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It felt like falling.
One second, Ichiro was swaying as though the ground had started quaking beneath him. The next, he was planting his feet wide and steadying himself in place, but…
Not in the right place.
Not quite.
It took a few rapid blinks, a few disorienting seconds, for Ichiro to realize why his surroundings looked so off. He was still standing in the park, where he and Samatoki had just been facing off against a gang that had gotten their hands on a bunch of illegal mics. But he was standing a little to the left of where he had been a moment ago.
He was standing where Samatoki had been.
Ichiro blinked again and looked down, only to find himself looking down at a familiar pair of shoes.
Not his shoes, though.
Samatoki's.
"What the absolute fuck?"
And that was his voice, now coming from his right. It sounded a bit different than how he usually heard it, but it was undeniably his.
Just like the body standing next to him was his.
"Samatoki…?"
Samatoki, who was apparently in Ichiro's body and not even in the sexy way Ichiro had dreamt of for years, whipped his head—Ichiro's head—up and around to shoot Ichiro a look of utter bafflement.
That was all the time they had to react to their predicament before their opponents started in on a new verse, taking advantage of their confusion to launch another attack. Ichiro groaned and clutched his head, realizing only then that he was holding Samatoki's mic.
Of course he was.
If Samatoki was in Ichiro's body, there was only one place Ichiro could be.
Samatoki was the first to regain his bearings, lifting Ichiro's mic and firing back a rhyme that was so distinctly his that Ichiro could only stare, jaw slack, heart pounding.
It was his mic, his voice. But Samatoki's words.
And there was something unbelievably hot about that.
Their opponents were just as blown away by Samatoki's attack, though likely for very different reasons. By the time Ichiro straightened up, banging Samatoki's mic stand against his legs along the way, most of them were either down for the count or scrambling to flee.
Backup, in the form of Rio's car, screeched onto the scene at just that moment. Rio and Jyuto both hopped out and went after the guys who were smart enough to run, with Jyuto chucking a pack of zip ties in Ichiro and Samatoki's general direction along the way.
Ichiro looked at Samatoki, and Samatoki looked back. It was deeply uncanny, to be looking at himself like this, and Ichiro had to imagine Samatoki felt the same.
But when one of the guys on the ground groaned and made an attempt to grab the mic he'd dropped, Ichiro and Samatoki both jolted into motion. Ichiro grabbed the zip ties and passed a few to Samatoki, and they quickly got to confiscating mics and immobilizing the bad guys. Jyuto would want to talk to them, to get a lead on whoever the hell was flooding the streets with illegal mics again.
"Samatoki."
Ichiro froze when Jyuto reappeared and called out to him. Rio was on his way back too, with three guys he had, by all appearances, lassoed. With rope.
"Uh…" Ichiro darted a glance at Samatoki—the real Samatoki—when Jyuto stopped in front of him and tapped out a cigarette, offering the box to Ichiro too. "I'm not…"
"Over here, dipshit."
Jyuto froze up too, then slowly swiveled his head to look at Samatoki, in Ichiro. Then back at Ichiro, in Samatoki.
Their expressions must have said it all. Samatoki, glowering with Ichiro's face in a way Ichiro almost never glowered. Ichiro, looking deeply apologetic with Samatoki's face, in a way Samatoki presumably never did either—at least not towards Jyuto.
"You're… Yamada?"
Ichiro answered with a little wince-and-nod combo.
Jyuto stared at him for a moment longer before letting out a bark of laughter, practically as loud and abrupt as a gunshot.
"Oi! This is funny to you, asshole?" Samatoki demanded, marching up to Jyuto to snatch a cigarette out of the box he was still holding.
Which Ichiro promptly slapped out of Samatoki's hand.
"What the hell did you do that—oh, right." Samatoki frowned, but didn't try to argue. He seemed a bit upset at himself, in fact, for forgetting that smoking in Ichiro's body would be an obvious no-go. "My bad."
"Want me to smoke one for you?" Ichiro joked.
Samatoki opened his mouth, paused like he actually had to think about it for a second, then shook his head and shot Jyuto another withering glare. "Would you do something about this already?"
Jyuto, still snickering, cleared his throat and arched a brow. "And what exactly is it that you'd like me to do?"
"Question—" Samatoki flapped a hand at the gangsters who were all being guarded by Rio now. "—those punks and figure out which one of their mics did this!"
"Please," Ichiro added politely.
