are.”

Korekiyo’s pulse raced, chest heaving. The subtle, electric sensation of Rantaro’s tongue — the faint texture of the ring catching along sensitive spots — sent shivers radiating through him, sharp, unpredictable,
impossible to ignore. “I… I’m… I—” Another faltering breath. His body betrayed him, reacting far more than his carefully measured words.

His hands pressed gently but insistently along Kiyo’s sides, shifting him just enough to draw involuntary movements. Each subtle flinch, each tiny gasp beneath the blindfold made Rantaro grin against the curve of his jaw.
Korekiyo’s head tilted back slightly, lips parting, shivers crawling along his spine. He tried to speak again, to warn him: “R-Rantaro… you’re—” but his words dissolved into a ragged, breathless exhale.

The subtle, electric drag of Rantaro’s tongue — the ring catching against sensitive spots — sent unpredictable sparks of sensation through him. Every deliberate movement made him twitch, small, involuntary reactions betraying him. Rantaro pressed closer, measuring the depth, stopping just shy of the edge, drawing a soft, involuntary moan from Kiyo’s lips.

Rantaro’s presence was unyielding, deliberate, and precise. He pressed closer, measuring, adjusting, stopping just shy of the edge, drawing soft, helpless sounds from Korekiyo’s lips. Each reaction, each subtle flinch, was noted and answered, the attention focused entirely on him. He could feel the anticipation coil tighter and tighter, every heartbeat thudding in his chest, until it seemed to echo in his bones.

This was not Rantaro’s first time with him; he knew exactly what Kiyo needed. He flattened his tongue, adjusting, deliberate and attentive, guiding every response, letting Kiyo feel fully consumed. The sensation built, tight and exquisite, until every nerve seemed to vibrate with anticipation.

And then, finally, the tension broke. Korekiyo surrendered completely, lost in the electrified intimacy pressing down around him. Rantaro’s presence — teasing, attentive, unyielding — held him close, grounding him in the aftermath of heightened sensation. Every breath he drew was shaky, every shiver lingering, the connection between them pulsing in the quiet.

For a long, suspended moment, neither spoke, both breathless, hearts racing, tense but slowly unwinding. The blindfolded man’s shivers gradually softened, small exhalations escaping as Rantaro’s steady weight and whispered reassurances anchored him. In the dark, intimate silence, everything else faded, leaving only the heated, suspended connection between them.

Korekiyo’s chest still heaved, pulse gradually slowing as Rantaro eased off him, letting the weight lighten while keeping a hand draped across his shoulder. The blindfold and cuffs were gone, but the lingering warmth of their closeness made every nerve still tingle.

“You’re ridiculously easy to read,” Rantaro murmured, letting a fingertip trail along Kiyo’s jawline. Korekiyo shivered slightly, lips parting in a quiet exhale. “Even after all that… you can’t hide a single reaction.”

“I… I am merely… reactive,” Kiyo replied softly, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. His hands twitched slightly as if testing the freedom from restraint, but the subtle pressure of Rantaro’s hand still on his wrist reminded him how thoroughly he had surrendered.

Rantaro leaned closer, brushing his lips lightly against the side of Kiyo’s neck. “Still trembling… my favorite part,” he teased, voice low, playful. Korekiyo let out a small, breathless laugh, warmth blooming in his chest despite the lingering heat of their earlier intimacy.

A soft nudge of Rantaro’s knee against his side made Kiyo shift instinctively, and Rantaro grinned. “Look at you… flushed and breathless. And here I thought you were so composed.” His hand drifted to rest lightly on Kiyo’s chest, letting him feel the steady, teasing warmth.

Korekiyo’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I… may have… enjoyed it more than I intended.” His words were soft, tinged with embarrassment, but Rantaro’s chuckle reassured him.

“Good,” Rantaro murmured, brushing his fingers along Kiyo’s forearm in a gentle, playful drag. “I like knowing exactly how much you feel… even when you try to act otherwise.” He let his thumb linger, a small, teasing
pressure that made Kiyo shiver again, tiny, involuntary movements
betraying him.

Korekiyo tilted his head, gaze softening as he looked up at Rantaro. “You… were very attentive,” he admitted, voice quiet, almost reverent.

Rantaro smirked, nuzzling his forehead to Kiyo’s. “Of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn't?” His hands stayed lightly on Kiyo’s shoulders and chest, grounding him, letting him feel safe while keeping the playful energy alive.

They simply sat together, tangled in warmth and shared breaths. Rantaro’s playful whispers and teasing touches brushed against Kiyo’s still-sensitive nerves, a reminder of the heat they’d just shared. And even as the tension faded, the electricity lingered.

Chapter Text

The mirror caught everything — the tremor in Shuichi’s shoulders, the faint hitch in his breath, the shadow of Kokichi behind him. Dim light from the bedside lamp turned their reflections gold at the edges, like they were part of the same flame.

“Look at you,” Kokichi murmured, voice somewhere between mockery and awe. His hand traced up Shuichi’s throat, tilting his chin until their eyes met in the glass. “You always act like you don’t want to be seen, but…” He smiled, the kind that could slice or soothe depending on where it landed. “This is what you look like when you stop pretending.”

Shuichi’s reply caught somewhere in his throat — a sound too soft to be protest, too raw to be a word.

Kokichi leaned closer until his breath stirred the hair near Shuichi’s ear. “You think you can hide from me? From yourself?” His reflection smiled wider. “No chance. You’re far too easy to read.”

Kokichi’s hand slid into Shuichi’s hair, curling just enough to guide him down until his knees sank into the mattress. The motion was slow, deliberate—a wordless instruction. His other hand lingered at the back of Shuichi’s neck, steadying him, coaxing rather than forcing. Shuichi could see the dark marks left trailing down his body left by Kokichi moments before.

“Watch yourself as I open you,” Kokichi murmured, his voice low enough to vibrate against Shuichi’s scalp. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.”

The command coiled tight inside him, heat blooming low in his stomach. Shuichi didn’t dare disobey. Through the reflection, he saw Kokichi’s hand move—slow, assured—coating his fingers in slick before sliding them between his legs. The first touch made him shiver; the second drew a gasp that fogged the glass in front of him.

Every time Kokichi pressed deeper, Shuichi’s body twitched in surrender, his lashes fluttering as he tried not to look away. Kokichi’s smirk, reflected over his shoulder, was both cruel and tender—he loved watching Shuichi come apart under his direction.

When Kokichi finally withdrew his fingers, Shuichi’s soft whine broke the quiet. Kokichi answered it by curling his hand into Shuichi’s hair and pulling his head up. The motion stretched his throat, exposing the jump of his pulse. Their eyes met in the mirror—one gaze sharp and knowing, the other glassy and undone.

“Watch yourself, beloved.”

The mattress dipped under Kokichi’s weight. Heat pressed in behind Shuichi as Kokichi guided him into place, keeping his head angled toward the glass. Shuichi barely had time to brace before Kokichi pushed forward—slow at first, deliberate, until the ache blurred into something molten and deep.

Kokichi’s rhythm grew measured, relentless. Every movement forced a sound from Shuichi’s throat, soft and strangled, like the breath was being stolen right out of him. His hands fisted in the sheets, the pressure and heat rolling through him in dizzying waves.

Kokichi tugged his head back again, holding him upright by the hair, not in cruelty but in control—showing him what he looked like when pleasure took over. “Don’t look away,” Kokichi whispered against his ear, tone trembling between mockery and awe. “Not when you’re this perfect.”

Shuichi tried to speak, but only broken pleas escaped. The mirror caught every tremor in his body, every half-formed sound that spilled from his lips. Kokichi moved with precise cruelty, drawing him closer and closer until the pleasure turned sharp. Shuichi’s breath fractured into short, helpless gasps as he reached his limit.

The climax hit like a shockwave. Shuichi cried out, his reflection blurring as his body shuddered apart. Kokichi’s grip tightened, forcing him to watch even as his strength gave out. The rhythm only faltered when Kokichi followed him over the edge, a soft curse lost in the noise between them.

For a moment, the room was filled only with their mingled breathing—Kokichi steady, Shuichi uneven and wrecked. Then Kokichi’s hand loosened, sliding from his hair to his shoulder, thumb drawing small, grounding circles against damp skin.

“See?” he murmured, voice gentling now. “You always look best when you stop pretending to hide.”

Shuichi’s arms trembled as he finally collapsed forward, chest meeting the mattress. The tension drained out of him in slow waves, his body still humming from the overstimulation. For a moment, the only sounds were their unsteady breaths, tangled together in the dim room.

Kokichi stayed close — not moving away, not speaking yet. He brushed his fingers down Shuichi’s back in lazy circles, tracing patterns over his flushed skin. The gentleness stood in sharp contrast to the intensity from moments before.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper against the back of Shuichi’s neck.

“Hey… you okay?”

Shuichi nodded, still catching his breath. “Y-yeah,” he managed, voice rough but certain. “Just… can’t feel my legs.”

Kokichi laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “That’s probably a good sign. Means I did my job right.”

“Your… job?” Shuichi murmured, glancing up at him with the faintest glare, though his cheeks stayed pink.

Kokichi smirked. “To make you forget your own name for a minute.”

The laugh that left Shuichi was small and real, muffled against the pillow. “Mission accomplished,” he said, voice low but affectionate.

Kokichi shifted so they were face to face, gently guiding Shuichi to lie on his side. His hands never left him — one brushing sweat-matted hair from his forehead, the other drawing slow, grounding strokes
over his hip. “You did so good, you know that?”

Shuichi met his gaze, eyes glassy and tired but soft. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

Silence fell again, comfortable this time. Kokichi leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to Shuichi’s temple. Shuichi exhaled shakily, curling closer, his body instinctively seeking the warmth beside him.

“I like seeing what you see,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

Kokichi smiled against his skin. “That’s the point, dummy,” he whispered. “So you know how beautiful you are when you stop trying to hide.”
For a long moment, they just stayed like that — tangled in each other, heartbeat against heartbeat, the world outside their hotel room fading into a quiet hum.

Chapter Text

Day 21 is "Rimming"... it may be majorly uncoll of me to do this to you guys, but I did work hard on a rimming story involving Amaguji! So! If you would like to read that, the story is called "Best Remedy" on my page! Here is a description of the tags, if this is something you are interested in, check it out! If not-I shall see you all in the next chapter.

I just dont want to remake one, I got so many other ideas floating around in my brain that are not sex related so im trying to get the sex related ones out of my head. (THE VOICES).

Best Remedy by NecroticNipple11037
Fandoms:New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Explicit
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
M/M
Complete Work
24 Sep 2025
Tags
Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Amami Rantaro/Shinguji Korekiyo, Power Play, Dominant/Submissive, Rough Sex, Gay Sex, Sexual Overstimulation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Established Relationship, domestic life, Ass to Mouth, possessive dirty talk. Consent Play, Anal Sex, Dom!Kiyo/Sub!Rantaro, Kinky, Explicit Sexual Content
Summary
“Then let this be my proof: that I can take you apart, and you will still beg for more.”

--LIFE UPDATE FOR THOSE WHO CARE TO READ IT!--

Some of you have shown amazing support through this entire creative writing journey of mine, which by the way, is just the best hobby. Its been very cathartic, oddly enough. But I have great news! I got accepted into the Masters program that I applied to (Yippe!). I am very excited to start in the spring, it is a two year program that is completely online but I will be learning practical skills towards my major. I am very hands-on with my learning so this is an excellent choice for me to continue my education.

As for writing, I will still be doing it, I enjoy making these little stories. I have several still in the works that I have yet to proof-read and post. If I can help it, I will continue writing as its a great de-stressor for me as im sure reading is for all of you.

Thanks to all who cared enough to read the update- I will continue on with the regularly scheduled content now ( ͡°⁄ ⁄ ͜⁄ ⁄ʖ⁄ ⁄ ͡°)

Chapter Text

The room was bathed in a soft, muted glow, the kind of light that barely brushed the edges of shadows, leaving most of the space in intimate darkness. The only sounds were the faint hum of the city beyond the curtains and the quiet brush of fabric against the mattress.

Rantaro lay on the bed, heart already racing, as Kiyo approached, slow and deliberate. His fingers trailed along Rantaro’s shoulders, pressing just enough to make him shiver, sliding down the spine in teasing strokes. Each movement was a silent command, coaxing Rantaro to crawl closer without a single word escaping his lips.

“Closer,” Kiyo murmured, the words almost lost to the dim light, “Dont talk.”

Rantaro obeyed, hands pressing into the mattress, shifting himself toward Kiyo with careful, measured movements. Every subtle press of Kiyo’s palm along his back made his chest tighten, his skin flush, and his body instinctively respond, though he dared not make a sound. He felt Kiyo’s weight shift behind him, the press of thighs, the careful guiding of hands along his sides.

Slowly, Rantaro crawled forward, hips pressing into the small friction of Kiyo’s, matching the rhythm of the silent tension. Kiyo’s fingers curled into his hair gently, tilting his head so their eyes met in the mirror across the room. Rantaro’s pulse fluttered at the sight of Kiyo’s calm, commanding gaze, and the heat between them coiled tighter.

“Not a sound,” Kiyo whispered, thumb brushing along the sensitive pulse at Rantaro’s neck. “Let me feel every reaction, nothing more.”

Rantaro’s body quivered, thighs trembling, his chest rising and falling faster than his restraint could hold. He leaned into the touch, silently offering himself to Kiyo, every move an unspoken surrender. Kiyo guided him with deliberate precision, each movement building the pressure, the heat, the ache that pooled low in Rantaro’s stomach.

Every shift, every brush of fingers or thigh, sent small shivers through Rantaro’s body. He trembled under the careful control, the slow crawl that left him utterly exposed, yet safe, in Kiyo’s hands.
Rantaro swallowed hard, biting down on the soft fabric of the pillow beneath him, unable to let even a breath escape too loudly. His body trembled, hips shifting involuntarily as Kiyo’s hands and weight pressed him closer, tighter, each sensation spiraling him further. The quiet intensity was overwhelming—he was acutely aware of every sensation, on the edge of pleasure, feeling the soft stretch that made his body shiver in response.

Kiyo leaned down to press a kiss along Rantaro’s shoulder, a whisper of heat and command. “That’s it… just like that. Perfect, silent...”

