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Sitting on the floor, Keito and Kuro’s knees were flush against each other, their contact tight, much like their sole hand slicked on the other’s dick. The two stroked at a slow pace, remaining silent all the while, staring pensively, mere inches apart. Their speed was respectable, almost meek, their blinking natural and fairly welcomed. All they had to do was keep staring at each other’s face, which was becoming increasingly difficult not to do as they ached to watch what they were doing to each other below.
Talking was also out of the question. Kuro hoped to settle into a more relaxed position, and to do so opened his mouth to breathe in deeply. But before a noise from the throat could be made—let alone a syllable—Keito promptly put a finger to his lips.
The contact was lovely, a polite gesture or perhaps a needed reminder of the rules. Whatever the intention, it kept Kuro’s attention on Keito, who grumbled realizing he might’ve fallen for a ruse, alleviating his touch-starved opponent whose eyes remained on him ever loyally. Out of admonishment, he tugged a little harder on the shaft, knowing it wasn’t a dissuading response as it only elicited a hum of satisfaction. Kuro’s thickness was there for Keito to keep busy and nothing more, likewise for his own shaft.
It was supposed to be a plain and easy match, their dicks out to occupy themselves as they stood their ground, to see who ought to later be the firm, unrelenting, and domineering one, a role they craved to vie for. Their opposing insistence had turned into an opportunity to see who’d hold out the longest and stick to their word.
Kuro smiled when Keito removed the finger from his lips. He could tell when Keito’s nose twitched that he was trying to not act out or otherwise breach the confines of their game. Even with their silly rules keeping them in check, Keito still seemed upset. In fact, there was a grueling amount of tension coming from him. Kuro needed to soothe Keito; it was his duty as a lover to do so, to make things easier for them both. With sweet, downturned eyes, he tilted his head and ever slowly bent in, lips parting.
The other immediately placed his free hand onto Kuro to keep him from leaning farther forward, recoiling at his obvious advance to knock Keito down a peg. The man before him was awfully crass, so brazen as to try throwing him off with a kiss. It was the exact kind of thing Keito was vigilant against, lest he be lured into losing by looking away to bear his neck to Kuro’s affections, or by speaking up to chastise him—both regular occurrences, now that he thought about them. However normal the behavior, they were playing a game; Keito could not afford to lower his guard. He only became more disappointed, if not at himself then at Kuro, channeling his exasperation through another rough stroke.
Close to having his cock be strangled at this point, Kuro groaned as he settled back. Having it be choked wouldn’t be the worst feeling, he thought about Keito’s cruelties. Considering how often he’d try to put his lover’s worries to rest with romantic platitudes, being denied a kiss was normal. But it was the first time he’d been denied one while they were flagrantly pleasuring each other. If not for their mandatory hands on cock, he would’ve backed off and given Keito his needed distance, and would’ve asked him how he could help. Here, instead he’d been forcibly pushed away. This brutal blow to his ego, Kuro faced with a frown that grew larger the longer he thought about how the reaction destroyed him—if he were truly pathetic, that is. His expression was rather wimpish as a result, tragic to an unseen level, like that of a child who’d fumbled his chance at a meal by dropping the only thing he was able to buy with his lunch money.
Keito almost stopped stroking out of surprise and concern, and lacked the bandwidth to acknowledge Kuro's overly pitiful face before him. He’d normally scoff at the sight of a sorry soul, but it belonged to his dear Kuro, and in those narrowed eyes turned beady, he sensed a moment of genuine sadness. Doubt began to race through his mind; whether he was being too cruel or was just too dense to accept Kuro’s love, that rejection was not worth the commitment to something as petty as an off-the-cuff competition. If Keito were to see tears, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He couldn’t take his attention off this unexpected development. To have made things monumentally worse for no real reason—Keito debated apologizing.
Kuro then suddenly snickered, almost into a laugh.
He was startled, and turned pink.