Jyuto lit his own cigarette and looked between them again. "Mm. I don't know, I think I prefer this," he said, giving Ichiro—in Samatoki—a slow once-over. "This face is much more tolerable when you're him."
"You wanna die?" Samatoki snarled.
Jyuto sighed. "But I suppose we should prevent this awful cretin from fouling up your innocent mouth any further. I'll see what I can do. You two… stay out of trouble."
Samatoki flipped Jyuto off as Jyuto started making his way over to Rio, and Jyuto flipped him off right back without missing a beat. Ichiro gave it a moment, before reaching out and pushing Samatoki's hand down, because really it was his hand, and he didn't feel like having some passerby recognizing him, photographing him, and putting him online for anyone to see.
"So…" Ichiro had to breathe a laugh. "This is a new one."
It had already been about a year since the end of the division rap battles, but the hypnosis microphone technology was out there now. Illegal mics were still being manufactured and peddled on the black market, each batch more concerning than the last.
There were some that could make people lose all their inhibitions, their sense of rationality. Then came the ones that could age or deage a person—only mentally at first, then physically as well. Some could even straight up turn people into animals.
Fortunately, all the effects were temporary, lasting a few days at most. They could be undone even quicker by the same mic that caused them in the first place, but would wear off eventually on their own too.
Still, it wasn't ideal to have these mics fall into the wrong hands. Or anyone's hands, really.
Ichiro and Samatoki, as well as other prominent stars of the division rap battles, had been tasked with retrieving those mics. Some of them were more willing to take on the job than others. Ichiro, personally, couldn't really complain—it paid well, and was more or less just another odd job for him.
Plus, when he was called out on these retrieval missions, he was almost always partnered with Samatoki. That had been a bit awkward, at first, when they were no longer feuding but still not exactly friends again. But after they managed to really clear the air, thanks to a near-death experience and a couple stiff drinks, getting to spend time with Samatoki became Ichiro's favorite perk of the job.
Getting to spend time in Samatoki… well, Ichiro really couldn't claim to have seen that one coming.
Samatoki breathed a rough sigh and scratched a hand through his hair. Ichiro's hair. "You wanna wait this out at your place or mine?"
Ichiro glanced over at Jyuto and Rio. A few cop cars had arrived, and it was looking… unlikely that the perps would be cooperative. Seeing as there'd been at least twenty mics in their recent battle, Ichiro figured the chances of Jyuto finding the one that had done this to them were slim to none.
They probably would end up having to wait this out.
"You're closer," Ichiro said. They were out in Yokohama, and Jiro and Saburo would survive a day or two without him. "Can we get food on the way? I'm starving. Or, I guess, you are."
"Skipped lunch," Samatoki admitted.
(Ichiro would, in hindsight, realize there was really no reason they had to wait this whole body swap thing out together. But, in the moment, it didn't seem to occur to either of them to split up.)
"Come on, then." Ichiro patted all his pockets—Samatoki's pockets—until he felt a wallet. "My treat."
They stopped for burgers on the way to Samatoki's place, and it wasn't until Ichiro had paid that Samatoki went, "Hey, wait a fucking second. You clever little—"
Ichiro laughed so hard that Samatoki had to drive them the rest of the way home.
It didn't take long for Jyuto to call them up and confirm what Ichiro had already suspected. The guys they'd rounded up weren't in any mood to be cooperative. Some were outright hostile, some just seemed scared. Whoever had provided them with those mics must have been an important player in these black market deals.
But the details were none of Ichiro's business. He and Samatoki just helped to disarm these guys; the rest was up to Jyuto.
"Movie?" Samatoki suggested, once it was clear there was nothing left for them to do but wait.
Ichiro sent his brothers a quick text, just to let them know he'd be out for at least a night, before crashing onto the couch with a grin. "Movie."
Looking at Samatoki, at his own body, was still a weird sensation. Not necessarily bad, just unusual. Ichiro figured a movie, to take their minds off things and their eyes off each other, was probably the best way to pass the time.
He loved movie nights with Samatoki, anyway. It usually meant getting to lean his head on Samatoki's shoulder, maybe even doze off and wake up with Samatoki's arm around him.
They watched one, made dinner together, then put on another. Ichiro did end up listing onto Samatoki's side and starting to drift off during the second movie, though it wasn't quite the same sensation as what he was used to. His own shoulder wasn't uncomfortable, per se, but it wasn't all that familiar either.
Ichiro had gotten so used to the feeling of Samatoki's shoulder against his cheek that nothing else could compare.
"Ichi."
