Banana & Bread nail painting fic! The other (fully finished) version will be on ao3 very soon :)
@edtriestowrite 's request!!
He shoves his phone into his back pocket, locking his car and walking onto Banana’s porch. The door creaks slightly as he opens it, making no noise when he closes it gently behind him.
Banana’s dog runs up to greet him, a pretty golden retriever who wags her tail and slams her body against Bread's lower legs. The door to the basement is slightly ajar, inviting him in. He starts down the stairs immediately hearing Banana talk.
“Yo! I just set up the camera stand so we don't have to worry about it later,” Banana walks over towards the bottom of the stairs to meet Bread.
“Sick!” Bread looks over at the set up as he descends; pc on the floor and the tripod angled perfectly to record their hands. As Bread steps off the last stair onto the basement floor he smiles at Banana, “this is going to be our best video ever," there's some exaggerated enthusiasm, but he is excited to record today. He's always enjoyed the irl content, he finds it the most fun to record, it feels more connected to them, a better representation of their friendship.
As he walks past Banana to throw his bag onto the floor in front of the couch, their arms brush. They don’t think about it. He sits down, back against the bottom of the couch, facing the coffee table.
“I brought, like, all of my nail polish cause I couldn’t decide,” he unzips his bag, grabbing handfuls of glass bottles out and placing them on the floor next to him. “I–”
“Oh my god dude, did you rob the fucking Walgreens before you came here?” Banana laughs sitting down on the floor near Bread.
“No! I– Okay maybe I went a little overboard but! I needed options.” He feels around for the last bottle in the bottom of his bag, it keeps rolling away from him so he has to open it and peer in.
“Lets see, what do we have here,” Banana picks up a bottle that holds a pale-ish pink polish, reading the name, “‘Aphrodite's pink nightie’ uh yeah, do not use this one dude.”
“We’ll use that one for you,” he snatches it out of his hand, holding it next to his own face in a taunt.
“I am not letting you put ‘Aphrodite's pink nightie’ on my fucking nails dude,” he waves his hand defensively.
“Whatever, help me choose a color or maybe two,” he puts the pretty, but weirdly named nail polish down, “and we can find one for you too.” He smiles stupidly.
Banana raises an eyebrow at him, a non-verbal, 'if you insist.' Bread doesn't push, he knows Banana is going to let him, so he just starts rummaging through the bottles.
Bread starts mindlessly organizing them by color, Banana follows. Piles of different shades of the same color slowly form. They read some of the names out to each other, laughing at the stupidity of a few.
“Okay bro you’ve gotta use, ‘I'm not really a waitress,’ and ‘grandma kissed a gaucho.’ Where did you even get these?” Banana laughs holding the two bottles, one a dark red and the other a muted lavender.
“It’s a good brand! I don’t control the names. What, do you want me to go to the OPI office and change the names?” He grabs a pale yellow polish, “I’ll name this one ‘Banana’s cum’”
“Shut up!” Banana grabs a red bottle, “here this one’s ‘Bread’s piss.’”
“That’s just normal piss color,” he deadpans.
“I- Okay you need help,” he sets the bottle down before realizing something, “Wait! You already made that joke, you’re washed!”
“Uh it’s not a joke,” Bread tries not to smile as he grabs a pretty sage green, examining the shade.
“You have the craziest uti bro,” Banana starts picking up more bottles to read.
“Yeah from fuckin your dad raw,” Bread can't help but chortle at his delivery.
“Bro!”
They laugh together, Bread is still holding the green nail polish. Banana has one hand planted on his own thigh and another hand full of glass bottles. Banana's laugh is squeaky and high pitch, not matching the hilarity of the joke. It makes Bread laugh harder.
Once they finally calm down, little 'that's crazys' and 'holy fucks' accompanying their recollection, Bread speaks.
“I’m thinking about this green,” he holds it up to Banana, asking for his opinion.
“Oohh, that’s nice,” he grabs it out of Bread’s hand to observe it, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear this one.”
Bread thinks for a moment, accepting the nail polish when Banana holds it back out to him. “You know what? I actually don’t know if I’ve ever used this one.” He opens the cap to assess the consistency and amount. It’s completely full and feels as if it’s never been opened.
“That would look good with this,” Banana grabs a pink nail polish, it’s Aphrodite's pink nightie, he doesn’t even notice.
“Holy shit you are so right,” Bread smiles holding the bottles against each other. “Okay I’m doing these two.” He sets them on the white coffee table before staring at Banana’s hands. “What color do you want?”
“Uh something manly and masculine, duh.” Bread scoffs at him and rolls his eyes.
He grabs the navy blue that was on his own nails, hoping Banana won’t notice that it’s the same color. That the small bits he missed around his nailbeds won’t reveal his secrets.
“What about this dark blue?” He offers it to Banana who takes it out of his hand.
“Sure, but I’m not gonna paint all of my fingers,” He opens the bottle, cringing just slightly at the strong smell.
“I’ll do it for you then!” Bread chuckles, putting his hand out, waiting to be handed the bottle.
Banana stares at him, looking at the bottle and back at Bread. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly.
He screws the lid back on, and begrudgingly hands it back. “Fine. But only this hand!” He puts up his right hand, the one that won't be on camera for their recording, or would at least be out of the shot for most of it.
“Whatever you say,” Bread starts grabbing the left over bottles shoving them back in his bag so Banana can scoot closer to him.
The other man starts helping, picking up handfulls of glass bottles and reaching his arm down into the black bag as to not damage any of them. It goes by quick with both of them helping. Bread turns only his torso so he can set the bag onto the couch and Banana pulls himself forward on the carpet. He sits perpendicular to Bread, legs crossed as he stares at the back of Bread’s head.
He sets his hand on the coffee table, ready to be painted. Bread grabs the nice blue color, looks at his hand, then turns his body so he’s fully facing Banana. His legs are crossed too, their knees almost bumping. He grabs Banana’s hand and places it on his knee.
He mumbles, “it’s easier like this, better angle,’ he doesn’t look at Banana’s face, but if he had, he’d notice the faint shade of pink on his cheeks. He just unscrews the bottle as he stares at Banana’s nails.
Bread swipes the brush against the opening of the bottle to get rid of excess product, sets it on the table, and glances up at Banana. The other is simply looking at his hand, waiting to be decorated. Bread starts with his index finger, being careful not to get any on his skin.
“We’re going to get more comments on this than when I let you paint my nails red to match your Christmas ones,” Banana laughs, it comes out weird, as if he’s hiding something. Bread pretends not to doesn't notice.
“I didn’t even see anyone comment about it, like three people maybe.” He dips the brush back into the nail polish and moves to his middle finger, “and most of them were about my cooler and more beautiful nails anyway,” he smirks and glances up again, only using his eyes.
“Hey!” Banana jerks his hand slightly, not thinking. ‘Whoops! Sorry, sorry.”
“You almost made me get nail polish on my pants, you bitch!” Bread holds the cap of the bottle up so no liquid will drip off the wand.
