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“Nnh—“
Natsume squirms under Tsumugi’s hold, slick tongue trailing up and down the defined lines of his bare torso. The flavor of sweet whipped frosting mingles with a tinge of sweat, but Tsumugi doesn’t mind—too infatuated with the one beneath him to care about anything else.
“Do let me know,” he starts, taking another unhurried lick of vanilla crème, “if you’d like me to move, alright?” His head tilts to the side, soft curls lightly bouncing with the gesture, tickling his chest.
Gaze still remaining firm under Natsume’s tinted cheeks, he gives a slight nod of assurance—with which Tsumugi is more than pleased, immediately getting back to work.
He laps at each and every spot where Natsume dares to flick the frosting without hesitance, always eager—always hungry. Whatever he provides, Tsumugi would never dare take for granted, he assures himself—fingertips brushing along Natsume’s sides as he pushes his hips deeper into the mattress, until their bodies are an inch apart.
“Is this fine?”
They dip further into the plush of the sheets, cream smeared all over Natsume’s body as Tsumugi gazes down at him, splayed out across the bed—a pressed flower tinted in reds and pinks. “Yeah,” Natsume hums, staining his lips now with another daub of vanilla. He pulls Tsumugi in close, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck as the older happily obliges, tongue making contact first with lips before they part open.
And finally, Natsume too can taste the sweetness melting on both of their tongues, mingling with the distinct flavor of Tsumugi—all sparks and spices and passion when the two ignite. There's little to say between them when it all comes so naturally, but Natsume breaks from the kiss for breath, before uttering in the shell of his ear:
“Make me yours.”
It leaves him breathless, takes Tsumugi higher—and in that moment all that Natsume can think about is the heat rising from his chest and the warmth he feels against his palm, in Tsumugi’s own. And a gentle smile brings him back down, grounds him, swallows him whole.
Buckles clink, and before he's even aware his pants have been thrown haphazardly to the edge of their bed—left exposed, left wanting. A single second isn't wasted before another dollop of crème is right above his crotch, beckoning for Tsumugi’s tease. And who is he to back down?
Kissing from chin, to collarbones, to chest and navel and downwards—he savors everything about Natsume, every breathy sigh and whimper meant just for him. It drives him just as mad, but Natsume is all that’s in front of him now—all that he can see, all that matters.
Length slowly pumping in his hand, Natsume groans out in exasperation at the sensitivity—yet he’s greedy for more. The foreplay puts him on edge, makes him needier, as he pushes Tsumugi’s head down—practically begging for it.
And Tsumugi bites the lure.
It’s messy when he goes down on Natsume, all tongue and no hesitation, eyes locked on his own. Hands tussle and grip at his curls, desperate and craving, each touch of skin on skin driving him further into a corner.
He’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t have preferred it rougher. But something about Tsumugi’s gentle caresses seduces him just as much—gives him that same euphoric high that he can never get enough of. It has Natsume writing against the sheets, knuckles going white in Tsumugi’s locks of hair—but he couldn’t care less.
Anything is worth the pain for Natsume. And Natsume, too, knows this—knows that even in bed Tsumugi is all but selfless—a doll to do with what he pleases. And it invites, and it entices.
And it’s far too much.
Before he can even find any words he’s releasing into his mouth, moaning as his body spasms with the last of his pent up energy. Tsumugi gags. But he doesn’t dare back down, swallowing, knowing that this is what Natsume wants of him—what Natsume likes.
A pop as he pulls off, and a lick of his lips seal the deal.
—
“Looks like we’ll have to make another batch, won't we?” Natsume hums, smudging a bit more frosting on Tsumugi’s lips, before kissing him all over again—albeit chastely, not allowing him the favor of lingering.
“I’d like that,” Tsumugi smiles gently, eyes closed, crinkling at the edges. “Although, I think that this time we should actually use it for baking.” He looks back to him with a slight chuckle, delicately brushing the stray hairs from his face.
And Natsume lets him.