Rantaro’s breath hitched—he was right there, trembling between restraint and release. Kiyo’s steady rhythm and voice guided him through it, grounding him in the moment even as the world blurred at the edges. Every nerve was alive, drawn taut with sensation, until the tension broke like a wave—quiet, shuddering, complete.

Kiyo didn’t stop right away. He held him through the tremor, hands firm, reverent, tracing along his ribs until Rantaro’s breathing began to slow. The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it pulsed, filled with warmth and the faint sound of shared breathing.

Rantaro rested against him, pulse hammering, cheeks flushed, overwhelmed and yet utterly content, eyes glassy with something deeper than pleasure. Kiyo brushed a strand of hair away from his face, thumb lingering just long enough to wordlessly say everything that couldn’t be spoken.

In the quiet darkness, with the mirrored reflection of their surrender and control before them, the intimacy of restraint and silent desire lingered, unbroken, perfect.
Rantaro’s body was pressed against Kiyo, warmth spreading from every point they’d touched. He let out a soft, reluctant whine as Kiyo’s fingers trailed down his spine, teasing over the spots that still tingled from their earlier moments.

“What am I, a dog?” Rantaro murmured, voice low, half-laughing, half-groaning as he felt Kiyo’s hands kneading his shoulders.

“Yes,” Kiyo replied, voice calm but edged with something darker, a smirk evident in the tilt of his mouth. His fingers pressed just enough to draw another sharp inhale from Rantaro.

“I mean… you could at least let me lie down properly,” Rantaro muttered, though the heat pooling low in his belly betrayed his words. “Crawling is… cruel.”

“Cruel, yes. But effective,” Kiyo whispered, brushing the tip of his nose along Rantaro’s temple, down to press a light, teasing kiss just below the jaw. The contact made Rantaro shiver.

Rantaro squirmed, hiding his moan against Kiyo’s chest. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” Kiyo murmured, sliding a hand to the small of his back, pulling him closer, “you keep crawling right back.”

Rantaro rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but his fingers dug into Kiyo’s shirt anyway. Every touch of Kiyo’s hands—fingers pressing, teasing, lingering—kept the burn alive between them. The quiet was deceptive: every suppressed gasp and shiver spoke volumes of the pleasure still humming through them.

“Don’t think this lesson is over,” Kiyo said, voice low, the barest teasing smile curving his lips.

Rantaro groaned, pressing his face further into Kiyo, but even in his spent state, he couldn’t help the playful smirk: “You’re lucky I like it… even when you’re this wicked.”

And in the hush of the room, with quiet laughter, lingering touches, and the heat that refused to dissipate, they found that the quiet aftermath could be just as consuming as the chaos before.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere of the room swelled in light pinks and blues, reflecting the low light of the setting sun. A vanilla scented candle burned on the dresser in Kaede’s room, a comforting and grounding scent to Miu, who sat closer than needed to the girl on the bed. Kaede leaned close, her hands brushing along Miu’s sides, deliberate and teasing. Miu’s usual bravado flickered, faltering under the intensity of Kaede’s gaze.

“You’re… really something,” Kaede murmured, lips just grazing Miu’s ear, breath warm and deliberate. “Every little move you make—it’s impossible not to notice.”

Miu’s pulse jumped, a shiver running down her spine. “W-watching me isn’t fair,” she stammered, though her hands instinctively found Kaede’s shoulders, clinging as if for grounding.

Kaede chuckled softly, dark and low. “Fair? Nothing about this is fair.” Her hands slid up, cupping Miu’s cheeks, thumbs brushing along her jawline. “But you love it, don’t you? I see it every time you look at me like that.”

Miu’s lips parted, breath hitching, heart hammering. She wanted to deny it, to claim she wasn’t affected—but the way Kaede’s praise pressed against her mind, warm and inescapable, left her melting.

“Kaede…” Miu whispered, and Kaede seized the sound like permission. Her lips found Miu’s, slow and exploratory at first, pressing until Miu’s knees nearly buckled. The kiss deepened, teasing, claiming, with Kaede’s hands sliding into Miu’s hair, tilting her head just enough to
dominate the angle.

“You taste… perfect,” Kaede murmured against Miu’s lips, pulling back only to trace a line from her jaw down to her neck. “Your lips are just so soft.”

Miu gasped into the kiss, muffled moans spilling between their lips as she pressed closer. “I-I…” she stammered, words lost in the heated haze, hands clutching at Kaede’s back, pulling her tighter. Every brush of her chest against Kaede’s gave her a dizzying warm sensation deep within her.

Kaede’s eyes gleamed, satisfaction and desire mixed in every glance. “That’s it… let me see how good you are at this. How much you love being seen… being praised.” She tugged Miu gently closer, guiding her hands to Kaede’s chest, showing her the subtle power in surrendering.

Miu’s body trembled, cheeks flushed, hair tousled. Every soft gasp and whimper elicited another whispered compliment, each one pushing her closer to dizzying warmth. “You’re so pretty… I could watch you all night,” Kaede breathed, lips brushing against her temple.

The kissing heated, hands roaming along chests as they moved with rhythm. Kaede gave a small smirk as she felt Miu’s breasts, eliciting a small moan gasp from the girl below her. Kaede looked Miu in the eyes for silent permission before continuing. Their gazes met, and Miu gave a small nod, still flustered from the praise and the compliments. Kaede continued with her roaming hands, undoing clasps and slipping off oversized shirts.

Miu’s breathing grew uneven — every inhale shallow, every exhale a soft sound caught between a whimper and a plea. Kaede’s lips traced a slow path down her throat, pausing just long enough to feel the rapid beat beneath her skin.

“Kaede…” Miu whispered, voice trembling. “You’re—hah—you’re being mean…”

Kaede smiled against her skin. “Mean?” she teased, her voice warm and low. “I’m just telling you the truth. You deserve to know how good you make me feel.”

Her hand slid upward again, fingers ghosting over Miu’s ribs before settling with quiet pressure. The touch made Miu’s back arch, her head falling to the side as Kaede kissed along her collarbone — a rhythm building between the two of them, quiet but full of meaning.

“You’re trembling,” Kaede murmured. “Do you like when I talk to you like this?”

Miu nodded wordlessly, her breath catching. Kaede’s smile deepened as she guided Miu’s lips back to hers — slower, heavier, every movement laced with heat.

Each kiss became a little less careful, a little more hungry. The sound of their breathing filled the space between words — soft gasps, bitten-off moans, the faint rustle of fabric shifting against skin.

When Kaede pulled back again, her thumb brushed over the corner of Miu’s mouth, glistening from their shared breath. “You’re so beautiful like this,” she said softly. “So responsive. You have no idea what you do to me.”

Miu’s reply was a shaky laugh, her cheeks burning pink. “You’re gonna kill me if you keep saying stuff like that…”

Kaede leaned close, her lips hovering just beside Miu’s ear. “Then I’ll make sure it’s a slow death,” she whispered, before kissing her again — deeper this time, the kind that left no room for thought, only the warmth of their shared rhythm.

Kaede’s hand drifted lower, her movements careful — asking before taking, guiding before giving. Miu’s body responded instinctively, hips shifting, a quiet gasp catching in her throat.

“Is this okay?” Kaede whispered.

The only answer was a trembling nod and the faintest sound that could barely be called a “yes.”

Kaede’s hands slowed, hovering for a moment, her breath coming in shallow bursts. Miu’s lips parted in anticipation, the smallest sound escaping her throat — something between a plea and a gasp.

Kaede’s fingers moved with a patient rhythm, slow enough to let Miu’s breath sync with the motion. The quiet room filled with the sound of their breathing, the soft rustle of sheets, and Miu’s stuttered sighs that seemed to melt into Kaede’s name.

Each movement built on the last — a spiral of warmth winding tighter, Miu’s body caught between pleasure and disbelief at how good it felt to be seen this way. Kaede whispered little things between each breath: “That’s it… just like that… so good for me…”

That word again — good. It sent a shiver through Miu, pulling another soft sound from her lips as her hands fisted gently in the sheets. Kaede’s voice was a low hum in her ear, each word like a spark.

The room was quiet except for the creak of the bed and the rhythm of their breathing. Miu’s back arched as Kaede’s touch guided her toward that sweet, pulsing edge — not with force, but with reverence. Every whisper was praise, every sigh an answer.

“That’s it,” Kaede coaxed, her lips tracing over Miu’s throat, “you’re beautiful when you let go.”

It didn’t take long before Miu’s hand flew to Kaede’s wrist as the tension snapped all at once. She gasped, half a laugh and half a sob, her eyes fluttering shut as her whole body trembled. The release was intense, spreading a sense of warmth all throughout her body.

Kaede held her through it, murmuring gentle praise — soft words against her ear, grounding her. When the trembling eased, she kissed her temple, the sound tender in the quiet.

“You did so well,” Kaede whispered, brushing strands of hair from Miu’s face.

Miu let out a breathy laugh, voice small but full of warmth. “You—hah—you can’t just say things like that after almost making me explode…”

Kaede let her fingers trail lazily along Miu’s side until they both sank into the sheets, breathing evening out in soft little bursts of laughter.

“You always make everything so dramatic,” Kaede whispered against her cheek.

Miu scoffed, though her voice was small and content. “Tch—like you don’t love it. You’re obsessed with me, admit it.”

Kaede smiled, brushing a thumb over the corner of Miu’s mouth. “Maybe I am. You’re adorable when you get flustered.”

Miu’s pout cracked into a grin. “You just like making me squirm.”

“I like hearing you enjoy yourself,” Kaede said softly. “Every sound you make is perfect.”

For a heartbeat, Miu looked ready to hide her face, but Kaede caught her chin and kissed her again—slow, reassuring.

They stayed close like that, sharing small, breathy laughs that tumbled into quiet kisses. Miu’s usual bluster softened; she traced idle circles on Kaede’s wrist. “You… really mean all that stuff you say?”

“Every word,” Kaede said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re brilliant, gorgeous, and a complete menace—but mine.”

Miu giggled, half-melted into the touch. “You’re lucky I like being called a menace.”

“I know,” Kaede whispered, smiling against her hair. “That’s why I keep doing it.”

Chapter Text

The maid costumes had started as a joke. At least, that’s what Rantaro told himself when he’d ordered them — matching, black and white, frills and all. One fit was tailored small and sleek, the other longer, modest, but no less ridiculous.

“Come on,” he coaxed from the bed, holding out the neatly folded outfit toward Kiyo, who stood half-shadowed by the lamplight. “Halloween party, remember? Just this once.”
Kiyo tilted his head, unmused eyes glinting faintly. “You wish me to wear this?” His tone carried the same academic curiosity he might use for an artifact — as if gauging its cultural significance rather than its lace trim.

Rantaro grinned, a touch too quick. “Well, I already tried mine on,” he said, gesturing toward his own—short, tight, the apron bow tied carelessly behind his back. “It’s only fair.”

For a long moment, Kiyo said nothing. Then, with that quiet, unnerving composure of his, he took the folded uniform and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Rantaro’s words died in his throat. The calm, methodical way Kiyo moved — precise fingers against fabric, bare skin catching the low light — wasn’t supposed to be this distracting.

“Is this… suitable?” Kiyo asked once the uniform was on, adjusting the ruffled cuffs. His long hair brushed the collar, dark against the stark white of the apron. Somehow, he didn’t look embarrassed. He looked… ethereal. Regal.

Rantaro blinked, mouth parting. “You look—” He stopped, laughed weakly. He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not supposed to look good in it.”

“Ah,” Kiyo murmured, faintly amused. “And yet you’re staring.”

Rantaro swallowed hard. “I—uh. Yeah. I guess I am.”

Kiyo didn’t seem bothered by the outfit at all. If anything, he wore it with the same calm dignity he brought to every other aspect of his life — like wearing a frilled maid uniform was no different than donning his usual academic coat.

He had tied the apron neatly, smoothed the skirt, and gone right back to scrolling something on his phone, one hip resting against the arm of the couch.

Rantaro tried not to stare. Tried.

He’d meant to start the coffee pot, maybe take a few photos of them before heading out, but his brain refused to cooperate. Every time he turned around, his gaze found Kiyo again — the quiet precision of his movements, the way the ribbon tie at his collar framed his throat, the sheer contrast of the outfit against his composure.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Kiyo noted without looking up.

Rantaro jumped slightly, nearly dropping the spoon he’d been holding. “Uh—just trying to focus,” he muttered, fumbling to scoop grounds into the machine.
“On what?”

Rantaro swallowed. “...Caffeine.”

Kiyo’s tone softened, that subtle lilt of amusement threading through. “I see.”

The coffee pot hissed to life, filling the air with the smell of roasted beans. Rantaro leaned on the counter, hoping the steam would mask the flush in his cheeks. He risked another glance toward the couch — and, of course, caught Kiyo watching him this time.

There was no judgment in his gaze. Just quiet observation, like he was studying a specimen under glass.

Rantaro’s throat felt dry. “You know,” he managed, “you don’t have to look that good. It’s kind of unfair.”

Kiyo tilted his head, considering. “You were the one who suggested this attire.”

“Yeah, well…” Rantaro exhaled a shaky laugh. “I didn’t think you’d make it work.”

“Hmm.” Kiyo turned his attention back to his phone. “Perhaps you should’ve considered the consequences of your own experiment.”

Rantaro choked on air. “Experiment?”

“Cause and effect,” Kiyo replied evenly. “You initiated a variable. You’re now responding to the outcome.”

The grin that tugged at Rantaro’s lips was helpless. “God, you’re unbelievable.”

“On the contrary,” Kiyo murmured, finally setting his phone aside. “You appear quite convinced.”

Rantaro started toward him, trying for casual, though it was a losing battle.

“Okay, fine,” he said, voice a little rougher than he meant it to be. “You win your little cause-and-effect thing.”

Kiyo’s eyes flicked up again, assessing him like he might test the statement for truth.

“Is that an admission of defeat?”

“Not defeat,” Rantaro said, stopping in front of him. “Just—me acknowledging that you in that outfit is… dangerous.”

For the first time, Kiyo actually smiled, small and sharp. “Dangerous? Because I’ve challenged your focus?”

“Because you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

A low hum escaped Kiyo as he set his phone aside completely. “I think you overestimate my ignorance.”

He stood, a fraction too close, the faint rustle of lace and fabric filling the small space between them. “I’m quite aware of how you look at me, love.”

Rantaro’s breath caught. His hands moved before thought caught up, sliding to Kiyo’s waist — light, testing, like he might be touching something breakable.
“And you’re still going to stand there acting like this is a normal evening?”

