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Kuchisabishii.
It’s a word that Mei’s heard in passing a few times before; describing, quite literally, a lonely mouth.
In all of his life, he’s been a stranger to that feeling — the idea of it has never sunk its talons into him before, and the only other equivalent was the constant hunger and striving to get to the top. Kuchisabishii, Mei feels, preys on the weak, and the bored — both of which he is not. But he’s noticed it’s not always just about food either. It’s quite possible that kuchisabishii could manifest in many ways: the itch on your palm, a superstition that great wealth is to come, or tickle in your sinus, and the subsequent sneeze that follows when someone must be talking about you. The sudden jolt awake at night when you think someone must be watching you from the dark, growing shadow in the corner of your room, and the paranoia that prickles with it.
At least, that’s what he groups them all together as. Silly, unfounded, conspiratorial. And for what? He doesn’t know.
Mei doesn’t — didn’t actually believe in the existence of phantom feelings or credulities. He, once again, thought it to be an excuse for gluttony, and it was not something he fell victim to. Ever. Because it was never and issue until—
Well.
Until, one day, it visits him, and everything in which he thought he knew, thought he believed, crumbles to dust from its rocky beams. Perhaps it’s the consequences of him diving head first into adulthood, the trials and tribulations unbeknownst to him as he reached for far greater and ignored everything else that weren’t his goals. His coming of age in high school, while a sobering slap in the face, did nothing to prepare him for his desires to manifest tenfold. Because Mei reached for so much, and got what he wanted in the process. And then the desire evolved. It became unbearable.
Kuchisabishii sits, ironically enough, like a heavy weight on his tongue, despite the cavern of his mouth still feeling… hollow, and empty. He can feel his tongue move around things that aren’t actually there, can feel its dissatisfaction because it wants something to be there, and Mei finally realizes how idiotic he was to underestimate the sheer danger of the phenomenon. He feels hypocritical for thinking of others to be weak, when he, just a mere human as all the others are, submits to it willingly. Beyond baseball, Narumiya Mei has yet to learn how to take back control.
Usually, people who experience kuchisabishii tend to reach for things that they know will satiate the lonely feeling — be it sugary sweets, savory food, or tactile objects that keep their mouths occupied until the feeling abates. Many, however, tend to practice healthier avenues so they don’t find themselves in an endless cycle of it, like tricking their mind into eating or drinking something else (personally, Mei thinks these people should go fuck themselves. They do not experience joy whatsoever).
But Mei is different. He wants to fuel it — fan the fire.
And luckily, tonight Mei knows exactly what he wants. What he needs.
Kuchisabishii comes to him in the form of desire for a one-hundred seventy-five centimeter tall, tan and muscled, pierced with equally penetrating honey eyes, former delinquent of a man. And it’s coming on strong — no matter how much water Mei drinks to suppress the urge — the feeling — it returns, begging for the heavy, heady weight of something else entirely. It begs to fill his mouth whole, reaching into the back of his throat relentlessly until he can’t breathe properly, gulping down the salt and musk. Strangely enough, it even craves the mess that comes with it — the coughing, the choking, the pooling of saliva in the cradle of his tongue…
So, yes, Mei likes to fuel his desires. But this hits him in the middle of Kazuya and Sawamura’s engagement party.
While unfortunate, it definitely doesn’t make the top-five list of inconvenient places to feel his horny hunger pangs — to put it ineloquently. It’s fine, he reassures himself. Totally fine.
Kuramochi is chatting animatedly with his former Seidou senior who played as second baseman. Kominato Ryousuke, if he remembers pettily. Mei dressed him for the night himself, and maybe that’s exactly where he went wrong — he was ultimately his own undoing:
A midnight, artfully and modestly lace mesh black button up with sleeves rolled up to the constricting width of his forearms, undone at the first button to flash a simple gold necklace that rests on his clavicles, paired with a slightly lighter shade of well-tailored slacks. Oh, and a controlled, yet attractive, collection of bracelets hugging the juncture of his wrists. One with a sleek black watch, and the other, a thin gold link, and a thicker, braided leather maroon bracelet. Inashiro’s color, Mei had thought to himself when he fit it on Kuramochi’s wrist. A brand, of some sort, that could be easily fixed with a telling silver band on a ring finger, but Mei digresses. Even though he didn’t say anything aloud about the bracelet, he had an inkling that the shortstop knew, especially when Mei wordlessly pulled on the same style of dress as him, albeit softer with cream colors. Since then, Mei has been watching him mindlessly caress the maroon braiding all night. A delightful twinge of possessiveness fizzles at the base of his spine.
He bites his lip, continuing the leisure appreciation, even though his mouth begs with urgency to be used. So, yes, Mei had unknowingly orchestrated his own demise tonight. But he’s willing to play the sit and wait game for now, taking the part of the sought after, but intrinsically tunnel-visioned, boyfriend.
“Alright,” Kazuya chides beside him with a hilariously constipated expression, effectively dragging a kicking-and-screaming Mei from his ogling. Had he been there the entire time? “Enough of that. You’re practically undressing him with your eyes. This is Eijun’s party, so don’t rain on his parade, now.”
Mei only rolls his eyes and fits his lips over the rim of his glass again. More water, even though it’s doing nothing at all besides hydrating him. Still, he huffs a witty little laugh, “I’m just appreciating my masterful work, Kazuya! Look at how he’s dressed!”
He gestures a hand in Kuramochi’s general direction and tilts his head proudly to the side.
Kazuya sighs and reluctantly looks to where Kuramochi and Kominato are chatting jovially by the food table. Unimpressed, with a flute of champagne pinched between his fingers, he deadpans, “Good for you, Mei.”
“Indeed,” Mei nods pridefully, sipping his water. “Indeed.”
“Just—” Kazuya steps in front of him, purposefully blocking the view of senior Kominato chuckling a little too much at something Kuramochi just said, “—tone it down a bit. If not for my sake, then for Eijun’s. I feel like some people genuinely can’t tell if you want to kill or fuck someone here.”
Mei squints over the rim of his glass, peeved. “Yeah, and you’re not so slick yourself. I bet you’re dying to get to the part where you jump Sawamura’s bones after all of this is over.”
Someone who’s trying to pass them in the crowd seems to overhear, because they cough into their fist, and shuffle along with a flustered face. Oh, well. It’s not like Mei’s friends with many people here.
Kazuya, on the other hand, lifts his eyes to the ceiling with embarrassment, ears bright red. “This isn’t about me, this is about you—”
“Actually, Kazuya, this entire party is about you!” Mei smirks, twirling a finger around to gesture to the lively, packed space, “—and Sawamura, of course. And don’t think I didn’t notice the way you purposefully omitted yourself when you called it just his party.”
Kazuya, exasperated, shakes his head and takes a swig from his flute.
“You’re so sweet on him,” Mei continues, but then he looks away to where Sawamura is, pointing to the way he’s practically vibrating with excitement to Furuya and the younger Kominato. He jousts his glass in the direction of their commotion, and Kazuya follows it quizzically. “But you might want to get him away from the champagne tower, or else he’s gonna knock it over.”
Kazuya’s cheeks puff with what Mei recognizes as him sizing up a menial chore — but his eyes are truly telling in their fondness, softening around the edges, “That moron...” Yuck.
“You’re marrying him~” Mei coos, giggling successfully when Kazuya peels away nonchalantly to deal with his fiancé.
Mei watches his best friend leave and nearly laughs as he watches him practically gentle parent Sawamura away from the tower. Besides his internal struggles being a thorn in his side, it’s a good party. He never expected to see Kazuya, of all people, getting married before him, but… Oh, well. Maybe he’ll be next in line.
Sipping his water, Mei allows his eyes to wander away from their silly display and ogle his boyfriend shamelessly.
Kuramochi is still talking with the older Kominato, and, much to Mei’s simmering vexation, they’re both grinning ear to ear and nodding enthusiastically when speaking back and forth. At some point, Kuramochi even looks a bit sheepish at something his senior says, which has Mei’s brow raising. And even more so, when Kominato pats the bulk of Kuramochi’s bicep with his small hand, leaning into his space to whisper something in his ear that otherwise might be lost to the party's volume. It lingers there until Kuramochi laughs again with a flush on his cheeks, fingers falling away in a subtle caress on the material of the shortstop's sleeve.
Hm. Okay.
Is he just unaware of the misery he’s causing Mei to feel? He hasn’t even looked his way once since that pink guy stepped in. He gulps down water with renewed fervor until the glass empties. Whatever. He can get over this stupid kuchisabishii by himself, and he will not be the spectacle of Kazuya’s little party that might hypothetically begin from a possessive tirade. He’s a good friend and good boyfriend, after all.
Mei decides a little excursion to the bar will renew his spirits.
If he can’t get water to curb his cravings, then a sweet drink, especially one with alcohol, could do the trick.
