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Osamu cracks open a beer, cleanly tossing the cap into the trash can, swinging the cabinet shut with his foot. No wasted movements, just smooth efficiency in the way he raises the bottle to his mouth with one hand and tugs at the band of his boxers with the other, making them settle more comfortably on his hips.
It’s too hot to do anything but bitch about the proximity of the sun. Kiyoomi has done them the service of shutting all the curtains and cranking the air con, but the sight of Osamu shirtless and sprawled out over their couch, beer in one hand and adjusting his balls with the other, has raised the temperature in the room by maybe eight million degrees.
He shuts his eyes. Running water. An icy tundra. The air conditioner . He gets up promptly from his cool spot on the floor and shifts the three feet it takes to be right where the air blows directly, hitting his stomach and cooling him down instantly. The temptation to strip is growing, but it’d make him feel icky to get floor dirt in his pores. He mopped in the morning before the heat set in, but he wishes he’d saved it till later. His body heat is warming up every spot instantly now.
The tv pings, a high electronic sound that opens to a weather report stating the obvious, and then another ping followed by the cheers of a stadium and some sports commentators.
Kiyoomi opens one eye. He’s not huge on Premier League soccer. He thinks Komori used to be a fan of that red team, but he can’t even be sure that’s the same one playing right now. He zones out, thinks of all the things on his routine that he’s already finished early to distract himself. He deep cleans once a week and maybe he could do that a little early, to keep his mind off this heat but…
He scowls at nothing in particular. It feels like this heat is going to cook him from the inside out.
“Osamu? Turn the air con lower please.”
“‘Course.”
A little jingle, and the air con blasts cold air directly onto his face. He sighs, content, and tilts his head back so he can give Osamu an upside down thank you.
Except he’s on the floor, which means his head is level with Osamu’s feet - foot, because he’s got his legs spread wide, like he can conquer their three seater through determination alone. Kiyoomi’s eyes wander up the length of his calf, the hairs curling on his skin, soft and plentiful.
He sits up, turning at the waist so he can look at Osamu properly.
Osamu rests his beer against his stomach, condensation dripping onto his skin. He raises an eyebrow at Kiyoomi’s staring, but says nothing.
He contemplates the expanse of Osamu’s thighs, thick and muscled and hair, solid and tan. The view’s cut in half by a pair of dark green boxers, loose at the waist and tight around his ass. Kiyoomi doesn’t need to see it to picture it - not his favorite pair, but Osamu makes it work. By the time he’s dragging his eyes up to the sweat glistening on Osamu’s chest, he’s already licking his lips.
Kiyoomi reaches out to touch Osamu’s ankle.
Something shifts in Osamu’s expression, face neutral even as his eyes darken. “I thought it was too hot for sex.”
“It is. Don’t make me change my mind.”
Osamu shrugs, raises his beer to his mouth for another sip. It’s a clear enough message: he’s not raising a finger. If Kiyoomi wants it, he better do all the work.
Which pisses him off a little . Who does he think he is, looking that smug without even smiling? But Kiyoomi’s salivating just looking at Osamu’s soft nipples, so he doesn’t have a leg to stand on here.
He crawls over, sporting a chub just settling between Osamu’s thighs, spread wide to give him more than enough room. Kiyoomi runs his hands over the broad expanse of his skin, feeling the hairs along his legs, leaning in to press kisses to Osamu’s belly button, tonguing the soft skin. It gets him hot just smelling him, which isn’t helping, but his musk , his sweat, his skin makes Kiyoomi dizzy, makes him wanna close his eyes and shove Osamu’s cock directly into his brain.
Osamu does him the courtesy of turning the sound down, but not muting the television. Kiyoomi glares but Osamu looks bored, tapping Kiyoomi’s temple with the end of his bottle. It’s frighteningly cold and he has to blink several times to come to terms with the sensation.
“Lift your hips.”
Osamu hums and grunts and Kiyoomi barely manages to take off his boxers before Osamu plants himself back in the couch, settling before his imprint has a chance to disappear.
He’s not even hard.
Something about getting his mouth around Osamu’s soft cock makes his brain short circuit, makes him go stupid with want, primal instincts activating and making him fit the whole thing in his mouth. It’s stupid, so stupid because Osamu grows and it’s gonna start choking him in seconds. Still, he laves his tongue around the soft skin, shuffling in till his nose is buried in Osamu’s pubes, curls tickling his skin. He smells heavenly , dizzying, makes Kiyoomi squeeze his thighs together despite the heat making him sweaty and sticky.
Osamu groans, shudders. Kiyoomi pulls off, suckling the tip and stroking him till he hardens fully, thick and hot in his hand.
“You just gonna fuck around?”
Kiyoomi glares, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Osamu moans, soft and low, and it's very gratifying. He lifts Osamu’s cock and buries his face between his thighs, closing his eyes as he mouths at the tender skin around his balls. He smells so fucking good, heady and strong, and Kiyoomi moans, leaking in his shorts the second he gets his tongue out to taste .
The weight of him on his tongue, the saltiness, Kiyoomi moans, one hand coming down to palm himself, just to get some kind of relief on his dick.
