"But you look perfect messy with my cum," he croons as he drags his tongue across your stomach, distracted by the dull throb on his scalp. He's leaning into your palm as your fingers massage his roots, still loving, still caring, still considerate despite the amount of times he's played with you tonight.
That's the best part of you, he supposes. Baji loves the idea of you being as crazy as he is, of how daring you get when he's testing out new kinks or plays, how bold you are whenever you take over. But beneath all those, there's a you who's gentle, who aims to give and care; how you make sure your nails don't leave permanent marks on his shoulders and your tugs don't form bumps on his head.
These small gestures from you are treasures he keeps.
So Baji licks you up despite his words. He cleans himself off of you, off of the soft plush of thighs and your sweet, sweet cunt; gentle kitten licks that transitions to greedy laps, he's leaving kisses as he goes, nibbling your skin and leaving marks that would remind you who pleasures you well on the succeeding days. It's an apology he doesn't voice out. Perhaps edging you while he cums was a little too far. Baji intended for you to at least cum when he pulls out. Maybe it was too early.
You twitch when the cold metal of his peirce grazes your clit, a pleasurable sensation in your hypersensitivity. Baji's smirking st you as you watch him with that bleary gaze. There's fire in your eyes, daring him to fuck around. Maybe Baji wants to be kinder, to be the good boyfriend who delivers, who listens to your words and follow through. But handing it over to you on a plate seemed boring, too plain and mundane. He wants you to work yourself up, work himself up, to make a frustrating build that he knows would only amplify the pleasure once you finally cum.
"You wanna cum?" He asks as he removes your legs from his shoulder, leaning back and adjusting himself so he's sitting comfortably on the couch, "Come get it. I'll let you ride me the way you want."
Baji moves fast, your weight is nothing to his strength as abruptly pulls you up and lifts you to settle on his lap. He's laughing when you yelp in surprise, hands mapping your body as if he's never done so before, from the curve of your waist, to the small of your back, pulling you close to him a he takes one of your tits into his mouth, tongue swirling on your nipples. "You still good?" The question is muffled, yet clear enough for you to catch what he meant. A checkpoint. Are you still good to go? You nod as your hands glide over his shoulders, squeezing them as you go.
His movements are eager as he lifts you up, positioning his still hard cock on your entrance. He's sinking you slow, groaning as your walls clenched him tight, taking him deeper into you. "Move, Adele." Baji's thrusting into you encouragingly as he grips your hips, mumbling the words in your ear when you bury your face unto his shoulder, "Move or I'll fuck you on that coffee table instead. And you'll be too sore for that exam of yours."
— baji
this is the longest I've written as a mod wtf kinda surprised myself there
[SOBS at this absolute BEAUTY of a NOVEL]
baji’s tongue is a savior. delicious, wet, it sends shivers down my spine and fire into my lungs. it lets a chorus of soft and strung-out keisukes release from my lips. it satiates the ache that swells, the clit that cries. he knows every place that will make me squirm and every place that will cause my thighs to close in around his head.
(and that piercing is heaven. i let myself crumble a little more, a little messier, when i feel it press against me.)
i should have known, of course, that baji only meant to tease. it’s that game of cat and mouse he likes to play, of feigning softness just to retreat moments later. he’s never liked when things are too easy: so i should not be surprised when he pulls his lips away, when he leaves me hanging. still, i mourn the absence, fool that i am, as i watch him sit back.
i'll let you ride me the way you want. before i can process the words i'm in his lap and the world is baji again, the broad expanse of his thighs, the warmth of his hands at my sides, his mouth that draws a whine from my own when he drags his tongue across my chest. i make my home here, mapping his shoulders the way he maps mine, breathing in the scent of sweat and cologne as i press my lips to his neck, a silent affirmation.
