You were addicted to him. Addicted to the feeling of his lips urgently moving against your own. To the feeling of the tip of his tongue teasing yours and making you sigh into his mouth in adoration. Kissing him had quickly become your favorite thing in the world.
And despite the fact that the two of you had been spending a large part of the past week doing just this, the novelty never wore off. You would have thought that there were only so many different ways of pressing lips together, but somehow, each kiss managed to feel new and – and you swore you were not exaggerating – perfect.
Eijirou pulled your bottom lip between both of his, sucking on it softly for a moment before abandoning your mouth entirely. Instead, he opted to leave a kiss on the side of your chin, then another, then another, moving along your jaw and leaving no fraction of your skin unkissed.
You gave another sigh that became his name somewhere halfway through. He knew how weak his attention made you, turning you into a mess of a girl under his fingertips.
Tipping your head back further, you offered your neck to him. He accepted your offering greedily, kissing the skin underneath your ear, the underside of your jaw, the bump of your larynx, kissing you senseless. When he got bored of that, he opened his mouth, licking along your most sensitive spots instead. His tongue was warm and wet, at times caressing you softly, at times pressing into you insistently, writing sweet nothings into your skin in an imaginary script.
You moaned. “If you keep this up, I’m going to melt into a puddle, and then you won’t have a girlfriend anymore,” you promised, voice breathy and mind clouded by pleasure.
He left this uncommented, though you could feel the smile pulling at his mouth’s edges. One of his hands came up to intertwine with your own before pushing it into the mattress, holding your arm pinned next to your head. Then, his teeth became part of the equation.
The sharp points dragged along your skin and you were unable to keep your eyes open in the face of how amazing it felt. He was mindful not to break the skin, always taking care of you, always making sure you knew what you meant to him. He was as addicted to you as you were to him.
You yearned for him with your whole body. It was stupendous how, without even having moved lower than your neck, he already had you strung-up like a bow, ready to snap.
Encouraged by your verbal and non-verbal approval, he lifted his free hand, all of his weight now resting on the arm that kept you pinned to the bed. His hand was large and calloused from training, but gentle and almost reluctant as he placed it on your breast for the first time.
Your eyes had still been closed, but you now opened them, wanting to look him in the eye and see the expression on his face as he touched you. As you did, your gaze first got caught on something else, however. You gasped.
His hand shot back from your chest as if he had been burned. He let go of your other arm, too, lifting his head from the crook of your neck and immediately beginning to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to pressure you, I promise! I’m gonna ask next time –“
You reached for him and kept him from getting off of you. “No, Ei, look outside!”
When you had opened your eyes, you had caught sight of big, fluffy, white snowflakes blowing around outside the window. It was the first snow of the year.
“It’s snowing!” he echoed your thoughts, the look of worry that had blemished his perfect face for a moment there replaced by a joy mirroring yours.
“It’s so beautiful,” you added, pulling him back down onto you. He rested his head on you, at the very top of your chest, face still turned towards the window to watch the snow falling. You were watching it, too, his weight on top of your body offering comfort.
For a while, that was all you two did. It was enough.
“By the way,” you broke the silence eventually. “I love how careful and considerate you’re being with me. You’re not pressuring me into anything.” You lifted one hand to run it through his hair. You loved that you got to see him like this. The cool, red strands fell through your fingers like a liquid. You ran your fingernails along his scalp, knowing exactly how much he enjoyed that. In response, he purred into your clavicle. You continued. “I want you to touch me, as long as you want to touch me. And I want to touch you, too, as long as you want me to touch you.”
His hand that had been lying on the mattress next to your body found its way to your side then. He rested his fingers along the side of your ribcage. Only his thumb kept moving, softly petting your breast through your shirt and bra. Even from the little stimulation, you could feel your nipple pebbling. So could he. It was what encouraged him to go ahead, palming you properly, squeezing and massaging and marveling at the softness of you. A growing hardness against your thigh left little necessity for you to wonder whether he was enjoying this.
“Now I never want to stop touching you,” he confessed, looking up at you. His eyes told you of the amazement he felt at being allowed to do this. He did not realize that you were the privileged one between the pair of you, simply for having someone as amazing as him want you at all.
“Then don’t,” you suggested.