“I said sorry! Just hurry up,” he wiggles his fingers, impatiently waiting.
Bread slips his free hand under Banana’s wrist. Sliding his palm under the other’s, then pulls his hand up and closer to his face. His elbows are planted against his thighs to keep his hands steady.
“I’m going, I’m going!”
Bread starts painting Banana’s nails as if it is the easiest thing, but Banana’s body goes rigid. He almost stops breathing, legs stiff, spine immovable. Who can blame him? Pretty boy holding his hand like this is how it was always supposed to be.
He starts worrying that his hand might be sweaty, that Bread will feel how his body is betraying him. Breads hands are soft, softer than his. He can feel the way his fingers involuntarily twitch as he focuses on his nails. He tries not to look at his face, he tries so hard. It feels too intimate to look at his friend as he’s so focused.
He can’t resist. Never been able to.
Bread’s face is soft but focused. He can barely see his irises since he’s looking down, but he can see his eye lashes. They’re so pretty, too pretty to be on his best friend. Those stupid freckles seem so obvious right now. He presses his lips together whenever he is trying to go around his cuticle.
He has to force himself to look back down at his nails, Bread finally finishing up his pinky.
“Thumb,” Bread says it simply, asking for him to rest his thumb on his lanky fingers.
Banana can’t think, taking his hand and closing his fingers while offering the digit as if giving a sideways thumbs up.
“No stupid! You’re messing your nails up!” Bread shakes his hand urging for Banana to rest his back on it.
“I did what you asked! How is that my fault?” Banana gives Bread back his hand, angling it so his thumb rest atop Bread’s fingers.
“Look you fucked this one up, now I have to fix it. Hold on.” He puts the brush back into the bottle, cap slightly askew. Before he turns to grab his bag he puts Banana’s hand on his knee, pointing at him accusingly, telling him with only his face to stay put. He pulls the backpack onto the carpet, a few spare q-tips in a ziplock bag hides in one of the smaller pockets.
Bread pulls them out and grabs one so he can start removing the still wet polish from Banana’s nails. He probably should have brought his acetone, but this will work good enough. He wraps his fingers around Banana’s wrist and moves his hand further up his thigh so he has more leverage.
Banana can’t help but think he’s doing this on purpose. That somehow he’s intentionally trying to humiliate him. He’s trying to be chill, maybe he’s too chill, simply letting Bread maneuver his body, no protest, minimal banter.
Bread moves his grip to rest on the heel of his palm, fingers sneaking onto his wrist. He’s holding him firmly in place as he scrubs the nail polish off with the q-tip. He presses Banana’s fingertip into his leg as he removes the product, under the guise of stability. He has to use the other side to get the rest off, some residue still present, but clean enough to apply another coat.
“Okay, don’t fuck it up this time,” Bread grabs the cap once again, elevates Banana’s hand, and slides his up so he’s once again holding just his fingers.
“I’m not going to!” Banana exclaims, almost shouting. Trying to defend himself. To distract himself from the butterflies in his stomach. If he isn’t careful they’ll fly out of his mouth.
Bread mumbles out a disbelieving, “okay,” and continues working. He carefully fixes the nail Banana messed up, making a note to himself that he may have to go back over it with another coat to fix the unevenness.
This time, instead of asking Banana to give him his thumb, he simply moves his hand to the side so he can reach it. Banana’s thumb rests on the back of his own.
He notices the way Banana’s fingers twitch, he doesn’t think about it.
Banana does. Banana can’t stop thinking about it. He wanted to grip the other man back, his fingers almost giving away the thoughts he’s trying to push down. He’s so caught up in his own head he doesn’t realize Bread is done, admiring his work and still holding his hand.
His eyes shoot open, only for a second, before he retracts his hand, standing up from the floor. “Thanks bro, I’m gonna turn on the pc and then when you’re done w-
“Uh no the fuck you are not, wait for it to dry. AND I also have to put another coat on the one you messed up. So sit back down.”
Banana glares at him and hesitates before sitting back down, knee bumping Bread’s as he crosses his legs again this time facing the table instead of Bread. He leaves it there, not bothering to move his leg. “Whatever, I’ll just sit here like an idiot while you paint your nails.”
“Perfect!” Bread smiles at him stupidly, Banana can’t help the way that one corner of his lip raises as he rolls his eyes.
Banana reaches into his pocket with his clean hand to grab his phone as Bread opens his two bottles, leaving the containers on the table, taking the cap of the green one into his hand. He glances over at Banana, his hand is resting gently on his knee, fingers splayed to ensure they don’t touch.
Bread can’t help but feel he is still supposed to be touching his best friend. He should make an excuse, watch for any sudden movement of his hand. Tell Banana it’s to ‘protect his hard work.’ So he keeps an eye out, focused more on his peripheral vision than his nails. Too much polish on the brush, it's sneaking onto his cuticles.
He doesn’t have to wait for long, three fingers on his left hand done by the time Banana brings his other hand up to his phone.
“Hey! Do not. I don’t have any acetone to remove it if you make them ugly.”
“Dude they have to be dry by now,” he goes to touch it but before he can Bread grabs his wrist. His eyes widen, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Okay, you can’t be trusted,” Bread pulls his arm and forces Banana's hand onto his knee, it rests over the crease where his thigh meets his calf. “Stay here until I’m done and then you can go dick around.”
Banana knows his face flushes, or maybe he’s too hyperaware of all of his veins and nerves. His face never actually changes colors nor does his expression make any adjustments that would be noticeable to anyone but him. Well, maybe if Bread would actually look at his face for more than a moment he’d see it.
He lets his thumb rub Bread’s leg, just once, easily excused as an adjustment. He can’t help himself. It isn’t unusual, they touch each other all the time. Always too sweet to be friendly.
Banana keeps holding his phone, frequently occasionally looking at the way Bread is trying to stay focused on his own nails. His precision is great, even with his non dominant hand. Banana isn’t oblivious, he sees the way Bread lets his eyes wander a bit, never too much. Banana is the only one who would notice the way his irises slowly drift in his direction before adjusting themselves.
Bread finishes with the nice sage green color, screwing the cap back on the glass bottle. Banana lets his eyes linger and Bread meets him. Small smiles in acknowledgement of each other, Banana’s tells Bread he’s beautiful. Bread’s says thank you.
Bread grabs the navy blue nail polish instead of the pink one, Banana gives him a questioning look.
“I have to put another coat on that one finger,” he doesn’t grab Banana’s hand this time, allowing him to keep contact with his leg. “Need to make sure you look perfect for the video.” He forgets to pretend this is casual.
“Are you saying I’m not already perfect?” Banana doesn’t forget.
“Yep! But don’t worry I’ll fix that for ya buddy” Bread smiles mischievously, taking the brush out of the bottle before setting it back down.
“Whatever, you’re an asshole,” Banana tenses his fingers slightly, as if he was about to grab Bread’s leg. He lets go very quickly, seeing the way Bread’s hand falters.
“You’re the one who keeps messing up my hard work!” Bread swipes the dark blue color onto his finger, trying to get an even coat.
