Work Text:
“If your opponent is temperamental, seek to irritate him.”
You’ve been doing this for weeks.
Or, rather, to be more accurate, you’ve been trying to do this for weeks. Trying to succeed and utterly failing, to be sure.
It started out so damn innocuously, too.
(Doesn’t it always, though, with Mitsunari?)
&
“You always moan so beautifully for me when you come…"
His tone borders on teasing, but the hand cupping your cheek serves to give him away, your smile meeting his annoyingly smug one. It’s something you’re used to seeing, but, all the same, likewise something you’ve always wanted to wipe off his face.
The only problem with that particular plan is that your boyfriend is, first, exceedingly witty, intelligent, and perceptive– more so than should be allowed, really– and, second, annoyingly good in bed.
After all, there is a reason for all the moaning on your part and the smug showboating on his. He’s earned it. Even if no one could have anticipated what a quick study he’d turn out to be in the sack, least of all you.
"Sometimes I barely even touch you…” His hand pauses, ghosting over your sweat-slicked front, hovering over your breast as another shudder escapes you, almost as if his words had called it forth, summoned it solely for his gasconading purposes. Annoying, that. “See what I mean? It’s like your body is just begging me for more. Have I not satisfied my succubus enough for today?”
Pursing your lips, you squint up at him, entirely unamused.
“I’m not answering that.”
“Because I already know the answer?”
Damn him.
“It would really help if you weren’t so damn smug about it, you know. You should be more respectful of your elders.”
“You know…” he continues, not bothering to take your bait even as he plucks up your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your palm, the light, carefully-placed affection a stark contrast to the mischief dancing in his expression. “I don’t think you could last… two weeks without my touch.”
“What!” You sit up fast enough that your forehead almost slams into his, indignance coursing through every last fiber in your body. “Take that back!”
His smile widens, almost as if he expected you to react like this, expected you to play right into his waiting hands. “You sound so sure of yourself. Don’t tell me… that you think you could make it longer than that.”
“I could!” you declare, fool that you are. “Of course I could!”
“Shall we make it a bet, then? One month? Of no sex?”
It sounds awful even then. But, at the same time, he sounds so damn certain that you’d fail that you– or, rather, your pride– can’t quite resist the urge to steel your resolve, to double down and actually take him up on this ridiculous proposition. “I’ll make it. The real question is if you will.”
His chuckle had been dark and self-satisfied, Mitsunari’s smile a warning you should have seen coming from miles away. “Oh, is it? I guess we’ll have to see.”
That’s how it starts.
&
Mitsunari posts a set of rules on the very first day, of course, pinned to the fridge.
- No touching each other.
- Accidental touching while asleep is allowed; however, upon waking, do not seek to exacerbate the situation. Separate as swiftly and efficiently as possible.
- Masturbation is allowed.
- Verbal teasing and sexting are allowed.
- Erotica and pornography viewing are allowed.
- Should one party break before the other (you), the winner (me, Mitsunari) will be entitled to one (1) day of consensual sexual favors* **
*within reason
**safe word included***
***the safe word is manju
“Don’t you think that this is… uh.” You purse your lips. “… a little excessive?”
“Not at all,” Mitsunari says, coming up behind you to look over the list once more. “Am I to take it that you’re giving up already?”
His words– unsurprisingly, as if he expected this to happen– only serve to harden your resolve, and you steel your gaze as you look at him.
“Of course not. If fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must fight! Sun Tzu compels me to take you on– prepare yourself, opponent!”
“Funny,” Mitsunari murmurs, leaning in close enough to whisper in your ear, but not quite close enough to touch, his breath only serving to tickle the shell of your ear as you shiver. “That’s exactly why I’m fighting, too.”
&
You hate that he already assumes, for no good reason whatsoever, that he’ll somehow manage to win by default– and, while, yes, granted, the sheer amount of self-control he seems to possess in the tip of his thumb alone likely exceeds all the self-control you have in your entire body, you’re still determined to put up a fight even Sun Tzu would have been proud of.
So you pull out a blank piece of paper and begin to set up your battle plan.
1. Lingerie - Surprise him with some brand new attire when he comes home. But!! Keep it classy. Anything too overt and he’ll just scoff and casually insult you. You don’t need that kind of jab at your self-confidence this early into the war!!
2. Sexting - Even at work! Especially at work! Text him the naughtiest things you can think of while you’re sitting just a few feet away and he’s trying to read. Just don’t start blushing at the things you type or it’ll render the whole exercise pointless!
3. Masturbation - One room over, while he’s home. Be loud! This is not the time to suddenly feel shy! Ideally, you would time it in such a way as to have been at it for a bit already by the time he comes home. Surprise him in the best way!
4. Jealousy - Talk with Inuchiyo, Hideyoshi, and Sakon as much as possible. Last resort– only to be implemented if all else fails! Highly effective, but also definitely a low blow.
