but who can blame you when megumi is standing right in front of you, fresh out of training, chest still heaving heavily and his skin is glistening with a light sheen of sweat that makes every defined line of his body look like it’s been carved from marble.
his black training shirt clings to him—damp and almost translucent in places—outlining the sharp cut of his chest, the deep ridges of his abs, and the tempting v-lines that disappear beneath the waistband of his sweats that hang way too low for comfort.
his dark hair is messy, strands sticking to his forehead, a few droplets of sweat sliding down the side of his neck and disappearing into the collar of his shirt.
god, he’s so hot.
you can’t stop staring. your mind is already wandering somewhere stupid like imagining running your tongue along the salty trail of sweat down his neck, over his chest and further down until you reach that perfect v and keep going. you want to drop to your knees right here and see his pretty eyes get all heavy and dark beneath his long lashes and his breath all uneven when you take him into your mouth.
want to hear the soft, broken sounds he’d try to hold back as you suck him slow and deep, tongue swirling around the head, feel his fingers thread into your hair and watch his head tip back, lips parted, a quiet whimper slipping out when you take him all the way to the back of your throat. want to feel his hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust into your mouth while you look up at him with watery eyes, letting him know exactly how much you love having him like this and—
“hey. earth to you.”
nobara snaps her fingers in front of your face, yanking you back to reality. megumi is looking at you now—sharp eyes slightly narrowed, a faint flush on his cheeks that could be from training… or from the way you’ve been blatantly staring at him like he’s something you want to fuck stupid which technically, is true.
“what?” you blink, heat rushing to your face.
nobara rolls her eyes. “i said, are we doing the group training exercise tomorrow or not? you’ve been zoning out for five minutes straight.”
megumi wipes his face with the hem of his shirt, flashing a strip of toned stomach and the faint trail of dark hair leading downward that you’ve never noticed before (not that you’ve ever looked, of course) and your brain gives up again.
when did he get so… defined? when did the faint outline of his v-lines sharpen like this? and when did his abs get so carved, so lickable, so fucking tempting?
“uh… yeah. sure,” you mumble to nobara, trying to sound normal even though your pulse is hammering between your legs.
nobara groans. “you’re hopeless.”
megumi doesn’t say anything, still looking at you before he turns away to grab his water bottle—his biceps flexing when he lifts the bottle to drink. your brain stops working all over again.
god, you really weren’t listening.
and with the way your thighs are clenched and your pulse is throbbing between your legs, you’re not sure you’ll be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the day.
little did you know that megumi is not able to focus on anything for the remainder of the day too, and that he had to turn away to adjust his shorts a little—because your staring had him embarrassingly hard, cock twitching against the fabric of his shorts, and he had to fix himself before anyone (especially you) noticed.
because what you don’t know ist that, at night, alone in his room, he often thinks about you too—hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow and tight while he pictures kissing you, his tongue in your mouth. how he’d mutter “been thinking about this” against your lips because—god, he has so many many night. “every fucking night. every time you looked at me like that.”
he wants to touch you, to undress you slowly, inch by inch, kissing every newly exposed skin before he’d drag his tongue down your stomach and hooks his fingers in your panties and pull them down your thighs, watch the way you’d part your legs for him without him even having to ask.
just thinking about it makes his cock throb painfully in his hand and he begins to stroke faster—twisting at the head, hips lifting off the mattress—chasing the fantasy of burying himself inside you instead. imagines how tight you’d be, how wet, how you’d clench around him every time he bottoms out, whispering “more” while he fucks you slow and deep until you’re both all sweaty and shaking.
megumi comes with your name caught in the back of his throat— spilling over his fist in hot pulses while his whole body tenses and releases. he milks himself through the aftershocks, thumb brushing the sensitive head, imagining it’s your tongue instead.
when it’s over he lies there, chest heaving and cum cooling on his stomach, staring at the ceiling and thinks how fucked he is. and how torture it will be to see you tomorrow again, still so fucking pretty and out of reach for him.
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