just a little something with Sasha and Ryosuke while we work on our next bit of plot. Ryosuke's eyes have alllllways been bigger than his stomach!
written, naturally, with @lickstynine
Sasha strolled into the apartment, eyes bright, shoulders relaxed, the stoicism of his usual expression softened to a genuine calm. Ryosuke put down his violin, turning to smile at the door. He blinked, taken aback by the sight - Sasha had walked out looking immaculate and professional, but his sleek hair was now disheveled, crisply pressed clothes wrinkled, his knuckles raw and bloodied.
“You're in a good mood,” Ryosuke remarked. “How was… work?”
“Oh, I wasn't working.” Sasha shrugged. “Personal errand.”
“Oh.” Understanding flashed in Ryosuke's eyes. “How's Valentina?”
“Healthier. Still angry that I will not let her take stupid dangerous drugs. Of course, I am less worried now,” Sasha shrugged. He strode over to the couch, stretching out languidly and kicking his feet up. “I thought you were going out tonight. I didn't pick up things for dinner.”
“Oh, I am,” Ryosuke assured him. “Just waiting for Yuki to get off work.”
“What, Yuki doesn't have a rich boyfriend to live off of?” Sasha drawled.
“Unfortunately, no.” Ryosuke laughed. Tucking his violin safely away in its case, he strolled over to the couch and pecked a kiss on Sasha’s cheek. “You going to sit around in those filthy clothes all night?”
Sasha smirked. “Just taking a minute to rest. I'll be off to shower soon. You that desperate to see me naked before I go?”
Ryosuke flashed a mischievous grin. “I might be. How long did you need to rest?”
That was all the invitation Ryosuke needed to drop down in Sasha's lap, unbuttoning his shirt and making a beeline for his belt. They were still going at it like wild animals when Ryosuke's phone began to ring. He groaned, peeling himself reluctantly off of Sasha to answer.
“Moshimoshi?”
“Dude, where are you?” Yuki demanded. “I texted you that I was downstairs ten minutes ago.”
“Oh, shit. Uh… just getting dressed. Gimme five more minutes. Sorry.” Ryosuke hung up hastily, giving Sasha one last kiss before standing up and making a dash upstairs to raid his wardrobe.
“Do you have to go?” Sasha called lazily, pulling a blanket over his legs. “I could feed you, you know?”
“Yes, I have to go,” Ryosuke laughed, appearing at the top of the stairs still buttoning his shirt. “I still have friends, you know.”
Sasha sighed wearily. “Fine. Save some energy for me when you get home.”
Ryosuke rolled his eyes. “Please. You know I'm never too tired for sex.” Hopping into his pants, he hurried down the stairs and buckled his belt. “Love you,” he said, leaning over the couch for one more kiss. “See you later tonight.”
“See you later.”
Sasha smirked, slapping his ass as he went. Once the door closed and he was certain that Ryosuke wasn’t going to run back for round 2, he hauled himself up off the couch and wandered through to the bathroom. If he was already naked, he might as well shower before he ate.
After his shower, he didn't bother to put anything on right away, simply wrapping a towel around his waist to go and make dinner. Without someone else to cook for, Sasha ate lazily - a chopped salad with a grilled chicken breast on top. His knuckles were smarting a bit, as they had been since he'd disinfected them, and he grabbed a bottle of vodka from the cabinet before going to stretch out on the couch. Between Valentina’s sudden illness and Ryosuke practically living in his apartment, it had been a long while since he’d got some genuine peace and quiet.
He was relishing the calm, stretched out and half asleep on the couch, when his phone began to ring. Groggily, Sasha lifted it to his ear. “Huh?”
“Heyyyy,” Ryosuke was giggling on the other end. “C'n you call me ‘n Uber? I kinda… maxed my card out.”
Sasha heaved a dramatic, drawn out sigh. “What am I, your piggy bank?”
“...you're not just my pig-gy bank,” Ryosuke snickered, hiccuping through his words. "You're also a really good lay.”
Sasha scoffed. “Glad to know I'm good for something besides my money. What happened to your friend who picked you up?”
“I said I'd…hck…ughhhhh…I'd walk,” Ryosuke replied. “Needed some air.”
“And how'd that work out for you?” Sasha asked drily.
“Made it about two blo-hic-ks…” Ryosuke sighed. “C’n you jus’ call the Uber? Please?”
“No.” Sasha said flatly. He let Ryosuke hang anxiously on the other end of the line as he stood from the couch, finally saying, “I'm coming to get you.”
Ryosuke huffed out a satisfied sound. “I knew you would.”
Sasha scowled even as he stomped his feet into the sneakers by the door. He had been played. Was Ryosuke even that drunk? Sasha would surely get him back for this. “I can't be seen taking you home,” he growled, pulling on a hoodie and hat despite the mild weather. “Don't do anything fucking stupid while you wait.”