Kiyo inclined his head, unruffled. “Would you prefer I panic?”

Rantaro laughed under his breath, low and strained. “You’re impossible.”

“Then stop fighting the inevitable,” Kiyo replied simply.

The words landed like a quiet challenge. Rantaro hesitated a heartbeat too long, then leaned in. The kiss started careful, almost experimental — soft contact that turned immediately to heat when Kiyo didn’t pull away.

Kiyo’s gloved fingers found Rantaro’s collar, holding him steady while the kiss deepened, patient and unhurried. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with something sharper — adrenaline, anticipation, the quiet realization that neither of them was going to make it out the door any time soon.

When they finally broke apart, Rantaro’s voice was a whisper against his skin. “We’re definitely going to be late.”

Kiyo’s response was a soft, amused exhale. “Then it seems your hypothesis was correct.”

Rantaro’s lips curved into a grin that was equal parts teasing and reverent. “You know… I think this is the first time I’ve seen you lose your cool, even a little.”

Kiyo’s eyes narrowed, though there was no malice behind it — only a glint of restrained fire. “You assume I’ve lost anything. Perhaps I’m simply… choosing not to maintain control.”

“Uh-huh,” Rantaro said, tone dripping disbelief, though the words caught slightly in his throat when Kiyo’s hand slipped from his collar to his jaw. The touch wasn’t rough, but it held weight — a reminder of the quiet power he usually kept leashed.

“Your tendency to provoke me,” Kiyo murmured, “is beginning to have predictable results.”

Before Rantaro could reply, Kiyo moved. It was fluid, effortless — a single motion that left Rantaro briefly breathless as the world tilted and his feet left the floor.

“Kiyo—!” he started, startled laughter spilling from him as he found himself slung over a shoulder, steady hands bracing him by the thighs.

“Ah, so this does fluster you,” Kiyo observed, voice maddeningly calm despite the heat in his tone. “Interesting data.”

“Put me down,” Rantaro said, though the words lacked conviction.

“Soon,” Kiyo replied. “But not here. You’ll wrinkle your skirt, and I suspect we’d both prefer to… preserve the aesthetic.”

Rantaro made a strangled noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “You’re still thinking about the costumes?”

“I find value in keeping things intact,” Kiyo said as he crossed the threshold into the bedroom. “But you, Rantaro, seem determined to destroy restraint itself.”

He set him down on the bed with an elegance that made the act feel ceremonial — almost reverent. Kiyo stood for a moment at the edge of the mattress, looking down, his breath visibly steadying itself even as his composure continued to erode.

Rantaro propped himself up on his elbows, eyes glinting with challenge. “You talk a lot for someone trying not to lose control.”

Kiyo leaned in, one hand pressing into the mattress beside him. “Then by all means,” he said softly, a rare, wicked undertone curling through his words, “take control. Show me what it is you think I’m resisting.”

That was all the permission Rantaro needed — his hands moved with intent, guiding Kiyo down onto the sheets. The air between them shifted from playful to electric in a single heartbeat, every brush of fabric and shared breath charged with something wordless, something about to break open.

Rantaro climbed over him slowly, as if savoring the rare sight of Korekiyo beneath him — composed as ever, yet unable to mask the faint tremor in his breath. The pale fabric of his maid outfit contrasted sharply against the dark sheets, ribbons askew, collar loosened.

“You look ridiculous,” Rantaro whispered, though the tremor in his voice made the tease sound almost reverent.

“And yet you’re staring,” Kiyo murmured, tilting his head just enough to meet his gaze. His voice carried that same dark warmth — part taunt, part invitation. “You lie.”

Rantaro leaned down, close enough that his hair brushed against Kiyo’s cheek. “I can’t help it. You’re—” He paused, words slipping away, replaced by a grin. “—unexpectedly distracting.”
Kiyo’s hands, still gloved, trailed up Rantaro’s thighs, the touch deliberate, measured. “You flatter too easily.”

“Maybe,” Rantaro said, breath catching as he shifted, straddling him fully. His skirt fell forward, soft fabric brushing over Kiyo’s stomach. “But right now, I think you deserve it.”

That earned him a quiet sound — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Deserve,” Kiyo echoed, his tone unsteady for the first time. “An interesting word.”

Rantaro leaned in again, pressing their foreheads together. “You’ve earned it,” he said simply.

For a moment, neither moved — the air between them taut, fragile. Then Rantaro tilted forward and caught Kiyo’s mouth with his, slow at first, exploratory. The first kiss was almost polite — too careful,
too measured — until Kiyo responded. His gloved fingers rose to the back of Rantaro’s neck, guiding him closer, deepening the kiss with quiet insistence.

It built quickly from there, all breath and friction — Rantaro’s hands in Kiyo’s hair, Kiyo’s composure unraveling under the drag of Rantaro’s lips and teeth. The faint smudge of Rantaro’s vanilla chapstick streaked against Kiyo’s mouth, a faint, glossy mark of surrender.

Their breaths tangled — one drawing in as the other exhaled — until even the act of breathing felt shared. Rantaro’s hips shifted unconsciously, the lace of his skirt brushing against Kiyo’s thighs as he pressed closer, chasing the heat between them.

Kiyo caught his lower lip between his teeth for a heartbeat, drawing a quiet gasp from Rantaro that seemed to hang in the air like static.

When Rantaro pulled back, his lips were flushed and damp, his voice rough. “You kiss like you’re studying me.”

“I am,” Kiyo murmured, fingers ghosting along his jaw. “And I haven’t finished.”

Rantaro’s answering smile was breathless — half challenge, half surrender — before he leaned back in, and the room filled again with the sound of their restraint beginning to break.

He reached for the bottle beside the bed, a quiet familiarity in every movement. The soft sound of it opening broke the silence for just a moment. When he turned back onto his side, his focus narrowed — careful, practiced, almost ritualistic. Every breath came slower, deeper, his body adjusting to his own pace. It wasn’t hurried or shy; it was deliberate, controlled — the kind of ease that came from knowing himself too well.

Kiyo could only watch, spellbound. Theyve done this a million times before, this was nothing foreign. There was something mesmerizing about how unselfconscious Rantaro was during this, how his precision felt both intimate and clinical, as if every motion were its own quiet study in sensation.

Before Kiyo could take another breath, he felt the familiar action of Rantaro sinking down onto him. He gasped at the sensation but watched Rantaros eyes as they became glassy, fluttering and rolling up as he tried to remain composed. The heat and need of the moment made this act feel quicker than it usually does, settling around the boy on top with ease.

The frills of the skirts covered both of them, Kiyos moved up his torso for access and Rantaros costume sticking to him as it became more slick with sweat.

Rantaro tried to keep steady, but the effort unraveled quickly. His breath hitched, breaking into shallow gasps that seemed to echo in the close air. His hands trembled where they gripped Kiyo’s shoulders, fingers tightening as if anchoring himself. Each movement drew another sound from him—quiet, desperate, barely stifled—as the rhythm carried him past thought.

Color rose in his cheeks, sweat catching the light along his throat. His composure dissolved completely, leaving him moving on instinct alone, following every shift of heat and friction with unguarded abandon. Kiyo watched, transfixed, as Rantaro’s expression softened into something raw—his restraint slipping, his pleasure unhidden.

The noises coming out of the boy above him were nothing less than sinful. Moaning, whimpering, any utteration of words dissolving into pleasured nonsense as his hips moved and Kiyo thrust into him, delivering dizzying blow to the boy's prostate. Kiyo loved watching the glazed look in Rantaros eyes as his motives shifted from pleasure to hysterical need, losing all composure in the process.

“God—please—baby—!” The words fell apart between gasps, the only sounds Rantaro could find as Kiyo’s rhythm drove the air from his lungs. The endearment slipped out unplanned, soft but weighted, cutting through the heat like a heartbeat.

Kiyo could only feel him—how tight his body was, how he trembled with each motion, how the boy’s voice wavered between breathless whimpers. In the low light, Rantaro looked almost unreal, the sheen of sweat turning him luminous. Desire stripped them both of reason until there was nothing left but instinct and need.

The movements quickened, desperate. Tears streaked Rantaro’s flushed cheeks as he clung to Kiyo’s uniform, knuckles white from the effort. His hips faltered, chasing the edge with a trembling rhythm.
Without thinking, Kiyo grabbed Rantaro by the collar and pulled him down into a bruising kiss. Rantaro whimpered against his mouth, heat spilling between them as his body shook with release beneath the costume’s skirt.

Kiyo’s hands stayed firm on his hips—steady, grounding—even as his own composure began to crumble. The calm he usually held slipped into something rawer. His eyes fluttered open only when Rantaro shifted, drawing a low, sharp sound from his throat that he couldn’t contain. He kept moving, guiding Rantaro through the aftershocks, edging on overstimulation.

Rantaro smiled faintly at that, eyes half lidded, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses against Kiyo’s throat. “There it is,” he whispered, voice husky with pride. “You’re beautiful when you let go.”
Kiyo’s breath stuttered, one hand coming up to cup the back of Rantaro’s neck, holding him there as though anchoring himself. His composure slipped entirely — head tilting back, words breaking into quiet, reverent fragments.

Rantaro’s rhythm grew unsteady as the moment crested — the kind of intensity that blurred into something tender, something grounding. When it finally broke, it wasn’t loud; it was quiet and breathless and full of shared relief.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The air hummed with the sound of soft breathing, fabric brushing skin, heartbeats slowing in sync.

Then, Kiyo’s voice — quiet but steady again. “We have, it seems… wrinkled the uniforms.”

Rantaro laughed, low and breathless, pressing his forehead against Kiyo’s chest. “Yeah,” he said, smiling into the fabric. “Worth it, though.”

Kiyo’s hand rose to rest on the back of his head, thumb tracing gentle circles. “Yes,” he agreed softly. “Empirically.”

Chapter Text

There was something different about Kokichi today—something subtle, but sharp enough for Shuichi to notice before breakfast had even finished.

The day had begun like normal: Kokichi trailing him into the shower with a sleepy grin, wrapping around him like a vine, warm and clingy. They’d dried off, crawled back into bed for a while, exchanged lazy kisses, even laughed. But even then, something had felt… muted.

Quieter than usual.

No jokes. No dramatic declarations. No relentless teasing.

Now, in the hush of the late afternoon, Shuichi sat across the room watching Kokichi curled up on the couch, book in hand, the soft halo of light catching in his violet eyes. He looked calm.
Too calm. Like a version of himself stripped of all the usual bravado and noise.

It unsettled Shuichi more than he wanted to admit.

He rose slowly, moving across the room and sitting beside Kokichi with careful intent, like he might spook him if he wasn’t gentle enough. Kokichi barely looked up—just a brief glance, their eyes meeting for a flicker of a second—before returning to his book.

“Yes?” Kokichi asked quietly, voice even, unreadable.

Shuichi hesitated. “Are you okay? You seem… off today.”

At that, Kokichi looked up fully, eyebrows pulling together slightly in confusion—or something close to it. “Yes, beloved. Why wouldn’t I be?”

But he didn’t move toward him. Didn’t lean in, didn’t reach out. He stayed exactly where he was, still and composed.

Shuichi frowned. That gnawing feeling in his gut turned a little sharper. “You just seem… different. Distant.”

Kokichi tilted his head, setting the book gently aside. “Different, huh?” A pause, then, a soft sigh—exasperated, maybe, but not in a cruel way. “God, you really don’t get it.”

Shuichi blinked. “Get what?”

Kokichi leaned his head back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking over at him with eyes that were suddenly far too sincere for his own comfort.

“Do you know how exhausting it is to always be the one taking the lead? Always the one pushing buttons, creating the chaos, carrying all the energy? Sometimes I just…” His voice dropped. “I just want you to take over.”

Shuichi stared at him, caught somewhere between relief and embarrassment.
“Oh.”

Kokichi gave him a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. Oh. Not everything has to be a breakdown or a disaster, Shumai.” His tone softened again. “Sometimes I just want to be quiet. Still. Yours.”

Shuichi's breath hitched a little at that, the meaning finally starting to settle in his chest.

“You could’ve just said that,” he muttered, cheeks pink.

Kokichi shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”

For the first time that day, a flicker of mischief sparked in his eyes.

But underneath it—something real. Something raw. A need he wasn’t good at asking for, even now.

Shuichi moved closer, his hand brushing Kokichi’s knee—slow, intentional.

“Then maybe,” he said, voice low, “you should put the book down.”

Kokichi looked at him, eyes narrowing, lips twitching into something far too pleased.

“Well, well…” he murmured. “Maybe you’re not so hopeless after all.”

Kokichi was practically burning beneath him now—his skin flushed, chest rising and falling in shallow waves, lips parted but silent. Shuichi took in the sight with a kind of focused hunger, the kind that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with knowing him—how he worked, where he’d built his walls, and how to pull them down brick by brick.

“You’re quiet,” Shuichi said, brushing his fingers across Kokichi’s bare chest, dragging them deliberately down the centerline. “That’s rare.”

Kokichi glanced away, jaw tight, like he was trying to pretend this didn’t affect him. But it did. His body betrayed him in all the ways his voice couldn’t. His hips had started to shift up subtly, seeking more pressure. His throat bobbed every time Shuichi so much as breathed against his skin.

“I like you like this,” Shuichi whispered, and it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t mocking. Just quiet, terrifying honesty. “Not because you’re weak. But because you trust me enough not to fight back.”

Kokichi’s breath caught at that.

And that was the difference between them: Shuichi didn’t need to raise his voice to be commanding. He didn’t need force. He needed clarity. He needed intent. And right now, every movement and word, was intentional—crafted like evidence placed with care at a crime scene.

He leaned in again, lips brushing the shell of Kokichi’s ear, and murmured: “Take your pants off.”

Kokichi hesitated.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he did—and that scared him more than anything.

“You said you wanted this,” Shuichi said, tilting his head, voice deceptively calm. “You wanted me to take control. So don’t make me ask twice.”

Kokichi’s hands trembled slightly as they moved to undo the button, and Shuichi didn’t miss that. He let him struggle with the zipper, deliberately staying still, watching as Kokichi squirmed beneath his gaze—not from shame, but from exposure. From finally being seen, truly seen, and not being the one orchestrating the scene for once.

Once the fabric was gone, Shuichi gave him a once-over—slow, appreciative, like Kokichi was something rare and precious, laid bare not just physically, but emotionally.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he said. He truly meant it. Kokichi stared up at him with submissive eyes, large and full of anticipation.

