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Don't Masaruin It

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"That was some nice work out there today, birthday boy," Matsuo smiles as his raised hand goes straight to rest on the winger's head and slides his scrum cap off so he can ruffle his hair.


Ebumi is slow to bat his hand away for once, and a catlike curl to his lips lets Matsuo know that his favourite junior is clearly in need of some praise today.


The taller boy glances over at Mutsumi then, who catches his attention on his way to the clubroom, and they share a knowing nod before Matsuo moves his hand down to Ebumi's back and guides him toward the pitch.


"I just want to try something actually," he mentions, picking up a stray rugby ball and bouncing it between his hands.


"Huh?" Ebumi sneers, his wild eyes getting even more crazed as he adopts a quizzical expression.


"Yeah, only a couple of minutes," Matsuo bargains, "I know you can catch any kick I send your way, but— well I guess it's more for me than anything else," he laughs, feigning humility as he cocks his head and rubs the back of his neck.


He knows Ebumi will play along if he thinks he's doing his senpai a favour.


"Ya' wanna' see how far ya' can kick it, huh?" the blond assumes.


"You got me," Matsuo chuckles. "Just a couple of tries, yeah?" he probes, glancing at the block behind for any signal that the changing rooms are free.


"Tsh, yeah-yeah, I guess so," Ebumi concedes, acting like it's such a hassle but he'll do it out of nobility, even though spending an extra couple of minutes with Matsuo is already a better birthday gift than he's come to expect.


He gets distracted toward the end thinking about how shitty it's going to be going home though.


Another night of rented porn with one of his step-dad's beers and a takeaway? How lame. Where's the thrill when no one is even there to see him acting out?


At best there'll be a card and some more money, or maybe a cake in the fridge, but his mom has already let him know he'll be alone again tonight.


Birthdays have just never really been very special or very well celebrated in the busy household, and even though Ebumi isn't one to let on when he's feeling stung by something, Matsuo always notices immediately.


It's after he jumps to catch another kick, but instead of running straight back he lands and just stands there for a moment looking at the ball in his hands.


It's such a brief thing— he's already running back before Matsuo can call to him— but each disinterested catch after that weighs heavier and heavier until finally Mutsumi waves over from the clubroom and Matsuo can thankfully call it quits.


"That last kick was a good one," Ebumi mumbles as he hands the ball back.


"Thanks kiddo, you were very patient to help me out like that. I appreciate it," Matsuo says warmly, rewarding him with another head-scratch.


Ebumi doesn't duck away or dissuade his hand at all this time, he just stands there letting the petting go on until Matsuo realises he isn't going to tell him to stop.


"Hey, come on, let's get showered," he proposes, his hand migrating from Ebumi's head to the small of his back as they walk.


Normally he would ask what's wrong, or suggest doing something after this that would cheer Ebumi up without calling attention to the fact that he's sad in the first place, but today is special and Matsuo isn't the only one who knows it, despite what Ebumi might think.


They don't shower alone often, but even when they do Ebumi is just as loud and obnoxious as he is when everyone else in around. Again though, not today.


It's getting harder and harder not to address it as well. He already knows why Ebumi is acting so forlorn; he thinks his birthday has been forgotten because nobody has said anything to him. But he can't expose the secret yet goddamnit.


"Hey, Matsu-san... y'know we're alone..." Ebumi speaks up when he sees his senior shutting off the shower and reaching for his towel.


"I could... give you a blowjob if ya' wanted one," he smirks half-heartedly.


Matsuo also knows this is a grab for attention.


Ebumi wants him to be shocked at the offer and say something like, "you've never suggested that before, what's all this about?" or, "what's come over you, hey? that's a bit generous given that it's your birthday!"


"Psh, turning eighteen and the very same day you're already looking to exercise them new rights, eh?" Matsuo teases a little. "Thanks, but I'll pass for now."


He cleverly goads him as he dries his face with the towel, knowing if Ebumi is going to keep up this strop he might as well fuel the fire until he gets his surprise, making it all the more worthwhile.


"Tch, suit ya' fuckin' self then," the blond mutters bitterly, scrubbing his face extra hard but avoiding his eyes so he doesn't have to reapply his mascara afterwards.