“Like fucking what?” Ryosuke laughed. “Start dating a Russian mobster who doesn't want to be seen with me? Already doing that, babe. Do you need my location?”
“It is not like that,” Sasha sighed, fishing on the side table for his car key. “No. I track your phone. I will be ten minutes.”
“You track my… huh?” Ryosuke found himself staring in confusion at his phone screen, Sasha having already hung up. He shrugged, shoving his phone in his pocket and leaning back against the wall of the building he'd stopped beside.
He struggled to keep from laughing when Sasha pulled up, buried in a black hoodie and wearing sunglasses in the dead of night. Swinging the passenger door open, Ryosuke plunked down in the seat with a dramatic groan.
“God, I wanna go t’bed,” he lamented, teetering over to lean against Sasha's shoulder. “Thanks f’r comin’ t’get me, babe.”
“You smell like a distillery,” Sasha grumbled. “Get off, someone might see.”
“They might recognize my car,” Sasha said stiffly, one strong hand pushing Ryosuke away with ease. “The disguise is plausible deniability.”
“Sure. Not sure your dad's that scary if he'd be fooled by this…”
Sasha slammed, rather unnecessarily, on the brakes, and Ryosuke lurched forward against the seatbelt. “Do not underestimate him,” he growled.
Ryosuke, for once, didn't argue. In fact, when Sasha next glanced over, he found his boyfriend looking startlingly pale. His eyebrows raised in alarm.
“Do not throw up in my car,” Sasha grumbled. “Tell me if you need to stop.”
“Mmhmm…?” Ryosuke swallowed tightly, a weak smile crossing his face. “Nah, ‘m…good.”
Sasha rolled his eyes. “If you do not tell me, you will be the one cleaning the car.”
A grimace flashed across Ryosuke's face, but he reiterated, “Nah, really. I…” he swallowed again, “I'm good.”
“Did you have a good time at least?” Sasha asked, glancing down at his speedometer and easing his foot off the gas.
“Oh, yeah, it was great,” Ryosuke gushed, waving his hands dramatically. “We wen’ to our favorite hibachi an’ everything was so good. We got like… a billion things t’share.”
“A billion, hm?” Sasha asked, quirking one eyebrow.
Ryosuke nodded very seriously, rubbing a hand over the top of his belly. “Yeah. I think I might explode.”
“Like I said, not in the car,” Sasha repeated sternly. “We're not far from home.”
“Not like that,” Ryosuke whined. “Have some sympathy.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry your eyes were bigger than your stomach. Again.” Sasha said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
“No you're not,” Ryosuke pouted. “You're so cruel.”
“And you're an idiot. Are we just stating facts now?” Sasha asked. His words were harsh, masking the worry he felt about Ryosuke having been left stumbling drunk alone through the streets. He felt a twinge of irritation that he couldn't track down Yuki and put the fear of God in him for abandoning his supposed friend.
Ryosuke huffed, turning his back on Sasha to lean against the door. He stayed quiet the rest of the drive, forcing himself to take long, slow breaths and trying not to think about how much he'd eaten, or how much he'd had to drink on top of that. Even the gentle lurch as Sasha engaged the handbrake made his dinner slosh heavily in his belly.
He was surprised when the car door opened by itself, nearly toppling over as he'd been leaning against it. Strong hands steadied him right away, and Sasha leaned in to unbuckle him without a word. Ryosuke knew right away that the parking garage must have been empty - Sasha would be waiting on the driver's side if there were anyone around to see them. He was thankful for the privacy, gratefully clutching Sasha’s hands to help himself up.
“I don't feel very good,” he mumbled, tucking his face into Sasha's neck as he was guided towards the elevator.
Sasha didn't say anything, but he wrapped one long arm around Ryosuke's shoulders, giving his bicep a firm squeeze. He kept a shrewd eye out for passersby, and they thankfully made it into the elevator undisturbed and unobserved.
“Thanks for comin’ t’get me,” Ryosuke said as the doors slid closed. He groaned a little, resting one hand on the top of his stomach. “...think I ate too much. Might puke.”
“I know,” Sasha grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Not in the elevator.”
Rypsuke shook his head, patting a hand against Sasha's chest.
“Not right now. ‘s okay.”
“Good,” Sasha muttered, dragging Ryosuke more than supporting him. Ryosuke shambled along cooperatively, leaning heavily on Sasha’s strong arm. Even just walking made his body feel heavy and unwell, and he drew a long, shaky breath to push down the nausea. Sasha didn't say another word, but he gave Ryosuke's arm a reassuring squeeze before turning to fiddle with the locks. Ryosuke groaned, burying his face into the reassuring bulk of Sasha's side. Even standing still no longer saved him from the dizzying queasiness that had overwhelmed him. As Sasha guided him into the apartment, he stumbled. The movement jolted through his precariously full stomach, eliciting a sharp hiccup.
