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Fighter loves Tutor with his whole heart. He sometimes feels eaten up by it, like there's not enough space in his body to contain it. As if he could burst from it, sometimes, if he can't show Tutor how much he loves him.
He does it by teasing - he can't stop, Tutor's face when he gets offended is one of the most adorable things Fighter has ever seen. His mouth drops open and his eyes squinch up, and when he makes that hmph sound, it just makes something bubble up inside of Fighter.
"You're so mean to me," Tutor says, refusing to look at Fighter after Fighter has teased him for being too invested in schoolwork. They'd been studying together in Fighter's room, sitting on the soft beanbag chairs by the low table near his bed. Tutor had been so engrossed in his note-taking that he'd had his tongue shoved in the corner of his mouth and he was making those little studying noises that he sometimes made when he got really, really into whatever it was that he was reading.
It was so cute. It was so cute.
When Tutor had finally felt Fighter watching and looked up at him, Fighter had snickered a little bit.
Tutor is now refusing to look at him, twisting around so his whole body is facing away. Fighter is still grinning as he slides closer, pushing one leg under Tutor's where they're raised up at the knee, one around behind him. He puts his arms around Tutor's soft waist and tries to drag him close.
Tutor is having none of it. He keeps his head turned away from Fighter, his lips pursed, making small angry hmphs that are, to be perfectly honest, going directly to Fighter's dick. Fighter lets his face drop to Tutor's neck, nudging away the fabric of his t-shirt and letting himself mouth at the warm, soft skin there.
"It won't work, P'Fight," Tutor says staunchly. "You tease me too much. And you're the one who only barely passed the last quiz."
He's not wrong. "That," Fighter says, moving his mouth up to behind Tutor's ear, tonguing at the sensitive spot there. "Was only because you were sitting in front of me." He gives in to temptation and bites Tutor's earlobe, just a little bit. Tutor makes a sound in his throat and Fighter honestly can't catch his breath for a moment. "You were sitting in front of me," he says again, his voice coming out a little rough. "And you were wearing those jeans. You know the ones."
They're these jeans that hug Tutor's hips and ass, that show off Tutor's curves the way his usual slacks or track pants just don't ever do justice to. Fighter has a very difficult time controlling himself when Tutor wears those jeans. He'd absolutely zoned out during the quiz, watching the curve of Tutor's ass as he shifted in the seat, thinking about teasing Tutor later, feeling him up, getting him so hard in those too-tight jeans that he'd been begging for Fighter to take them off.
He'd only realized with a start that the class was almost over when there were like five minutes left. He'd scribbled down his answers on the quiz as quickly as he could, completely flustered.
He'd still gotten a passing score, which he felt like should count for a whole hell of a lot, given the circumstances.
"Those jeans on you." Fighter breathes out against Tutor's skin, shaking his head a little. "We shouldn't sign up for the same classes together next semester."
Tutor shifts against him a little, the tension easing just a little bit in his shoulders. "We probably shouldn't," he admits. "It's distracting." He casts Fighter a sideways look over his shoulder, like he'd just remembered he's supposed to be upset with him. "You're distracting."
"I'm sorry," Fighter says, but he's not. He's just not. He moves, pressing his mouth against Tutor's neck again, biting a little harder this time.
Tutor makes a not-so-quiet noise in his throat. He's still facing away from Fighter, but he's tilting his head so Fighter has better access to his neck and his knuckles are white where he's clutching his pen. Fighter feels his lips turning up into a smile against Tutor's neck. He's getting hard now, up against Tutor's hip, and he knows it's only a matter of moments before Tutor notices.
He waits for it.
"P'Fight." Tutor's squirming against him and Fighter can't quite bite back a gasp as his hip grinds against Fighter's dick. "We're studying."
"We are," Fighter agrees. He runs his tongue up against Tutor's neck slowly.
"Stop," Tutor says but his voice is breathless and the way he's moving against Fighter feels somewhat more intentional. "We have to -"
"Mmm." Fighter's going for an agreeable tone but he's also running his hand down Tutor's chest, slowly and steadily. Making his intention clear.
Tutor whines out a breath as Fighter's hand makes its way to land on his dick. He's hard. Not as hard as Fighter, but he's getting there.
Fighter pushes his hips forward, pressing closer against Tutor. "We can keep studying," he says. "We can just keep studying and we can keep taking notes and we can just pretend that we're both not this turned on." He's rubbing at Tutor as he says it and he's keeping the tone conversational, even though his voice is gravelly with how much he wants this.