Samatoki, speaking in Ichiro's voice, was still pretty weird too. Ichiro wasn't sure if he liked it or not; he probably didn't. Although he liked his own voice well enough, he loved Samatoki's—especially when Samatoki said his name like that.
"Mm?"
"Got a sorta… situation here." Samatoki soothed a hand through Ichiro's hair and breathed a laugh. "Unavoidable, I guess. If we're gonna be like this for a while."
Ichiro hummed again and lifted his head enough to meet Samatoki's gaze.
Samatoki leaned a little closer, as though he had a secret to share. When his lips were just about brushing Ichiro's ear, he whispered, "Bathroom."
Ichiro blinked, then sank back against the couch and groaned. "Fuck. Right. Of course."
Bathroom.
If this body swap thing was anything like the illegal mic effects they'd encountered in the past, it could last up to three days. And there was no way in hell either of them were going three days without using the bathroom.
In each other's body.
"I mean, if you gotta go, you gotta go," Ichiro mumbled, flinging one arm across his eyes. "What am I gonna say? Don't look?"
Samatoki snickered and dropped a kiss to the top of Ichiro's head, quick and casual, the way he'd done countless times before. "No funny business," he promised as he paused the movie and climbed up from the couch. "I'll be quick."
Ichiro grimaced and kept his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. This really… wasn't how he'd imagined Samatoki seeing his dick for the first time. If there ever would've been a first time.
But there was no sense in stressing out about the unavoidable.
Ichiro sighed and pulled out his phone again; he and Samatoki had remembered to swap after Ichiro's little joke of paying for their late lunch with Samatoki's wallet.
He opened the camera app and flicked it over to selfie mode, intending to just check to make sure he wasn't pulling any weird faces with Samatoki's face. It was all too easy to get distracted, though, because that was… Samatoki's face.
Ichiro absently touched a hand to Samatoki's cheek, tracing the shape of his cheekbones, his jaw. His breath hitched when he brushed a thumb over the corner of Samatoki's lips, not so much from the sensation, but the sight.
Samatoki's lips, in his camera lens, parted so prettily when Ichiro tugged a little, exposing his perfect teeth, with those sharp canines, and a flash of a wet, pink tongue.
"What're you doing?"
Ichiro yelped and nearly dropped his phone on his crotch, catching it just before it managed to slip out of his hold. "Nothing, uh—nothing."
Samatoki had his brows arched when he came back over to the couch. "You weren't checking me out, then?"
"Egomaniac," Ichiro accused, before shrugging and flashing Samatoki a sheepish little grin. "But, well, maybe a bit."
"Can't blame you," Samatoki said as he sank back down next to Ichiro and threw an arm over his shoulders. "I checked out your abs in the mirror too."
"Hey!"
"Can you blame me?" Samatoki grinned over at him, though his grin was decidedly lacking in shame. "You keep flashing that bit at the bottom. Was starting to wonder if you'd ever show me the rest."
I'd show you anything if you asked, Ichiro thought. If you would only ask.
He wasn't quite bold enough to say that, though. He rolled his eyes instead, and only mumbled, "It's not like I do it on purpose."
Samatoki gave a skeptical little hum, but let the subject drop.
They finished the movie, with Ichiro a bit too wired to doze off again. It was still fairly early when the credits started to roll, so Samatoki poured them each a drink and got out a pack of cards. They played some, talked some, and found the clock ticking past midnight before they knew it.
Ichiro was the first to yawn.
"Bedtime?" Samatoki asked.
Ichiro hummed and gathered up the cards, absently marveling at how pretty Samatoki's slender fingers looked as he moved them. What would those fingers look like, wearing the rings Ichiro always wore?
"Bedtime," Ichiro agreed, giving his head a shake in hopes of dislodging those wandering thoughts. "Maybe we'll be back to normal in the morning."
"Tired of being me already?" Samatoki teased.
Ichiro shrugged and thought about it for a moment, before deciding there was no shame in the truth. "Just prefer seeing you, to being you."
Samatoki studied him for a moment, then tousled his hair and took the cards from him. "Get some sleep, Ichi. Been a long day."
"Weird day."
"Fucking weird," Samatoki agreed.
Ichiro let himself into the guest room, where he'd crashed more times than he could count. It had only been a few months since he and Samatoki really got close again, but they'd spent so much time together in the time since—on these missions, after these missions, or just because—that Ichiro could hardly remember a time when this wasn't their normal.
