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DOMESTIC BLISS (IS STORED IN THE D$CK)

feat. umemiya hajime

summary. you are too lazy to do anything, so does he. but it is going to stop you two from having sex? definitely not. but let’s just say umemiya does all the work because you are “too lazy” to move.

trigger/content warnings. lazy morning sex, shower sex, unprotected vaginal sex, cockwarming, reader is too wrecked to move, hajime is obsessed with reader’s pu$$y, praise kink, pu$$y worship, overstimulation (slow and affectionate), soft dom hajime, filthy dirty talk, possessive behavior, gentle yet perverted, internal ejaculation (cum staying inside), cum leaking, reader held in place / minimal movement, clit stimulation during penetration, deep penetration, full body worship, excessive kissing, hajime is a menace with a mouth, swearing / explicit language.

the apartment was too bright for how little sleep either of you had, sunlight leaking through the thin curtains like honey dripping too slow from a crooked spoon, dust dancing in the gold of it like tiny things flirting in the air, unbothered by the fact that you were basically naked and sitting in umemiya hajime’s lap like a fucked-up cat made of sweat, skin, and some very bad ideas. the windows were open just enough to let the warm wind in—summer-soft, humming with the faraway sound of traffic, birds, the occasional curse yelled from the street like punctuation to the otherwise obscene tenderness happening on his third-hand couch.

his couch. the world’s ugliest, most comfortable couch. mustard yellow, broken in like an old shoe, the cushions sagging just enough to keep your ass glued to him no matter how you shifted, and you did, constantly, mostly to tease, partially because there was no right way to sit on top of him without feeling his morning wood pressed right between your thighs in a way that was not urgent, not really, just… there. stupidly patient. pulsing like a secret.

he was wearing just his black boxers, hanging low on his hips, the waistband curled from age, and you were perched over him in a thin cotton bra and panties set you hadn’t exactly meant for him to see—pale pink, maybe a little too childish, but it had the tiniest bow stitched into the center and he’d seen it and cooed at it like it was the most perverted little treasure he’d ever been gifted.

“the fuck is this,” he’d said when he pulled back the blanket earlier, voice wrecked from sleep and throat-dry from last night’s weed, squinting at your chest like it was some kind of divine comedy. “you tryna kill me with this little girly ass thing?”

you’d only shrugged, yawned into his shoulder, then kissed his collarbone so slowly it made his stomach clench.

now you were tangled around him, long limbs and soft sighs, his hand splayed wide over your bare back like he thought you’d float off if he let go.

“you’re warm,” you mumbled, lips brushing his jaw as you dragged your fingers down the center of his chest, pausing over his heart, then lower. “like a fucking oven.”

“you love it,” he muttered, tilting his head into your touch, his messy white hair falling over his forehead, strands catching the sun like silk.

“mm. maybe,” you said, grinning slow, lazy, stupid.

he rolled his eyes, but it didn’t mean anything. umemiya didn’t really do real irritation with you. not unless you’d done something really foul, like steal the last ice cream bar or start biting before he was ready. and even then—he was a sucker. everyone knew that. big dog energy. bark loud, bite playful.

his hand slid down to your ass, squeezed gently like he was testing the ripeness of fruit. “you’re fuckin’ heavy,” he lied.

you snorted, then bounced your hips once—just to be a menace, just to hear him suck in a breath. “you’re fuckin’ hard.”

“yeah, well,” he said, licking his teeth, “you are straddling me in your underwear at ten a.m., so, like. yeah. that tracks.”

you kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and wet, then nosed your way to his ear. “you want me to get off?”

he groaned like you’d insulted his entire family line. “don’t even joke like that.”

you giggled into his neck, all teeth and sunshine, and his arms tightened around your waist like a vice.

outside, the world kept turning—bikes rattled past, a dog barked, the clouds shifted like a lazy sigh across the sky. inside, there was only heat. skin against skin. your breath tangling with his. the press of your chests rising and falling together like you shared the same heartbeat.

“you ever think about how stupid this is?” you asked suddenly, tracing a lazy circle around one of the fading bruises on his shoulder. “like. we could be doing anything. and we’re just… making out on a shitty couch. like teenagers.”

he blinked, slow and dumb and sweet, then grinned. “nah. i like this. it’s romantic. it’s filthy. you’re basically grinding on my dick and calling it bonding time. that’s quality relationship shit right there.”

you laughed so hard your forehead knocked into his. he groaned, mock-offended.

“ow. violence. you see this? this is what i get for being vulnerable.”

“you’re such a little bitch,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his temple.

“yeah,” he said, voice soft now, drifting, “but i’m your little bitch.”

his fingers found the back clasp of your bra, teasing but not unhooking it yet. not rushing. just lingering.

your mouths met again, slower this time, sloppier. not desperate. just there. mouths soft and open, tongues sliding lazy and warm, like tasting wasn’t about hunger anymore—it was about memory, about wanting to remember the shape of each other’s mouths forever.

you ground down, just once, barely more than a twitch, but his breath hitched again and his hands gripped your hips like the world would fall apart if he didn’t hold on.

you looked down at him, heart stupid and full.

“we’re gonna fuck, huh?” you whispered, grinning against his lips.

“yeah,” he breathed, eyes dark now, pupils wide, “but slow. so slow. s’too nice to rush.”

“mm,” you hummed, dragging your mouth down his jaw, over his throat. “you gonna be good?”

“never,” he said, grinning like the devil.

but his hands were gentle, and his eyes were soft, and when you finally lifted your hips and reached for him—he looked like he was watching god come down from heaven just to sit on his lap.

but not yet.

not yet.

there was still more kissing to do.

there was still a morning to ruin sweetly.

the sun didn’t know what it was doing anymore, dripping across your backs like a goddamn blanket someone left in the dryer too long—too warm, too soft, sticking to everything it touched. you were starting to sweat just a little, in that sleepy, sticky way that only happened when your body wasn’t sure if it wanted to fuck or nap again, and he wasn’t helping, not one bit, all spread out under you like a sin and a half, hands cupping the underside of your thighs like you were something he’d ordered off a decadent breakfast menu and wasn’t sure where to bite into first.

the fan clacked from the corner like it had a broken gear, half-heartedly blowing warm air into the room like it was trying but had mostly given up, and you couldn’t blame it. the air was already heavy with too much—too much heat, too much skin, too much tension so lazy it barely had the energy to uncoil. and him. umemiya hajime. blinking up at you through lashes that still looked wet with sleep, white hair a mess of tangled, pillow-dented fluff, mouth pink and parted, like he hadn’t stopped moaning your name in his dreams even after you’d climbed on top of him to ruin his peace.

he wasn’t doing anything. not really. just dragging his hands up and down your thighs in that slow, hypnotic way that made your belly flutter, fingertips tracing the edge of your underwear like he wanted to tug it down but couldn’t be bothered, not yet, maybe not for a while. his thumbs would dip in, barely, then smooth out again like he was testing the hem for weaknesses, seeing how long it would take before the fabric gave up or you did.

you hadn’t kissed in maybe three minutes, but your lips still felt swollen, glossed with the ghost of it, and your hips kept rolling forward in the gentlest, dumbest little circles, more from inertia than intent—like your body just knew where home was and kept knocking at the door.

“what time is it?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, head resting against his chest now, face mashed half into his collarbone.

“time to suffer,” he mumbled, arms wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. “in the best way.”

you smiled, teeth grazing his shoulder. “i mean, seriously. i might be melting.”

“don’t melt yet,” he said, nudging his nose into your hair, kissing the crown of your head like he wasn’t the same pervert who’d just been making heart eyes at your panties like they were designer silk. “need you alive for at least another hour. minimum.”

you shifted against him, slowly, your ass grinding down into his lap in a way that was entirely unintentional, except for the part where it absolutely wasn’t.

“you're so annoying,” he muttered, but his hips bucked up just enough to let you feel everything. “you do that on purpose?”

“no,” you said innocently, biting his jaw. “yes. maybe. depends.”

“on what?”

“on whether you’re gonna do something about it.”

he chuckled, low and loose and warm in your ear. “nah. too comfortable. i like this. this is, like… peak laziness. premium-level bullshit. you’re half-naked and squirming and i’m just here, like a slutty throne.”

you couldn’t stop laughing, head thrown back, giggles spilling out while he groaned and held you tighter, rocking your bodies like a boat in calm water, not enough to tip over, just enough to remind you that the sea was always there, waiting.

“you’re such an idiot,” you said through laughter, hand fisting in his hair and tugging him back toward you, kissing him again, slow and slow and slower, like the air between your mouths was made of syrup. your tongues met like old friends reuniting in a lazy summer town, nothing rushed, just a warm press, a gentle curl, a moan traded like a secret.

his hands moved up again, brushing your ribs under the bra, not trying to take it off, just feeling you, palms hot and steady, thumbs brushing the sides of your tits like he could memorize them through cotton.

you bit his bottom lip, tugged, then kissed it better. “you’re hard.”