Tutor sighs, loud and long, but when he turns his head, his eyes are hooded, and hot. He's very hard under Fighter's hand now. "P'Fight," he says, bringing one hand up to Fighter's face. "You're incorrigible."
Then he's kissing Fighter and Fighter will take being called incorrigible. He'll take being called whatever Tutor wants to call him, so long as he gets Tutor's tongue in his mouth, so long as he gets Tutor's soft moans up against his lips.
He's tilting Tutor backwards, Tutor shifting around so they're entwined together. Tutor's back is pressed against the beanbag chair and the rug is thick and soft beneath them. Fighter sinks against him as he kisses him. They're moving against each other - Tutor's lips are so fucking soft under Fighter's and he's getting lost in the kissing. He could do this for hours. He's said it before - kissing is enough. Kissing is so, so much. If all he ever got to do was kiss Tutor, he could take it. He could ride this edge if he had to, so long as he got Tutor's lush lips under his, so long as he got to breathe in Tutor's tight moans, got to feel Tutor's hands grasping at his shirt, dragging him closer even though they're pressed up against each other so very tightly that there's not a sliver of space between them.
"P'Fight." Tutor is breathless under him now and his dick is so, so hard as he squirms up against him. "Your bed is right there, let's - P'Fight, I want to -"
Fighter has that forever moment of hesitation. He doesn't want Tutor to ever do anything he doesn't want to do, no matter how much he teases him. If Tutor wants to go back to studying, Fighter can sit here with a hard-on and pretend to study too. It would be enough.
Or, okay, it wouldn't, but he'd do it. For Tutor, he'd do it.
"Your bed," Tutor says again. "Fight, please."
Fighter's dick throbs. He pushes himself up and drags Tutor to his bed. It sends a rush through him, to press Tutor down against his rumpled blankets and climb on top of him. His door is securely locked - his father has learned his lesson about coming in to check on him, but never let it be said that Fighter has not also learned his lesson about locked doors and privacy.
"P'Fight." Tutor is pulling him closer, pushing up against him. His eyes are open and the look he's giving Fighter is full of such heat that Fighter honestly can't catch his breath. He doesn't quite remember making the decision to push Tutor's shirt up but he has. It's rucked up and he's bending to kiss at the softness of Tutor's stomach, running his tongue against the skin there, nipping along the waist of the track pants.
Tutor is shifting under him and Fighter can feel his dick pressing up against his pants. He takes a breath, shifting up and pushing his shirt further out of the way so he can take one of Tutor's nipples into his mouth.
All of Tutor's breath comes out in a rush. His hands are clutching at Fighter's shoulders as Fighter runs his tongue over his nipple and when Fighter lightly uses his teeth, the sound he makes is way too loud for a mid-afternoon make-out session when Fighter is definitely not sure if his father is at home or not.
He's not going to let that stop him, though. He moves to Tutor's other nipple, Tutor gasping above him as he sucks it into his mouth. Fighter is undoing Tutor's pants while he's working his nipple - he's a master of multitasking. He lets it slide out of his mouth, running his tongue over it at the same time as he slides his hand into Tutor's pants. Tutor moans, loud and long, and god, all Fighter wants is to touch him everywhere. He can feel the moan as it runs through Tutor's chest and it's like a bell ringing in his heart. He can't breathe right, he can't think straight; he just wants to make Tutor feel like the most precious thing in the world. He wants to do that for the rest of his life.
He's got his hand over Tutor's dick but it's not anywhere near enough. Each time, he tells himself they're going to take it slow. Each time, he loses that battle almost immediately.
"P'Fight," Tutor is murmuring, his head pressed back against the bed, his hips hitching up, pushing his dick against Fighter's hand. "I want you." He takes a breath and Fighter hears it catch in his throat. "I want you, please, I can't -"
Fighter needs his jeans off. Fighter's dick is so hard, throbbing with the rhythm of Tor's words. He needs his jeans off. He needs Tutor's pants off. He needs -
Tutor pushes himself up on his elbows. He's looking at Fighter, his mouth wet and red and open. His hair is rumpled and his cheeks are flushed and the look he's giving Fighter is absolute sex.
