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blueduplicity · 1 year

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Oh, the White of a Red Rose (P2)

(Part 1)

WC: ~26k

CW: Incest, this is where all the smut happens, and it's a lot because even when I hit the designated ending, I just kept writing sex scenes for them, so it's a little absurd tbh. A lot of back-and-forth banter, control, subby kei again...unprotected sex, vaguely public sex (you're not caught) and more oral. Also more alcohol, petnames, dirty talk...

Blurb: Kei loves you in every way that he knows you, and he knows you in a lot of ways that he shouldn't.

It’s a short drive to the party, Hoshino doesn’t live as far away as you’d thought.

There are already people spilling into the yard, though the music isn’t as loud as you would have expected. Kei parks further down the road, and on the walk up he shocks you by slipping a firm hand around your waist, gripping you tight by the hip and dragging you in.

“Tadashi is here.” He drawls, just as you see the familiar face of your friend poking out from the front door to greet you, waving with a cheery grin.

Your jaw drops. “You are a fucking snitch.” You hiss, slapping his hand away and rearing back in surprise when he grabs you again, face dipped low so his forehead bumps yours.

You swallow hard, and his voice is low and gravelly when he says– “eyes on your drinks at all times, don’t drink anything you didn’t pour yourself, and drink a full cup of water for every half cup of alcohol. Okay?”

You hesitate before answering, if only because you’re surprised that he actually seems willing to let you drink here at all, but the brief silence has him holding you tighter. “Promise me.”

“Oh, c’mon.” You breathe, patting him gently on the cheek and smiling soft. “I’ll be fine, I’m not here to get wasted and black out, ‘m here to make friends.”

His eyes dip, lingering on the necklace glittering around your throat, and he softens, grip loose and easy now as you pull him along to meet Tadashi. Still clearly unhappy, but reminded that he has to get out of his own head, especially when it comes to you.

–

The party is…something.

It’s not particularly late, only a little after nine, but most everyone you come across is already plastered. Kei and Tadashi had almost immediately been accosted by the volleyball team, determined to get answers, so you let yourself wander amidst the bodies in an attempt to find Hoshino.

When you do find her, you’re ill prepared for her whole face to flush at the sight of you, glittery lashes fluttering and cheeks mottled red.

“God, and I thought your brother was hot.” She breathes, fanning herself with a folded paper plate.

You grin, trying not to swell too much with pride, drawn in when she beckons you over and passes you a cup full of something that smells way too sickly sweet.

“Thanks, but no.” You shake your head with an apologetic smile, but her eyes glitter and she nods.

“There are some coolers in the fridge, if you can uncap it yourself it’s yours.”

Despite the playful lilt to her words, she passes you a bottle opener while you retrieve a chilly bottle of something purpley-blue from the fridge. You crack open the top and yelp when it fizzes over, dragging your tongue over your wrist to catch it before it drips.

“Tastes like a gusher.” You take a sip, it burns a little on the way down but it’s sweet enough that it goes easily.

“Right? Not enough alcohol for me personally, but I like the way they taste.” Hoshino sways a little, leaning into you with an appraising glance. “You look good.”

You take another sip, hoping the pull of the bottle will stifle your bashful smile. Discreet praise is normal enough for you, your friends have always been too shy to say such things directly, and any compliments about your looks that you’ve gotten from family always felt obligatory. Even Kei has never told you that you’re pretty outright.

So you aren’t very used to direct compliments, or flirting that wasn’t without ulterior motive.

“Thanks.” You manage after a long drink, the sticky burn thick at the back of your tongue. “Kei is here, by the way.”

She doesn’t take the offer out, fingers curling around the neck of your bottle and pulling it from your grasp, lips that shimmer faintly parting as she tips it back for a drink of her own.

“That’s nice.” The bottle is passed back, coy smile now glossy with what you know to be sugary sweet and the flavor of gushers. “I’m not very interested in him anymore.”

You give her a wry look, swirling the liquid around and watching it splash up the sides, thin and glassy, a brighter blue than when it’s settled. “No? You should meet my oldest brother then, gotta view all your options y’know?”

She pauses, a little caught off guard, maybe, before laughing. Light and airy, she squeezes your shoulder and tips her head. “Yeah, that does sound kind of bad, doesn’t it?” She giggles, shy for the first time. “I was only interested in him because he’s hot, though. You’re funny, cute, and hot. Probably a whole lot of other things that I’d like to find out, if you’d let me.”

Nails clicking as they tap against cold, damp glass, you hum. “I just got out of a relationship, I don’t think I’m ready for anything romantic right now, I just moved here so I’m still settling in.”

Another long drink, and her fingers curl against your elbow. “Then, as a friend?”

You curl your smile against the glass rim, playful. “That’d be nice, so long as you don’t start flirting with my brother just because I said no.”

Her laughter is bright and sharp, drawing the attention of nearby clusters of people, Kei included. He watches as you glow, as you share a bottle of alcohol with the glass painted a glossy color that does not match your lips.

As Hoshino gives you eyes that she never gave him, as she touches you in a way she never touched him, he sees the want, the desire, the things that are softer, blooming affection that is new and buzzy in a way he knows intimately. It’s an expression he used to have to look at every day.

His chest bleeds with it, the jealousy, the fear, the ache of longing that he’s sat with for years.

How is he meant to last the rest of his life with it?

–

Despite some of the fuckery from other circles, you genuinely enjoy your time at the party. Hoshino introduces you to some of the few non-sober people who aren’t completely plastered, and you stay tucked away in their corner of the kitchen for most of the night. Sitting propped up on the counter, skirt high on your thighs, only leaving to fetch and open your own bottles from the fridge.

Drinking water becomes an afterthought, you definitely don’t drink as much as Kei would want, but it’s something. You feel good, comfortable, getting along easily with this new group of people.

The topics of conversation range from things you’re familiar with, to things you aren’t. You’re able to chime in often when volleyball hits the table, feeling like you’ve gained some brownie points when you tell them your high school team went to nationals while you were the manager.

You take a back seat when D&D comes up, listening as they talk amongst themselves about upcoming sessions and new characters. They seem pleased when you ask questions and offer to let you sit in one day if you’re curious, so you share your number with the lot of them and try not to look too happy at how the night is turning out.

You’re having fun, trading jokes and quips and drinking until you feel flush and loose, too hot in the face and your lips sore from being bitten to stifle too-wide smiles. The best part is Kei has been watching. His attention something heavy, like a coat draped over your shoulders, in the back of your mind but always present. You’re aware of it through the whole night, how he barely looks away unless he’s forced to.

You’re thriving.

Eventually, though, you take pity on your tormented brother. Tired and cranky, he sours more and more with every attempt at conversation. Tadashi is no longer a suitable buffer, Kei has become beyond unpalatable at this point, so you say goodbye to your newfound friends and go to let him know you’re ready to leave.

The moment he sees you cutting through the crowd towards him, he’s making a beeline to the door, leaving you to chase after him with a breathy trail of your laughter turning heads as you go by.

The attention feels nice, in a way, but you’ve had your fun and now the only eyes you want on you are in a hurry to leave, so you don’t make him wait.

Your hand finds his, just as you slip through the front door, and he pulls you across the yard. Your heels threaten to sink into wet dirt, so you hasten your steps to avoid ruining Hoshino’s lawn.

“We could have just taken the sidewalk.” You point out, trying not to snicker when he grunts and squeezes your fingers tight.

“We’re going home.”

“I didn’t get to say bye to Tadashi!”

“Text him, then.”

He slows down once you hit concrete, mindful of the way you stumble in your heels, and loosens his grip. The short walk to his car is made longer as you linger, tipping your head back to feel the cold air against your flushed face, the click, click, click of your heels stuttering when he stops in front of you.

A hand at your back, he gently nudges you along towards your side of the car, reaching around to open the door for you when you begin to sway.

You lean into him, melting as his fingers curl into the material of your dress, the tension in him practically vibrating against your skin. “Kei, can we stop and get pancakes?”

He sighs, patient, as you climb slowly into your seat. He reaches around to buckle your seatbelt for you, trying not to flinch away when you reach up to touch his face, swiping the hair from his eyes while he’s leaned over you.

“No.” He cups the back of your hand, weak as he turns to press a kiss to your palm. Your breath hitches, and he hopes against hope that you’re too drunk to realize what he’s done, what he’s doing.

He’s spiraling all over the place, losing control of himself.

“Will you make me pancakes tomorrow?”

God, he can’t help it. “Sure.” He breathes, so wistful. “Whatever you want.”

You coo, fingertips pressing into his cheek and shaking him by the jaw, watching his eyes narrow. “You’re bein’ all sweet on me ‘cause I’m drunk, aren’t you, Kei?”

He jerks back, embarrassed and defensive. “So what? Not like you’ll remember it anyway.” He scoffs, ears burning as shame sickens his gut.

“Oh?” You tease, stretching your legs out languidly, waiting until his eyes drop to your thighs to murmur– “what are you gonna do to me, then?”

“What am I–” He stops, then just stares at you, wearing the most honest expression of shock you’ve ever seen on his face. Your legs part, and he sucks in a quiet breath that hisses between his teeth, staring with naked anticipation before he physically recoils, shaking his head and slamming the door shut. You watch with a grin as he rounds the front of the car, burning red, hands shoved deep into his pockets to pull the material away from his crotch.

He’s silent when he gets into the driver’s seat, pointedly avoiding your stare as he shuts the door and straps himself in with hands that shake, cursing to himself as he misses the buckle four times before it finally clicks in place.

“Why won’t you look at me?” You ask, making a slow show of spreading your thighs wide, knowing he can hear the rustle of your dress, the shift of you moving in your seat, but he still won’t look.

“Are you always like this when you’re drunk?” He seethes, trying so hard not to stare but catching a glimpse anyway when your fingers begin to drift, frozen as they glide along your inner thighs, and they widen even further as they go.

He watches, open-mouthed, as the bunched up skirt of your dress is pushed higher, higher, and you’re exposed more than enough that he can see–

Blue. Dark blue, familiar, soft cotton that had just that morning been wrapped around his cock.

Kei makes a sound so raw and agonized that you’d think he was in actual pain, head falling back and the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes, glasses pushed up and shoving his bangs out of his face. His hips grind up against nothing, uncontrolled, the outline of him visible through his jeans.

He turns to look at you, finally, properly, unabashed in the way he watches as you drag your fingertips up the length of your clothed slit, pressing in just enough that he can see the dips and folds of you as they stick to slick fabric.

“Fuck, that’s–”

There’s a knock at the window, and your legs snap shut on instinct, Kei nearly smacking his head against the steering wheel as he surges forward in a panic to block the view of you from his side.

It’s Tadashi, a guilty smile on his lips, a little flushed. He waits to speak until Kei has rolled down the window, though he’s only given an inch to talk through. “Sorry, I realized you were leaving and wanted to make sure everything was okay.” His eyes shift to you, softening, voice something sweet when he talks to you next. “Take it easy, okay? You drank a lot, let Tsukki take care of you.”

You lean forward, hands squeezing Kei’s arm as you rest your head on his shoulder. “I will!” You chirp, all oozing sugar and honey. “Get home safe, text me so I know when you’re back!”

He waves goodbye and leaves before Kei’s death glare can start to actually do damage, jogging back up to the house and laughing when an arm hooks him by the neck to drag him inside.

You tilt your face a little, nose to his neck, voice a purr when you tease– “You heard him. Are you gonna take care of me, Kei?”

He breathes in slow through his nose, white knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough that the leather creaks.

“Take care of yourself.” He grits out, instinctive, reactive, only realizing the mistake he’s made a second too late as you immediately begin to withdraw, your lips curled into a smirk that is pleased, like he’s just walked into a very obvious trap.

“Okay.” You sigh, a sultry little thing as you lean back in your seat, heels propping your legs up enough that when you spread them, he can see you clearly. Expecting a protest, you’re almost too gleeful when he offers none, watching as you slip a steady hand beneath the waistband of your panties.

He swallows hard, turning on the car and turning down the music, slowly, when you let out a soft little puff of breath. Through the fabric stretched taut over your knuckles, he can see your fingers working, can even hear the sound of you if he holds his breath and pays close enough attention.

His jeans are so fucking tight, he’s aching, can feel each pulse of blood pumping through his veins to between his legs, overly self aware as his head begins to buzz and fill with cottony clouds. He realizes slowly that it’s because he’s so focused on you that he’s still holding his breath.

Hooking your thumbs beneath the thin strip of elastic and lifting your hips, you shimmy in your seat a little so you can pull your panties to your knees, and he makes a pained noise at the strings of slick that come away as they go down.

“Oh god.” He groans, palming the hard swell of his cock through his jeans and grinding his teeth so hard that his jaw clicks. “This is–fuck.”

“I thought you wanted to get home?” You goad him, just a little, though the effect is lessened when your lashes flutter and your back arches, when you mewl at a particularly sensitive swipe of your fingers as they move back between your legs. Kei nearly whines.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He breathes, though your taunting has the opposite desired effect, as he begrudgingly returns both hands to the wheel and starts to back out of his makeshift parking spot. It’s slow, painfully, because he keeps stopping to watch you, how you’re writhing in his seat as you give yourself over to the pleasure.

It’s a show more than anything, but the alcohol makes it easy to focus on just how good it feels. His eyes on you make it better, sweeter, everything a little more intense because you know just how badly he wants you.

The first time you moan, Kei nearly cracks. It’s a quiet sound, unintentional, but he groans aloud when he hears it and the car jerks to a stop, the brakes hit too quickly. The glare he gives you is intense, a fury you don’t recognize, but it melts when you smile pretty and arch your back for him, when you spread your fingers apart and let him see the way your slick stretches glassy between them.

He doesn’t stop the car again after that. Speeding up when he can, and every red light and stop sign only seems to add to his agony if not for the few precious moments where he can watch you with no interruptions, the vivid crimson glow illuminating your pretty cunt, so shiny with arousal that he can see the shimmer on the insides of your thighs.

“Faster.” He breathes, unbidden, a secret let slip. Now a willful participant, no longer a passive bystander.

He’s almost horrified when you obey, when your voice cracks as it pitches higher, your face screwed up in a way he’s never seen, a way he’s never supposed to know.

He knows what you look like when you’re pleasing yourself, now. That’s not knowledge he should have, not a face he should ever get to see. He wants to go further, wants to know what you look like when you cum, he wants to see the face you’ll make when he buries his cock in you, when he gets his mouth on you, he aches to know you in those ways.

Your whole body tenses, he watches how you go rigid, a gasp catching in your throat and coming out choked. “Gonna–fuck– gonna cum!” You whine, free hand clapped over your mouth, squeezing because you need to brace against something.

Kei’s hand snaps to your wrist, like iron, prying it away from your face just as you tip over the edge. You fall apart, crying out in a voice that breaks on the sharp syllable of his name, legs quivering as you shudder in the aftershocks, lazy circles prolonging the pleasure, heightening it, until you squirm and whimper with sensitivity but do not stop.