The bartender Sawamura and Kazuya hired for the night is quick to satisfy Mei when he rattles off an order for the sweetest beverage he can muster, preferably without the taste of stinging liquor. Mei hadn’t planned to drink tonight, but he’s beginning to think his current predicament could use the liquid encouragement for when he eventually drags Kuramochi back home.
He practically kicks his feet like a little kid when he hops onto the bar stool and his drink is served with a straw — it’s pleasant in color and construction with sugar on the rim, and even though he doesn’t know what the fuck it is, it sure does taste good.
Mei quickly relaxes into the pleasant buzz from his drink, surrounded by acquaintances and friends in a comfortable venue. He casts a gaze out to the crowd of people chattering amicably and sips his drink.
The site Kazuya and Sawamura chose for their engagement party is, at least to Mei, a little unexpected.
It’s grand, buttering up guests with its warm, romantic lighting and aristocratic touch. He briefly mapped it out when he first walked in with Kuramochi, and, to his utter dismay, he realized it was shaped like a baseball field. Kind of corny, if you ask him, but a part of him was mainly incredulous about the fact that Kazuya is truly in love. Which brings Mei back to the “unexpected” part — if it was Kazuya’s choice, Mei imagined their engagement party being small and personal, with close friends and family only. Mei would have guessed he’d hold the party in his apartment, insisting that that’s all they’d need to commemorate the occasion. And he knows that decision existed at some point, but now, all Mei sees is the product of Sawamura blanketing himself over Kazuya, and Kazuya returning the embrace tenfold. He doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, but he’d never admit it out loud.
He swirls the liquid with his straw, whirlpooling the ice cubes while lost in thought. If Mei ever had an engagement party, it would probably be—
“Naru-chan!”
Mei startles out of the fog in his head — images of tan hands interlocking fingers with his, with glinting silver bands to match vanish like a cloud. His face feels suspiciously flushed. Before he knows it, a large body hunkering wrestles onto the barstool next to him, “It’s been so long!”
Upon instantly recognizing the voice, Mei gasps. He spins in his chair, throwing his arms up, “Naga-chan!”
He embaraces Nagata across from him, and the big man winds his arms around him briefly in reciprocation.
Nagata played with Mei and Kazuya on the Tokyo Rep team the summer of their third year, and Mei was so taken by the outgoing Seiko students that he had no problem warming up to the man. They were all brawn and no brains, anyway, so it was a very fun and exploratory time for Mei to weed out the differences in all of their schools before he decided that, completely unbiased, Inashiro just could not be topped in facilities and equipment.
Now, Nagata looks burlier than the last time Mei had seen him, which was in the news forums for his NPB draft into the Hanshin Tigers. With the last of his awkward teen years petered out, he looks fully grown into himself now — body matching face, matching mindset, matching personality. Confident and sturdy, and perfectly in control. Mei still isn’t sure how he got so muscular in the first place, but he can appreciate its aesthetics.
“How have you been, Naru-chan? We haven’t spoken since our last match together in high school!” Nagata asks with a wide smile, cheeks red, and it’s so cute how he almost looks like Itsuki — only bigger and manlier. Still, Mei grits his teeth, watching Nagata rattle off an irritatingly healthy order of lemon water to the bartender.
“Oh, Naga-chan, spare me the small talk!” Mei complains, scooching forward on his stool until his knees bump into Nagata’s. The other man’s eyes widen when Mei leans in close, sipping his sweet drink a little too quickly. “I’ve heard that line probably, like, twenty times already since I got here. Don’t you think you should start off with something more interesting?”
“Eh? Like what?” Nagata asks, pondering. He frowns when he seemingly comes up with nothing, “I’m genuinely curious to see how you’re doing! We still have to play against each other in the fall, you know!”
“Hm,” Mei does remember that promise he made him all those years ago. “You’re right… I’m fine, I guess. A little bored. Kazuya left me to fend for myself here!”
“Did you arrive with a plus one?” Nagata asks. “That’s usually how I stick it through these things. I brought Shin-chan with me.” Mei honestly doesn’t remember who that is, but he’d have to guess it’s the catcher from their Seiko days.
Though, a plus one? Yes. Definitely yes. But he slants his mouth in thought, wondering what Kuramochi must be getting up to with his oh-so-admirable senpai. He glances over to the food table, but the pair have disappeared. Mei tries not to sulk at the prospect of him being so unaware.
Taking his non-answer as an answer, Nagata opens his mouth to speak, but Mei nudges his knee with his own again, contingent on moving on to a different topic. Mei pokes Nagata’s upper pectoral brazenly, “I’ve got a question, Naga-chan! Have you ever heard of kuchisabishii?”
“Kuchisabishii…” Nagata hums, but his dark eyes flicker with a light of recognition, and his thick brows arch. “Yeah! I deal with it all the time. It’s usually just me wanting meat, though… I think spending my first paycheck on wagyu was a mistake. If I’m having really bad cravings, though… then, ah, I’d still buy the wagyu. It’s a bad habit of mine, you see, because of the fat content...”
Mei giggles, knocking his foot into Nagata’s, “But I think that’s a good one! I think it’s much better than mine… I’ve had wagyu so many times before, though, so next time, just come out with me, and it’ll be my treat.”
“Really?” Nagata leans forward earnestly, and Mei tightens a smile over his straw on his next sip when Nagata’s eyes graze appreciatively over his face, “As I would expect from such an amazing guy! Forgive me if this is weird, but I can imagine those paychecks are hefty. You’re definitely the treasure of Yomiuri. And I—I’ve been watching you all this time…”
Mei preens under the attention and compliments — Nagata has always been earnest from the few times they’ve been around each other. Humble, in ways you wouldn’t expect, surprisingly for the way he’s strictly looked after his own physique and proudly showed it off. And Mei never really had the best manners, what with growing up with two older sisters can do to you, and he’s always been quite spoiled. So he licks the sugar from his lips and smiles at Nagata, and maybe it’s also the alcohol that has him saying, “I hear that all the time, Naga-chan. I’m pretty sure Sawamura-kun would enjoy more of the praise — it definitely wouldn’t get lost on him. It is his night, after all. Throw me a new bone, yeah?”
“But I mean it,” Nagata’s cheeks dust pink, which is — interesting, “I’ve yet to meet someone as cool as you, and, well…” he trails off and Mei watches in wonder as he laughs with his whole chest. Nagata shakes his head, pivoting away from what he was previously going to say, “A wagyu date, then. Sounds good. But about kuchisabishii… that’s an interesting ice breaker. Why do you ask — are you craving anything right now?”
Mei finishes the last of his drink and licks his lips again, not missing the way Nagata follows the movement with his eyes. “I am!” Mei answers, and lifts his hand to wave down the bartender again for another drink, “I’m also craving something—” he cuts off as the bartender bobs in his periphery. “—Another one of these would be great, thank you!” Mei turns away from Nagata and taps his empty glass, and the bartender nods.
Nagata purses his lips, trying to redirect his attention. His thick fingers land on Mei’s knee, inquisitive, before his entire palm embraces it. Mei blinks down at it, and he belatedly realizes that Nagata hasn’t touched his water since he got it, “Something…?”
“Hm,” Mei tips his head to the side thoughtfully, a coquettish grin spreading on his lips. He thinks of dark, honey eyes and sharp canines, and rough, tan hands circling his waist, dragging fingers up the contrasting paleness of his chest, and sliding up his neck. Harsh lips bruising on his.
Passionate and reverent.
These, of course, are just far cries from the real thing, and Mei doesn’t even know where the person who’s the cause of such naughty thoughts has disappeared off to. Probably wandering around in the crowd with his pink-haired senpai, still, completely inactive in putting a halt to his senior's advances. But Mei doesn’t feel like looking for him, he’s gotten far past the want to care. “Meat, too. The savory kind. Wagyu could probably hit the spot, like you said — but especially if it’s salty… and musky. Something filling. A good piece that’ll melt in your mouth when you suck on it…”
Nagata’s eyes widen as he processes the words, face glowing red under the warm, cocktail lighting of the party. “I see…”
Mei lets him ferment with it a bit, and then he barks out a laugh, startling the flustered man. “Oh, Naga-chan,” he reaches forward and squeezes his bicep, purely good-naturedly and brimming with amusement, “That must be how you’ve kept up these muscles all those years! Tell me, what’s your regime? I hate training, to be honest, but it’s so interesting to hear about others. Can you flex, or is it all just for show?” The prospect of training doesn’t really interest him, but Mei would rather keep himself busy with words rather than the phantom craving teasing his tongue.
“Definitely not for show!” Nagata is quick to say defensively, ears red. His hand finally leaves Mei’s knee. “But… here? Honestly, this shirt is already pretty tight, I’m kinda worried it might rip—”
The bartender leaves another glass of whatever dream juice he made Mei previously on the table. Mei thanks him and instantly tongues at the straw, and then sipping, eyeing Nagata. “Oh, don’t be so humble. I’m sure the shirt will be fine.”