(and i know he’d done the same movements just a moment before, but still i grip his cock like a vice because i will never get over it. and still i’m releasing a silent cry into his shoulder because i never want to be over it.)
move or i'll fuck you on that coffee table instead. i can’t deny it’s an enticing thought, shoving the contents on my table to the ground (a candle or two, a book i never finished, old headphones and the electricity bill) and staking our claims there. i wonder if the table would break, if i’d feel the ache of the wood on my spine for a week and a half.
but that will come later, i decide, because i want to see where this goes first. with a gentle keen i roll my hips, setting the pace that i want and tat he doesn’t know he wants, letting myself cry into his shoulder, a beloved keisuke, keisuke, while i hold on for dear life.
i know how baji likes to get fucked, what he wants and what he needs, so i follow it, determined, rolling my hips and bouncing in his lap until he moans for me, until he loses his mind. the burning in my thighs is nothing compared to the noise he makes in my ears, the way he’ll always be so vocal for me and i'll be for him. everything exists in perfect harmony when he whines for me, when he tells the entire apartment complex how fucking good he feels.
because if there’s one thing baji can’t deny, it’s good pussy. i listen to his incoherent praises as i run my hands through his hair, as his lips explore every expanse from my chest to my throat. baji wants to get fucked; baji deserves to get fucked.
i want to ruin him, so i do. and when i can feel baji’s own movements become strained, when his hips stutter beneath me, when i feel an impending release shadow both of us, when i know what he wants and what he needs, i stop. i let my own impending orgasm wash away, gladly, because it means i’ve washed away his, stolen it from him and all of his sweet spots i know. i let him bask in the orgasm i offered us both and took away just as easily.
“i'm tired,” i say, even when it’s not the case. “can’t move anymore.”
You should see the look on your face; flushed and glazed, looking as if you were so lost in his words. Of course, he knows it's working, with the way it took you a moment to respond to him. What's on your mind, Adele? He wonders. Finally thinking about him, and only him?
Good. Good.
His fingers move, unbuttoning the first, pushing his boundaries and your own further. How far could he go with teasing you like this? He knows you're curious, with the way you watch his movements closely. He pulls the fabric back, earninga teasing view of the top of your chest. The reason why he loves his blouse is because the buttons aren't so close together. If he takes off two, he would see the entirety of your chest, just the way he likes it.
He's lucky you were wearing it tonight. Did you wear it with the thought of him? He might just forgive you a little if you did.
If it's possible for your face to heat up further, it must be. Baji relishes in the way you stumble a little, taken a back. How far would he go?
Baji lets his eyes roam on your pretty face, watching the way your breathing picks up a pace as your eyes remained daze. You were waiting, he knows. Anticipating what he does next. Would he dare? That must be what's going through that pretty head of yours.
The smile he gives is playful, pleased with the way he has you before him, "I reckon we'd be the first to fuck here without a car." It is illegal, after all; fucking right out in public, for everyone to see. And the fun of that, he thinks; the rush of fucking you in haste with the thrill of being caught hot in his veins, with his focus divided as he rams himself deep in you. It's almost enough to make him give in to the desire, to his own teasing, to the imagery that plays in his head.
"How would you like it, huh?" He presses futher as he leans down to the side of your head, whispering as he goes, as if his words were only meant for your ears alone, "Want me to lift that pretty leg up and fuck you right here? Have you bent across my bike, fucking you from behind? Rub that clit out in this cold?" Baji's arm snaked to the small of your back as he pulls you against him, placing his thigh between your legs as he rubs and teases, making you feel his words, "Maybe I won't even let you finish, pull out before you do, watch you clench on nothing. That'd be frustrating, wouldn't it? What do you think?" He leans further down, licking the side of your neck, biting as your breathing hitches, "Isn't that a nice image?"
