[ 11:49 PM ] SATORU GOJOU
a hand drags up your sweaty back, the other gripping the fat of your thigh. gojou fiddles with the clasp of your bra, smacking your hand when you pull away to help him, “stop, i got it,” he pants against your lips, doing it on his own just like he said.
what was once caressing the skin of your thigh, reached under your bra, squeezing the flesh before sliding the straps off your shoulders.
how long had it been? twenty — no, maybe thirty minutes since you’ve stepped into his apartment after another night of him sending a late text, asking for you to come over. only half of your clothes had come off in the duration of your makeout — not that you were complaining. it was just different to see satoru so… patient.
he’s groping your chest at his leisure, shaking his head when you reach to unbutton his shirt, “not yet,” he huffs, ignoring any protests you had in mind connecting your lips again.
a moan slips, two large hands digging into your pants, squeezing the flesh of your ass, guiding in the motion of your hips. gojou doesn’t budge when you place a hand to his chest, ready to take a breath, “toru, come on,” you whine, keeping your distance.
you didn’t understand what made him so needy today but if it went like this any longer you’d be gasping for any form of air.
he’s shaking his head, holding onto you for dear life, afraid that you’ll let him go and he’ll never feel like this ever again. “please,” he begs, your heart aching at how desperate he sounds. he cups your cheek, tugging you down to meet with him, “don’t leave.” the last thing he wants is for you to do is take your lips off his, “more,” he’ll whimper, praying that he won’t need to call or text you over anymore for moments like these. that you’ll just be here when he wants you, when he needs you.
“i’m here, toru,” you assure, pushing back his white hairs that began to stick to his forehead, “i won’t leave.”
© teefushi × do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work on any platform, or claim it as your own.