"Guess I'll head home then or some shit," the grumpy delinquent announces, hunched up with his hands sunk deep into his pockets as he looks the other way on purpose while they're leaving the changing room.


"Oh? Well, I do have your present in my locker you know?"


"Present?" Ebumi echoes, forcing himself to keep looking away now as he anxiously scratches his arm.


"In the clubroom, yeah. Come on," Matsuo smirks, gesturing with a nod and giving Ebumi a tug of encouragement by the arm.


"Wait, do ya' have to give it to me now? can't ya' come over with it later, no one's gunna' be in an' I—"




"Eh?!" Ebumi recoils as he's affronted by the entire team crammed into the space around a table of team mom-made treats.


"Happy Birthday Ebucchi!" Raita greets him as he scurries over and sits a party hat on his head.


"W— what the fuck does that mean?!" the bewildered boy demands.


"Well... it's your birthday, and we wanted to throw you a party," Mutsumi explains in a very obvious tone.


"What, are you turning blind as well as old, senpai?!" Gion jibes, reaching for a plate of rice-balls, to which he is sternly rebuked with a slap on the wrist by Sekizan.


"You've made a lot of progress recently, Ebumi. Thanks for all your hard work," their captain then addresses him.


"That's what I told him," Matsuo grins, keeping one hand cautiously situated near Ebumi's back in case the all-of-a-sudden-shy delinquent tries to run away from all this affection.


"Thanks sir," Ebumi murmurs, red up to his ears and constantly touching his face nervously.


"Eh? Ebumi are you crying?!" Noka betrays him by pointing out.


"No I fuckin' ain't! I just— ya' just— sh— shut the fuck up, I'll kill you," the overwhelmed blond grumbles, losing all manner of conviction as he flounders for a response.


"Mom please can we start eating stuff now?" Ise pours over Mutsumi.


"Stop calling me mom!" the matronly prop scolds. "But yes, you can dig in," he answers, giving way to all out carnage as the team scramble for the huge spread.


"Come on kiddo, dry those eyes of yours and help yourself to something to eat," Matsuo whispers, patting his junior on the back as he then goes to arrange the music before Suwa can sabotage anything.


Ebumi huffs and drags the back of his hand under his nose, but his expression softens into a genuine smile when he realises that this was the plan all along; no one had forgotten him, and in fact everyone has gone out of their way to make him feel special.


This is all for him, and incidentally, his first actual birthday party.


"Damn... these guys," he sniffs, making his way over to join Ise and Gion.


In the end it's much less a party, much more an after-practise meet with music and food, but having everyone together paying more attention than usual to the argumentative eleven is enough to rank this as his best ever birthday.


The banners are a nice touch too, and it's an indicator of how well it's going when the more reckless of the bunch and their ringleader Raita devolve into kicking the multicoloured balloons around, eventually bursting them in each other's faces as a means of 'tidying up'.


They can't stay too late, but the atmosphere has died down nicely by the time they do have to leave. Everyone has wished Ebumi a happy birthday at least once, even his lesser fans, and it's fair to say that the bolshie blond is feeling much better about himself.


Mutsumi and Sekizan decline the help of Matsuo when he offers to do the last bit of tidying up with them on the principal that he really ought to see the birthday boy home.


It's more a silent prompt for the two to share a slightly more special moment together, but in turn, the pair of seniors aren't shy about making use of the clubroom in private... since they're already tidying it before locking up.


Ebumi is waiting for Matsuo anyway, which actually does surprise him since he'd anticipated that by now surely the other boy would be maxed out on socialising.


He's leaning casually against the outside wall of the building, trying to look like he was just chilling and not hoping to catch his senpai with the intention of slyly persuading him to walk him home.


"You ready then kiddo?" Matsuo smiles knowingly, that famously fond hand hovering like a protective barrier behind Ebumi's back as the wily blond just nods and pushes off of the wall.


"How about that then? did you have a good time?" Matsuo chats idly, gazing down with a sageness in his placid eyes as Ebumi launches into conversation about how hilarious Gion was when they all started stamping on balloons, and how Ise probably put away nearly as much onigiri as Hirota.


They consciously take the long way back to Ebumi's. It's getting dark but it isn't cold or anything, and the creeping night-sky gives the birthday boy a perfect opportunity to close the margin between himself and Matsuo as they walk.