— baji
bestie how r u literally . how are u literally god
the air is cold on my skin – almost too chilly, had i been anywhere else – but it’s easy to ignore when baji is right there to fix it. i've irrevocably and annoyingly got it bad for this man, i admit pitifully as i watch his fingers play with the first button on my blouse. baji keisuke has always been an absolute fiend when i wear this shirt. with his goddamn affinity for tits and an insatiable desire for easy access, he’s always been drawn to it.
as he should be, for all the times he’s accidentally ripped the buttons off and then had to pay to replace them. it’s his shirt more than it is mine at this point. i'd never wear it to entertain anyone else.
want me to lift that pretty leg up and fuck you right here? have you bent across my bike, fucking you from behind? rub that clit out in this cold? there are goosebumps blooming on my skin like flowers in spring, an inferno that grows where his leg means mine, where the warmth of his breath on the side of my face threatens to burn me alive.
with that thigh of his, tense and teasing and strong, he knows exactly what he's doing and i hate it, if only because i despise when people turn my games back against me.
because fuck, one touch from baji keisuke can never be enough.
maybe i won't even let you finish, pull out before you do, watch you clench on nothing. that'd be frustrating, wouldn't it? but his words don’t match his tongue and his teeth, grazing at the places that dissolve me most, bite down just hard enough that i consider offering myself up, body and soul.
but i can’t. i wouldn’t. not yet.
“yeah,” i say, a light and airy sound, sliding my hands into his hair and twirling it between my fingertips, grazing his scalp, tugging gently at the strands in my own sign of possession, cradling his head like the center of the universe.
(he owns me because i own him, balanced in perfect symmetry.)
“except it would be a real shame if you pulled out. don’t think that part would be fun, do you?”
If you hadn't been staring the way you were, he wouldn't have noticed it. It was distracting. Baji felt it, almost tasted the intensity of your stare in the air. He thinks, perhaps you were curious about toman; about whatever it was they were talking about. Or the bikes? Were you curious about them? But then again, you had him to explain that for you.
So why, exactly, were you staring at Mitsuya?
He doesn't get it. It was Baji who tagged you along. He'd hoped Emma was enough to entertain you, but it seems like you were entertained by something else. Someone else.
Hence why you were here, together and alone. Originally, he was supposed to drop you home, but Baji had other plans and, instead, drove you to a different parking lot—one more secluded and far from anyone familiar. He doesn't give you an answer when you ask why he brought you there.
"Hey Doll," He says. It comes out slow; a bit menacing yet calm, "What were you staring at?"
- baji (unless you already have a baji charanon, then ignore this embarrassment wqyehaasdg)
hello u are so very welcome here
it’s not a parking lot i’ve seen – but one i’ll be careful to remember. the scenery means nothing, anyway, when baji’s driving a little too quickly with that unmistakable aura of his and his words, while slow, sound like a someone trying to keep a dog from breaking off its leash.
it’s sort of cute, really, the way baji gets when he’s envious, the way it sets his body on edge when you stop paying attention, even for an instant.
“what do you mean?” i say, playful and innocent, even when i think i know the answer he’s looking for. i tilt my head in his direction, the ghost of a smile on my lips, because it’s not my fault baji’s apparent jealousy is amusing.
“is this about mitsuya? i was admiring his new haircut – i'd say that dark hair looks pretty good on him. and i wanted to ask where he got his shoes from.”
Not with the kisses that you offer, the web of spit and tongue and lust that you've placed yourselves in. Not with the way you arch into his touch as his hands squeezes your tits, feeling their softness against his palm. And not in the mess of slick and pre-cum that you're in.
Baji's hyperaware of the feel of you, of the way your ankles lock together as you pull him closer and lift your hips higher, allowing him to drill his cock in you deeper, reaching futher, kissing your cervix. Keisuke! The name is called hastily and in surprise. Too much, too much! His hair cascades around your face and it's a beautiful vision he's given; with your sweat and spit coated face and the way his hair sticks to your skin, with your head thrown back and your lips parted as you moan lustfully.
Damn, he thinks. A peirce through his cock would hurt, but he doesn't mind. For you, for your demands, he never minds. Would you want an apapravya? A frenum? Which would feel better when he fucks you from behind, bent over his bike? A prince albert?
Should he give you a catalogue to choose from? Pick out the best three? And, maybe, if he's in the mood, he'll get all three.