“It was only once! Let it go!”
It only takes two more swipes to fully coat Banana's nail. Bread is putting the brush back into the bottle and for some reason, he hasn't retracted his hand.
“No!” Bread has a genius idea, surely something two bros would do.
Bread grabs Banana wrist and pulls his hand towards him, resting it higher on his thigh. He scoots himself forward on the carpet, closer to Banana now so he isn’t stretching his arm as much. Bread places his hand on top of Banana’s wrist, grabbing the pink nail polish cap.
“What are you doing?” Banana’s voice is high, a playful tone seeps through his words, he uses it to hide his genuine confusion.
Bread smiles that stupid, wide smile he always does, “making sure you can’t smudge it again!” He starts painting the rest of his nails, not even glancing up at the man he’s using as an arm rest.
Banana mumbles out, “wasn’t gunna smudge it again,” yet he doesn’t move, doesn’t argue, doesn’t know how to do anything other than watch Bread carefully avoid his skin.
It’s quick, his left hand only having two fingers that are going to be pink. His right hand moves to replace it before he’s even unpinned Banana from his leg. Clearly intending to keep him in place, not allowing for a second where he could escape. Banana doesn’t dare complain.
Banana lets him do this, lets him pretend it's just him being silly. He can't help but find the weight of his hand comforting, every finger rests on him like they belong there. Bread’s fingers drum on his skin slightly whenever he finishes up a nail.
He takes his time on his right hand, easily rationalized as him needing to focus more when using his non dominant hand to paint. He just doesn't want to stop touching Banana. Using wet nail polish as an excuse to hold his hand down against his thigh.
Bread does notice the way Banana’s tan skin has a slight reddish undertone the next time he glances up. Of course he does. How could he not? His stomach doesn’t swirl and flip and twist like it used to, content to touch his friend casually like this and act goofy and stupid like they always do. Banana’s phone is forgotten on his lap, eyes just watching him.
His pinky finger is the hardest to do, he gets a bit on his skin, too much to leave it. The wand of the brush gets placed into it's matching bottle as he grabs another q-tip from the bag he conveniently left on the floor. His hand stays on Banana's wrist.
The heel of Bread's palm rests on Banana's arm to steady his hand. His movements are cautious and slow, Banana just watches as the pink disappears. Small smudges that blend into Bread's skin are all that's left.
All of his fingers are painted now, nail polish thick enough that he won’t have to do a second coat to make it opaque. He does, however, realize that he could use some clear coat, what a great idea! He doesn’t want it to chip too fast and Banana definitely needs some too.
He takes his hand off of Banana’s wrist, screwing the caps back on the bottles properly and lightly blowing on his nails. Banana immediately retracts his hand, looking properly at the nice navy blue.
“Your nails should be dry, here let me see,” Bread outstretches his hand. Banana obliges, no words needed.
Bread garbs Banana’s fingers with both of his hands, spreading them apart and analyzing the color on his nails. He slips one hand under his thumb, bringing it up and lightly petting the nail polish. It’s smooth and dry, he knew it would be. Bread's other thumb swipes over the one that he did just before he finished his own nails, it’s also smooth, but he takes some extra times observing it. Lifting his hand closer to his face, so close he knows Banana can feel his breath.
“Looks good to me! Now you can go do whatever bullshit you’re tryna do,” Bread stands, grabbing the bottles on the table, and sits on the couch next to his bag. He needs to wait for the liquid on his nails to dry before he goes digging around for clear coat, opting to watch as Banana turns on the pc.
Maybe he should have convinced Banana to let him do both of his hands. Even though seeing his blue nail polish on the other's fingers is rewarding, having his hands on his leg is more so.
I will try to write a drabble for each request on Tumblr if not a full fic that I post on ao3 as well! I may not be uber timely but it will get written eventually, trust.
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banana and bread mirror sex............ idgaf who tops or bottoms but that shit is so peak...................
Well hello original Anon, fic posted here under this ask and also on Ao3!
Do you think you're pretty? 7.8k words, explicit obviously....
Bread hears a key getting inserted into the door from his spot on the couch. He springs up, faster than he should, and walks over to where Banana is now standing, shoving his keys back into his pocket. Banana closes the door behind him without looking, barely able to tell Bread 'hi,' before he's being pulled into a kiss.
Bread ducks down to meet him and tan hands instinctually grab his waist. Banana's eyes stay open a second too long, staring at pale skin as his lips get taken over by an extension of his own body.
Bread's arms are wrapped around Banana's shoulders, hands hanging behind his back, weighed down by gravity and lazy muscles. It's a quick kiss, no tongue—Bread has more patience than that—but lips slip together a few more times than necessary. Divulging information that no one wants to admit to.
"That was a really passionate hello," Banana smiles against his lips, capturing them one more time. "How was your day?" He’s too sweet.
"Missed you," Bread mumbles, leaning in again.
The kiss lasts longer this time. Banana's body relaxing, forgetting all of the stress from his day at work. One hand finds itself under Bread's jaw, keeping them together. Like either one of them wants to pull away in the first place.
Bread tries to lick into Banana's mouth, his tongue meets teeth and lips. An impenetrable wall. Banana pulls back. A weight on his shoulders other than Bread's arms. A shift that might have already been there.
"You're eager," he almost laughs, but his own desire is starting to bubble up his throat. Eyes lingering on the pink lips that lie in front of his own.
"I need you in me," Bread looks disheveled. “Like right now.” It’s funny but his face doesn’t move. Unreadably urgent.
"Oh?" Banana slides his hands down to Bread's hips, digging his fingers harshly into his pelvis. His eyes flick down to catch a glimpse of Bread's desire. He drags him forward, feeling his half hard dick against his low stomach.
The kitchen light is beating down on their skin. Humming and intense. Not flattering. Too harsh, washing the other out. Disguising want in a blanket of fluorescent waves.
“Please,” Bread whispers, words ghosting across Banana’s mouth.
Furrowed brows and blood pooling in his capillaries. More hovering than anything, waiting for a response. Waiting for something to snap.
Banana’s lips are parted, eyes darting from Bread’s mouth to his eyes and back again. Searching for something he’s not going to find.
Bread slides his hands down Banana’s chest, to his stomach, around to his ass. He kneads the flesh in his hands, feeling Banana grind against his own desperate dick. The silence says more than Bread can comprehend.
“Hard to wait for me to get home from work?” Banana questions. He could feel the tension from outside the door. Maybe from the inside of his car.
“Yeah,” Bread nods, almost a whisper. “Yeah. I couldn’t focus on editing,” he tries to say it like he’s ashamed. He just says it smug. Knowing.
“You poor thing,” it's patronizingly sweet. Bread doesn't respond, disappearing into the tension that's weaved itself between their bodies.
Banana caresses Bread’s neck, rubbing his thumb across his jaw. Scraping down his skin. Admiring him like the world could end at any moment. And maybe it will.
They lean in again, the kiss is slow, trying to prove something. That they can wait. That they can be composed and modest. A drag of thin skin, soft muscles. Hands just resting, cradling each other like they may get lost if they press any deeper.
