Chapter Text
The first time Satoru stayed over at Kenya’s apartment, he realized quickly that he enjoyed watching the blond get ready.
Being a mangaka gave Satoru a varied schedule, and he took advantage, often opting to trudge into his studio somewhere closer to noon when he could help it. But Kenya had strict hours to adhere to, and his alarm mercilessly roused them both from their sleep at 6:00 A.M.
Which didn’t mean Satoru had to actually get up, so he didn’t. He left his tousled bedhead on the pillow, and watched his boyfriend get dressed through half-asleep eyes. Kenya put on his suit like soldiers put on their fatigues: with a practiced rigidity and a stern look on his face, like he was getting ready to go to war. Satoru opened his mouth wide to yawn, and found his jaw going slack half-way through the motion, just as Kenya pushed a tie up to his throat.
Oh, that—oh.
That really shouldn’t have been so hot. There was something about the—the authority in that simple motion, when formality met capability. It made absolutely no sense, but regardless, Satoru felt the heat rising to his face and burning underneath his skin. Kenya turned back to him as he straightened out his lapels, and Satoru practically melted into the sheets. “I’ll see you for dinner?”
“Y-yeah,” Satoru muttered, desperately trying to pretend he was still capable of coherent thought. He leaned up on his elbow as his partner strode over to the bed, tugging at the end of his sleeves. They pressed their lips together in a quick kiss, and Satoru let himself fall back into the sheets, one hand raised in a tired wave. “Have a good day.”
Kenya gave a short laugh, pressing one more kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “You too. Go back to sleep.”
And with that, he was gone. As much as Satoru would have loved to fall back asleep for at least four more hours, images of Kenya tightening his tie around his neck sent jolt after electric jolt between his legs. He groaned and turned to bury his face into the pillow, and resigned himself to being awake, at least until he took care of the growing ache under his boxers.
So, really, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when later that night, he practically jumped his boyfriend the second they were through the door.
He locked their lips together, hungrily deepening the kiss as he pushed Kenya down onto the bed. Satoru straddled his lover’s hips, pressing and grinding against him with his hand fisted around the blond’s tie. He could feel Kenya groaning into the kiss, and Satoru took that as an opportunity to pull away, panting and flushed. His boyfriend leaned up as if to follow, and Satoru pressed a hand to his shoulder and pushed him back against the sheets, running his hand along the wool of his blazer.
“What’s gotten into you?” the lawyer whispered, watching as Satoru sat up against his hips and peeled off his shirt.
“You don’t like it?” Satoru replied, slowly unzipping his jeans. Kenya gave another appreciative groan, his fingers finding Satoru’s hips and slowly trailing up the exposed skin. His fingers splayed across the pale chest, and Satoru shuddered and arched into the touch, his eyes half-lidded with lust.
“I didn’t say that,” Kenya grunted, leaning up to press his mouth to Satoru’s collarbone. The mangaka let out another shaky pant as he felt Kenya’s tongue, pressing and dragging along his neck. The feeling sent ecstasy shuddering through him, and he gripped Kenya’s shoulders as he leaned into it, tilting his head obligingly. It wasn’t long until Kenya’s hand reappeared, his fingers teasingly brushing against his nipple. Satoru buried his face into the head of blond hair as he leaned into the touch, his hot breath mingling with the smell of Kenya’s shampoo.
After a moment, the hand and mouth retreated—though only barely, but still too far—and Satoru looked down to see Kenya reaching to remove his own clothes. Instantly his ink-stained hands flew to his boyfriend’s, pushing them away from the knots and buttons that kept Kenya’s suit on his frame. “Don’t,” he pleaded, panting against his boyfriend’s temple as he moved to squirm out of his own underwear. “Leave them on.”
Kenya raised his eyebrows, but obediently removed his fingers. Satoru pushed him back down against the mattress, and hovered—completely naked, and achingly aroused—over his boyfriend. Careful not to disturb the tie, he slowly unbuttoned Kenya’s dress shirt without removing it, licking and tasting every bit of his lover’s torso that he could find. He felt a rumble under his lips as Kenya groaned, his fingers threading into Satoru’s dark black hair.
Spurred on, he moved farther and farther south, his fingers clumsily attempting to remove Kenya’s belt at breakneck speed. The buckle met the floor with a clang, swiftly followed by a sudden hitch of breath as Satoru pressed his face against his briefs. He moved his lips against fabric, panting against and mouthing the bulge teasingly, staring up at the blonde through his dark bangs.