His lover was worried sick for him over something inane again. The frequent occurrences, Kuro would regularly feel bad for, but he could enjoy this one concern in particular, his conjured moment of twisted amusement where he wanted to feel good, rather than guilty, for worrying Keito. After all, he’d learned how to invoke Keito’s woeful predictability to overly right a wrong, a vulnerability in his stance that could do him in while they dueled. Kuro was comforted knowing Keito would always want to pick up the pieces of their relationship, would move mountains to see him happy.
Keito was not happy, however, forced to look at that soppy expression turned snarky, furrowing his brows once he realized Kuro was simply duping him, again. His mind was absolutely being toyed with, an unexpectedly bold strategy, the atmosphere having been chiseled away by trick after trick to become fragile, unnecessarily tenuous. He could complain, and go on and on about the importance of boundaries lest their hearts be inadvertently broken, but Kuro evidently wasn’t hurt. He was even happy, the smug idiot. Keito had to be on the same page as him, or slip into a helplessness that’d make him lose the game, or lose his mind altogether. Risky maneuvers were merely within the confines of their match, where anything could happen to knock the other off the field.
That would include the silliest of things, such as the kissy noises Kuro started making while staring blankly at Keito as if he were a wall, watched just to pass the time.
He grimaced. To act so foolishly while they were doling it out on each other’s shafts, and with such indifference to shield himself from all criticism—Kuro was shameless, confident, and strangely intimidating. It was tyranny, an incredibly domineering energy. Witless, Keito only got harder because of it.
Kuro could feel the erection grow as he stroked. Being continually on the offensive, he wasn’t serious about being offended, and had no need to protect himself. While they were both sturdy glass houses, Kuro had prepared stones to break Keito. Anything might tip him over the edge and shatter him—if not the near-imperceptible wet sounds of skin on skin, then perhaps Kuro’s childish noises that could pass for a new song the longer they went on.
Keito huffed at this audacious tactic, hot air blown onto Kuro’s face marking his great disappointment. The racket was not only disruptive, but rightfully embarrassing, an action he would normally turn red at and claim belonged to no one he knew. However, in their mutual endeavor to stay close, he could only find it endearing that he was challenged to not take his eyes off such a lovely face. It almost drew him away from the fact that Kuro wasn’t fully hard, yet his stupid, sexy face was stirring Keito’s erection arguably more than the hand stimulating it.
Kuro’s dick was now being wrenched, twisted in ways he preferred precisely, making him bite the inside of his lip. Keito’s efforts were rushed, done to drag Kuro down to the same level, a shared ground from which Keito could soon push him off. In Kuro’s eyes, however, those efforts were also a sign of desperation, a projection of weakness which fancied him, given he was simply being rewarded for being steadfast and resistant. He couldn’t complain; he wouldn’t do much of anything while his lover was treating him well.
The man was just that good at the game, and Keito grumbled as his fingers slid and slacked continuously. There were no cracks in his partner he could pinpoint, no defenses he could squeeze into and without realizing they were dead ends. At an impasse, Keito would simply have to look inward and build up stronger walls of his own. He pushed up his glasses, planted the other palm squarely onto his own thigh, and stared ahead at Kuro, seemingly looking through him as though he weren’t there.
Despite Keito having mentally removed himself from the game, he was still present and very much rigid. Kuro pursed his lips realizing the other had started meditating with his eyes open now, of all times, while they were jerking each other off. He knew by the way Keito’s breathing had slowed to an impressive degree that he was dead serious. Ultimately, Kuro was being ignored while they sat so close. He became a little uneasy, until he realized that Keito was actually too horny and was forcing himself to disregard his pleasure. Certainly, Kuro wouldn’t let him get away with it; their rhythms of hand on cock, he’d have to break Keito’s focus on. To pull Keito out of that headspace, he’d have to toy with him in a functionally unhelpful way.
