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“Carla, dim the lights.”
The shadows in the room lengthen, and Kojiro adjusts the pillow he’d landed against when Kaoru had shoved him down on the bed with surprising force.
“Don’t get to comfortable,” Kaoru tells him, scowling.
It’s not the first time they’ve had this same argument. Kojiro will make some offhand comment about how the way Kaoru talks about his little gadget is creepy--because it is, damn it!--and Kaoru will snap back about how Kojiro has no room to talk considering his particular vices. Which is Kaoru-ese for hookups. Then Kojiro will insist for the hundredth time that it is not the same thing at all, and the same old pattern repeats.
Only this time Kojiro had included something about how a computer can’t do for you what a real girl can, and Kaoru had shot back, horrifyingly, “Don’t be so sure about that.”
And that, he supposes, is how he finds himself pinned by Kaoru’s glare--the kind that’s more for show than related to actual anger. It’s kind of hot, actually. But if he said that out loud, he would get the actual anger.
“The upper restraints, please, Carla.”
Kojiro blurts an incredulous “WHAT?!” at the same time that Carla chimes in with the usual Yes, Master, and there is a click and a brief humming as small panels on either side of the headboard slide open. Kojiro can’t remember how to close his mouth the whole time Kaoru is pulling a metal ring attached to a sleek black cord from the panel on the right, clipping a leather cuff to it, and securing it to Kojiro’s wrist.
“What in the actual fuck,” is all he can think to say.
Kaoru raises an eyebrow as he strides to the other side of the bed to attach an identical cuff there. “What were you expecting?”
“I dunno...” Kojiro scratches at his head, only to have his hand snatched with frankly unnecessary force so Kaoru can wrap the other cuff around his wrist. “Like maybe you’d have it play porn or talk to you in a sexy voice or something.
Kaoru is scowling so hard when he climbs onto the bed that Kojiro can only be grateful that he’s lying down right now, because he’s certain Kaoru would be kicking his knees in otherwise. “She is not an it. And any cheap phone can play videos. Just because you have no imagination--”
“No imagination?! I don’t want to hear that from someone who lives his entire life by numbers!”
“Carla, secure.” Instantly, the extra slack in the cords reels back into the panels, and with a click, Kojiro’s wrists are pinned fast against the headboard. He tugs and finds no give at all. He tries not to sweat as Kaoru moves to straddle his hips, fire burning behind golden eyes. “You are going to learn some goddamn respect.”
Even the way Kaoru kisses manages to seem like a threat sometimes, teeth grazing over Kojiro’s lips often enough to remind him that the slightest transgression could lead to blood being drawn at any moment. Kojiro has very little recourse, since in this restrained state he can’t very well grab Kaoru by the hair and pull him off the way he’s had to at times. Maybe he should have argued before letting Kaoru bind his wrists.
But he doesn’t particularly feel like complaining right now. Not with Kaoru pulling his already-open shirt open even further to knead hungrily at his pecs. It makes him smirk into the kiss, a little smug in the way he always is when Kaoru makes it this apparent that all those frequent complaints about Kojiro’s big stupid overgrown body are nothing but talk. Kaoru loves this.
As if sensing what he’s thinking, Kaoru chooses that moment to tweak both of Kojiro’s nipples hard, making Kojiro break the kiss to throw his head to the side and groan breathlessly.
“And you say I’m the masochist.” Kaoru looks supremely pleased with himself.
“You are--” Before he can finish, Kaoru bites into his collarbone with such sudden force that an embarrassingly high-pitched whine escapes Kojiro’s throat. “Okay, okay! Point taken.”
Not that it’s the pain, exactly, that Kojiro is after. As ever, it’s that molten heat smoldering behind Kaoru’s eyes, incandescent. It’s the part of Kaoru that is far more wild than his usual calculated exterior would suggest, and everything that comes with it.