You’re lost in it, pushed so far beyond the brink, watching him through murky eyes as he cradles your wrist and presses a kiss to your racing pulse. It’d be sweet if not for the hawkish way his eyes were glued to the sticky mess of your cunt, he watches the way you twist beneath his stare before you finally have to tear your fingers away as it becomes too much.

He pets you as you lay there panting, collecting yourself, and once you seem to have managed to regain even a modicum of coherence he’s reaching past you to pop out the handle of your door and push it open.

“Get out.”

You blink at him, owl-eyed and dazed, too many seconds taken to piece together that you’ve been sitting in the driveway at home, you have no idea for how long.

It takes you a minute to slide your panties back on, and by the time you’ve unbuckled your seatbelt, Kei has come to your side of the car and is leaning down to reach for you. While part of you expects him to simply drag you around after your little show, you’re relieved when he helps you up slowly, keeping you steady with hands at your waist while you stumble on shaky legs in painful heels.

He waits until you’re both inside, door shut and locked twice, to advance on you.

You’re on the couch, trying to get your heels off with fingers that are trembling, when his shadow looms over you. Your head tips back, slurry question on the tip of your tongue, only to choke on it when he drops to his knees and wedges himself between your thighs.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes, flushed, hooking your legs up over his shoulders and pressing his face into the apex, squeezing the plush of your hips and muffling the most wanton noise of relief you’ve ever heard against you. He mouths at you through slick cotton, tongue wet as it presses against your swollen clit, lapping until you whimper.

Your fingers twist into his hair, pulling, blissed when you find that doing so makes him moan into your sex, his hips bucking against nothing.

“Kei.” You whine, writhing against the steel of his grip, his hands pressing down on your stomach to keep you from shying away. “Kei, it’s sensitive…”

He pulls away, breathless, mouth shiny, glasses fogged as he peers up at you through thick lashes. “I’m sorry.” He repeats, fingers curling beneath the elastic of your waistband, wrapping the fabric around them twice, and pulling until it splits apart, popped seams and thin cotton completely shredded.

The sound of fabric tearing makes you choke, but you aren’t given the chance to even snap at him for it. He buries himself into you with a thick, hot stripe licked along the length of your slit, the taste of you thicker now on his tongue, heavy like honey, and god he’s greedy for it.

He shouldn’t know what you taste like, what his name sounds like on your lips as he makes you feel good.

But he does, and now that he’s had it, he’s not willing to stop. He can’t. Squeezing your thighs against the sides of his face, fingers bruising your skin, marking you in a way he shouldn’t. He laps at you, suckles on your clit until you cry and push at him, slow to work gentle fingers inside until you’re molten beneath his hands. He’s so careful, sweet with you, but he’s so mean too.

“Who knew you were this greedy?” He breathes, cheek against your thigh while he curls his fingers into you. “Was I not giving you enough attention, that why you had to act out?”

He fucks into you harder, then, abusing the gummy spot in your cunt that has you sobbing and clenching so tight around him that it nearly forces his fingers out of you, but he’s stronger, determined, and bullies his way back in.

“Shut up!” You groan, hands fisting in his hair and yanking, hard enough that his head is briefly forced back. “God you’re such a fucking–”

Whatever insult you’d been building up to is cut off as he sucks hard on your clit again, a pointed punishment, brows climbing in mock surprise as you let out a hoarse cry.

“What was that?” He taunts, lips swollen and glossy with you, somehow he still manages to look cocky. “Couldn’t hear you over all the noise you’re making, so sensitive.”

It sounds like an insult, but he means it as anything but. You’re so responsive to his touch, twitching at every little thing, and it makes it so easy for him to learn what you like, what you don’t.

You’re being so good for him, even if you aren’t trying to be.

“You’re one to talk.” You rasp, whimpering when he nips at you once in warning. “Bet if it had gone on any longer in the car you woulda jus’ cum in your pants, you–fuck!”

He groans like he knows, and his hips grind weakly into the couch in a feeble attempt at relief, cock painfully hard in the tight confines of his jeans. He bows over you, your knees pushed back and forced wide with your ankles locked behind his head, suddenly desperate.

“Please.” He groans, ashamed and wanting. “God, fuck, I swear I’ll never ask for anything again, just–please.”

Quieter, he whispers, muffled as he can’t seem to pry himself away from you for long. “This is so wrong.”

Your body quivers in protest, the stretch in your thighs burning, hips aching as you buck against his face with a whine. You claw at his back, fisting your hands tight in his shirt as your orgasm begins to peak, something hot and sharp surging up in your lower belly.

He finally reaches to palm himself with a rough groan, one of your legs falling without his hand to support it, He laps at your clit, holding the flat of his tongue steady for you to grind against when that seems to work better. He lets you ride his mouth until you cum, feeling the way you tighten up around his fingers as he drives them into you, relentless, the heavy mixture of drool and you dripping down his chin, his hand, and the sounds of it would make you shudder if you were present enough to listen.

As it is, you’re trembling, covering your face as if to hide from him while you struggle to catch your breath. He wipes his hand off on his jeans, eyes wide with alarm as he pulls at your wrists. “Fuck, wait, are you okay? Baby, I’m–”

You kiss him. The taste of your slick on his lips, you curve your hands around the cut of his jaw and guide him how you want, tilting his head until you can kiss him harder, licking into him when he lets out a soft little sigh.

He grabs at the back of your neck, crowding you against the back of the couch and leaning over you, forcing your legs to bend wide around the width of him.

“You called me baby.” You murmur against him, chasing when he tries to pull back, and keeping him close by his hair. He whines when you pull on it, and you want to bite him when he does that. The cutest little noise from one of the most un-cute people you know.

“What, would you rather I call you ‘sister’ instead?” He sneers, face flushed red, always so sharp when he feels embarrassed.

You bite back, just as edged. “Why not? You seem like the type to wanna be reminded of it. I mean–” Yanking him in by a fistful of hair, you murmur low in his ear– “After all, doesn’t my favorite big brother wanna be the first one to fuck this pretty pussy?”

Something in that makes him break.

He shoves you down hard, crawling up on top of you and parting your thighs with his knees, glasses snapped closed and tossed carelessly aside. He pulls at your dress, pushing it up, up, sliding his fingers beneath the middle of your bra and pulling. “The only one.” He grits, hips rolling into you, hard enough that it burns. “Not just the first, the only one to fuck your pretty pussy.” He spits the words back at you like venom, something a little wild, a little feral in his eyes.

But he doesn’t do what you expect. He doesn’t pry apart the zipper to his jeans, doesn’t take his cock out and line it up with your dripping cunt, doesn’t fuck into you with all the fervor and desperation that he’s clearly been stifling.

Kei kisses you, muffles the sharp edge of your attitude and sucks at your lower lip, swallowing the sound of you whining his name. You lean into it, cupping his cheeks and murmuring into his mouth when he sighs into you, his hands gliding up over your rib cage and feeling how you arch into him, molten.

“So sweet when I do what you like.” He murmurs, curving one hand around to press into your lower back, helping you grind against him, watching to see how you want him. “I spoiled you too much.”

You pull at his shirt, rolling your hips up with a needy, hoarse kind of noise that makes him shiver, makes him rock into you too.

“How do you always get me so worked up?” His mouth moves lower, sucking at the skin just above where your necklace rests in the dip of your throat, tasting the salt there and feeling it against his tongue when you moan. “Just let me be nice to you, stop trying to piss me off, okay?”

“You don’t know how to be nice.” You huff, shivering when a quick cut of teeth scrapes over your skin, fingers tightening in his hair and twisting.

He just lets out a quiet puff of laughter, grinding hard between your legs for a few stuttered thrusts, his voice cracking. Then he slows, gentle, barely giving himself any friction until he can’t stand it anymore and he has to grind again. Like he’s torturing himself, teasing, edging.

“Oh, Kei.” You coo, tightening your legs to squeeze the sides of his waist, arching up off of the couch to rut harder against him, disturbing his rhythm. “What, don’t wanna cum so soon?”

His eyes flicker wide, breathing out a quiet protest as you press against the swell of his cock, and even through the thick denim he can feel you, so fucking hot that it burns. “Stop.” He squeezes you by the hips, bracing himself on an elbow leaned above your head, looming over you and watching as you smile sweet up at him and reach for his zipper, pulling it down despite the way he jerks his hips back to get away.

He can’t get far, though, and he’s left to choke back a strangled cry when your fist wraps tight around his cock, he’s so hard that it hurts with the way he pulses against your fingers, wet at the tip and dripping already.

“Fuck, no please–” He buries his face in your neck, his body absolutely quivering as you stroke him once from base to tip, rubbing your thumb over the slit and tightening up when his hips snap forward in response, a moan spilled against your neck that has you doing the same thing again, and again, twisting your wrist a little at the head and gripping it tight as you do, each minute thrust squeezing out just a bit more prespend.

Kei is vocal, broken moans muffled as he covers your neck in open-mouthed kisses, having to brace both of his arms over your head to keep himself upright, his knees are barely able to support his weight with how hard he fucks into your fist.

Despite that, he’s trying so hard to resist it. “Stop.” He groans, ragged, panting with the exertion, face faintly red and sweaty. “Gonna–stop! Fuck!”

“C’mon, Kei.” You tease, enamored of the sight of him bent over you, eyes screwed shut, jaw gritted while he struggles to fight off his orgasm. “Wanna cum for me, don’t you? Why’re you fightin’ it?”

His lashes flutter a little, half-lidded while he looks down at you, eyes drawn to the space between your bodies where your hand is wrapped around his cock, legs still spread around his knees with your glistening cunt on display.

He twitches hard against your palm, and he lets out a higher-pitched, needy noise. “No!” He gasps, trying to buck away, but you chase him, leaning up and squeezing him tighter, fucking him faster, completely lost in how hard he has to struggle to pull away from you.

“Come on, Kei.” You pant, lips wetted with a flick of your tongue. “Let me have it?”

“Don’t say that–”

“I’ll beg.” You whine, softening your voice, sweet in the way you know he likes, when you’re playing with him. “Please? Wanna make you cum, wanna see you cum again–”

His eyes pitch wide, a choke of air caught as he curls in on himself, twitching, knees hiking a little higher as he shuffles closer, one of his hands snapping down to catch at your wrist and squeeze it. “Again?” He interrupts, hoarse as you smile up at him, knowing, and god if he didn’t feel so good right now he thinks he’d be crying.

You’ve never seen Kei like this, wanton and needing. At your mercy even while he looms over you, trembling as you stroke him off. His hold on your wrist is iron, but he doesn’t try to control the pace, he lets you touch him as you want, it’s sweet. Cute.

So you go faster, cooing about how good he is as his hips jerk wildly, uncoordinated as he blindly seeks your hand, soft in a way that his own is not. He spills against you, voice cracking sharp and then his eyes are rolling back, mouth parting around an airy, high gasp of your name, so different from before, so much more personal. He cries your name the same way one might say ‘I love you.’

His cock drips hot against your thighs, the thick dribble of his cum seeping from your lower belly to mix with the spit and arousal between your legs. He stares down at the mess, brows pulled low, chest heaving hard.

Slowly, he lowers himself to it, the head of his cock splitting your folds apart as he ruts against you. Soft, oversensitive, he grinds into the heady mixture of your cum, watching as you squirm, your hands reaching for his shoulders and digging your nails in until he hisses between his teeth.

“Easy with the claws, Koganegawa definitely won’t shut up if he sees that.” He mutters, kissing you, craning his neck down to reach as you tilt your chin up for him, coming down from his high slowly.

“Yeah? How do you think I feel?” You gesture with one hand at your throat, not needing to look to know that it’s been covered in hickeys and bruises in the shape of his teeth.

He looks, then grins, a smug little thing that makes you want to hit him, even buzzy and sated as you are. “I’ll just get you a scarf.”

“Absolutely not.” You run your hands towards the back of his neck, sliding up to grasp at the hair near his nape and pull him back in, his hips twitching as he bucks against you.

“And you called me sensitive.” You tease, killing the sharp retort on his tongue by curling your fingers inwards towards his scalp and pulling hard on his hair there, your legs tightening when he grinds his hips forward into the sticky folds of your cunt, panting heavy against your cheek as he thickens out, heavier with each pass over your clit.

You think he’s going to fuck you, this time. Bracing for it, you lift yourself from the cushions so the head of him catches at your entrance, your head falling back with a whine and a curse tumbling from his lips, but he just squeezes you by the waist and continues his slow, steady grinding.

“Kei?” You breathe, reaching for him, cupping his jaw and feeling your cheeks warm when he turns to kiss your palm.

“Hmm?” Low, barely audible, eyes focused on watching as he makes even more of a mess on you, glassy threads of slick catching and stretching every time he draws back.

“Are you not gonna fuck me?”

His cock kicks against you weakly, and his eyes screw shut like he has to hold himself back instinctively, so used to blocking against these thoughts that it comes natural to him. He squeezes the base of his cock tight, and you’re amazed that just the thought was almost enough to push him to the edge.

“I can’t.” He rasps, broken. “This is...This has to be as far as we go.”

It’s guilt laden, the tone of his voice. A rough cadence that belies his need, his conviction. So fragile. He keeps rubbing it against you, the flushed and pretty head of his cock, muscles in his thighs bunching up every time it threatens to push inside, when it catches and you roll your hips and he dips just the tip in and has to recoil before he can reflexively thrust into you.

“C’mon, Kei.” You breathe, aching. “Want you so bad, want you to make me feel good.”

His face pinches, it’d almost be an unpleasant expression if not for the way you can feel him twitching, now circling his hips slow to rock himself into you, not quite pushing in but close.

“We can’t.” He insists, but it’s weak, and you both know it. “Don’t act stupid, you know why we can’t do this, we should never have gone this far.”

Even still, his eyes follow as you bring one hand low in the space between the cradle of your bodies, sticky like his cum that you swirl into your clit. He whines again, hips stuttering.

“You know that’s not gonna last.” You counter, watching the torment on his face, relishing in the thrill of the control you have over him. Even with his protests, he still doesn’t move away from you. “You could barely keep your eyes off of me all night, there’s no way you don’t cave eventually.” Your mouth at his neck, you suck a mark just beneath his jaw, a vibration thrumming through your lips when he moans and snaps his hips up, grinding hard against the full length of you with a cracking whine. Like he can’t control it, flimsy vestiges of restraint snapping beneath the pressure.

He chokes when you reach for his cock, his hand dropping immediately to squeeze the base of it before your fingers touch him, like he has to steel himself first. Your thumb teases over the slit, gathering the prespend to ease the glide of your fist while you stroke him, though it’s already plenty easy with how wet you’ve made him.

He squirms over you, gasping for breath that refuses to come, hips rocking between shying away and thrusting forward, voice pitching higher, whinier in a way that you never could have imagined him sounding like.

“You’ll break, y’know.” You breathe, tipping your face back in blatant invitation for a kiss, the struggle, the war plastered all over his face. “So why not just save us both the trouble and do it now?”