Mei doesn’t think much of it. Back when Seiko sent over Nagata to play for the Tokyo team, Nagata had effortlessly shown off his training efforts in the form of bulging biceps, broad shoulders, and thick calves. Mei couldn’t even wrap his hands around Nagata’s bicep fully when he felt it up the first time, and it was genuinely impressive that someone could push the limits and work that hard for a more promising output in baseball. It put him on Mei’s radar, for sure, but it ultimately didn’t lead anywhere. Nagata still has yet to hit a homer off of him.
Nagata hums indecisively, but Mei does a little cheer when he finally lifts his arm up, curling his wrist towards his shoulder so that his bicep flexes against the constraints of his dress shirt.
“Wow!” Mei can practically feel his eyes sparkling as he leans in, palm cupping the hardened area, “It feels like you got even more serious after high school. Should I be worried about you hitting some grounders off of me in the fall? I mean, even if you do, I’ve got a wicked shortstop playing behind me at all times…”
Nagata smiles sheepishly and relaxes his arm, chuckling at his joke. Mei’s hand falls away with it, relocating to his drink on the bar table. “Definitely more serious. I’ve been weight training more effectively and eating more than my bodyweight in protein. But, come on, grounders?” He cocks his brow at Mei, teasing, “This time, I can definitely hit some sluggers off of you, Narumiya. So don’t underestimate me.”
Mei’s mouth twists, amused, because that’s highly unlikely.
Nagata’s batting average is virtually unchangeable since college, though it's always been attractive enough to get him drafted. Still, he giggles, a delighted fizzle burning in his spine at the dangerous look that the clean up gives him, “Well, you’re just gonna have to prove me wrong, then. Until then, I look forward to your grounders, Naga-chan.”
Mei is about to take another generous sip from his straw when he feels the heat of a palm settle at the small of his back.
Kuramochi’s cologne hits him first, and Mei tips his chin towards him, eyes twinkling at the dark honey eyes already gazing intensely at him — stern, calculating. The hand slips up his spine achingly slowly, before Kuramochi’s fingers curve delicately around the back of his neck, his palm cupping his nape. Mei tries to suppress the shiver that follows, allowing himself to search those demanding eyes, before he reluctantly blinks back at their onlooker, who’s none the wiser to Mei’s internal struggle.
“I see you two are having fun over here,” Kuramochi articulates lightly, but Mei knows better than to trust that nonchalant jingle in his voice.
Nagata pauses with a polite smile at the interruption. The world outside of their close friends knows them only as teammates, nothing more intimate than that, so he looks briefly confused before he settles into his usual, jolly manner, “Kuramochi! Good to see you, man. Enjoying the party?”
“It’s been cool,” Kuramochi admits mildly with a shrug, “I hate to admit it, but Sawamura knows how to throw some bangers. I’m surprised it’s been this cordial up until now, though. Kind of disrespectful, if you ask me.”
At that, Nagata laughs, and Mei sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip again, desperate to cling to the sugar that’s leaving his mouth feeling unoccupied and yearning.
“I don’t know how they haven’t broken out the stripping and body shots yet,” Kuramochi says, his hand a smoldering brand against Mei’s neck. He squeezes ever so slightly, and Mei clears his throat. “But to be fair, there is family here…”
Nagata’s eyes are still comically wide, “Have they done that before?”
“Oh, fuck yeah, you should have seen our parties in college!” Kuramochi moves his hand finally, but only to sling his arm around Mei’s shoulder, which jostles him. He grumbles irritably, shooting a glare up at him. He isn’t sure if he should be relieved yet. “And while I’d love to tell you all about it, Nagata, I need to borrow Mei for a sec.”
“Mei—? Oh, sure,” Nagata nods, flustered. He visibly backs up in his stool, and Mei tardily remembers their knees have been pressed against one another the entire time.
Ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest, Mei looks at Kuramochi with a pout, “But I’m drinking right now! I was gonna order another!”
“Okay, then no more drinking,” Kuramochi cocks a brow at him, reaching over to grab the glass from him easily. Mei whines, reaching for it, but Kuramochi only pulls it further away, and Mei faceplants into his chest. He smells so good…
Nagata just watches passively, eyes flicking back and forth between the two.
“You are so rude, you know!” Mei complains when he lifts his head up. “I was having the most delightful conversation with Naga-chan, and here Mr. Drink-Stealer comes interrupting us! Naga-chaaaaan, save meeeee.”
“You’re acting like a child,” Kuramochi retorts, eyeing the contents in glass, “What the hell even is this?”
Mei huffs his breath right into Kuramochi’s face and watches in amusement as his nose wrinkles, no doubt whiffing the alcohol and sugar on his lonely tongue. He feels his face split into a grin, giggling, “Dunno, the bartender just gave it to me. It’s yummy!”
“You have no survival skills whatsoever,” Kuramochi jabs, reaching over Mei to set his glass down on the table. Mei is about to reach for it again, but then Kuramochi is moving him. “Sorry about him, Nagata,” Kuramochi grunts, shoving his arm around Mei’s waist to pull him out of the stool. His feet scramble to find the ground again, and he realizes he may be a little more tipsy than he anticipated.
“Oh, not at all,” Nagata laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “Naru-chan is surprisingly cute when he’s like this! We had fun talking. Oh — I’ll text you later about the wagyu date! Don’t forget your promise!”
Kuramochi pauses, blinking down at a slouched Mei, “Wagyu date?”
Mei lifts his arm and points at Nagata, body sagging in Kuramochi’s hold, “I will not forget!”
“What wagyu date?” Kuramochi asks again and looks between them, but then Mei finds his footing more confidently this time, and he pulls away from the two.
Mei vaguely hears Kuramochi wish Nagata a good night before he calls after him, no doubt following him into the crowd of their peers and family alike. Yeah. There are too many people here. Kazuya definitely had valid concerns about the hypothetical scenario of Mei causing a spectacle during their engagement party. Mei likes to believe that he has enough dignity to not let it get to that point, though, so he trucks on, even if his number one problem of the night has yet to be solved.
Yet.
Kuramochi’s hand catches Mei’s wrist quickly as they mull around the crowd, ending up near the exit. He’s a little harsh when he yanks Mei to turn around, and the blond tumbles with it, jerking until Kuramochi balances him with two big hands on his shoulders.
They stare at each other challengingly for a few, tense moments. A test to see who’ll break the stalemate first, who’ll get a rise out of the other. Kuramochi’s hands tighten on Mei’s shoulders before they’re on the move again, cupping the sides of Mei’s neck. He lifts a sharp brow expectantly, waiting for Mei to cut through the silence.
It’s not hard to recognize the displeased tut of Kuramochi’s chest and the harsh line his lips make as he scrutinizes Mei with vicious eyes. Whatever he sees on Mei’s face must make him more upset, and Mei’s mouth opens before he can stop himself.
“So. Your cute senpai couldn’t entertain you anymore, so you finally remembered you have a boyfriend?” Mei utters, pinching his brows. His mouth aches, because Kuramochi is so close, and he smells so good that he can practically taste him. It aches. It—
“What?” Kuramochi hisses, hushed. His thumbs brush the edges of his jaw, and Mei no longer cares about who may see them like this, with the way Kuramochi has him backed into a corner. “What are you talking about?”
Mei slants his jaw pettily, pulling his face away from the touch, but Kuramochi reaffirms his hold, digging his thumbs insistently into his jawbone until he’s forced to turn back. Like this, he has to look up into Kuramochi’s burning eyes. It’s now that he hates how the shortstop wrestled past the plateau of growth in high school — he’s finally got some inches over Mei, in more ways than one.
“Your senpai,” Mei wiggles his brows tauntingly, as if he’s completely rescinded into indifference. He knows it pisses Kuramochi off to no end, “He seems awfully fond of you, Youichi.”
Kuramochi slants his eyes incredulously down at him, “Are you talking about—Ryou-san? Why would he—”
Mei rolls his eyes, “Are you seriously so oblivious you don’t even recognize when your own senior is flirting with you? So dense, Youichi-kun! I’m pretty sure everyone else could attest to it if I asked them.”
Kuramochi searches his face for any indication that he’s joking. Obviously, Mei’s attitude serves to displease him and he’s parting his lips before a voice snaps them out of their tense, secluded scuffle.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on over here, but you guys need to take it outside,” Kazuya casually appears beside them, nurturing a glass of water in his hand. “You’re taking the corner I had reserved for my mack-sesh with Eijun, soooo…” He thrusts a thumb toward the exit.
Kuramochi's hands fall from Mei’s face, and he has to suck in the pout that results from the loss of warmth, “Dude, gross.”
“This is literally my engagement party.”
“Kazuya, there’s like,” Mei looks over Kuramochi’s shoulder, scanning the packed venue with tall ceilings, “six other corners to make out with your fiancé in.”
“Okay, but I want this one, and you guys are hogging it,” Kazuya just gives them a shining, sleazy grin — he’s obviously been drinking since the last time Mei saw him, if the flush on his face is anything to go by. “The door is next to you, by the way, since you insist on having a little lovers quarrel during Eijun’s night. Really couldn’t pick another day, could you?”