So he doesn’t complain, doesn’t even ask questions, when Kaoru climbs off of him to retrieve a black case from the closet, roughly the size of a shoe box, but made of sturdy metal with a matte finish. This gets set aside on the bed as Kaoru begins to undress, which makes Kojiro’s heart twinge. He was hoping to get to be the one to do that today, to slowly slide the fabric away to reveal every smooth curve of lean muscle bit by bit... but the best he can do is crane his head to see as much of the show as he can. The pale column of his neck, the slender waist meeting the impressive swell of his ass, the elegance with which those long, powerful legs step out of his clothes... it has Kojiro shifting and fidgeting impatiently on the bed.
Everything of Kaoru’s gets put away in the closet with tender care. Such a striking contrast to the way he carelessly pulls off Kojiro’s pants and underwear in one rough tug and flings them carelessly to the floor once he returns to the bed.
“You’re quiet for once,” Kaoru muses. He probably means for it to sound pointed, but Kojiro can see it for the check-in that it is.
“Kinda still trying to process you having bondage gear built into your bed,” he replies with a laugh. A confirmation that he’s not looking to tap out, however much he’s dying to touch Kaoru’s skin right now.
“It’s convenient, that’s all.”
“Convenient,” Kojiro echoes faintly, watching Kaoru press his thumb to a glassy panel on the front of that black case. For a moment, the seam glows neon pink. Kojiro can’t tell what the locking mechanism could be--there’s nothing visible on the outside, and it makes no noise--but the lid lifts easily for Kaoru. He plucks out a pair of silicon-covered nipple clamps with round, dangling weights hanging off of them, and clicks the case shut again before Kojiro can get a good look at what else might be inside. “Need your hands free for something?”
Because usually, Kaoru would spend an inordinate amount of time with his full focus on Kojiro’s chest, until they’re both drained of their last drops of patience. Clamps mean Kaoru has something else planned--likely something that involves running Kojiro’s patience dry before his own. Kaoru doesn’t answer, but he does smirk wickedly as he turns the screws on each clamp, testing the pressure against his fingertips until he’s satisfied.
Kojiro hisses when Kaoru fits them into place, first one and then the other, but he swallows hard and reminds himself to focus on his breathing. It’s intense, but Kaoru never gives him more than he can actually handle. They’ve spent plenty enough time slamming against each others’ boundaries to know exactly where each one stands.
“Carla. Set the motors on one and two to second parameter, please.” And those metallic balls hanging off the ends of the clamps start to buzz quietly against Kojiro’s skin. Oh. So, not weights, then. Kojiro barely has time to register that before Kaoru is moving down the bed to douse Kojiro’s dick in the wet heat of his open moth, licking and sucking down the side the shaft with no mercy whatsoever. It’s a good thing the wrist cuffs are soft and pliable, because Kojiru tugs at them so hard he can hear the attached cords creak in protest.
“Careful, gorilla,” Kaoru says flatly between doing one obscene thing after another to Kojiro’s cock with his mouth. “Those aren’t exactly made for someone of your absurd size.
“Who are they made for?” He has to wonder. “Who are you usually bringing in here to do this stuff?”
Kaoru gives him a blank look for a long moment, and then it slowly shifts into incredulity. “You think I’m bringing people into my bedroom? That’s ridiculous. This is for my own personal use.”
Kojiro stares, dumbfounded as those puzzle pieces fit themselves into place in his brain.
“You get your computer girlfriend to tie you up in here? By yourself?”
“Not a computer,” Kaoru sighs. “And technically those are just cuffs with ratchet buckle closures. There isn’t really any tying involved.”
Kojiro wants to demand to know why Kaoru didn’t object to the girlfriend part, but a) he’s not sure he actually wants to know the answer, and b) he’s not going to prolong an argument that will prevent Kaoru from sucking his dick for even one more second.