He groans, dropping down to rest his forehead against your shoulder, trying in vain to fight back when you bring him back down to your cunt, when you grind shamelessly against him. “I have better self control than you do.” He spits, even as he ruts into the tight fist you’ve given him, the head of his cock pushing into you with every forward thrust as he uses you without an ounce of thanks. The worst thing, though, is that you think he really believes what he says.

He truly does, until you remind him– “Then why were you jerking off with my panties this morning?”

The memory makes him weak, the shame so thick it chokes him, worsened when he feels thick drops of his pre smearing along the entrance to your cunt, so sticky and making the tentative press inside even easier. He’s sick with it, how good you feel, how it doesn’t even compare to what he imagined, and then he’s reminded that he was imagining it.

He had just wanted to help, when he saw a load of your laundry waiting to be done, it seemed like a quiet thing he could do for you to make your life easier.

But then he saw those fucking panties, blue against a plethora of neutrals, and as he walked by the glint of light hit the shine of them and he realized they were still wet and he just–

“I’m sorry.” He gasps, face hot against your neck, hips bearing down hard as his cock splits your sticky cunt with a stuttered thrust, he bats your hand away so it’s just you cradling the weight of him. There’s no pace, no rhythm, just a mindless grind as he pants and moans little grated sighs of your name, drowning in the knowledge that you know, that you saw him in his weakest moment.

The one time he had ever given in to those urges, and of course you caught him.

“That was the only time.” He squeezes your thighs, pushes them up, forcing you wider apart as he thrusts against you. “I promise, it was the only time, I’ve never–” He chokes, watching with glassy eyes as you arch high off of the couch, peeling off your dress with a sort of strained grunt. Your bra is skewed, pulled to the side by his greedy hands, and he whines. “Oh, so fucking pretty.”

The praise makes you lightheaded, fuzzy, a bashful smile curling at your lips as you cover your face before he can see, and he’s amazed that you can look so cute even while fucking yourself up against the raw of his cock. The balance tips, seeing you flustered bringing back a little of his confidence, the sight of you taking him like this, letting him make a mess of you.

“You like when I’m sweet to you?” He croons, breathy and almost mocking, testing how you like it. “You always get so snippy when I am, complain so much when I’m nice.” He grinds the heel of his hand against you, watching with a twisted sense of glee as your eyes roll back, lips falling open.

“Want me to tell you how pretty you are, baby?” He nearly breaks when you nod before he’s even finished asking, twitching hard as he hastily tears himself away from you to keep from spilling, awed at how you lift yourself higher in an attempt to chase him. “So fucking pretty.” He breathes, no longer mocking, watching as you quiver.

“Ohh, that’s it.” He starts slow, rolling his hips until the head catches at your clit, dragging it back and forth with little half-thrusts to make you writhe. “There we go, that’s my girl. So sweet.”

You claw at him, at his chest, nails raking down to his abdomen through his shirt. Disregarding his earlier complaints about leaving marks, he’s quick to yank it off, wanting to see the remnants of your desire in his skin, needing, again, to learn you in every way.

“Close.” You whimper, torn between wanting to crawl away and wanting more. It’s so much, so sensitive, he’s so warm and right.

He learns quick. “My good girl.” Another hard, sharp thrust, and when you whine at the deviation in his rhythm, he doesn’t do it again, staying steady as he talks to you. “C’mon, cum again for me, let me see that pretty face.”

Your nails rake over his chest, crimson that bubbles bright to the surface, and he feels the sting of it and grins. “That’s it.” He’s encouraging, pleading, fighting the urge to go faster, wanting to make you squeal but wanting to make you cum even more. “Touch me however you want, scratch me up, let your favorite big brother make you feel good.”

You know it’s meant to be mocking, taunting you for your own words, but he says it so nice, it sounds so good on his lips that you’re hurtled over the edge almost immediately after.

His laugh is a little breathless, disbelieving at the gripping squeeze of you tightening up beneath him, cupping a hand beneath your chin to keep you in place so he can watch you cum. You cling to him, thighs shaking and squeezed tight around his middle, hiked up high where he wants you as he leans his weight into the backs of your legs.

“You feel so good.” He murmurs, nosing into your jaw. “Even like this, can feel the way you’re gonna squeeze me when I fuck you.”

“When?” You pant, breathy, fingers curled tight in his hair to keep him close, wanting the warmth of him against you while you try to coast through the tail end of your orgasm, the peak of it dragged out as he continues his slow, even pace.

He goes rigid though, arms straining above you, and you almost whine when he starts to pull away. You follow him, hips rising from the cushions until your pussy kisses his tip, relieved when he presses you back down with a quiet groan.

“Were you serious, earlier?” He asks, still leaning over you but not so close, hovering with the languid roll of his hips in the space between you.

“About what?” You try to pull him back down, needing him, but he’s unmoving, unyielding. There’s a serious set to his brow, something like concern that simmers beneath the surface of his lust.

“Are you a virgin?”

You blink, settling back against the arm of the couch and trying to think back on the brief experiences you’ve had. “I’ve never been with a man, if that’s what you mean.”

His gaze dips, half-lidded, locked once more onto your shiny cunt. You grin, reaching down to gently spread yourself apart, and your voice is a little teasing as you ask– “Did you like it? When I said you’re gonna be the first one to fuck me?”

His eyes sharpen, narrowed with a dangerous glint. “That’s not what you said.”

“Oh.” You coo, “my mistake, let me try again.”

He shivers when you sit up, when you’re pushing him back on his knees while you straddle his thighs, his cock is pressed heavy between yours. At his ear, you drawl out “what was it, that you’re the first and only one to fuck this pretty pussy?”

He clutches hard at your hips, twitching as a thick bead of prespend wells at his tip, a rough noise locked behind his gritted teeth. You toy with him with both of your hands, rolling the head of his cock against your palms and squeezing, fingers swiping over the slit to collect whatever dribbles out, and he nearly loses it when you lick a drop that had spilled over your knuckles.

“You’re a fucking terror.” He whispers, no real heat behind his words, he’s not sure he could muster any feigned vitriol right now while you’re stroking his cock and you’re practically naked in his lap.

“You like it.” You shoot back, pumping him slowly with both of your hands, trying not to grin when his thighs begin to shake. You twist with a curling motion on the upstroke, squeezing at the tip before it slips out with a wet little schlik as you release it, and then you start at the base just to do it again.

“Oh fuck not like that, it’s too–” a groan, hard and punched out. “ –too good, stop, stop for fucks sake.”

But you don’t, watching him squirm, the way he’s torn between bucking you off and letting you finish him.

He’s so angry about it too, that twitch to his upper lip that only happens when he’s fuming but can’t do anything. A testament, you think, to how willing he actually is to submit to you. So you slow down, just as he starts to twitch and convulse and pulse against your palms, he whines as the hard edge of his orgasm fades but doesn’t fight it, he takes it willingly.

“You really like that?” You murmur, rubbing the tip gently with your thumb, dipping into the small pool of slick and spreading it around. He writhes when you do.

“Shut up.” He wants to look away, jaw ticking, red creeping up his neck. “Stop–fucking with it like that, it’s not a toy.”

You drag your hands upwards slow, watching his eyes roll back and one of his legs twitch, calf tensing with the urge to kick out and spread for you. “It’s not?” You ask, feigned innocence that is as translucent as sugar glass.

He says your name like a warning, already close, hips rocking weakly beneath your weight to push into your hands. You coo quietly in a mean taunt, disrupting your rhythm to roll the head of his cock against your palm, slick and shiny and sticky against your skin, the sounds of it obscene and he’s much more embarrassed about it than you were.

“Slow down.” He whispers, eyes heavy, his hands sliding up from your waist to cup your breasts, featherlight as he ghosts his thumbs over your nipples ‘till they peak. It makes you squirm, makes you go faster, and he heaves out a rough exhale that hitches in the middle, his nose a little scrunched up as he tries to wrest control away from you, to buck away even though there’s nowhere he can go.

“Why would I do that when I could just put it in instead?” You lean in close, just a breath apart. Loosening your grip a little, you go to spread your fingers but he groans and chases your touch when you start to pull away.

“I’ll cum.” He warns you, spits it like it’s bitter, wanting to have you soft and sweet and spread around him again, but inexplicably drawn to this side of you he doesn’t know, wanting you in all ways.

You cup his chin, lifting it up as you settle yourself high on your knees, braced over him. His head falls back, going with you, bending easily as you shape him to your whim. Mesmerized by the way you kiss him, sweet, opening him with a warm glide of your tongue and he tastes the slick on your lips, it makes him dizzy with the thought that he put it there in the first place.

So lost in it, he almost misses when you kiss the head of his cock with your cunt. Different than before, when you were just teasing him with it, taunting him with the promise of you wrapped around him. You sink down slow, and every muscle in his abdomen tightens at the heat that begins to part around him, deeper, and it’s only the head, it’s only the head, and it’s so much of not enough and too much I’m gonna–

He’s cumming, thrusting up with a silent scream that pitches high and cracks in his throat when you move with him, denying him the bliss of sheathing fully within you while he spills. He fucks up into you fervently, nearly sobbing when every thrust is only taken as deep as you allow before he can’t go any higher and is forced to pull back just to try again.

You work him through it with your hand to make up for it, stroking near the base as he tries to bully himself into you, hot and wet and thick inside and dribbling out to smear all over the tip with every messy thrust. He can’t fill you completely, but every time his cum drips out, he’s shoving it back in with another shallow buck of his hips.

He could force you onto it, you know. Could lock a thick arm around your waist and drag you onto his cock, could make you take it.

But he takes, he takes only what you give, trying for more but ultimately caving to your desires and letting you continue to deny him.

It makes you soft, covering his face in kisses, rocking your hips a little even when he hisses with sensitivity, eyes screwed shut as his face flushes to the ears, skin shiny with sweat and muscles still rippling with the aftershocks. You don’t pull away until he goes soft beneath you, twitching hips pushing the heat of it against you even when it makes him shudder. You press down slowly, crooning as he pulls you against his chest and buries his face into your neck.

You play with the ends of his hair, then trail your fingertips lower to follow the dark red scratches you’ve left on him. Some still bleeding, most of them already dried, you wince a little at the angry red of inflamed, irritated skin.

When you start to kiss them, he cups the back of your head and pulls you up, lips meeting yours with such a reverence that it almost makes you shy, warm in the affections of a Kei who, at least right now, doesn’t feel he has to hide.

Quietly, beneath his breath, he murmurs– “your lipstick is messed up.”

You hum softly, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip where a dark smudge of color stains his skin. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Buy a better one.”

You give him a slow, coy smile, tracing the tips of your fingers back down his chest, etching invisible lines that pull shivers from him as you go. “Why? Am I gonna be doing a lot more kissing all of a sudden?”

He answers you with his mouth, muffling your laughter, clinging to his shoulders when he hikes your legs up to stand, though his legs buckle when you suckle gently at his lip to weaken his knees. Fingers pinch hard at the skin of your hip in retribution, and he stifles the sharp yelp you let out with another hard kiss.

Somehow, he does manage to carry you into the bathroom, though he stops to push you against the wall once or twice, just holding you, keeping you braced so he can cup your face and feel your lips curl into a smile against his hands.

You’re lowered carefully to the sink, pressed down on cold tile that makes you hiss in discomfort, a sound that is largely ignored as he withdraws from your side.

He opens the glass door to the shower, reaching inside to turn on the water and soften the setting of the showerhead. You perk up, fumbling hands moving to unhook your bra and toss it carelessly into the hallway, earning you a sharp glare that you only smile innocently at.

“You’re picking that up later.”

“Sure, sure.” You hop down from the sink and slip past him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as you go, and he melts at the casual display of affection. Fond honey eyes watch as you step beneath the water, amusement creeping along the edges when you hiss at how cold it still is.

He strips down quick, sighing quietly as he listens to you sort through the bottles of soap on the inlaid shelves, trying not to be too exasperated when you mutter to yourself about how disorganized he is. As he moves to join you beneath the warming spray, though, he falters on the first step inside, a breath catching in his throat.

Your head is tilted back, throat bared, water running in thick rivulets over the contours of your body, the flow only interrupted by the passing of a loofah lathered with soap. He can see the outline of his teeth in your skin, the petal-shaped marks he’d sucked into it too. He tries not to feel too much pride at the claim he’s laid, he tries not to think about how he should be ashamed.

He feels like you should hide from him, like you should shy away and curl in on yourself, like it would be safer for you to brace against how much he loves you, because it’s wrong.

You open your eyes, tilt your head up and grin at him through the water, a soapy hand stretched out to beckon him towards you, and he goes.

Crowding against you, tucking you close so that you’re still beneath the showerhead, and he stares at you with such a lovesick expression that you’re sure he doesn’t know he’s making it.

“Hi.” You murmur, hands against his chest, feeling the rough texture of your scratches beneath your palms as they move over his skin.

He kisses you, muffling your complaint of ‘you never play along with me,’ and opening your mouth to the thin trails of water dripping from his face.

His hands glide down your slippery back, pressing you in at the base of it until his cock is rubbed between you, and you shiver as it pulses, already beginning to thicken. “Look at you,” you tease, reaching down to wrap your fingers around it. “What’s this, still not done even after four in one day?”

“It’s your fault.” He grunts, grabbing your wrist to keep you still, though the intensity he’s trying for is ruined by the way his hips jut forward in protest of his denial.

“What a good toy.” You coo, playful, but it becomes a whole lot less playful when he bucks hard against you, when he gasps and squeezes you tight and fucks his cock into your loose fist. His fingers wrap around yours, tightening, and the moan he lets out after is needy.

He doesn’t even have the chance to regret his reaction before you’re taking advantage of it.

“Yeah, Kei?” Your voice is too bright, crystalline candy that cuts. “You wanna be my toy? Want me to fuck you how I want?”

He nods, helpless, hating it and needing it.

“Say it.”

“Holy fuck.” He hisses, pushing you against the cold glass door and rutting hard into your hand, forcing you to keep it tight. “Shut up, just–fuck, how do you wind me up so much?”

“I’ve had years to learn what makes you tick.” You’re a little too smug, maybe, but he looks so nice like this, so out of control, and you think he might like your attitude a little too much. “Now, are you gonna tell me what I wanna hear?”

His lips are at your throat, nipping, teeth scraping over the heavy thrum of your pulse. He whispers it, inaudible beneath the shower, and you start to pull your hand away, his fingers slackening with surprise before squeezing harder than before to keep you there.

“No, no wait I–” He swallows, a choked out groan before he tucks his face close and rounds his shoulders in, pressed around you and unintentionally blocking you from the water’s spray. “I’m yours, your toy.” Saying it out loud does something horrible to him, his cock filling out so much against your fingers and forcing him to loosen his grip on you, just a little. Then, like a secret, he breathes– “I want you to use me.”

You don’t have to say anything in reply, the confession is enough to bring him to the edge. He gasps, hips jerking to his own rhythm, and this time when he cums it's nearly dry. He lets you fuck him through it, even when he buckles and tries to push you away, it’s weak, half-hearted as he twitches and writhes. Kissing his chest, you finally let him slip from your grasp, with him pressing his face into your hair and clinging to you, a shocking sense of vulnerability that coaxes him to you.