Bread licks into Banana’s mouth first, he’s so horny he might cry. His hands grab Banana’s waist, keeping him in place as he explores his mouth. Tongues sliding together, lips closing in sync, little hums coming from deep in their throats.
Banana starts walking them backwards, pulling away from Bread’s lips and slinking out of his grasp. Bread follows behind him as he walks to their room. It feels longer than it is, only a few seconds, but it's seconds where Bread isn't all over Banana—where they aren't all over each other. Banana waits by the door, closing it as Bread passes the threshold only milliseconds after him.
They smile at each other, lazy and heavy. Coming closer. Closing the gap that isn’t really there. Bread wraps his arms around Banana’s shoulders again. His fingers rub at the fabric of Banana’s shirt, a black button up. He looks hot as shit, collar framing his neck. Telling Bread to kiss and bite it. To mark Banana, because no one at work would find out about it. Unless he leaves one a little too high—on accident—obviously on accident.
“You should see how fucking hot you look,” Banana breathes out, hot against Bread's lips. He leans in, kissing him once before pulling back to stare at how the light coasts across his skin. Like he was made out of porcelain that is specifically meant to reflect rays of sunlight in some sort of ethereal, soul changing, way.
Banana’s face perks up. Bread watches his eyes widen and his smile turn into something excited.
“What?” Bread questions but Banana has already escaped from his hands. “No what?” Bread asks again, Banana has his back turned to him. Not listening as he walks to the other side of the room.
“Banana what are you-”
“Oh, you'll see,” Banana can't stop smiling, shaking his head, wondering why they’ve never done this before. Thoughts are flying around his mind, thinking about how exactly he wants to do this. What way does he want to take his Bread?
Banana grabs the black trimmed, full length mirror that Bread brought with him in the move. Unhooking it from the nail they have it resting on. He walks back past Bread who is still intently watching his every move. Blank face hiding his surprise.
The mirror is set on the ground, leaning against the wall that's next to the bed. Bread just stands there, face burning at the images in his mind. The room is suffocating, he tells himself it’s just the sweater he has on.
“This is going to be so hot,” Banana mumbles to himself. He’s hard in his khaki pants, pressing against the zipper.
“You want to fuck me in front of the mirror?” Bread asks, as if it isn't the most obvious conclusion.
“You're so smart, good job Bread,” he says it without thinking. Voice low, focused on the position of the mirror.
Bread doesn't know what to say, words taken from him as he stands sputtering like an idiot. No snarky come back, no sexy remark, just a strange, fluttering feeling in his gut.
His dick is so hard it's becoming distracting, he swears he just felt his hips try and grind against the air. He's needed Banana for hours, missing him as if they still live miles apart. As if they still have to sneak around. Still have to muffle their noises in Banana's upstairs bedroom.
He couldn't help the way his dick reacted to his every thought throughout the day. It's not his fault. Desire laid low in his gut since he woke up this morning. Since Banana got out of the shower. He was only in his boxers when he came back into their room. His hair was wet in that messy, effortlessly hot way, and his body was distracting. Stray water droplets on his shoulders, dark hair all over his legs and stomach and chest. Boxers hugging him in all the right places.
When he hugged Banana before he walked out the door, the feeling of his shoulder blades through his shirt only made it worse. Those sharp angles all over Banana's body do something to him. Clavicles and hip bones, his adam's apple and fingers.
Bread had the house to himself, one of his days off, one he should have been using to edit or make thumbnails. He tried to edit and distract his wandering mind. It didn't work, listening back to Banana's voice only made it worse. Rowdy laugh and that tooth rottingly sweet voice that still makes his heart beat sideways.
He moved to the kitchen after his failed attempt, telling himself he'd return to it later. That he just needed to wash some dishes and then he'd be able to focus and get Banana out of his head.
But the counter was talking to him. Telling him dirty things. Hips leaning against it as he wiped a plate down with the sponge. A tempting pressure on his dick.
He'd be so embarrassed if Banana ever saw him like that. Grinding against the kitchen counter as he tried to rinse the soap off of some dishes. Mouth hanging open as he gripped the edge of the sink. He thought about pulling himself out right there. Jerking off in their kitchen like a thrill seeking teen. But he didn't. He stopped himself before he drowned in his need. Waiting until Banana got home. Distracting himself with his phone and the couch. Keeping his hands busy with other things.
He took advantage of the extra time he had to himself. Only after he calmed down. He can't get near his ass like that in that state of mind. Even for practical reasons. But he did make sure he would be able to get fucked as soon as Banana walked through the door. Maybe he did a little bit more than just that.
He realizes he could have jerked off. There was nothing stopping him from getting rid of the deep, burning desire in his body. He could have even been productive today instead of lounging around, toeing the line, waiting for his boyfriend to come home.
But where's the fun in that?
Banana steps back, making sure the mirror is stable and clearly showing the bed. Trying to imagine the angle in his head, hoping the mirror is far enough away. He decides it is and smiles to himself before looking over at Bread.
His face is pink, just barely, it spreads to the edges of his ears. His eyes are weighed down with arousal, looking hungrily at Banana. More like he wants to be eaten than to eat. He's fiddling with his fingers, no rings to twist, opting to rub at his fingernails and the chipped purple nail polish covering them.
The walk over to Bread feels like an eternity, but when he finally reaches him he grabs Bread’s face and pulls him into kiss. Tongue first. No need to acclimate. Bread stumbles forward slightly, ducking down and latching onto Banana's waist so he can keep him still as he traces every ridge in his mouth. Tongues explore the backs of teeth, memorizing the shape of each one.
Their lips are barely touching by the time Banana has maneuvered Bread’s body so that his thighs are against the edge of the mattress. Tongues dancing with one another, like they taste of anything other than saliva.
Banana pushes Bread back. Rough. Making him sit on the bed. Their lips are quickly disconnected, a numb, tingling feeling is all that’s left behind. Like their lips only know how to exist when they're touching one another.
Bread's hands are outstretched behind him, holding him up as he takes in Banana's face. His head is tilted back slightly, staring directly into Banana's eyes.
He looks hungry. His irises say something he can't read. His pupils make it illegible.
Banana leans down, moving through a wall of hot breath and unspoken words. He makes sure he's right against Bread's ear, lips brushing the edge as he whispers.
“On your knees or your back?” he nips at his ear. So light Bread almost thinks he made it up.
Bread whines, a weak noise of desperation.
“Knees,” it's a whisper, so breathy it sounds like he's trying to keep his answer secret to even himself.
“Hm, that's what I was thinking too,” Banana's words go in Bread's ear and out the other. All he perceives is the low, sultry vibrations that are making his stomach flip inside out. A kiss on the side of his neck makes his dick twitch in his pants. He tilts his head to the side instinctually, but Banana's mouth is already gone.
Bread reaches his arms up as Bananas pulls away, clasping his hands around the back of his neck. He pulls him down for a kiss. One, two, three times their lips connect before Banana pulls away again.