The butterflies in his tummy flutter away when, inevitably, his house comes into view though.


He tries to walk slower, but the sight of his living room window with no lights on and a general coldness emanating from the place starts a panic in his heart, and he stops focusing on their discussion.


"There you go, birthday boy!" Matsuo concludes cheerily, patting him on the shoulder. "I've delivered our superstar winger home, safe and sound."


"Ah— heh, thanks then," Ebumi acknowledges, feeling his heart sink when he gets the immediate impression that that's it and his perfect evening ends here.


"Take care kiddo, I'll see you tomorrow," the brunet smiles warmly, giving his kouhai one last head scratch before he turns on his heel and walks in the other direction.


Ebumi doesn't move from where he stands though. He's desperate for his friend's company; desperate, despite the pleasant time he's already had, not to be alone today.


"M— Matsu-san," Ebumi calls after him with a whimper. "It's... it's my birthday... don't leave."


"Huh?" Matsuo starts in horror at the sudden frailty in the voice behind him as he whips around to face his sorry little kouhai again.


"Don't leave me on my birthday I don't want to be alone!" Ebumi snivels, suddenly breaking down in tears and balling his fists into his eyes like a toddler.


"Ebumi," the taller boy murmurs, appearing utterly sympathetic.


"Hey... hey it's alright kiddo, it's alright. All you had to do was ask, no need for tears, not on your birthday," he pours, curling a finger under his chin and lifting his head up so he can wipe away the bitter streams.


"Oh geez kid," he chuckles, producing a handkerchief from his pocket when he sees what a mess the poor boy is, "come on now, you big softie," he chides affectionately as he dabs his snotty nose.


"All you had to do was say you wanted company... you didn't have to let it get to this point, Ebumi. No need keeping it in until it upsets you."


"Tch, I know that, shut up!" Ebumi huffs, his cheeks turning pink and blotchy as he averts his gaze.


"Okay, okay birthday boy," Matsuo concedes. "Come on then, lets get inside. I'll run out and get us a movie and a takeaway later, yeah?"


Ebumi smiles with genuine warmth and innocence as he gives a nod of agreement, and he feels a fuzziness in his chest from how Matsuo returns to shadowing his back with that protective hand as they walk up the steps to his house.


There's a lot of things he enjoys, but none quite as much as receiving affection from the guy he admires the most.


It's dark and kind of stuffy in Ebumi's house; granted, there's no one home to have the lights on for and it's Summer with no windows open.


Mind, Ebumi chooses to live mostly in darkness anyway, but since he has company he tries to make the place look cosy by doing a quick tidy up of surfaces and putting the lamps on.


He very nearly puts his birthday card in the bin as he sweeps up the array of magazines and unopened letters, but he notices his mother's handwriting on the front just in time.


"Card from your mom?" Matsuo assumes when he spots Ebumi halting his cleaning rampage and turning something over in his fingers.


"Mm, yeah... I'll open it later, it's probably jus' money anyway," he mutters, setting the blue envelope aside.


Matsuo catches the forlorn look in his eyes though, and hikes up the mood by drawing attention to Ebumi's games console plugged into the TV.


"I daren't ask in case it tipped you off, but I'm glad to see you still got your PS2," the brunet chuckles, rummaging in his bag for the slightly scruffily wrapped present.


"Yeah, well, it's got all the best games so— huh?"


"Just realised; I nearly didn't give you this! I remembered you saying that actually, so I thought you might like to add to your collection," Matsuo smiles, handing Ebumi his present.


"Way to spoil the surprise," the blond jibes, rolling his eyes in a show of mockery because simply saying, 'thank you, it really means a lot that you got me something and that you're staying with me,' isn't as easy to relay verbally as it is to think it.


Ebumi can't help but laugh, donning a wicked smirk of genuine delight when he tears away the wrapping to see the words Rugby 08 printed across a games case.


"Tsh, what the fuck Matsuo?" he snickers.


"Had to import it so I'm hoping it'll actually work— it's old but might be good for a laugh at least," the earnest boy shrugs.


Ebumi nods like he's listening, turning the case over to see what he can understand in English. Not much, apparently, but if it follows the real rules of rugby and plays anything like the other sports games he's used to, it should be worth having.