“Satoru,” Kenya breathed, gently pushing his boyfriend’s head encouragingly between his legs as he arched up. He would never get over seeing Kenya like this: the man who was usually so practical and composed, conquered by desperation and wanting and lust. Knowing that he was the one who did this to him, it was—Satoru didn’t know how to describe it, but it gave him a confidence he didn’t know he had. It drove him on, and he pulled Kenya’s underwear down and eagerly took him into his mouth. Instantly the blond threw his head back against the pillows, his legs tight as Satoru’s lips moved up and down the shaft.
Kenya let out an airy sigh as Satoru hummed around his boyfriend’s cock, pressing his tongue against the tip. He could feel Kenya’s fingers curling a little in his hair, hopelessly trying to keep Satoru’s mouth exactly where it was. He could even feel those hips bucking ever so slightly, desperate for a faster pace, barely contained by Kenya’s compassionate self-control. Satoru pulled back as much as Kenya’s grip would allow, feeling a long string of saliva trail after him. He pressed his lips affectionately to the side of the shaft, and whispered: “Lube.”
Kenya untangled one of his hands from Satoru’s hair, and blindly groped in the night table until he found what he was looking for. Satoru finally sat up straight, and he took the bottle gratefully, spilling the gel onto his own fingers as he hovered above Kenya’s hips. The blond swallowed thickly and ran his hands appreciatively over Satoru’s thighs, his voice low and thick with desire. “Do you want me to—?”
“No,” Satoru interrupted, his face erupting in red as he pressed his slicked hand to his entrance. “Just—just watch.”
He pressed the first finger inside and took in the sight of Kenya beneath him: his dress shirt undone, his tie hanging slightly loosely from his neck. His boyfriend’s hands crawled steadily upwards along his legs, before one hand wrapped itself around Satoru’s cock, pumping slowly. He groaned into it, arching forward into Kenya’s touch as he slid another digit inside. Satoru brought his free hand to his mouth, panting against his fingers. “K-Kenya—”
He didn’t want to wait anymore. Satoru removed his hand from inside himself, and he reached down for something bigger than his fingers, lining Kenya up against his entrance. He gave one look to his boyfriend below him, his blue eyes meeting Kenya’s brown, both of them eager and tense. With his lover’s wordless approval, Satoru slowly lowered himself down, feeling the familiar sensation of Kenya pressing his way in.
He felt hands grip at his waist, and once he was fully inside, Satoru paused to give himself time to adjust. In hindsight, he hadn’t spread himself as much as he was used to: it was tight, but—not entirely unpleasant; if anything, it was the opposite. It didn’t take long until his ecstasy spurred him onwards, and he stared down at Kenya as he began to rock his hips, watching the flickers of pleasure pass across his boyfriend’s face.
“G-good?” Satoru asked, chewing at his lower lip.
“Amazing,” Kenya confirmed, pulling Satoru’s waist down encouragingly as he gave a small thrust up. The artist gave a small groan, his back arcing forward as he began to find a steady rhythm. The first time they’d done this, Satoru had been tense, inexperienced and timid—but now he felt bold, riding Kenya’s hips and setting their pace. He reached down and grabbed hold of the tie that had started this in the first place, and as he sat up straight, he dragged Kenya upwards with him. He gripped the fabric as if his life depended it, pulling Kenya into a bruising kiss and holding him there, tethered to Satoru’s lips by the material under his collar.
The silk felt good between his fingers, but not as good as Kenya’s tongue and cock, both of them tangling in him and overwhelming his senses. He rolled his hips in the way that made his mind go blank, groaning against the blond’s mouth. Satoru half-opened his eyes, his fist still holding the necktie taut and keeping his boyfriend close. He panted against his lips, and whispered: “Kenya—”
And without warning, the heat under his skin exploded; he leaned forward to bury his face in Kenya’s shoulder, riding out his orgasm with a shudder and a loud groan into the fabric of his blazer. He could feel Kenya give a few more deep, fitful thrusts, before a low sigh of relief washed over Satoru’s ears. He could feel his boyfriend bury himself inside of him, and for a long moment, Satoru just tried to catch his breath, still tightly gripping Kenya’s tie.
Eventually, Kenya slowly pulled out, and they collapsed back against the pillows with Satoru still lying against his lover’s chest. There was a long moment of silence before Kenya gave a low laugh, pushing his light, sweat-soaked bangs away from his face. “So. Suits?”
Satoru groaned in embarrassment against his boyfriend’s clothes, before correcting: “Necktie.”
Kenya gave a small hum, running his hand through Satoru’s dark hair. “I need to expand my wardrobe, then.”
Despite the red blooming across his face, Satoru couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat. He gave a light, playful punch to his boyfriend’s chest. “Asshole.”