Banana starts working at his buttons, quickly getting the top three undone. Bread watches his fingers move with a diligence he can't ignore. The tendons in his hands protrude, bulging under his skin like they want to start something.
The shirt flies over his head after the fourth button is free, not bothering with the rest. Unbuttoning his pants as soon as it hits the ground. Bread removes his own shirt, abdomen straightening out as he pulls it over his head, little rolls on his stomach reappearing as he throws it on the ground. He stands, only long enough to shuck his pants and boxers off, letting them fall down his legs.
When he looks back up he's met with Banana kicking his own pants away, staring at the ground as he does so. The view is mesmerizing. Tan skin, just noticeable muscles, and the prettiest dick he's ever seen in his life.
Banana looks up, immediately finding Bread's gaze. The smile on his face is fond. Enthralled by the man in front of him. Like he knows they will never get tired of seeing each other like this.
Banana leans down once more, grabbing Bread by the jaw and tilting his head back as he kisses him. It's deep and filthy, Bread's hands grab at Bananas waist to ground himself. To keep himself from falling backwards. He lets himself get explored by Banana. Trying to breathe through his nose and ignore how bad he needs to swallow. The feeling of the cartilage in his throat pushing against his skin is more arousing than he'd like for it to be.
They break apart quick. Banana’s eyes stay focused on Bread's swollen lips.
“Get on your knees baby,” he purrs.
“Mmm, yes sir,” Bread mutters, smirking as his eyes dart down to Banana's mouth. Teasing him. Pulling him down the hole he's already fallen into.
A weird feeling emerges across Banana's insides. Something possessive. He lets go of his jaw and backs up so Bread can get onto the bed. Watching him intently. Analyzing the curve of his ass, the movement of his muscles, the veins in his hands.
Bread positions himself in front of the mirror, shuffling on his knees so that he can see himself perfectly in the reflection. He sits back on his calves, dick resting atop his thighs. He hopes Banana didn't see the way he 'adjusted' himself, clearly just grinding against his own legs.
Banana crawls onto the bed in front of Bread, kneeling with him. His hand runs up Bread's thigh, so tempted to touch his visibly aching cock. But he doesn't, he wants to take his time. Make Bread squirm.
Bread's lips are parted, like the air will be any less thick if he filters it through his teeth. He's begging for Banana to do anything, to touch him anywhere, to kiss him, to get inside of him right fucking now.
“You're so fucking hot,” Banana says it like he's pissed. Like Bread's attractiveness has personally offended him. And maybe it has.
Thinking about his boyfriend all by himself today, so horny he couldn’t even fucking think. Saving himself for him, keeping his body on the edge of insanity just so that Banana could be the one to take him apart.
Banana keeps his hand on Bread's thigh, leaning forward, meeting Bread's lips. Bread grabs his face, pulling him closer, like maybe he'll be able to taste Banana's thoughts if he tries hard enough.
Bread can't help but whine, breathing heavy through his nose. His and Banana's tongues are testing one another, seeing how far they'll let each other go. Flicking frenulums, feeling tastebuds, dipping into molars. It’s wet, and messy, and all they’ve ever needed.
Banana pulls back, breathless. “You waited all day didn't you?”
Bread's vision is hazy, he barely even knows what Banana just said to him.
“Huh?” He doesn't think he could say anything of substance if he tried.
“You were eye fucking me before I left for work,” Banana squeezes Bread's thigh. His fingerprints are engraved into the pale skin. Sneaking into his subcutaneous tissue, seeking refuge in his fascia. "I saw you lick your lips when I put my deodorant on."
Bread just stares at him, breathing through his mouth. He's been caught red handed.
“You’ve been thinking about my dick all day, right?” Banana is slowly inching his face closer to Bread’s.
Bread nods frantically, eyebrows pulling up at the dirty words falling from his boyfriend's lips.
“You’re so needy,” Banana accuses.
“You don't even know. I’ve been thinking about you fucking me into a stupid mess all day,” Bread grips Banana’s shoulders, digging his fingers into the firm muscles. Rough like he isn't the one begging to be thrown around.
“And now you’ll get to watch yourself while it happens,” a sly expression crosses Banana’s face. There's a lightness in the air that tangles and warps the tension into something deeper. Something less primal, more connected.
“Fuck, this is probably the best idea you’ve ever had,” Bread laughs through his nose at the implication.
Banana rolls his eyes, his lips pull up at the edges and find Bread’s again. A quick, open mouthed peck. He pulls back and sits up on his knees, moving closer to the nightstand and grabbing a bottle of lube out of it. Bread stares at his ass, scanning the thin blanket of dark hair that covers it, that sneaks into deeper spots. Stares at how his junk hangs down between his legs as he leans over the bed.
Banana turns around and tosses the bottle of lube over by Bread's leg. Bread never stops staring. Banana's dick is staring back. He reaches his hand out, dragging it from behind his balls, all the way up his shaft. Touching him just because he can.
Banana doesn't linger on it. The bed dips with his weight as he crawls behind Bread, hand brushing across whatever expanse of pale skin it can find. Up his arm, over his shoulder, down his back.
Bread turns his head to watch Banana settle in his spot before he leans forward, supporting his upper body with his forearms. He pushes his ass back, making sure he arches his back as slutty as he can manage. More for him than for Banana. Having himself on display like that makes his gut tangle and knot with strands of excitement. He keeps his head down, letting it hang between his shoulders, staring at the sheets. Too shy to look in the mirror.
The reflective surface is taunting him. His muscles are closing in on his lungs. The corners of the room are filled with embarrassment and all of his regrets. The air is too heavy. Or maybe it's just the way his dick is hanging between his thighs.
He's so exposed, he can feel the cool air on his hole. The way his ass spreads apart by itself in this position, leaving him vulnerable to anything Banana wants to do to him. He can feel Banana's eyes on it too. He knows he's just fucking staring, hands nowhere to be felt.
Bread looks up, getting impatient. His eyes land on the mirror, Banana is just staring, but not at his ass. He's clearly looking at Bread through the mirror, their eyes meet in the reflection. Bread's stomach churns, he didn't think it would turn him on this much.
Tan hands find the back of his thighs. A shiver runs down his spine and into his brain. He quickly lets his head drop back down, the heat on his face is something he wants to deny for a while longer.
“Look at yourself baby,” Bananas voice is soft and innocent, like he isn't about to ruin Bread. Like he isn't so hard he can barely think.
Bread curses in his mind, he knows he wants to look at himself. Look at Banana as he fingers him open, as he fucks him into a pitiful mess, as he cums in him.
He lifts his neck, trying not to focus on his face. It's too red, too desperate. He just looks at his body, the disconnected image makes every touch from Banana feel electric.
Bread hears Banana open the bottle of lube. Fucking finally. He can't help the way one of his hands slithers under himself, grabbing his cock. He strokes himself slow, just to relieve some built up pressure. Pressure that is telling him to beg until he's crying. He knows Banana can see what he's doing through his legs. He sees the way his eyes dart down. Watching his slim fingers drag up and down his cock.