Kaoru seems satisfied with the lack of reply, so Kojiro gets what he wants almost immediately. Even so, Kaoru manages to be a fucking tease, slowing to peer up at Kojiro with those cat-like eyes every time his breathing gets too heavy. Under normal circumstances, he would just lose his patience and hold onto Kaoru’s hair so he could fuck his throat raw, but… another tug, and another dull creak from the cords. Kojiro’s hands aren’t going anywhere right now.
”Fuck,” he groans, for lack of access to the usual recourse. And Kaoru’s mouth may be full, but the answering smirk is still visible in his eyes. It sets something off in Kojiro, and he bucks his hips up as hard as he can all at once. The way Kaoru responds by first spluttering and punching Kojiro in the stomach, but then by doubling down and swallowing him deep into his throat, is an absolute rush. Kaoru’s stubborn competitive streak might be annoying as hell sometimes, but in this moment Kojiro is thanking every god imaginable for it.
In the last moments, Kojiro acts on giddy impulse and draws his legs up to kick Kaoru back (gently!) by the chest, so that when he finishes, it is not down Kaoru’s throat but right across his pretty, fucked-out little face.
Kaoru clicks his tongue and scowls, reaching for a tissue to clean up the mess. “You fucking moron! Ugh, I knew I should have tied my hair back.” And Kojiro gets another gut punch for grinning, but it’s worth it for the visual.
Once Kaoru is satisfied with the temporary cleanup, he registers his fingerprint on the case to open it up again, and this time plucks out some kind of black string, looped over itself so the two ends can be drawn together in two different places by pale pink glass beads, intricately painted with some kind of leaf pattern. Kaoru tugs on one, mutters, “Oh, right,” and then, after situating himself in a kneeling position, “Carla, clear the current preset on number four, please.” Carla chimes in confirmation, and when Kaoru tries again, he’s able to slide the beads up and down freely.
“One, two... wait, if that’s four, then what’s three?”
“Three is for my personal use only.” Kojiro isn’t sure he likes the tranquil look on Kaoru’s face, or the glance at his wristband, when he says that. But there is no clarification, just Kaoru’s hands on his junk again, fitting the top of the loop around the shaft, and then coaxing his balls one at a time through the space between the beads. He fiddles with the tightness a little, and then says, “Carla, register a new preset for number four. You can call it ‘gorilla.’”
Kojiro swallows, and reminds himself that the fact he’s already getting hard again is just a natural effect of the physical stimulation, and doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with name-calling or with starting to associate Carla’s affirmative replies with pleasure. There’s no fucking way.
“Comfortable?” Kaoru asks, with one eyebrow raised sharply. He’s definitely enjoying himself.
“Sure, sure,” Kojiro bluffs. As if it will even help, when Kaoru can see all the evidence of the enthusiasm with his own eyes.
As least Kaoru does him the favour of not prodding further, even if it’s because he’s already busied himself with something else--getting up again to wave his hand slowly in front of the bedside table, which makes a drawer slide open that Kojiro hadn’t even noticed was there. Inside, there are three neat little rows of differently-sized matching packets made of holographic pink foil. Kojiro can’t see what they are until Kaoru selects a couple, but then it registers. Lube, condoms, alcohol wipes.
“Damn. Sometimes this whole nerd thing is actually a little sexy.”
“A little?” Kaoru’s face is incredulous as he tears open the condom packet.
“Hey, I’m trying to compliment you here!”
“And you’re doing a shitty job of it!”
“I’m not the one who--” But Kojiro doesn’t get to finish that thought, because Kaoru rolls the damn condom on with his mouth, effectively wiping Kojiro’s mind completely blank. The harder he gets, the more he feels the restriction against his skin, and that just continues to be a self-perpetuating chain reaction that is not helped at all by the way Kaoru starts to casually work himself open with his long, slender fingers.
“Not the one who what?”
“Who, uhhhh,” Kojiro replies smartly. And he gets yet another infuriating smirk from a Kaoru who absolutely knew his answer would be along those lines.