“I can’t believe you’re telling us to leave,” Mei sniffs, stepping away from Kuramochi to lean against the wall. “Do you hate us that much, Kazuya?”
“Big time,” Kazuya nods, “But seriously, the fact that I had to keep an eye on both of you is telling — ‘cause now look where we are. I feel like I’m working overtime here with a bunch of toddlers.”
“Ditto,” Mei mocks sympathetically, waving his hand animatedly, “Don’t worry, Kazuya, we’re not gonna ruin your party! I’m just trying to tell this bozo that his senior was trying to climb him like a tree earlier—”
“Okay, you’re being overdramatic,” Kuramochi stands straight upon being mentioned, brows knit, “Ryou-san and I were just talking about—”
“I was watching him caress you! Hand on your arm and everything, leaning in way too close and—”
“Like you were doing with Nagata?” Kuramochi harshly bites, expression severe. Mei’s mouth snaps shut, and Kazuya whistles inappropriately, casually looking between them. “Because I had a front row seat to that, too, Mei. I let you have your fun, but then he touched you.”
Had Mei done that? He—ah. His knee still tingles from Nagata’s fingers tapping them, but that’s—
“That’s different,” Mei furrows his brows, an odd feeling twisting in his gut, “I was just asking him about his workout routine!” When Kuramochi laughs incredulously, Mei’s frown deepens, “I’m serious, Youichi.”
“Yeah, okay,” he responds bitterly, cutting his look away, “Maybe he’d be a better lay. Why don’t you go home with him tonight, huh?”
Mei gawks, eyes wide, and he says a little too loudly, “What the fuck?”
Suddenly, Kazuya doesn’t look so amused anymore.
“Deal with this,” Kazuya stresses unhappily, beginning to usher them towards the exit, “outside. Please. You two are drawing way too much attention to yourselves and I know that you know how Eijun gets when his friends are fighting.”
Kuramochi goes without trouble at all, and he’s so annoyingly withdrawn as he nods, rolling his lips into his mouth, “I’ll probably call it a night here, actually. Tell Sawamura I said thanks for the party, Miyuki.”
Kazuya only presses his lips together, unreadable behind his glasses.
“Youichi?” Mei calls after him warily. Okay, now he feels very, very sober. When Kuramochi pushes past the door, Mei looks at Kazuya in silent desperation.
Kazuya, the most unhelpful fucking bastard in the world, shrugs.
A bubble of frustration swells in Mei’s stomach, but just as he’s about to fling out the door to follow Kuramochi, Kazuya’s voice halts him, “Mei.”
“What?” Mei grumbles, scratching his neck. His embarrassment laps at the thoughts pushed to the back of his head, but Kazuya smirks, “I know you like to get in your stupid little head about these things, but Kuramochi is just as much of a brat about this as you are. It’s like watching two kids fighting over a toy.”
“No he isn’t,” Mei scoffs, “He’s surprisingly mature and way too emotionally intelligent for my liking. I hate him.” Then, his voice wobbles, but he stands straight, puffing his chest as if the prospect doesn’t bother him, “If he breaks up with me, can I sleep at your place tonight?”
“Oh my god, you are unbelievable,” Kazuya shakes his head. “You’re both idiots. You do realize he’s obsessed with you, right? I mean, I don’t get why either, but…”
“Ugh, you have such a shitty personality,” Mei sniffs, finally turning to leave as dread curdles in his stomach, “I’ll go catch up with him, I guess. Goodnight, Kazuya. Thank you for the party.”
“Yeah, yeah, goodnight, and don’t text me if things go downhill! I won’t answer.”
Kuramochi is fast.
He has the advantage of being the speedster like no other, rivaling Carlos even in short distance. He’s an invaluable part of Yomiuri as the lead-off batter, and he’s proven so time and time again when he slugs attractive balls and scores for Mei, making his heart flutter whenever he’s cooling down on the bench.
He’s so fast, yet he’s so easy to catch up to now.
He’s barely stalked off the venue when Mei finally manages to slow to a stop beside him. It’s like he wants to be caught.
“Hey!” Mei barks, “Are you seriously mad right now?”
Kuramochi just hums and keeps walking, leaving Mei to quicken his stride until he’s right in front of him. He succeeds in stopping Kuramochi, nearly slamming into each other, but Mei holds his ground and frowns deeper, “Answer me, Youichi.”
When he looks at Kuramochi, he sees the upturned brows of a delinquent and the clench of his jaw working every second.
Mei isn’t good at this. He’s never been good at this. He’s always been content in being handed things without exposition, and the only things he genuinely had to work for were the things he wanted for himself. But, he supposes, Kuramochi falls under that category, so he swallows his pride and meets the man with his own blazing look.
“Tonight, I,” Mei starts, and he quickly gathers his bearings before he can back out of one of the most embarrassing things he’ll ever do, “I — I’ve been wanting to suck your dick all night!”
The echo of his voice in the empty street is utterly humiliating.
He clenches his fists together at his sides and pushes on, “This isn’t how I wanted the night to go! You—you were supposed to take me home and the fuck me until I went crazy but. Obviously, that didn’t happen, so just… Just don’t break up with me!”
Kuramochi’s expression melts, his eyes wide.
The air settles ever so slightly, and Mei can’t find it in himself to look at him anymore, so he slaps his hands over his face and groans into them.
“...Where the hell did that come from?” Kuramochi asks, almost laughing and flustered.
“All night—” Mei continues — because what else does he have to lose? — his words cupped into the safety of his palms so he doesn’t have to face Kuramochi, “That’s all I thought about: your stupid big—ugh! And when Naga-chan—we were talking about craving fucking wagyu, and I used it as a metaphor to talk about your dick, only we were talking about two completely different things, and now Naga-chan wants to—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Kuramochi’s amused voice sounds closer now, and Mei feels warm hands wrap around his wrists. The fresh air washes across his face when Kuramochi pries them off, and he sees wide, honey eyes looking down at him, much calmer than before, “Slow down, baby. Again, from the beginning.”
“Don’t call me that right now! God, this is so fucking embarrassing,” Mei’s face crumbles from the humility. This is a new low for Narumiya Mei. “I guess… my mouth just feels lonely.”
“Your mouth feels lonely,” Kuramochi parrots back, more of a statement rather than a question.
“Kuchisabishii!” Mei sulks, forcing his eyes closed so he doesn’t have to watch how Kuramochi’s face morphs from bewilderment to amusement. “T-That thing where, you know, you want to… occupy your mouth. You — you get what I mean. And if you don’t, then tough fucking luck, I’m not saying it again.”
Mei’s face feels like it's about to explode when Kuramochi flashes him a toothy, arrogant grin, his stupid laugh an undercurrent in his voice: “Oi, oi. You talked about wanting to suck my dick to someone I don’t even know? That’s kinky.”
Mei whines, but Kuramochi gathers him into his arms in consolation anyway, and he easily slips into them, nestling into the shortstop's neck as if he could burrow away from his shame.
“This sucks,” Mei complains petulantly, “You suck. I was not flirting with Naga-chan, by the way. I’ll have you know I am extremely loyal and I’ll beat the shit out of you if you think otherwise.”
“Hm,” Kuramochi presses his lips to his ear, and Mei shudders. He knows they’re outside, but it’s dark, and the sidewalk is vacant — for now. Some unfortunate soul could walk out the venue or around the corner right now, and they’d be getting a face full of two sexually charged idiots. They’ll either have to get a cab home or catch one of the trains on the Yamanote line. “Okay. I believe you. And I’m not breaking up with you, either, you idiot. I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”
“Really?” Mei lifts his head, hating how his voice fractures, nose brushing against Kuramochi’s. He melts a little when Kuramochi kisses him, short and sweet, before pulling away. The agonizing, phantom weight on his tongue vanishes for a blissful moment.
“Yeah,” he answers, rubbing his back, “I mean, you were talking about my dick to him. Which is a little crazy, even for you. Guess that means you like it enough to stick around, yeah?”
Mei puffs his cheeks, “…It’s not just your dick.”
“I know,” Kuramochi continues, amusement flickering in his eyes before his face falls dark, “But Nagata wanted to fuck you. I could tell. I think I got too...” He trails off, and Mei’s eyes widen at the dip in confidence.
Oh.
“Were you watching?” Mei whispers, his heart rate slowly picking up.
“The entire time,” Kuramochi answers.
“Liar,” Mei retorts, but there’s no real bite to it. “You were prancing around with that senior Kominato. By the way, he was trying to get into your pants, too.”
“See, you keep sayin’ that,” Kuramochi’s lips brush under his eye, “but we were talking about you the whole time.”
“Me?” Mei questions incredulously, blinking.
“Yes, you,” Kuramochi snickers, his eyes darting sheepishly to the side as if he’s reliving it all over again, “He kept asking me all sorts of embarrassing questions about our relationship.”