He doesn't stop watching Banana in the mirror. Lube spread on two his fingers, bottle thrown back down onto the bed. His clean hand lands on Bread's ass and he spreads him open, pulling at his flesh rough. Manipulating it in a way that turns Bread's brain into mush. He feels his hole open up slightly as Banana gropes him, pulling pale skin taught.
Banana swipes the lube on his hole, the pad of a finger already pressing against him. Bread makes sure not to look at his own face, focusing on Banana's, the way his expression is way too sweet for what they're doing.
Banana pushes his finger in and Bread tries not to feel embarrassed about how easily it slips past his anus. Banana doesn't let him.
“Shut up,” Bread mumbles. He lets go of his cock, pushing his hips back. Begging.
“Its fucking hot,” Banana squeezes the fat in his hand, wriggling his finger against Bread's walls.
“Good, I did it for you,” he's trying not to sound like he's unraveling. But it's hard when every inch of his body is on fire and the mirror in front of him keeps berating him with images of his needy body.
Banana hums at the admission. His finger starts moving, gliding in and out of Bread slowly.
Bread stays quiet, trying to keep his breathing even. His eyes look away from the mirror, focusing on the floor, praying he can stay coherent. Just for a little longer. He hopes Banana doesn't notice, doesn't make him look at how easily he'll take whatever he's given.
Except that's exactly what he wants.
Banana hasn't glanced up yet, fingering the pretty boy under him is taking all of his attention. He pulls his lone finger out, watching Bread's hole flutter, he knows its not involuntary. He begins rubbing two against his wet hole. The hair that surrounds it is plastered against his skin.
Bread pushes his ass back, asking Banana to stretch him out more. Nothing comes, just fingers coasting across his skin. Up and down. Circling like a hungry shark.
He looks up into the mirror to find Banana staring at him through it. His eyes shoot open, taken off guard by the other's heavy expression. Looking at him like he's a piece of meat.
“C’mon baby, don't you want to watch yourself get ruined?” Banana asks, as if it's a simple favor. Brushing his free hand up and down Bread's thigh.
“Then ruin me,” Bread mutters, throaty and harsh. He wiggles his hips, eyes flicking down and staring at his raised ass in the mirror.
Banana smirks. The tips of his fingers press into Bread. He dips them in and out, each time he pushes back in he goes a little deeper.
The mirror shows him Bread's flushed face. He can tell he isn't looking at his own expressions, probably at tan skin. Focused on the parts of Banana's torso that are visible above him. How his arm moves as he finger fucks him.
Once his fingers sit fully inside, he spreads them—tries to. Bread's ass resists, a wet, shluck, comes from his hole. Lube and the suction of muscles. Banana's dick twitches against the crease of his hip, slapping his stomach. He keeps spreading his fingers, twisting them and pressing around Bread's insides. He prods at where he knows that irresistible bundle of nerves is. Watching Bread twitch and grind down on his fingers.
The fingers leave Bread once he's able to scissor them apart. His clean hand grabs the bottle of lube, opening it and squeezing some in his hand. He grabs his dick, coating it in the clear gel. It sounds wet and messy. It's all on purpose. He watches Bread's face in the mirror, sees the way his lungs expand harshly through the back of his ribcage.
Bread wants to whine, wants to beg for Banana to hurry up. To touch him more. To talk to him, tell him anything.
The mirror is still fucking taunting him. He can see his own face in his peripheral. It's embarrassing. Embarrassing in the way it's making his chest tight with repressed moans. Embarrassing in the way he'll never be able to get enough of this after they're done.
Banana finally rises up from his kneeling position and rubs his dick across Bread's ass. Teasing his hole with the tip. Bread stays still, watching Banana's face and the arrogant smile that graces his lips.
Banana dips his head in, a little noise comes from the man under him. Something like relief.
He pulls back, slipping out, letting his head catch on Bread's rim. He repeats this a few times, he wants to see how much Bread will take before he begs. Wants to touch Bread’s body like he owns it. Probably because he does.
The mirror reflects Bread's furrowed eyebrows and his parted lips back to him. All of his desires are spilling out of his pupils, detailed in each of his shallow breaths.
Bread pushes his ass back again, chest almost touching the bed.
“Stop being a fucking tease,” he bites.
“Sorry baby,” and Bread knows he doesn't mean it.
Banana grabs a pale hip with one hand and uses his other to line himself up again. He pushes in properly this time, taking it slow. Slow enough for Bread to process how every inch feels. He makes a contented noise when Banana sits fully in him. There's a tightness deep in his gut, he feels it in his throat.
The mirror screams for him to look at himself, to take his eyes off of Banana’s perfect body. To look at his own face. Just once.
So he glances down, finds that his skin is red, that his eyes are holding all the desperation he hasn't voiced. His composure is faltering.
Banana starts thrusting, pulling back slow, pushing in even slower. Bread's eyes move back to their hips. He can barely see Banana's, but he sees the way the flesh of his own ass moves with each forward thrust. He's trying to breathe through his nose but he keeps forgetting, keeps panting through his mouth, trying to swallow back his noises.
Banana wants Bread to see himself moan and whimper and gasp. Wants to make him see how pretty he looks when he's getting fucked stupid. How hot his body looks as it's getting used.
“C’mere,” Banana leans forward, over Bread's back, and sneaks his arm under him, pulling him up by the chest.
Bread doesn't protest, just a confused expression on his face. He pushes himself up with his hands, following Banana’s lead.
Bread is sitting on Banana’s lap, shins on either side of Banana's legs. Cock buried deep inside of him. He cant help the way his hand goes to his stomach, head dropping down and his eyes locking on like he'll be able to see Banana’s cock through the fat and muscle. Maybe if he looks hard enough he will. It doesn't stop him from pressing down slightly, a choked noise bubbles up his throat.
Banana keeps one arm wrapped around Bread, hand planted on his pec. The other one grabs his jaw and forces him to look up. Up into the mirror.
“Look at how pretty you are,” Banana kisses Bread's neck. “You're gonna be good and watch yourself right?” it's low, filthy. Erotic.
“Uh huh,” Bread nods, he doesn't think he's breathing. Each vertebra in his spine is tingling from the lips on his neck. The marrow and spinal fluid are molded to the shape of Banana.
He swears he just felt a bead of precum slide out his slit.
“Good boy,” Banana rises up slightly, giving himself more room to fuck Bread.
Bread whines, at the praise, at the feeling of cock being pushed further inside him. So deep he might be able to cum just from grinding on it.
He looks like a whore. Banana wrapped around his body, grabbing his face, biting at his neck. Doing whatever he wants to him. He loves it. He fucking loves it.
Banana pulls his hips back, Bread keeps himself supported on his own knees. Banana thrusts forward a little faster than before, slowly speeding up. Watching the way Bread's blush darkens. Small choked moans and gasps slipping past his lips.
Bread is finally staring at himself properly. He watches as his cock bounces every time Banana fucks into him. On a particularly rough thrust it hits his stomach and he can't help but let his jaw hang open. Panting hard. Like if he breaths deep enough, maybe, he won’t cum embarrassingly fast.