“you’re wet,” he shot back, smirking against your mouth.

you shrugged, mouth ghosting over his. “guess we’re even.”

but neither of you moved.

not really.

just more kissing, more lazy grinding, more wandering hands that didn’t really want to start anything they couldn’t finish—but god, the way your hips kept meeting like they had plans of their own, slow and aimless, like two bodies just talking without words.

he kissed your neck again, slow and open-mouthed, tongue wet against your pulse, and you shivered even though it was warm, even though you were sweating, even though you should’ve been used to him by now.

“we’re gonna end up fucking like this, huh,” you murmured, fingers drawing lazy circles over his chest.

“nah,” he said, his voice a mess of gravel and sweetness. “not yet. too lazy. just wanna keep you like this. squishy and mean and sittin’ on my dick like you own the place.”

“i do own the place,” you said, rocking forward again just enough to make him groan. “you’re just leasing.”

“you’re gonna kill me.”

“good.”

and then—more kisses.

longer now.

deeper.

but still slow. still lazy. still not quite ready to tip over the edge.

but fuck, you were close. and you both knew it.

just one more minute. maybe two. you had all the time in the world.

you didn’t know how long you’d been there—how many minutes or lazy, syrupy hours had slipped past with your legs straddled over him like they belonged there, skin pressed to skin in the laziest, filthiest hug known to man, hips barely moving anymore except for the tiny unconscious tilts you kept giving him when you forgot you were supposed to be pretending you didn’t want it yet. and he wasn’t helping. god, hajime wasn’t helping at all.

not with the way his hands were resting low on your waist, fingertips brushing the dip of your spine like he was tracing a blueprint he already had memorized, thumbs stroking lazy, hypnotic circles just above the curve of your ass like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, like his body had gone on autopilot and decided touching you was the baseline function of existence.

you weren’t even kissing anymore. not really. just breathing each other in, letting your noses brush, letting your lips part like you might kiss, like you could definitely fall in, if someone just twitched the wrong way. your foreheads touched, hot and sticky and damp with sweat, your thighs shaking just a little from the position, but you didn’t care. neither of you moved to change anything. you were too far gone into the bliss of almost.

“you’re twitching,” he murmured, low and smug and so goddamn soft it made your chest ache.

“shut up,” you muttered, burying your face in his neck, and he laughed, that sweet, rumbling kind of laugh that vibrated all the way through his ribs and into yours, like you were sharing the same pulse now.

his cock was hard under you, hot and thick and trapped beneath your cunt like a slow-burn threat, his boxers the only barrier left between you and complete annihilation, and you could feel him, every twitch, every flex, every subtle shift of his hips when you rocked down just a little too hard, chasing pressure you weren’t ready to admit you needed.

“you are twitching,” he said again, hands sliding up to cup your ass, squeezing it gently like he was trying to wring the truth out of you with his palms. “you’re making little sounds, too. those tiny breathy ones you do when you’re pretending you’re not horny but your pussy’s already telling on you.”

you gasped against his neck, biting down on his shoulder just hard enough to make him grunt.

“hajime,” you hissed, voice barely coherent, all vowels and heat. “you’re such a—fuckin’—you talk too much.”

“nah,” he said, grinning against your hair. “i talk just enough. someone’s gotta narrate this masterpiece of a morning.”

you both went still for a moment, caught in the heat and the closeness, his hands sliding under the band of your panties now, not pushing them down, just touching, like he wanted to feel your skin burn against his palms, like he was content to tease you to the edge and leave you there. and the worst part—the worst part—was you didn’t want him to stop. you didn’t want him to hurry up. the slowness felt good. maddening and sticky and indulgent, like you’d locked yourselves in a room made of time and heat and nothing else mattered but how your hips kept brushing, how your tongues met in slow, filthy kisses that never got faster, just deeper, more intentional.

you whimpered before you meant to. not loud. not performative. just a soft, cracked sound into his mouth, like your body was leaking your desperation even though your brain was still pretending to be chill about it.

his eyes opened, dark and heavy and amused. “you like sittin’ on it like that, huh? not even doing anything, just makin’ yourself all warm and wet around it. like a little stove top.”

“you’re disgusting,” you whispered, not even trying to hide the way you were rutting down now, gently, slowly, riding the shape of him through his boxers like it was your job.

he groaned, deep and low, hands tightening on your hips, not to stop you—just to feel it better. to feel you. every move. every roll. every dumb, useless grind that wasn’t going to get you off but felt too good to stop.

“you’re soaked,” he said, eyes fluttering shut again like it physically pained him to say it out loud. “fuck. you’re leaking through. you’re gonna stain my boxers and i’m not changing. i’m walking around like this all day and it’s your fault.”

you laughed, then moaned, then tried to laugh again but it came out breathless, broken, head dropping onto his shoulder. “you’re so fucking gross. i love you so much.”

“that’s why you’re still here,” he said smugly, kissing the side of your head. “you love this. the filth. the laziness. the us of it.”

and he wasn’t wrong.

because god—it was you two, like this. warm. slow. heavy-limbed and tangled together on a creaky couch that probably smelled like too many nights like this. you could feel his heartbeat under your palm, thumping steady and slow, not rushed at all, even as you rocked and rocked and rocked again, your body humming with the ache of it, thighs trembling from doing absolutely nothing except pretending you weren’t about to lose your mind if he didn’t start touching you properly.

but still—you didn’t move. not really.

just one more grind.

one more kiss.

one more slow drag of your lips down the side of his throat while his hands finally slipped under the band of your panties for real this time, still not rushing, just resting his fingers there, cupping the heat of you like he was keeping it safe.

and he was.

he was.

you weren’t ready to fuck yet. not really.

but you were getting there. so fucking slowly. and it was perfect.

you didn’t even realize the sounds you were making had words in them, not at first—not until his fingers brushed against you just right, low and slow, barely parting the damp heat beneath your panties, and your mouth dropped open on a sigh that turned itself into a sentence halfway out, lazy and barely-there, slurred around the taste of him and the thickness in your throat.

“hajime,” you mumbled, lips dragging along his jaw, sticky with sweat, heat pooling low in your belly like something unbearable, like honey melting straight into your bloodstream, “fuck me already, i don’t—i don’t wanna move.”

he made a sound in his chest, something between a groan and a laugh, and tilted his head back like the ceiling might have answers for how to handle the little mess you were becoming in his lap, panting and boneless, too lazy to ride him, too needy to stop rubbing yourself all over his cock like a slutty little steamroller.

“you’re so lazy,” he murmured, thumb teasing the waistband of your panties again, letting the elastic snap back against your hip, the tiniest sting making you twitch, “like, violently lazy. aggressively. you want me to do all the work, huh? just lie there and take it?”

“uh-huh,” you breathed, nodding against his neck, rolling your hips just enough to feel him throb underneath you again, boxed in by his shorts and your own teasing. “just… please. please, hajime. i can’t—i don’t wanna do anything, just—just use me a little. i’m too comfy.”

he choked on his laugh this time, one hand splayed low on your back to keep you from sliding off him, the other still tucked under your panties like he’d set up camp there, middle finger pressed right against your slit, not moving, not even rubbing, just letting the heat from your cunt soak into him like a promise.

“you’re actually a menace,” he whispered, kissing your temple, slow and sweet like it canceled out the filth between your legs, “this is so fucked up. you’re begging me to fuck you without moving. that’s not even sex. that’s just evil.”

you whimpered in response, high and soft, your thighs twitching around his waist, every inch of you flushed and prickling with heat, arousal threading through your spine like someone had laced it into your bones. “not evil,” you mumbled, dragging your nose along the line of his throat, kissing the sweat there, tasting the heat off his skin like it could fix something broken in you. “just—just so horny, hajime, please, you feel so good, you’re so hard, and i’m all—i’m so wet, you said it—”

“you are,” he muttered, voice low and reverent now, almost a whisper, like he was overwhelmed by how soaked you were under his fingers, like it was something holy, something precious, “fuck, baby, you’re leaking like it hurts.”

“it does,” you moaned, shifting again, grinding down on him with a helpless little roll that made both of you groan, your panties practically stuck to you now, slick and transparent, his cock straining so hard against his boxers you could see the wet spot blooming near the head, “please, hajime, please, i need it. just—just pull it out, slide it in, don’t even make me move, i can’t.”

his breath stuttered against your cheek, and for a second, he was perfectly still, one hand curved around the back of your neck, thumb brushing your hairline like you were something fragile, something that needed soothing, even while your cunt was soaking his lap like an animal in heat.

“you’re so spoiled,” he whispered, kissing you again, full and deep and hot, tongue licking into your mouth like he was trying to drag the words back in before he gave in to them. “you’re a fucking brat. you know that?”