Floating, a little, fuzzy like cotton in his head, he comes down from it slowly with you stroking his back and cooing into his ear. Praising him, and he’s too fucked out to even notice it. For the best, probably, you don’t need his ego getting too out of control after this.

You wash his hair while he slumps over you, murmuring to him to keep his eyes closed until you’re done, the water carrying soap down the sides of his face. He follows with you when you move him around, tilting his head back to wash out the lather, twisting so his back is to the water so you can rub conditioner into the ends of his hair. Docile, letting you do with him as you see fit. You never would have thought Kei had a side like this.

While the conditioner sits for a minute, he watches with heavy eyes as you wash your own, hands touching you, petting you sweetly while letting you soak up the spray by yourself, helping curve your spine into an arch so you can crane your head back, the wash of warm water rinsing the soap from your hair.

“You’re being so sweet.” You murmur, watching as a shiver rolls through him at your praise, he’s all flushed and happy, with a little smile that makes you weak.

Seeing Kei in a subspace makes you mushy, syrupy saccharine as you cup his face and kiss him, pleased when he leans into you with parted lips and a quiet sigh.

Between kisses, you rinse his hair out a final time before turning off the water and stepping out to grab him a towel. The cold plume of air that hits him wakes him up, pulls him from whatever cloudy comfort that he’d been immersed in. By the time you turn around, he’s wearing a frown again and following you out onto the bath mat.

When you pass him the towel, he loops it around your shoulders to pull you in, keeping you trapped with a wicked little grin.

“Kei!” You whine, pressing in and locking your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering. “Cold!”

“Baby.” He muses, not affectionately, and lets you go.

Out of habit, you begin to drag yourself to your room, towel held tight while you dry yourself off on the way. After a brief pause, you decide to sneak into Kei’s room instead while he’s still in the backroom. You rifle through his clothes guiltlessly, finding your favorite shirt of his and taking it without hesitation.

Soft, long-sleeved and a dark purple, you eagerly pull it over your head to welcome the warmth. When you tuck your nose against the collar, it smells like him, and he walks in to find you with a happy little smile and your nose buried into his shirt.

His heart stops, face forming an angry scowl as if that will diminish the way it burns red. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Aw, Kei, you don’t gotta be shy. What we just did is way worse than seeing me in your clothes.” You watch with a shark-like glee as he groans loud and covers his face with one hand, the other keeping his towel knotted around his waist.

Throwing yours in his laundry basket, you settle on his bed, cross-legged and tucked far into the corner against a pillow while you watch him get ready.

When he realizes you’re just staring, he hesitates, something almost shy on his face. You’re about to look away, to snuggle beneath the blankets and give him his privacy, but as you slip beneath them that look dissolves, he shrugs with one arm and starts pushing closed the drawers you left open. Careless, one might think, but his ears are dusted with pink and he’s trying too hard to pretend he’s not watching you too, curled up in his shirt.

A pair of boxers and a quick trip to the living room to fetch his glasses later, and he’s kneeling onto the mattress and lowering himself into your arms. You smile as he wraps around you, kissing your throat, tucking one of his knees between your legs while you draw the blanket up over his shoulders.

You stay like that, for a little while, just cuddling and basking in his warmth. You stroke down the curve of his spine, and he smooths wide palms up from the small of your back, in opposite to each other but still in sync.

“...Are you in any pain?” So faint, you almost don’t hear it, the tentative whisper of his voice.

You murmur quietly and nuzzle into his cheek, feeling his lips twitch into a smile at the corners. “Mm, my thighs are sore, gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow.”

His head tilts, mouth catching yours, where he muffles an apology. Pulling away, he sighs– “I’ll take care of anything you need tomorrow, so don’t try to move too much.”

You immediately open your mouth to tease him, already something sly and mocking on your tongue, so he clamps his hand over it and presses his lips to your temple.

“Good night.” Clipped, curt, he settles down and drags you close in a clear indication that the conversation is over. You snicker, quietly, and acquiesce for now.

Kei falls asleep surprisingly quickly, and you drop a kiss to the curve of his jaw and let yourself steep in your newfound sweetness, knowing inherently that things will be different when you wake up. Harder in some ways, easier in others.

–

You wake up with him between your legs, his face against your neck, hands shoved beneath the small arch in your back to hold you like you’re a body pillow. His breath is warm against your chest, even, still deeply asleep.

Your hand goes to his hair, fingers combing through it, thick and wavy since he went to sleep with it still wet. Scratching his scalp, he makes a soft noise and rolls his hips into the bed.

With a grin too full of mischief for so early in the morning, you scratch a little harder, tug on it how he likes, and his pace kicks up, harder, rubbing his thickening cock against the mattress even in his sleep. He moans against you, wanton, mouth open and hot against your skin.

Then his alarm goes off, shocking you into stillness and jolting him awake.

He gasps and his hips come to a quick stop, tense, like he’s waiting for you to wake up and scream at him. You can feel him twitching, though, feel the way his thighs tense, abdomen clenching in anticipation. He had sounded so close. Worked up so quickly, so sensitive while sleeping against you.

“Let me.” You murmur, pushing yourself down the bed, ignoring his choked whine when you settle beneath him, hands braced on his thighs to keep him leaning over you. You give him as sweet a smile as you can manage, tipping your head back so you can look at him. “Be gentle though, ‘kay? Never done this to a guy before.”

You smooth your hands up from his thighs first, fingers pushing beneath the fabric of his boxers, feeling how warm he is against you even though Kei has always run a little colder. He watches you, still mired in sleep and a little dazed, as you gently pull his cock free and let it hang in the air just inches from your mouth. He swallows, throat too dry for the motion, neck craned forward to see you clearly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He husks, throbbing heavy with a thick drop of prespend already threatening to drip onto your face. He has to brace himself over you once again with his arms, torn between watching what you’re going to do and knowing that if he does he’s going to lose it way too quickly.

You drag one of his pillows down to prop your head up, so you can lay flat on your back with your neck lifted to make the slide of him easier. It’s not an efficient position, by any means, with his legs parted around your shoulders, but if you brace on your elbows to keep yourself up then he has room to go. You slick a wet stripe from base to the tip, he moans pretty for you and tries not to immediately buck into your mouth.

“There we go.” You croon, voice raspy with sleep and about to be made much worse. “Keep an eye on the time, don’t want you to be late.”

He hisses low, muffled by cotton, and shuffles up onto his knees, higher until they bracket the sides of your head. You think you might die when the head of his cock prods at your lips, sticky, and the noise he makes when you part around him and let it hit your tongue is agonizing.

He rocks into you so slowly, carefully, and you let your jaw fall slack so he can move as he pleases. He can feel it, the way you let yourself lay loose beneath him, and he bites into his pillow to muffle the ragged ‘please,’ that threatens to slip out, begging for something you’ve already given.

He slides deep, humping at your mouth with short little thrusts that grow longer as he grows comfortable, more sure that you won’t choke if he’s careful, and then he grows less careful the closer he gets.

It won’t all fit this way, he’s barely getting much friction with the way he’s grinding against your tongue to be as mindful of you as he can. You press a hand to his hip, coaxing, leaning up and pushing higher, room to bend so that when he slides home, it goes.

It’s a pretty, whiny sound he makes when you swallow his cock, eyes watery and breaths stuttered, choked, caught as you struggle to inhale through your nose, but he sounds so wrecked that when he tries to slide out, you pull him back, sucking him in and swallowing around him again.

That makes it easier. With every swallow it’s less of a struggle to take a breath, the muscles in your throat less repulsed at the foreign intrusion.

For Kei, though, it gets worse. He whimpers high and higher each time, feeling you contract around him and trying so hard not to fuck into it, but you keep moving his hips for him and trying to bob your head despite the awkwardness of the angle, and somehow the struggle of you learning to accommodate him in your throat makes it all the sweeter, sicker for it.

“I’m gonna cum.” He hisses, weak, shoving one hand down to fist at your hair, either to drag you off or push you closer, he doesn’t know.

You moan, something encouraging, garbled, and the whole fucking vibration makes him see stars.

He spills, you choke, and god despite how warm and wet and tight you are he pulls back with a cry and drops his grip on your hair to reach for his cock instead, fisted tight at the head and jerking himself through it. He nearly shatters when you dip forward to catch him with your tongue, the tail end of his orgasm peaking sharply as you suck him back into the heat of your mouth, drawing it out, forcing more from even though he swears he’s already spent.

“How the fuck?” He wheezes, gasping, staring down at you with wild eyes that have little hearts in them. You smile, and your voice when you talk is so hoarse that it makes his abdomen squeeze.

“Has a lesbian ever made you suck her strap before?”

He shakes his head, dazed.

“Well, that’s how.”

He lets out a loud, incredulous bark of laughter, then he crawls down to your level and kisses you, cupping you by the jaw and pulling you up against him. You make him taste himself with the expectation that he’ll recoil, intending to tease him after, but he only kisses you harder and lets out a quiet grunt when a second alarm goes off.

“Ooh, good timing.”

He rolls off of you, leaving you to curl back up beneath his sheets and snuggle into his pillows, throat sore and feeling incredibly satisfied. You ache a little, muscles squeezing around nothing with the temptation to make him come back and fuck you properly this time. You’re comfortable though, wrapped in his scent and his blankets, so it’s easy for you to begin dozing off. You miss the tiny glances he throws your way while getting ready, his heart doing funny things in his chest at how sweet the sight of you is, tucked away in his bed and wearing his sweatshirt.

Fully dressed, school bag slung over his shoulder, he kneels at his bedside and reaches for your hand. Bringing it to his mouth to press your knuckles there, he watches as your eyes blink slowly open.

“Leaving?” You ask, tracing the shape of his lips with your thumb, shy when he kisses it.

“For a few hours.” Your wrist, next, ghosting over the lines of your veins. “Then I’ll be back, I don’t have time to cook you anything so I ordered breakfast from that cafe down the road.” Another kiss, at the crook of your elbow. “It’ll be here in twenty minutes, make sure you don’t fall asleep until you get it.”

You catch the next one with your mouth, molten when his arms come around your shoulders and he leans into the bed with you, rolling you onto your back and pressing down on your chest with his. He kisses you silly, over and over, soft little pecks that make you whine between each one.

“I love you.” He breathes, a soft sigh like he just can’t help but let it out, like it took up too much space inside of him and had nowhere else to go.

Your heart constricts, breath expelled from your lungs in a rush because you knew but he’s never told you. You try to say it back, to tell him so he knows too but he stifles you, muffles the words with his tongue and steals the breath that would fuel them.

Too raw, then. Something so sweet it hurts.

Kei eventually manages to drag himself away from his bedside, though he fidgets in his way, fingers tightening the strap of his backpack and then loosening it, over and over, before he finally steps out into the hallway. It’s like he’s nervous, unable to leave you alone. You wonder if he’s worried that giving you space will make you change your mind about him, about this.

No need for him to worry, you’re content as a cat, stretched out amongst his sheets with the taste of him still on your tongue and his love on your skin.

You feel it when you twist, the bruises in the shapes of his fingers on your hips, your thighs, the deep aches in your neck from how he sucked your skin into his mouth just to bite. You roll around and practically purr your satisfaction, pleasantly sore even without the brutal fucking you’d thought you could goad him into giving you.

Your tune changes a little when mom calls, though. Still in Kei’s bed, you answer the phone with mild trepidation, unease, guilty in a way like you stole a cookie but haven’t been caught for it yet.

She worries at the sound of your voice, and something bitter and cold swells in your stomach, the mental image of Kei’s cock shoved deep in your throat staggering, cutting your voice mid-sentence as you try to tell her you’re just feeling a little unwell.

You hear Akiteru in the background, muttering aloud to himself about how he should get onto Kei about taking better care of you, lamenting that he must be so caught up in his studies and volleyball that he’s neglecting you.

It feels almost like karma, cutting sharper because of the unintentional double meanings, the things that they don’t know they’re dancing around.

But still, as you cut the call and lay there, you find that you don’t really regret it.

–

You thank him for the strawberry pancakes with a picture.

Truthfully, you think it was sweet of him, and he even remembered that you wanted pancakes for breakfast. Still, the thought of being a little mean when he can’t do anything to retaliate is enticing.

Sprawled back on his bed, his shirt hiked up high over your breasts, thighs parted with your fingers buried deep in slick, you send him a picture without your face in it, letting him see you pleasuring yourself, a little blurred around the hips in a clear indication of movement.

Kei 10:34 AM

Can you not say thank you like a normal person

You 10:35 AM

do you not like it? i can just not send pictures anymore idc

It takes him a comically long time to swallow his pride enough to reply.

Kei 12:42 AM

I didn’t say that.

You’re snacking in the living room when he gets home, wrapped up with one of his blankets and half-way through a documentary that you’re actually invested in. With a half-eaten snack cake in hand, you yelp when he bends over the back of the couch to kiss you, cupping your cheek to twist your face towards him so he can reach.

He licks the frosting from your lips, bold and brazen, and you’re a little pleased to see that distance hasn’t built his walls back up.

“Welcome home.” You breathe, pressing the rest of your cake to his lips. His tongue flicks out to catch the lingering sweetness on your fingertips, and he kisses them after. “Oh wow, someone’s clingy. Miss me today?”

“Yes.”

Your mouth dries up, shoulders hiking to your ears in an attempt to hide your face, and he smirks down at you with a playful gleam hidden behind his glasses. “So shy.” He mocks, pecking you once more before straightening and carrying his bag over to the kitchen counter.

You roll over onto your stomach to watch him, chin propped up on the couch arm. “Practice tonight?”

He grimaces, nodding once. “I have to leave soon, only stopped by to get my gym bag.”

You pout, purposefully softening your voice to play up a wounded act. “You didn’t just stop by to give me kisses? How rude, Kei. I don’t think you deserve to be my favorite brother anymore.”

He scowls at you, sweetness melting in the wake of your taunts. “Who the hell else could be?”

Your face is wry, a cheshire grin tossed his way that his eyes narrow at. “Do not even try to joke about Akiteru being better than me.” He warns, and your head tips in blatant invitation.

“Who’s joking?” You drawl, ankles crossed as you kick them up into the air, swaying back and forth.

He takes the bait with a growl, rounding the kitchen counter so quickly that you sit up straight, alarmed as he crosses the distance between you in few stilted strides. “Hey, wait hold on–”

Once more, he falls to his knees, dragging you close by the hips with a quick glare. “After all of this?” He murmurs, low and a little dangerous and not at all soft. “I don’t get to be your favorite?”

He shoulders your thighs apart and pushes your shirt up, finding you still bare beneath it and exhaling hard through his teeth. “What, is Akiteru going to do this for you?”

He doesn’t ease you into it, nothing soft and sweet about the way he latches onto your clit, sucking too hard and too fast as you curl around his head with a wail, clutching at his hair in tight fists and yanking, but he only moans against you and braces you with a hand holding you up by your lower back.