“Like what?” Mei wrinkles his nose, “What could he possibly want to know about us? Maybe he was trying to gather intel so he could be a homewrec—”
Kuramochi leans down and kisses Mei, abruptly cutting him off. His hands tug Mei in until he’s pressing along the lean line of Kuramochi’s body, unable to leave. It’s short and tender; so when he pulls away with a teasing lick against Mei’s lonely tongue, flicking against his upper lip, he’s left feeling breathless and dazed.
“Ryou-san is just a friend,” Kuramochi insists, pinching his cheek a moment later. “He just wanted to ask how I’m doing. How we’re doing.”
Mei stifles a whine at the treatment, pulling his face away. He doesn’t care what an outsider wants to know or say about their relationship, so he pouts, “You did that just to derail me, you asshole. Touché.”
“Did it work?” Kuramochi snickers, squeezing his waist.
Mei’s resulting blush seems to be answer enough, so Kuramochi lets him go with a smirk. He slides a hand into Mei’s so he’s pulled along with him when he starts to step away down the sidewalk.
“Are we going home?” Mei asks, that tiny fragment of vulnerability that he’d left with Kazuya flaring up in his chest again. He’d been serious about the break-up thing with Kazuya, but he’s found himself in so many boy-cries-wolf scenarios that even Mei doesn’t know what to expect of himself anymore.
“Yeah,” Kuramochi weaves his fingers through Mei’s.
Mei gives his hand a comforted squeeze, even though he feels his face pinching with humiliation. Perhaps kuchisabishii has made him a tad bit more dramatic tonight.
“Okay,” Mei speeds up to match his stride with renewed confidence, and Kuramochi snickers.
“Mei.”
“What?”
“When we get home,” Kuramochi says with a smirk, and Mei looks to him, “I’m gonna fuck your throat until you cry.”
“Oh,” Mei blinks, eyes rounding. He wants that so badly that it’s embarrassing. “Okay,” He momentarily stutters over a step before Kuramochi’s laugh rings out into the empty street, pulling him along.
Mei’s favorite thing about the Yamanote line is that it hits all of the hot cities in a perfect circle. A wondrous loop of a system, and the travel time is fast for the late hour.
However, the thirty minutes it takes to get to the Tokyo station feels like thirty minutes in hell, what with the way Kuramochi is looking at him as they stand by the doors, rocking with the train. He’s ready to pounce, unblinking as his honey eyes penetrate Mei’s baby blues intensely. Mei pokes his tongue into his cheek suggestively, a smile curling the corner of his lips, and Kuramochi’s expression darkens.
In a more densely packed area where they could be recognized, it’s hard to comfortably cling to each other. Such is life, but it doesn’t stop Mei from crowding his loafers against Kuramochi’s, and it certainly doesn’t deter Kuramochi from leisurely roving his eyes up and down Mei’s body whenever he sways enticingly with every lurch of the train.
The walk back to their apartment is quiet but undeniable in its buzz of energy under their skin. Mei feels kuchisabishii rearing its ugly head in the back of his mind, an ever growing desire that’s been unfed for far too long that it’s spreading — quickly. So much so that Mei has opened his mouth around nothing, just to breathe in Kuramochi’s cologne in the outside air, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth and imagining himself taking Kuramochi down to the root.
It’s almost insulting to have Kuramochi standing right behind him, watching over his shoulder as he types in the code for their apartment door with a shaky finger. But Mei steels himself, feigning disinterest as he pushes the door open upon unlocking it.
The same can’t be said about Kuramochi, though.
Mei barely makes it inside before there’s a vice grip around his upper arm, spinning him around once the door shuts. Kuramochi backs him up into the wall immediately and slots his lips with Mei’s, not waiting to lick into his mouth with that devilish tongue of his.
Mei’s hands grab uselessly at Kuramochi’s heaving sides, moaning happily into the kiss and opening his mouth for him so he can reciprocate in kind. Their kisses are always messy and fumbling, but Mei loves it — he likes that their thin veil of self-control slips away with every unhinged, teeth clicking and stinging bite.
Mei loves their kisses, but he wants something else entirely.
His hands leave Kuramochi’s side to fumble with his belt, and Kuramochi kisses Mei’s lips harder as punishment for his divided attention. He holds Mei’s face in his hands when he pulls away, and fuck, Kuramochi’s expression already looks rugged and wrecked. He probably spent as much time thinking about this as Mei had, working himself up ever since he confessed his true intentions for the night. He also thinks he must appear the same with the way Kuramochi’s next exhales stutters, eyes searching his face.
“Wanna…” Mei pleads breathlessly, his fingers finally latching onto the button of Kuramochi’s slacks once his belt is undone. “Please.”
Kuramochi’s hands tighten around his head, searching Mei’s expression with unabashed, pinched arousal.
“What do you want, Mei?” Kuramochi asks roughly, guiding his head back gently until it presses against the wall behind them, just to properly look him in the eye. His hands are so sturdy that they feel like earmuffs, caging him completely.
“Wanna suck your cock,” Mei rasps, maintaining eye contact even as he’s unzipping Kuramochi’s slacks feverishly. The sound of the zipper is deafening in their apartment, and they both groan.
“That’s all?” Kuramochi encourages with a shudder, thumbs brushing high on his cheekbones when Mei’s fingers squeeze past the band of his boxers. He gasps delightedly when he feels how hard and wet Kuramochi already is, his knuckles brushing against the cooling dampness of precome clinging to the trail of hair leading to his cock.
“No,” Mei answers raggedly, borderline hysterical, “Want you to fuck my throat till you come—”
“And?”
“And I’ll drink it all up. Even if I’m crying and choking I don’t—” Mei stutters, the heel of his palm nudging Kuramochi’s flush cockhead. He watches in real time as Kuramochi’s lashes flutter, but he can tell he’s trying to remain composed for the both of them. “I don’t want you to stop. Even if I can’t breathe. Want you to hold me down. Want you to be rough with me. To be mean.”
“That’s gonna be hard on you, Mei,” he warns, fanning harshly over Mei’s lips. His fingers curl in his hair, a testament of his self control, but he doesn’t look the slightest bit remorseful when Mei searches his face. Like a cheetah watching a gazelle through cage bars.
“I can take it,” Mei insists, nodding with the limited movement that Kuramochi’s hands give him. He’s sucked Kuramochi off countless times before. He’s intimately familiar with everything about his lover, but tonight, he’s promising something much greater. Something that he thinks he can do, even though Kuramochi is always there to caution him, acting as a safety net.
He finally digs his hand deep enough into Kuramochi’s boxers so he can wrap his fingers around the base of him, feeling the way he twitches and how a hot bead of precome leaks down his inner wrist. “Don’t underestimate me, Youichi.”
Instead of responding, Kuramochi attacks Mei’s lips again, kissing him harshly until his mouth feels swollen and stinging from his bites. It’s only when Kuramochi removes his hands from Mei’s head that he begins his venture downward, dropping to his knees with a concerning thud.
“Shit,” Kuramochi curses at Mei’s eagerness, pressing those hands to the wall instead.
When Mei glances up from his kneeling position, Kuramochi is a looming, dark figure. His face is so delightfully pinched and red, and he’s digging his teeth into his lower lip, looking about ready to consume Mei entirely. He shivers, needing to get his lonely mouth on him or else he’s going to be driven into an early grave.
Quickly, Mei pulls the band of Kuramochi’s boxers down until they hook under his balls. The heady, musky scent and cologne of him makes Mei’s mouth water when Kuramochi’s cock bobs in front of him; thick, long, and impossibly hard. Another twinkling bead of precome gushes from his slit, and Mei leans forward to lap it up, but Kuramochi’s hand catches his forehead, stopping him.
“What—” Mei splutters, glaring up at Kuramochi, “What are you doing?”
“You’re so eager, Mei,” Kuramochi has the audacity to pet him, making a mess of his bangs and combing them back until he has a clear view of the crinkling frown in Mei’s eyebrows.
Even if he can’t get his mouth on him, he can still wrap his fingers around his boyfriend and pump him leisurely, mulling over brief satisfaction when Kuramochi shudders as his foreskin is pulled away. “So what if I am,” Mei responds, licking his lips, flicking his eyes away from Kuramochi to gaze at his glistening, dripping cock instead. “I’m getting what I’ve — what I’ve been wanting all night.”
Mei tries to move forward again, to take him into his mouth, but Kuramochi’s hand proves to be an obstacle once again, forcing him back.
“Youichi—” Mei gripes through his teeth, irritated. His lonely mouth flares with resentment, even with its insatiable watering.
“What do you say?” Kuramochi ignores his misery, fingers curling into his bangs. Tight, though not tight enough to pull — but a promise, if anything at all.
“Please,” Mei says in a rush, dizzy, blinking up at him through his lashes. He’ll say anything just to get his mouth on him, to quench his thirst.
Whatever Kuramochi sees has him twitching in his hold, and Mei can feel him fail to suppress a full body shiver. He knows that only Mei would give him the reins like this, and how much time it took to build to that point to begin with is not to be taken lightly. It’s freeing to be directed sometimes, to let the decision be made for you. And, well, sometimes it’s as simple as: Mei doesn’t want to think.