“i do know,” you whispered against his lips, kissing him again and again, lazy and breathless and so warm it almost hurt, “i know. i’m your brat.”

and then, quieter, gentler, needier—

“please fuck me, hajime.”

and something in him broke. or maybe not broke, but bent, melted, softened all the way down to the core, his whole body vibrating with the slow, aching need to ruin you and still hold you like a thing made of glass.

he kissed you again, slow as sin, hand sliding from your panties to his waistband, fingers curling into the elastic, and he didn’t move fast—not at all—but you felt it, that shift, that tiny change in air and heat and pressure that said, yes, finally, yes, you were going to get what you wanted, and you didn’t even have to lift a finger.

just stay there. just keep being soft and soaked and lazy. he had you.

he always had you.

he didn’t even rush it—didn’t do that stupid, dramatic pants-down-and-ravage-you thing he always threatened to do when you were being especially bratty—because that wasn’t what this morning was built for. no, this morning was made of honey heat and laziness, of limbs too heavy to do more than melt into each other, of the kind of want that didn’t burn but smoldered, low and steady and impossible to ignore. the kind that didn’t scream now—it murmured soon, slowly, let me take my time with you.

his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers with a breathy little sigh, not even bothering to push them all the way down. he just pulled himself out, cock thick and flushed and already wet at the tip, his breath catching when it slapped softly against his stomach and your thighs squeezed around him instinctively like your body was trying to say yes yes yes yes before your mouth could even find the words.

you looked down between you, blinking heavy-lidded and dazed, watching as he stroked himself once, lazy and indulgent, spreading that slick all the way down with a slow roll of his palm, like he had nothing but time and all he wanted to do with it was tease the both of you into delirium.

“mmf,” you whimpered, head lolling against his shoulder, hands curling into his hair again like it was the only thing holding you up, “you’re so big, fuck, you’re gonna split me open and i’m not even gonna move, isn’t that stupid? i’m so fucking stupid.”

he laughed—soft and wrecked and so fond it made your belly twist. “yeah, but you’re my stupid,” he murmured, dragging the head of his cock through the soaked cotton of your panties, pressing up against your folds just enough to make you jerk and gasp, hips rocking forward with all the energy of someone completely overwhelmed and unwilling to do a single thing about it. “and you’re such a mess. this tiny fuckin’ bow,” he breathed, touching it with the head of his dick, nudging it like it offended him, “i could die happy right now.”

you were panting now, forehead against his, skin flushed and burning, your thighs trembling from holding still and holding on, and you could feel every little shift of him—how hot he was, how hard, how much he wanted to just push in, and fuck, you were ready for it, more than ready, soaked through, twitching around absolutely nothing, your cunt clenching like it knew what was coming and couldn’t believe it had taken this long.

“hajime,” you whined, so quiet it was barely air, “please… i want it, i want it so bad, i don’t even care how it feels, i just want you in me, please, i’ll be good, i’ll be so good, i swear.”

he tilted his head, kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then your temple, every touch reverent like you were being worshipped instead of ridden, and then finally—finally—he hooked his fingers into the side of your panties and tugged them to the side, not even bothering to take them off, just baring you enough to part your folds and press the fat head of his cock against your entrance, your slick already making everything so easy, so wet, so warm he groaned like he was in pain just from the heat of you.

you held still—mostly because you had to, not because you wanted to, everything inside you vibrating like a plucked string—and then he pushed, slow, the stretch enough to knock the breath out of you, the pressure so thick and steady and gentle that your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth dropped open around a moan that had no shape, no rhythm, just pure need melting into something soft and wide and impossible to contain.

he sank into you with patience, like he was pouring himself into something holy, inch by inch by inch, until your cunt was stretching open around him, swallowing him so slowly it was almost unbearable, your nails digging into his shoulders now, not from pain, not even from desperation—just from how much it was, how deeply you felt it, how full you were, so full and so still, like the universe had condensed into this moment, into the place where your bodies met, and it didn’t need anything more than this—him inside you, warm and pulsing and there, just there.

you both sat like that for a second, or maybe it was longer, maybe forever, your breaths tangled, your mouths pressed together in the softest almost-kiss, sweat collecting in the hollow of your back, your thighs still trembling, but not moving, not even when he shifted his hips just enough to seat himself deeper, bottoming out with a groan that sounded like it had been punched out of him.

“fuck,” he whispered, burying his face in your neck, his voice shaking, “you feel so fucking good. you’re so wet. you’re gripping me. fuck. i’m gonna die right here.”

you nodded slowly, dumbly, mind blank except for the stretch, the weight, the fullness.

“good,” you said, voice thick and broken, “die inside me. be a man about it.”

he laughed, breathless and helpless, then kissed you again, and again, and again, his hands gripping your hips now, holding you there, not moving, just savoring the way your walls squeezed around him like a heartbeat.

neither of you moved yet.

not really.

just the tiny shifts.

just the breathing.

just the heat, the closeness, the soft press of your lips against his cheek, his shoulder, his mouth. you were still so lazy. but he was in you now.

and god—it had never felt better to do nothing at all.

you could feel his heartbeat inside you. slow, steady, thick—like a second pulse between your legs, pulsing in rhythm with your own, buried so deep you swore he was touching something that made your brain go quiet, soft, floaty, like your thoughts were being scooped out with his cock. not even moving, not thrusting—just there, just in, and still the stretch felt endless, the fullness dizzying, your cunt fluttering around him in slow waves like your body was trying to thank him without words, squeezing so tight in slow, desperate pulses that you could feel his whole body shiver underneath yours.

you weren’t even trying to move anymore. not a single roll of your hips. not even a lazy bounce. you were melted into him, legs spread wide and limp over his thighs, head tucked beneath his chin, arms loosely hanging around his shoulders like you were some kind of sleep-heavy doll. and he held you like you were sacred, his hands sliding up your back, smoothing over the dip of your waist, thumbs brushing the sides of your breasts through the thin cotton of your bra like he was cataloging every inch of you—like he didn’t need you to move at all, not if he could just feel.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, voice wrecked and warm against your ear, the praise sliding down your spine like melted wax, sticking in the pit of your stomach and curling your toes, “so good for me. just sittin’ there, stuffed full like that, taking it like you were made for it.”

your breath caught, a little hiccup of sound, and you twitched, just barely, hips stuttering in a circle so lazy it felt like an accident, your cunt clenching tight around him in response to the words. you hadn’t known how badly you’d needed to hear it until he said it, hadn’t known how deep it would hit. your walls fluttered again, squeezing him tight, and he groaned—low, broken, dragging his lips across your cheek, the corner of your mouth, kissing you like he was dizzy from the pressure of holding back.

“fuck, look at you,” he breathed, one hand trailing down, sliding between your bodies to rest against your lower belly, palm flat over the place where you were stretched around him. “you’re so full, you feel so good. i can feel you fluttering around me every time i talk. you like that? you like hearing how perfect you are?”

you nodded against his neck, too lazy to answer with words, whining instead—soft and needy and so high-pitched it didn’t sound like you anymore. just a thing made of want. his fingers curled under the band of your panties again, finally tugging them to the side properly, baring you completely now, the sticky wet fabric clinging to your thigh as he exposed the way you were stretched around him, stuffed so full and dripping all over him without even moving.

he looked down. he moaned.

“jesus fuck, baby. you’re so messy. you’re makin’ a fuckin’ mess of me and you’re not even trying. just sittin’ here, squeezin’ me like a little velvet vice. i’m gonna lose it.”

you shifted again, barely—just enough to grind down an inch, feel the drag of his cock along your inner walls, and both of you gasped at the same time, heads pressed together, mouths parted. his hips twitched up once, just reflex, but he caught himself, still holding back, still letting you lead without leading anything at all.

your voice came out ragged, barely a whisper. “do it again.”

“what?” he murmured, dazed, lips against your temple.

“say more,” you begged, so softly, breath hitching. “talk more. i—I like it. wanna hear you.”

he groaned, wrapping both arms around your waist now, holding you tighter, like he needed you to feel how serious he was when he whispered into your skin.

“you’re everything,” he said, slow and reverent. “you know that? this sweet little cunt, the way it hugs me like it never wants me to leave—you were made for this. made for me. you’re perfect like this, baby, so good, so wet, so lazy and sweet. fuck, you’re my favorite girl, you know that? the way you look right now… you’re a dream.”

your whole body shuddered, and the warmth that was coiled deep in your belly twisted, heavy and molten, your nails dragging down his back without pressure, just to touch, just to feel. your eyes were glassy, barely able to stay open, and you didn’t need to. you could hear him. you could feel him. his voice was wrapping around you tighter than his arms, every word threading into the haze of heat and fullness.

you whimpered again, hips stuttering forward just a little more, your thighs weak and shaking now from the effort of doing so little, and it made him groan again, deep and full of awe. “that’s it,” he whispered, kissing you under your ear, “just like that. fuck, you’re so good. you don’t even have to move. just sit there and let me feel you. just let me love you like this.”

you nodded, helpless, cunt clenching again at his words, and this time he did rock his hips—slow and tiny, just once, just to feel the drag of your walls over him—and you gasped, trembling, your hands tightening in his hair as the shock of it lit up your spine like lightning behind your eyes.

you were so close now, and you hadn’t even really fucked yet. just this. this slow, filthy little closeness. the praise. the heat. the stretch.

and still, you didn’t want to move. not really.

you wanted him to do it. you wanted him to keep holding you like that. keep telling you you were good. and god, he would. as long as you kept begging, he’d never stop.