“Lemme’ see your face.'' Osamu takes Kiyoomi’s chin and smirks, eyes narrowing as Kiyoomi licks around the head of his cock, opening his mouth to show the pink of his mouth before sinking down, hollowing his cheeks and keeping eye contact.
Osamu groans, loud and unabashed, grip tight around his beer bottle. The liquid swirls dangerously inside and Osamu chugs it, finishing it off quickly and sticking it between the couch cushions so it doesn’t move. Kiyoomi watches him suck in a breath, lick the fizz of his wet lips. He feels like his brain has been replaced with foam, fuzzy and popping and trapped in Osamu’s gut, devoured whole.
He moans, takes more of Osamu in his mouth, jaw aching as he tries to accommodate the weight of him, the girth between his small lips. The head of his cock presses at his throat and Kiyoomi’s eyes nearly roll back into his skull trying to relax, trying to get all of him down his throat so he can press his face into the curls at the base of his dick and choke .
“ Komi ,” Osamu’s voice is barely there, more air than sound, whispering his name like a chant, “Komi, Komi, Kiyo o mi .”
His voice breaks as Kiyoomi pulls off, sucking hard around the tip before he relents, tonguing the slit so he can taste him, taste what he’s going to have. Osamu stops him with a finger between his brows, firm before it smooths over his forehead and he can curl his fist in Kiyoomi’s curls. “Stop. I don’t wanna cum so early. Make it last.”
Kiyoomi hums in acknowledgement, stroking him slowly as runs the last of tongue up from root to tip, bobbing his head slowly before pulling off and repeating the process. He can’t tell anymore if Osamu’s cock tastes like his spit or his mouth tastes like Osamu’s cum.
The grip in his hair tightens and Kiyoomi knows he’s close, even if Osamu’s held out on fucking his mouth till now. His hips are rigid, tight with the effort to stay still, but he’s not going to break that easy. Kiyoomi wouldn’t want him to anyway, mind buzzing and blanked out. He’s been reduced to the sweat beading on his skin and the ache in his jaw, pleasant and thrumming. His whole body feels good , like he’s on a high.
“Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi .”
He closes his mouth tight around the head, not letting a drop spill out. Osamu stutters, his body shuddering as he finishes in Kiyoomi’s mouth, cock twitching in his hand. Kiyoomi takes it all, humming at the salty taste. Osamu’s chest is heaving, wet and shiny with his sweat. Kiyoomi resists the urge to lick it up by opening his mouth and presenting the results of his hard work.
Osamu takes a moment to catch his breath. He’s grinning, sated and lazy, tapping Kiyoomi’s chin to close his mouth. His finger trails the line of Kiyoomi’s neck as he swallows.
“What a good boy.” Kiyoomi moans, presses his cheek to Osamu’s knee.
“You still haven’t cum, right?”
Kiyoomi shakes his head no, not trusting his voice to come out clearly yet.
Osamu hums, nudges Kiyoomi’s crotch with his foot. “C’mon then. Hurry up.”
“Your foot?”
In this back of his mind, something high pitched is screeching disgusting but Kiyoomi just blanks and waits for an answer.
Osamu grins, lazy, easy, sexy. “Yeah. No hands.”
Kiyoomi looks down, whining as he shuffles forward and settles his dick on Osamu’s foot. He’s still wearing his shorts, which smoothes out the uneven contours of his foot but doesn’t do anything to relieve the friction. He clings to Osamu’s shin like it’s a life line, and starts, rutting his hips. It does more for him than he thought it would, especially when he peeks and sees Osamu staring down at him, cocky and hot. Osamu taps his foot up against his balls and Kiyoomi chokes, hips rocketing forward, nearly squashing his dick against Osamu’s ankle in an effort for friction.
It’s not long before he cums, shuddering and biting the skin of Osamu’s knee. It’s thin and breaks easy between his teeth, blood and sweat filling his mouth as he finishes in his shorts, making a mess of himself.
The temporary relief of an orgasm is extravagant , brain slowed to a stop as his whole body cools and relaxes into a boneless mass. Osamu runs his fingers through his hair, bringing him down slowly. Kiyoomi nuzzles his cheek against him, blissed out.
The moment is broken soon enough when Kiyoomi feels his cum slide down and start to dry. He shudders, sickened by the feeling and lets go of Osamu’s leg, scowling as he puts some distance between them.
Osamu’s eyes widen, confused. “Was it not good?”
Kiyoomi shakes his head, standing up and slipping off his boxers. While he’s at it, he picks up Osamu’s discarded pair. They’re both going in the laundry basket, though after a thorough scrubbing to make sure nothing hardens.
“I need a shower now.”
Osamu perks up, which means he looks no less bored except that he leans up, hands braced on the edge of the couch like he’s ready to throw himself off of it. “Oh? Can I join you?”
Now, that’s not a bad idea. A waste of water maybe, but Osamu’s already naked and sexy, so why not?
He looks at the pair of boxers in his hands and pauses. “Give me like, five minutes. Then you can join me.”
Osamu grins. “I’ll set a timer.”
Kiyoomi wishes he was still wearing his shorts, even if they’re disgusting and stained, because at least they’d hide the way his cock twitches with interest.