“Stick out your tongue,” Kuramochi orders roughly, “and let go.”
Mei complies, the last string of defiance snapping away, leaving him pliant and malleable. His hands fall away from Kuramochi’s cock and into his lap, curling in the fabric of his slacks. Ignoring the way his own dick is hard against his thigh, trousers pulling tight as he kneels. He presents himself as prettily as he can, rounding his eyes up to his boyfriend. Kuramochi groans above him, and he uses the hand not fisted in his blond tresses to grab the base of his dick.
Finally, finally—
Kuramochi slaps the shaft of his cock on his tongue, and Mei emits a high, breathy sound. With every tap of his cock on Mei’s tongue, Kuramochi grips his hair tighter, lips shaping around a fond oh. “Oh, you’re so happy, Mei,” he exhales in wonder. “It’s so cute…”
Mei can feel his mouth watering again, especially when Kuramochi concedes in the slapping and instead resigns to dragging the tip of his cock along the cradle of his tongue. It’s so close to tipping into the hot cavern of his mouth — so close, in fact, that Mei subconsciously tries to retract his tongue and close his lips around Kuramochi when he grinds forward again, sucking him in.
The pull on his hairline is borderline painful, tingling in his scalp, when Kuramochi rips him away. Mei yelps on instinct, eyes prickling with heat, and he glares up at Kuramochi.
“Again,” Kuramochi’s eyes glint dangerously, smoothing his hand over the irritation in his scalp. Mei fights the derision flaring in the pits of his tummy, nuzzling into his hand. “Properly, this time. You can be a little more patient.”
He swallows the saliva in his mouth and opens once more, lazing his tongue out for his boyfriend's pleasure. Albeit warily, careful not to disturb the unspoken rules of this game. Because Mei likes games, and he likes winning them.
He relaxes again once the hefty weight of Kuramochi’s cock slides onto his tongue again, and when he blinks up at Kuramochi, his lashes come away wet and clumped. He vaguely hears Kuramochi curse under his breath, relentlessly caresses his thumb over Mei’s hairline and forehead, while he pumps his cock with the other.
Precome dribbles onto his tongue until Mei is drooling with it, lips wet with his own spit. This time around, Mei is better at controlling himself — even if it itches to do so, with his cock straining in his pants and Kuramochi’s poorly contained groans releasing in breathy gasps, spurring him on.
Mei stiffens the give of his tongue when Kuramochi grinds forward again, pressing against the ridge of his cock. “Fuck, Mei,” Kuramochi instantly stills upon the sensation, stroking his cock so Mei can undulate his tongue under the sensitive divot of his cockhead. His pumping fingers bump Mei’s tongue and lips with every stroke, and everything is unbelievably wet as he practically oozes precome with every strip. It’s hot, it’s always hot to see Kuramochi lose himself, especially under Mei’s ministrations but—
“It’s not enough for you, is it?” Kuramochi’s voice is hoarse when he asks, and the entire time Mei’s kept his eyes on him, he’s begun to sparkle with sweat. Mei makes a noise of agreement, moving his hands from his lap to grab onto Kuramochi’s shins. His boyfriend laughs under his breath, shaking his head, “You insatiable, greedy little pitcher. Okay, baby, are you ready?”
Mei nods as much as he’s able, and Kuramochi smiles down at him, his eyes hazy and dark with lust. He lets go of his cock and nudges under Mei’s chin placatingly like he’s a cat.
Then, the hand in his hair moves from his hairline to the back of his skull, pulling him forward. Mei impatiently opens up for him, lips easily accommodating the stretch of his bulbous head and the girth that follows. His eyes flutter to a close as he sinks, and he works his tongue, wetting whatever he can and nuzzling his jaw downward to take Kuramochi deeper. He hears the shortstop’s breath hitch loudly above him, fingers sinking into his hair encouragingly.
Emboldened, Mei pushes on. He fights a gag when Kuramochi’s cock presses deeper past his lips, sinking into his wet, succulent heat and dipping into his throat. Mei can’t help but moan with relief because finally, his tongue no longer tingles from the phantom craving that had been plaguing him all day, thirsting for the weight that only Kuramochi could quench. Mei enthusiastically suckles around him as best as he can, nuzzling his jaw deeper until his lips constrict around the root of Kuramochi’s cock, and his nose buries into the unruly hair at the base. Completely bottomed out, Mei whines around Kuramochi’s cock, and his eyes roll into the back of his head.
Spit desperately clings to his chin when Kuramochi just holds him there with a mean hand, forcing him to wet it as much as possible. Above him, his boyfriend is completely blissed out, hips jerking with restraint.
“Fuck, Mei,” Kuramochi rasps, shaking with every vibration Mei’s sounds sends down his cock, “You’re incredible. You’re so good, baby.”
It’s not long before Mei needs to pull off completely when his breath begins to escape him. He turns his head and coughs wetly to the side, settled only by the way that Kuramochi is adoringly petting his head.
“Hah,” Mei gulps for air, letting Kuramochi cup his red cheek and turn him back to his task. He opens willingly when his wet cockhead nudges his spit-slick lips, and he sinks back down to the base of Kuramochi’s cock with little trouble, adequately warmed up. He tastes salty and musky, and Mei preens at the ridge of a vein curving from the underside and sliding against the pillowy softness of his inner cheek. He gulps him down feverishly, lapping at the endless dribble of precome until Kuramochi’s cock pushes too deep for his tongue to keep working.
Once he’s fully sheathed again, Kuramochi free hand joins the other, fingers curling through the hair on the side of Mei’s head. Mei, already cockdrunk, hollows his cheeks invitingly, soft flesh massaging his hard shaft, and Kuramochi finally snaps.
With the grip that Kuramochi has on either side of Mei’s head, he fucks his mouth down onto him with vigorously, dick plunging harshly into the tight squeeze of his spasming throat. Mei chokes.
It’s instantly overwhelming — so much so that all Mei can do is scramble to hold onto Kuramochi’s thighs, fingers digging into his slacks so harshly that the material creaks. He tries to keep up with the pace that Kuramochi sets, sucking in with every brutal thrust, but Mei quickly loses the rhythm, throat convulsing and working against the pummeling cock with every stroke. This early on, though, Kuramochi has some mercy — some restraint. He yanks Mei off his cock, fingers lost in the messy tangle of blond, and curses at the view.
Mei lungs heave greedily, grateful for the break, but his mouth is already tipping open again, ready for Kuramochi’s next plunder, and he thinks he hears his boyfriend chuckle. He barely registers the way Kuramochi is shuffling their bodies closer to the wall, caging Mei between his legs. A wave of heat crashes over him when he realizes that Kuramochi fully intends to pin him here with no other way to go besides onto his cock. Mei licks his swollen lips, breathless, and he lets Kuramochi’s hands maneuver his head back towards his straining erection.
“So sweet,” Kuramochi praises when Mei shakily kisses the tip of his cock. He moans, pillowing his lips around the ruddy cockhead and suckling, sending a wavering look up to his boyfriend. He feels something wet slip down his cheek as a result of the rough treatment.
“Mei,” Kuramochi moans as he tongues the slit relentlessly, honey eyes hot and glowing as he looks down at him, “I’m gonna fuck your throat now for real this time, okay? S-So…” Mei ducks his head and laps at his heavy balls, teasing the blunt edges of his teeth against the underside of his cock. The resulting whine has Mei’s cock twitching in his slacks, so he redoubles his efforts, sucking one into his mouth. “Fuck—y-you need to… hit me, if you need me off… okay?”
He pulls away and drags his tongue along Kuramochi’s shaft on his way up, panting. “Jus’ make me cry like you said you would, Youichi,” Mei demands hoarsely, lips catching the flushed head, “Want you to be mean to me.”
“You sure?” Kuramochi’s voice shakes, probably from anxiety, or from pleasure, or maybe both, and he’s petting Mei still. “Mei, what if I—”
“Youichi,” Mei meets his gaze head-on, uninterested in letting him finish that thought. He probably looks wrecked already, face cherry red, spittle wicking his cheeks and lips and his hair wild from his boyfriend's restless grip. He never knows what Kuramochi sees in him, he never knows what spurs him on — especially now, when he’s stepping away to bend at the waist. Mei blinks at him questioningly, but then Kuramochi is leaning forward, the hands in his hair tugging his head back until Mei feels the sinuous stretch of his neck, capturing his lips with his own.
It’s a short, sweet thing, and Mei’s heart squeezes in his chest when Kuramochi pulls away with a conflicted expression, lips shining with Mei’s spit.
“Love you,” he whispers to Mei, cheeks pink at the admission as if he didn’t have his cock down Mei’s throat a minute ago.
And usually, in a scenario such as this where Mei just wants to be fucked till he sees stars, he wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. But now, he feels it, and Mei thinks that Kuramochi needs to hear it too. He warms regardless, his heart squeezing in the confines of his ribcage, and he fails to suppress the upward tick at the corner of his mouth.