Kokichi let out a short laugh—nervous, unguarded. “You’re seriously turning into the bold one, huh?”

Kokichi drew in a sharp breath, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to steady something deep inside himself. Shuichi stayed close, close enough that Kokichi could feel every exhale against his neck, every heartbeat syncing with his own.

“Hey,” Shuichi murmured, his voice softer now. “Look at me.”

It took a moment, but Kokichi did. His violet eyes were glassy, caught somewhere between defiance and surrender — the part of him that still wanted to play tugging against the part that wanted to be known.

“You trust me?” Shuichi asked.

A small nod. Almost too small to catch.

“That’s all I need,” Shuichi whispered.

The air between them shifted again — slow, deliberate, reverent. Every movement Shuichi made was measured, designed to ground rather than overwhelm. His hands traced Kokichi’s sides, lingering at his waist, coaxing tension out of him with nothing more than patience. Kokichi’s breath hitched each time, his body gradually softening under the weight of quiet
reassurance.

Shuichi reached for the lube in the coffee-table drawer, careful not to keep his lover waiting beneath him. Kokichi propped himself up on his elbows, watching as Shuichi rummaged through the drawer, the faint clatter of shifting items filling the quiet room.

When Shuichi retrieved a second item, Kokichi’s curiosity sharpened. His mind spun with possibilities as his gaze caught the familiar shape — the small purple toy they’d used before, never inside Kokichi, though. If he was honest, he’d nearly forgotten it was still in that drawer.

Shuichi held it out, pausing long enough to catch Kokichi’s eyes.

“Can I?” he asked softly, watching every flicker of reaction.

A deep blush spread across Kokichi’s face, his pulse jumping. Then he nodded, eager and unguarded, the meaning sinking in completely.

Shuichis smile was wicked underneath the sweet facade, lubing up his slender fingers and entering one into the boy below him. It doesnt take long for him to place the second finger in, then a third. Kokichi whimpered with each pump of his fingers. The fingers inside of him shift, deeper than before, causing Kokichi to let out a dry sob as he squirms, watching Shuichi reverently.

A whine escapes Kokichi as the fingers are removed, the sudden emptiness becoming the only feeling. However, it did not last long, as Shuichi placed a warm hand on Kokichis leg, holding it up as he inserted the toy slowly but devastatingly deep. Kokichi looked wrecked, hand immediately flying to hold Shuichis hand controlling the toy, coaxing it in and out. His hips moved, feeling the mixture of pleasure-pain deep within him. Shuichi could watch the way Kokichis face turned as the toy shifted back and forth in devastating rhythm.

The noises Kokichi uttered were simply pathetic. He whined, his eyes fluttered and rolled back, too filled to be his regularly bratty self. In a way, Shuichi felt proud to finally silence the boys brattiness and make him sound so helpless.

“I-I w-want yo-u pl-please, Shu, pl-ease.” He whimpered, stuttering into pants and whines that almost sent Shuichi over the edge. Hearing please is not something Shuichi is used to, let alone having the boy beg and tell him what he wants. Shuichi must have looked downright predatory as he pulled the toy out of Kokichi, earning a frustrated whine.

“Turn over.” Shuichi commanded. Kokichi quickly rose to turn over, but not before pulling Shuichi down by the collar to give him a bruising kiss. Shuichi melted into it, placing his hand on the back of Kokichis head to pull him closer, one hand keeping both of them up. Kokichi gave him a deep look of vulnerability, trust, and overwhelming anticipation before turning over and pressing his chest to the couch.

The way Kokichi arched always drove Shuichi insane. He was so small, but so flexible, absolutely perfect and submissive in every sense. His mind is blurred with lust, heart beating in his ears. Kokichis thighs shook as the toy enters back into him, a sharp cry escaping his lips as he is suddenly filled. Shuichi waits a moment before rocking the toy back and forth gently.

“B-both,” Kokichi whimpers into the couch, hands gripping tight against the cushions, “I can ta-ake it.”

Shuichis mind was practically short circuiting. He complied, spreading lube against himself and choking back moans as he pressed himself against Kokichi and the silicone toy. Shuichi hissed as Kokichi and the toy became unbearably tight around him, heat shooting through his
entire body.

Shuichi only held still, allowing Kokichi the time to adjust. His hands gripped the toy tightly as his palms began to sweat. Kokichi moved his hips back impatiently, practically crying as his neediness for movement showed.

Kokichi’s back arched when Shuichi shifted his weight, the movement slow but unrelenting. The stretch made him gasp — half-pleasure, half-overload — his fingers flexing against the couch like he didn’t know whether to hold on or push away.

“Too much?” Shuichi’s voice was low, careful.

Kokichi shook his head, though his breath caught again before he could speak. “No,” he rasped. “Don’t stop.”

Shuichi didn’t. He stayed close enough that Kokichi could feel every tremor in his voice when he murmured, “You’re doing perfect.”

When the first ripple of sensation came, it wasn’t sharp — it was deep. Expansive. The kind that made Kokichi’s breath stutter, his fingers clutching instinctively at the cushions as he tried to process what his body was telling him. Shuichi’s voice was there, steady as ever, guiding him through it.

“Breathe,” he said softly. “You’re doing so good.” He tried to hide the tremor in his own voice, the heat becoming unbearable as he pressed into Kokichis prostate.

Kokichi’s lips parted — no words, just sound. Choked, broken noises that carried more meaning than language could hold. His eyes fluttered open briefly, glassy and unfocused, before squeezing shut again as another wave rolled through him.

Shuichi’s rhythm grew firmer, determined by the whimpering sounds of his partners pleasure and indulgence.

His delirious speech dissolved into incoherence as Shuichi quickened, his thrusts growing rougher and more desperate. Feeling close, Shuichi angled himself just right — pushing the toy deeper as he drove into Kokichi with practiced precision.

Kokichi’s whole body shook, mouth open in a silent scream, fingers curling into the cushions as if they could ground him against the mind-bending pleasure coursing through him. The firmness of the toy finding its mark, the fullness of everything — it was too much, and Kokichi broke with a sharp cry as release overtook him, his body tensing in waves.

Shuichi moved with him, every motion calibrated to comfort, to soothe, to guide. The grip around Kokichi’s hips tightened, the toy set aside for the last few ragged thrusts before he released inside him. His hips stuttered sporadically, jolting and shaking as he came down from the high of composure.

The rest came in silence — only the sound of their breath, their hearts, and the faint, tremulous sigh of someone finally allowing themselves to be seen.

Kokichi stayed folded against him, their breathing uneven and tangled. The room was dim except for the faint glow from the television — colors flickering across the coffee table, the scattered clothes, the sheen of sweat still cooling on their skin.

Shuichi’s hand moved automatically, steady and gentle, tracing slow circles over Kokichi’s back. The motion wasn’t meant to soothe so much as to remind — that he was here, that it was over, that everything was alright.

Neither spoke for a while. Words would have broken something sacred in the silence between them.

When Kokichi finally stirred, it wasn’t to speak — just to turn and press closer, the side of his face finding its place against Shuichi’s neck. The shift drew a soft sound from both of them, equal parts ache and relief.

“You okay?” Shuichi asked quietly.

Kokichi nodded, his voice muffled against Shuichi’s skin. “Yeah. I’m just… full of everything right now.”

That earned a breath of laughter — not sharp, but warm and shaken. Shuichi tilted his head and pressed a kiss into Kokichi’s hair. “Good. Just breathe for a bit, okay? I’ve got you.”

The quiet stretched again, but it wasn’t heavy. It was full — with the weight of trust, of heartbeat against heartbeat, of two people who’d let themselves fall all the way apart and somehow found safety in the space between.

Chapter Text

The lab smelled faintly of solder and sugar.

Miu was crouched over Kiibo’s open maintenance panel with a soldering iron in one hand and a dangerously smug grin on her face.

“There,” she said, flicking her goggles up onto her forehead. “All done! You are now the proud owner of the world’s first pleasure sensor!”

Kiibo froze. His optical sensors blinked twice.
“I… beg your pardon?”

Miu rocked back on her heels, grinning like she’d just broken a world record. “You heard me, Robo-boy. Pleasure. Sensor. It’s cutting-edge research! Tracks emotional responsiveness, warmth detection, empathy feedback— all the squishy human stuff you’re always whining about learning.”

Kiibo tilted his head, servos whirring. “Then… why call it that? That term has… misleading implications.”

“Oh, don’t get your antennae in a twist.” Miu snorted, waving a hand dismissively. “Marketing, Kiibo. No one clicks on ‘empathy feedback sensor.’ You gotta sell it.”

He folded his arms, pouting slightly. “I’m not a product, Miu. I’m a person.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep— er, recharge at night.” She tapped his chestplate with the end of a screwdriver, eyes glittering with mischief. “Anyway, we should probably test it.”

Kiibo stiffened. “Test it? On— on me?”

“Well, duh! You think I installed it on the workbench?” Miu crossed her arms. “Come on, let’s see what makes it tick. I need data.”

He hesitated, processors whirring audibly. “What… sort of data?”

Miu leaned in close enough that he could see his reflection in her goggles. “Emotional response data,” she whispered dramatically. “Like when someone compliments you… or, say, gets a little too close.”

Kiibo’s internal fans kicked on. “Miu— please maintain— proper distance—!”

“Oh my god, you’re actually blushing! Well, overheating, same thing.” She laughed so hard she nearly dropped the screwdriver, wiping a tear from her eye. “It works better than I thought!”

“I— I don’t think this counts as a scientific trial,” Kiibo said stiffly. “You’re deliberately manipulating my emotional output.”

“Exactly,” she said with a wink. “That’s the whole point. You’re learning to recognize emotional overstimulation. Boom— experiment complete!”

Kiibo’s expression softened into something that might have been exasperated affection. “You could have just explained that instead of frightening me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Miu grinned, patting his shoulder. “Besides, you looked cute when your cooling fans kicked in.”

He groaned, but a faint smile flickered across his faceplates. “You are impossible.”

“And you love it, Tin Can.”

She tossed the screwdriver aside and stretched, already thinking about her next project. “Now, let’s log that data before you melt your motherboard from embarrassment.”

When Miu hit “activate,” the new program purred to life—and Kiibo’s eyes flashed a shade brighter than usual.

“Calibration complete,” he announced in a strangely confident voice.

“Uh-oh,” Miu muttered. “That’s not the tone I coded for.”

Kiibo stepped forward, posture suddenly straight and purposeful. “Miu Iruma,” he said evenly, “you have been working too hard. Please sit down.”

“What? No way, I—”

Before she could finish, he was already pulling over a chair, completely earnest. “As your assistant, it is my duty to make sure you rest. You will comply for your own well-being.”

Miu blinked at him, baffled. “Wait, are you… ordering me?”

“Yes,” Kiibo said, entirely serious. “Please comply.”

For a long moment she just stared—and then burst out laughing so hard she had to lean on the desk. “Oh my god, I turned you into a bossy caretaker bot! This is priceless!”

Kiibo’s expression faltered into confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s perfect,” she wheezed. “Keep that code running, we might have discovered your alpha version!”

He frowned faintly. “I do not understand. Am I… ‘alpha’ now?”

“Apparently!” Miu wiped her eyes, still laughing. “Guess I’m the one taking orders for once.”

Kiibo processed that for a moment, then softened. “Then… may I at least request that you drink some water, Miss Miu?”

She snorted. “Fine, fine. But only because you asked nicely, you dork.” She grabbed the water bottle next to her on the desk, and took a swig before laughing again.

Kiibo froze mid-command when Miu finally stopped laughing. The air between them shifted, the ridiculousness of the moment melting into something quieter.

Hey,” she said, looking up at him with a grin that didn’t quite hide the warmth in her cheeks, “you’re actually kind of cute when you boss me around like that.”

Kiibo’s expression flickered, his voice softening. “You think so? I was only following the new directive.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Miu said, waving her hand, but she didn’t back away. “Still… kinda impressive for a robot. Didn’t think you had that kind of confidence hidden under all that chrome.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Confidence is… easier when you give clear instructions.”

That made her laugh again, but this time it came out quieter, more breath than sound. They were standing close enough now that she could see the faint reflection of herself in his
polished face. “Maybe I should give clearer instructions more often,” she said, voice dropping.

Kiibo blinked, processors whirring audibly. “I— I would appreciate that.”

For a second, neither moved. Then Miu stood and sauntered over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She looked down at him, hesitating only long enough to see him meet her halfway. His movements were careful, reverent, as if he were afraid of breaking something fragile.

The kiss was surprisingly soft. Awkward at first — Miu’s hand bumping against the side of his faceplate — but it deepened into something real, human and electric despite the cool metal beneath her palm.

When she finally pulled back, both of them looked a little dazed.

“Guess that new code does more than you planned,” Kiibo murmured, his voice low and a little unsteady.

Miu smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your motherboard.” She paused, glancing away for a heartbeat. “But… maybe don’t delete it either.”

Kiibo’s eyes brightened. “Understood.”

The mood in the workshop changed almost imperceptibly — one moment Miu was laughing, waving her wrench around, the next her teasing words hung in the air a little too long. She remained touching his shoulders, his hands raised to plant firmly on her waist.

“Careful, tin man,” she said, half-smirking. “If you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you actually mean it.”

Kiibo’s expression didn’t shift. His voice was calm, deliberate. “What if I do mean it?”

The sound of the small cooling fan inside him was the only thing that broke the silence. Miu froze, blinking at him like he’d just short-circuited her brain.

“Wh-what?”

Kiibo let go of her waist, the mechanical precision of his movements replaced by something startlingly gentle. He sank to his knees in front of her, head tilted up slightly, eyes glowing faintly beneath the fringe of silver hair.

“I was designed to serve humanity,” he said quietly, “but right now… I want to serve you. Not because of programming. Because I choose to.”

Miu’s grin faltered — not from discomfort, but from how suddenly the air thickened with sincerity. She opened her mouth to make some sarcastic remark, but nothing came out.

Kiibo looked up at her, voice soft but steady. “Tell me what you need, Miu. Anything. I’m yours to command.”

The words hit her harder than she wanted to admit. All her jokes and bravado caught in her throat, replaced by something warmer, heavier.

“D-don’t say stuff like that,” she managed, trying for a smirk. “You’ll short out my heart or something.”