5. Roleplay - Sexy librarian? Naughty schoolgirl? Classic nurse’s outfit? Traditional kimono? Pretty sure if he was into this sort of thing you would have found out about it by now, so maybe scrap this one.
Sitting back, you smile. Mitsunari won’t know what hit him.
&
By the time a week passes by, you already feel like you’re dying.
Sure, this had been your intent. Hold out by doing absolutely nothing for as long as possible to break him down, slowly but surely, but from the looks of things, between the two of you, you’re the only one losing your mind.
On the surface, your relationship looks to be practically unchanged. You both still work, spend most of your free time together in relatively close proximity, whether cooking or reading, share in the events of your respective workdays…
Who could have suspected that physical intimacy, even in a relationship with Mitsunari, one of the least physically affectionate people you’ve ever met, would turn out to be so dearly missed?
That’s when you decide to head out after work, determined to implement part one of your battle plan.
&
You end up finding the perfect thing– a lace-trimmed babydoll slip, white silk, the very picture of class with just a hint of innocence.
You debate roughly a million different positions to be in prior to his arrival, only to finally settle on something more innocuous and casual, a book propped open on your thigh, your heels tucked up underneath your rear.
You hear the key in the lock to announce his arrival long before his usual I’m home, your heart already in your throat as you wait for his reaction. It takes you every last remaining ounce of willpower to keep from looking up when you hear him step into the living room, your gaze instead fixed on the words swimming together on the page, decidedly out of focus, your concentration entirely devoted to your boyfriend and his imminent reaction. You even go so far as to turn the page in your attempt to look convincing enough as you pretend to keep reading.
Only, his reaction never does come.
Instead, Mitsunari walks right past you, setting his shoulder bag aside after taking out several books to lay down upon the living room table.
“I picked up a couple of things you might like,” he tells you, shamelessly, and you finally lift your gaze to meet his, infuriatingly unaffected one.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?!”
“About your attire? No, of course not, seeing as it’s obviously meant to goad me into some sort of sexual frenzy. Although I do imagine that you must be cold.”
He ends up bringing you a blanket.
Absolute critical failure.
&
You know what I’m wearing right now?
You can’t help it. You’re determined not to let the siren call of failure simply take you lying down.
Which means that it’s time to put plan number two in motion from where you’re sitting in the library, your eyes glued to your phone instead of the book you brought along to your seat as a cover, eagerly waiting for your boyfriend to respond.
You’re literally sitting a few feet away from me. Of course I know what you’re wearing.
Taking in a deep breath, you decide to ignore his blatant apathy, instead simply forging onward like a brave soldier.
No underwear.
Sparing a glance up at him, you scowl. How can he look so utterly calm?!
Fascinating.
Damn him! Bristling– and trying hard not to let it show on your face, you get up to go to the bathroom. Granted, a technically unscripted decision, but war was probably never won without at least some improvisation. If Sun Tzu taught you anything, it was at least that much.
Waiting for what you assume to be an appropriate amount of time– five minutes or so should just about do it, right?– you slip back out of the bathroom to return to your seat, quick to type up another text to your boyfriend.
I just got off in the bathroom while thinking of you ;)
It only takes a few seconds before the three little dots come up to notify you that Mitsunari is typing, your excitement likely written all over your face as you wait for his response.
How utterly unhygienic.
You just about drop your phone.
That’s all you have to say???
This time, he types for a good deal longer.
You forget that I know far better than anyone else what you look like after you come. You’re not nearly disheveled or flushed enough. After I’ve made you come, you always look like you can barely stand up straight, one of those idiot grins on your face, hair in disarray, your decolletage an astonishing shade of red, breathless… quite the sight to behold.
Another text follows almost immediately after.
You’re also not the sort of person to masturbate in a public restroom in the first place.
Yeah, well, maybe I should be!
Please don’t. I quite like you as you are.
Who gave him the right to fluster you so expertly– and so quickly, for that matter?
So, I’ll believe it when I see it.
That’s when you decide to put plan number three into motion.
&
You wait two days, of course. The last thing you want is for things to be entirely too obvious for him to tell what sort of plan you must be hatching, and you know fully well that a same-day move like this would strike him as not only incredibly predictable, but uninspired.
So you bide your time, impatient to the last.
On the day in question– finally– you set yourself up in the very center of your shared bed, your trusty old sex toys– mostly forgotten after you began dating Mitsunari, and definitely forgotten after you moved in with him– by your side.
You’re determined to do this, and do it right.
It’s not like it was a foreign idea to you prior to getting with him, but somehow, somehow, he managed to outclass every last one of your toys using only his fingers, his cock, and, eventually, his tongue, too.
Just thinking about it now elicits a soft whine from the back of your throat, and you whimper, your fingers flying over your clit as your thoughts run back to the first time he ever went down on you, eventually resurfacing with a self-satisfied look on his face before declaring you to be not entirely inedible.