Banana keeps his hand on Breads jaw but it creeps back, slowly landing itself on the very top of his throat. Banana doesn't squeeze, doesn't choke him, just keeps Bread's head up with the edge of his hand.
“Look at you,” Banana rests his chin on Bread's shoulder, staring at his face through the mirror. “So pretty when you're on my cock like this,” he whispers in his ear.
Bread whimpers. High and pathetic. And it's fucking hot.
Banana starts moving his hips faster, rubbing up on Bread's prostate with every thrust. Gasps fall from his lips and his hands grab Banana’s arms, bracing himself. Like he might float away from the pleasure.
He does look good. He can't deny it. It might just be because Banana is accessorizing him.
It's so weird looking at his body when he feels this euphoric. It feels like he should be able to see the nerve signals flowing through his skin, the ones that connect his prostate to the base of his throat. He should be able to see the collection of moans in his lungs and the pressure in his dick. All he sees is pale skin and tensed muscles. And that dribble of precum sliding down his tip.
It feels so dirty.
So dirty seeing his blissed out face and watching as his noises climb past all the walls he's put up. It's actually making him process how he sounds, he doesn't get to just sit back and moan, he has to watch the way they're getting forced out of his throat. And he would never tell Banana this, but it's turning him the fuck on.
It's so dirty seeing how hard his hands are gripping Banana, like it's the only thing he knows how to do. And it's really fucking dirty that he's staring at himself while he gets fucked stupid by his boyfriend.
Banana must be able to read his mind, see how much he’s enjoying the rough treatment. The manhandling and the nasty words. His thrusts become harder, slamming deep into Bread, brushing his prostate with a force that Bread can't fight against.
Bread can’t keep his mouth closed. Choked grunts and moans and gasps escape him, coating the walls with his noises. Hoping they don't slip out the windows. He can barely keep himself up, his thighs are shaking. Using his calves and feet to brace himself against Banana’s legs.
His eyelids weigh more than he remembers. His head is thrown back slightly, looking at the mirror through his lower lashes. His cock keeps bobbing in the mirror and it's distracting him. It's leaking, a disgusting amount, so much that he should probably feel embarrassed.
He doesn't.
Banana reaches the hand on his throat down, grabbing Bread’s dick, relieving the pressure. Creating more.
"Feels good?" Banana taunts, using his thumb to rub the pre-cum all over Bread's tip.
"Nhh hm!" he drops his head down to look at Banana's hand. It looks like it was always meant to be there. He doesn't stare for long, looking back into the reflection.
Bread swears the mirror makes everything feel better. He looks like such a slut, moaning and bucking into the veiny, tan hand wrapped around his pink cock. The reflection speaks to him. Tells him that his body has never betrayed him.
Banana is still looking right at him through the mirror, his heart jumps when they make eye contact in it. He's really close and he's really desperate and he's really fucking into this.
“You look so pretty right? My pretty boy,” it's sweet and hungry. Like Banana would maul him in a heartbeat.
“B'nana-” Bread whines at the name. He has to shut his eyes. He has to, he can't keep looking at the way his body is being used. Everything feels too good, too surreal.
“Be good for me, keep your eyes open baby,” he bites his shoulder. Hard enough to leave an imprint, weak enough to make Bread want more.
Bread makes a disgruntled noise. “Can't,” he shakes his head.
“If you want to cum you will,” Banana lets go of Bread's cock, resting his hand on his trimmed pubes. Slow, shallow thrusts, just enough pleasure to keep him dumb.
“Fuck,” he likes that. Likes when Banana gets bossy, takes control of him, tells him what he’s allowed to do. He leans his head against the side of Banana’s, eyes open, roaming their skin in the mirror.
“Good boy,” Banana sneaks his hand down lower than before, fondling Bread’s balls. “You like watching yourself?”
Bread grunts, an affirmative noise. He bucks up into nothing.
“Uh huh? Use your words,” Banana thumbs at Bread’s nipple with his other hand.
“Yes!” Bread nods, slow like his head holds the weight of the world. Maybe it does, Banana won't leave it.
“Think you can cum just from my dick?” Banana mumbles. It's raspy and filthy.
“Please,” he sounds meek. All of the hair on his body stands up in a wave across his bare skin.
Banana just smirks, and Bread sees it. Sees the ideas behind his eyes. The hand on his balls moves up, wrapping around the middle of his torso. Keeping his back up against his tan chest.
The thrusts quicken again, only the tip of Banana's dick stays inside Bread when he pulls back. A pale hand flies down to his low stomach. Somehow hoping that if he covers the pleasure it won't be as mind numbing.
Banana pinches Bread's nipple, rolling the perky bud in between his thumb and middle finger. The gasp he gets says everything he's ever needed to hear.
Bread’s neck is next, he starts kissing it, gently at first. Still playing with his nipple. The sweet kisses turn open mouthed and wet, sneaking onto the top of Bread’s shoulder. Teeth scrape skin and before long he’s biting Bread like nothing has ever been more appetizing in his life. Sucking skin into his mouth, breaking a rule, planning to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.
The permission is Bread tilting his head to the side. Begging for Banana to ruin his life.
Bread’s panting, his chest is rising and falling violently, eyebrows knitted together. His pupils won’t stay still. Darting around his body, watching Banana play with and bite him like he's some kind of toy. He’s watching his stomach too, like the pleasure will display itself in a radiating swirl of pinks and purples across his skin.
At some point the angle changed, Bread doesn’t know how, or when, but he knows Banana is rubbing up inside of him so good.
“I'm gonna cum! Please, please!” Bread begs. Gasping between syllables.
Banana smiles against his neck, he feels those malicious lips go taught against his skin. Right against his artery. It only makes him needier. And Banana’s breathing—oh god Banana’s breathing—it’s heavy and stuttered, replacing the moans he so desperately wishes to hear.
Banana doesn’t change a thing, keeps his pace, keeps his angle, keeps touching Bread’s body like he’s the one it was made for. Because it was. Because Bread has given himself up more times than either of them can count.
Bread feels like Banana's dick is gonna come up his throat. He swallows around his shallow breaths, maybe his pride. Maybe nothing at all.
He thinks he looks ridiculous, but he can’t bring himself to fix it. To close his mouth and straighten his head out.
His mind goes blank. He's only experiencing the sex through the mirror, his body exclusively exists in the reflection. His brain can't process the fact that he's seeing everything that he's feeling. Like he's watching some kind of fucked up, telepathic, porn video. He loves it.
Bread bucks up into nothing, a sob of ecstasy gets punched out of his chest. His dick twitches and he watches as cum shoots out so far it almost lands on the floor. Watches as his poor cock weeps all over the bed, pulsing from the base as he gets his prostate milked. The rest of his cum lands on his thigh, before gliding down the head of his dick. His ass rhythmically clenches around Banana and it makes everything feel ten times better. Still so full while emptying himself out.