"Psh! These graphics," Ebumi scoffs as they sit down to play.


"Ah but they got Onohato!" Matsuo points out.




"He's a winger too! Looks like he's got strong stats for speed, start off as him."


"Huh... if you say so!" Ebumi agrees.


They play for a while, taking it in turns since Ebumi only has one controller, but it's decided that the game was a very worthwhile buy given how much they get into it.


"You getting hungry?" Matsuo wonders when Ebumi starts jigging his leg to distract himself from the need to eat so he can 'just score one more try'.


"I'll head out now," the responsible boy smirks. "Any particular movie you want me to pick up? I'll go there before the store closes."


"Huh? Oh! Nah, anything's good!" Ebumi hastily replies, clearly far too immersed in beating New Zealand in the World Cup to be picky about movies and dinner.


"Alright, back in a bit then," Matsuo waves lazily, taking a key as he closes the front door behind himself.


He's as quick as he can be, but even just walking twenty minutes there and back is enough for the mood at the house to change.


He announces his return but it's overshadowed by the sound of Ebumi talking in a very low, serious tone.


"Y— yeah, it's fine... thanks... I— I don't care, it's no big— ah, yeah, okay... bye... I... I love you t— mom?"


An unpleasant silence lingers between the evident end of the conversation and Ebumi's hand slipping from his ear and falling heavily in his lap.


He sniffs and drags the back of his wrist under his nose as he sits there like an abandoned stuffed toy, before daring to look up at his friend.


"Did you get prawn toast?" he asks, trying to shake it off.


"Sure did," Matsuo smiles, divvying up the food in the kitchen and handing Ebumi a very full plate as he takes a seat on the floor beside him.


"What's... happened?" the taller boy is forced to ask when he realises that he can actually hear Ebumi breathing and not just the series of horking-huffing sounds as he usually might when the other is trying to stuff as much food in his mouth as he can.


"M— my mom is... she just called to say she's doin' a double shift so... y'know... ain't gunna' be home 'til tomorrow night," he shrugs, fighting against the lump in his throat by placing a dumpling in his mouth from a pair of trembling chopsticks.


"Ah," Matsuo supplies in understanding. "You were hoping to see her, huh?"


Ebumi cocks his head a little as he draws his lips thin in an effort not to spit his food out when a sob threatens him.


"F— feel like... like she don't care, y'know?" he grounds out feebly.


Matsuo takes his plate from him and puts it on the coffee table when Ebumi frees one hand to rub his eyes with and the remaining one struggles to keep balance, very nearly letting all his food slip off.


"Damn, we're having a rainy day today aren't we? No chance of a drought with all these tears, is there?" the gentle brunet sympathises, retrieving his handkerchief for the second time and mothering the weepy duckling as he chews his food and cries at the same time.


He's quite the mess really, but there's also something kind of endearing about the fact that he's sad but still managing to eat a dumpling.


"Here," Matsuo croons, "let me put one of these movies on, hey? take your mind of it in no time."


Ebumi dabs the corner of his right eye, cautious of his mascara as he tries to shut off the water works and nods.


"Which d'ya' fancy?" the other boy entices, fanning out a selection of three.


The second-year delinquent points thoughtlessly. They both know they just need the background noise, the actual film doesn't really matter.


When a pleasantly mind-numbing series of production reels provide them with some ambience, and the bluish glare of the TV replaces the lamplight, the atmosphere grows nice again.


The soppy winger is back to stuffing his face in the usual manner, and after he's finished eating he even takes the opportunity to complain of his fullness and use it as an excuse to lie out across Matsuo's lap and demand tummy rubs.


After the initial pain of having over-indulged so much subsides thanks to Matsuo's healing hands though, Ebumi is gracious enough to let his friend get up to put on the next movie and clear away their plates.


Matsuo resumes his role as a beanbag when he returns, but after a short while of rubbing his belly, his hand is ushered lower down until it's skirting the waistline of Ebumi's boxers that peek over his stupidly low trousers.


The brunet hitches a brow but doesn't make eye-contact. He knows Ebumi is looking up at him now, hoping to catch his gaze, but Matsuo plays hardball here and gives his attention to the TV.