Meditative efforts weren’t cheating. However, Kuro clearly believed otherwise. It was the only explanation Keito could think of, now that his partner was mocking him, swishing his thumb around the tip of the penis like it were a rim of a wine glass, tapping his digits into the shaft like it were a flute, and moving it around like he were a stick shift car. Kuro’s warm handle on him was akin to that of a broken claw machine. Keito was baffled, offended, embarrassed to have tumbled out of his meditative state so gracelessly. With his eyes still glued onto Kuro, he shook his head. He was no doll to be tickled, and if Kuro were to start laughing, he’d never let him hear the end of it.
After all that, the man hoped he’d get Keito to look down to see what on earth was being done to him, but instead got a death glare, ameliorated once he’d returned to rub him out normally, and faster. Even when mad, Keito’s eyes remained ever beautiful. He’d never watched them for this long. The two were only half an arm’s length apart, free to make contact with each other using their other hand. But Kuro was patient. Perhaps Keito was, too, or maybe he feared he’d spiral out of control if he were to start grasping at him. Kuro adored his tenacity to stay put. He rewarded him as such, reaching out to caress the other’s cheek, sweetly smiling once the latter softened and parted his lips to melt into the touch. Once Kuro saw this opening, he took it and ran with it.
Keito’s eyes blew wide the moment a thumb jutted into his mouth, a wrench thrown into his plan to stay sane. He remained agape, silent and stupefied until the finger gently depressed his tongue and elicited a few airy pants. Once he realized he was drooling, he closed his lips around the thumb, and began sucking on it, naturally the right thing to do whenever Kuro’s skin would enter his mouth. At least this time, he could see his face clearly while he was doing so.
Kuro’s attempt to fluster him was deftly parried, and he was enamored. Because the plan had backfired to begin with, he was going to pull himself out of it to try something else.
Before the finger could leave, Keito’s other hand snatched Kuro’s wrist, keeping it in place.
He had no other choice but to let Keito take ownership of him, staying silent while his thumb was being brushed up against by a wet, needy tongue that twirled, twisted, and tangled—all intricate movements he wished could be done to his dick instead. Kuro was going to have to live with the conscious decision to be mouthed by such limited scope; the thumb he introduced to ravage was only for him to be ravaged instead. He’d trapped himself, but after being sucked on so nicely, he no longer wanted out.
The finger remained there, much to Keito’s annoyance that, after all his work on it, it wouldn’t have passed for Kuro’s cock by any means. He’d rather have something thicker, veinier, sweeter, saltier—a memory he let out a closed moan from. Instinctively, he sped up his hand on the dick that remained unmouthed, and gripped tighter onto Kuro’s wrist. He needed it, needed him. Holding back from devouring him was eating him alive. Lest Keito quickly lose his standing, however, he needed to dispel Kuro and the cravings. At least here, he could use a little teeth to do so.
Kuro made a noise in his throat as he finally pulled his hand away from Keito’s mouth. He raised it to see in his periphery that the thumb had been thoroughly sucked all over and had turned pink, probably pinker than he figured of his own dick, especially now that he’d been stimulated to high heavens. The thought of being ravished into nothingness by the skillful tongue of a gorgeous man was becoming too much, though Kuro could only be grateful for it. Staring at Keito for a long period of time had never been so opportune, given they appreciated each other, near and far, at all hours of the day. Yet, it’d never been so unfortunate, being unable to watch himself be appreciated below.
The thumb was still in the air. Keito saw it past the frame of his glasses, and caught Kuro’s apt reaction in full view: it was longing, swelled into lust. His partner wasn’t just pink; he was red, flustered beyond belief at the possibility of a blowjob, Keito believed. He smirked, knowing he could satisfy something much greater than a finger with his tongue, and absolutely would do so should Kuro surrender and offer himself up for consumption.