you were so close to unraveling you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began—sweat-slick skin tangled against skin, breath tangled with breath, and your heartbeat echoing in your ears like it was trapped in a shell, loud and rhythmic and matching his, the steady thrum of it vibrating through your chest where it pressed into his. he hadn’t even really moved—just those slow, accidental tilts of his hips, just enough to feel the drag of him inside you, the pressure of being so impossibly full, stuffed to the hilt and held like a thing he was too in love with to ruin, even if you were both already so fucking filthy.

you were twitching now, just a little, your thighs soft and shaking around his hips, trembling with the effort of holding still even though every nerve in your body screamed for more, just a little, just a little more, please. the burn of it wasn’t sharp or frantic—it was molten, syrupy, a slow ache that stretched your belly out tight and kept your breath stuck in your throat, your mouth slack against his neck while you whimpered helplessly, not even forming real words anymore, just noises of need and gratitude and longing.

and hajime—god, hajime was being so good.

he wasn’t teasing, not really. not anymore. he was just loving you in this stretched-out, lazy way that made your chest ache—like he wasn’t trying to fuck you so much as worship the fact that you wanted him this bad without even needing movement, that your body opened for him, wet and perfect, and just held him there like it had known him for centuries.

his hands roamed slowly, tender and hot, one drifting up your spine, fingers splayed over your back like he was trying to cover as much of you as possible, the other anchored low on your hip, holding you still, keeping you close. he kissed your face without aim, lips dragging across your cheekbone, your temple, the corner of your mouth, his breath warm and shaky with how hard he was working to stay soft.

“you’re unreal,” he murmured, voice hoarse, his forehead resting against yours like he didn’t trust himself to look you in the eye right now. “i don’t even get how you exist. i’m inside you and you haven’t moved and i still wanna come. that’s criminal, babe. you’re—fuck—your pussy’s perfect, i swear to god.”

you moaned, long and soft, your walls fluttering again around him like you were trying to milk him just from praise alone. your nails scratched lightly at the back of his neck, not clawing, just anchoring. keeping him close. keeping yourself present.

“more,” you whispered, breathless. “say more. don’t stop.”

he smiled, sweet and ruined, one of those sleepy, stupid grins that made you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“you want more?” he whispered, dragging his hips in another barely-there thrust that had your whole body twitching like he’d electrocuted you. “you want me to tell you how fuckin’ tight you are? how warm? how you’re holding me like you own me?”

you nodded helplessly, a soft gasp caught in your throat, your legs squeezing around his hips with what little energy you still had.

“you do, you know,” he went on, slower now, voice like heatstroke, thick and loving and shameless, “you own me. you ruined me, sittin’ on my cock like this, lazy as fuck, acting like it’s not the most dangerous thing i’ve ever felt in my life. you don’t even have to move. you could keep me here forever and i’d thank you for it.”

your chest heaved, your breathing starting to catch, not frantic, but tighter now—shallower. you were winding up, winding down, spinning in place with him still fully inside you, your cunt sucking around him like your body knew it was allowed to be selfish with this, with him.

he felt it. of course he did. his hand slid down, between you, and cupped your mound—just holding it there, thumb brushing your clit so gently it barely qualified as contact. but you felt it. fuck, you felt everything now.

“you’re so good for me,” he murmured, and you whimpered again, louder this time, your body jerking in his arms, “so good, so soft, so fuckin’ perfect. you don’t gotta do anything. just keep taking it. keep being sweet for me. i’ll take care of you, baby. i got you.”

you clung to him, mouth on his shoulder, moaning into his skin as your orgasm started to creep up on you slow and sticky, from the inside out, building with every breath, every tiny twitch of his cock inside you, every murmured praise and gentle kiss and helpless press of his thumb that didn’t rub, didn’t flick, just rested on you like a blessing.

“gonna come,” you whispered, almost ashamed, voice cracking like you couldn’t believe it, “fuck, hajime—gonna come and i didn’t even move—”

“that’s my girl,” he breathed, kissing your jaw, your lips, his words muffled and adoring and so fucking warm you thought you might cry, “go on, baby. come just like that. just stay soft and let me feel it. let me feel all of it.”

and when it hit you—god—it hit like a slow collapse, like a sunset sinking into the horizon, no sharp peaks or gasping cries, just this deep pulsing wave that rolled through your entire body, dragging every last ounce of tension out with it. your whole body trembled, thighs twitching, cunt squeezing down on him in rhythmic, velvet pulses while you moaned into his mouth, kissing him through it like you were trying to pour the feeling back into him.

he held you through all of it. didn’t move. didn’t rush. just whispered how good you were. how proud. how sweet.

and when it faded, when your muscles gave out and you melted entirely into his lap, still impaled on his cock, breath wrecked and lips swollen—he was still there. still hard. still in you.

and neither of you were in a hurry to change that.

not yet. not for a long, long while.

he didn’t even try to pull out—not when your walls were still fluttering around him like aftershocks, all slow and wet and greedy, still coaxing him with every lazy squeeze, like your body wasn’t done worshipping him, like you knew he hadn’t come yet and were coaxing it out of him the only way you knew how—by holding him, wrapping him in all that slick heat, and letting him feel how perfect you were around him, without moving, without bouncing, without a single ounce of effort beyond existing in his lap and falling apart so beautifully on his cock.

hajime was shaking under you now, whole body strung tight with restraint, his hands gripping your hips so gently, like he didn’t want to bruise you, didn’t want to ruin the softness of the moment even though you were clenching on him like a vice, wringing every ounce of self-control out of him one heartbeat at a time. his breath was ragged, loud, desperate, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted in this little broken expression that was all teeth and awe and struggle.

“baby,” he groaned, and it sounded wrecked, it sounded full-body, like the word had been torn out of his chest, “you’re gonna make me cum just like this. jesus fucking christ. you’re gonna milk it out of me and you’re not even doing anything—”

“you don’t need me to,” you whispered, voice still hoarse from moaning, lips brushing his like a secret, “you’re already there, hajime. i can feel it. i can feel you twitching inside me. just let go. come in me. come, baby, please—”

and that broke him.

he choked on a sound, a half-moan, half-growl, and pulled you down tighter into his lap, burying his cock as deep as it would go, his hips jerking up in one desperate, stuttering thrust that sent another ripple through your spent muscles—and then he was coming, hard and slow and loud, his body tensing up under you like a live wire, his mouth falling open in a long, low moan that vibrated through his throat like thunder barely held in check.

“fuck—fuck—you feel so good, you feel so fucking good, baby, holy shit—” his words were messy, frantic, strung together in that helpless way he got when he was right on the edge, and now he was there, cock throbbing deep inside you as thick, hot ropes of cum spilled out into your cunt, filling you in long, pulsing waves. you could feel it—feel the way it pooled and spread, dripping down between your folds with no resistance, no barrier, just skin against skin, warm and perfect and obscene.

he kissed you through it—sloppy, breathless, his mouth barely finding yours between the moaning and the panting and the little whispered, “fuck, fuck, i love you, baby, you’re so good, so good for me, you’re my girl, you’re mine”, and it all spilled out like he couldn’t hold it anymore, couldn’t keep anything to himself when you were like this, wrapped around his cock and still twitching from the high of your orgasm.

you held him through it, arms looped lazily around his neck, cheek pressed to his damp shoulder, and you felt it, every twitch of his cock, every breathless curse, every drop of heat he spilled into you, and it was so much, more than you expected, more than either of you could hold. the mess between you was thick and slow, spreading over your thighs where you sat locked together, and neither of you moved to fix it. there was no need. not yet.

his breath started to even out, little by little, chest rising and falling against yours like he’d just run a marathon through molasses, body loose and trembling under you, hands still gripping your hips like he needed to anchor himself to something real or else drift straight out of his body.

“holy shit,” he muttered after a long silence, voice gone, throat raw, lips brushing your temple. “you… you broke me. you broke my whole body. i’m gonna be like this forever now. this is my final form. a man who came without being fucked.”

you giggled, breath catching in your throat, turning your head to nuzzle into his neck. “you came so much,” you whispered, a little dreamy, “i can feel it everywhere. fuck. you filled me up so good, hajime.”

he groaned again, his cock giving a lazy twitch inside you at your words, still half-hard and utterly wrecked, the overstimulation starting to sink in, but in the best, warmest way.