He had a pair of pajamas in the guest room, which he put on unthinkingly, realizing only afterwards that they were a size too big for Samatoki's slimmer frame. That had him mesmerized for a moment, staring down at the way the sleeves came over Samatoki's hands, before looking up into the full-length mirror in the room and drawing a sharp breath at how unbelievably cute Samatoki looked, with the collar of his shirt gaping open at his throat.
Ichiro gave his head another firm shake and quickly shuffled into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He even had a cup and toothbrush in there, just for the nights he stayed over. It wasn't until he'd almost finished brushing his teeth that he wondered—should he have used Samatoki's toothbrush? Seeing as this was Samatoki's mouth?
Ah, whatever. That was probably the least weird thing about all this.
Using the bathroom was, surprisingly, not that awkward either. Ichiro had had to piss earlier, and went again before flumping into bed. It was a pretty sexless thing, just an ordinary bodily function. Nothing all that sensual about it, even if it was Samatoki's cock in his hand.
His gaze lingered on the bathtub, though, before he made his way to bed.
If this went on for two, three days… it wasn't like they couldn't go without bathing or showering for that long. Would be pretty gross, though. Going to bed without at least having a quick rinse already felt kind of unpleasant, but Ichiro couldn't imagine stripping down in Samatoki's body.
Or maybe he could imagine it all too easily.
Bathing in Samatoki's body wouldn't be like using the toilet. There would, unavoidably, be something sensual about that. Every inch of Samatoki's skin would be exposed to him. He would have to touch Samatoki's body, all over, to get clean. Soaping up, rinsing off…
Ichiro shivered at the mere thought of it.
Would Samatoki shower, that night? In Ichiro's body?
They hadn't talked about it. Maybe Samatoki wasn't planning on it, or maybe he just didn't see a need to ask. Which was reasonable, wasn't it? Ichiro was probably the only one overthinking things, the only one making a big deal out of a little nudity between friends.
If Samatoki did take a shower…
Would he like what he saw?
Would he take his time, mapping and memorizing the planes of Ichiro's body, the way Ichiro was dying to do to his?
Ichiro clenched his jaw when an unmistakable spark of arousal shot straight to his cock. He dug his nails into his palms and forced himself to think about literally anything else. He was absolutely not going to get hard when his dick wasn't even his own dick; that just could not happen.
Even if it would've been easy to slip a hand under his waistband, even if Samatoki wouldn't ever need to find out—
That would, obviously, be crossing every line imaginable.
But maybe just thinking about it, picturing it, wasn't so bad. Who could really blame Ichiro for thinking about it?
Ichiro had just about convinced himself he wasn't the scum of the earth when the door to the guest room was suddenly slammed open, making Ichiro yelp, sit straight up, and yank both hands up over the covers he'd been burrowed under, as though Samatoki had caught him doing—instead of just thinking about—something obscene.
"Samatoki? What…"
Ichiro squinted his eyes half-shut when Samatoki flicked on the lights in the room. Once Ichiro adjusted to the sudden brightness, he was able to focus and take in how… unexpectedly rumpled Samatoki looked, in his body.
He looked like he'd run his hands through his hair, Ichiro's hair, again and again and again, until it was sticking up in a truly ludicrous number of directions. He was stripped almost bare, wearing only Ichiro's boxer briefs, which were just… a little… tented.
Ichiro choked on a gasp of air.
"Ichiro."
"Samatoki…?"
"Can I jack you off."
Ichiro choked again, fisting his hands tight in the covers that had pooled in his lap. "Wh-what?"
"Can. I. Jack. You. Off." Samatoki gestured at the increasingly conspicuous bulge in his pants. "Can't get any fucking sleep like this."
Ichiro's cheeks practically burst into flame. He wondered, faintly, if it was possible to die of mortification. Maybe he would be the first.
"Sorry, that, uh, that… that doesn't usually…"
What the fuck was his traitorous body doing over there? He was well into his twenties, old enough that his stupid fucking cock should have known better than to get hard for no stupid fucking reason.
His head was so busy swimming with embarrassment that he almost didn't notice it when Samatoki arched his brows, looking more confused than annoyed.
Maybe a little intrigued, too.
"Why the hell are you sorry?" Samatoki asked. "I'm the one who got all worked up thinking about you."
Ichiro froze, only his eyes moving, growing wide. "You were… thinking about me?"
Samatoki shrugged and finally had the decency to look away, to look at least the slightest bit sheepish. "How could I not? You gotta know by now, how crazy you make me with your gorgeous fucking body."
"I… do?"