He's praising you. That's it, he says when you meet his thrusts as he increases his pace. You're taking me so well, Adele. He's pushing you farther, tipping you closer to the cliff. He feels it, the way your pussy flutters around his cock; the way it tightens, the way your body tenses as you edge closer to release. He hears it in your voice, the way you moan his name louder, without care of your resting neighbors. He's close, too. Just right behind you. And when you dip, when your legs tenses around him, when your arms pull him tighter and closer, yet not enough to entrap him, Baji pulls out, spilling heaps of his cum on your thighs, painting your cunt with him.
And Baji watches, with longing (because he wants to fill you in, yet it's more fun to toy with you) and satisfaction, as you clench on nothing.
Just like he promised. You deserve it, after all.
You make your dissatisfaction known in the way you take a fistful of his hair, angrily tugging down. You've long lost your wit earlier as you submitted, but Baji loves you when you're mad, when you're putting up a fight. He loves the play, loves the heat of the moment. He greedily takes in your heavy breaths by his ear, the way you twist his hair a little tighter in your fist as you curse him out. You bastard, you call him, you dick. Fuck you, Baji.
So it's Baji now? He doesn't mind. He is a bastard, and this is the Adele he loves.
"What?"He taunts as he languidly pumps the rest of his cum out, still hard, "Wasn't it too much?"
— baji
[sobs in bastard]
the world, formally, is baji keisuke and his immaculate hips. i reckon my neighbors know that, too, since the apartment walls are a little too thin for my liking and i've certainly lost all semblance of self control.
(keisuke! i'm sure they’ve grown tired of that prayer, but i’ll cry it again just in case.)
it wouldn’t matter, because the world is baji keisuke with his hair on my cheeks. the world is nothing but baji, the sweat beading on his forehead and the far-gone look in his eyes and the focus in his jaw. he’s looking at me and i'm barely looking at him because he’s a fiend who knows how to get me where it matters most.
(keisuke! i’m so fucking close i can feel it on the edge of my tongue, and i know he is too, because his movements grow less calculated and more frantic, less precise and more like he’s drunk on the feeling of me.)
and then i see red.
i can see baji, flushed cheeks and fucked eyes, as he lets himself cum on my thighs. and i can feel it, as if in a dream, the way it paints me, warm and messy, the way it drips from my cunt to the couch. but i cannot register it, not really, because all i can think of is the long-awaited orgasm that fucking got away. all i can think of is the pleasure that recedes like the tide, the way i was right there and then baji went and ruined it.
i am all fury when i fist his hair in my hands, when i spit bastard and fuck you, baji because i only know how to despise him. and baji smiles, the bastard, lets himself cum all over me as if the degradation spurred him on. (and i know it does – because if he never wanted me angry, he wouldn’t have done it.)
wasn’t it too much? i might have killed him had i not loved him already.
“you bastard,” i repeat, pulling his hair like i’d rip it away, “you bastard. fucking give it to me.” with his head in my fist i consider my options: to push him until i straddle his lap and take what i want? to find myself on my knees to suck him off until he cries and pull away before he’s satisfied?
but that’s too much for him and not enough for me, so i pull his head away from mine until he can clearly see the absolute mess he’s made on my thighs and my cunt, until he’s seen himself all over. “the least you can do is clean this up.”
(because baji’s mouth has always been his best asset, and i think he’s spoken enough.)
"Nah," Baji says under his breath. He's watching you as you whined and complained, as you weakly pull at him, his clothes, his hand, his cock. When you were like this, submissive and desperate for whatever he could offer, Baji feels inclined to play with you for a bit longer; enjoying your half-assed begs and your feeble attempts to get him working. Even if your eyes held the promise of murder if he wouldn't give you relief, he doesn't do anything.
"You know, you never really told me why you were so fucking distracted with Mitsuya tonight," he mumbles lowly as he fucks his hand a bit faster, ignoring your whines. Saying a name that's not yours while he's fucking himself leaves a bitter taste in his tongue. "But look who's fucking with who now, huh." Baji smirks as you glare at him, "Have some shame, Adele. Where'd all that big talk go?"