Picturing that smirk on his face is enough to draw another moan out of you (because there’s clearly something wrong with you), and you’re quick to grab hold of your vibrator, your fingers proving utterly insufficient in light of the memories you have of him, the way he touches you…
“Mitsunari,” you cry out, utterly breathless, feeling rather like you’re teasing yourself into oblivion when compared to what he can do to you under less torturous circumstances, your head pressing back into the pillow as your hips arch up toward the vibrator–
“Needy little thing.”
“Mitsunari!” you gasp, your exclamation this time, for once, not driven out of sheer arousal, your vibrator stuttering as your eyes widen, taking in the sight of him. How did you forget that this was the plan all along? To drive him to a point of hyper-arousal from the sight of you pleasuring yourself alone…
Why, then, does he look so utterly bored and unaffected?
“I should have known you’d cave sooner than later and give in to your toys.” Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he leans against the doorway, looking irritatingly amused with the state of you.
“You say that like it’s– ah– not allowed–”
“Oh, no, it is. Just surprised it took you this long.”
“It’s–” you gasp, your cunt spasming in what seems to be only a teaser of what’s to come, “n-not enough–”
“Of course it isn’t. We both know what you really want right now is my cock.”
“Yes,” the whimper leaves you, far more honest than you’d ever expected to be given the current state of affairs.
“You might have an easier time of it if you get that dildo involved,” he says, nodding beside you, another strangled sound leaving your throat as you pick it up to shove inside of yourself in one fell swoop, your hips arching up toward your hands. “Ah–”
“That’s a good girl… I can only imagine how desperate you must be feeling by now.” How he’s saying all of this with a straight face is completely beyond you, even as he continues. “Set down that vibrator and use your fingers.”
You can’t remember the last time you were this helplessly turned on as you are now that you’re taking his instructions, your fingers replacing the sharp buzzing to a whine drawn out from your throat like a silk ribbon, long and yet unmistakeably soft, smooth, as though it always belonged there in your throat, the taste of the sound on your tongue making you wish for his cock in your mouth, instead.
“H-how– do you look– s-so calm–”
If you’re not wrong, he’s barely even hard. Granted, he’s wearing jeans– not to mention that you don’t have a particularly good vantage point from which to get a good look at him– but he looks as though he’s hardly even affected by you, legs spread wide, moaning and falling apart, his name the only one in your thoughts or on your lips.
“Self-discipline the likes of which you could only dream of having.” A beat. “Aren’t you going to fuck yourself with it? Don’t just shove it up there and call it good; you’re even more incompetent at this than I expected.”
“I d-don’t know if you realize this,” you rasp out, plunging the bulbous g-spot dildo in and out of you like a woman possessed, “but I don’t actually get off– to you– insulting me– ah–!”
“Could’ve fooled me.” He says it almost painfully casually, and you whine again, low in your throat as you finally give in and grab for the vibrator again. “Though you do seem to have forgotten the fact that getting you off isn’t actually my job right now. At least not until you lose our bet.”
“I won’t lose–”
“You will if you keep masturbating like that. Angle it up more. Your g-spot is fairly particular. And you’ll never come from keeping all that pin-point pressure directly on your clitoris. That’s why I suggested your fingers.” Turning around, he casually tosses a hand up. “Have fun.”
You’re almost certain he’s going off to masturbate himself, but you’re far too close to go after him now, of all times.
Muttering a curse under your breath as you finally feel yourself come to the thought of him, dick in his own hand, you make a mental note.
Time to resort to option number four.
&
“Hideyoshi! It’s you~!”
You know– and fully well, at that– that you’re being excessive. You haven’t hounded the circulation desk even once since you got here today, instead chasing every male employee that isn’t Mitsunari around– to the point that even Sakon has caught on to what you must be doing, Hideyoshi inevitably being the first to figure it out.
“Things must be pretty dire,” he’d joked, “if you’re going to such extreme lengths to catch his attention. Did you two have a fight?”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. We just… have a bet going.”
“Need any help?”
&
The problem with Hideyoshi’s kind offer is that Mitsunari doesn’t seem to care– so long as it’s just Hideyoshi or Sakon that you’re treating like your newest best friends, as though he knows that, first, you’d never go so far as to actually flirt with his boss or one of his coworkers, and, second, that neither of them would ever so much as consider stealing you away from him.
They’re a loyal bunch, after all.
So by the time the end of the workday rolls around, you decide to pull out the big guns and call Inuchiyo, traipsing around the aisles like a painted peacock in lieu of the lack of a phone cord to twirl your finger around.
“Do you want to get dinner tomorrow, just the two of us– oh, hang on, Inuchiyo, Mitsunari is glaring at me.”
