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The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminates the full-length mirror in your bedroom, casting a warm light over Shoto’s body. He’s fresh out the shower, damp hair stuck on his forehead and neck. A towel slings low around his hips.
You’re waiting for him under the blankets, talking about plans for the weekend, when he goes quiet all of a sudden.
Something in the mirror catches his attention and he pauses, head tilted just a bit.
There’s a softness there he doesn’t remember in years before. Not bad, just different. He presses his lips together, thoughtful, more curious than worried.
You’re reach the edge of the bed behind him, shifting your body to peek.
“What got you thinking so hard over there?”, you ask.
He doesn’t look away from the mirror. One hand brushes absently over his stomach, fingers splayed like he’s testing an idea rather than the shape. “I think I’ve gained a little weight.”
There’s no tension in his voice. It’s just an observation, like talking about the weather.
You get up and walk up behind him, close enough that your reflection joins his. You rest your hands at his hips, thumbs brushing the warm cedarwood-scented skin.
“Okay, and how are we feeling?”.
“I’m not concerned”, he says promptly. Then takes a moment to think further. “It’s just different. I used to be more defined. Leaner”.
His frame has softened a little over the last years. His once sharply defined abs now cushioned by a layer of gentle chub around his midsection, his hips a bit wider, thighs thicker.
You hum, then lean forward to one side so your cheek rests on his arm.
“That’s because you were kinda overworking yourself,” you say.
He doesn’t argue, but stays silent.
You slide a hand to his stomach, without squeezing or tease. “This little softness? It just means you’re living fully. Resting. Eating well. Letting yourself exist without punishment”. You give him your warmest smile in the mirror. “I love that on you”.
His eyes soften a little and he puts his hand on yours. “Besides, bodies change all the time”.
He glances down at your joined hands, then back up at the mirror. “And you don’t mind?”.
His expression is open, quietly vulnerable in that way he never pretends not to be with you.
You laugh softly and shake your head.
“Shoto”, your arms wrap around him with a little squeeze. “I love you,” you simply say. “Not a version of you or one shape. You”.
He's about to turn around towards you, but you keep him still, facing the mirror.
“You know what I see?”, you ask backing up a little behind him.
“Tell me”, he says with a fondness in his voice and the cutest little smile.
“My favorite back in the world", you let your hands glide up his ribs. “So broad and scratchable. Still makes me want to press my face right here”. You do exactly that, cheek resting between his shoulder blades. You feel some tension leaving him as he exhales.
“Your shoulders haven’t changed at all", you murmur. “And they keep driving me a little crazy when you stretch”.
Your hands roam again, steady and appreciative, fingers tracing down his arms. “These”, you add, squeezing lightly, “still make me feel safe every time they hold me”.
Shoto reaches behind him to caress your thigh. You hear him swallow. “You’re biased.”
“Absolutely”, you agree, smiling against his skin.
Your hands move forward again, this time resting flat against his stomach. Not poking, just there. You stand on your tippy-toes to reach his ear, lips whispering “What hasn’t changed is how good you feel under my hands”.
He watches the way you touch him in the mirror, head tilted to the side as his eyes grow heavy. Your fingers tighten at his waist, nails pressing just enough to make him suck in a breath.
“I like that you like it”, his tone is low now.
“Good. Because you may need a little reminder”.
He’s still facing the mirror, towel low, skin warm and bare when you press yourself fully against him. A small gasps slips from him when he feels the heat of you along his spine, your breast pushed into his back.
Shoto observes as your touch changes him: the way his shoulders eases, his mouth parting in anticipation. Your hands slide forward, palms warm against his stomach. He stiffens, not pulling away, just reacting to how wanted you’re making him feel.
“Think you don’t look the same?”, you ask softly, palming him through the towel.
You don’t wait for an answer.
Your free hand slid trough his hair, gripping firmly and pulling his head back to expose his neck. You kiss him on its column, feeling his pulse hammering against your mouth. He closes his eyes for half a second, then opens them when you bite his skin.
“You still look like the man I want”, you whisper. “You still make my knees weak. Still make me think very filthy thoughts when you’re standing in front of me like this”.
He glances at you with a dark hunger through the glass.
“You’re enjoying proving your point”, he murmurs in shaky breaths.
“Oh, you bet I am”. Your body stays pressed to his back, you caress every inch of his skin, you have all his sweet spots memorized and know nothing needs correcting.
