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His lips were warm and more plush than they looked. You supposed you hadn't really thought about it though, so maybe they were just as supple as they should be. You smiled into the kiss and settled a hand down to his waist for purchase. The two of you pulled back from the kiss, just enough to breathe.
You brought your other hand up to brush his hair out of his face. He really was pretty; it's a shame he hides his face all the time like that. His hair was soft under your fingers; you could spend all day playing with it. Maybe another time, though. His face was turning pink from the attention.
Makoto Yuki wasn't a girl; everyone knew this well. Some folks were slower to understand him than others, but the fact remained. His voice was low in your ear, only a lick above a whisper. You could feel his breath against your cheek, and it made your blood run hot. That voice surely wasn't a girl's.
You left kisses along his jaw, trailing down until you were kissing and licking into the hollow of his neck. You took an extra moment to leave a love bite just above his collarbone. It bloomed pretty red on his pale skin. You soothed the ruddy skin with a lick before trailing further. His shirt was already discarded onto the floor, so you had access to the pale expanse of his chest and stomach.
You littered his body with kisses, trailed your tongue along a scar, took in the warmth and smell of his skin. There was a patch of fine hair trailing down his abdomen. You buried your nose into it, sighing softly into his form. His hand fell to your head, gently toying with your hair.
You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants. You met his eyes, a silent plea for permission. His gaze on you was heated and intense; he nodded down to you once, allowing you to slip his pants and underwear down in one motion. His nails scratched at your scalp in encouragement.
You've been with girls before; you remember how they felt, how they smelled, how they tasted. Makoto Yuki had nothing in common with them. He was warm and soft, but he didn't smell like a girl. He didn't taste like one either. He had a scent all his own, musky and earthy and strong. It nearly overwhelmed you.
Your tongue pressed to his slick heat, and both of you sighed. You lapped at him, savoring his taste. He was different, larger down there than any girl you've ever been with, a mouthful rather than a sip. You took your time, pressing your tongue into his entrance, taking care not to overwhelm him. Your nose was buried in his pubic hair; the curls tickled your skin.
His thighs twitched around your head, and he let out a moan that was anything but feminine. A low growl in his chest, the vibrations traveled through your body, sending tingles down your spine. You couldn't get enough. His voice was a chorus in your ears.
Your tongue moved from his hole and flicked against him. He was hard and pink, the perfect size for your lips. You closed them around him, licking up the underside, passing your tongue over, around, and around again. His body tensed; he was so close.
His hands pulled at your hair, and he was panting, moaning, growling, and then he was coming, his hips canting against your face. His thighs tightened around your head, and you worked him through his orgasm, licking at him, making sure he was sated. He was twitching, and you finally pulled back, breathing heavily.
You rested your cheek against his thigh, panting and staring up at him. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead, his eyes were half-lidded, and he looked at you through thick eyelashes. His smile was so sweet.
Makoto Yuki isn't a girl, and you couldn't imagine him being anything else.