Kiibo smiled — a rare, quiet smile that reached his eyes. “Then I’ll be careful. You’re irreplaceable, after all.”

Miu huffed, cheeks pink, and finally stepped closer, pressing a hand to the back of his neck. “You really don’t know what you do to me, huh?”

“I’m learning,” he said simply.

Kiibo remained on his knees, the faint hum of his servos barely audible beneath the weight of the silence. His gaze lifted to hers, steady and unflinching, and he spoke with a calm authority that made Miu’s chest tighten.

“Come closer,” he commanded, voice low, deliberate.

Miu’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Her usual bravado faltered under that look —
calm, certain, almost magnetic. They were already so close. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward, each movement slow and measured, like she was being drawn by some invisible tether.

She stopped right in front of him. His hands rose, resting gently against her thighs. The touch wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to make her knees wobble and a shiver run down her spine.

The anticipation in her chest coiled tighter, and every instinct screamed to retreat — yet she stayed, rooted, caught in the gravity of his presence.

Kiibo’s eyes never left hers. “Stay,” he said simply. His hands held her lightly, yet the weight of the command made it impossible to resist. Miu’s breath caught, the quiet of the room amplifying the sound of her pulse.

Her mind went hazy, a mix of nervous thrill and surrender, and for the first time that day, she felt entirely at his mercy. Yet, even in that moment, it wasn’t fear. It was trust — a taut, shimmering trust that made her knees shake and her hands curl instinctively at her sides.

“You’re exactly where I want you,” Kiibo murmured, voice almost reverent, as he guided her into that suspended moment of anticipation, every second a slow burn before what might come next.

She could feel the heat between them, her own pulse loud in her ears, and the weight of his gaze pressed in a way that made her feel simultaneously seen and small. The playful banter from before had vanished, replaced by something heavier, hungrier, yet still under the safety of trust.

Miu shivered as Kiibo shifted slightly on his knees, hands brushing higher up her legs, drawing in a sharp breath. “Stay with me, Miu,” he said, voice low, almost reverent. “I’m yours. Fully. For whatever you need… whatever you want.”

Her heart hammered at the words. She leaned in instinctively, drawn to him, the space between them charged with possibility. Every inch she moved closer was met with steady, deliberate hands, guiding, holding, but never forcing. And in that suspended moment, the room seemed to shrink, the hum of the world fading, leaving only them and the electric anticipation of what was about to happen.

His hands slid slightly along her thighs, guiding without pushing, anchoring her while making her pulse spike.

Her breaths came faster, shallow and uneven, and her body tingled with the tension of being fully seen—fully wanted. There was no teasing now, no playful quips. Just the quiet, consuming weight of Kiibo’s presence and the sense that he was entirely hers, in both mind and intention.

She froze for a heartbeat under his command, then gave in, letting herself move forward. The small shift sent a shiver through her, every nerve alight as his hands steadied her. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice husky with something uncharacteristically deep. “Right here… right where you belong.”

Even in the quiet, the intensity built, like the moment stretched taut between them, waiting for the next move. Her heartbeat, his steady insistence, the small, deliberate pressures of his hands—it all combined into a singular, suspended moment of anticipation, perfectly poised between control and surrender.

Finally, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against her inner thigh in a feather-light, suggestive kiss, grounding yet electrifying. The touch was enough to send heat pooling low in her belly, enough to make her ache and crave the next step without a single word spoken.

Kiibo’s hands remained firm on her thighs, the strength beneath the synthetic skin surprising in its precision. Miu could feel the subtle give of his body beneath her touch—silicone warmth that mimicked real softness, pliant yet purposeful. There was a strange allure in the artificial perfection, the way every curve and contour seemed calibrated for her, every subtle movement exactly right.

Miu’s fingers brushed along his hands, marveling at the smoothness, the pliancy that was so lifelike yet undeniably constructed. Every subtle press and shift sent tiny shocks of sensation through her, the illusion of intimacy blending with the reality of control. She found herself leaning into him, drawn by the way his presence guided her without ever forcing her—entirely mechanical, yet intensely personal.

“Don’t hesitate,” Kiibo whispered, tilting his head slightly. “Closer. Trust me.” His hands pressed just enough to remind her of the tether between them—authority, consent, and undeniable desire rolled into one.

Miu’s heartbeat thundered, the combination of synthetic warmth, precise control, and whispered command leaving her suspended in a haze of anticipation. She was poised, ready, completely at his mercy—yet safe, adored, and thoroughly captivated by the careful orchestration of the moment.

The air seemed to thicken around the two, breathing rising and falling with excitement. Mius stomach did flips as she felt the thin waistband of her panties inch down to her ankles. She was truly soaked, embarrassingly so, but she didnt have much time to think before lust clouded her judgement. Kiibo gave her one more obedient look, hands still gently placed on her thighs, getting dangerously close to the heat of it all.

With a small nod, he leaned forward, dragging his tongue across her, brushing her clit ever so briefly. A silent moan escaped her lips, her thoughts scattering as her body instinctively moved into him, pressing closer.

His tongue had the cool, smooth feel of silicone—artificial, but designed to satisfy. It wasn’t foreign to her; she had grown accustomed to this precise imitation of intimacy. She shifted her hips further, allowing him deeper access, fingers tangling in his hair to anchor herself. He continued, teasing and licking, and she tightened her hold, a shiver running through her as the moment’s lewdness struck her full force.

Her legs trembled from both exertion and desire. Eyes closed, she began rocking against him, each motion deliberate, fingers clinging to his hair for grounding. He bobbed his head eagerly, punctuating each movement with tiny, teasing kisses, and she jerked at every flick of his tongue.

The gasps and moans spilling from her grew louder, desperate and uncontrolled. He added a cold, metallic finger, sliding it inside her, and she gasped again, shivering from the unexpected intrusion. He waited a beat, then added a second finger, careful yet insistent, guiding her toward the cresting waves of pleasure building within her.

Her legs ached, threatening to give out entirely, yet she kept moving, grinding against him with wild intensity. Each motion made him respond in kind, fingers moving expertly, tongue circling and flattening against her clit, coaxing her higher, deeper. Her thighs locked, pelvis rocking with abandon, riding him with a desperation that left her dizzy and trembling.

With each passing motion, her clit began to throb, feeling the waves of pleasure crashing into her, threatening release. She grinded her pelvis onto his mouth, her thighs locking up, riding his face with a wild kind of intensity she didn’t know she was capable of. It felt like Kiibo was hitting nothing but the right spot, fingers dutifully moving inside of her, adding to the sensation of euphoria.

A strangled cry tore from her as she finally released, her body quaking, hips tightening around him, hands clutching his hair for stability. Her wail of pleasure echoed in the quiet room, and he held her steady, letting the waves wash over her as her muscles slowly relaxed.

Even as the tremors subsided, he continued to lap gently, savoring her aftershocks, attentive to the sounds of her quiet, ragged whimpers. When he finally pulled back, her legs gave way entirely, and he caught her, lowering her onto the surface beneath them with careful hands.
She gazed at him, chest heaving, taking in the glistening evidence of her release across his face. He smiled warmly, almost as if it were nothing more than a favor, cooling fans whirring softly as heat radiated from his body—not just from the friction, but from the intensity of the moment itself.

Miu’s body finally relaxed against him, but her chest heaved with quiet, shaky breaths. Then, unexpectedly, tears spilled down her cheeks.

Kiibo froze, panicked, hands hovering over her as if he could somehow erase the tears. “Miu! Did I—did I hurt you?” His voice trembled with fear, eyes wide and scanning her face for any sign of distress.

She shook her head, managing a shaky laugh through her tears. “No, no! It’s… it was just really intense. That’s all.” Her fingers brushed against his arm, grounding both of them.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice small but sincere.

He blinked, still uncertain, letting her words sink in. “Really? You’re sure?”

She nodded, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes despite the wet streaks on her cheeks. “I’m sure. But… this isn’t over.”

Kiibo tilted his head, confused. “What does that mean?”

Her smile was soft, teasing, and filled with promise. “It means we’re far from done, Kiibo.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, thrilling and grounding all at once, and for the first time, he understood that intensity could be shared—and that he had done exactly what she wanted.

Miu wiped at her cheeks, then leaned in close, pressing her forehead against his. Her breath was warm, heart still racing, and the way she looked at him made Kiibo’s own chest tighten.

“Your turn,” she murmured, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Show me what you can do… or, well, maybe let me show you for a change.”

Kiibo blinked, caught off guard, but his hands moved instinctively to her waist as she guided him to sit back against the ground. She straddled his lap, just close enough that the heat of her body pressed into his. Fingers traced along his shoulders, tugging gently at his uniform, teasing, but never crossing into anything overt.

Her lips hovered near his ear, brushing lightly as she whispered soft instructions and playful challenges. Kiibo’s hands followed her lead, holding her, supporting her, completely attentive. Every brush of skin, every tilt of her body against his, sent a spark through him that was almost too much—but not quite.

They stayed like that for a while, shifting slowly, teasingly, sharing the quiet thrill of control and surrender, their laughter low, their breaths mingling. Nothing needed to be said—they were attuned to each other, the closeness enough to make every nerve hum.

And then, just as the moment felt at its peak, Miu leaned down, pressing a lingering, gentle kiss to his lips. Kiibo kissed back, slow and careful, tasting the heat of her skin, feeling the warmth of her confidence.

The rest—the deeper, unspoken desires—were left for later. For now, it was just them, skin to skin, hearts racing, a soft, suggestive promise that whatever came next would be theirs to explore.

Chapter Text

The store wasn’t even crowded, but Shuichi still felt every pair of eyes that might be watching. He was trying to focus on the shelf in front of him—on choosing the right flavor of instant coffee—when he felt a hand snake up behind his neck.

“Hmm… indecisive as always,” Kokichi murmured, voice low enough to be for Shuichi’s ears only.

Shuichi turned his head, intending to scold him, but before he could, Kokichi’s fingers slipped into his hair—just above the nape of his neck—and gave the lightest tug. Not painful. Just enough.

Shuichi’s breath caught. The motion tilted his chin up slightly, and for a heartbeat, he forgot how to move.

“K-Kokichi…” he hissed under his breath, eyes darting toward the next aisle.

Kokichi only smiled, far too innocent. “What? I’m helping you think. You look too serious when you’re concentrating.”

“That’s not—” Shuichi stopped, exhaling shakily. He could feel the flush rising to his ears.

Kokichi’s grin widened. “Oh? You’re blushing, detective. Should I pull a little harder next time?”

He released him just as casually as he’d touched him, brushing imaginary lint from Shuichi’s shoulder before sauntering off down the aisle. Shuichi stood there, utterly frozen, staring at the shelves but seeing nothing.

When he finally caught up to Kokichi near the register, Kokichi looked over his shoulder and whispered, “You found your coffee yet?”

Shuichi scowled, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm. You love that about me,” Kokichi said simply, and reached out—just for a second—to fix the strand of hair he’d mussed earlier.

Shuichi’s heart stuttered. Maybe he did.

By the time they got home, Shuichi was convinced Kokichi had made it his personal mission to ruin his composure in every store they entered.

It wasn’t always a full-on tug—sometimes it was a brush of fingers through his hair when they stopped at crosswalks, or a casual twirl of a strand when he leaned in to comment on something. But every time, the heat crawled up Shuichi’s neck, and every time, Kokichi looked unbearably pleased with himself.

The moment their home door shut behind them, Shuichi exhaled hard, like he’d been holding his breath all afternoon. He dropped the shopping bags onto the couch and turned, trying to find his voice.

“Kokichi.”

“Mm?” Kokichi was already halfway across the room, unwrapping a bag of chips like nothing was wrong.

“You can’t just—” Shuichi stopped, flustered all over again. “You can’t do that to me in public!”

Kokichi tilted his head, eyes glinting with feigned innocence. “Do what?”

“You know exactly what!” Shuichi’s voice pitched higher than he meant it to. “The hair pulling, the touching, the—whatever that was in the coffee aisle!”

“Ohhh,” Kokichi said, dragging out the word. “That.”

He wandered closer, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t like it?”

Shuichi froze, unable to decide between indignation and honesty. “I didn’t say that—”

Kokichi leaned up, close enough that Shuichi could feel his breath against his ear. “So you did like it.”

“Kokichi!”

He laughed quietly, stepping back before Shuichi could cover his face in his hands. “You’re so easy to tease, Shu. It’s adorable.”

Shuichi sighed, defeated, his cheeks burning. “You’re impossible.”

Kokichi smiled, softening. “And yet you still picked me, huh?”

The frustration melted before Shuichi could stop it. He turned his head just enough to meet Kokichi’s eyes—mischief and fondness twined together there, impossible to separate.

“…Yeah,” Shuichi admitted, voice quiet now. “Guess I did.”

Kokichi’s grin gentled into something warm. “Good answer.”

He reached up one last time, fingers ghosting through Shuichi’s hair—but this time, the touch was careful, tender. No teasing, no tug. Just a quiet gesture that said he knew exactly what he’d done, and how much it mattered.

By the time dinner was over, the tension had faded into something easier—warm, familiar.

Shuichi had retreated to the couch with a blanket draped over his shoulders and a mug of tea cooling between his hands. The day’s errands felt miles away, though his scalp still tingled faintly where Kokichi’s fingers had pulled earlier.

Kokichi joined him a moment later, dropping onto the couch with his usual lack of grace and promptly stealing half the blanket.

“Hey,” Shuichi protested weakly, tugging it back.

“Sharing is caring,” Kokichi said, tucking himself closer.

They sat like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder, quiet except for the sound of the rain outside and the clink of Shuichi’s spoon against his mug. The calm was nice—steadying—but Kokichi could feel Shuichi thinking beside him.

“…You know,” Shuichi started finally, not looking at him, “I wasn’t really mad about earlier.”

Kokichi’s grin crept back instantly. “Oh? Could’ve fooled me, mister detective.”

Shuichi huffed, cheeks coloring. “It was just… embarrassing. You know how I get when you do
things like that.”

“Flustered?”

“Kokichi.”

Kokichi laughed under his breath, the sound soft, not cruel. “I know. I just like seeing you
react, that’s all.”

He reached over then, gentle this time, brushing his fingers through Shuichi’s bangs. The touch lingered—light, affectionate—and Shuichi didn’t pull away.

“I guess I don’t mind when it’s just us,” Shuichi admitted, voice quiet.