He wavers at the sound of Ebumi undoing his belt and grunting as he lifts his lower half to shirk his pants down to his knees, but he goes on letting his junior direct him to what he wants until the words, "Matsuo~ touch me!" are uttered so whinily that he can't really refuse him.


"Unh~ Matsu-san..."


"As if you're already hard," Matsuo teases, sparing the blond an amused glance as he starts to gently knead his full length.


His actions are lazy but accurate, and in maybe only three or four minutes, Ebumi is already bracing his legs by spreading them wide and rolling his head in Matsuo's lap, squirming against wanton rolls of his hips as well.




Ebumi's hand wraps around Matsuo's forearm in anticipation after that breathy signal, and Matsuo picks up the pace a little, admiring the sight of the younger man pressing his head back to expose his neck as he grits his teeth and huffs in short, sharp breaths.


"Coming?" the mellow brunet assumes.


"Ah'yeah! Mat— Matsu-san... oh~ faster!"


He's starting to tremble now, and his breaths are getting shorter before he releases them and takes in those harsh, panting gasps through his teeth.


"Matsu-san~" he groans, furrowing his brow helplessly. The veins are visible in his neck and temples; emboldened in blue underneath the pink-flushed skin, especially on his neck actually where he's become goose-pimpled.


Even his arm muscles are starting to bulge as his hand slides further down to grip Matsuo's working wrist for support. The other boy kindly offers his free hand too, helping Ebumi stay positioned by outlining his left side.


The blond grips just as tightly here, weaving his fingers between the spaces of Matsuo's and squeezing intermittently each time he gets a surge of pleasure bringing him closer and closer to orgasm.


"Auh! Matsu'oh~" he gasps, reaching his climax and stilling for a split-second as his closed eyes screw shut even tighter before he descends into a display of involuntary bucking and more sharp breathing between clenched teeth.


An overflow of milky semen oozes quickly from the head of his dick and trickles down his shaft to water the thick black tangles that grow wildly across the entire region of his groin, and Matsuo continues to gently nurse the slightly purpling bulb with his thumb and inside forefinger as cum coats them with a consistency of white honey.


"Matsu—" Ebumi swallows, "Matsu... san... I want to do more..."


He says this only after having caught enough breath to do so, but otherwise the boy is barely even able to open his eyes, so at first Matsuo is skeptical of his desires.


"More what?" he quizzes.


"More... more," the blond retorts impatiently. "I... want to have proper sex..."


"Wow, you're taking these eighteenth birthday privileges right away aren't you? any reason you're in such a hurry there kiddo?" Matsuo playfully goads.


"Because... 'cuz you're here now... an'..." he makes to sit up, attracting the help of Matsuo who supports him without even needing to act consciously.


"I... wanted it to be you for a while now..." Ebumi confesses, thankful he's still a bit golden from his climax so that he has a crutch to lean on should his proposition be declined and he need to make a sweet excuse.


"Y— you mean your first?" Matsuo falters.


Despite all his joking about Ebumi's coming of age, he's frankly a little surprised that he genuinely has waited until now. With his reputation as something of a porn connoisseur, it just kind of seemed a given that he'd have done it at least once.


"Of course as my first! What, ya' think I jus' sleep with anyone?!" Ebumi protests.


"No, not at all!"


Yes, very much so.


"... I like porn," Ebumi explains, cottoning onto the source of this confusion, "but I don't like... real people as much..."


"Ah, I see," Matsuo nods slowly.


"But I like you!" the winger assures. "I like ya' in that way... an'... well, every other way too, I guess," he elaborates bashfully.


Matsuo looks hesitant for a moment, and it's regretfully obvious because Ebumi recoils with the immediate assumption of rejection.


"Ya' don't like me do ya'?" he frets. "Then... why'd ya' go an' gimme' a hand-job li—"


"Ebumi, slow down. I'm just... thinking this through... if it's your first time I wanna' be careful about it."


Matsuo is familiar with all of three bodies; two very intimately, and one even more so than his own.


Sekizan and Mutsumi invite him to join them often, and since late last year it's been a casual, mindless bit of indulgence.


Both himself and Mutsumi probably know Sekizan's body better than anything, but it had taken time to reach that point, and Ebumi isn't Sekizan.