“don’t say that,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “if you say shit like that i’m gonna want to do it again in ten minutes and i literally can’t feel my fucking legs.”

you both laughed then, soft and breathless and completely fucked-out, wrapped around each other in a mess of sweat and slick and affection, your skin sticking in all the places it had no business touching, and still you didn’t want to move. not an inch. not even to clean up. just stay like this, warm and full and loved, your heart thudding in time with his, his cock still nestled deep inside you like it belonged there.

and maybe it did.

because right now—nothing else had ever felt so right.

for a long while, there was only silence. not the heavy, awkward kind—no, this was the warm kind, the kind that sat gently between your bodies like a third presence, sleepy and full-bellied, all limbs tangled up in skin and breath, sweat cooling slowly where it pooled between your chests. the fan hummed lazily in the corner, blowing soft warm air across the room like it was too tired to do its job properly, and the sun had moved just far enough that it now caught in hajime’s hair, making it glow like moonlight in water, pale strands stuck to his flushed forehead where he was still trying—and failing—to breathe normally.

you were both still joined, cock softening barely inside you but refusing to go anywhere yet, not while your body was so slick and warm and relaxed around him, still pulsing now and then in slow, tired waves like your cunt hadn’t quite processed that it was done yet, like it didn’t want to be done. and neither did he, really—his hands still draped around your waist, one thumb stroking idly at the swell of your ass, the other curled under your bra strap like he needed something to hold onto.

you could hear the wet sounds where you were pressed together, the mess leaking down between your thighs in slow, lazy trickles, smearing across his lap, soaking into his boxers and sticking to your skin in ways that should’ve felt uncomfortable but didn’t—not yet. it just felt real. lived-in. like the kind of mess you didn’t clean up until you had to, and even then only because gravity insisted.

you sighed against his chest, nose brushing his collarbone, your voice slow and quiet like a thought you hadn’t even finished forming before it slipped out.

“wanna do it in the shower?”

he blinked.

you felt it. the subtle shift in his breath, the way his arms tensed just slightly like his whole nervous system had tripped over itself and was trying to decide whether to pass out or jump up and drag you there right now.

then—his laugh. soft and stupid and so fucking fond, cracking low in his chest as he tilted his head back and groaned like you’d just asked him to do quantum physics while still half-dead.

“you are the devil,” he mumbled, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple, “the actual devil. a succubus in girlfriend form. you want me to stand right now? after what you just did to me?”

you grinned against his skin, licking a bead of sweat from the curve of his neck. “i didn’t do anything. you did all the work. i’m still just sittin’ here. technically, i’m the innocent one.”

he groaned again, louder this time, full of mock pain and real lust, and his cock twitched faintly inside you, like it heard the offer and wasn’t quite done weighing its options.

“you wanna shower or you wanna fuck in the shower?” he asked, voice rough and sleep-thick, lips brushing your ear as he whispered it like a dare. “because those are two very different commitments, baby.”

you laughed softly, tracing lazy circles over his chest with your fingertip, smearing the sheen of sweat across his skin like warpaint. “mm. both. eventually. i just… wanna be warm. and wet. and slippery. and maybe let you bend me over while we rinse each other off.”

he shuddered.

you felt it.

“you’re a menace,” he whispered, kissing your shoulder, teeth grazing where your bra strap had slipped down. “i can still feel you leaking down my cock and you’re already talkin’ about round two. fuck. you’re gonna kill me. this is how i die. just a drained man on the shower floor, smiling.”

you smiled, slow and dreamy, and nuzzled into his neck.

“then die pretty,” you whispered, kissing him there. “and hold me while we do it.”

and he did.

he held you a little tighter, groaned again, then tapped your thigh like a man preparing to rise from the grave.

“okay,” he said, breathing deep, “but if i fall and crack my skull in the shower, you better come down there and suck the life back into me.” you giggled, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, still glassy and stupid with love, hair a sweaty, glowing mess.

“deal.”

and then—finally, slowly, lazily—you shifted in his lap, your bodies coming apart with a wet, obscene sound, and both of you hissed, eyes fluttering, groaning at the loss of contact, of heat, of fullness. you looked down between your legs, watched as a thick spill of his cum slipped out of you and dripped over his thigh.

he stared too.

then looked up at you.

and grinned.

“yep,” he said, “definitely gonna need that shower.”

you reached for his hand with the laziest kind of grace—fingers curling around his like a stretch at sunrise, your whole body still soft, a little shaky, slick and gleaming with sweat and whatever was still leaking down your inner thighs in slow, shamefully sticky streams. the apartment smelled like sex and warmth and morning skin, like the kind of mess you didn’t want to clean up too fast, but your legs were finally remembering how to move, and the promise of hot water and tile and his hands on your body again made your chest ache with a new kind of wanting.

hajime groaned dramatically as you tugged at him, head rolling back against the couch cushion with the commitment of a man being asked to climb everest barefoot. “fuck, baby, i just came. i just died in your lap. i think my soul left my body for a minute. you’re really dragging my ass to the shower?”

“uh-huh,” you said sweetly, pulling him upright with both hands now, watching his abs flex under the movement, the light catching on the slick patch of skin where your bodies had been stuck together. “you made a mess of me, hajime. now you have to help rinse me off.”

he grumbled, but stood anyway—slowly, lazily, half-staggering like his knees weren’t real anymore—and when he did, his cock swung forward, still damp, softening slowly but no less heavy, thick with the weight of recent release, still glistening with a mixture of you and him and the entire morning.

you couldn’t help it. your eyes dropped. your grin stretched.

“god,” you said, low and hot and half-gasped, “look at you. that dick looks exhausted. you fucked me so good it’s hanging there like it’s waiting for applause.”

he snorted—snorted, then covered his face with one hand like he couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed or proud. “you’re so nasty,” he groaned, glancing down, then up at you through his fingers. “why does it turn me on when you talk like that? you’ve broken me.”

“i’m helping,” you said sweetly, reaching out to hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and dragging them down the rest of the way—slow, deliberate, watching them slide down over his hips and thighs, revealing all of him, streaked with your slick, his own release still dripping from the flushed head of his cock. the fabric dropped to the floor with a soft whisper and he stepped out of it, finally naked, glorious and flushed and gleaming in the morning light, hair a wild mess, lips kiss-bitten, chest still rising in slow, post-orgasmic breaths.

you stared. appreciated. because how could you not?

“fuck, you’re pretty,” you murmured, stepping close again, bare feet quiet against the warm floorboards, your own body still barely dressed in that thin little bra and the now-shoved-aside panties doing nothing to hide how swollen and slick you still were. “all wrecked and flushed and leaking. if we had another hour, i’d sit back down on you just to watch you twitch.”

“jesus,” he groaned, voice cracking, grabbing your wrist with a hiss, like just your words were enough to make him start hardening again. “shower, baby. before i forget how to walk again.”

you giggled, teeth catching your bottom lip, and gave his hand another tug, leading him down the short hall like you were luring something dangerous out of its den—except the danger was love-wrecked and dragging his feet and still looking at your ass like he was trying to remember if he could get it in you again standing up.

“if you drop to your knees in there, i swear i’ll let you eat me until the water goes cold,” you said, glancing back over your shoulder.

“you keep talkin’ like that,” he muttered, squeezing your fingers, “and i will. and then i’ll rinse your thighs with my mouth.” you reached the bathroom door, heart thudding, smile stretched wide and wicked, skin tingling all over again. “good,” you said, pushing the door open. “i like it when you do your chores.”

and then—steam. tile. warmth. the next slow, perfect mess.

the bathroom was already warm before the water even started—sunlight slanting in through the frosted window, catching on the sheen of your skin and the pale dust motes floating in the stillness like lazy little sparks of heat—and hajime was behind you, bare and heavy-limbed, his hand still loosely tangled with yours, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, like he thought you might float off without him if he stopped touching you for even a second.

you moved slowly, every step thick with the weight of what you’d just done—no rush, no urgency, just the quiet hum of bodies already well-fucked and full of something deeper now, something that made even the air between you feel heavier. his chest brushed your back as he followed you in, hips flush to your ass like his body just knew where to land, and you reached out to start the shower, the squeak of the tap echoing softly off the tiled walls, followed by the sputter and hiss of hot water as it surged to life.

the steam curled instantly, slow tendrils licking up the mirror, fogging the edges of the glass before the water even hit full heat, and you felt hajime’s hands on your sides—light, reverent, still a little shaky, like he hadn’t really come down yet. and you didn’t want him to. not yet.

his fingers trailed up your ribs, brushing beneath the edge of your bra where the cotton was clinging damp and crooked to your skin, straps hanging low from where they’d slipped during the mess on the couch. he didn’t rush, didn’t tug, just slipped one hand beneath the fabric, the other following up to the clasp at your back, his breath hot against your shoulder as he leaned in.

“can i take this off now?” he murmured, not because he needed permission, but because he liked asking. liked making you melt just from the sound of him wanting something that was already his.

you nodded, slow, head tipping to the side to give him more of your throat, and he kissed it as he unhooked the clasp with that lazy, practiced ease of a man who’d spent enough time daydreaming about undoing you that his fingers moved on instinct. the bra slipped away like it didn’t even belong there, and you felt the cooler air kiss the swell of your breasts, the steam licking up in its place, your nipples already hard and damp, brushed with the memory of his tongue and teeth.

he dropped the bra to the floor, but his hands stayed where they were—palms full of you, thumbs grazing over your nipples with slow, gentle pressure, not to start anything, not yet, just to touch, to savor the feel of you bare against him at last.

“fuck,” he whispered against your neck, his cock twitching against the curve of your ass even though he was still soft, still recovering, but already half-hard again from just the weight of your body under his hands. “you’re unreal. even like this—fuck, especially like this.”

you smiled, slow and sly, reaching behind you to tangle your fingers in his damp hair, tugging him down just enough to catch his mouth in a lazy kiss, tongues brushing, slow and warm, steam curling around both of you now like silk.