Fighter sits back on his heels and strips his shirt off. Tutor's hand is running over his chest, down his abs, even as he's still pulling the shirt over his head. Tutor's hand lands on the waist of Fighter's jeans, his fingers playing with the button there, just above where Fighter's dick is pressed up against the denim. He's looking at Fighter through his eyelashes and even now, after they've done so much together, after Fighter has been inside of Tutor, this feels intimate and hot and like it might be the thing that pushes Fighter over the edge.
He sucks in a breath as Tutor nudges the button open with his thumb. "Fuck," he breathes out.
Tutor bites his lip as he smiles up at him.
Fighter has no choice but to surge down against Tutor and kiss that look right off his face. "Tor, you're too much," he's saying, because nothing makes him run off at the mouth like Tutor giving him bedroom eyes. "You're too much, you're so sexy, you're perfect, you're -"
Tutor has his hands in Fighter's hair and is kissing him desperately. Fighter lets himself get lost in it for a handful of moments, pressing him back against the blankets and kissing him until they're both breathless with it.
But he wants more. He wants more.
He focuses up and manages, finally, to get Tutor's shirt off, leaving his hair even more adorably rumpled than before. His nipples are dark and peaked up in the cool air of the room but Fighter manages to ignore the impulse to lean in and take one in his mouth again in favor of tugging Tutor's pants and underwear off. There's no finesse in how he does it but Tutor doesn't seem to mind. He's kissing Fighter, surging up off the bed to try to keep his mouth on Fighter's even as they both struggle to push Fighter's jeans off.
"You wear them so snug," Tutor complains against his lips. "You're going to hurt yourself one of these days." His voice is tight but still teasing and he falls back against the bed as Fighter finally manages to shove his jeans and underwear down and off, before climbing back on top of Tutor.
"How do you even fit it in there, hmm?" Tutor says as he wraps his hand around Fighter's dick.
Fighter huffs out a laugh even as heat shoots through him. Tutor saying such dirty things with his sweet, pink mouth will forever be Fighter's undoing. He pushes his dick into the circle of Tutor's fingers once, twice, feeling huge and hard, like Tutor's comment on his size is a badge of honor. "How about I fit it in you?" he responds, because his brain is fuck-dumb and any game he's ever had is stripped away in the face of how much he wants Tutor.
Tutor laughs, giggles pouring out of him in delight. "You," he says, running his hands up Fighter's body to take Fighter's face between them. "What do I do with you, P'Fight?" He still sounds charmed.
Love me, is what Fighter thinks. "Let me," is what Fighter says. "Let me, Tor, I -"
He's moving then, running his mouth down Tutor's chest, dropping hot, wet kisses as he goes. He gets to Tutor's hips and bites at where the bone juts out against his skin as he shifts up against Fighter, his dick pressing against Fighter's chest. Fighter's mouth waters with how much he wants to take it in his mouth but he makes himself wait for it. He lets himself kiss Tutor's flank instead, letting his head fall to the side so he can sink his teeth into the soft skin of the outside of Tutor's thigh.
Tutor's panting above him, his hands clutching at Fighter's shoulders. Fighter can barely feel it. He's concentrating on all of the skin that lies open to him; all of the places on Tutor's body that he wants to feel, to touch, to lick, over and over again, until he has them memorized like equations.
He moves down so he's settled between Tutor's legs, giving him access to the inside of his thighs. The skin is the softest here, of all the parts of Tutor he's explored. It's very sensitive and when he nips at one thigh - carefully, lightly - Tutor's breath hitches in his chest. But when he mouths at it, open and wet and with just the right amount of suction, Tutor moans that moan - the one that means he's losing himself in it, the one that means his dick is almost certainly leaking onto his stomach.
Fighter wants to look, wants to see if he's right, but he's too caught up in this. He moves his mouth lower still, licking up Tutor's inner thigh, running it over his balls - oh, that's new. That's new - he hadn't exactly made the decision but when he'd done it without thinking, Tutor had made a whole new sound, one Fighter hadn't yet heard before. A desperate, lost sound that Fighter wants to hear again.
He licks Tutor's balls again immediately. Tutor is saying his name now and it's coming out high and panting. Fighter's into this. Fuck, he's so into this. He's deep in it now, lost in the scent of sweat and skin as he pushes his face forward, wanting more. He's got his hands wrapped around Tutor's thighs like he needs something to hang onto, something to ground him. He's sweaty and he's pressing his dick against the bed and he wants more. He wants - god, he can't take the sounds Tutor's making. He pushes Tutor's thighs up higher, looking for another angle, wanting to taste every part of him.