“I don’t deserve to be your favorite?” He rasps, looking up at you through piercing eyes, a glint of gold that burns you like a brand. “Who the fuck else is going to eat you like this? Who else is going to even get close with me here?”

“Oh god.” You croak, blinking back tears as your pleasure sharpens, rising so quickly into nearly a crest that you can’t help but squirm and try to buck him away.

He holds you down, arms locked tight, forcing you to take his pace instead of letting you fuck his tongue how you want. His face is messy with the shine of your slick, up to his cheeks and nose, even smearing over his glasses as he loses himself between your thighs.

“Hey,” He grits out, mouthing at you with the faintest bite of teeth to get your attention, to distract from the way he eases you open with slick fingers. “Where’s my sweet girl from last night? I’m her favorite, what happened?” His voice sweetens, hot honey that cuts while he taunts you. “Was I not good enough to you? Are you mad at me for not making you cum before I left this morning? I’m sorry, baby.”

His eyes are narrowed thin and sharp behind his smudged glasses, and he coos against the sticky mess of your pussy with– “let your big brother make it up to you right now, okay?”

“Kei fuck don’t be such a bitch!” You groan, fingers curled tight near his scalp, twisting, knotting in his hair to pull until his hips grind into the couch, shoving it across the floor a couple of inches. He chases you with his mouth, dragging you back, fingers fucking into you to drive you higher and pull you apart.

He doesn’t waste the breath to retort, mouth glued to your clit, palm facing upwards as he crooks his fingers hard along your walls, with you squeezed tight around him and your face all scrunched up at the brow.

You fall apart at the seams, his name on your lips in a way that makes him glow with a smug kind of pride, coaxing you through each pulse of pleasure with gentle, languid laps of his tongue, and you quiver when he kisses your twitching pussy a few times before drawing away.

Somehow, it’s him doing that that embarrasses you the most.

“So?”

You stare at him, weak-kneed and a little dumb. “What?”

He scowls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then leaning towards you, pushing your legs apart a little further to make room. “Don’t joke about that again, I won’t be late to practice just to prove you wrong.”

Even tired and still twitching from the afterglow, you can’t resist a sly grin. “Aww, you’re not gonna skip for me?” You pull him in, hands cupped at the back of his neck. “What if I wanted to fuck you this time?”

He rips away from you with a pained groan, flustered and wanting as your laughter follows him down the halls. While picking up and slinging his gym bag over his shoulder, he swallows down a weak noise when he palms his cock, so fucking hard even though he’s raw from everything you put him through in the last twenty-four hours. He can’t imagine anything better.

And he’s wearing such a stupid fucking grin, too. The sight of you fucked out on his tongue burned into his mind, puffing him up as he makes back to the living room to tell you goodbye.

On the way out, he swings by and crouches down to give you one more kiss, softer and sweeter, full, and you wipe at a stray sheen that glistens on his chin. “Make sure to wash your face before you get there.” You murmur, watching his tongue dart out to wet his lips, chasing your taste.

He swears quietly and leaves to do just that, with you once more cuddled up and blissfully satiated, feeling like you’re going to become way too spoiled if you both don't slow down.

–

You’re already asleep by the time he gets home, preparing to be forced to attend an early morning class that you had once thought was a good idea. He finds you in his bed, phone plugged in on his charger, still wearing his shirt, and he wants nothing more than to just fall into you and wake you up to suffer the aggressive burst of affection in his chest.

Instead, he takes a shower, eats the plate of curry you’d left in the fridge for him, then finally allows himself to crawl in beside you once he’s relaxed and doesn’t feel like he’s suffering from cute aggression.

In your sleep, you curl into him, barely giving him time to settle before he has to pull you into his arms just so you stop moving around. Small puffs of breath against his chest, your cheek smushed into his collar, palm splayed over his stomach with his own at your back, he feels disgustingly happy.

Even with the guilt, even with the hard and heavy weight of whatever sins he’s accumulated by indulging in you, loving you, he’s happier than he’s ever been allowed to be.

–

Unsurprisingly, your alarm wakes the both of you, even though Kei doesn’t have to be up for another few hours.

You try to slip away quick, shutting off the looping chime and detaching yourself from his arms, though you don’t make it far before he’s dragging you back.

“Where are you going?” He murmurs into the nape of your neck, tucking his knees behind yours and resting his hand over your stomach.

“Gotta get ready for class, lemme go.” You pull at his wrist, but even half-asleep he’s immovable unless he wants to be.

When that fails, you change tactics. You wriggle in his arms, his grip only loosening when you make it clear you’re trying to turn around and face him. He welcomes it then, accepting your quick, close-mouthed kisses and growing slack with each one, lazy, fingers tracing loose circles from the base of your spine to the top of it.

“I’ll pick up lunch on my way back.” You kiss the furrow in his brow just as it forms, already anticipating the way he begins to protest.

But you twist away before he can tighten his arms around you, ignoring his grumpy complaints while you head back to your room to get dressed. The person you would look nice for is currently waiting half-naked for you in bed, so you throw on something comfortable, brush your teeth, and return to his side to get as much charge for your affection battery as you can before leaving.

“You look nice.” He murmurs as you lean with your knee pressed into the mattress over him, his hand coming up to guide you down by the back of your head.

“You’re just sayin’ that cause you’re half asleep.” Still, you smile against his lips when he grunts in clear disagreement. “Gotta go now, baby.”

He preens, all lowered lashes and a smile he tries to tuck away by stealing one more kiss, but you hold him in place to watch the way his face shifts at the pet name.

“Oh,” you breathe, enamored. “You really like that, huh?”

The moment is ruined, embarrassment sharpened into annoyance. “Go.” He mutters, shooing you away. “Let me go back to sleep.”

“Fine, fine.” You grab your phone on the way out, plugging in his so it doesn’t die while you’re gone. “Don’t sleep too late, you get grouchy when you wake up past ten.”

His pissy, heatless complaint chases you down the hall, and your smile lingers far past that, as does his.

–

There’s a fine line you have to walk, going to the same college as Kei.

You can’t get too comfortable around him in public, always analyzing every little thing, hoping nobody reads into it. Even something as simple as a wave could be taken wrong if you think too much about it.

So you try not to.

Kei does enough of the overthinking for you, constantly jittery and on edge when you seek him out anywhere that isn’t home. It’s worse with Tadashi, someone who’s known you both for nearly your entire lives, but a half-truth conversation in which you tell him that the party had led to a big heart-to-heart between you is enough to explain any odd behavior, he knows personally how strangely Kei handles intense emotional confrontation.

The hardest part is everyone else.

You’re sociable, approachable, made known to the campus by Hoshino, who is popular, pretty, and kind. Kei starts to endure what you have since highschool, but for the first time.

People seek him out to ask after you, your relationship status, your number. He hates it.

He takes it out on you late at night, face buried between your legs until you’re nearly sobbing with the oversensitivity, but he doesn’t stop. Possessiveness is ugly in him, a volatile creature that sits on his shoulder and watches you with greedy eyes.

He teases you, plays with you, works you open and stretches you to take his cock, but he never gives it to you.

You pay him back in kind, edging him until he’s openly begging, barriers ripped down, teasing him with the slick of your cunt as you taunt him, tease him for being too sensitive to fuck you properly, so fucking mean to him until he cums all over your hands.

A constant back and forth, each upping the other but neither of you really taking the lead. It turns into a game, a challenge to see who will finally break first.

In a way, neither of you win in the end.

–

It comes after a hard loss.

All of them are hard, of course, but this was a match against Kageyama, and Kei burns with it. Raw and wounded, sensitive, you curl around him in the shower and wash his hair while he grits his jaw and tries to work himself out of it, too afraid to touch you like this. Angry, hurting, needing.

He doesn’t fight when you lay him back on the bed, lost in his own head, only coming back to you when you sit on his thighs, your hands on his face.

“I’m sorry.” He seethes it, not angry at you but struggling.

“I know, baby.” You soothe, a balm to his wounds. “Let me take care of you, okay? I’ve got you.”

He fights against it, pushing back against the comfort you offer, wanting but not deserving.

But all it takes is the faintest pressure from your fingertips to his chest, and he settles against the pillows you’d piled up for him, glasses low on his face. He starts to protest when you take them off, but quiets with a kiss, his hands on your thighs while you set the frames aside. His fingertips stroke leftover bruises in your skin, finding the deep-set hickeys on the insides and breathing out like it calms him.

You take him gently in hand, already thickening against your fingers, muscles in his thighs bunching up with tension, anticipation, eased with a stroke of your knuckles over his skin. A touch to make him pliant, all it takes, but he still fights you on instinct, resisting.

“Close your eyes, Kei.” You coax him, brushing the tip of your nose against his. “Let me make you feel good, please?”

His defense cracks, so much harder for him to push against you when you’re sweet.

His eyes fall shut, head tilted back to bare his throat, you kiss along the column of it and rub the drooling, pliable heat of your pussy against his cock. A slow, steady grind to ease the buzz of his tension, your fingers kneading into the sore muscles of his shoulders to leave him malleable in your hands.

He shudders at first, already moving along you, guided by your push and pull as you cradle the weight of his cock with the velvet between your thighs. He sighs, a slow exhale that’s thick with relief, but it catches and comes out a little wheezy when you lift yourself with a hand braced against his abdomen, and he watches with something akin to a mix of horror and need when you begin to sink down onto him.

And it’s slow. Every inch drawn out as much as you can manage, trembling as your body melts to accommodate the stretch of him. His fingers are bruising as they curl into you, lips a little shiny as they fall open on a hoarse sigh of your name. For a moment, he’s completely blissed, his hands sliding down along your ribcage as if to guide you onto him, but he applies no pressure.

Then you sigh against him, breathy and warm as the sound ghosts over his skin, and he shudders with it and realizes that he has to stop you, and he’s never regretted something more.

“Fuck, baby wait–hold on, I–” He pulls weakly at your hips, trying to lift you, but you take him so easily that your ass is flush with his thighs before he can even really muster the effort to try.

He’s pulsing so hard, throbbing in time with the angry rhythm of his heart, holding his breath as if that will make keeping himself in check any easier. He stares at where you meet, the spread of your cunt around him, stretched to make him fit. He twitches, and sees it, the pulse as you flutter around him.

“I’m about to cum.” He says it quietly, hands twitching as he squeezes and drags you down, grinding forward into you like he just can’t help it, even as he groans and mutters to himself that he needs to pull out but then you squeeze around him again and he’s gone.

“I just put it in, Kei.” You tease, but it’s breathless, enamored because you don’t even have to move, he’s just rocking into you and that’s enough, he’s so close already.

He wants you to be quiet, to stop mocking him, but all he can do is push his face into your neck and clench his jaw in an effort to hold back, even as he makes it all the worse for himself by continuously rolling his hips into you. Small, barely-there circles, slow, pressing himself in and feeling how you twitch and tighten around him when he does other things you like. He wants to stay in it longer, wants to just slide into you and feel it but he’s already on the edge and he’s not even–

He panics, then, as he remembers that he’s your fucking brother and he’s not wearing a condom. “Fuck, fuck I’m gonna cum, baby, you have to get off I’m gonna cum!”

You lift yourself on steady legs, watching relief and regret paint his face, but it falls to bliss just as quick when you drop back down, the tight squeeze of your sex taking him back in greedily.

“Aw, do you want permission or something?” You tease gently, stroking his red-mottled cheeks with your thumbs and kissing the pinch in his brow, enamored with the pitch of his voice when he moans against your neck, breaths ragged and panting as you fuck yourself onto him again, slow thrusts, heavy slaps of your skin against his.

He hisses your name, a plea, a warning, curling into you with shaky hands grabbing at your back, gripping your shoulders from behind and dragging you onto him, lost to it. He fucks up into you, pulls you down on the same beat, and he only manages to do that a few more times before he buries himself as deep in you as he can go, holding you around the waist with his face in your neck, choking out your name while he cums.

You shiver at the heat of it, the pressure, and his eyes go hazy when he sees you pressing a hand low on your abdomen.

Kei is molten when you run your hands over him, when you brush the hair out of his face and kiss his forehead, when you keep him snug within you so the trickle of his release doesn’t drip out onto the sheets.

It’s that that pulls him out of it, some sort of inherent sickness that has him already pulsing with want at the thought of you being full of him. He can feel it, the way you’re already rearing back to tease him, but he’s too laser focused on the feeling of you made even wetter by the load of his cum. He pushes up into you once, testing, and the squelch that emits between your bodies makes you physically recoil, but he holds you tight around the waist before you can escape.

“Oh.” He breathes, rolling his hips in tiny circles. “Listen to that, fuck.”

The sound makes you shy, flushed as he uses his cock to play with your insides, fucking the drip of his cum back into you and groaning when he can see as it coats the base.

You whine, hands plastered over your face, forced along with the push and pull of his rocking hips as he pushes up against your weight. “Kei, god c’mon don’t be gross…”

“Gross?” He echoes, prying your hands away and giving you a hard stare, even as blissed out as he is.“You think this is gross?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to answer, an arm locked tight around your waist so he can lift you, bracing against the mattress so he can fuck up into you, dragging you along with every hard thrust that punches a tiny breath from your lungs.

You’re helpless but to take it, like this. Kei rarely has to be rough with you, but he gives you no chances to pull away from him now. He fucks you like he’s mad at you, bullies his way into you and batters your sensitive pussy with hard, choppy thrusts that force a little of your voice out every time.

But, oh it’s like you make him drunk. The longer he stays buried thick within you, the harder it is for him to keep control. His pace stutters too often, swept up in it and chasing his orgasm when you squeeze around him a few times, until he groans quietly and remembers that he’s trying to punish you. Then you start to play with him.

“You’re so good, Kei.” You breathe, his face tucked to your chest, holding the back of his head as he sucks a wealth of hickeys into your breasts. His cock twitches hard against the hot squeeze of your cunt, you can feel him instinctively bury deep with the intent to cum, but he holds himself back. You don’t, though. “So good at filling your baby sister up.”

You have to try so hard not to tease him when that immediately pushes him over the edge. He groans loud and angry, holding you down on his lap with iron arms that tighten up when you try to move, and he fucks into you with jagged, shallow thrusts to ride it out.

Like he knows you’re seconds away from a smart comment, he works a hand between your bodies to find your clit, hips rolling slowly to push you up and help you grind against his fingers.

He frowns when you bat his hand away, then makes a strangled sort of sound when you plant your hands against his chest and start to slowly ride him again, more of a grind while he’s soft and then fucking him properly when he’s hard. He kicks out beneath you, gasping and trying to haul you off, but you whine pretty at him and give him needy eyes that make him grit his teeth and take it.

But you don’t let him make you cum, and he’s too busy trying to keep himself from bucking you off to fight you much on it. He can feel it though, how you deny yourself, disrupting your pace to stave off your orgasm. Edging yourself while using the heat of your pussy to finish him off again and again and again until he can’t anymore. Slow grinding, rolls of your hips that make him shudder, rubbing against him while he’s soft and dragging hoarse little noises from his raw throat, and then you come to a stop.

