The heat is unbearable, scorching like skewered white blankets and white pillows.
Suzuki won’t cry or beg even with a pillow held over his face. It’s the stupidest thing, Ritsu thinks, and he thinks in endless taxing cycles.
The pillowcase is loose over his head, folded delicately like fine art. He can’t get off if he can’t see him.
Suzuki’s perfectly shaped mouth is open to the idea, running clean, clear water when he speaks.
Unbelievably hard. Everywhere on him is handsome and pink and feels good, god, it feels so good when Ritsu’s throat is as dry as it is.
— - —- — - -
Ritsu’s eyes fly open.
He frantically takes stock of the situation by what he knows as fact: for starters, Ritsu is hard and his hands are in his underwear. A faint light filters in through the sheet-covered window, enough for him to see that he is indeed, alone in the bed. That comes as a huge relief.
He’s not ejaculated, which is also preferable. No awkward mess to clean up.
On the down side, he has an erection to deal with and it’s six-thirty in the morning.
The bathroom is probably occupied if Suzuki’s not in bed, Ritsu deduces, unsure of what to do. If he’s quick about it, Suzuki wont even know.
Ritsu removes one hand from the steamy confines of his underwear—no point in being overzealous—and, with his left hand, strokes himself.
A groove is not hard to find, being already worked up from yesterday's events and that weird-ass dream is putting Ritsu right where he wants to be but unfortunately, directly in Suzuki’s line of sight when he turns the corner.
“What are you doing?” Suzuki asks, apparently fresh out of the shower. Water drips from his hair, hanging limply around his face.
“Nothing,” Ritsu says.
Suzuki stares intensely at Ritsu, shutting the bedroom door behind him.
“You think you’re allowed to beat your meat anytime you want?” Suzuki asks, shimmying his boxers off his hips, “And in my own house, without my permission?”
Ritsu removes his other hand from his drawers and hold them up in mock submission, “I’m very sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
“So much for self-control,” Suzuki says, jumping onto the mattress that shakes as he walks on it, “You think I want cum on my sheets?”
“No,” Ritsu says as Suzuki stands over him in all his unabashed naked glory, the mattress dipping by either side of Ritsu’s chest where Suzuki’s feet press into it.
“Exactly, so you’ll have to make sure to swallow it all.” Suzuki says, pale eyes drilling into Ritsu’s with mirth.
Ritsu’s jaw drops.
He knows what’s coming when Suzuki kneels, hovering over him; sizing him up.
He knows what’s cumming and it’s going to be him.
Suzuki runs his hands over Ritsu’s tense chest.
“You’re a real pretty guy, you know?” Suzuki says, leaning down to kiss Ritsu’s collarbone and then his pectoral as he adjusts himself further down on Ritsu’s legs, “I always thought you were.”
“You’re one to talk,” Ritsu sighs. Each one of Suzuki’s kisses tickles and Ritsu has to keep himself from squirming. “Suzuki, plea— “
Ritsu arches off the bed when Suzuki suddenly bites around his nipple and then gently lathes his tongue over the red, toothy indentation. Ritsu’s burning alive in his own skin and sweating something fierce, the only relief is a drop of cool water from Suzuki’s wet hair.
“Everything about you is extraordinary, Ritsu,” Suzuki monologues, blasé to the suffering he’s inflicting; rolling Ritsu’s other nipple between his fingers leisurely until it feels overstimulated, like a hot knife in Ritsu’s guts.
“The first time I laid eyes on you, I knew you were something… thought about you a lot. Imagined you naked too.“ Suzuki trails off, holding their dicks together.
Well, that’s fair, Ritsu thinks, less guilty in the knowledge that they both did daydream. He certainly won’t fault Suzuki for that.
“Huh, I always wondered if I was bigger,” Suzuki muses, giving their cocks a squeeze, “Turns out, I was right!”
“Suzuki—” Ritsu hisses, desperately trying to rut against him but Suzuki releases Ritsu’s dick and it thumps against his belly, deprived.
Suzuki shuffles back up Ritsu’s lanky frame and straddles Ritsu’s chest, legs splayed across his shoulders and half-hard erection inches from Ritsu’s face. Ritsu tries on a pitiable look.
“Remember, swallow it all,” Suzuki purrs.
Ritsu wrestles one arm out from under Suzuki’s leg to assist him in his endeavor. Holding Suzuki’s shaft, Ritsu licks the tip of his dick.
“ Oh ,” Suzuki sighs.
He licks Suzuki’s frenulum, teasing him into full hardness, drawing back as clear liquid beads at the slit. Ritsu tastes it, making a show out of his curiosity, and Suzuki bucks his hips approvingly.
Ritsu stretches his neck to take more, but with Suzuki’s weight on his chest restricting his range of movement he has to strain to take all of him into his mouth, and it’s making for a piss-poor blowjob.
“What’s wrong Ritsu?” Suzuki mocks, “Harder than you thought?”
Ritsu shoots Suzuki an icy glare, bobbing tight-lipped around what he can reach.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Suzuki coos, shifting his weight onto his knees and angling his hips so he is able to rock slowly into Ritsu’s mouth, his wet erection gliding over Ritsu’s tongue.
At first it’s manageable with Suzuki doing most of the work and Ritsu keeping a good pace.
“Ritsu—ah, you’re so good,” Suzuki says with dewy eyes, and Ritsu can feel his own cock jump at the praise.
Despite his lack of experience, he figures he’s doing something right, because Suzuki’s noises and stride steadily picks up and his fingers intertwine tightly in Ritsu’s messy hair. Ritsu’s lips tingle numbly as his mouth is fucked into, each controlled thrust jostling the bed.
“Hey—think you can suck all of it?” Suzuki asks breathlessly.
Ritsu’s mouth comes off with a lewd noise.