“Nothing about you could ever stop being desirable. If anything, you’re harder to resist”.
You guide him closer to the mirror, positioning him so he faces his full reflection, yours right behind.
"Watch", you whisper against his ear, nipping the lobe.
Your hands slide up his chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples until they pebble under your touch. He inhales sharply, eyes widening as you kiss down his spine, your lips trailing fire along his skin.
His cock was half-hard already from the intimacy of your words moments ago, now it springs up as you undo the knot of the towel. Shoto's breath hitches as you wrap your fingers around his shaft, stroking slowly from base to tip.
His eyes meet his own in the mirror, cheeks flushing as he watches your hand work him. It's killing him how he's not touching you too, but there’s a quiet determination in your gaze and you seem to be enjoying yourself as well. And he honestly loves the way you’re handling him.
"See how hard you get for me?". You give a gentle squeeze. "Perfect and ready as always”.
His goosebumps flare up your skin. The underside of his cock is pulsing under your grip as you stroke upward slowly, twisting your wrist at the head to spread the slickness leaking from his tip, making him buck into your fist.
A little huff of laughter slips your lips, it makes him shiver. “Look at you”, you coo. Then, in barely above a whisper “I love how your body responds to me”.
In the mirror, you both watch the way his soft belly rises with each pant, how his cock throbs in your hold, flushed and eager.
"You’re so pretty", you murmur, pumping him steadily now. “I can't get enough of touching you like this”.
He grips the edge of the dresser for support, frost creeping faintly along the wood from his right hand. You can see a puff of breath leave his parted mouth.
"It feels so good”, he chokes. “You’re so good", his voice is rough, eyes tracing the motion of your hand. You quicken the pace, fingers gliding smoothly along his length, squeezing just right to draw out his moans.
"Every part of you turns me on, Sho". He whimpers as you twist your hand on the upstroke, focusing on the sensitive underside of his head.
Pressing your body flush against his back, your breasts mold to him as you reach around with both hands now; one stroking his cock while the other fondles his balls, rolling them gently then pressing them tight. He groans, head falling back onto your shoulder in bliss.
"Eyes on the mirror, honey”, you remind him as you slower your movements almost to a halt when he doesn't comply. His head is immediately up again, hips thrusting in your hand as he begs “Don’t stop now, please”.
You tighten the hold on his shaft, offering you sweetest smile when he pauses with a whine in little gasps.
You nuzzle the crook of his neck. “That was good”. Your teeth graze his shoulder. “You want some more?”.
“Fuck”, the way he says it sounds a lot like yes.
“Then focus on the mirror and watch yourself come for me”, you command softly, your voice laced with affection.
You build the rhythm back again and slick sounds fill the room as you jerk him off with dedicated focus.
Shoto is on fire. His mind is foggy, tension builds quickly in his body, muscles coiling deep down his stomach. He wants to kiss you, bite your lips, bury his face in your soft tits that are creating a maddening friction on his back with your pert nipples. But he needs to be good, wants to be good for you, so his eyes stay glued to the glass: his thighs trembling, cock pulsing in your relentless grip.
The person he often doubts, but who you adore, on the edge of ecstasy.
He spreads his knees, feverishly fucking your fist. “Pleaseplease I’m so close!”, he cries.
“That’s it Sho. So beautiful for me”, your praises seep into his brain like warm tea.
He’s almost there, you feel it in his body. He just need a little nudge to tip over. You free one hand and slip two fingers inside you, a welcoming sticky wetness already there from watching him. You give yourself a few quick pumps, but you’re not chasing your pleasure.
You pull them out and place them on Shoto’s lips.
“That’s how I’ll always be for you”
You slid your fingers in his mouth as his eyes close with a moan. He desperately tries to suck them but the waves of his approaching orgasm make him too dizzy. His tongue and nose sloppily move between your fingers as he aimlessly nuzzles into your palm, smearing your slick and his spit all over his face.
Your musky scent on his chin is intoxicating, and the final straw.
He comes undone with a strung out moan, his cock twitches in your grasp. Thick ropes of cum spurt the mirror in white streaks.
The room is filled with his shorts wet huffs, trying to catch his breath. His legs give in and he slumps on the floor; you gently guide him down.
You put your arms around his shoulders and he rests his head on your chest. He tries to steady himself to your heartbeat, but your pulse is faster than his.
“See?", you say, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. "Still the same hottie as always. Making me lose it just by looking at you”.