He lets you pepper him with kisses, fingers squeezing sporadically at your thighs, holding you while you check him over. The both of you tired, sore, you’re still throbbing desperately with need but Kei is sleepy and reluctantly satiated, holding you against his chest while he curls himself around you, lazy kisses trailing down the side of your neck to your shoulder, and he’s asleep before he’s done.

You clean him up after that, then yourself, feeling the thrum of your ache in your thighs when you walk, pleasant like a good workout. Crawling in beside him and pulling the sheets up, you drift off almost the second you finally settle against his pillows.

–

That morning, he’s on you almost the moment you wake up.

You’d at least made it to the bathroom to attempt your morning routine before he realizes you’re awake, but he’s waiting outside the door when you go to step into the hallway.

“Holy fuck.” You wheeze, a hand over your fluttering heart. “What the fuck, why are you so creepy?”

He frowns, and you soften, apologetic as you press a kiss to his pouty lips. “Sorry, still waking up.”

“Do you have class today?”

He shadows you as you walk back into his bedroom, standing at the edge of the bed as you climb back onto it. In a way, this answers his question, but he waits for your response anyway.

“Nope, thank god I had the foresight to leave Wednesdays open.” You reach for one of his pillows, hugging it to your chest with the intent of curling up and going back to sleep.

Instead, Kei drags you over to the edge of the bed, hooking your legs around his hips and bending low to grind into you. “Good.” He drawls, dragging the single syllable out. “Then nothing is going to get in the way of me fucking you.”

You choke on his name, braced on your elbows as you try to lean up, but he presses you back down with a hand on your chest. “Kei, hold on–”

“No.” He grinds harder, the swell of him dragging over your clit, the material of his sweats rough against your sensitive skin. It makes you squirm, and he gives a mean little grin that makes your throat squeeze. “Be good for me, let me fuck your pretty pussy a little.”

Your first instinct is to cover your face, but he’s ready for that, catching you by the wrists and pinning them above your head, leaning over you until the tip of his nose brushes against yours.

“You felt so fucking good last night.” He murmurs, nuzzling into you. “Can’t wait to be inside you again, can’t wait to feel you cum on me.”

Then his grip tightens, squeezing your hands and leaning more of his weight into them with a low, frustrated noise. “Can’t believe you wouldn’t let me get you off for our first fucking time.”

Your eyes blink wide, jaw loosened. “Is that why you’re upset?”

You’d be tempted to laugh, thinking that it’s a little silly that he’d worry about something like that when he’s made you cum so many other times, but his eyes go dark and you find yourself biting your tongue.

“Yeah.” He shoves the waistband of his sweatpants down, low on his hips, fisting his cock tight and pumping it a few times, eyes locked onto you with a hard, impassioned stare. “Yeah, that’s why I’m upset. So, to make up for it–”

He finds you still warm, still loosened up a little for him, and he sinks in slow as you take him. Your eyes roll back, almost feeling betrayed at how you suck him in. Your pussy makes it too easy for him to fuck you, slow and testing, finding the way you like it since you wouldn’t let him find out last night.

Once the head of his cock finds that spot, and your whole body quakes and you let out a noise he’s never heard before, he grins. “ –I’m going to make you beg to cum for me, since my sweet girl apparently forgot what it’s like to be greedy.”

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out from behind your locked jaw, forcing a moan out of you that you were trying desperately to swallow.

He talks so fucking much on top, it drives you insane.

“C’mon,” He taunts, your knees hiked up high. “I’m your big brother, who else can you be so fucking needy with if not me?”

“Shut up!” The bite in your voice is lost, drowned out by a whimper when he circles your clit, close but not enough, teasing you. “God you’re so fucking weird about it!”

His laugh is jagged, cruel, too sharp as he leans in with a wild grin. “Yeah?” He coos, sweet like treacle. “I’m weird? Not the princess riding my fucking cock? Making me fucking cum in her?”

Just saying it out loud cracks him, a quick little “oh, fuck” before he has to slow down.

Against all better judgement, common sense thoroughly fucked out of your brain, you taunt him in return. “Yeah you’re fucking weird, you’re the one who keeps talking shit about being my brother.”

He groans then, with hard, punched out thrusts knocking you higher up onto the bed until he grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back down. “I fucking love your shitty attitude.” He hisses, dropping to his elbows, bracketing you in on the sides of your head. Even without his glasses, he can see you clearly like this, and to him it must be worth the pain in your hips to bend so he can reach you. “Can’t wait to fuck it out of you. My sweet girl, pretty girl, c’mon, soften up for me.”

He taps at your cheek with a condescending twist to his smile, watching the clear way you fight against your subspace harder than he ever has. You hiss at him and jerk your head to the side, but that only gives him access to your neck.

You’ve complained before about the sheer amount of concealer and foundation you have to use to cover up his marks, but if anything that only encourages him to leave more. He sucks another one into you, just at the juncture where your shoulder meets your neck, and it muffles the way he moans when you start to tighten up. Your breaths come out gasping, hands squeezing at his shoulders with your nails digging in, trying to find some sort of purchase as you shove back the first tremors of your orgasm.

“There we go.” He breathes, pulling back so he can see you, so he can watch your face as you fight it. Knowing he’s going to edge you, you try to stave it off as long as you can. “That’s my girl, c’mon, tell me what I want to hear.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, then whimper when his hips drive up sharply, grinding his pelvis against your clit to make you choke on a sob.

“I am.” He points out, slowing to a near stop just as you begin to crest, almost feeling guilty when your eyes turn wet with tears, big and watery and he fights back the need to give in to you, to make you cum all over him just like he wants.

But, even twisted, Kei is your brother, he’s used to dealing with your tantrums.

He kisses the tears away as they fall, then you so you can taste the salt of them. “Just say please, baby.” He whispers, grinding slow into you when staying still begins to make him ache. “Come on, I want to give it to you, you just have to play nice.”

Wry, then, he melts once more into something mocking. “Are you too spoiled for even that much? Have to have it your way or not at all? Won’t even let me make you cum because I’m making you ask for it?”

You claw at him, nails dragging down his chest and reopening old scratches, crisscrossing with new ones, and god he shudders with it, pace picked up even though he wants to keep forcing you to take it slow, wanting to drive you crazy, but then you gasp and wrap your arms around him so he goes even faster in the hopes that you’ll finally give in.

“What a good, selfless girl you turned out to be.” He smiles when you whine, too sharp as your cunt grips him tight, keeping you on the brink even with tears spilling down the sides of your face. You don’t beg him, though, you keep your lips pressed thin unless it’s to spit poison, but the attitude only gives him a reason to go harder.

You are your own worst enemy.

But he’s just as high on the list, taunting you, plucking at your sensitive spots with teeth and practiced fingers, like he’s already become used to coaxing your body to do what he wants.

“Kei.” You rasp, watery eyes blinking up at him, your lips dotted with beads of crimson from the cut of your teeth, or his.

He falters, hastily snapping his gaze away, ignoring the way you pout up at him and pull on his hair to get his attention.

You’ve learned that Kei is good at edging himself. He does it often, always wanting to hold back a little longer, to drag it out, so this isn’t as difficult for him as it is for you.

But he is not good at edging you, he’s realized.

When you give him that face, kiss-bruised and bitten lips, wearing his marks with ease, like they were always there. How you quiver around him no matter how much he bullies his way into you, welcoming him in even though you know by now he’s just going to torment you. You’re so fucking good and all he wants is to make you feel as good as you deserve.

“Fuck.” He groans, higher near the end as his thrusts turn sloppy and quick, feeling you squeeze all around him again and just wanting to feel it. “Please, please let me make you cum, just fucking ask me to make you cum already.”

You laugh, weak and husky, the pinprick point of your nails digging into his back to feel him arch into you, wanting to quip back but fearing that if you say a word you’ll give him exactly what he wants.

He pulls out. A quick, fluid drag and you wriggle with anticipation of him putting it back in but he doesn’t. The shock of emptiness is so abrupt that you almost whine at it, but Kei shushes you and strokes down your spine while rolling you onto your stomach.

When he slides back in, it feels like more, thicker, his body pressed heavy on your back as he nudges your legs apart to fit himself behind you. “There we go.” He sighs, like finding home in you, and kisses your sweaty shoulder. Slow, deep, he rolls his hips until he finds the way you like it most, guided by how you contract hard around the shape of his cock, molded by it.

Then, when he’s found it, he goes faster.

Kei only gets to fucks you like that for a few minutes before you’re babbling, clawing at his sheets until they’re pulled and bunched up in your hands. You’re sobbing while trying to roll your hips, trying your best to keep his pace but failing when he pushes you down and doesn’t let you move. Your voice peaks, crests high with the rising pressure of your orgasm, but you still don’t ask.

“Close!” You whine, muffled into the sheets, pushing back against him and he meets you half-way, and then you can’t stop. “Oh god, oh fuck, ‘m close, don’t stop Kei fuck don’t–” his palm comes down firm on your lower back, forcing you further into the mattress, the angle making your eyes blur. “Kei!”

“How are you still this fucking stubborn?” He snaps, breathless and flushed, shoving a hand beneath you to find your clit, and you squeal when he fucks into you at the same time. “Just–fucking–”

“Please!” You wail, grabbing at his wrist with both hands, burying your face as deep into the blankets as you can to stifle your voice as it rises into a scream. “Please, please, please make me cum Kei, pleasepleaseplease it’s so good, you feel so good–” then, just when he thinks you can’t do anything more that would convince him to give you what you want, you cum anyway, convulsing so hard around his cock that his knees tremble, but you keep going.

“You’re the best one.” You whimper, voice high and wobbly. “The best brother, my favorite, love you so much please.”

His eyes blow wide, choking when you suck him in tight, god you’re milking him and the way your voice cracks when you say you love him, he’s completely helpless to give in to you.

He has no choice but to fuck you through your orgasm to seek his own, not after hearing that. He whispers apologies against your shoulder while you cry from how raw and sensitive you are, when you claw at his arms until he bleeds, and he kisses your fingertips that are reddened now and then holds your hands pinned to his sheets while he cums as deep inside of you as he can get, you feel like he’s in your throat, he feels like he’s not far enough.

After, long after, he stares down at you. Unmoving, fingers still locked with yours, eyes tracing the bites he’s left all over your shoulders, the hickeys he sucked into your spine, his cock soft and tucked between the press of your thighs.

Eventually, he has the sense of mind to roll you onto your back, to check on you and make sure you didn’t smother yourself in his bed out of embarrassment or frustration.

When he’s greeted with a lazy, satisfied smile and sleepy eyes, he falls in love with you in a whole new way. Kisses you sweet and gets you a cup of water, drags you to the bath and washes you down. You’re pliant, malleable, clingy in the way you drag him to your bed instead of his because you don’t want to wait for him to change the sheets, how you ignore his complaints about going back to bed so early in the morning with a half-hearted promise that it will just be a short nap.

It’s like a dream, your body draped over his, the even puff of your breaths over his skin, things he shouldn’t know, things he can’t live without now.

He kisses you in your sleep because he can, because he shouldn’t.

–

Kei graduating is supposed to be a good thing.

But he’s grumpy, muttering to himself about how annoying all of the parties will be, dreading even weeks in advance the long lineup of his plans, friends wanting to drag him to bars and family wanting you to come home and visit.

You’re starting to get annoyed with it, the sigh he lets out every time his phone chimes, the perpetual heavy set to his brow, prickly like the cactus sitting in your windowsill.

“Hoshino wants to get dinner tonight.” You drawl, leaning against the doorway with your arms loosely crossed. He’s at his desk, scowling at nothing, like it’s become his resting face ever since getting his degree and being accepted at his desired position at Sendai’s museum.

“Have fun.” He mumbles, not even looking away from his screen.

“With both of us.” You clarify, tugging your phone out of your–his– jacket pocket and sending a text that politely declines, vaguely amused when she immediately responds that she knew he’d say no.

“Not going.”

It’s not ideal, but he’s unintentionally given you a clear trump card for situations like this. Voice lilting high, you turn so your back is to him, carrying down the hall as you call back to him “Fine, then I’ll go on a date with her myself while you sit here and sulk. Alone.”

The harsh screech of his chair as it rolls against lacquered wood might be enough to make you smile, if you didn’t know that you’re now seconds away from a very tall, angry man grabbing at you.

You dart into the kitchen, but he’s quick behind you, and though you duck to the side to dodge his grip as he stumbles, his arm comes around your waist just before he falls back onto the couch, dragging you with him.

“What's this?” He hisses, tucking you into his side and twisting, half leaned over you with his arm beneath your neck to keep you propped up. “Where’d that fucking attitude come from? Who pissed you off?”

“You did, you idiot!” You snap, squirming beneath him even knowing there’s no way you get out, not unless he wants to let you go.

His eyes flash, something dark, but it only lasts as long as it takes for him to hook one of your legs around his shoulder, splitting you wide as he yanks up the thick material of his hoodie, finding you bare and already a little slick.

“Look at you.” He breathes, wanting to be mocking but wanton instead. “What did I tell you about walking around with nothing on underneath my clothes?”

“You told me to stop.” You murmur, lifting your hips to make room for him as he settles between your thighs. “But it seemed contradictory when you fucked me over the counter because of it.”

He bites at your hip once in warning, his eyes thinned with a dangerous glint that makes you bold, long since learned what he likes, when he likes it.

He wants you sweet, but he doesn’t get sweet with the sulky way he’s been huffing and puffing ever since he was forced to be social for a change.

You split easily around the heat of his tongue, a long and slow lick like he’s missed you, and with the way he sighs out his tension and melts, you coo and run your fingers through his hair.

“Look at you.” You tease, echoing him. “What, was this all you wanted? So easy.”

His eyes roll, toyed with by the cloying sugar of your voice, nose pressing into your clit while he fucks into you with his tongue. Frustrated, now, poked and prodded at until he’s raw and sensitive, the way you egg him on threatens to pull him from the sweetness he’d almost slipped to. You make it easy to be soft, he could almost lose himself like this if you would stop running your mouth long enough to let him.

Until the sharp chime from your phone rings through the air, and he stills against you, eyes wide as you curse and tug it free from the pocket of his hoodie.

He knows who it is by the way you choke, the way your knees instinctively attempt to snap shut around him like you’ve just been caught doing something bad.

“Hey, mom.” Your voice is weak, surprisingly timid in a way he hasn’t heard in years, and the taste of you in his mouth suddenly feels stifling.

“Hi, sweetie.” She sighs, a happy little noise that chips away at you. “Kei hasn’t texted me back yet, I just wanted to make sure you’re both still coming home for the weekend?”

He moves, deeper, watching your face for careful signs that you’re about to get seriously mad, but you only flutter your lashes and bite on your lip to keep quiet, so he drags his tongue up to your clit and suckles on it, enamored with the way you try so hard to keep yourself composed.

“He’s–” You choke, head falling back and he doesn’t like it, wants to see you, wants you both fully present in this sick moment where you’re crossing, even still, one more boundary that had been left unsullied. “ –being a brat, but yes we’re still coming.” You try to glare at him, but it’s diluted by the swell of your lips as they part, tempered with the molten desire in your eyes that only he gets to see.