Banana never stops thrusting but he slows down slightly, just enough to really enjoy the new tightness of Bread’s ass. The hand that isn’t intermittently playing with Bread’s nipple finds itself back on Bread’s dick. Impure intentions.
Cum becomes lube, stroking Bread through his orgasm, way past it. It sounds filthy, maybe filthier than Bread’s ass. Wet and constant. Bread’s body starts twitching, trying to escape Banana’s hand just to grind his prostate against the cock in his ass.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t beg Banana to stop, doesn’t say it hurts, doesn’t swat his hand away. Quiet whines and whimpers crawl up his throat. Still looking at himself, focusing on the image in the mirror. Trying to ingrain the memory of his fucked out body into the folds of his brain.
“You’re so pretty,” Banana mumbles right under Bread’s ear. The syllables are coated with sincerity and love. They sound nothing like the insatiable words he's been saying all night.
And Bread blushes. He feels heat rush to his face, like it wasn’t already burning with the warmth of seeing his body in this state.
Banana’s hand stops stroking Bread, he just holds him, cradles his cock like it’s something innocent. The thrusts become sloppy, quicker. Chasing wet friction.
His breathing turns into gasps. A few moans slip out without his permission. He can’t help it, watching Bread in the mirror. Watching how his body jolts every time he hits his prostate, how his eyes are roaming his own body, how his thighs are shaking.
It happens fast, one sharp gasp and his forehead on Bread’s shoulder. He buries himself in Bread, thrusting so shallowly it probably doesn’t even count. He fills Bread up, the residual movements of his hips fucking it deep into his guts. Claiming Bread, his body, his mind.
Banana sits back on his calves as he nears the end of his orgasm, he brings Bread down with him. Bread gasps, and a coarse, “fuck,” leaves his mouth. His hand is still on his stomach.
When Banana looks back up Bread is looking down at the bed. Too coherent to stare at his naked body. His ears are still pink and his skin is glowing, probably just the layer of sweat coating them both, maybe something more spiritual than they want to admit.
Banana’s hand finally leaves Bread's dick, like he didn’t even realize he was holding it in the first place. His clean hand rubs Bread’s abdomen lovingly, thumb rubbing across pale skin in a motion too sweet for the position they’re in.
Bread lifts himself off of Banana. He goes slow, legs a little weaker than he would ever admit. Banana's hand rub his back, dragging across moles and the vertical stretch marks he has from growing too fast.
When Banana's tip slips out there's a hollow pop. Cum starts running out of his ass, some landing on Banana’s thigh, some sliding down his own taint. If the cum already on the sheets wasn’t enough he’s sure they’ve met the quota now.
Banana's dirty hand finds itself in between Bread's cheeks, dragging against his hole. The other one plants itself on his low back. Urging Bread to lean forward.
He listens.
Air escapes his ass. He doesn't get embarrassed by it anymore.
His face is against the bed, letting gravity force his knees into the mattress at just the right angle to keep his hips up. His arms are bent by his head, hands resting above it. Surrendering himself. Giving himself just a second longer to be worshiped.
Banana dips a finger in his ass and he feels Bread try and clench around him, too loose to grip his finger. He pulls it out, slipping his thumb in and pressing down. Just feeling around Bread's body, wanting to watch and admire how it reacts. Cum surrounds his hole, coating the pink opening with a thin, translucent layer of white. Coarse hair beginning to collect the physical form of Banana's love.
Bread pushes.
Cum spills out of him and Banana sucks in a sharp breath. Warmth blooming across his insides.
They both sit there, letting the room close in around them. Letting it disappear all together. Coming out of the haze in tandem, allowing the fog of lust and impulsive decisions to disperse.
Bread lets his body fall to the side, ass facing the mirror. He pushes himself up with his arms, turning his torso to face Banana. His legs are bent, one on top of the other. He feels cum slowly starting to slide down the side of his ass.
“We should've put a towel down,” Bread says, sitting up more, feet almost tucked under himself.
“It’s okay, I’ll change the sheets. Do you wanna go shower?” Banana asks. He’s looking at Bread like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Probably because he is.
“Will you come join me after?” It comes out sheepish, not his intent.
“Yeah! Of course! I’ll be fast,” he smiles and watches as Bread mimics him.
Bread gets onto his knees and leans over to kiss Banana before scurrying off of the bed. Trying not to be too obvious about how wobbly his legs feel. He speed walks, as fast as he can without feeling embarrassed, trying not to let the cum run down the back of his leg too much.
As Bread disappears into the bathroom, Banana climbs off the bed, his own legs not much better for supporting his body. He throws the comforter on the ground, thankful it was off to the side, that’s always a bitch to wash.
Each corner of the sheet is pulled out from underneath the mattress, leaving just the fitted sheet under it. He wipes his leg off with the sheet and folds it in on itself, placing it near the door, before grabbing another sheet out of the closet.
It goes fast, tucking the edges and sides under the mattress, moving the pillows from the head of the bed to the middle and back again. The comforter gets thrown haphazardly onto the bed, they’ll fix it when they go to bed later.
He hurries to the laundry machine, just throwing the sheet inside, telling himself he’ll find other things to go in with it later. He’s back in their room faster than he left, wandering into their bathroom.
The sound of water hitting the cheap, plastic tub fills the room, he closes the door gently behind him. Banana pulls the edge of the curtain back, peaking his head in to sneakily admire Bread before he gets in himself. Bread’s already looking at him though, smile apparent in all the features on his face.
“Hi,” Banana says as he steps into the shower. Its quiet, only meant for Bread to hear.
“Hi,” it disappears under the spray of warm water.
“I meant it when I said you look really pretty earlier,” he’s jumping in the deep end.
“I know,” Bread tilts his head to the side slightly, his expression is hard to decipher.
“Did you think you looked pretty? In the mirror I mean,” Banana asks, his eyes scan Bread’s torso, remembering how he looked wrapped around it not even ten minutes ago.
“You know how I am,” he shakes his head as he talks, an easy tone.
“Yeah and I hate it. You’re stupidly attractive and you don’t want to admit it,” he says it jokingly but he means it. His hand reaches out to rub Bread’s waist, sliding his hand up and down the pale skin.
“I did think it was hot watching myself get fucked, if that makes you feel better,” his voice is lower, staring down at Banana, at how his eyes are focused on his body and not his face.
“Yeah,” Bread speaks with his eyes. "Watching you put your hands all over me like that..."
Bread takes a step forward, desiring Banana more than the warm water that's cascading down his back. He wedges his hand under Banana's arm, splaying his fingers across his ribs.
“Now you can’t deny that you look pretty when you’re getting ruined though,” Banana grins, toothy and vain. His hand rises from Bread's torso, up so he can rub the back of his first two fingers across a dark purple mark. Too high up to be covered by any shirt collar.
“Our definitions of pretty must have come from different dictionaries,” he retaliates, less about demeaning himself and more about annoying Banana.
“Yeah, mine just said ‘Bread,’” he shrugs, trying to hide his smile.
He shakes his head. “You’re so dumb.” (I love you)