Maybe he's being horrible, a bit meaner than he usually is. Baji knows you're not playing around anymore, feels it in your impatience as you reach for him, as you try to rub his hard length to rile him up. But he can't help but hold back a little. He's possessive, a feral man with a need to stake his claim. And the only way for him to simmer down his jealousy without fucking you out in the open is to listen to you beg for him, listen to how much you need him, how only he can provide you this. And then, he'll fuck you hard and rough to make sure you never forget that nobody could fuck you better than he does.
When you call his name once more, a softer this time, a small and frustrated keisuke that leaves your lips, exactly the way he loves, he gives in. Just a little. "I'm still pissed, you know." Baji trails worshiping kisses on your body. He starts with your stomach, placing feather like kisses and kitten licks as he works his way up. He feels your hands pull on the fabric of his jacket, trying to push them off of his shoulders, desperatly searching and wanting to explore the expanse of his skin, to feel his muscles underneath your palm. He rubs the tip of his cock on your entrance and rests a palm on your stomach to hold you back from thrusting. So close.
But not yet.
"Come on, Adele," He whispers against your ear as he lets himself go and reaches for your hand, guiding them to your dripping self, "Finish yourself. I know you can give me one. You owe me an apology, don't you think?" He moves your fingers, spreading your lips and rubbing your clit, "I'll talk you through it. How'd you want my cock in there, huh? Go on, show me."
– baji
[BANGING POTS AND PANS TOGETHER]
have some shame, adele. where'd all that big talk go?
i'd consider murdering him, maybe, if i wasn’t so infuriatingly head over heels. where’d all that big talk go? where do you think? it went out the window with the rest of my sanity the moment baji crossed through my apartment doorway. where’d all that big talk go? it evaporated into the air along with the rest of my big fucking ego until i became nothing if not pliant for him.
and of course there’s shame in it, in the way i’ll fold like a sheet of paper the second baji asks me to. but i can’t help it and i can’t stop it and so i swallow my pride with the blissful thought that baji must really be whipped if he’s this riled up.
(and i'm pleased with it, with his insatiable need for possession, the way i always am.)
keisuke works like a charm. i am reborn again beneath gentle lips and dainty teeth, beneath the warmth of his breath and the featherlight sensation of his hair as it trails from my stomach to my chest to my neck. it tickles, almost, caressing my cheeks like a blanket as his mouth settles at my ear.
you owe me an apology, don't you think? i'd love to say sure but the fact of the matter is i can hardly think at all, not when his hands and my hands are drawing clumsy circles on my clit because and i'm hot and flushed all over because it’s utterly shameful and still not enough.
maybe i talked to mitsuya about his wardrobe for too long. and maybe i laughed at his joke when i should have been laughing at baji’s. but it’s too late now and i got what i asked for and now i live with it.
and i can’t say no to baji, not anymore, not when his tongue is at my ear and he’s everywhere. so i do what he says with a tender ok, fine, flushed, tears at the corner of my eyes, and pretend there’s no shame in it. it’s hardly a chore to press a few fingers into my own weeping cunt and fuck myself, slowly at first, as if my life depends on it. it’s hardly a chore to toy with my clit like he was and search for the movement that will give me release.
but none of it matters, anyway, because my fingers will never reach where his do, will never hit every sweet spot with the same perfect dexterity and ease. there’s a string of whimpers escaping my lips but it’s not enough, it can’t be enough, and i dance near the edge without being able to fall over it.
keisuke, keisuke. it’s the only word i know and it is both a prayer and a question that i beg of him, even if i don’t know exactly what i want from him anymore.
“i can’t,” i say, closing my eyes, but i do not stop, will not stop, not until my hands fall off from the strain of it. i'm arching into him like it will answer my problems, like mere proximity will cure me. “please, keisuke.”
Baji ignores your words as he shifts to straddle your thighs and remove your belt. If you wanted him off of his clothes, you could've removed them yourself. Of course, Baji's aware that his own game is slowly catching up on him, that all the teasing and tension he's built is backfiring. He feels it in the adrenaline that fuels veins and in the way his cock throb as it strains against his jeans.
