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When Hinata asked you to keep an eye on Komaeda. You are sure that this wasn’t what he meant, but you are lonely, and Komaeda is more than acquiescent.
The line you have drawn is rigid though. Komaeda plucks, twists and sucks your nipples, but that is as far as it goes. You let him rut up against the side of your thigh when it becomes too much, but that is as far as it goes.
Jabberwock island is humid and sweat clings to your flesh as you leisurely finger yourself. The blankets are tossed off of the bed, it's much too hot to hide underneath them, your panties dangle loosely around your ankle, your shirt and bra are both shoved up to your chin. Komaeda is still fully clothed, whispering pathetic little apologies into your breasts every time he grinds his erection hard into your thigh. The fabric of his jeans chafes, but you prefer it like this. The barrier between the two of you, you're not indulging him, he is indulging you.
And he is very good at it.
He sucks one of your nipples again, pulling it gently into the warm cavern of his mouth. When you peer down you can see his eyebrows pulled tight as he whimpers and moans. You’re getting close, unable to keep your hips still as you piston your fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, a full body shudder taking hold when you brush your thumb across your clit.
Komaeda throws his leg over yours, relentlessly grinding against the side of your thigh and pulling his teeth out to drag across the sensitive skin of your nipple. It’s just what you needed, curling your fingers up to press against your g-spot, crying out as your orgasm comes crashing into you. You’re so taken by the moment that you barely even notice Komaeda reaching his own end, emptying himself inside of his jeans.
Time passes, and the line moves a little further back, but only a little. Two more people are dead, your stress is through the roof and Komaeda is so very willing to help.
His tongue is warm and wet inside of you. Kneeling on the floor at the side of your bed and holding your thighs open so he can bury his face in between them. He’s good at this too, his tongue frolics across your most sensitive areas, flicking against your clit, curling up inside of you.
You wish he wasn’t gripping your thighs so tightly, worried that he might leave bruises that someone else will see, but it feels so good that you don’t bother correcting him.
Komaeda moans, pushing himself even further between your legs, close enough that he can grind his cock against the base of your bed. He’s a pathetic little boy. You crack one eye open, catching the sight of his white mess of hair moving between your thighs. It tickles a little. But you aren’t using him. He likes this. He likes doing this for you, it keeps him out of everyone’s way and isn’t that what they wanted?
“C-Can…can I-” he lets out a shaky breath, cold against your wet cunt, “f-finger-”
“No.” You snap, staring down at him. Watching as he withers beneath your glare, “No fingers.”
Komaeda giggles nervously, “My apologies. I won't ask again.”
He doesn't.
So why do you feel guilty?
The line moves again. He’s sick, and you don’t love him so there’s no reason for you to be curled up beside him in the hospital bed, no reason for you to tangle your fingers in his messy hair while he begs for you to leave - a plea for you to stay barely even covered with the thinnest of veils.
There’s no reason for you to press your lips to his sweaty forehead, or to tuck his hair behind his ear.
The fact that Tsumiki could so easily have killed him takes root inside of you like a fungus. Growing and rotting when you realise that it would hurt. If instead of Mioda, you found Komaeda hanging dead from the rope.
Why would that hurt you so much more?
You indulge him. It feels like you have to, in case you never get the chance. He trembles beneath you, lips chapped and flaky but incredibly soft when yours press against them. Another line crossed, and you step even further when your tongue tangles with his.
It isn’t long before you are nestled between his legs this time, your hand is wrapped tightly around his cock, mouth eagerly kissing the inside of his thighs and moving ever closer.
He releases a keening moan when your tongue finally presses inside of him. One hand holding his thigh in place over your shoulder, the other leisurely pumping his dripping cock. You can feel him twitching around your tongue, like the pathetic, pretty boy he is.
There is only one more line, and as his cock spasms splattering ropes of cum all over his bare stomach; you promise that you will never cross it.
In what would be your last night in the funhouse, your stomach twists with a hunger for more than just food. A voice in your head whispers that you’re probably going to die here anyway, and what is wrong with breaking your morals if no one will be alive to remember.
Komaeda lies next to you, chest rising and falling as he stares up at the ceiling, maybe you shouldn’t have accepted his invitation to play cards in his room (he won every time)
He shifts a little, his hand bumping gently against yours and her murmurs out a breathless apology. You are weak, fingers trailing up the side of his rib cage, sucking in a breath at the way your digits bump over each individual bone.
You are upset at how easily the resolve you thought was strong shatters pathetically into his awaiting hands. That with a little as a shivery touch to your skin, you find yourself wanting wanting wanting.
“Komaeda…” you breathe
He hums in acknowledgment, inclining his head in your direction.
“I want you.”
He blinks at you, and you are stunned by how pretty his eyes are. How have you never noticed before?
“What do you want from me?”
You swing your leg up and over his hips, rolling him onto his back. He looks beautiful with his hair splayed out in a white halo across the pillow, pale cheeks dusted with pink and lips just barely parted.
Time slips at that point, your lips meet his ten, twenty, one hundred times. You lose count, kissing him hard and deep as your clothes are tossed to the floor, desperate to have his skin against yours in every possible way. His teeth catch your lower lip and your heart spasms. He moans when you accidently tug his hair, so you do it again, harder this time. Komaeda is a perfect mess beneath you and for a moment you forget all of your pretenses. All your notions of lines that cannot be crossed.
He feels good inside of you.
His fingers feel good when they dig into your hips.
He whimpers and moans your name like it's the only word he knows. Bucking up into you frantically and desperately. You don’t make a sound. Watching him in awe, not wanting to cover up a single one of his noises with any of your own. Rolling your hips down as he rolls his up, admiring the crease between his eyebrows, the droplet of blood forming on his well bitten lips, the shape of his nose, the length of his eyelashes.
Your climax hits the same time his does.
And the words ‘i love you’ hang heavy in the air. Even though the both of you are too scared to say them.