"You do." Samatoki took a step closer to the bed, then another. "Got me thinking about how it would feel to wake up like this, in you. Got me wondering if you would wake up hard, if you touched yourself in the mornings or at night."
Ichiro's face burned even hotter, hot enough he started to worry it would leave a permanent mark splashed across Samatoki's beautiful cheeks.
"Thought about it and thought about it and thought about it," Samatoki continued, as he drew close enough to plant one knee on the bed, leaning over Ichiro now. He dipped his voice lower, making it deeper, tantalizing in a way Ichiro had never known his voice could be. "Until all those thoughts of you got me aching, dying, to do something about it."
Ichiro could only answer with an audible hitch of his breath in his throat. It was his body, his face, looming over him now, which shouldn't have been hot—Ichiro was no narcissist. But that expression, that intensity rolling off him…
That was all Samatoki.
And Samatoki had always been Ichiro's one and only ideal of hot.
"Me too," Ichiro blurted out, his breath a bare whisper against Samatoki's lips.
A spark—maybe mischief, maybe mirth—lit up Samatoki's eyes. "Hm?"
"I… thought about you too," Ichiro murmured. "Couldn't help it, couldn't stop. Couldn't not think about how it would feel, to wash…"
"To get your hands all over my body in the shower, huh?" Samatoki grinned and finally pulled himself fully onto the bed, swinging one leg over Ichiro's to straddle his lap.
Ichiro drew in another sharp breath. His eyes instinctively darted over to the mirror that stood against the wall beside them, to the reflection of his own body perched so boldly in Samatoki's lap. Right where he'd wanted to be for so, so long.
"You didn't answer me, Ichi." Samatoki brushed his forehead to Ichiro's and laced his fingers together at the nape of Ichiro's neck. "Can I touch you?"
Ichiro felt his stomach do a funny little flip. Samatoki was seducing him, with his body; there was no stopping the arousal flooding down to Ichiro's cock now. But it wasn't just sexy, wasn't just obscene.
There was something sweet about it, something almost unbearably cute. About Samatoki, asking for permission, like he cared more about Ichiro's wishes and desire than his own.
"You can do anything you want to me," Ichiro breathed. "Please."
Samatoki grinned, tipping Ichiro's head back a little, until their lips were all but brushing. "So polite. You been wanting this for long?"
"Years," Ichiro admitted, his voice now practically a whine. "Just didn't… couldn't risk ruining what we…"
Samatoki kissed him, then. Finally, finally brought their lips together. Ichiro couldn't ever have imagined it happening like this, of course, but it was happening. The first touch of Samatoki's lips to his, or his to Samatoki's—whatever—was enough to draw a groan from deep in his throat, one that made Samatoki grin into their kiss and sink a little more of his weight into Ichiro's lap.
"Yeah, that sounds like you," Samatoki murmured. "Conscientious brat."
By now, Ichiro was way too aroused to even try to remember what that word meant. He could barely remember a single word he knew, in fact, when Samatoki slid a hand past his waistband and gave his cock a long, slow stroke.
Ichiro moaned and buried his face in the crook of Samatoki's neck. Samatoki touched him like he knew exactly how to drive him crazy, which only made sense—Samatoki must have known exactly what his own cock liked.
"Thought… you were gonna touch me," Ichiro mumbled.
Samatoki hummed and threaded the fingers of his free hand through Ichiro's hair, pulling his head back and up to kiss him again. "Am I not?" he murmured against Ichiro's lips. "Ah. I get it. You want a show, baby?"
Ichiro had no idea what he wanted. In all his fantasies, it had never been like this. Him in Samatoki's body, Samatoki in his.
Samatoki couldn't possibly have anticipated this either, but he seemed so sure of himself when he sat back on his heels, grinning as he withdrew his hand from Ichiro's pants to drag his knuckles down the front of the boxers he wore instead.
"Do you like to watch yourself, when you touch yourself like this?" Samatoki asked as he pushed his boxers down, exposing his cock—Ichiro's cock, hard and slick with want.
Ichiro's mouth was too dry to answer. He could only shake his head; he'd never really thought about that before.
Samatoki gave another hum as he started to stroke himself, with showy little thrusts of his hips as well, to push the head of his cock through the tight ring he formed with his fingers. "Ever think about me, watching you? As you touch yourself like this?"
Fuck.
That…
Ichiro had to nod, this time. "Yeah," he rasped. "Always… always wanted your eyes on me."
"Just my eyes?"
Ichiro shook his head again. "No."