“you gonna take the rest off?” you murmured, voice low and teasing, still breathy from earlier, “or are you just gonna grope me like a horny ghost?”

he laughed, breathless against your cheek, then dropped to his knees behind you with a groan so dramatic you almost turned around just to admire it. his hands smoothed down your hips, thumbs hooking into the sides of your panties, and he pressed his face to the small of your back like a man in prayer.

“horny ghost,” he mumbled into your skin, kissing the dip of your spine. “yeah. that tracks.”

you felt the fabric slide down, slow and damp and sticky with everything he’d left inside you—your panties clinging for just a second before peeling away with a soft, wet sound that made both of you shudder. he dragged them down over your thighs, your knees, kissing the backs of your legs as he went, fingers trailing with worshipful laziness down to your ankles where he helped you step out, tossing the soaked cotton aside with a reverence that was both stupid and sincere.

you were naked now, completely, flushed and warm and still sore in the best, sweetest way—your thighs slick, cunt still swollen and tender, and he looked up from where he was crouched behind you, hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted like he was seeing something holy.

“you’re a fuckin’ masterpiece,” he whispered, voice gone husky again. “messy and perfect. i should put you in a museum. under glass. but, like… still let me touch you sometimes.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing softly, but your cheeks were burning, and your thighs pressed together instinctively, bashful in a way that felt more intimate now than full-blown lust.

you turned toward him, finally, and offered your hand again, water hissing behind the glass as steam filled the room, everything warm and soft and glowing. “come on,” you said, voice low and smiling, “let’s get clean before we make another mess.”

he took your hand.

and followed you in.

the shower hissed and roared around you, hot water spilling in thick, steady rivulets across your back, running down your spine in slow drips that felt like fingers, steam blooming around your skin in soft, rolling waves—thick enough to blur the tile, thick enough to make you feel cocooned, wrapped up in warmth and wet and the dizzying weight of him.

you had barely stepped inside, barely turned toward the wall when hajime sank to his knees behind you again, not waiting, not asking, just easing you forward with those wide palms on your hips, guiding you into position like it was routine, like this was the most natural thing in the world. and maybe it was. maybe for you two, the ritual of sweat and steam and mess was holy in its own way.

your hands found the slick tile in front of you, palms flat, bracing as he pressed closer—his breath ghosting over the curve of your ass, and then lower, lower still, until the heat of his mouth hovered just behind your cunt, and the only warning you got was a low groan that vibrated in his chest, that soft “fuck me, baby…” before his tongue touched you.

it was gentle at first. obscene in its softness.

the flat, slow drag of it up your slit, parting the slick folds that were still puffy and sensitive from everything he’d done to you earlier, his spit mixing with your wetness and the remnants of his own cum that had started to leak again under the pressure of the water. it didn’t matter. none of it mattered except his mouth and your thighs shaking and the sound of his voice as he moaned like he’d been starving and this was the only thing that could possibly satisfy him.

“you taste like me,” he said, half-drunk on it already, fingers digging into the plush of your ass as he buried his face deeper, tongue sliding down, then up again, slow and firm, licking through everything like he was cleaning you with his mouth. “fuck, i can taste how full you are. you’re still leaking, baby. made you so messy…”

you whimpered, forehead pressed to the tile, your breath fogging the surface in front of you, legs barely holding you upright as he licked deeper, more deliberately now—his hands spreading your cheeks gently, reverently, opening you up so his tongue could press right where it needed to go.

he was slow about it, because of course he was. he was warm and lazy and loving about it, like the idea of rushing this would’ve been disrespectful, like your pussy was a place to worship, not conquer. the tip of his tongue circled your entrance, teasing the cum out of you, licking it up, humming deep in his throat at the taste, and then moving higher—just a little—to flick slow, damp patterns over your clit until your hips jerked forward against the wall and you let out the softest, dirtiest moan you’d ever heard come from your own throat.

“h-hajime…” your voice cracked, barely a whisper, “that’s not—this isn’t cleaning…”

he laughed, low and ruined, and dragged his tongue over you again, firmer now, pressing just right as his nose nudged the cleft of your ass, his voice muffled in your soaked skin.

“it’s my version of clean,” he said, breath hot against your cunt, lips slick and wet, “and you’re doing so good for me, baby. holding still like that, letting me take my time. so fucking sweet. just let me—fuck, just let me have this.”

and you did.

you let him devour you, kneeling in the steam, water cascading over his back, down your thighs, pooling around his knees on the shower floor while he licked and sucked like it was sacred—his mouth slow and focused, his lips wrapping around your clit just enough to pull another gasp from your chest, his tongue dipping inside you again, tasting the mess he’d made and moaning for it like a reward.

his hands held you steady as you started to tremble, your knees wobbling, your thighs clenching around his head without meaning to—and he groaned louder at that, digging his fingers in deeper, dragging you back against his mouth, his stubble scratching soft against your inner thighs as he devoured you.

you were breathless now, barely upright, the water pounding against your back and shoulders, your cheek pressed to the slick tile as your body pulsed with heat and need and overstimulation, your orgasm building again—not sharp, not fast, but slow, molten, a roll of thunder that was crawling toward you across the horizon of your skin.

“c’mon, baby,” he mumbled against your cunt, licking hard and slow, relentless now, “come for me. let me taste it. i wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue. be my good girl, yeah?”

and you did.

you came for him, again, so slowly it felt like the world was unraveling inside you—your thighs clamping around his head, your mouth open against the wall, moaning his name in a breathless, high whimper as the pulse gripped your cunt and rolled through you in waves, your body giving out so gently, so beautifully, that hajime had to catch you, hands sliding up under your belly, holding you upright as you fell apart.

and he didn’t stop licking. not right away. not until you were shaking so badly your voice was breaking on every breath. only then did he kiss the inside of your thigh, his tongue soft now, slow again, like a goodbye.

he stood up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chest pressed to your back, both of you panting in the water and steam, your bodies so warm and spent and close you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“now that’s clean,” he whispered against your ear, kissing your neck.

you laughed. you couldn’t help it. you were glowing. and you were already thinking about what else his mouth could do.

but for now— you leaned into him. and just let the water run.

his mouth never left your neck—not really—just dragged slowly from your shoulder to the hinge of your jaw, open and wet, breathing hot against your pulse like he could live off the sound of your heartbeat alone. his hands had moved up from your hips to your stomach, splayed wide across your belly like he was trying to hold all of you, to feel every tremor that still rippled through your muscles, those soft aftershocks of the orgasm he’d licked out of you like it was a secret only he was allowed to know. the water beat down on your shoulders and over his chest, your bodies slick and gleaming, chest to back, skin to skin, like the shower was some kind of womb and you were curled into each other inside it, existing only in heat and hush and pulse.

and then you felt it—his hand sliding down.

his fingers slow at first, deliberate, trailing over the curve of your mound, skimming over the mess he’d made of you just minutes ago, the pad of his middle finger catching lightly against the oversensitive hood of your clit before dipping between your folds again, testing how soft, how open, how ready you still were.

he groaned low behind you, teeth grazing your shoulder, his voice a hot breath wrapped in affection and filth. “fuck… still so warm. still twitchin’.”

your knees buckled just slightly, your forehead dropping against the tile again, the coolness there the only thing grounding you as you felt his other hand move—reaching down between his bodies now, slow and certain.

and there it was. the unmistakable sound of him wrapping his fingers around his cock, thick and wet and half-hard still, the heavy slap of it brushing the inside of your thigh as he stroked himself lazily behind you.

you bit your lip, breath hitching, too fucked-out and slow to form anything more than a soft whimper when he rutted gently against your ass, not pushing in—yet—just lining up, smearing himself against your soaked folds while the tip of him teased low, slow, deliberate.

his lips returned to your ear, smiling against your skin now, voice playful and terrible and way too fucking pleased with himself.

“mm. think we’ve got company,” he murmured, his voice dipping into that low, menacing warmth he used when he was about to do something awful in the nicest possible way. “you feel that, baby?”

you blinked, confused for half a second, still too dazed to follow.

and then he moaned, shameless and soft, dragging the fat, heavy head of his cock between your folds and notching it right at your entrance, pressing just barely in—not enough to breach, not enough to claim, but close. so close it made your cunt clench down again, helpless and desperate, trying to pull him in.

you opened your mouth to say something, but he beat you to it. his teeth grazed your earlobe. “an intruder,” he whispered, deep and teasing. “uninvited. pushy. rude, even.”

and before you could answer, before you could say yes, or please, or fuck me again, he rolled his hips forward with a slow, relentless pressure, and sank into you—inch by inch, deep and thick and unyielding, burying himself inside your pussy with one long, claiming thrust that made your knees tremble and your breath break against the tile in a soft, gasped moan.

“fuck—fucking shit, hajime—”

his hands were back on your hips instantly, steadying you, pressing you to the wall, his chest to your back again, his cock now fully sheathed inside you, pulsing with the effort of holding still while your body clenched down around him like it had been waiting for this the whole time. the stretch was thick, slow, and real, a second claiming after that first soft heat on the couch, and this time—this time, he didn’t wait for permission.