It’s wrong, so fucking wrong, but he pulls himself away from the inviting heat of your pussy and leans back on his knees, fingers fumbling with the button on his jeans as your eyes go wide. Your arm shoots out, fingers splayed wide over his abdomen to keep him pushed back, but he growls low in his throat and bats you aside to shuffle forward on his knees, keeping you spread around him.

“You’re both so alike.” She teases, playful, and it only makes what you’re doing even worse. “I’m glad you two have been getting along, Akiteru and I worried that putting you in the same space for more than a month would just cause another fight.”

You nearly whimper when the head of his cock slips against your slit, grinding hard until it comes away sticky, shiny, and when you look up at him expecting something mean and cruel, you feel tilted on your axis at the love on his face.

He lowers himself to you, mouth finding yours as he sinks home.

“It’s ‘cause I keep him in line.” You croak against his lips, feeling them curve into a smile, like he knows better as he stirs you up from the inside. “He’s a mess without me here, can barely–” You choke on an airy moan when he lifts you up, the firm press his cock hitting you so right it almost makes you sob. Eyes on him, you breathe– “he can barely even function without me, you should see him mom, grumpy all the time just like when he was a teenager.”

His eyes shadow, mean little smile on his lips that lets you know you have a very short window to end this call before something happens that you can’t come back from, though you’re already well past that precipice.

She laughs, a pretty sound that makes you tighten up with guilt, and he stifles a moan against your shoulder because even your guilt feels good for him. “He’s there with you right now, isn’t he?” She sighs, fond and wistful. “You only talk like that when you’re trying to make him mad, I’m glad to see the city hasn’t changed you too much.”

He covers your mouth with his palm, taking the phone from you with the other and leaning back, fucking into you with hard bucks of his hips that make your eyes shine, slow enough though that the sound of your skin on his can’t be heard through the phone.

“She’s just mad that I don’t want to go to dinner with her friends.” He huffs, dismissive, almost, if not for the wild way he watches you, fingers digging into your cheeks to squeeze at your mouth, though it does little in the way of actually keeping you quiet.

Your eyes roll back, nails clawing at the hand keeping you covered, and he watches with a twisted sense of awe at how you writhe so nice beneath him even knowing that your mom is on the other end of the line.

Though, he’s no better with the way he batters your poor pussy with thrusts that get harder and harder as his composure slips.

You can’t hear the rest of the conversation, it blurs, and you only realize that he’s hung up the phone when he tosses it carelessly on the coffee table and then lowers himself down to you once more, back bowed so he can kiss you and lick your mouth open, prying your lips apart to swallow down your first blissful cry.

“There you are.” He coos, saccharine when you wind your arms around his neck and try to squeeze him closer. “That’s my girl, missed you so much, love when you’re sweet for me like this.”

He wants to tease you, to play with you, to take his frustrations out on you with all of his pent up stress accumulating over each forced social interaction.

But then you whine at him, big watery eyes and kiss-bruised lips how he likes. “Love you.” You whimper, and his legs buckle. “Love you so much, Kei.”

He hates you.

His arms wrap around you, falling back to pull you into his lap so he can thrust up into you languidly, cupping the back of your head with a greedy palm. “I know, baby.” He breathes, honey in his eyes. “I love you too, fuck.”

“My favorite?” You ask, like it’s not your decision, but he groans low with it and nods, the tip of your nose brushing over his.

“Yeah, baby. I’m your favorite, who else are you gonna fuck on the phone like that?” He shouldn’t, he knows, shouldn’t use what just happened and make it even worse, even weirder, the thought of mom knowing what was going on makes him genuinely sick.

But, just as twisted as he is, your pretty little cunt tightens up around him so much that he knows you like it.

He’s already going to hell, god he might as well at least make the trip worth it.

“My pretty girl.” He murmurs, deceptively sweet, rolling his hips slow the way you like when he’s soft, like he’s loving you, and you take him so fucking well. Every time, no matter how he gives it to you, like you were made–

Kei groans loud, back arched as a traitorous thought flits across his mind and then burns itself there, unbidden, sticky. He squeezes you by the hips, plush, skin soft against his rough palms, and as he looks up at you to find you watching him with those glassy eyes and parted lips, he can’t help but tell you.

“You were made for me.” He says it so softly, seriously, watching your face twist up as you cry out, but he keeps going. “Made for my cock, for me to fuck you, made for me to fucking love you like this. She made you for me.”

It’s a shock to you both when you tip over the edge, so sudden that he’s left scrambling to fuck you through it, breathless and wide-eyed at how you sob for him. You cling to his neck, mewling and whimpering as you cover his cheeks and jaw and neck in wet, open-mouthed kisses, choking out his name and squeezing him so tight it almost forces him to cum along with you.

“Oh, you like it that much?” He spreads his legs further apart, flushed to his chest with the force he pushes into each hard thrust, so fucking in love that it makes him sick. “Like hearing about how you were made to be fucked by me?”

You claw at him, lips at his ear, voice so slurred and sweet that he feels dizzy. “You too.” You pant, red streaks left in the wake of your nails. “Made for me, made to make me feel good, you feel so good.”

He flushes beautifully beneath your praise, more willing to accept it now than he used to be, now able to cling to you and fuck you how he likes, chasing his own pleasure with your name at the tip of his tongue.

To help him through it, you continue to babble all sorts of sugar and sticky taffy-like things to push him over the edge, he hates it, he loves when you talk to him, loves even more when you try to talk around the feeling of his cock bullying into your drooling slit.

“You’re in my fucking throat.” You croak out, raspy, swallowing the mouthful of saliva that nearly chokes you when he ducks down to nose his way beneath the bunched up fabric of your hoodie, his tongue dragging hot between your breasts.

“Don’t tempt me.” He mutters, teeth in your skin, scraping raw until you gasp and arch further into him. “Just wanna stay here, right where I’m meant to be.” He circles his hips teasingly, the too-loud squelch of his cock as it fucks into you is obscene enough that you while, trying to cover your face while he laughs. Despite clearly being on the brink, he still finds the breadth of mind to taunt you.

You crane your head back, panting hard as you ride the thick of him as best you can, fingers curling against his nape, clutching his head to your chest while he mouths at you, marks you. “Kei, fuck, c’mon.” You’re whining now, a little pathetic, but you’ve made him feel so good that he doesn’t mock you for it, doesn’t tease you, just curls his arm around your waist for better leverage with which to fuck you, lifting you and using your weight to shove you back down onto his cock, over and over, the muscles in his arms tense, sweat slick on his skin. Kei uses you shamelessly to get himself off, stroking with the clench of your pussy until he finally tips over the edge, and he groans your name with a touch of ardor while he spills.

It always feels too hot inside of you, thick, made sweeter by the fact that it doesn’t belong, but he acts like it does. He’ll watch, heavy-lidded, as it seeps out, then use the head of his cock to shove it back in, or his fingers if he’s too sensitive to bear it. Every time.

“Just like that, baby.” He murmurs, sleepy eyes glued to where his cum begins to drip down, hips rolling in stilted little circles to push it up into you before it gets too far. “There we go, shh, I’m almost done.”

He lets you curl into him, rubbing your sweaty back beneath his hoodie, and then helping you pull it off when you still can’t cool down. Naked, sprawled in his lap, he kisses your shoulders and murmurs apologies for being so grouchy in between each one.

You try not to feel too vindicated knowing he just needed to get his dick wet to chill out.

After the high fades, though, you’re both left thinking about the phone call, shame curdled low and coiling nausea making you wince.

He cups your face, thumb feathering over your lips. “We shouldn’t do that again.” He sighs, gritted and a little pained. “We can’t risk her finding out. That was dangerous.”

You duck your head with a touch of something shy, spread wide and shockingly vulnerable, and his eyes widen at the uncertainty on your face. “Shouldn’t…do what? All of it?” You ask, hesitant, like you’re trying to give as little of yourself away as possible.

But Kei is attentive, he’s paid more attention to you than anyone, knows you better than anyone.

He laughs, playful, eyes gleaming gold as he kisses you on the mouth. “What, worried I won’t fuck you anymore?” He coos, as the familiar edge of defiance flares bright on your face. “Worried your favorite brother isn’t gonna stuff you with his cock every day?”

“You are such a dick!” You push yourself off of his lap, shaky legs carrying you to the bathroom where he’s quick to follow.

You let him drag you into the shower, chest to your back as he wraps his arms loose ‘round you and tucks his face in close, cradling you with his body blocking the cold spray from hitting you.

It’s hard to stifle your grin when he shudders, groaning quietly but suffering through it anyway while the water warms up, his hands stroking up and down your thighs, just touching you.

“Do you want it to stop?” He asks, lips against your throat, mouthing at your pulse to feel the way it jumps. “We will, if you want. No questions asked.”

It would break him, god. To finally crack through all of those barriers and know you the way he does, it would kill him to have to pretend to love you any less, to love you differently than the way he feels he was made to. You shake your head, words locked in a tiny box between your lungs, heart aching at the thought of losing what you have with him.

“Good.” He sighs out, a heavy exhale so thick with relief it makes your cheeks burn.

Once the water is warm, he turns so that you’re beneath the spray, tilting your head back so it doesn’t get in your eyes and letting it soak through your hair. You watch him through lashes tipped with crystalline droplets, the way he lathers your soap between his hands to scrub into your scalp, sliding down the back of your neck to squeeze, cupped palm dragging upwards in a slow stroke that makes you moan, soft and breathy.

He’s obscene when he washes the rest of you, on his knees in front of you so that you keep the water from hitting his face, free to look up at you while he takes the loofah to your legs first, greedy hands gliding up your calves along the way as he presses his mouth to your cunt.

You try to shy away, sensitive and still sticky with his cum, but he chases you. Gentle, though, barely any pressure as he moves to scrub down your other leg, then your thighs, and when he gets to your back he keeps both arms locked at the small of it to hold you in place while he laps at you with his tongue.

His eyes flutter open when you move a hand down to cup around his cheek, your fingers brushing the wet hair from his face so you can see him better.

He smiles up at you, a faint, drunken sort of thing, hearts in his eyes that he would surely be hiding if he knew they were there. When you pull, he goes, standing over you and letting you wash his hair before the water runs cold.

But he’s clingier, after that. Dragging you half-dried into bed, back to grumbling about upcoming dinner plans but doing it with his face buried against your stomach while he lays sprawled between your legs, your arms draped over the backs of his shoulders so you can scroll through your phone while cuddling with him.

When Akiteru calls later in the evening, you sit on opposite ends of the bed, flushed and prickly and defensive as you both simmer in the embarrassment of the earlier call with your mother.

It’s hard, but you’ve already accepted the notion of being this way forever, you’ll adjust, you’ll learn to deal with it.

It’s a decision made easy, next to no hesitation as Kei makes dinner with you tucked against his chest, ignoring the way you complain about personal space. You sway with him, and he lets you, sets the table with you and then eats with you in his lap because he’s sick with it and just wants to feel you close, so much so that he’s willing to endure the relentless brunt of your teasing.

And that’s what makes it so easy, to choose him despite it all. The way he loves you is so unlike any other kind of love you’ve known, and you have no interest in trying to find anything like it in someone else.

–

Still, sometimes you have to wonder at yourself, because your first visit back home is going terribly.

Kaoruko had wanted to meet up when she heard you were back in town, which Kei was not happy about, so your first actual day of the visit consisted of you catching up with high-school friends that had stayed in Miyagi. Kei waits at home with Akiteru and mom, mildly irritated knowing who you’re with but ultimately just wanting you to come back. He’s used to this brand of jealousy thanks to the influx of your popularity at college, he can deal with it.

What he can’t seem to deal with, however, is the way you hang off of Akiteru once you’re back home.

In your defense, you always have, he just couldn’t complain about it before. You sit pressed against Akiteru’s side, tucked into his arm while you listen with bright and sparkly eyes as he recounts how Saeko’s pregnancy is going, how she’s due in only a month and he gets all misty-eyed just at the thought of it.

You tease him, bump him with your head, pinch his cheeks until he’s laughing and trying to shy away, only to be chased as you lean over him to continue your assault.

Kei is livid, jaw gritted so hard his ears pop, that old, quiet monster back on his shoulder and seething.

Then you make dinner with mom, and he has to watch as Akiteru catches you from behind in a hug, nuzzling your shoulder with a happy little sigh that makes him sick.

He knows it’s not fair, knows that there’s no reason to be jealous when he’s the only brother fucked up enough to feel this way about you, he even knows that you don’t have a smidge of those fucked up feelings towards Akiteru.

But it feels different. Seeing his brother, your brother, wrap himself around you like he does, tall and broad with arms looped around your waist to hold you the way he wants to. It’s making him crazy, irrational.

It’s an effort to keep it contained, to mom and Akiteru he probably just looks normal, passively disinterested, even a little grumpy from the long car ride.

You know better, though, by now.

So you really aren’t all that surprised when, late after everyone else has gone to bed, Kei sneaks into your room.

You know it’s him by the click of your door, the type of quiet that's like he doesn’t want to get caught, not like he doesn’t want to wake you. You’re curled up on your side, facing the wall, tucked in beneath familiar sheets that are strange against your skin now.

His hesitation is palpable, where he stands at the edge of your bed, resistance a physical thing holding him back. A knee presses down on your mattress, a hand hovering just above your shoulder.

“Miss me that much?” You muse, featherlight in the cursed quiet of your childhood bedroom.

It would be an unforgivable sin, to indulge in him here, to let him indulge in you. You’ve already racked up so many, and are sure to collect even more as you live the rest of your life with him, so you turn for him easily, a growl muffled against your lips when he kisses you so hard that your teeth click together.

He doesn’t stretch you open on teasing fingers, tonight. Doesn’t stroke you with his tongue and build your arousal until you’re crying, instead he hurriedly fumbles with the waistband of his pants and shucks them down to his knees, dragging you to him by your hips and scowling when he sees that you’re still fully dressed. He’s gotten too used to you being half-naked for him at home nearly all the time.

“Off.” He mutters, pulling at the buttons of your shirt while you shimmy out of your shorts. You tremble a little when his hands ghost up your ribcage, long fingers curving around your sides to touch as much of you as possible.

His cock hangs heavy between you, already sticky at the tip and dripping. After cursing quietly and rifling through his pockets, leaned over you with his head on your shoulder, you hear the small crack of a plastic container, and something cold drips down onto your cunt.

Your back arches sharply, a heavy hand clamping over your mouth at the last second to stifle your yelp.

“Shut up.” He knees your thighs further apart before his fingers slip into the slick pooling between your legs, working them into you with such little patience you can’t help but stutter out a disbelieving laugh.

Kei really doesn’t like that. “Didn’t you hear me?” He hisses, a gritty whisper. “I said shut up, you want someone to hear you?” He spreads his fingers apart, wide, a stretch that burns. “Are you hoping Akiteru will come help you? Think he’s gonna fuck you better than I do?”