He looks murderous, a fairly refreshing change of pace from his usual, placid demeanor. It’s subtle, of course, as all things are when it comes to him, but from your perspective, there might as well be steam coming out of his ears.
“This. is. still. a. library, I hope you realize, you vile, traitorous–”
“It’s after hours! We’re the only people left here!”
“Has it occurred to you that I might want some peace and quiet?!”
“Oh, so now that I’m talking to Inuchiyo, you’ve finally decided to care– is it just me, or does that seem like an unbelievable coincidence?”
But Mitsunari just barrels on, as if he hasn’t actually heard a thing you said or bothered caring about it, his eyes alight with more passion than you’ve seen from him in weeks.
“So is that your new plan, then– you’re not getting any from me, so your precious, lovesick puppy will do the job just fine?!”
“It’s your fault for not even bothering to try to woo me at all while I’ve been bending over backwards to break you down–” Taking in a deep breath, you steady your voice enough to continue. “I would never cheat on you, Mitsunari.”
To his credit, as irritated as he does truly still look, the venom seems to have left him, and he scoffs. “Of all the ridiculous…” He shakes his head. “How much of an idiot do you have to be– to actually want to lose our bet so readily… you must truly be thirsty for my cock, you little succubus.”
“If you try to bait me, and I lose… technically we do both win.”
As much fun as winning against him– for once– would be, you miss so much more than just sex. You miss cuddling with him, as reluctant as he always pretends to be every time you do decide to initiate it.
“Impatient little minx,” he says, and you can’t help the way your heart skips a beat at the sight of his mischief-laden smile.
&
He doesn’t try anything that night, and you don’t think too much of it, but by the time you’re several hours into work, you’re starting to become increasingly impatient.
Finally– finally– at 4:58pm, only two minutes before you’re about to clock out of work, he texts you.
Be ready for me when I get home. I want you on the bed, legs spread wide, just for me.
&
Waiting for him to come home, you find, a is a special brand of torture.
You already know around when he tends to return home following his evening class on Fridays, and yet, you’re fairly certain that the hands on the clock have truly never moved more slowly.
In all your impatience, you end up on the bed, in the requested position, a full fifteen minutes prior to when he’s set to arrive, a maddening combination of restlessness and arousal driving your actions more than anything else.
So you start to touch yourself.
Slowly, at first, just two fingers running slowly and languidly over your clit as you imagine them as his tongue, determined to tease you into utter oblivion, only stopping occasionally to glance up at you, his hand on his cock–
Your fingers slip inside of you, a lackluster imitation of his as they start to frantically move in and out of you, leaving you to wonder how you ever survived without him in your life in this capacity, or how you’ll continue to survive without his touch, and for two weeks more, no less–
“Mitsunari,” you moan, loud and lewd, your fingers straining to reach inside of you as deeply as his cock does, as his inexplicably long, beautiful fingers do, and utterly failing in the process.
How is he so much better at this? At seducing your body so more perfectly than even you could ever hope to? So unfairly talented with his tongue, his touch…
This time, when his name trips off your tongue, it comes out as more of a whine than anything else.
“Needy as ever, I see.”
“Mitsunari–!”
“I can’t believe you got so impatient that you actually started without me.” Long strides lead him to your side of the bed, your eyes widening considerably.
“Are– are you really conceding defeat?”
“Of course not; don’t be ridiculous.” As disdainful as ever, naturally. Not that his expression seems to help matters any, Mitsunari pulling open the drawer to your nightstand.
“Hey, that’s–”
“The place where you keep all your useless sex toys? I already know that, you dullard.”
“They’re not useless!”
“They are now that you have me. Or am I incorrect in my knowledge that you just stopped using them after we started sleeping together?”
“… no…”
You really do hate it when he’s right, if only because it happens far, far too often.
“Right. Though I can’t deny that they will come quite in handy just this once.”
“Huh…?”
He hardly even allows you time to ask for clarification, though, before he presses the small bullet vibrator to your clit, taking a seat beside you on the bed.
“Ah– Mitsunari!”
“Before you go and run your dullard mouth to ask me if I’m conceding defeat, I’m not.”
“But–”
“I’m not touching you, am I?”
As if to truly drive home his– frustratingly valid– point, he grabs one of your g-spot dildos to press inside of you, the bulbous end of it making you gasp as he presses up, all while applying the flat edge of your vibrator to the hood of your clit to a veritable chorus of moans and gasps, a concerto of his own creation performed just for him.
You whimper his name all over again, his face the only thing you see as your hips keep bucking up, begging him for more– for his mercy upon you to extend quite so far as to allow you an orgasm, the perfect way to finally feel closer to him again, physically, emotionally–
Even in spite of the haze that seems to cloud your vision as much as it does your thoughts, you can just about tell that he is, actually, blushing– or, at least as flushed as you feel, your own breaths coming out ragged as his sound to be comparably labored.