When Kaoru is satisfied enough to straddle Kojiro’s hips, grabbing Kojiro’s dick with far more force than necessary to line himself up, he’s still wearing that same smirk. He licks his lips, and Kojiro tenses in preparation for what might be next. Another toy? Some automatic function built into the bed itself?
He does not expect it to be, “Carla, disengage one and two.”
In an instant, the clamps spring open and fall aside, still and silent. Blood rushes back into Kojiro’s nipples all as once, sending sparks of pain radiating out across his chest. He shouts in surprise, and Kaoru chooses that moment to sink down in one fluid motion that looks so mind-blowingly lewd, Kojiro feels sure it will be burned into his eyeballs for days, always there when he tries to get a few hours of sleep. Fuck.
“Don’t be a baby,” Kaoru croons, rubbing circles into Kojiro’s chest. Maybe to ease the pain, maybe to make it worse. Maybe just because he’s a goddamn pervert when he gets into this mood. It’s a tossup.
In any case, Kaoru rolls his hips like he’s getting paid for it, like he’s putting on a show for much more than one guy cuffed to his headboard.
And actually, that gives Kojiro an idea.
“Carla,” he says, watching the panic rise up behind Kaoru’s eyes as he draws out the word. “Can you record this?”
Please specify audio or video reacording, the voice intones, and Kojiro gapes.
“You’ve got cameras in here? You’re sick!”
“I have one, and it’s for collecting data on my sleep cycles, you buffoon!” But Kaoru is flushed all the way to his chest, and still bouncing on Kojiro’s cock as he goes. The capacity for multitasking is honestly impressive. Maybe they should have arguments like this more often.
“Video recording, Carla. Try to get his good side.” Kojiro bucks his hips up as hard as he can, which makes Kaoru yelp.
“Who the hell are you planning on showing this to?!” Kaoru demands.
“What the hell? Who said anything about showing it to anyone? Why did your mind go there right away?”
“Because,” Kaoru half-shouts, venom dripping from the second syllable.. but he doesn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence.
“Oh my god. You dirty little exhibitionist. You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”
“Me?! You’re the one who turned the damn recording on!”
And okay, he has a point. And even if he didn’t, Kaoru has an angry fistful of Kojiro’s hair now and is glaring down at him with pupils blown wide with lust, and he’s so fucking hot and tight, and-- “Kaoru, I’m gonna--”
“Not yet,” Kaoru rasps, his voice grown rough from panting. And then, a little louder, “A little tighter on number four if you would, Carla.”
Kojiro wishes he could see what’s happening, but he feels it clearly enough--a subtle tightening at the base of his cock and around his balls that makes his hips jump, but he does not tip over the edge in the very next moment the way he expected to.
Instead he watches Kaoru fall apart first. Every lean muscle pulls bowstring-tight, and for a moment Kaoru is balanced perfectly still, statuesque, suspended in a moment so beautiful that Kojiro forgets to breathe.
And then he crumples, a beautiful fluid thing, like a single petal falling from a tree. Kojiro hardly hears him murmur “Carla, disengage all,” but the second his hands are free they are all over Kaoru’s back, his thighs, his ass, pulling him closer, fucking the last few weak whimpers out of him until Kojiro is coming so hard his vision blanks out.
Goddamn. He’s probably lost all right to make fun of Kaoru’s little toys.
The sleepy smile Kaoru gives him when he finally lifts his head would indicate that this was his plan all along, which is the worst. Kaoru is the worst. Kojiro strokes his hair gently, kisses his forehead. Kaoru pretends to make a face, but he’s too high on endorphins to really pull it off.
“Carla, you can end that recording,” Kaoru says, maybe to distract from being caught being soft for two seconds. “And run the bath at 39 degrees. Jasmine scent. And turn on the floor warmers, too. “
“There’s more?” Kojiro raises an eyebrow.
“There’s always more,” Kaoru sighs, looking way too pleased with himself. And then, after a moment, “You called her by name.”
It takes Kojiro a moment to realise what he means. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. “Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles. But he already has a sneaking suspicion that Kaoru absolutely will.