But he wouldn’t, even after all that. In fact, he’d become renewed to tread carefully around Keito’s smarminess. A little vengeance was normal in their closed-off pastimes, where they’d spend an inordinate amount of time tussling. But, here, their competition was supposed to be short and simple; they couldn’t spend forever like this. Kuro had to resolve it somehow in his favor while they sat wanting each other to shy away or speak up. It would be convenient for Kuro to listen to the noises wheedling in his head calling for him to give up and give in to Keito. But he could stay afloat for longer. If he had to wait out the storm, he’d at least work to sink the other ship in the meantime.
Kuro’s speed on Keito’s dick turned rapid, and became genuinely passionate. As Keito mirrored that effort to battle it out, he realized that they were no longer superficially embroiled—they were at a serious juncture, where they’d come to understand each other’s limits, however strange their methods. He would not chicken out of the challenge to persevere, nor bow down to accept consolation for trying and failing. Once he started outpacing Kuro’s quickened rhythm, he leaned forward to stare him down further. It was easier, now, for his hand to stroke. Keito was determined to see Kuro through, more than just eye to eye. He wanted him done, and soon.
It became clear to Kuro that they, their gazes stronger than steel, were no longer duking it out on each other’s dick as an aside; they were now destined to finish each other off. Their game of mindless, unrelenting staring had now evolved into who’d ultimately make the other keel over and cum. If they were to break free from the scene, they’d have to first break the other man. Wickedly staring back at Keito, Kuro was fueled to rub him even faster. They’d mutually accepted the need to bring the other over the brink of bliss, stat.
Keito aimed to put Kuro down into delectable shame for all that he’d done, and for all that he hadn’t done. If a flinch or a scare wouldn’t sway him, then his devoted and deeply effective hand would. They’d been in a long, hearty, competitive stroking session—one of their dicks had to give out soon.
Kuro wanted relief, and surely Keito did, too. They were wrenching each other, stoking flames, breathing hotly. He winced at the precision of thumb repeatedly brushing up against the area just below the slit. Keito was precise, thorough, and competently insidious, just the way Kuro liked him. He was slipping thanks to this, overly vulnerable to so much more that could be done to him. To anchor himself and remain steady, he had to at least sink into the arousal a bit further. As long as he could ride out the stimulation better than Keito, he wouldn’t be the first to succumb.
That teetering confidence, Keito hoped with his hand, had quickly turned into patient indulgence instead. Kuro had regained control of himself, and Keito furrowed his brows. He wanted to wear out that willpower, but when he slowed down his hand nearly to a stop, the other man tilted his head in subtle confusion, as if he required Keito to keep going. It was absurdly defiant behavior, and it wouldn’t do anymore to a better trained Keito, who sought to punish it properly this time.
The moment Keito’s hand gripped onto his hair, Kuro bit his lip. He’d have to knock off his farces, now that their match was more than just that. The hold on him was serious; he was being put in his place, he could tell from Keito’s lust-ridden scowl. It was a soothing sensation, to which let out a half-groan, half-chuckle. His gaze was softened, malleable to Keito’s demands. Naturally, his appropriate response to Keito’s insisted dominance had been to reward him more than commensurately in sound and sight, before bouncing back to show him that he, too, could be the one in command.
Kuro’s hand slid onto Keito’s cheek to then move back to his nape, pulling his lover ever closer toward a kiss. They were only a single breath away now, a dangerous distance to keep playing at. Coerced into spiraling out, Keito realized they were imminently going to lose by losing themselves in each other—but the idea was not his, nor would he accept it if he could still help himself. He inched away the closer Kuro got, and his rubbing became more rapid and shallow in his efforts to deter him, his other hand falling from Kuro’s hair to grab his chest, where he masssaged a nipple. He needed Kuro to hang back and enjoy himself, rather than keep pushing forth.