He's been wanting to fuck you since the beginning of the evening. But despite his lust, Baji is still so irritated, still so jealous, that he stubbornly resists and instead moves your hand to cup his straining cock through his jeans. Feel that? He thinks. That's gonna be in you soon.
Still, in his impatience, he doesn't even bother pulling your jeans and underwear all the way down before he sinks a lone finger in you, moving slow as he explores you, giving a few teasing pumps. Tight and wet, just how he liked it. He watches the way you throw your head back, listens of the way you moan his name in a broken whisper as he places in another before languidly fucking you with them. He groans as he felt your hand squeeze his clothed cock in response. Yeah, sure, he's been waiting for this alright. With you beneath him, looking at him with those bedroom eyes and flushed face.
Fuck.
You pant as Baji picks up the pace, and he's loving the way you clench on his fingers, clamping good and hard. He bends down, lips finding one of your breasts as his other hand plays with the other. His tongue swirls around your nipple. He's movements ar unrelenting, pushing you over. He's fully aware that you're almost there, a few pumps away from cumming. And just as he promised, Baji pulls his fingers out before you could cum.
This. This is what he has been waiting for.
Baji leans back from your body, your protesting whines filling his ears as you twitched beneath him. With unhurried movements, Baji unbuckles his belt (since you never did, busy chasing your high) and unzips his jeans. He doesn't take them off, no. Instead, he fishes his cock out, long and thick and hard and shining with his pre-cum. He fists it with his right hand and watches the way you stare as he gives it a tentative pump.
"Go on," He gestures to your body with a nod, "Finish yourself."
— baji
[SCREAMING AND CRYING AND SCREAMING]
feel that? i do, i do, i do, hard and strained beneath my palm, eager and waiting and impatient. but it’s nothing compared to the way baji’s tearing down my jeans and panties (his favorite, after all) before i can make heads or tails of it. i'm nothing but his, his flesh and his heartbeat, and he can do what he wants with me.
(because i’ve been waiting for it. because i want it more than anything else in the world.)
i know i'm forming his name on whimpering lips when baji’s finger is inside. i know it because heaven explodes behind my eyelids, because i lose all thought but for him, his touch, his existence, and relinquish my control as if i ever had it to begin with. he knows exactly where to go and exactly what to do to unravel me faster than the speed of light and sound. and i let him, whimpering his name like a prayer, barreling towards release like gravity against the earth.
and fuck, his tongue, a sensation i cannot even name; i blossom beneath him, arching my back to bring myself closer and closer to that devil’s mouth. there’s no point in keeping my cool. i'm going to cum and we both know it and there’s nothing i can do to stop.
until he stops, until baji leans back and removes his lips from my chest and leaves me bare and cold and wanting. until he’s holding his own cock, beautiful land terrifying, and laughing at me.
finish yourself. i thought i’d lost it in the parking lot, but baji’s feral grin in the darkness of my apartment is enough to send me over the edge. already my encroaching orgasm dies away as i stare at him in disbelief, electrified and unsatisfied, as he drags his fist and lazily pumps himself.
does the bastard really think i'd do that? he couldn’t – he’s well aware that i can’t do shit without him, that our time together has made me entirely dependent on his touch and his command. i won’t do it. i won’t. i’ll beg until i sob but i won’t give him that sadistic satisfaction.
“no,” i protest, but it’s more like a whine than a statement as hot tears of frustration already pool at the corners of my eyelids. one hand reaches out and lies across his right hand, pulling him and his god-forsaken cock back in my direction, while the other tugs insistently on his hair, his collar, in a feeble attempt to rile him up, to return him to me.
i don’t care if it’s not the begging he’ll want, but i'm delirious and i need. “you know i can’t. get back here.”
Baji's eyes meets your for in the dim room as he starts moving, length sinking into you slowly, making you feel his girth as he your walls slowly, patiently, before sliding out just to thrust himself back in one, fluid motion. It's the closeness of the moment, the intimacy of the hour, the way your glazed eyes drills into his that makes his whole body tingle; makes his desire grow, his greed, his want.