And when you catch sight of the way his pants appear to have tented, however subtly, straining against the fabric, it takes you all your willpower not to reach out to cup his erection.
With all your restraint preoccupied by the need to not touch him, however, it seems only inevitable that the sharply whispered fuck me would escape you, your hands twisting into the sheets on either side of your pillow in a desperate vie not to simply grab hold of his cock through the fabric of his trousers to urge it exactly where you want it.
“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear you begging to hand over victory just now– unless you really are that desperate to feel my cock inside you again–?”
“No– I-I’ll be good,” you whimper, another whine torn from your throat as he starts thrusting the dildo in and out of you in earnest. At any rate, you’re certainly trying to be good, though considering the things he’s doing to you– and with the deftness befitting a master, no less– it’s hard. Harder, even, than he is, most likely.
So you whimper, again, this time a strangled plea spilling from your throat, as hard as you may have fought its inevitable escape. Everything that you are seems to crumble like a castle under siege before him, and so–
“I love you, Mitsunari–”
“Are you trying to bribe me into fucking you? Because I can assure you, it won’t work. No matter how many times your pretty little song of a voice begs me.”
“No, I just– wanted to tell you–”
If it’s possible, the flush coloring his features only appear to deepen further.
“Succubus,” he breathes out, his voice low and hushed, flecked with sufficient enough hints of affection as much as arousal to tide you over for at least for another week.
But your body seems to have other plans in mind for you, your thrill over his reaction mounting in the form of your orgasm, a sharp gasp accompanying the way the muscles in your thighs tighten and twitch.
Your hands tighten in their fisting of the sheets beneath you, your knuckles blanching as your throat goes momentarily silent, soundless moans leaving you, your mouth agape as your hips work toward his hands. So close, so close–
You feel yourself tumble over the precipice of your orgasm with a nimble flick of his wrist, sharp bursts of pleasure radiating out from your clit over your whole body with each and every soft half-gasp, half-moan that leaves you, until you’re rendered as boneless as you are breathless.
Stars.
It’s like seeing stars.
“Oh,” you exhale, your gaze filled with nothing but wonderment for the man before you.
“Don’t go thinking I did that for you,” he says, his stolid expression in direct odds with the flush on his features, the hardness currently prodding at the seam of his trousers, Mitsunari getting up after setting both toys aside. “I just couldn’t stand the thought of you whining any more than you already have.”
Sometimes it’s almost too easy to read him, the smile on your face only widening as you look after him.
“… thank you.”
“Mn.” The small sound of acknowledgment is all you get before he turns on his heel to head to the bathroom, inarguably to take care of the exact same problem you’d been struggling with.
It’s a shame you’d have to touch him in order to help him, but, then again, you’re almost to the point where you’re willing to concede defeat yourself.
The sound of him coming just ten minutes later does nothing to discourage you from that fact.
&
It all reaches a boiling point three days later.
Over the course of the last three days, Mitsunari seems to have done everything in his power to tend to your needs emotionally, if not physically. First, it’s the same food he made you the first night you spent at his place, after getting painfully drunk at the restaurant. Then, it’s a song of his own creation played on the violin, dedicated to you. By the time you catch him in the midst of storytime at the library again, you’re not even sure if he’s doing it on purpose any longer or if it’s just a string of highly suspect coincidences.
That is, until you find the letter.
It’s innocuous-looking enough at first, the blank envelope sitting on the passenger seat of your car striking you first like what would appear to be forgotten mail– a bill, perhaps, or an invitation to another social event he’ll insist the two of you pretend you never received.
But it isn’t either of those things.
It’s from him.
(You could recognize that handwriting anywhere.)
You informed me the other day that I haven’t even bothered attempting to romance you throughout this challenge.
You were right to do so.
Why, then, haven’t I been “sexting” you or making lewd passes at you, you ask? (Don’t look at my letter like that; we both know that was going to be your next question.) It’s because I don’t believe that to be the most effective way to woo you at all.
Don’t get me wrong; I could go on about how badly I wish to lay you across my desk and have you all to myself to feast on, how I wish to kiss every last part of your body until I’ve conquered you wholly and then some, how, in my deepest, most intimate fantasies, I do imagine marking your skin as entirely mine, all until you won’t be able to equate the word pleasure with anything other than my gaze upon yours and my cock sheathed inside of you. Until you won’t be able to feel complete unless we are one, my sweat-slicked skin upon your rosy-hued one.
And as much as all of those things are true, they aren’t the emotions I truly wish to convey to you now. Because, truth be told, you are so much more to me than that.
I love you.
You are my support system in everything you do. As vehemently as I try to deny all the things I feel for you and do for you, I know in my heart that you can see right through each and every one of my defenses, and that the quest to deny you that truth is a fool’s errand at best.Because you are the only woman that has ever been able to see past all of the walls I’ve carefully erected around my heart to truly see me.