“No.” You rasp, rolling your hips and reaching to kiss along his throat, squeezing him tight. “Nobody can.”

He’s clearly not expecting that. So used to your snark and attitude, the unabashed honesty throws him off.

He slows, furrow in his brow loose, blinking down at you like he’s just now seeing you clearly. “Yeah?” He breathes. “Nobody?”

You shake your head, hands curved around the sides of his neck, fingers interlaced over the nape. “Made for me.” You remind him, voice small. “Made to make me feel good, nobody fucks me like you.”

He shudders, pulling his fingers out of you despite the way you wriggle and squirm in protest, tugging the pillow out from under your head and shoving it beneath your hips to prop you up. You whine, a muffled complaint that he knocks out of you by grinding the length of his cock against your pretty slit. “That’s right, baby.” He murmurs, softened by your sweetness. “You’re right, how could I forget?”

He strokes your cheek with his knuckles, waiting until he hears you begin to exhale before pushing into you in time with your breath.

You choke on it, squeezing and scratching at his back as you whine and writhe beneath him, feeling every inch push into you so rough it makes your eyes burn.

“I was made to fuck your little cunt.” He sighs, buried to the hilt and lax, rolling his head back on his shoulders before letting it fall to take a look at you, the sight of you sprawled out over familiar sheets and glassy-eyed, lips parted like you want him to kiss you. “Go on, say it again, keep telling me how much you fucking love my cock.”

“Kei.” You’re whining, twisting your head to the side to hide your face in your sheets, but he tsks softly and fucks his hips forward once, just to make your lashes flutter and watch how you try to focus on keeping quiet.

Better than you focusing on trying to hide yourself from him.

He wants to go faster, wants to fold you up and bury himself into you until you’re crying beneath him, but your fucking bed creaks if he moves too quickly. He’s forced to take it slow, to roll his hips steady between your parted thighs and hope he can keep up with his shitty self control.

“I can’t wait to get home.” He groans, thumb pressing down on your clit, loose, sloppy circles that coax you into rocking up against him to make him hit it right. “Miss our bed, our shower, miss being able to touch and kiss you however I want.” You whine, squeeze him suddenly, tight, and he chokes on air when it nearly forces him clean out of you.

His head lifts, finding you pouting at him with pretty, teary eyes, and he grins. “What?” He teases, shoving himself back in and ignoring the way it snaps your bed frame into the wall, a crack that makes you flinch. “Am I not fucking you good enough? Unless you want someone to wake up and hear you, this is all you’re getting tonight.”

“More.” You murmur, velvety as a feather, bucking your hips up. “Not enough, need more, Kei.”

“Oh.” He coos, hiking your legs up a little higher to help you grind against him. “So greedy, that’s my baby sister. Only greedy for me, right?”

Your face screws up, flush with shame and sick at the way it makes you ripple with pleasure. He tries to give in, tries to go faster for you, but you both wince at the way your headboard smacks into the wall.

“Fuck this.” He hisses, and you bite back a shocked little yelp when he pulls you off of the bed. Your knees hit the carpet and drag, pushed forward when he bends you down and leans your chest towards the floor. Hand heavy between your shoulder blades, you moan low and hoarse when he pushes back inside of you.

Now he fucks you, free hand muffling his own mouth as he locks his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, cock raw as he carves out its shape inside of you, branding you with it. Your knees burn, forced forward along the carpet with every angry thrust, until he has to brace his arms above your shoulders to keep you from getting too far away. He yanks you back onto him with a curse, like it isn’t his fault you were moving so much to begin with.

“This better, baby?” He gasps, dropping one arm to wrap it around your waist, jerking you back against him when your knees start to spread too far. “Feel good? Got what you wanted?”

“More.” You whine when he strokes at your clit, rolling it between slick fingers until he can feel you start to convulse around him, sucking him in so hard that he has to try to pull out. Your voice pitches higher, and he has to scramble for something to shove against your mouth. The corner of your blanket makes due, he pulls you back by your hair and presses the thick cotton over your mouth, stifling the ragged moan that breaks free from the bottom of your throat.

“Holy fuck.” He breathes, slowed almost to a stop until you actually start to raise your voice, something desperate and keen and he groans as he fucks you back into the floor, pressing you down until only your hips are held up, bruising in his hands. “So noisy.” Mocking you, even though he’s losing control too, uncaring of how harshly loud the slap of his hips against your ass is.

You sob into the blanket, bunching it up within your arms so you can bury your face into it solidly, hot and sweaty but blissful because you can finally stop choking on your own voice.

Blindly, you try to reach for him, one hand patting at the floor until he notices, and he’s quick to lace his fingers with yours, trembling, his pace beginning to stutter. He loses his rhythm, bowed low over you to press in as close as he can, forcing your legs to spread just a little more around him.

“Kei.”

He squeezes you, muffling a ragged noise against the space between your shoulder blades. “I know, sweet girl.” He husks, thick and a little slurred, struggling to speak clearly through the promising swell of his orgasm. He twitches, throbs against the tight clench of your cunt and he starts to whine the closer he gets. Higher pitched, pretty.

You’re all twisted up, bent to his whims and overwhelmed with all of the sensations. Carpet scorching your knees, desperate hands that grab at you, that stroke you until you’re blurry in the eyes and almost drooling.

It’s too much, all of it. More than the position, the way he handles you, the way he uses you and makes you use him in return. It’s the bedroom, the memories that come along with it, the knowledge that a few rooms away your mother is asleep in her bed, blissfully–hopefully–unaware of what’s happening between her two youngest.

“‘m gonna cum.” You whisper, a gravelly sound, forced out through the squeeze of your throat as you try to remember to breathe.

Kei sighs at you, almost like you’re inconveniencing him with your stamina. “So?” He breathes, trying for cocky and failing, thrusting forward to meet you when you begin to rock back against him in earnest. “Wh–fuck–what do you want me to do about it? Want me to make you cum, baby?”

You nod, desperately, almost unable to even open your mouth and try to plead for more. You’re wound so tightly, so close, so on the brink and focused on trying not to scream that you can’t hold it anymore.

“Just this once.” He warns you, a lie. “To prove that I deserve this fucking cunt, I’ll make you cum without you having to beg for it. How nice am I?”

Your mouth drops open, sucking in a cold breath that feels like frost against your tongue, and your ragged “so nice, Kei, the nicest,” makes him want to kiss you.

“Again, baby.” He rasps, closer, hips snapping so hard into you that you’re sure someone will hear, and you just can’t even care about it anymore. “Say it again, tell me how fucking good I am to you.”

“So good!” You sob, words choked out barely a second before you cum, and then you’re babbling with his hand hastily slapping over your mouth. “Kei, Kei! You’re so good, love you, love you please don’t stop feelssogood–”

He’s completely silent when he cums, battering the sore silk of your pussy with his cock as he fills you again, wrong that feels more than right, teeth gritted so hard that his head begins to hurt, but needing to keep his voice locked away or he’s sure he’s going to be just as bad as you are. He stays buried to the hilt, keeping you full of him and blanketing you with his weight, and you seem all the more pleased for it even though he must be blistering hot against your sweaty skin.

You’re both panting heavily by the time he’s done, shaking, suddenly swallowed up by the pale colors of your old bedroom. Old pictures, stuffed animals lining shelves on the walls, a horrible dichotomy to the sin dripping between your thighs, the way it’s your brother who pushes it back into you with careful fingers, the way he pulls you into his arms to kiss you and whisper that he loves you.

Sheets sullied with you, you let him lift you up onto the bed, let him wipe you down and then crawl in beside you. He doesn’t stay the whole night, knowing that he can’t afford to be seen coming out of your room so early in the morning, but needing to hold you just a little while.

You kiss him goodbye and scoot far over to the other end of your bed, sore and sensitive legs pressed against your wall so the plaster can cool them down. You fall asleep like that, curled into the corner with the scent of Kei still heavy on your clothes, the taste of him still honey on your tongue.

–

Mom almost causes another quiet meltdown in Kei.

When you go downstairs the next morning, she’s appalled at the raw and inflamed state of your knees. You wave her off, telling her you just skidded too hard over your carpet after slipping, but the severity of how agitated your skin is makes her worry.

And if she’s worried, Akiteru is doubly worried.

“Just let me do it!” He insists, kneeling on the floor in front of you with a bottle of burn cream in his hands. Kei is trying his absolute hardest not to look as murderous as he feels, and you’re trying to deescalate a situation that will end with your brother breaking your back once he gets you home.

“It’s fine, Akiteru.” You try to take the bottle from him to do it yourself, but his arms are long and gangly and he holds it away from you with ease. “I can do it myself! You’re too rough with this kind of stuff!” You whine. “Remember when you wanted to clean the cut Kei got at the beach in Okinawa, and you just ripped off the band-aid?”

“It’s better if it’s quick!” He insists, brown eyes wide and puppy-like.

“Not for an open wound like that! He has a scar!” You try to stand up, to lean over him and snatch the bottle, but Kei gets to it first.

“I’ll do it.”

You and Akiteru freeze, your elbow pressing into his cheek to keep him down while you reach for his hand, the one that is now empty and still suspended in mid air. Kei looks at the bottle, disinterest clear on his face, and rolls it around in his palm.

“What? No!” It slips out without thinking, a panicked rejection that barely manages to pass as normal.

His eyes narrow, and you try to muster up a scowl. “I can do it myself, Kei.”

His brow ticks, a scowl that mirrors yours, but sharper. “Stop being stubborn, what if it gets infected?”

And who’s fault would that be?

You don’t say it, chewing on the inside of your cheek to swallow the retort and lean back, straightening your leg out to point in his direction. “Fine.” You huff, arms crossed with a pillow held against your chest. “Hurry up, and don’t use too much! That stuff is really cakey.”

It’s impossible to keep your face composed when Kei kneels in front of you, and despite the angry pinch to his face, his hands are tentative as they bring your leg up, a palm braced just at the bend of your knee to keep it suspended while he gently dabs a thick dollop of cream onto your ankle.

He spreads it all the way up from there to your knee, he doesn’t touch where your skin is dry and is careful to keep the stroke of his fingertips light as he pats the ointment in. You try not to stare, amazed at how he can so easily appear disinterested when you can feel the tension in his hands, the way his touch lingers longer than it should.

“You’re so gentle with her now.” Mom hums, leaning against the back of the couch to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“She’s hurt.” Is all he says, a shock to you and Akiteru more than her. Mom just smiles at him, pretty eyes sparkling like honey, before going back to the kitchen to finish breakfast and leaving you to your embarrassment.

Akiteru stays until Kei is almost finished with your second leg, watching with a soft, doting smile, marveling at the way his little siblings have changed. You’re still shy, a little awkward in a way you only ever are with him, and he’s as grumpy as ever, but softened only when he’s with you.

He thinks it’s sweet that you’ve been like that since you were children, used to joke that you were Kei’s first love. A funny memory, something he’ll bring out at Christmas to tease him with, never knowing how deeply his words would cut, more and more every year.

The moment Akiteru leaves, Kei is kissing you.

Quick, chaste and a little regretful, his brow is furrowed when he pulls back and returns his attention to your knee. “Sorry, for this. I didn’t think it would be so bad.”

“I don’t think you were thinking at all.” You muse, head tilted in feigned thoughtfulness.

He glares at you, swatting at the back of your leg where it isn’t rubbed raw and jerking back when you try to kick him, a half-smirk curled at his lips that falls just as fast when the front door opens.

You give him a wry smile at his heavy, exasperated sigh. Back to socializing, back to trying to be normal.

–

You don’t make it onto the road until it’s already late, a last minute party put together by your mom with all of your old friends, though Kei is less excited to see his than you are to see yours.

He can tell the moment you’re ready to go, though. When your usually boundless supply of energy is nearly fully tapped, he pulls aside Akiteru to let him know that he’s taking you home, and then you’re being crowded with hugs when the news is passed around.

It’s sweet, but you’re tired, and feeling a little oversensitive with the pain in your knees and the abundance of noise over the course of the night.

Your travel bag already tucked into his trunk, phone and charger in hand, you hug your mom and Akiteru goodbye before Kei finally manages to haul you into the passenger seat, your steps sluggish and your body weighed down with fatigue.

He makes it about two blocks away before pulling over to the side of the road and kissing you, swallowing your laughter with a discontent noise, hands squeezing the sides of your neck with the faintest pressure, just needing to hold you, needing to have his hands on you.

“You’re so fucked up, Kei.” You murmur against his lips, knowing you’re just as bad. “Told me the day we left that you weren’t gonna put hands on me while we were here, cause you didn’t wanna get caught.”

“Shut up.” He nips at you with the gentle cut of teeth, drawing you in by your neck until you’re nearly leaning into his seat. “God, I can’t do that again.” Then, so much softer, “you spoiled me.”

He kisses you for several long, long minutes. Tilting your head as he wants, molding the shape of your mouth to his, a heat that simmers but does not boil over.

During the rest of the drive, he keeps a hand steady on your thigh, your fingers curled in the spaces between his while you doze off against the window. Occasionally, during a red light, he’ll lean to the side and bring your knuckles to his lips, a ghost of a reverent touch that you miss in your sleep.

You don’t really come to until you’re already back in bed, the mattress dipping beneath the added weight of Kei as he crawls in with you, hair still a little damp from a shower.

“How long was I out?” You rasp, sliding your hands across the width of his shoulders to coax him into your arms, a position he takes eagerly with a relieved groan, wrapping himself around you and pressing his face into your chest.

“A few hours.” He mumbles, nuzzling closer. “Shhh baby don’t move, go back to sleep.” His hand cups the back of your neck, cheek to your chest so he can peer up at you, eyes half-lidded and murky.

You whine out his name, but he presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat and shushes you again, stroking over the curve of your jaw with his knuckles, achingly tender even though he’d been so willing to be brutal just last night.

But he’ll take care of you tomorrow, and every day after if you’d let him.

Maybe it’s wrong. You’ll have to keep your relationship a secret and that will come with its own problems, and part of you dreads it, this place you’ve gone to that you’ll never come back from.

But then he ghosts his hand from your jaw down over your side, fingertips drawing a path down the length of your body to hook beneath your knee, gently hiking it up over his hip so you can tip forward, half on your stomach and leaning your weight into him. Comfortable, warm as he sighs and presses a kiss to whatever inch of skin he can reach. He’s just on the cusp of drifting off, and he’s pulled you into your favorite position to sleep as if it’s by habit.

And so easily, Kei reminds you that he loves you.

He loves you in every way that he knows you, and he knows you in so many ways that he shouldn’t.

And as you cuddle close, you settle comfortably with the thought that you were never meant to be loved any other way.

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #so here it is #kind of...filthy LOL #also kind of abrupt #like i said i just kept writing #and i realized i NEEDED to stop bc yeah...#54k words...#so i just had to pick a place and finish it LOL #immediately working on the next one...#well I'm working on 2 at the same time #Oikawa...and one for kyoutani #also an iwaoi x reader #im really excited about that one i just finished the outline yesterday

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