“Don't you dare,” Sasha warned, stepping swiftly in behind him and locking the door. Practically carrying Ryosuke, he walked them towards the bathroom at a breakneck pace.
“Mmmmnn…”
Ryosuke hiccupped again, drooling heavily into Sasha's hoodie. Sasha sighed, peeling Ryosuke off of his chest to drape him over the toilet. “I’m getting a glass of water. Don't die,” he grumbled.
Rypsuke nodded limply, lurching over the toilet bowl with a thick, wet belching noise. He didn't know how he could feel so bad - it hadn't felt like he was eating that much in the moment, but now… he wasn't sure he ever needed to eat again. Hands trembling, he fumbled with his belt. He hoped that relieving some of the pressure would ease the churning in his belly, but it seemed to do the opposite, his stomach glugging and gurgling loudly as soon as it had a little more space. Pressure rose in his chest and he burped again, thick saliva dripping from his lower lip. He slumped forward into the bowl, forehead thunking against the seat. Even the cool touch of porcelain did little to ease his misery.
“Alright,” Sasha said softly, crouching down beside him as he re-entered the room. “Get it up and then we can go lay down.”
“Feel like de-eath…” Ryosuke groaned, spitting weakly into the water. Hot saliva continued to pool in his mouth, and the sour taste only made him feel sicker. He burped again, watching the water ripple from his breath.
“Eat less next time,” Sasha shrugged, reaching out to sweep back Ryosuke's fringe. “Don't get your hair wet.”
Ryosuke sighed. “Y’re so -hck- mean.”
Sasha grunted in agreement, wondering idly to himself why Ryosuke bothered being with someone so cold and bitter. He would never settle for someone like himself. He didn't know why anyone would. Ryosuke could easily do worlds better than him.
He was drawn from his thoughts by a grating heave, and Sasha grabbed Ryosuke's shoulder to keep him steady.
“Ughhhhh,” Ryosuke whimpered. “F’ckin’ hurts.”
Sasha gave his shoulder a squeeze, quietly offering the glass of water, but Ryosuke pushed it away.
“‘s no point. Gonna puke soon.”
“Fine. Get on with it then.”
“A few words of comfort would be nice,” Ryosuke mumbled, his tone still light.
Sasha let out a low grumble, but from his current position, his face was unreadable. “You know I'm useless for that,” he muttered.
“No-one else I'd…” He broke off, spitting into the water. “... I'd rather…”
The tipsy flush drained from his face. Sasha instinctively braced a hand against Ryosuke's back, the other still keeping his hair safe from the water. A sharp hiccup jolted in his chest and Ryosuke clutched at the rim of the bowl, his stomach clenching in an almighty heave. A torrent of half digested yakitori spewed out into the water. He was halfway through gasping in his next breath when his stomach jerked again and the next wave barrelled up his throat.
“God, did you even bother to chew?”
Sasha wrinkled his nose, patting Ryosuke's back as he spluttered over the vomit stuck in his nose. As more unsettling recognizable remnants of his dinner painted the bowl, Ryosuke wondered if he could ever will himself to eat Japanese food again. He would have a while to get over it, he reasoned - after this scene, he couldn't imagine Sasha being in the mood to cook it anytime soon.
“The amount you can eat,” Sasha said drily, “is a medical fucking miracle.”
When Ryosuke heaved again, Sasha corrected himself. “It’s certainly not the amount you can digest.”
“No shit,” Ryosuke croaked, coughing miserably over the soiled water.
Sasha snorted. “You think you're nearly done? I'm gonna need a chiropractor if I spend much longer down here.”
Ryosuke groaned. “...I dunno. Think I'm dying.”
“Would you rather die in bed with a basin?” Sasha asked drily.
“‘m still so full,” Ryosuke groaned, dropping his cheek down onto the cool porcelain. “Don't think I can move.”
“I can carry you.”
Ryosuke shook his head, only to stop when the room started spinning. “Definitely gonna puke if you pick me up.”
“What about the couch?” Sasha wheedled. “Could you at least make it to the couch?”
“Uuuggghhhhhh…” Ryosuke let out a deep and dramatic moan. “Maybe.”
Sasha rolled his eyes. “Come on. I'll help you up.”
“I -”
Ryosuke started to nod, then stopped suddenly, burying his head back in the toilet. His back arched with a guttural retch. Sasha muttered a swear under his breath, crouching back down to rub a hand over Ryosuke's tense shoulders.
“Alright,” he sighed, “get it out.”
Ryosuke whimpered, clutching both hands against his belly as his back tensed and arched. His stomach cramped again, making him gasp and squirm.
“Breathe,” Sasha commanded. “It will be over soon.”