He leans down to kiss you, hips snapping unrelentingly as he pushes your leg furtherto your chest. He takes your lips softly, tongue slipping in when they part to welcome him. You cling to him and Baji lets you, arms exploring what skin you could touch as he takes you with zero hesitancy.
Come here closer, you whisper to him. Closer. But he's already too close, so engulfed by you that he can no longer tell where he ends and you begin.
Salt stings his eyes as his sweat tickles down, and Baji breaks the kiss and buries his face into your neck, licking as he goes. Your nails bury into the smooth skin on his shoulder blades; running red streaks, he's sure. It stings, yet Baji knows you're careful enough to not draw blood. Always.
The couch makes a sound of protest as Baji adjusts himself, pulling your pelvis closer to him as he leans back. He takes your leg with him, using it to pull your body, to meet his thrusts as he buries deeper into you in a new found fervor. Nothing fills the air but your moans and the sound of skin slapping. It's beautiful, very much so that he doesn't feel bad for your neighbors, does not give a damn of whoever hears the sound you make when he fucks you like this.
All the better, he thinks. Now everyone will know how Baji Keisuke is the man who fucks you best.
You throw your head back as you moan his name loudly, walls clamping down around his cock as you tense, you're reaching for him like a woman possessed. To push him away or to pull him close, he does not know. All he knows is that if you clamp any further, he might just pathetically cum before you do.
"Fuck," he curses as he watches his cock dissapear into you, takes in the way you both meet; mixing together and becoming one. "Shit. I've fucked this cunt a thousand times and you still get this tight?"
[passes away, but softly this time]
i’ll never be tired of baji keisuke – not when i’ve memorized his movements, not when i can feel every dip and vein, not when i could find him with my eyes shut. i kiss him greedily, desperately, like i've never kissed him before and won’t kiss him again, unwinding beneath the sensation of his tongue on mine as it explores every corner that it owns.
i'm sure that tomorrow the neighbors will throw me disapproving looks when they catch me in the stairwell tomorrow morning. i’m sure they’re hating me even now, when my living room does nothing but amplify the humiliating squelch every time baji moves and cause my strung out keisukes and fucks to bounce off the walls and echo throughout the universe.
(and even worse, i know they're used to it, to this intensity and this love-making, because this is not the first nor the last time we’ll fuck each other senseless on my unfortunate couch.)
i can’t help it, though, and i wouldn’t want to, not when baji’s a pussy-drunk man on a mission and i’m already fucked-out and sensitive from two orgasms and a lifetime of edging. it’s all i can do to cling to him, to watch his hips as they move and his face as he dissolves into pleasure. it’s all i can do just to sob something akin to his name when his cock’s going straight to my brain and there’s a third orgasm building in the pit of my stomach.
shit, he’s saying, somewhere, i've fucked this cunt a thousand times and you still get this tight? i reach my hands toward him in response, to bring him to me, to my clit, to an orgasm that will destroy us both. i can sense the way it builds in him, too, with the perspiration on his brow and the way his hips stutter in tandem with his voice.
“of course,” i’m telling him, breathless, my star. “for you. always for you.” it’s funny that anyone, even baji, could have ever considered that i'd look away from him for an instant. there’s never anyone else. there never will be anyone else.
i guide his hand where i want it, where i need it, and like always when it comes to baji, it doesn’t take much more than the mere presence of his fingers to fall completely over the edge. orgasm three is blinding and white hot and it knocks my breath away, reduces me to nothing but tears and whines as i writhe with the force of it. the couch groans in tandem with my cry and i wonder for a moment an orgasm can be so strong it could actually kill me.
and sure, baji fucks me right through it like the diligent man that he is, but his his are stuttered and his breathing is heavy and i know, like i know everything about him, that he’s only a breath of praise away. he’s doing his best to fight through it, but i know him better.
“come on,” i call to him, so fucked beyond myself that it’s a wonder i can still form a sentence. “cum for me, please, keisuke.”