“Noted,” Kokichi murmured. “So… only at home, no audience?”

“Exactly.”

Kokichi smiled, resting his head against Shuichi’s shoulder. “You’re no fun.”

“You say that,” Shuichi said, finally smiling back, “but you stayed under the same blanket.”

Kokichi hummed, eyes closing. “Yeah. Guess I did.”

The room fell quiet again, the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. Outside, the rain deepened, and Kokichi’s hand stayed tangled loosely in Shuichi’s hair—not pulling this time, just resting there, a quiet echo of the day’s teasing turned into something gentle and grounding.

Chapter Text

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp in the corner, but Kiyo could see everything. Every tremor along Rantaro’s jawline, the flush spreading across his chest, the slight arch of his neck when Kiyo’s fingers grazed just the right spot. He looked… perfect.

Every line, every curve, every reaction meticulously detailed in Kiyo’s mind, making it impossible to look away.

Rantaro shivered as Kiyo’s hand traced down his torso, fingers brushing along the hollow of his stomach. “So beautiful,” Kiyo whispered, almost to himself, voice low and reverent.

Rantaro’s eyes fluttered, lips parting in a soft, helpless gasp, and Kiyo felt heat crawl up his neck at the sound.

He leaned closer, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along Rantaro’s collarbone. Each touch was measured, exploratory — enough to draw out reactions without overwhelming him. Rantaro’s hands were bound gently in front of him, leaving him completely at Kiyo’s mercy, the toy pressing insistently inside him as he straddled Kiyo’s hips. Every subtle tremor of his body, every stutter of breath and sharp gasp was a guide for Kiyo — a map of where to push, where to linger, where to tease.

When Rantaro shifted slightly, pressing deeper into the toy, Kiyo let the first wave begin. The involuntary gasp that escaped him, the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the tilt of his head toward Kiyo’s hand—it was intoxicating. Kiyo’s pulse raced, caught between the sheer beauty of Rantaro surrendering completely and the raw arousal that came from watching him so utterly vulnerable, the toy amplifying every sensation.

Kiyo’s hands moved with careful precision, keeping Rantaro steady against the overstimulation while guiding the rhythm. Each motion into the toy was matched by a soft, deliberate press of Kiyo’s fingers against Rantaro’s most sensitive points. Rantaro’s back arched, lips parting in ragged gasps, a shiver coursing through his frame as he clung to the edges of his restraint, grounded by Kiyo’s steady presence beneath him.

Every motion was precise, intentional — not from disinterest, but from devotion. Kiyo wanted to savor this, to watch Rantaro’s face shift with every wave of pleasure, to hear every choked sound that marked the growing intensity. As the first climax rippled through him, Rantaro shuddered violently atop Kiyo, hips stuttering against the toy, utterly consumed.

Kiyo held him close, murmuring soft encouragements, guiding him through each aftershock. “Breathe…,” he whispered, voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. Just let it happen.”

Even as Rantaro’s legs quivered, body slick and trembling, the toy pressed insistently, waves of sensation building without relief. Kiyo’s hands clutched him lightly, grounding him, keeping him safe. Every shiver, every helpless moan was a testament to the trust he placed in Kiyo—and to the careful, reverent devotion Kiyo poured into each motion.

Rantaro’s chest heaved, soft gasps punctuating the quiet of the room. “I… I can’t—” he stammered, voice trembling, cheeks flushed, but his words were swallowed by a shuddering moan as Kiyo’s fingers moved with careful precision along the sensitive line of his torso.

Kiyo leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of Rantaro’s shoulder, letting his fingers trace circles over the spots that drew the sharpest reactions. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured, voice low and steady, anchoring them both in the moment. “You’re perfect.”

The first wave hadn’t even fully subsided before another surged, stronger this time, rolling through Rantaro like a tide he couldn’t resist. His body quaked atop Kiyo, bound hands helpless, leaning into the sensations, hips pressing deeper against the toy with every shiver. Involuntary gasps and tremor along his spine drew Kiyo’s gaze like a magnet—proof of how utterly beautiful he looked in surrender.

“So pretty,” Kiyo murmured, voice steady, fingers tracing the line of Rantaro’s jaw and down over his shoulders, grounding him. “Just let it take you. You don’t have to hold anything back.”

Rantaro’s lips parted in a soft, helpless moan, broken and unguarded, utterly intoxicating. His chest rose and fell rapidly, back arching instinctively, pressing more insistently into the toy. Kiyo’s hands held his hips gently but firmly, adjusting every angle to keep him safe while allowing the overstimulation to build, teasing him closer to the edge again.

A third wave hit—faster, sharper—leaving Rantaro trembling, almost incoherent. Breath came in shallow pants, words failing him entirely as every nerve screamed for release. The toy pressed insistently, amplifying each shiver and twitch, and Kiyo guided him with quiet, deliberate touches: a hand at his lower back, a thumb brushing his temple, a whispered word in his ear.

“You’re so perfect like this,” Kiyo breathed. “So beautiful… look at you, giving yourself over completely.”

Rantaro responded with a soft, strangled sound, body folding slightly into itself yet remaining upright, restrained but alive with sensation. Each wave of pleasure threatened to overwhelm him, yet he trusted Kiyo implicitly, riding each crest with the knowledge that he was held, that he was safe.

His body jerked slightly, knees buckling as he pressed into Kiyo, overwhelmed. Soft moans spilled freely from him. “I… can’t…!” he gasped, clutching Kiyo’s arm for support—but every protest only deepened Kiyo’s attentiveness, every tremor and whimper mapping the exact path to maximize pleasure.

By the fourth wave, Rantaro’s body trembled violently, movements small but frantic, helpless against the rhythm of his own sensations and the insistent presence of the toy. Kiyo’s hands guided his hips in tiny, calculated shifts, amplifying pleasure while keeping him safe, every motion a careful balance between devotion and control.

Kiyo adjusted the toys pace, gentle but insistent, letting Rantaro ride the crest of pleasure while keeping him steady, feeling the tremors through his own arms as Rantaro’s body shivered uncontrollably. Each wave seemed to build on the last, his half-begged protests intensifying the sense of connection between them — raw, overwhelming, and utterly consuming.

Rantaro’s back arched, fingers clutching at the bindings so tightly they threatened to tear, body trembling under Kiyo’s steady hold. “God–Kiyo–!” he gasped again, voice breaking as if saying it could somehow stop the surge of pleasure — but it only made it worse. His eyes fluttered half-shut, lashes damp with sweat, cheeks flushed to a deep crimson, and every small gasp or whimper made him look unbearably fragile, unbearably perfect.

Kiyo’s hands were everywhere at once, tracing, guiding, grounding, letting Rantaro feel everything while keeping him from collapsing entirely. He couldn’t stop staring — at the way Rantaro’s lips parted in helpless moans, at the slight shivers that ran along his arms and down his sides, at the heat radiating from his flushed skin. The boy looked like he was unraveling in the most exquisite way, and Kiyo felt a reverent ache in his chest just watching him.

“K-Kiyo…!” Rantaro gasped, breath hitching, voice cracking as if his body refused to cooperate anymore. “I—” His words dissolved into a strangled whimper, hips stuttering, trembling under the intensity, lost entirely in the sensations.

Kiyo adjusted slightly, his grip firm yet gentle, guiding him through the overstimulation, but he didn’t rush. He let Rantaro’s reactions dictate the pace, letting each moan and broken plea wash over them. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Kiyo whispered, voice barely more than breath, pressing a featherlight kiss to the curve of Rantaro’s jaw. “So perfectly undone.”

He simply watched, worshipped, felt the incredible weight of trust and surrender in Rantaro’s every shuddering movement. He let him fall apart, let him ride the wave of overwhelming pleasure, every breath and whimper painting a picture of just how breathtakingly fragile and utterly stunning he could be in these moments.

When Rantaro finally tumbled over the edge, every muscle shuddering, body going slack, Kiyo held him close, steadying him, whispering soft affirmations. “I’ve got you… You’re safe… You’re perfect…”

And for a long, tremulous moment, all that existed was Rantaro — lost, beautiful, utterly undone — and Kiyo, watching with awe and reverence, never letting go.

Rantaro lay draped across Kiyo’s chest, still trembling, cheeks flushed, and hair sticking to damp skin. The toy, switched off and unalive, still pressed relentlessly, sending little jolts of sensation through him even as he tried to catch his breath. He let out a shaky laugh, half-exhausted, half-awed. “I… I can’t believe… you’re still making me feel this,” he gasped, voice thick with both disbelief and need.

Kiyo’s lips curved into a small, knowing smirk as he brushed a strand of hair from Rantaro’s forehead. “I didn’t say it was over,” he murmured, letting the toy press a little deeper. “You handled it… better than I expected.”

“I—handled it? I can barely—ah!” Rantaro’s words broke into a breathless whimper as the stimulation sent another pulse through him. His hips stuttered involuntarily against the toy, body completely at Kiyo’s mercy.

“Survival counts as handling it,” Kiyo said with mock seriousness, pressing a kiss to the crown of Rantaro’s head. “Besides… you were beautiful. I could watch you like this forever.”

Rantaro groaned, burying his face against Kiyo’s chest. “You’re ridiculous. I hate that I love this,” he muttered, muffled but affectionate.

Kiyo chuckled, squeezing him gently. “Love it, hate it… doesn’t matter. You’re mine for the moment, and I’m not letting you go just yet.”

A small, teasing grin peeked across Rantaro’s flushed face. “Does that mean I have to recover all over again next time?”

“Next time?” Kiyo murmured, voice low, amused. “You sound way too eager.”

"You're too cruel." Rantaro just laughed weakly, shivering again, but the warmth in his chest told a different story.

Kiyo held him a little tighter, fingers running soothing circles down his back. “Rest,” Kiyo whispered. “I’ve got you. Always.”

And for a long while, that was enough — the playful banter giving way to quiet breaths, soft heartbeats, and the lingering thrill of being fully seen, fully cherished, and wholly safe.

Chapter Text

Rantaro lounged on the couch, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, a cup of tea cooling beside him. His eyes followed the words of a book, but Korekiyo could see the small moments his attention drifted—when his lashes brushed his cheeks, when his fingers toyed with a stray lock of green hair, or when the faint glint of his piercings caught the light just so.

Korekiyo shifted on top of him, heart hammering. “I could spend lifetimes discovering you,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. His hands traced the line of Rantaro’s jaw, lingered at the curve of his neck, and rested lightly over his collarbone. The piercings—each tiny glint of metal—drew his fascination. He pressed soft, deliberate kisses along the piercings, whispering, “Even these adornments… they belong to you, perfectly.”

Rantaro let out a soft hum, tilting his head to give Kiyo better access. “You’re…so obsessed,” he breathed, a shiver running through him. He meant it as a joke, smile fading quickly just as quick as he said it. There was no accusation, only warmth, only trust.

Korekiyo’s lips moved down to the curve of Rantaro’s shoulder, lingering over the hollow beneath his collarbone. His fingers followed the contours of Rantaro’s body, memorizing the gentle slope of his chest, the soft plane of his stomach. Every inch, every detail, was worship. And yet, it felt natural—like breathing, like an unspoken confession of devotion.

“You are endlessly beautiful,” Kiyo whispered, his lips ghosting across Rantaro’s ribs, teasing the soft skin beneath the hem of his shirt. “I am yours entirely.”

Rantaro’s laughter was soft, breathy, and a little crooked, but it reached his eyes. “You’re ridiculous… but I like it,” he murmured, curling a hand into Korekiyo’s. The gentle squeeze,
the shared warmth, grounded them both in the quiet domesticity of the moment.

Korekiyo pressed a final, lingering kiss to Rantaro’s temple, his chest rising and falling in sync with the man he adored. “And I will never tire of proving it,” he said. “I will always be
captivated by you—by every inch of you, by every fleeting moment of your existence.”

Rantaro reclined on the couch, eyes half-lidded as he watched Korekiyo move around him with careful, deliberate attention. Every brush of Kiyo’s fingers across his skin sent a shiver coiling low in his stomach, a warmth that lingered even after the touch had passed.

Korekiyo’s hands were worshipful, tracing the lines of Rantaro’s collarbone, the gentle slope of his shoulders, and the soft planes of his chest. His lips followed suit, pressing delicate, reverent kisses along the small, glinting piercings that Rantaro had always thought of as just decoration—but Kiyo treated them like sacred marks, part of the body he adored.

Rantaro’s breath caught each time Kiyo’s lips lingered, the heat pooling between them a quiet, constant thrum. He could feel the weight of Korekiyo’s gaze, soft but intense, memorizing every inch, every fleeting curve. “Kiyo…” he murmured, voice husky, but he made no move to stop him; the coiled heat in his chest made him ache for more.

Korekiyo looked up briefly, meeting his gaze with a slow, dark smile. “You are perfect,” he whispered, voice low, reverent. “And I am endlessly captivated by you.”

Rantaro lay back on the couch, breath catching each time Korekiyo’s lips trailed over the curve of his collarbone or along the soft plane of his chest. The quiet reverence had been intoxicating—but now there was a sharper edge to Kiyo’s attention, deliberate and demanding.

Without warning, Korekiyo sank his teeth gently into the hollow beneath Rantaro’s jaw, a soft bite that made him gasp. “Kiyo!” Rantaro laughed, fingers coming up to push him away, but his protests were weak, tinged with heat. “Stop… you’re ridiculous…”

“I am worshipping you,” Korekiyo murmured against his skin, voice low, possessive. “And you deserve every mark.” He captured Rantaros hand, placing small kisses along his palm. He absentmindedly played with the silver rings on Rantaros fingers, each touch sending a spark through him, eliciting a soft moan.

Rantaro squirmed, hands lightly pressing at Kiyo’s shoulders, a flustered grin on his face.

“You are being crazy...,” he murmured, but the heat pooling in his chest betrayed him. Kiyo’s lips moved down, nipping at the sensitive skin of Rantaro’s neck, leaving a trail of deepening red along the pulse point and collarbone. He didn’t want Kiyo to stop. Not really. The worship, the bites, the lingering marks—they thrilled him in a way that made his stomach coil and his fingers tremble.

Korekiyo’s hands roamed, one tracing the line of Rantaro’s ribs while the other guided him to tilt his neck, giving Kiyo better access. Each bite, each kiss, was deliberate, claiming, reverent. He left marks along Rantaro’s chest, pressing kisses between them, leaving a map of his devotion.