“Hurts,” Ryosuke groaned, shoulders rolling as he let out a massive, gurgling burp. It should've brought some relief, but instead, his stomach only seemed to churn harder.
Sasha rolled his eyes. “Because you ate double your bodyweight in…” He peered down into the water with a grimace. “Sushi? God, that must have cost a fortune.”
“It was buy one get one free,” Ryosuke admitted sheepishly. “So we bought, like… twelve.”
Sasha snorted. “Idiot.”
Ryosuke just moaned, giving him the finger. Sasha's hand wrapped around his, folding the offending finger back down.
“Finish up,” he urged. “I want to go to bed, and I'm not going without you.”
“Have you no sympathy for a sick man's plight?” Ryosuke groaned.
“Your plight is not sickness,” Sasha countered, “It is stupidity.”
Ryosuke raised his other hand to flip Sasha off again. He wasn't going to give Sasha the satisfaction of knowing he was right.
Been a rough day for my tummy y’all. Last night I had a cookie exchange, and while I only had one or two at the event, I pigged out on sugar when I got home because I’m a good boy. Duh.
Then woke up this morning, got breakfast, went to my office, and quickly got one of those sticky coffee bellies that don’t really hurt but leave you feeling like you always need the bathroom. Had a meeting today and thought I could handle the gentle sloshes until after…alas, I was proven wrong. Had to move quickly and desperately through my cold brew’s sour aftermath in a manner of minutes, belly in one hand and mouth covered with the other.
I was okay for a while after that. Only headed to the bathroom once for unsure belly rubs in the mirror. Then left to work from home after getting groceries (I had very little eat in my house honestly). As soon as I dropped my food bags on the floor, I rushed to the bathroom and disrobed completely (yes I put the groceries away naked and feeling just a bit…unclean) to moan out loud as my belly rumbled and clenched.
I admittedly felt really good after that, but then decided to eat my lunch ungodly fast because I was so absolutely empty from my morning and BOOM. Got a belly full of gas—laying in my bed as I type, so bloated it hurts, listening to the gurgles climb up to the surface like a cry for help.
I could feel my gut steadily swelling until it was satisfied it had the space for the wave of food and air. I haven’t felt that in a long time…I could barely focus on work. My stomach ached. My belly was growing. My cock was twitching and hard. Who can blame me?
So now I’m in bed. Telling you all how grotesque I feel. How greasy and inflated. If someone would do something to me…to my belly…what choice would I have but to oblige….
The second the door slammed shut behind them, the room turned into a sweat-soaked, salt-stinking temple of pure fetish.
The drowned woman (still nameless, still perfect) lay arched like a bow over the rigid leather backboard, spine forced into a brutal curve that thrust her soaked orange bikini top upward, nipples hard from cold water and death. Seawater pooled beneath her shoulder blades. The monitor screamed one long, unbroken flatline, green and merciless.
Sophia didn’t speak anymore. She just growled, swung her leg over, and dropped her full weight straight down.
Hands locked, elbows ramrod-straight, she drove her fists into the sternum so hard the first compression forced a thick jet of saltwater out of the victim’s open mouth. Again. Again. Again. One-ten per minute, no mercy, hips snapping forward with every violent thrust like she was fucking the corpse back to life. Each impact made the drowned girl’s body jerk, breasts slapping wetly against the inside of her top, navel punching outward so hard the piercing glinted.
The other three lifeguards pressed in close, almost climbing over each other, eyes glazed.
Valentina was already panting, fingers buried knuckle-deep in her own navel, pumping in perfect sync, whispering “harder… harder…” under her breath like a prayer.
Mei had her thighs clenched so tight the black strings of her bikini cut into her hips; she was openly grinding against nothing, waiting for her turn.
Riley, the redhead, had one hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the moan she couldn’t hold back every time Sophia bottomed out on a compression and the victim’s ribs creaked audibly.
“Switch!” Sophia snarled after two straight minutes, sweat pouring off her.
She didn’t step away. She simply slid backward, dragging her soaked crotch along the drowned girl’s belly, and Valentina lunged forward like an animal released. Fresh hands slammed into place, deeper this time, faster, more savage. The victim’s body rocked harder, head lolling, lifeless arms flopping like a ragdoll.
Another two minutes. Another switch.
Mei took over with a hungry whimper, smaller but vicious, riding the chest with short, brutal thrusts that made the navel pop so violently it looked ready to tear free.
Riley was last in line, trembling, literally dripping, whispering to the flatlining woman:
“Don’t you dare come back yet… please don’t come back yet…”
Outside, the ambulance siren was finally audible, growing louder.
Inside, the lifeguards locked eyes (silent, feral agreement).
They slowed the rhythm just enough to stretch the final minute into eternity, savoring every last compression, every wet slap of skin on skin, every perfect second of the code that belonged only to them.
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