"Nah," he mumbles as he nibbles on your skin between his teeth, pulling you close, flush against him, "I think you deserve that."
After tonight, you should know that he would be unrelenting. No way would he forget what you did, forget that feeling of envy that takes over him. No, you're not getting off easy; not until he's sure you understood that when he was around, your attention should only be on him.
Baji relishes in the way your hards are deep in his hair, the way the tug gently, as if asserting your control, as if you were encouraging him to go further. And damn if it didn't turn him on. You must hate the way he has you. The way he's playing with you, turning the tables around. He knows he's close, close to having you beg for his cock, to fuck you here without care of the consequences. It was in the way that you shakily take in a breath. Just a bit more, he thinks. A push or two.
Slowly, he slips one hand under your blouse, while the other holds the small of your waist; his plam meeting your warm skin, carassing, teasing as it grazes upwards. He loves the way you tense on the contact, "Maybe I can forgive you," he whispers seductively, trailing kisses up and down your neck, enjoying he way your hold on him tightens, the way you subconsciously grind on the thigh he has between your legs, "Maybe... you can make it up to me." The hand on your waist travels upward as Baji hungrily takes in the way your chest heaves in excitement. It travels futher, until it settles nicely, squeezing your clothed breast softly, eliciting a seductive moan out of you. My favorite song. "If you would moan my name out loud, out here in the open, maybe I'll consider filling that cunt of yours full. How about that, Adele?"
Look at you. Are you even aware of how you're already submitting?
He moves from your neck to stare at your face. You look beautifully frustrated, wanting, needing. You were anticipating more. Where was that good little doll who liked to ride him in the middle of the afternoon, teasingly cockwarming him when he's finished a project, take the lead and push him to the edge? "You want it bad, huh?" His eyes catches the way you bite your lip under his heated gaze and, unsurprisingly, his cock twitches at the sight, "Wanna be fucked like the little slut that you are?"
— baji
i'm passing away y’all need anything 😭
baji’s teeth are a crime.
i'd like to think he could have been a vampire in another life – or this one, even, for all i know – because when he bites your skin, it’s like he’s drawing out your blood and soul with every swipe of the tongue. it’s like baji knows that the fastest way to the heart is through the teeth and he capitalizes on it with every opportunity.
and it works like a goddamn charm every time. because my only coherent thoughts are teeth and thigh and friction and i hate myself for losing it. but it’s difficult, i tell you, when you’ve got a nose full of cologne and sweat and baji and he’s warm and jealous and inviting.
i know i'm giving in. but the fact of it is that baji unfortunately knows me better than i know myself.
it’s all i can do to keep a firm hold on that beautiful hair, to stop my knees from caving in or my heart from bursting out of my ribcage. they’re large hands, soft hands, with callouses at the tips from a lifetime in the garage, and i crumble beneath the touch, a shiver, like baji’s touch is the reason for my existence.
god damn him.
he asks if i’ll sing his name for him, but i can hardly hear when i'm envisioning the future on the backs of my eyelids, when my hands are twisted in his hair and he’s biting out my soul and i’ve never wanted so much in my life.
(of course i would, baji. i'd say it a thousand times over if you wanted.)
i know it’s over when he’s looking at me and his eyes are clouded over with that cocktail of fury and desire and wanting that means there’s no turning back. i know it’s over because his thigh isn’t good enough, will never be good enough, and i hate that i feel an urge to tell him. i know it’s over because i'm already wondering if i should take my bra off for him and throw it somewhere in the shadows so he’ll never have to bother with it again.
i'm thinking ceaselessly of his warm hand splayed out across my back, of his hand listening to my heartbeat, of his warm lips that have been neglected all evening. my head leans in on instinct, as if i miss him and his teeth and his tongue already when he’s only mere inches away.
“sure thing,” i say, because if baji wants to be a menace, i want to be too. but my voice is small and airy and soft because i am nothing but a butterfly caught in his palms. “i'll be sure to wake up the whole neighborhood if you want me to.”