I want to have kids with you. I want to grow old with you and have the honor of dying by your side.
I want to spend the rest of my life with you.
Beneath his elegant script sits his signature, as if he suspected the possibility of so much honesty and affection from him all in one go would lead you to not believe that it actually came from him.
But you know. Of course you know.
He’s the only person in the world that you know to be such an incredible wordsmith who also happens to have access to your car– and who would care to share his feelings with you only within the safe, comforting confines of the refuge that pen and paper can provide him.
You don’t even realize that you’ve started tearing up until a fat tear rolls down your cheek, and, for just a moment, you consider how badly you really want to keep your job, and if it wouldn’t be far more worthwhile to drive to the library to see him there, instead.
But you manage.
Somehow.
The workday is an unproductive, agonizing mess, your thoughts a blur as you keep checking your phone for messages even though you already know there won’t be any unless you go out of your way to text him first, and texting him, after a letter like that, seems to be absolutely beyond the pale, the ultimate insult to each and every feeling he expressed so beautifully in writing. The only other alternative would be to text him and ignore it instead of outrightly responding, which would be insulting and likely anxiety-inducing.
So you do nothing but think of him until it’s finally time to race over to the library, likely breaking several traffic rules in the process.
It’s raining by the time you get there, and hard, for that matter, the rain coming down in sheets as you rush to get inside, his letter clutched close to your chest beneath your coat.
You’re half-drenched when you do step past the threshold of the doors, past the security sensors, clumsily unzipping your jacket before pulling out his letter to wave in his general direction as you approach the circulation desk.
“What is this?”
He doesn’t even miss a beat. “A library.”
“You know what I’m talking about!”
“And it would be so very convenient for both of us if you remembered that this is, in fact, a library, and that we’re quite a while yet from closing, so people are going to want you to keep it down.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why don’t you take a seat over at one of the tables and entertain yourself by reading a good book. I recommend Kant, myself.”
&
Unfortunately for you and your rapidly-fraying patience, he’s completely serious.
Which, yes, you can respect… to an extent. You know how much he loves his job, how much he enjoys doing painfully little behind that counter of his while primarily spending his time getting to read book after book, but…
You also know that a much bigger reason for his reticence to get into this now, in the middle of his workday, is that he likely knows the emotional weight of this interaction will be able to be felt by anyone within a one-mile radius, and, as much as you hate it, it would be better to wait for the two of you to be alone.
So you read Kant.
Or, rather, you try to. Given your current vantage point, from which you can see him perfectly– including him sneaking the occasional and rare glance over at you, for once– it seems just about impossible to concentrate on anything other than this astonishing man just a few feet from you.
Time flows like molasses, each person’s exit marked by a fresh bout of impatience coming over you, the yearning practically coming off of you in waves as you count down the seconds to closing time.
Finally, finally, the clock strikes eight, Hideyoshi the last to leave, having taken his sweet time to the extent that you suspect he might have known of your desperation to see the library emptied to only the two of you.
Kant’s words appear to swim in front of your vision as Mitsunari gets up, rounds the circulation desk, and makes his way across the room to you.
“Kant’s equation for happiness is to have something to do, someone to love, and something to hope for.” He’s quiet for a moment, nervous fingers tented over the table, almost close enough for you to touch. “You have given me all three.”
Time seems to slow even further as you watch him reach into his pocket to pull out a small box, placing it on the table with as much finality as there is tension in his arm as he does so, your own heartbeat loud enough in your ears that you’re fairly certain he can hear it.
“Is this…?”
“Open it.”
Reaching across the table to pluck up the small box, your own hands trembling in stark contrast to his, you manage– somehow– to open it, the sight of the silver-and-sapphire ring half-taking your breath away.
“Mitsunari–”
“Marry me.”
You’re out of your seat in seconds, rounding the table to resolutely grab hold of the front of his shirt to drag him into a kiss, not even a hint of regret in the action You’ve longed to kiss him again for weeks now, but his request leaves you more desperate for his touch than anything else he could have possibly thrown your way, and you laugh, the sound soft and floaty, giddy, almost, not entirely unlike how you feel.
“You’re so unfair,” you whisper against his lips through your smile, your fingers still fisted into his front, “of course I’d want to kiss you after that–”
“That’s not why I did it,” he tells you, his kisses slowly tapering their attention off of your mouth to forge a slow path to the pulse point beneath your ear.
“Mm– then, why–?” You want to ask– and coherently, too– but it’s impossible with his mouth nibbling at the crook of your throat, a soft sigh leaving you.
“That much should be obvious, you insufferable airhead.”
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to hear it…”
Reluctant as he seems to part with you, Mitsunari draws back all the same, his gaze hard and serious as he levels his gaze at you.
“You haven’t actually given me an answer.”