"P'Fight." Tutor is moaning his name louder now and Fighter's heart stutters in his chest. He presses his mouth to the spot just behind Tutor's balls and Tutor's whole body shudders. Fighter's heart is pounding so hard and fast in his chest that he's seeing stars behind his eyes as he pushes again against Tutor's thighs, moving his legs up, and back, until he can -
When he runs his tongue over Tutor's hole, Tutor freezes. His thighs are tense against Fighter's hands and his breathing is high and tight and very loud in the quiet air of the room. Fighter is dizzy, his face between Tutor's legs, as close as he can get. He hadn't known that he wanted to do this, but his entire body wants to do this.
He's seen this part of Tutor, sort of - he's fingered Tutor open, quite a few times now. He's felt it, he's gotten lost in the feeling of Tutor opening up to him after he's stroked over his hole, easing his way in with slick fingers.
But now, as he runs his tongue over it again, surrounded by the scent and feel and taste that is purely Tutor, he feels like he's knowing him in a whole new way.
Tutor shudders against him as Fighter licks him again, and again. He can't quite bring himself to stop now that he's started.
"P'Fight..." Tutor draws out his name in almost a whine. His breath is coming so fast and hard that Fighter can hear it even from here. "P'Fight, you're - what you're doing, I -" He gasps, then, even though all Fighter is doing is licking him again. Fighter wonders what sounds he'd make if he did more than just lick.
He wants to ask if this is okay but he can't make himself shift away. He can feel it, anyway, in the tremors that are going through Tutor's body, in the high, tight noises he's making. He knows those sounds. Those are good sounds.
Everything is wet and hot here and he wants to see - he just wants to try - it's so slick and so good and he just lets his tongue slide up against Tutor's hole again, and again. Then he lets the tip just sort of linger there, pressed up against him.
Tutor stills above him again, the only sound his panting breaths.
Fighter traces around the hole, tonguing it. The skin is different here but he doesn't know in what way. Maybe it's just that it's someplace he's never gotten this close to before; maybe it's that it's so intimate that it feels different in his heart. He doesn't know, but he takes a breath, the air warm and musky around him, and pushes the tip of his tongue in.
"Fuck." Tutor rarely curses in bed - his words are usually desperate endearments, panting out encouragements and telling Fighter yes and please and you're so good, P'Fight, you're so good. He leans towards tenderness, even in the heat of desperation - when Fighter really gets him going, gets him on the edge, he calls Fighter baby when he's begging for more and that zings through Fighter harder than any orgasm ever has.
But now, Tutor is twisting like he's not sure he wants to push forward onto Fighter's tongue or pull away, and he's cursing breathlessly up above him. He's got his hands curled against the blankets - Fighter can vaguely feel it as he tugs - and he sounds so, so desperate.
Fighter doesn't want to stop. He's pushing his tongue in curiously, pulling it out to run around the outside of the hole, over the delicate skin there, then pushing it back in. Each time he does it, he feels like Tutor's opening up to him a little bit more. It's like what happens when he opens him up with his fingers, only it's both slower and easier - he's providing the slickness himself. He doesn't need to go too deep, he just needs to keep pushing in, and out, and -
"P'FIght," Tutor sobs out. He's struggling for breath and Fighter can feel his thighs trembling above him. Tutor shifts and Fighter flickers his eyes open and glances up at where Tutor has his hand wrapped around his dick now. "Oh fuck, P'Fight, I can't hold on, I can't - I -" He's reduced to sounds then, crying out, pitching higher, higher, as Fighter keeps working him with his tongue until he trembles violently, clenching around Fighter.
Fighter's jaw is sore when he lifts his head, wiping one hand over his mouth, messy with sweat and spit. He's shaking too. He realizes, belatedly, that he's been grinding his hard dick against the bed as he's been licking Tutor and he's so close to coming now that his head is spinning.
He lets Tutor's thighs down as he shakily pushes himself to his knees. Tutor is sprawled on the bed, his legs spread, his eyes closed. He's still trembling a little. He's sweaty, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his stomach spattered with come, his hand still resting over his spent dick. He's making small sounds still, as he breathes - quiet, lingering moans like his body doesn't quite know how to stop.
God, he's beautiful. Fighter is hard enough to pound nails and thinks he could come if something so much as brushes against his dick but he can't stop looking, his brain stumbling to a stop as he sees how much he has absolutely wrecked Tor.