Samatoki's breathing was starting to come a little harder. A flush had risen in his cheeks, and he had his lower lip caught between his teeth, getting it slicker, redder.
Was this what Samatoki would see, if Ichiro touched himself in front of him?
"Everything," Ichiro whispered. "I wanted—I want everything you have to give."
Samatoki moved all of a sudden, pushing Ichiro back—not down onto the bed, but back against the headboard. He pulled Ichiro's pants down, underwear and all, then parted his legs to settle between them, kissing a trail from Ichiro's shoulder to his navel along the way.
"Here's what I'll give you tonight," Samatoki said, teasing his fingers under the curves of Ichiro's knees once he'd tossed aside Ichiro's pajama pants. Samatoki's body must have been sensitive there; that soft, barely-there touch was enough to send a shudder of pleasure down Ichiro's spine. Samatoki must have felt it, because his grin was all smug and sure as he continued, "I'll let you see what you look like, with your pretty mouth stretched out around my cock. Want that?"
"Fuck yeah," Ichiro gasped. This was his only chance to take in a sight like that, to get a view of himself from Samatoki's point of view. "You're so smart. Yes. Yes, please, I want that, I want that so bad."
Samatoki breathed a laugh and nuzzled his cheek over the length of Ichiro's cock, before dragging his lips over the tip, just enough to get his mouth looking even shinier, even lewder. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
When Samatoki wrapped his lips around the leaking head of Ichiro's cock, Ichiro moaned and threw his head back, smacking it against the headboard, before coming to his senses enough to realize he didn't want to miss a second of this show. That was his face, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure, as Samatoki's gorgeous cock speared past his lips.
Ichiro sank a hand into Samatoki's hair, finding the sight of Samatoki's pale skin against his dark hair almost as mesmerizing as his own mouth around Samatoki, so eager to make Samatoki's body feel good. Ichiro tightened his grip, breath hitching at the faint bulge of a vein rippling over the back of Samatoki's hand.
Was this what Samatoki would see, when he had Ichiro between his knees? Would he like this sight, every bit as much as Ichiro did?
"I look like I was made to be right there," Ichiro murmured.
Samatoki must have liked that. He groaned, the sound traveling straight down Ichiro's cock, and bobbed his head, taking Ichiro deeper as he slipped one hand between his own legs, to jerk himself off at the same time.
Ichiro almost could have whined about that. He wanted to be the one to touch Samatoki, to make Samatoki feel good. But he didn't want to lose the image in front of him either, not before he could burn it into his mind, forever, for good.
He couldn't have it all, he supposed. At least not all at once.
But there was no need to rush, was there?
This was only the first time. It sure as hell wouldn't be the last.
Ichiro had both hands buried in Samatoki's hair before long, pulling so hard it had to have hurt. Samatoki didn't seem to mind or care, though. Didn't even seem to notice. He was much more concerned with alternating between sucking Ichiro's cock and lapping up the shaft, practically drooling over it until it was slick and shiny with spit.
"Your body really loves this," Samatoki murmured, before swirling his tongue over the head of the leaking cock before him. "Never felt like I could come just from sucking cock before."
Ichiro moaned as those words shot straight through him, curling his toes. He dropped a hand to Samatoki's lips, watching wide-eyed as Samatoki obligingly kissed those fingers and even sucked one into his mouth.
"Guess I've always had something of an oral fixation," Ichiro admitted breathlessly, stroking his finger over the soft velvet of Samatoki's tongue. "Always found it easy to get myself off, when I thought about being on my knees for you."
Samatoki groaned and pulled back to kiss Ichiro's hand again, nuzzling his face into the palm of it. "Think your body remembers that. How bad it's been wanting this, how much you knew you'd love this."
It was probably just nonsense, the sort of babble that came out unbidden in the throes of sex. But Ichiro could believe it so easily, that his wish, his desire, to please Samatoki was printed deep into his bones.
After he came, and after Samatoki climbed back into his lap to let Ichiro touch him, to bring him over the brink, they kissed again and again until Ichiro couldn't tell whether it was him or Samatoki he tasted on his tongue.
"If we're still like this in the morning," Ichiro murmured hazily, as they sank down onto the bed together, limbs all tangled up. "Can I… give you a show too?"
Samatoki hummed as though he really had to think about it, before brushing a kiss to Ichiro's temple, lips curved into a smile. "It's cute."
"Mm?"
"That you think I'd wait until morning."
The hypnosis effect wound up lasting for just over two days, which coincidentally was how long it took for either of them to set foot outside Samatoki's apartment again.