“Wh–” Bewildered doesn’t even come close to describing the look that comes over your features as you blink at him. “I thought that was obvious, too! Just like your– your thing!”
“Fine.” His gaze hardens alongside his resolve, Mitsunari clearing his throat. “Not being physically close to you has been a torment over the last several weeks that I would hate to ever have to experience again. The resulting emotional tempest upon my realizing that this is what life would be like without you by my side is what drove my desire to formally cement our relationship in the form of an engagement, which, as per tradition, has to be established with the use of a silly little trinket that proclaims to the world that you are promised to me and me alone. It’s incredibly stupid, really. But, seeing as I would hate for your puppy dog to claim that I was attempting to establish ownership of you without offering you the benefits of the same social graces, I’ve made us even.” Pulling out another small box from his other pocket, he reveals a ring of his own. “Needless to say, I will not be putting it on until you actually accept–”
You don’t let him finish the sentence, instead cutting him off with another kiss as you reach blindly behind you for your own ring to slide onto your finger.
“Of course I’m marrying you, you idiot. Now put that ring on.”
He’s barely even had the chance to put it on before you’re already kissing him again and again, your hands moving down to his belt before the rational part of your brain can stop you.
“Woah–” Mitsunari pulls back this time, eyes wide, a lone digit coming up to halt you. “Let me stop you right there.”
“But–”
“No buts.” Refusing to so much as hear you out, he takes several calculated steps away from you… only to retrieve his set of keys from behind the circulation table to lock the doors before taking the time to draw the blinds on all the windows.
“I don’t care how much of a storm is raging outside; I’m not taking any chances.”
“You could have told me that’s what you were planning to do, you know.”
“Any idiot could have figured out that I wasn’t rejecting you. Perhaps we need to demote you from dullard to manju-brain.”
“Hey!”
“You’re far too easy to rile up,” he says, pulling you back in for another kiss, the hands at your waist playing at the hem of your shirt, soft and teasing. “And seeing as I won our little bet…”
“– unfairly, by proposing to me–”
“… completely fair and square…”
You just sigh.
“Besides,” he continues, looking more smug by the second, “you did say, that, were you to lose, we would both win. Because I get to do this again.”
He doesn’t waste any time before kissing you once more, pulling your body close against his, your hands promptly finding his belt once more, eagerly tugging down his pants the second the closures come undone in the wake of your fingers.
You don’t even have to be asked to get on your knees, already easing his cock from the confines of his underwear until it springs free, a shuddered exhale leaving Mitsunari as he leans back against the table.
Unwilling to wait any more time, your hand wraps about the base of him, your tongue running down along the ridge of it before moving up again, drawn away only by the promise of his frenulum, and the way his cock twitches at the slightest contact.
“Dammit, woman,” he rasps out, “I’ve had nothing but my hand for weeks and you decide that now is a good time to tease me?!”
Pulling back, you grin. “Yes.” Not that you’re about to follow through on continuing to tease him, instead parting your lips long enough to draw the head into your mouth.
The second you do actually sink down to take in most of his length, your free hand coming up to cup his balls, his head falls back, a loud groan coming forth from his throat, the sound rare enough for you to know just how frustrated he, too, must have been without you in your time apart.
“God,” he groans, his fingers running into your hair to tangle there as you start to bob up and down his shaft in earnest, groaning around his cock whenever you do manage.
That is, until his fingers tighten in your hair, clearly attempting to signal to you just how close he is already– just in case you’re not prepared. Instead of taking him up on his offer to slow down and pull off him, though, you instead remove your hand to throat him, eagerly sinking down his full length as you ignore the urge to gag. With your hand freed, it seems only natural that you’d flip your skirt up, quick to shove it down your panties to touch yourself, your fingers frantically flying over your clit.
Mitsunari just gasps, his jaw dropping as his hips jerk toward you in a feverish, if entirely involuntary, attempt to get somehow even closer to you.
Pulling back, however briefly, he promptly thrusts in again, another gasp leaving his throat as you feel him coming, the sensation of his cock throbbing almost enough to drive you to orgasm right alongside him.
But only almost.
He pulls out of your mouth just in time for a whimper to leave you, your fingers woefully inadequate when compared to the things you know him to be capable of, Mitsunari wasting no time at all to guide you back up to stand. Within seconds he has you backed up into one of the bookshelves, taking a moment to kiss you, hard, before he, too, sinks down onto his knees before you, his gaze fixed on yours as he drags your panties down before letting them fall the rest of the way on their own.
“Spread your legs,” he tells you, his voice tinged with barely-restrained arousal, and you shudder. “And don’t move.”
Without another word as to why, he moves to stand, disappearing from your field of view for several moments before finally returning to slide something between you and the bookshelf.
“Hold onto that,” he tells you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he wraps your hands around what feels rather like… a book.
Just like on your first night together.
“… and don’t let go.”