The great resistance to their narrowing gap was a pushback in all senses of the word. Keito was merely delaying the inevitable, his deflection the perfect bait for Kuro to snatch and use to keep luring him into his downfall. If they were to remain afar, then Kuro would continue beckoning him to come near. He would no longer be forceful, but rather inviting and enticing. As his fingers buried deeper into the green locks, he devilishly gazed, smirking with parted lips and giving a cunning wink.
Thirsting at wicked handsomeness, Keito’s mouth quickly became parched. He’d normally smother the delicious sight with his own lips, but the longer he was forced to merely look at it instead, the more he ached to close in on it. He had to hold back from smashing their faces together, and let go of Kuro’s chest. As the hand regrettably rested back onto his knee, Keito gulped as Kuro was still holding onto the back of his head.
It was torture for Keito, and it was working. Kuro licked his lips, and tilted Keito’s head slightly to the side as his own head cocked the opposite way, as if ready to pounce on the exposed neck.
Keito started panting out of panic. It was the same maneuver they’d do before he’d croak, moan, and latch onto Kuro like no other. But Keito knew it was coming. It was a surprise ruined by slow motion, so it wasn’t up to Keito’s standards. Simply, the ploy was too unsatisfactory, an imperfect way to end their escapade. He shook his head hastily in disapproval before Kuro could even lean in to seal the deal.
His lover looked to be on his last legs begging for the kiss to be called off. Alas, Kuro was only continuing to play with him in their line of sight while they continued to play with each other below. He respected Keito’s wishes by letting go of his hair.
Keito’s efforts to steel himself had only buried him deeper into a pit of longing; of course he wouldn’t not want Kuro to do everything to him. Their rules to keep themselves sparsely occupied had become increasingly idiotic the longer they sat, and they were tearing him apart. Even then, he couldn’t touch Kuro in more ways than one because of his weakened will to survive the outcome. Keito was hard as a rock, and started to lose his mind at the idea that everything he was doing could not prevent him from falling for Kuro—his looks, his deeds, his dick he was stroking obsessively because he craved its contact—and could only afford to be so quiet about him for much longer.
Resisting each other was becoming more deleterious than helpful. Kuro sensed Keito’s floundering, how the man was lost in the mere thought of him, and he, too, became lost in those troubled eyes seeking his comfort. He began to regret prolonging—and adding to—Keito’s heartache. He needed to mend him, or perhaps break him. Kuro, having now wholly occupied his lover inside and out, better understood his restlessness. He could dissect Keito, pick him apart piece by piece. To not lose himself in the process to best enrapture his lover, he had to be careful and methodical. He relaxed his expression into the plainest, flattest one he could muster, a neutral state to calm him down. Then, he started the operation by abruptly slowing down his strokes to a near stop.
Keito, maddened, croaked out the first syllable of Kuro’s name.
It was a wrecking ball to a dam. The redhead watched him actively rein it back in with an abnormally loud clearing of the throat, like the damage hadn’t already been done, like his lover hadn’t just admitted to needing him so desperately as to finally say something. Keito, riled up through so little, was broken by so little, and Kuro’s straight face through the catastrophe helped him pretend he didn’t witness the man short-circuiting in real time.
Kuro absolutely heard the fatal error, and Keito became upset over why he was doing nothing about it, why they were still continuing to stare at each other like they weren’t truly dirtier, filthier than just the basic game they should’ve done away with long ago. He wanted Kuro to understand it was no longer necessary. He wanted to wrangle him in to show that they needed to be together. He wanted to rip open the cracks in his unrelentingly sarky stance and devour him, to catch him all over his hands, all over his mouth. He wanted themselves to latch onto each other and etch onto their skin kisses and nail marks to be smudged over by sweaty hysteria as they’d rut and moan.