“Love you, too.”
Kuramochi makes a satisfied noise and kisses him once more for good measure, then he pulls away. His cock bobs in front of Mei’s face again when he steps back into his space, and Mei releases a relaxed breath, sagging against the wall behind him. At some point, kneeling proved to be ineffective, so he makes himself comfortable by sitting on his ass, legs bent under Kuramochi’s straddle.
This time, Mei lets Kuramochi’s hands guide him back down without stopping until he’s choking at the base of his rod, nose flush against the hair curling at his lower navel.
His fingers tighten at the base of his skull, and Kuramochi lets out a shuddering, stilted breath when he begins thrusting at a careful pace, holding Mei’s head in place like he’s a fucktoy. It’s unbelievably sexy when he thinks about it, and he presses his tongue flat against the underside of his cock just to draw a low groan from Kuramochi, spit pushing past his lips and making everything sound wet. Now filled to the brim, Mei suppresses a gag, his throat clicking around the thick girth whenever he tries to swallow. Above him, Kuramochi sounds ragged and worn, his breath leaving him in harsh grunts, “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Kuramochi pulls back achingly slow, just to feel the way Mei’s throat spasms against him. The slick, wet sound of suction has them both burning, and this time, Kuramochi doesn’t hesitate before he’s picking up an unforgiving pace.
Backed against the wall with the only way to go being further onto Kuramochi’s cock, Mei sits and takes it, squeezing his eyes shut so he can open his mouth wide enough for the cock to bully its way into his throat again. Every thrust Kuramochi fucks back into him is delightfully overwhelming — there’s no time to properly settle, no time to catch his breath. He just has to be an open, wet hole for his boyfriend to use. Kuramochi grips his hair so tight that he’s only partially worried about the sting in his scalp. Mei chokes when his cock hits his throat, and his hands fly up to Kuramochi’s thighs to hold on desperately, just taking it.
After a few harsh fucks and Mei’s face growing red from lack of proper oxygen, Kuramochi pulls him off, head knocking back into the wood. Mei greedily gulps for air, his face considerably more wet and messy than before. Unlike before, though, Mei has no time to settle properly, before the tip of Kuramochi’s cock is nudging past his swollen, spit-slick lips again. Mei sucks a quick breath through his nose before Kuramochi fucks his hips into his face, cock plunging deep into his throat without delay. Promptly, he chokes, his mind telling him to move off his cock — and he does — but Kuramochi’s hands force him down, making him ride with the discomfort.
“If only…” Kuramochi begins, sounding as wrecked as Mei feels, pumping his cock mercilessly in and out of his throat with a vice grip on his skull, balls slapping against his chin, “…Nagata saw you like this. I wonder what he’d say, hah, seeing such a pretty boy getting his throat fucked raw by his boyfriend. Bet he—” Mei moans around his cock, the words spurring his heart beat faster, and Kuramochi shudders, hips stuttering, “—bet he wishes, fuck, that he could do this to you. All night, I saw him lookin’ at that slutty mouth of yours. But he doesn’t know you’re made for my cock, Mei, he doesn’t know one bit—” Kuramochi slams his hips into Mei’s mouth, and his hands grind against his skull, burying his cock deep. He holds Mei there, and it’s overwhelming — he feels his feet scramble, trying to push away, but Kuramochi’s strength is relentless. “So you want me to be mean? Hah, I can be mean, baby.”
Time, in Mei’s case, is a clusterfuck of peculiarity, and what may seem like mere seconds for Kuramochi, feels like minutes holding your breath underwater for him.
When Kuramochi finally pulls him off his cock, Mei coughs hard with a cry in his voice, gripping his thighs for support.
“No one can wreck you like this. No one can fuck your slutty holes like this,” Mei hears Kuramochi growl as he tries to regain himself, dizzy, “And you know this, too. Who do you belong to, Mei?”
But Mei is still fighting for air, trying to soothe the burning in his lungs. He feels his eyes stinging with heat, and what he briefly suspected to be the wetness before solidifies itself when he peers his eyes open. Tears slip from his eyes like undoing a dam, and Mei sobs, sniffling uncontrollably. Except, there is no one there to console him, and Mei doesn’t miss the way Kuramochi scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip at the sight of his baby all tearful and messy. The hands in his hair yank his head back and he lets himself be maneuvered, hiccuping, and forced to look up at the glinting golden iris’ in the darkness of their apartment.
“Who do you belong to, Mei?” Kuramochi repeats, voice swinging deep and dark until Mei feels his gut flip.
“Y-You,” Mei sniffles, throat rubbed raw.
“Say it,” Kuramochi demands, jerking Mei’s head back again until he’s crying with it, the long column of his throat arching. He steps forward, crowding Mei impossibly closer against the wall until his cock slips over his face, right between his eyes. Kuramochi looks as pleased as a predator when it lays across Mei, heavy and heady and streaking a mix of Mei’s spittle and Kuramochi’s precome across his lips. All Mei can do is climb his hands up the backs of Kuramochi’s thighs, squeezing his ass to provoke him further. “Say my name.”
Mei breathes heavily against the underside of his shaft, drinking in lungfuls of musk. His mouth is watering again, ready to take him, ready to undo him.
“Youichi,” his voice breaks desperately, lips smudging against the hard line of Kuramochi’s cock. His head is pulled back so far that he can feel his tears dripping back into his hairline. He must look like such a mess.
“That’s right, princess,” Kuramochi grinds against his face, smearing their mix of juices meanly over the planes of Mei’s face. Mei groans with it, too far gone to flush with shame at the way he opens himself up, tongue sticking out of his mouth. A new swell of precome beads from the tip of Kuramochi’s cock, dripping onto Mei’s forehead on the next slow grind forward.
“Look at you,” Kuramochi gleams, the curling fingers in his hair turning deceptively gentle, “Inviting me to fuck your throat pussy… how sweet of you.” Mei whines, partly from humility, and the other being completely thrilled at his boyfriend's vulgar tongue.
It’s settled when Kuramochi angles his cock into Mei’s mouth on the next undulation, and Mei’s eyes flutter to a close as his straining erection fills him back up, everything clicking into place again. He swallows around Kuramochi’s girth, throat straining, and he moans happily, hallowing his cheeks to suckle on what he can.
“No,” he hears above him, “Keep your eyes on me, Mei.”
It’s a struggle, but Mei peels his eyes open again to share a watery look with Kuramochi. Tears are already welling again from the strain in his throat, and he feels Kuramochi’s cock twitch in the tight sleeve of his heated gullet. The fingers in his hair tighten again, and Mei winds up like a toy, automatically bracing himself for the brutal pace his boyfriend is about to set. Kuramochi just hisses through his teeth as he drinks in whatever he sees. His hands lift momentarily, before resituating on his forehead to brush the sweeping mess of his hair away from his face. Clearing it, so he could have an unobstructed view of baby blues. Mei moans, trying to work his tongue on his cock, and Kuramochi’s hands return to curl to the back of his head, anchoring him. He snaps his hips forward, driving his cock all the way down his throat so abruptly that Mei winces in struggle, eyes threatening to close upon the brute force.
“Look at me, baby,” Kuramochi reminds him, driving his hips mercilessly, completely overwhelming him. He’s holding Mei, he’s got him, he can support him—
Mei’s brows knit as he wrestles to hold Kuramochi’s wicked gaze. Spittle and precome are stringing down his chin from the connection, and with every thrust in, Mei can’t help but relish in the wet, succulent noises his throat creates. With their eyes now on each other, Kuramochi moves with a harshness so all-consuming that Mei becomes limp like a ragdoll.
“Just like that, Mei,” Kuramochi’s mouth falls open adoringly in praise, his breathing heavy. “Gonna fuck my cream down your throat. You want that, baby? Hm? Nagata can’t do it for you like I can, can he? So you came crawling back to me? Were you craving my cum?”
One hand fists at the top of his hair, and the other at the base of his skull, fucking his head onto the thick cock while Kuramochi’s hips snap to meet him halfway. Mei sobs, squeezing his throat and holding onto Kuramochi’s slacks for dear life. The inability to answer his question with the cock plundering his throat has him whimpering, but Kuramochi doesn't grace him with a break, bending his knees and hugging Mei’s head to the base of his dick so he has no other place to go but sink further down. Mei, finally, gags around the intrusion, nose pressing against Kuramochi’s stomach — but he doesn’t relent. He just makes Mei work through the reflex by himself, and that alone wells more tears in his eyes, slipping down his heated, messy cheeks. Kuramochi isn’t very helpful, either, as he just continues to grind his hips against his mouth, moaning so loud into their apartment that it echoes down the hallway.
Kuramochi has become a blurry figure in his vision now, but Mei is anything if not stubborn, wanting to win this game with unspoken rules. Kuramochi must see this, because he’s gritting his teeth now with a disbelieving groan, fucking into his throat harder, and deeper.
He doesn’t let Mei up for air.