You run the tip of your middle finger along the spine, as if it were possible for you to absorb the knowledge of what this book is through osmosis alone… when Mitsunari sinks back down to his knees in front of you.
Running his hands up and down your thighs, you watch as he takes in a shaky breath before flipping your skirt up again… only to disappear beneath it.
The moan that leaves you is his fault entirely as he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, your hands tightening around the book as if fighting to achieve some semblance of stability in the wake of his tongue’s ministrations.
“Mitsunari–!” you gasp out, your mouth agape as your head hits the books behind you, the feeling of his tongue circling your clit already making you feel heady at best, your cunt desperately clenching around nothing at all as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass.
“Yes– yes–” You’ve always been loud, but now– with an entire library to yourselves– you feel rather as though it’s your own personal responsibility to let him know just how much you missed his touch the last several weeks, your fingers starting to tremble alongside your thighs, holding onto the book connecting them so tightly that you’re not sure he’ll ever be able to ease it from your grasp again.
You’re already close, your hips simultaneously torn between pushing against his tongue in a desperate plea for more, and pulling away, the multitude of sensations simply too much for you to take in this moment.
When you do come, Mitsunari’s teeth only barely grazing your clit before allowing his tongue to follow their path, it’s like a wave crashing against a rocky shore, the cry that leaves your throat more strangled than anything else, hyper-sensitivity overtaking your every last sense.
But he doesn’t let up.
Instead, Mitsunari presses two long, dexterous fingers inside of you to arc up against your g-spot, his tongue’s movements quick and practiced, gaining in speed as though this had been his plan all along– to torture you with orgasms to the point where you can think of nothing else other than the trembling mess he’s rendered you.
That he’ll have the utmost privilege of rendering you for the rest of your life.
“Mitsunari,” you gasp, your knuckles paling from the strain put on them by his mock-bondage as his fingers and tongue switch places. With his thumb on your clit, you suddenly feel closer than ever, his tongue-fucking doing little to dissuade your body from its current path.
Feeling him squeeze your clit between thumb and fore-finger is what truly sends you over the edge a second time, though, your whole body trembling by the time he tapers off his ministrations, slowly withdrawing his tongue from inside of you before pulling back to look up at your trembling form.
“Let me fuck you,” he says, and you practically feel yourself melt at his words as you nod, your very being feeling downright off-balance in the wake of all that he is, and all that he offers you. Your fiancé.
“I can’t believe you still ask.”
“I’ll always ask,” he tells you, slowly setting your foot down onto the ground before moving to stand before you, his hands cupping your face with more affection than you ever thought possible from him. “Even after we’ve been married for years, I’ll never assume I have the right to your body.”
“I love you,” you breathe out, your exhale shaky at best as he lifts you up by your ass, his hands supporting you expertly, his cock already lined up at your entrance as though it’s simply where he belongs.
“I know,” he tells you before leaning in to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pushes inside of you in one smooth motion, your cry drowned out only by his kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth to swallow your moans as he starts to fuck you in earnest, weeks of pent-up tension finally finding a moment’s relief.
He varies the speed of his thrusts in an effort to drive you mad, undoubtedly, and yet you seem to cling onto each and every push inside of you, his name on your lips more prayer than word when he does pull away from your kiss to rest his forehead against yours.
The affection in his touch is dizzying, enough to feel drunk off of, and you moan again when you feel him shift his balance slightly, pushing you up against the bookcase all the harder as he releases one of his hands to weave between your bodies to tease at your almost painfully sensitive clit.
“M-Mitsunari,” you whisper, his name a plea on your tongue even as you remain entirely uncertain as to what you’re even pleading for in the first place– release, undoubtedly, but you already know it’s coming. All of him, perhaps– but, that, too, you already know to be entirely yours.
“I love you,” he tells you, and you feel yourself shatter, a sharp cry– almost a sob, the way your moan spills from your lungs, your walls shuddering around his length as you feel him follow you with several staggered thrusts from his hips.
It takes you several minutes to come down from your peak, the two of you remaining joined together, breathless and spent, Mitsunari somehow managing to keep holding you upright.
It’s a small miracle, but you’re grateful for it.
“After I get this place cleaned up… properly… considering what we just did… I’m taking you home,” he tells you, the smile dancing on his features warming your heart further still beyond what he’s already done for you today. “And then we’re continuing with what we started here. After all, I have a prize to cash in.”
You’ve always known that one of the many benefits of having Mitsunari as a partner is his incredible stamina, the ridiculously small refractory period he endures between sessions rivaling even yours. Not that you’re complaining.
“Just tell me one thing,” you start as you feel him pull out of you with a soft groan, carefully setting you back down on the ground even as you let go of the book in your hands long enough to grab hold of the bookshelf for support. “The book…”
You’re about to simply look at it yourself when he answers, the grin on his face more than a little cheeky.
“The Art of War, of course.”