Rantaro let out a breathy laugh, half-choked, half-pleasure. “You’re… hopelessly obsessed,” he murmured, tilting his head to give Korekiyo better access, even as he tried to pretend he was protesting.

“Obsessed with you,” Korekiyo corrected, lips brushing the top of Rantaro’s shoulder. “Every inch of you is mine to adore. And I will not tire of it.”

Rantaro’s fingers threaded into Kiyo’s hair, pulling him closer despite his own teasing protests. “You really are ridiculous,” he whispered, voice rough with suppressed laughter and something more intimate—want, need, and admiration all coiled into one.

Korekiyo’s lips were relentless, tracing over the hickies he’d left along Rantaro’s neck and collarbone, teasing the tender skin with gentle nips and soft bites. Each mark stung just enough to make him shiver, each kiss igniting the coil of heat between them.

“Stop… Kiyo… you’re insane,” Rantaro murmured, but the weak push of his hands barely moved Korekiyo. His voice was half-laugh, half-breathy confession, betraying just how much he wanted this.

“You are exquisite,” Korekiyo murmured, lips brushing the swell of Rantaro’s shoulder, teeth grazing the soft skin of his chest. “And it is my privilege… my obsession… to mark you as mine.” His tongue moved across one of Rantaros nipples, causing the boy underneath him to let out a soft moan and move his hips instinctively.

Rantaro squirmed, fingers tangling in Kiyo’s hair, tugging lightly as if in protest, though his body arched toward him, craving more. “You really are ridiculous…” he whispered, cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering. “I… I don’t want you to stop.”

A dark smile curved Korekiyo’s lips. “You’re mine, in every way,” he murmured, pressing a final kiss over the rising marks on Rantaro’s chest. “And I will worship you until you remember it in every breath.”

Rantaro let out a breathy laugh, half of it teasing, half of it surrender. His legs twitched, fingers clutching at Kiyo’s shoulders, body tingling from every bite and kiss, every lingering touch. The heat between them was tangible, slow, heavy—a fire that pulsed in time with their hearts, intimate and unhurried.

“You’re ridiculous,” Rantaro repeated, this time a whisper, voice softened with wonder and desire, “but I love you.”

Korekiyo only smiled as the kisses wandered lower, the sharp sting of teeth softening into the warmth of his mouth. Each mark he left faded into a trail that drew him down, following the steady rhythm of Rantaro’s breath. The laughter had slipped from Rantaro’s lips now, replaced by the faintest sound — a quiet hum, drawn from deep in his chest. Korekiyo traced that sound like a compass, lips gliding over the smooth plane of Rantaro’s stomach, tasting the warmth there. His hands found Rantaro’s hips, thumbs brushing the edges, reverent in their touch.

The air between them shifted — heavier, slower — as if every breath they took was a question waiting to be answered.

Rantaro’s body shook, a tremor running through him he couldn’t quite suppress. His breath came in shallow bursts as he looked down at Kiyo — eyes glazed, unfocused, lost in the haze of heat pooling low in his stomach. The tightness in his pants had become unbearable, every heartbeat sending a pulse of ache through him.

Kiyo pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the clothed outline between Rantaro’s thighs. The contact made Rantaro’s breath hitch sharply, a sound halfway between a whimper and a gasp. Kiyo’s mouth lingered, a ghost of pressure, cruelly teasing.

Rantaro’s hips jerked helplessly, a broken noise escaping him. But before he could say a word, Kiyo had already drawn back, lips curved in a knowing smile as he moved upward, the weight of his gaze burning hot.

“T-that’s not fair,” Rantaro managed, voice trembling. His fingers gripped at the couch cushions as if to steady himself, the faint tremor of his body betraying how much he wanted more.

Kiyo’s eyes softened, but the tilt of his head and the glint behind his mask were anything but merciful. “Say you’re pretty,” he said, tone low and edged with quiet authority. His hands tightened on Rantaro’s hips, holding him firmly in place. “And that you belong to me.”

Rantaro blinked, chest rising and falling fast. “That’s… silly,” he murmured, his voice small, flushed red down to his collarbones. It wasn’t the claim that made his pulse quicken — it was the self-praise, the act of saying it out loud under that unwavering gaze. The very thought made his mind hazy, his embarrassment blending with the ache of want.

Rantaro swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming in his ears. Kiyo waited—still, unyielding—his hands steady against his hips, his gaze unwavering. The silence stretched between them, thick with tension, until Rantaro’s breath broke on a whisper.

“I’m… pretty,” he murmured, voice trembling as though the words were too heavy to speak. His blush deepened, spreading across his neck, and for a moment he couldn’t bring himself to meet Kiyo’s eyes. “And… I’m yours.”

Kiyo exhaled softly, the sound a low hum of satisfaction. The tension in his grip melted into something gentler, reverent. “Good boy,” he murmured, leaning forward to press his lips to the mark just below Rantaro’s hipbone. “You are.”

The praise carried a warmth that made Rantaro’s chest ache. Every kiss that followed was softer now, less command and more worship—Kiyo’s mouth tracing over the fading trail of bruises, lips dragging down over his stomach, his hips, his skin trembling beneath the weight of every touch.

Rantaro’s fingers slid into Kiyo’s hair, the last of his tension dissolving into quiet sighs. The room felt smaller somehow, wrapped in the sound of their breaths—heat and affection tangled into something wordless but deeply known.

Kiyo immediately resumes to the outline between Rantaros thighs, reverently touching around it before placing a finger teasingly in his waistband. Rantaros heartbeat can be heard in his ears, thrumming loudly with anticipation.

Kiyo’s fingers hooked lightly at the waistband of Rantaro’s shorts, easing them down just enough for cool air to touch warm skin. The motion was unhurried, deliberate—a continuation of the worship that had already left Rantaro breathless.

His mouth followed, leaving a trail of kisses that made Rantaro’s muscles tense and his breath falter. The same reverence from before lingered in every movement, a quiet devotion that felt more like praise than desire. Rantaro’s hands found their way into Kiyo’s hair, fingers trembling as he tried to steady himself against the slow pull of heat that built with every brush of lips and breath.

A soft, breathless laugh slipped out of him, quickly swallowed by a low sound that bordered on a moan. “You’re… teasing,” he managed, though his voice broke halfway through. Kiyo only smiled against his skin, the curve of his lips unreadable, before continuing his unhurried rhythm.

Rantaro tilted his head back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut, surrendering completely to the ebb and flow of sensation. Every touch felt deliberate, every movement a careful balance between control and tenderness.

It doesnt take long before Rantaro feels the entirety of him hit the back of Kiyos throat. He pulls back, hips stuttering, before being taken deep again.

Rantaro could barely think; every sound that left him came out broken, swallowed by the warmth building low in his stomach. His hands tightened in Kiyo’s hair, trying to hold on, to anchor himself, but it was useless—every movement pushed him closer to that edge he was trying so hard not to reach.

“Kiyo—” His voice cracked, trembling with restraint he didn’t have anymore. “Please—please don’t stop—!”

The words spilled out before he could catch them, half-whispered, half-begged. Kiyo’s response was a low hum, patient, deliberate, as if coaxing him past whatever was holding him back. The sound went straight through him, left him shaking.

His breath hitched once, twice, before everything in him broke loose. The tension snapped; the world narrowed to light, heat, and Kiyo’s name on his tongue. He released into the back of Kiyos throat. Kiyo let the twitching come to a slow before he pulled off, wiping his mouth and immediately tending to Rantaro.

When his orgasm passed, Rantaro stayed there—breathing hard, eyes glassy, body trembling from the aftershocks. Kiyo’s hands stayed where they were, steady and grounding, tracing gentle circles until Rantaro’s breath began to even out again.

The silence afterward felt heavy, intimate. Rantaro blinked down at him, chest still rising and falling unevenly, something warm flickering behind his dazed smile. There was gratitude there, and a glint of intent—like he was already thinking of what he wanted to give back.

For a while he just watched him—how the light brushed against the edge of Kiyo’s cheekbone, how a loose strand of hair had fallen out of place. Rantaro reached up, brushing it back with the faintest smile. The touch made Kiyo look up at him, half-dazed, as though pulled back from somewhere deep.

“You always do that,” Rantaro murmured, voice low and rough around the edges. “Look at me like I’m something you discovered.”

Kiyo’s lips parted to respond, but Rantaro only leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was slow—an anchor, a thank-you, a wordless I see you.

“I want to take care of you now,” he whispered, tone somewhere between a promise and a plea.

Kiyo hesitated, eyes flickering in that familiar conflict between control and surrender, but Rantaro didn’t wait for permission. He simply rose, taking Kiyo’s hand in his own, fingertips still trembling from what lingered in the air between them.

The path to the bedroom was quiet—no urgency, just the sound of shared breath and the faint rustle of clothes. When they stopped at the threshold, Rantaro turned back, gaze soft but certain.

“Let me,” he said.

Kiyo nodded once, almost imperceptibly. And as the last light from the living room faded behind them, the night folded close around the two of them—steady, reverent, and entirely their own.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet—the kind of stillness that made every whisper sound louder, every breath more noticeable. Shuichi sat at the dining table, notebook open to a half-finished page titled Career Planning, pencil poised but unmoving. He was trying to focus, but the silence pressed against him, and he could feel Kokichi’s gaze long before he heard his voice.

“You look so pathetic like that,” Kokichi murmured, voice low and teasing right over his shoulder. “All tense and stiff… trying so hard to act normal.”

The words sank in like a spark catching tinder. Shuichi froze, cheeks warming instantly. Pathetic. The word should’ve stung—but instead, it hit something deeper, something confusingly pleasant. It wasn’t cruel, not from Kokichi. It was deliberate. Precise.

“I—I’m not—” Shuichi started, voice breaking halfway.

“Mm, sure you’re not,” Kokichi interrupted, a grin audible in his tone. “You can’t even hide it
from me, can you? You’re practically begging me to degrade you.”

Shuichi’s pulse stuttered. He wanted to deny it, to insist he wasn’t that easy, but the truth trembled somewhere inside him, hot and shameful. His heartbeat thudded in his throat; the air between them felt heavy, charged.

“You like this, don’t you?” Kokichi’s tone softened, not losing its edge but threading warmth through the teasing. “Being told you’re worthless, being reminded that you’re mine. Look at you—so worked up, just from that.”

Shuichi’s breath hitched. “I—” He couldn’t even finish. His voice failed him, words collapsing into nothing.

“See? Pathetic,” Kokichi murmured again, brushing a finger along Shuichi’s wrist. It wasn’t a comforting gesture—it was mocking comfort, designed to make his heart lurch. “But you know what? I love it. I love you like this. Just sooo cute.”

The words wrapped around Shuichi, confusing and grounding all at once. Embarrassment and heat twisted together into something that felt too good to fight. His body moved before his thoughts caught up, leaning forward slightly, silently asking for Kokichi’s touch.

“You’re mine,” Kokichi whispered then, quieter—softer—but still with that dangerous, knowing tone. “Even when you’re pathetic like this… you’re still perfect to me.”

Shuichi exhaled shakily, tension slipping into his bones. The teasing still burned under his skin, but beneath it was something safe. Trusted. He let himself give in—to Kokichi’s words, to the warmth, to the sharp edges that somehow always brought him closer.

“You’re trembling again,” Kokichi whispered near his ear, voice dipped low enough to vibrate against his skin. “You like this. You love that I can say these things to you.”

Shuichi’s breath hitched. “I-I’m not—”

“Shh.” Kokichi’s hand hovered near his shoulder, not even touching—just enough to make him shiver. “Don’t think. Just feel. Just do what I tell you.”

Shuichi’s pulse raced. He hated that the words made him eager to comply, and yet, despite the embarrassment curling through him, he did. His hands followed Kokichi’s subtle direction; his body reacted before his brain could catch up.

“You’re ridiculous,” Kokichi whispered with a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind Shuichi’s ear—barely there, but enough to send another wave of heat through him. “And I love it. You let me control you, and you don’t even realize how much you want it.”

Shuichi’s hands trembled, mind foggy, cheeks impossibly red. “I… I’m not—” he stammered, voice breaking, but he still obeyed. Every small, quiet gesture Kokichi asked for, he did, as though the words themselves had a gravity he couldn’t resist.

Kokichi leaned closer, voice softer now, almost a purr. “Good boy. You’re mine.”

Shuichi swallowed hard, heat and shame twisting into something he couldn’t name. He nodded mutely, cheeks burning, pulse racing—but the small, trembling compliance in his hands and the way he leaned subtly into Kokichi said everything.

Kokichi smiled, satisfied, letting the charged intimacy hang between them for a brief, tantalizing moment—completely their own.

But he didn’t let it last. In one swift movement, he pushed Shuichi down until his chest pressed against the bed, a sharp gasp escaping the boy beneath him. Without hesitation, Kokichi reached between Shuichi’s legs, tugging the waistband of his shorts and underwear all the way down. Shuichi yelped at the suddenness, shifting beneath him as breathless laughter bubbled out.

Kokichi pressed him down again, flipping him to face him. “Don’t act like you don’t like this, slut,” he said coldly, gripping Shuichi’s jaw before delivering a stinging slap to his cheek. Shuichi stared, stunned, surprisingly aroused by the intensity, the sheer force of Kokichi’s dominance.

Shamelessly, Kokichi pulled Shuichi’s legs up until they nearly rested on his shoulders, folding him almost in half. The laughter dissolved into ragged pants as humiliation coursed through Shuichi, mixing with a helpless heat that left him flushed from head to toe.

Kokichi’s finger traced the sensitive rim, making Shuichi squirm and whimper, unable to pull away. The vulnerability was intoxicating for Kokichi, feeding a thrill of control he didn’t need but fully savored. When his middle finger slipped inside Shuichi, a small cry escaped him, tears of embarrassment and unwanted excitement glimmering in his eyes as Kokichi moved with deliberate pressure.

“So eager,” Kokichi murmured, fingers gliding over soft skin, drinking in the warmth of Shuichi’s thighs. “You know I love when you cry.”

A bolt of fear shot through Shuichi at the edge in Kokichi’s expression—sharp, almost sadistic—but the fear only tangled with desire, deepening the arousal and leaving him caught entirely in the moment, utterly consumed by Kokichi’s control and his own complicated, helpless longing.

Without much warning, Kokichi lifted Shuichi’s hips, bringing him flush with his face. He ran his tongue in circles around Shuichis entrance, causing a loud moan to escape. Kokichis eyes closed, enjoying the way Shuichi shook and cried out.