“couldn’t help it,” he whispered into your hair, kissing the back of your neck now, voice thick with awe and lust and something stupidly tender. “you were just so fuckin’ open for me, baby. so perfect. i had to come home.”

you moaned, helpless, pressing back against him now, your body welcoming the fullness, the weight, the soft pressure of his cock twitching inside you with every shallow breath he took. he was balls-deep, unmoving, letting your cunt flutter and squeeze around him while the shower rained over your bodies, steam curling up around your legs, your backs, clinging to the walls like ghosts made of heat.

you shivered—not from cold, but from sensation, from everything—your voice barely more than a whisper. “you’re insane,” you gasped, smiling through it, ruined and fond. “you warned me about your dick like it wasn’t already my problem.”

he chuckled, low and shameless, nipping your shoulder, one hand sliding down again between your legs, fingers finding your clit with lazy, practiced precision.

“not a problem,” he murmured, rolling his hips once—slow, shallow, just enough to feel the slick slide, “a guest. just a really bad-mannered one.” and with that, he moved again—slow, deep, devastating. his hand stayed there. his lips never left your skin. and the shower ran on. you were already drowning. and you never wanted to come up.

he moved in you like the water did—slow, constant, impossibly gentle—like there was no end, like there didn’t need to be. each roll of his hips was an ache and a comfort, a rhythm too lazy to be called thrusting, more like rocking, like breathing, like he was trying to stay inside you more than fuck you, and god, that might’ve been worse. better. everything.

his cock dragged deep and slow through your pussy, all that thick friction slick with what you’d made of each other—warm and messy and too much, not enough—his length pressing against the softest, deepest spots in you like he knew them by heart now, like he didn’t need to chase an angle or a pace because your body did all the work for him, pulling him in, gripping around him with every tiny roll of his hips like your cunt had been made to hold him and only him.

the water kept falling, washing sweat and slick down your stomach, between your thighs, but it didn’t clean anything. it just made it prettier—made it shine. your back was arched into the tile, your hands flat against the wall for support, and hajime was wrapped around you like a second skin, his chest warm and broad and solid against your spine, his mouth never far from your shoulder or your neck or your cheek, pressing slow, wet kisses wherever he could reach between moans that made your skin gooseprickle, not from cold.

he was panting, softly, into your ear, not because he was chasing anything—no—but because he was holding it all back. the tension wasn’t sharp, wasn’t wild or frantic. it was this thick, drowsy coil that stretched out forever, and he liked it that way. he wanted to feel every second of your cunt pulsing around him, wanted to savor every breath you lost, every little gasp you gave when he hit just right. and you—you were so far gone you weren’t even thinking about time anymore, just about the feeling of being full, of being loved with slow, unbearable intent.

his hand was still between your legs, thumb moving in slow, tight circles over your clit, not fast enough to push you, but enough to keep you gasping, to keep your whole body tuned to his.

you whimpered—high and quiet, not even a plea, just a sound of too much pleasure carried on too little strength.

he kissed behind your ear, his voice low and flushed, thick with something softer than lust. “that’s it, baby… fuck, you feel so good. you’re squeezin’ me like you never wanna let me go.” you moaned, back arching a little more, helpless against the heat pooling again in your belly, a new wave building slow and dangerous.

he kept fucking you like he had all the time in the world. shallow, deep, slow, meaningful—the kind of movement that wasn’t about chasing pleasure but communicating it, like he was trying to talk to you through the way he moved inside you. and every word was love, was praise, was you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.

his nose brushed your temple, his fingers still drawing soft, patient circles around your clit, never pushing too far, just staying there, giving you everything you needed without needing to take.

you could feel his cock throb with every little squeeze of your pussy, feel the tension building in the slowest, thickest way possible—his hips stuttering sometimes, barely noticeable, but enough that you knew he was close to that line, and choosing not to cross it yet.

“you wanna stop?” you whispered, breathless and dizzy and aching, but not from pain—just from the stretch of it, the suspense, the pressure that had built into something almost too much to hold.

he kissed your shoulder again, hand gripping your hip, holding you in place as he gave another deep, slow roll of his hips, and you felt it—how deeply he settled inside you, how your cunt welcomed every inch.

“never,” he whispered, voice breaking into a laugh, soft and wrecked and full of love. “you’re the best fuckin’ place i’ve ever been. i could stay here all day.”

and with that, he started again.

slow. deep. loving. not trying to finish. just trying to feel.

and you let him.

the water kept cascading over both of you, not quite rinsing, not quite cooling, just wrapping your skin in a lazy kind of warmth that didn’t even matter anymore—not compared to his warmth, pressed to your back, chest sliding slick over your shoulders with every long, rolling grind of his hips. the sound of it all—your soft, broken breaths, the wet drag of his cock inside your swollen cunt, the rhythmic splatter of water on tile—filled the small bathroom like a song you’d both forgotten how to stop singing, something low and slow and sacred, something that didn’t need to end.

hajime’s hands were everywhere, slow and reverent, like he didn’t know what part of you to touch next, like every inch deserved a thank-you. one palm slid up your stomach, fingers splayed under your ribs, holding you steady as he rocked into you again and again, pace still unhurried, still that same rolling, grinding motion like he was trying to fit, like he wasn’t just fucking you but settling into you, like he wanted to nest there between your legs and never leave. the other hand cupped under your thigh now, lifting your leg just enough to tilt your hips back into him, to open you more, take more, and you gasped when he did it—not from surprise, but from how right it felt.

“fuck, baby,” he murmured against your neck, lips soft and wet, his breath ghosting down your spine as he rutted into you, “you were made for this. made for me. i swear, you open up for me like you know i belong in here.”

you whimpered something that didn’t even sound like a word, just noise, your fingers flexing uselessly against the slick tile, hips pushing back now in tiny, desperate movements that made his breath hitch in your ear. you could feel it again, the deep throb of your own need spiraling tighter, building in that same molten way, slow and thick and dangerous—but he still wasn’t rushing, wasn’t chasing it.

he wasn’t letting you.

not yet.

and neither of you wanted to finish. not now. not when it felt this fucking good just being connected like this—cock buried in your soaked cunt, his arms holding you up like scaffolding, his voice pouring over you in slow, filthy praise like he could keep your body wanting forever just by saying your name right.

“you feel that, baby?” he whispered, voice gone hoarse, almost worshipful. “that slow drag when i pull back? how your pussy doesn’t wanna let go? she’s greedy,” he groaned, fingers flexing on your thigh as he rocked into you again, slow and deep, so deep you felt it in the base of your skull. “just like you. sweet little thing, always makin’ a mess of me, so fuckin’ full and wet and tight, fuck—i can’t believe i’m still not done with you.”

you were trembling again, and he felt it—his arms tightening around you, his chest curving over your back like he wanted to shield you from the weight of your own pleasure. his cock dragged out slow, thick, the head catching just slightly, perfectly, before he pushed back in again with a groan that sounded pained with how good it felt, the slap of his hips against your ass lazy and wet and perfect.

you moaned, loud this time, couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your legs tried to squeeze shut around him even though he held you open, your body betraying you with every twitch and flutter and gasp. “haji—hajime—fuck, i can’t take it, you’re—you’re too deep, it’s too good, i—”

“you can,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek now, almost like a kiss, “you are. you’re takin’ it so good, baby, so fuckin’ good. every time you suck me back in like that—fuck, i think i’m gonna lose my mind.”

he shifted again, slower now, deeper, like he was dropping anchor inside you, his cock thick and hot and so hard it almost hurt to feel how much control he was still using to keep the pace gentle. your walls pulsed again, helpless around him, the drag of every vein on his shaft sending sparks up your spine, and still—still—you weren’t finished.

neither was he.

not yet.

because this—this was the part he loved.

not the chase. not the finish. but the having.

the holding.

your cunt full of him, warm and stretched and twitching, body pressed into the tile, open and obedient, breath fogging the glass while his voice made your knees weak and your heart ache.

you were still moving together.

and it was still everything.

his mouth never left you—not for more than a breath. hajime couldn’t stop, wouldn’t even try. he kissed you like it was instinct, like if he didn’t keep his lips on your skin, the moment might slip away into steam and water and all the other small infinities that lived inside a shower like this one.

his hips rocked into yours with the same aching slowness, that deep, patient rhythm that made your whole body hum from the inside out, every thrust a warm drag, every withdrawal a tease your cunt clung to like it was afraid to let go. and he just stayed there—wrapped around you, cock buried to the hilt, breath catching with every twitch of your walls, every soft moan that spilled from your lips when his thumb grazed your clit again in that perfect, lazy little circle that was just enough to keep you wanting, just enough to remind you that he was still in control of everything you felt.

but it was his mouth that undid you.

not just what he did with it—but what he said with it.

his lips ghosted along your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—kissing slow, messy, tender little prints across your skin, not even with hunger anymore, just with need. to stay close. to taste. to worship.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he whispered, voice a low, broken thing, full of awe and heat and something softer underneath it all. “can’t believe this body’s mine—this pussy, this skin—fuck, you let me touch all of it like you want me to.”

you gasped, forehead pressed to the tile, and he chased that sound with another kiss, just behind your ear, then lower, to the base of your neck where he nuzzled in and breathed you deep.