As the yearning roared louder, it took root in Kuro, who also wished for them to fail and fall for each other. He craved to hug Keito, if not to heal the wounds he’d inflicted upon his psyche. He longed to feel up his body, to knead into his quaking muscles and turn him into putty, to reshape him in an impassioned embrace of utmost comfort, pillows for each other to lay onto. He wanted to entwine with his beloved, to dance and dally with him until time’s end, to thread through his fingers and his limbs with heated whispers and touches until they’d become taut, secure, and forever bound to each other. Their selves, he wished to harbor only the memories of a sleepless, bustling harmony, a future he’d rightfully work for, now that a hint of that bliss entered his bloodstream and coursed through his body.
Their dicks were properly leaking as they stared each other down, their forearms nearly sore from the stroking. They were determined to make their own dreams a reality for the other to accept in blinding ecstasy once he’d reach it.
For Keito’s lust to fully unshackle, his beloved needed to be swooned into swelling and spilling like the submissive man Keito desired him to be. He leaned up off his feet and rubbed faster, harder. Kuro had to give himself up to be subdued. He should trust Keito, who, gritting his teeth, was certain to be the stronger, more capable one to make their ends meet.
Kuro was gentle, but he was not weak, nor was he aloof. The confrontation from Keito, he sensed it was more so desperation, a delectable submission of its own he could lap up and devour thoroughly until Keito would either become no more or beg for his own seconds, to be split and consumed twice over. Kuro could pinpoint his cracks, and seep into him as liquid gold to enliven and color him anew while he begged for white. He could fix Keito up, then shatter him at his inevitable request to be served and savored. Kuro’s delicious future was right before him, melting. Those unblinking eyes, he needed to meet with his own ravenous ones as he also leaned off his feet. With one hand on the dick, Kuro reached to the back of Keito’s head again and brought them closer, nearly touching foreheads. They were breathing heavily, so heavily as they stimulated each other’s shafts with a previously unfelt passion.
Keito’s free hand wrapped over Kuro’s shoulder as he leaned them in further. The backs of their slicked hands touched at last and started to chafe each other on every other stroke. Once their knuckles started grinding against each other, Kuro began to buck into Keito’s hand. Keito jittered and began to do the same, clawing nails into Kuro’s back as he kept stroking and shuddering under his steady gaze turned crazed. They were close, so close in many respects. But he needed Kuro closer, and clambered his hand into the head of red hair.
They were holding each other firmly, more intimately as they huffed rapidly and airily; the two were magnets awaiting the full force of attraction to make them snap together and become one. Their dicks were impossibly warm, moist skin belabored by breaths they needed to have stolen away while they panted, humped, and fondled.
Their eyes locked onto each other’s until the very end, faces hotter than the summer sands as their foreheads touched, and then their noses, and then the beginning of their lips. Kuro mumbled out a groan before Keito completely smashed themselves together, emitting a low moan through their restless mouths as Keito’s eyes rolled up and Kuro pressed fully into him. Their hands fought over their dicks as they slicked and tugged in desperation, the heat of it all claiming them as a surging pressure from within their groins reared its head.
With both hands in the way, Kuro pulled Keito’s off to let their upright cocks practically stick to each other on their own before he clasped around both to jerk the two off at once. Keito, through his ugly moans, mounted his hand back onto the larger one that bounced on the two shafts, which after immense throbbing started to spurt and shoot streams of white that crossed, dirtying their hands and bodies without regard. The heat of release took their breaths away as they mindlessly gripped and mouthed at each other’s lips—crooning, growling, whining, digging fingers into the other’s hair while they stroked and painted each other indiscriminately. Their mouths turned sloppy, twisting and turning into each other repeatedly with haphazardly strewn tongues while their lips and hands were becoming drenched in fluid. Once the paralyzing ecstasy finally hit their bodies, they stilled and let themselves spill the last few drops, their voices unabashedly guttural before they gasped simultaneously.
When the two began catching their breaths, their cocks finally peeled off each other, leaving thin ridges of white where they’d touched. Keito, glasses freshly fogged, looked faint. Kuro watched him unbend his legs into a more comfortable position at last, before carefully wrapping his arms around him to lean him back and lay him down.