His tongue slipped out to lap at Shuichi’s entrance. Shuichi trembled all over, squirming as Kokichi worked with relentless precision, diving in and out at a pace that left him breathless. He tried to call out, but the words came out as half-formed syllables tangled in moans, his voice betraying him as Kokichi continued to penetrate him with expert control.

Kokichi held Shuichi’s legs tight against his shoulders, ensuring there was no escaping, no wriggling free. Shuichi’s fingers tangled into Kokichi’s hair, a small, false sense of control he was allowed in the midst of Kokichi’s domination. Kokichi’s tongue plunged fully into him again, eliciting a loud moan and tighter grip on his hair. The reaction struck Kokichi as adorable, a perfect mix of vulnerability and craving. He loved the power play—the way he could push, degrade, and overstimulate Shuichi, yet the man always came back for more.

A soft chuckle vibrated from Kokichi as he continued, sending tremors through Shuichi’s body. The sensation of being stretched and toyed with was new, overwhelming, and yet irresistibly good. Shuichi’s face flushed red with embarrassment and exertion, eyes glassy, sweat-slicked skin glimmering under the intensity of the moment. Each motion coiled warmth deeper inside him, Kokichi’s unrelenting rhythm driving him closer to the edge.

Shuichi practically screamed, writhing, desperate to signal how close he was. A shuddering sob escaped him, pushing Kokichi even harder, who only pulled back briefly, spat into him, and resumed his relentless assault with his tongue.

Tears ran down Shuichi’s face, his overstimulated body wracked with shivers and moans. Every sound he made repeated, a few broken syllables and profanities entwined with desperate gasps, his body powerless beneath Kokichi’s firm grip and unwavering attention.

A soft, shuddering moan escaped him as the last waves of pleasure rippled through his body, and he felt himself release fully, lingering heat coiling low and leaving him weak but achingly content. Kokichi’s hands were there to hold him, grounding him through the rush, guiding him back from the edge with patient, careful touch.

Kokichi finally eased up, letting Shuichi’s legs drop and his body settle against the bed. Shuichi lay there, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and tear-streaked, still trembling from the intensity. Every nerve ending seemed alive, buzzing with overstimulation, yet beneath it all was a deep, heady satisfaction that made him cling instinctively to Kokichi.

Kokichi shifted beside him, brushing damp hair from Shuichi’s forehead and pressing soft, lingering kisses to the flushed skin. “You okay, my little mess?” he murmured, voice gentle now, teasing softened into genuine care.

Shuichi blinked, still catching his breath, letting out a shaky laugh. “I… I’m fine,” he whispered, though the way he clung to Kokichi’s arm betrayed the truth. “Just… overwhelmed.”

“That’s my favorite kind,” Kokichi said, smiling, pressing a hand to Shuichi’s back and drawing him close. He let Shuichi nestle against him, holding him carefully, giving him the warmth and reassurance he needed after being pushed to such extremes.

They stayed like that for a long, quiet moment, breathing in sync. The lingering flush of the climax gradually softened into comfort, the intensity folding into a shared intimacy—built on trust, desire, and the unspoken understanding that they could push boundaries together and
still return safely to one another.

Even as the last traces of embarrassment and overstimulation faded, Shuichi knew the memory of this closeness would linger, a quiet ache of pleasure and affection that belonged entirely to them.

Chapter Text

Rantaro and Kiyo had shared a quiet, normal evening the night before, slipping into bed around midnight and holding each other close. They hadn’t gone through their usual nightly routines—both had been too exhausted to bother.

Now, in the early light of morning, Rantaro couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable tightness pressing against him. It wasn’t unusual—morning erections happened to all men—but this time, it felt different. More urgent.

He shifted, half-asleep, palming at the hardness, but the thoughts swirling in his mind made it impossible to settle back down. It had been a long week; they’d both been so busy, touching each other had been rare. He missed the way Kiyo felt beneath him, the way pleasure would sound in his voice when it spilled out.

Rantaro’s thoughts grew insistent, knotting together with both desire and affection until he was fully awake, staring at the ceiling, lost in the pull of longing.

He turned over to look at Kiyo, still sleeping, his face calm and peaceful. In sleep, Kiyo always looked so beautiful, untouched by worry or fatigue. Rantaro’s chest tightened—he couldn’t bring himself to disturb that tranquility, no matter how tempting it was.

A twitch of desire ran through him as he gazed at Kiyo’s sleeping face. It did nothing to ease the pressure building within him. Rantaro found his thoughts drifting to their “free use” conversations—those mornings when they had woken up and given in to each other immediately. He knew Kiyo would be familiar with the idea, but it had been a while since they’d participated in it.

Timidly, Rantaro reached out, tucking a strand of Kiyo’s hair behind his ear. His ring caught briefly in the soft strands, but Kiyo didn’t stir. He remained serene, utterly peaceful, even under Rantaro’s longing gaze.

Unable to resist, Rantaro pressed a small kiss to Kiyo’s sleeping lips. Kiyo murmured, half-awake, whining softly before rolling over and slipping back into sleep. Rantaro whispered his boyfriend’s name, but the sound barely registered—he was already lost to slumber again.

Warmth and desire pooled in Rantaro’s chest as he inched closer, letting his body flush against Kiyo’s. Even in sleep, the subtle press of their hips against each other sent sparks through him, a quiet, insistent reminder of what he longed for.

Rantaro let his hands drift over Kiyo’s sleeping body, tentative at first, tracing the line of his sides and the curve of his arms. Kiyo stirred slightly at the touch, a low, happy hum escaping his lips, but he didn’t open his eyes. He was still lost somewhere between dreams and wakefulness, the soft warmth of his body inviting Rantaro closer.

Encouraged, Rantaro leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Kiyo’s neck, careful not to startle him awake. The smell of morning lingered in Kiyo’s hair, comforting and intoxicating all at once.
Before he could linger too long, a familiar touch startled him: Amami’s hand threaded into his hair, tugging it back softly but firmly. The motion was enough to make him gasp, and Kiyo responded immediately when Rantaro’s lips met the sensitive skin of his neck. His kiss was teasing, insistent, trying to coax him fully into wakefulness without shattering the languid intimacy of the moment.

Rantaro shivered at the contact, heart racing, caught between embarrassment and desire. Even half-asleep, Kiyo’s presence was grounding, and the way he reached for Rantaro, both gentle and demanding, made it impossible to resist.

He alternated between letting his mouth linger on sensitive skin and trailing soft kisses down Kiyo’s shoulders and side, teasing and exploring, while Kiyo murmured low, half-awake sounds of contentment. Each movement was measured, deliberate, building anticipation without breaking the gentle rhythm of the morning.

The tug of hair, the trail of lips, the hums of pleasure—all of it wove together, heightening the tension between them. Kiyo’s body reacted instinctively, responding to every pull. Rantaro was careful, savoring the slow intimacy of it.

Rantaro shifted carefully, moving atop Kiyo so that he was straddling him, their bodies flush together. He pressed himself gently down, savoring the warmth of Kiyo beneath him, letting his hands wander over familiar planes of muscle and skin.

His lips followed a deliberate path, trailing soft kisses across Kiyo’s chest, lingering where his pulse beat strongest, teasing and tasting, as if committing every sensation to memory. Kiyo murmured in response, still half-asleep, a sleepy hum of contentment escaping him, his fingers brushing against Rantaro’s sides in quiet encouragement.

The intimacy of the moment was tender yet charged; Rantaro moved with careful devotion, aware of Kiyo’s reactions even in his drowsy haze. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath between them deepened the connection, binding desire and affection together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

Kiyo’s eyes fluttered open briefly, half-lidded and dreamy, watching Rantaro with a soft, indulgent smile before slipping back toward sleep, trusting him completely in this shared, delicate space.

Rantaro’s hands roamed over Kiyo’s chest and sides, brushing lightly against sensitive skin as he shifted closer, straddling him fully. Kiyo’s eyes were half-lidded, lips parting in soft, sleepy murmurs, and though he wasn’t fully awake, every instinctive movement and sound made it clear he welcomed Rantaro’s closeness.

Feeling the heat between them, Rantaro allowed himself to sink deeper, guided by the rhythm of Kiyo’s breathing and the subtle, encouraging presses of his hips. Kiyo hummed softly, a low sound of contentment, barely awake but already responding, grounding Rantaro in the intimacy they shared.

Each movement was careful, deliberate, threaded with the trust they had built over countless mornings like this. Rantaro kissed and nipped along Kiyo’s chest, trailing down in soft, teasing lines, savoring the warmth and weight of him beneath his hands. The half-sleep haze didn’t dull Kiyo’s enjoyment; it only added a layer of vulnerability and softness that made the connection feel sharper, more urgent, more intimate.

Rantaro shifted, reaching for the bottle of lube from the bedside drawer. He moved between Kiyo’s legs, carefully sliding off his boxers before coating his fingers in the cold slick. He drew the blanket aside, earning a soft whine from Kiyo as the warmth of the covers was replaced by Rantaro’s cool hand lifting his leg and placing it over his shoulder.

"Can't wait to ruin you, sweetheart.." Rantaro whispered, practically trembling with excitement of how he is going to use his boyfriend. He was talking more to himself than to Kiyo.

A low moan escaped Kiyo as Rantaro coated his fingers and gently smeared some over himself. He watched Kiyo’s expression shift beautifully, eyes fluttering as he teased him slowly, deliberately. The sudden coldness made Kiyo gasp, half-awake, and he whimpered, “It’s cold…”

Rantaro didn’t respond with words, only continued the slow, careful movement of his fingers, guided by the subtle reactions of his half-asleep boyfriend. Kiyo’s breathing quickened, soft pants and murmurs slipping from his lips. A second finger was added, opening him carefully, drawing deeper responses from the boy beneath him. Kiyo arched slightly, eyes opening just enough before fluttering shut again, his voice trembling as he called Rantaro’s name.

The sight of Kiyo, so vulnerable yet responsive even in sleep, was almost unbearable. Rantaro pulled back his fingers and lined himself up, pressing carefully into the half-awake boy beneath him. The sensation of tight warmth around him overwhelmed Rantaro, and as their movements synced and their soft sounds mingled, he began to move slowly and deliberately, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

Rantaro’s movements quickened, then slowed again, savoring the push and pull of sensation as he moved within his boyfriend. Kiyo made soft, breathy sounds, little moans escaping him as he arched against the bed, mouth partway open, eyes fluttering shut, clinging to the last remnants of sleep.

This felt like a new low for Rantaro. They had discussed the “free-use” concept before, but it
had been so long since they’d acted on it. The tightness of his own body, combined with the sight of Kiyo sleeping so beautifully beneath him, made restraint almost impossible. He found himself justifying taking advantage of Kiyo’s vulnerable state—until a particular sound from his boyfriend yanked him back into the present.

There were no words, just heat and movement, punctuated by gasps and moans that echoed softly between them.

Then, unexpectedly, Kiyo grabbed Rantaro’s arms, his half-lidded eyes filled with lust. “Can I be on top?” he murmured. Rantaro slowed immediately, reading the unspoken trust in Kiyo’s gaze. Without another word, he pulled free, earning a small whine of protest from the emptiness Kiyo felt, before laying back obediently and letting his boyfriend climb atop him.

Kiyo was still half-delirious from sleep, not fully awake, but wholly intent on pleasing him. The oversized metal T-shirt belonging to Rantaro hung loosely over his frame, partially shielding him as he guided Rantaro back inside, their bodies reconnecting in a slow, deliberate rhythm that balanced tenderness and desire.

"Fuck- baby-" Rantaro gasped, overwhelmed with the heat and the pressure, moving his hips instinctually into him.

Rantaro’s gaze fell on Kiyo, taking in every detail of him in that half-awake, delicate state. His hair fell messily across his forehead, mused from moving against the pillow. His hair draped around him in such a pretty way, his lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering as sleep and desire tangled together. The rise and fall of his chest, the subtle shiver of his body beneath Rantaro’s touch—everything was impossibly captivating.

Every little movement, every soft whine and gasp, drove Rantaro further, coiling heat tighter and tighter within him. The combination of Kiyo’s vulnerability, the quiet trust in his gaze, and the way he looked so effortlessly beautiful in the moment pushed Rantaro past the edge.
He felt himself shudder, gripping Kiyo closer, overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation and desire. The world narrowed to just the two of them—their breathing, the press of their bodies, the small, intimate sounds filling the room. In that instant, nothing existed outside of Kiyo’s presence, and it was all Rantaro could do to lose himself completely in the moment.

Kiyo moved above him, half-awake but fully intent, tugging lightly at Rantaro’s hair and nipping at his neck. Rantaro gasped at the sensations, overwhelmed by the combination of Kiyo’s teasing and his own desire, but he couldn’t stop smiling through it all. Kiyo let his hands roam all over Rantaro's chest, sitting fully up and giving a small contented hum.

Desperate to match the rhythm, Rantaro wrapped a hand around Kiyo, pumping him devastatingly quick. Every movement, every touch, every shiver between them pulled him tighter, until finally, he could hold back no longer. With a shuddering gasp, he came together with Kiyo, letting the release wash over him as they reached the peak in perfect unison.

Their breaths mingled, hearts racing, and the intensity of the shared moment left them both trembling and flushed, the quiet aftermath of pleasure settling over the bed like a soft, warm blanket.

Kiyo grabbed the edge of his oversized T-shirt, using it to wipe the remnants of their morning intimacy off Rantaro before slipping fully back under the covers.

“Can’t just start the morning like normal people,” he murmured, half teasing, half authoritative, settling beside Rantaro with a sleepy smirk.

“No,” Rantaro protested weakly, tugging at Kiyo’s arm. “Cuddles first. Always cuddles first.”

Kiyo rolled his eyes but leaned into the pull anyway, letting himself be tugged closer. “Fine, fine,” he murmured, a soft laugh in his throat. “But then we actually start the morning, got it?”

“Maybe,” Rantaro whispered, nuzzling into Kiyo’s chest, still flushed and breathless. “Just… maybe a few extra minutes of this, yeah?”

“Mhm,” Kiyo replied, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of Rantaro’s head, hand threading through his messy green hair.

And so they stayed there, tangled under the covers, hearts still racing but warmth and contentment settling over them, savoring the quiet domestic rhythm of a morning that belonged entirely to themselves.