He can feel his eyes rolling back into his head, and his hands leave from Kuramochi’s ass to the front of his hips, trying, in vain, to lessen the brunt of each blow.
The hand on the back of his head curves around his ear, before Kuramochi fully grazes Mei’s throat with his fingers, feeling each bulging thrust whenever he buries deep. Mei chokes in alarm because the area feels surprisingly tender and he tries to get away, but the hand on his head constricts him from fully pulling off.
“Fuck, I can feel myself right here, Mei,” Kuramochi talks aloud in wonder. Mei’s jaw is cradled by the jut of Kuramochi’s wrist as he caresses the front of his throat with his fingers, fucking hard just to feel the way his throat bulges and distends. Mei can’t even imagine what he must look like, what he must feel like, for Kuramochi to be fucking into him with such reckless abandon.
Mei can only whimper around his cock, accommodating every violent thrust until both of Kuramochi’s hands are back on his head, desperately grabbing onto him. He must be close, if the sloppy movements of his hips, or the deep-seated groans tearing from his throat are anything to go by. Mei pushes past the strain, the overwhelming squeeze in his lungs as it’s denied adequate air beyond tiny gulps through his nose. He feels his throat squeezing rhythmically around Kuramochi’s cock, determined to milk him, to swallow him — and Kuramochi curses loudly, throwing his head back and fucking him harder. Mei’s entire body blares in alarm, and he arches off the wall to escape, but it only sinks him deeper—
“Drink it all, Mei,” Kuramochi heaves the demand, hands spreading to conquer the entire area of Mei’s skull and holding on tighter. Ensuring he has nowhere to go. “Every last drop. You hear me?”
Mei only whines, fingers clawing into his hips, utterly at his mercy.
He lets himself be used just like he wanted, vision hazy, eyes shut and leaking a slew of tears that mix with the foaming spittle and precome that Kuramochi fucks back into him, so messy that even the balls slapping against his chin resound with wet smacks.
After three more rough, hard thrusts, Mei’s hands fall slack as Kuramochi presses him against the wall, leaning his entire upper body weight into Mei until his cock is fully stuffed in his throat, lips stretched around the base of his rod and chin wet with spluttered spittle.
Kuramochi comes with a long, drawn-out groan. He's so deep that Mei can’t even properly swallow. He coughs, feeling the fill, hands shaking where they’ve become limp on Kuramochi’s slacks. But Kuramochi holds him there, his hips twitching as he rides out his orgasm, twitching with aftershocks. It feels like an eternity before Kuramochi's groans peter out, replaced with guttural, ragged breaths, and he slowly — carefully — slips his cock out of Mei’s mouth.
As soon as he’s able, Mei lurches and coughs, cum still thick and coating his throat. He swallows what he can — spittle and cum alike — releasing a borderline distressed noise upon realizing he needs to choose whether to breathe or swallow and he can’t do both —
Mei sobs, chest hiccuping when he feels hands leave his hair and hook under his armpits, hoisting him up. He tries to catch his breath, violent jolts wracking his frame.
When he blinks past the remaining tears, he sees Kuramochi at eye level, his hot breath batting against Mei’s wet lips. They gaze at each other while he settles.
Kuramochi’s sharp brows knit with desperation when Mei manages to give him a watery smile. Through the cloud of arousal, Mei vaguely feels Kuramochi work to shakily undo his trousers. He parts his lips in a gasp, and Kuramochi leans in, kissing the sullied mess away and licking in for a taste of himself.
It goes by embarrassingly quick: Kuramochi supporting him with an arm slung around his back, his other hand stripping over Mei’s throbbing erection. All Mei can do is pant into his mouth in between his hungry kisses, and whenever Kuramochi pulls away, he rebuilds Mei, brick by brick purely with the look in his eyes.
“Mei,” Kuramochi breathes, licking his swollen lips. Mei’s movements are sluggish, trying to catch Kuramochi’s tongue with his. “You’re incredible, you know that? So good, baby.”
Mei moans, bucking his hips lazily into the fast pump of Kuramochi’s hand. Kuramochi knows exactly how to handle him, how to build up the curling ball of tension in his stomach until his balls draw tight. He feels weak, but he still whines, “Youichi, gonna come—”
“Come for me, Mei,” Kuramochi dips his head, catching Mei’s earlobe between his teeth, then he moves and spoils Mei with kisses all over his face.
Mei is pushed over the edge by the pure adoration he feels with every brush of Kuramochi’s lips, and he cries out, throat aching and raw. He stripes pearly strands over Kuramochi’s fist, he thunks his head back against the wall, gasping.
Kuramochi takes that opportunity to lick up the long column of Mei’s neck, reverent in what it’s managed to do for both of them tonight, then whispering against his chin, “Let me take you to bed, Mei. I’m not done with you yet.”
“Okay,” Mei croaks, swallowing hard as his softening cock gives one last twitch at his words.
He slides his grip under his ass suggestively, and Mei leans into him, letting himself be hoisted yet again. He tightens his arms around his boyfriend's neck until the ground beneath his feet feels far away.
Afterward, Youichi thoroughly fucks Narumiya into their mattress until he tears his throat up again by screaming into their silk pillows.
Youichi himself feels undone and divine, dick milked raw from the pleasure. He knew jealousy could be one hell of a foreplay, but he genuinely didn’t expect the animalistic qualities it brought out in both him and Narumiya. Not that they’re much different in the diamond, he supposes, but the charged, sexual energy and desire to claim still feels like coal smoldering through his stomach lining.
Now, Narumiya is strewn out across the bed, sleeping on his stomach. Amongst their mountain of pillows, the boy looks pliant and soft, the muscles in his back carving like smooth butter with every small shift under the covers.
Youichi leans over with a cool, damp rag to tenderly sweep at the redness under Narumiya’s eyes, cleaning the tear tracks and hoping it would reduce the inevitable puffiness come morning. When he pulls it away, Narumiya’s dark lashes have barely fluttered, his kiss-bitten lips parted with each puff of breath.
Fondness swells in Youichi for the tenth time that night and he dips his head to nuzzle into the curl of hair behind Narumiya’s ear, inhaling his scent and brushing his lips to the sensitive juncture of his jaw. The kisses he leaves there are wet and warm, and he briefly feels arousal stirring fresh in his groin when Narumiya sighs in his sleep at the sensation. Youchi gives in and licks at his skin, before latching his lips and teeth onto a particularly high spot that he knows Narumiya’s undershirt won’t cover and sucks. When he pulls away with a restrained nibble, his skin gives away to a reddening mark, sure to darken as the hours pass. Consequences be damned.
Satisfied, Youichi rakes his eyes over Narumiya’s figure. In the morning, if he rouses earlier than him, he’ll wake him up by returning the favor — going down on him until he wakes up, disoriented and rolling his hips up into Youichi’s mouth until he comes with a whine. Or, he could wake him up with an enthusiastic tongue up his ass, eating him out until he grinds back onto his face, begging Youichi to fuck him with that sleepy voice of his that’s all too vulnerable and soft in the morning.
Youichi twists his lips in thought, cock twitching valiantly. But he doesn’t move to deal with it, content with gazing at Narumiya’s peaceful sleeping face instead.
Promptly, a notification dings from a phone on the floor, lost in the pile of clothes discarded when Narumiya and Youichi bullied each other into the room. He’s about to ignore it when it dings again, and then for a third time.
Youichi sighs, pushing himself up from the bed and bending over to rifle through the clothes until his fingers nudged something promising and hard. Narumiya’s pants.
Youichi digs into the pocket and pulls out Narumiya’s sleek phone, entering his passcode without much thought and sauntering back over to the bed.
Just as he’s about to join his boyfriend again, knee sinking into the mattress, he pauses.
Three text notifications from Nagata Shouhei, under the contact name of Naga-chan with a bicep curl emoji.
Youichi’s lips subconsciously pull into a sneer as he opens the chat log:
Naga-chan 💪
11:58 pm
Naru-chan! It was so good seeing you tonight
I know we want to get wagyu together, but please let me take you out for a drink. I’d love to catch up with you. Privately, maybe?
But no pressure… I’ve just forgotten how cute you are. Anyways, let me know! 💪
Youichi stares at the screen, annoyance ticking his brow.
He briefly considers texting this Naga-chan back, but looking at their past chatting history proves that avenue to be kind of pointless. Narumiya barely answers his texts unless it’s from his inner circle — that, of which, Nagata is not in — so their text history is kind of dry, the last text dating back to what Youichi presumes to be a congratulations to Nagata for being drafted to the Hanshin Tigers.
He clicks on Nagata’s contact information.
Narumiya, as Youichi can see, doesn’t have as many occupational notes on Nagata as he does with Youichi and his other friends, so he bypasses all of it entirely to scroll to the bottom of the interface.
No harm done, Youichi thinks, as his thumb hovers over an innocent button.
He glances at Narumiya over the phone, who hasn’t stirred, the dimples of his lower back beckoning him into bed.
Delete contact.