“you hear yourself?” he murmured, lips brushing your hairline now. “makin’ all these soft little noises just for me. like your body knows who’s inside it. like it misses me even while i’m fuckin’ you.”

you whimpered, too gone to speak, just a moan catching in your throat as his cock dragged slow through your soaked heat again, his hand sliding from your hip to your stomach, palm splayed like he was holding you together.

“you’re so good for me,” he said next, and this time the words were shaky—like they hurt to say. like they meant something bigger than the moment. “so fuckin’ good. you always take me so well, like you were made for me, like your body’s been waitin’ for this your whole life.”

he kissed your shoulder. kissed your spine. kissed the back of your neck, open-mouthed and reverent, like he wanted to swallow your sweat and keep it.

you moaned again, not louder—just softer, like everything in you had turned inward, wrapped up around the warmth of his words, the stretch of his cock, the unbearable sweetness of being held so fully, so gently, while being fucked so deeply.

and he didn’t stop.

his voice kept pouring over you, low and thick and worshipful, every word heavier than the last, every kiss slower, sloppier, hotter with affection that bordered on desperate.

“i love the way you move for me,” he whispered, hips rocking forward again, cock grinding deep as his thumb returned to your clit. “even when you’re too tired to fuck back, your pussy knows. she squeezes me just right. always. every fuckin’ time.”

you were shaking again, legs spread wide and still somehow not wide enough, held open by the press of his thigh and his arm and his chest, everything wet and hot and unbearable, and still he kept kissing you, like each press of his mouth was a promise.

“you’re everything to me,” he whispered, and now he sounded wrecked, like he was choking on the feeling. “you make me feel so fucking loved, baby. even like this—especially like this. i wanna fuck you forever. slow. like this. never stop.”

he thrust again—slow, sure, perfect.

kissed the place where your shoulder met your neck.

then again.

kissed your temple.

again.

kissed the corner of your mouth where it trembled against the tile.

“you’re doin’ so good,” he whispered, “and i’m not done.”

and you believed him. because he was still moving. and still kissing you.

and he hadn’t even let you go.

he had you folded so gently into him, hips pressed to hips, one arm wrapped tight around your middle like he was afraid you’d float away in the steam, the other hand between your legs, fingers slick and steady, circling your clit in soft, patient motions like he wasn’t just trying to get you off—he was coaxing it out of you, calling your orgasm like a thing he already owned and was just waiting to unwrap.

his cock was still buried deep, warm and thick, dragging slow through your fluttering walls with each shallow roll of his hips, the movement more like rocking than fucking, more like cradling—and that was the most unbearable part of it all. that it was so gentle. so affectionate. so devastatingly tender.

you could feel it coming, not as a wave this time, but as a flood—slow, creeping, stealing the air from your lungs one breath at a time, building deep in your belly where he kept you stretched and full, the heat blooming outwards in slow spirals. your thighs were trembling again, not from exertion, but from too much softness, from the weight of how he was touching you, from the sound of his voice spilling into your ear between wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“that’s it, baby,” he murmured, breath hot against your neck, hips grinding just right into the softest part of you, the curve that made you bite down on a moan. “you’re almost there. i can feel it. fuck, you’re so tight—so close—you gonna cum for me, sweet thing?”

you couldn’t speak, just nodded, whining into the slick, fogged tile, your body twitching now with every soft, insistent stroke of his fingers, your cunt clenching tighter and tighter around him as if trying to pull it out of him, pull him in deeper, wrap around him until there was nothing else in the world but this—this heat, this stretch, this overwhelming, slow, beautiful fullness.

“yeah,” hajime groaned, voice cracking as he thrust a little deeper, a little harder, still slow but with weight now, with intention, with need, “you’re gonna cum on my cock, baby. make me feel it. wanna feel you squeeze me while i fill you up again, fuck—i wanna drown in you.”

and that was it.

your orgasm broke like a tremor through your whole body, a full-body, bone-deep wave that stole the breath from your lungs and left only sound—your moan catching in your throat as your cunt spasmed around him, fluttering in hot, tight pulses that made your knees buckle and your spine arch. he caught you instantly, arms locked around your belly, holding you against his chest as you cried out for him, falling apart with no shame, no pretense, just pure sensation—wet and shaking and his.

and hajime—god, hajime lost it when you did.

he gasped into your shoulder, hips stuttering for the first time all morning, finally giving in to the heat that had been simmering behind every slow thrust, every kiss, every whispered “you’re mine.” his cock twitched once, hard, then again, and then he was groaning—long and low and broken—as he spilled into you, thick and hot and so much, his body shuddering behind you as he emptied himself deep, grinding into you with tiny, desperate rolls of his hips as his arms crushed you against him, breath ragged and voice whispering “fuck, fuck, fuck—baby, i’m—god, you’re perfect—”

he didn’t pull out.

of course he didn’t.

you were both too tired, too warm, too full. he just stayed like that—locked to you, softening slowly inside your twitching cunt, his hands smoothing over your belly now in slow, lazy strokes, kissing your temple like nothing else existed, like he could live here forever, inside this moment, inside you.

the water had turned lukewarm, but neither of you noticed. not yet.

your head dropped back against his shoulder, eyes closed, lips parted, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you caught your breath. “...you finally finished your chores,” you murmured, voice wrecked, teasing soft.

he laughed—low, breathless, kissed your jaw.

“best housework of my life,” he whispered. “might do the dishes next if you let me come in you again.”

you giggled, weak and warm, pressing a kiss to the air.

and in that soft, perfect stillness, the only thing left between you was the sound of the water. and the way he kept holding you like he couldn’t let go. and the way you didn’t want him to.

you stayed like that for a while—bodies flushed and heavy, wrapped in steam and each other, too content, too lazy to move, your back against his chest, his arms still looped around your waist like a warm belt, his softening cock nestled deep inside you where your bodies had long since stopped trying to tell the difference between where one ended and the other began. the water had lost its sting, now barely more than a drizzle of lukewarm kisses across your shoulders, and even that felt too indulgent, like one more softness layered on top of too many others.

hajime was still kissing you. not frantic. not even needy. just... present. his lips pressed into your temple, then your cheek, then your neck, the corner of your shoulder where the skin was pink and slick from the steam. slow, messy kisses that barely held shape, kisses that didn’t ask for anything, didn’t chase—just gave. his nose nuzzled into your hairline, his breath fogging against your ear, and he murmured something like a sigh, like a half-finished sentence that didn’t need words.

you giggled softly when he kissed your shoulder for the seventh time, maybe the eighth, the affection starting to tickle in the best, most unbearable way.

“you gonna kiss me into a puddle?” you asked, voice hoarse and slow, lips curling into a smile you didn’t bother hiding. “gonna melt me right through the damn drain?”

he huffed a laugh, kissed you again anyway. “mm. yeah. i’m thinkin’ about it. just need a little more time. maybe another twenty, thirty kisses. don’t move.”

“as if i could,” you muttered, reaching back to stroke lazy fingers through his damp hair, twisting a pale, messy strand between your fingertips. “you wrecked me.”

“nah,” he said, smug and sleepy, rocking his hips just a little—just enough to remind you he was still there, still inside you, even if it wasn’t about fucking anymore. “you’re still standin’, aren’t you?”

you groaned, hips shifting with a shiver at the slippery drag of him inside you, that soft squelch of overstretched, overused heat that hadn’t let him go yet, not fully, your walls still hugging him like your body couldn’t quite bring itself to stop.

“barely,” you said, half-laugh, half-whimper. “you’re like… a really affectionate parasite. a romantic leech. never pulls out, but always says thank you.”

he snorted, full and delighted and so in love it made your chest ache in this slow, dangerous way. “babe,” he whispered, grinning against your neck, “i love when you talk dirty to me like that. don’t stop.” you let your head fall back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open in a soft, smug little smile. “what can i say,” you murmured, “you’re the best squatter i’ve ever had inside me.”

“fuck, marry me,” he groaned, biting your shoulder gently. “let’s just stay in this shower and be horrible and in love forever. we’ll pay rent in orgasms.” you giggled again, high and breathy and happy, and turned your face toward him, brushing your lips against the corner of his mouth in a kiss that tasted like sleep and salt and satisfaction.

the water finally started to run cold, a gentle shiver curling down your spine, and you felt him groan behind you—not from the cold, but from life, from the cruel idea of having to move, to leave this perfect, wet cocoon of your own making. “mm. we should probably rinse off,” you said reluctantly, running your fingers down his forearm, nails light and soothing against his skin.

“mmf,” he groaned, “nah. let’s just live in our filth.”

you laughed. “you said you were gonna do the dishes.”

he kissed your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder again.

“i am. i’m doin’ ‘em tomorrow. with my dick. in the kitchen sink. real thorough.”

“you’re disgusting,” you whispered, but you were still smiling.

“you love me,” he said, softly, like a prayer.

you did.

you really did.

and for a few more minutes, before the cold finally forced you both into motion, you just stayed there—entangled, dripping, full of each other, letting the water run down and the world wait outside the glass.

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