"Fuck, Tor." The arousal slams back into Fighter in a rush. "Tor, that was so fucking - that was so fucking -" He doesn't know - he doesn't have the words for it. He doesn't know if there even are words for it. He falls forward over Tutor, wrapping one hand around himself and jerking himself off as hard and fast as he possibly can. He's so close. He's so close. He's got one hand planted against the bed next to Tutor's head and he's groaning on every stroke.
Tutor's eyes flutter open, one hand coming up to loop around Fighter's neck softly. His eyes are pure black, all pupil, blown and lost. Tutor draws his fingers softly over the front of Fighter's throat and Fighter groans and comes, in frantic, never-ending spurts, all over Tutor's stomach and chest. He's gasping over and over again, as he shakes through it.
His arm collapses when he's done and he only just manages to not land with his full weight on Tutor.
For a handful of moments, the only sound that Fighter can hear in the room is the pounding of his own heart and the ringing in his ears. He's let himself slide off of Tutor, sprawled on his stomach right next to him. His hand is resting on Tutor's chest and Tutor brings his own hand up to hold onto Fighter's, sliding their fingers together.
Fighter manages to bring his eyes into focus when Tutor shifts onto his side, facing Fighter.
"P'Fight," Tutor says slowly, his eyes studying Fighter's face.
Fighter's heart catches in his chest. Was it too much, too far?
"I can't believe you ever thought I could get tired of you, like this," Tutor says softly.
Fighter lets out his breath. Oh. Oh, so it wasn't too much.
"You never stop surprising me." Their fingers are still wrapped together and Tutor squeezes them tightly, then brings Fighter's hand up to his mouth. He drops a kiss on each knuckle, one at a time, his eyes fluttering closed as he does so.
The way his eyelashes rest, dark against the golden tones of his skin, is so arresting that Fighter wants to get lost in it, wants to count each one. Wants to kiss Tutor's eyelids, as gently as he knows how.
"That was dirty, P'Fight." Tutor sounds delighted and his mouth is turning up into a shy smile as he peers at Fighter over their clasped hands.
Fighter can't stop the grin that's spreading across his face. He laughs a little, burying his face against the bed and ineffectually trying to tug his hand away so he can further hide his face with it.
"No, uh-uh." Tutor won't let him. He's actually flopping down so his face is on a level with Fighter's, pressed against the bed and watching him with his bright, interested gaze. "Where did that come from? It was...unexpected."
"Can we not talk about it?" Fighter tries to bury his head under the blanket.
Tutor tugs the blanket off his face. He's just watching him, quizzical and...happy. He looks radiantly happy.
The least Fighter can do in the face of such pure happiness is answer his question. "I don't know," he confesses. His face is hot but he makes himself keep going, his cheek pressed against the bed, looking at Tutor, so close to him, on the same level. "I didn't plan on it but -" He takes a breath. "I liked it. I like you. I like every part of you and I want to - I don't know." He wants to stop talking but also right now, everything feels safe. Secure. "I want to kiss every part of you, Tor," he says, all in a rush. It sounds stupid even to his own ears. "And when I did it, feeling you - feeling what it did to you, that just -" He stops again, looking at Tutor. "You liked it, right?" He knows, but he wants to hear it. Needs to hear it.
Tutor is nodding, still shy and sweet. "Didn't you feel it, baby?" he asks. "You had me in pieces."
Fighter feels this warm feeling in his chest that he only ever gets when Tutor says things like this, things that go right to the heart of him. He opens his mouth but he still can't find the words. He can only push his hand into Tutor's mussed-up hair and tug him close, kissing him as he tries to communicate everything he's feeling into it.
Tutor sighs softly against his lips and draws him closer. "I know," he says against Fighter's lips. "I know."
The thing is, Fighter believes he does. It's why he loves Tutor. One out of a million reasons that take a lot of Fighter's strength to keep from spilling out of his mouth at any given moment. "I love you," he says, because he does and he wants Tutor to know it.
"I know that, too." Tutor pulls back, his eyes sparkling. "I can't believe you did that, P'Fight," he says then softly. He's the one who's blushing now, his cheeks rosy with it. He brings his mouth close to Fighter's ear and whispers, "Would you do it again? Sometime?"
Fighter's laughing as he rolls Tutor back, pressing him against the sheets. "Anytime," he promises.
Anytime. Anything Tutor asks.