This feels like something that needs deeper discussion. But there's also a part of Matsuo that can be a little greedy, and there's absolutely no two ways about the fact that he wants the obnoxious second-year.


He has the opportunity on a silver platter here; to break in his little kouhai, to deflower him and see him in a state no one else could imagine the rowdy delinquent—


"If you ain't sure I'll— I'll... renew my offer!" Ebumi all-but yells, as if doing so will make his red cheeks less noticeable. "I'll make it good for you too... I... I wanna' try so, if I get ya' hard... you can fuck me, yeah?"


"Ebumi, it's not quite like th—"


"Please. Please, Matsu-san? Please let me," Ebumi begs, getting quieter and quieter until he's just silently willing the other boy with sincere eyes.


"It's not that," Matsuo reassures.


There's really no need to beg, he thinks... but it is kind of cute.


"I haven't even done that much before," Ebumi continues to confess. "I... really like yer' dick though, Matsu-san... I've always kinda' liked it..." he laughs inwardly, "sometimes I think about it when I'm watchin' porn and I—"


He's cut off by an abrupt but otherwise tender kiss. It seems tonight is full of firsts for Ebumi, as this is something he's wanted for a long, long time.


"Alright," Matsuo hushes, breaking the kiss but not pulling away, "if it means that much to you... ya' little pervert," he teases.


Ebumi nods eagerly and clumsily gropes at Matsuo's crotch before the other can even undo his pants.


"Okay kid, okay," he mutters, trying to instil some patience as he unbuttons enough for himself to be able to just slip his cock out of the patterned confines of his boxers.


"Lemme' just... here," Matsuo insists, trying to keep Ebumi from going straight for him so he can at least sit in a chair and get some elevation.


Ebumi wastes no time, he follows after Matsuo's dick like it's some kind of lure, and he promptly kneels up between the other boy's legs and takes him in hand.


"Hey, yer' way bigger than me... big like Sekizan," Ebumi compares as he tries to get Matsuo hard enough to put in his mouth.


"Jesus," the brunet tuts, "do you look at everyone in the showers? you really are a little pervert aren't you?"


"I'm not! I just... like to look sometimes! Don't act like you don't either! After all the times I've flashed ya' and you're tellin' me ya' didn't check me out once?!"


"Mm, can't say so, no," the devious third-year provokes.


Ebumi frowns up at him, feeling understandably offended by that.


"F— fuck you Matsuo," he huffs, submitting and engaging the other boy's sufficiently alert member.


He definitely likes the way it feels in his mouth, and he tries to treat it in a way he can imagine would feel good on himself, but the longer he goes for, the more nervous he becomes.


Matsuo is alarmingly quiet; his breathing is controlled, and he's not made any kind of sound or movement that might indicate he's about to come.


Instantly Ebumi thinks he's just doing a bad job, and he gets embarrassed enough to let it overrule his thoughtful approach and try something more pornographic.


He deep throats Matsuo successfully once, then tries to do it again with much less luck. His eyes start to water and he pulls off when he makes himself gag, but hurries to compose himself and goes in again, eliciting the same response.


"Hey... hey, it's okay, that's enough—"


"Nu-uh!" Ebumi protests, pushing himself further to take all of Matsuo and consequently making himself wretch when the head of his cock hits his gag reflex yet again.


"Okay-okay, that's definitely enough kid, come on," Matsuo reasons, giving Ebumi's hair a gentle tug to make him relent.


The blond sits up and wipes his eyes and mouth with both hands.


"S— sorry! I'm really sorry Matsu-san!" He hiccups through chattering teeth. "I'm bad at it, I'm really sorry! Please let me try agai—"


"Hey, hey, hey, that's enough. Don't get upset kiddo, come on now," the ever-patient boy hushes, stroking the back of Ebumi's head soothingly.


"But you're not reacting!" the winger cries.


"That's on me. You were fine for your first go. You did well," Matsuo lies, knowing that Ebumi won't stop fretting about it unless he's convinced he's earned some praise from the teammate he looks up to.


"Besides," the brunet smirks, "it's your birthday, not mine."


"Unh— M— Matsu-san?" Ebumi asks in an incomplete way as the taller boy encourages him to recline.


