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It’s electrifying.
Jirou breathes, sharply, as his longue laves her lower lip. And she gasps once more as he grasps her thighs, pulling her closer, closer, and seating her down on his thigh.
He runs one hand down the knobs of her spine, from under her shirt, sending shocks through her body. His other hand is simply on the table behind her, casually planted on the study table, fingers parted over her biology textbook.
She distantly thinks about the test they have on Monday, but as his incisor sinks into her lips, all thoughts on Anthropoda fly out the window.
She brings her hands to his blond hair, attentive to his nape, getting closer, closer.
His fingertips dance up her vertebral column, to the strap of her bra, tugging, and returning back down at the base of her spine.
Jirou isn’t disappointed, isn’t disappointed, isn’t disappointed. Her little sigh is not indicative of that, no .
Denki’s finger skip back up, sliding to her front, and the sparks of electricity that course through her make her doubt whether he’s not using his quirk.
His thumb lingers at the dip of her ribs, one index digging under the wire of her bra.
She parts their lips, catching her breath, but he becks her back into the kiss, capturing her again.
His index runs across the valley of her breasts. Jirou puffs breaths through her nose, breathing, breathing, because the shock waves that his fingers emit are doing a number on her.
He chuckles into her mouth, swallowing her pants.
“Didn’t know you were this malleable, Kyouka,” he tells her, pulling back, smirking.
She glares. “What the fuck does that me—”
He claims another kiss, pressing her into the table, the ridge driving into her back, but oh , when his teeth dip into her, her mind is elsewhere.
His hand enters the bounds of her bra, one finger dusting over her nipple, and the shocks make her jerk violently.
He leaves her, and smirks once more, shit-eating.
“Malleable,” he reminds her, eyes over bright.
Jirou wants to whine, but instead licks her lips.
He takes both his arms and folds them across his chest, leaving Jirou to breathe, breathe.
She wants to seek his touch, but she doesn’t dare ask. She knows he’s waiting for her to beg.
Fat chance.
But there is that part of her, dampening coiling up, tensing, seeking something .
Jirou bites her lips.
Kaminari is unresponsive, if not more arrogant, by the haughty tension of his lips.
Jirou breathes, breathes, breathes.
His eyes dance, he tilts his head, closing in. “Malleable,” he tells her, voice deepening at every syllable, enunciating.
Jirou breathesbreathesbreathes, and slowly, slowly, on reflex, subconsciously, rocks herself against his thigh, craving hardness where her folds were damp, and her lids flutter shut, a deep noise emitting out the depth of her throat.
Kaminari gaps, and she does it once more, now squinting out the corner of her eyes, the synapses of her hypersensitive nerves sparking
He’s blushing, embarrassed to see her like this. Jirou grins, pressing her lips to his jaw.
“Malleable,” she tells him, now, her finger at the button of his jeans.