He was alright—more than alright, relieved to have finally gotten his much-needed rest, even if it was on the floor, rather than the bed. Even when they were done, he continued to stare at Kuro’s face, the only thing he’d come to know after a long while. He was weary, but at peace.
Kuro cherished the blissful silence of a man he’d just enjoyed to the fullest as he leaned over him. They were together again at last, on the same page, emptied of all the ink they’d spilled to spell passionate vows of love. “Looks like we both win,” he panted, listening to Keito lightly hum in response. “But you came first, so I get to top you now.”
From below came a frown and a correction. “I’m fairly certain we finished at the same time.”
“Well, you finished cumming first.”
“No, I didn’t.” While Kuro was simply more loaded than him and thus took longer to unload, Keito didn’t want to admit to his own lack of abundance in arguing his point. “You’re just making up rules.”
He scoffed heartily. “But the game’s over, Danna. And we broke the rules anyway.” Their walls had fallen. “At least let me treat you to another good time.”
It was hard to retort. “I’m spent, thanks,” he replied in a huff. Much time had already passed. “I didn’t anticipate ending our debate this way; I’d need a break after all that.” His breaths finally slowed to normal pace as he pored through all that had worn himself out mentally and physically.
“Sounds like you aren’t closed off ‘bout more sex, though.” But they were evidently tired, and in their near-embrace, their skin remained sweaty—and rather sticky. “How ‘bout I clean ya up and we decide on that later?”
“Sure, but don’t think this favor will net you one from me, to be the bottom.”
He pouted. “That’s a mean assumption. I’m bein’ nice ‘cause I love you, yanno, not ‘cause I just wanna sex you up or make you do anything.”
His expression fell soft. “I know,” he replied sheepishly. Perhaps he’d not yet gotten over their petty game.
He admired Keito in all his glistening glory. However upset his lover would be, Kuro would help him in any way he could. “Let’s get up so I can take care of ya, then.”
Those honeyed words and sweet face despite all else, Keito was dazzled by. He pulled him in with both hands for another kiss, properly sappier and more calming than the last.
Kuro fully rested onto Keito’s chest, further smoothing out the mess between their stomachs as they twirled tongues and touched teeth. Once they broke apart, a side of each of their faces were now stained with a little bit of love. “Great,” he laughed, “now I got more to clean up for the both of us.”
Keito winced at the wet reality, and didn’t regret a thing. “It appears I got too carried away,” he admitted with pride.
“I know.” Kuro leaned in for a peck on the nose, then hummed. “That’s what makes you charming.”
His partner’s responses were too saccharine, too mushy for someone wishing to dominate. Keito crossed his arms in deflection of those two concurrent truths. “All this sweet talk coming from you means you’re accepting defeat, right?”
“Hey, now,” Kuro replied, “what’s with that confidence all over your face?” He pried Keito’s arms apart and held them down by the wrists. “That won’t work once I get to turn you over onto your knees.”
A humph and a blush. “So much for not craving sex…”
An amused sigh. “Says the person insinuatin’ a lot. I’m just replyin’ honestly. You’re the one who had this grand idea to decide a winner in the first place, and now ya keep followin’ up with it like a lover who can’t let go of his boyfriend everywhere he goes.”
He stared on judgmentally. “And?”
Kuro grinned, and let go of Keito’s wrists to dig into his hair and kiss him on the lips. He then strayed to his ear. “And I think that’s admirable. You’re clingy, and real damn cute.”
They stayed close in a half-snuggle, Keito’s arms wrapped around Kuro. He chuckled. “If loving you like that is wrong, then I suppose I’ll never be right.” He went to cup Kuro’s face and propped himself up, making them stare at each other once more. His voice lowered. “Kiryu—I never want to let you go.”
His heart fluttered. He hugged Keito back, held him tight, and cradled his head. In their shared serenity, he smiled. “I love you, too, Hasumi.”