"Of course,” he says wetly, confidently; immersed in the lust and thrill of their debauchery. Willing to say anything to keep Suzuki fucking him.
Besides, he’s not that big, Ritsu thinks foolishly.
Suzuki eases into Ritsu’s mouth and holds himself there as Ritsu gags around him. His dick comes out shiny, dripping with saliva and Ritsu coughs.
“How’s that?” Suzuki asks mischievously, leaning back so Ritsu can have more of his chest to breathe with.
“Piece of cake,” Ritsu says in return, deciding in that very instance to change his tactics.
Ritsu knows there’s a technique. He guides Suzuki’s dick into his mouth again, but this time Ritsu allows his body to go slack and easy, lets himself be used. He cranes his neck and relaxes his jaw until he gets the chance to breathe.
It’s hard to subdue a gag response but Ritsu puts forth an effort, opening for the intrusion and letting Suzuki’s crown bump against the back of his throat. It becomes more enjoyable this way, being handled so roughly; the sheer vulgarity of it satisfies a part of himself buried in the pit of his subconscious. He’s as hard as diamonds against his belly.
Suzuki thrusts deep into his mouth again and Ritsu focuses on the way Suzuki trembles, his measured, athletic breathes and cloudy eyes glazed with sex. Ritsu swallows a great mouthful of saliva and Suzuki chases it.
“Oh—Fuck, Ritsu!” Suzuki keens, putting Ritsu’s nose into his curly auburn pubic hair and Ritsu’s eyes tear up reflexively. Suzuki’s cock pulses against his tongue and Ritsu swallows it all as ordered.
Suzuki clambers off of him and flops back onto the mattress, sated and boneless. Ritsu tries to catch his breath, but it seems impossible in such a state of high excitement.
“Amazing,” Suzuki says, “You really are good at everything you do.”
“Thanks.” Ritsu says, wiping the slobber from his chin with the back of his arm and looks over Suzuki.
Suzuki’s chest is heaving and broad, accentuating the chiseled slope from his last ribs to his hips. He admires Suzuki’s thighs, spread ambitiously wide. Ritsu’s gripped with blistering desire and Suzuki notices.
“Do you want to fuck me?” Suzuki asks, combing the hair out of his eyes with his fingers.
Ritsu nods mutely.
“What was that, Ritsu?”
“Yes,” Ritsu replies, flush with humiliation, “I do.”
Suzuki takes a moment to consider this and Ritsu swears he can see Suzuki literally glowing with satisfaction at having Ritsu near begging. Suzuki moves in proud possession of his body. Even when Suzuki’s relaxed, his air of arrogance never gutters.
“Okay,” Suzuki says breezily without any concern and Ritsu wonders exactly what else Suzuki was doing in the shower at six-thirty in the morning. “Just don’t make a mess.”
As if to add to this challenge, Suzuki produces a container of lube from somewhere and drops it in front of Ritsu. He squeezes a glob onto his palm and tests its viscosity.
Ritsu touches the smooth skin at the junction of Suzuki’s thigh and pelvis, massaging, working his way lower.
It’s different to be fingering someone other than himself, Ritsu thinks, but he definitely knows what he’s doing. He dips the tip of his wet finger into Suzuki and feels him; teases him, so focused on the task at hand he almost distracts himself completely from his own libido. Almost.
He re-enters with two, coaxing and curling. Suzuki gasps and it goes straight to Ritsu’s dick.
“This is nice and all, but we don’t have all morning,” Suzuki reminds him.
Fine, Ritsu thinks, sidling up to him, his cock aching and coated in lube but careful not to get it on the sheets.
Ritsu gropes those fine thighs and positions himself so Suzuki’s hips are elevated on his lap with knees slightly bent, idle against Ritsu’s ribs.
Suzuki looks cool under pressure, unconcerned with the control passed to Ritsu. Meanwhile Ritsu sweats under Suzuki’s intense gaze. He wants to fuck Suzuki until he cums all over himself and blames it on Ritsu.
Ritsu presses into Suzuki with slippery determination and is met by little resistance. He’s hypersensitive; heart hammering in his chest, nervous hands stroking the small of Suzuki’s back. Suzuki’s perfect mouth is partially open, his eyes lidded and his fair skin blushing bright with blood. It dawns Ritsu just how dangerously close he is to cumming.
“Suzuki, I—I need—” Ritsu stutters, realizing his folly before he’s fully committed. It’s not too late, if he can just—
“God damn ,” Suzuki moans, arching his back and Ritsu’s inside him so hard and trembling, his nerves stoked like hot coals and Suzuki squeezes around him and it’s like reaching into the nucleus of his arousal and Ritsu feels it rise within him so fast and he can’t—
He bites his lip hard, the coil in his belly springs like a trap and he cums.
His orgasm is fierce. Ritsu’s hands grip tight onto Suzuki’s hips, keeping himself from bucking through it. Pleasure washes through him like angry twenty-foot waves of sultry seafoam until his dick’s pulsing ebbs to a languid throb.
Suzuki’s eyes are wide. The humiliation piles on Ritsu, and he pulls out without a word, dumbstruck with horror.
“Well,” Suzuki says, “At least my sheets are still clean.”
Ritsu wonders if that counts as clean, with all the sweating he’s done.
“Don't’ be gloomy, Ritsu,” Suzuki says, touching Ritsu’s shoulder, “If we had more time, I’d show you how it’s done.”
Even though that particular statement is more insulting than it is uplifting as Suzuki maybe intended, Ritsu does like the implication of it.
Suzuki excuses himself from the room and Ritsu moves to the edge of the bed, his head spinning with postcoital bliss and shame. His body thrums with blood—what feels like twice as much blood as before—wild and unruly, and now, it all circulates for Suzuki.