He follows the unspoken instruction however, responding to the gestures as Matsuo eases him down and starts positioning his legs for him.


With his hands curled up to his chest like a cat on its back, Ebumi watches blushingly as Matsuo shuffles down between his trembling thighs, removing his pants for him and then sliding his strong arms under the backs of his legs.


"Are you comfortable?" he makes sure, glancing up momentarily with a heated gaze.


Ebumi nods even though he isn't confident, but the minute Matsuo's tongue makes contact with his ass his hands fly up to clap themselves over his mouth and trap in a tiny squeak.


"I thought you might be into that," Matsuo comments with an unfairly self-righteous smirk, looking up from between Ebumi's thighs to admire the result.


"Let's give ourselves a bit more leeway," he says, more to himself than Ebumi, as he goes ahead and sets the blond's calves over his shoulders.


He's pretty much got the winger folded in half now, and there's no obstruction whatsoever for him as he uses both hands to encompass Ebumi's buttocks and separate them quite forcefully.


This warrants a whimper when his thumbs put too much of a strain on the reluctant orifice, but he resolves the discomfort by using his tongue again.


The sensation sparks new life into Ebumi's spent cock, and he lets out a muffled, shuddering sound from behind his hands as his dick buoys momentarily against his belly.


"Good boy," Matsuo praises him, trying again to open him up with his thumbs and making it twitch.


"That's lovely, good boy," he coaches him, utilising his tongue a bit more to be sure that Ebumi is capable of relaxing at least enough to accept two fingers.


"Good boy— you're a good boy," he quickly rewards him when he next draws back and sees Ebumi making his own efforts to loosen up by pushing out in anticipation for Matsuo's tongue again.


He doesn't disappoint of course, and this time he dedicates to rimming for a bit longer; long enough to get a squeak then a moan then a gasp out of Ebumi.


"Feel okay?" Matsuo checks in. "I'm gunna' step it up a bit, but you tell me if anything hurts or if you don't like what I'm doing, alright?"


Still with his hands clasped tight over his mouth, Ebumi nods and offers a stifled, "mhm!"


His eyelashes flutter when Matsuo asks him to push back against his finger; he's genuinely concentrating, and it's adorable.


"Good boy, that's it," the brunet remembers to add as he slides his middle finger inside nice and slow. He makes it all the way to his knuckle with no objections, but the second he tries to make a beckoning motion with it, Ebumi gasps and his eyes go wide.


"Is that okay? did that hurt you?" Matsuo asks, keen to every response, good or bad.


Ebumi shakes his head and briefly uncovers his mouth.


"It's far in," he murmurs.


"Too far in?"


"Nu-uh," the squishy delinquent replies.


Matsuo's gaze migrates back toward his swallowed finger then, and he tries curling it up toward Ebumi's bladder.


He's surprised to hit the spot so soon, but he's isn't surprised by the response.


Ebumi gives a definite cry and throws his head back, his cock swaying in accordance with the on-and-off pressure Matsuo applies to his prostate.


"M— Matsu-san! Ah~"


He keeps at it until Ebumi is forced to remove his hands and try to find purchase with them. He grabs a sofa cushion in one and the edge of the shag rug with the other, gripping for dear life.


"Heh, at this rate Ebumi you're going to end up—"


"Coming! I'm comi'ngh~" the blond finishes for him, already on the better half of the scales as he teeters over into his second orgasm of the night.


He barely has any cum left to discharge, but he helps himself along by resorting to pumping his aching, neglected cock to completion and baring down on Matsuo's strong shoulders as he finishes with a guttural heave and a jerk of his hips.


His asshole twitches around Matsuo's still present finger, and he carefully slides it out, blinking in disbelief when he realises he didn't even get nearly as far as they'd planned to go.


No matter, Ebumi probably wouldn't want much more now, and frankly Matsuo isn't all that sure how smart is would be to fuck him before he's had anything bigger than a single finger inside of him.


After slowly lifting each leg off his shoulders, the taller player scoops up the lethargic boy and carries him over to his futon, considering how this arrangement will probably require more preparation than he actually has the experience to give.


With Mutsumi and Takuya they'd never needed to use toys unless it was purely to make a mess out of Sekizan, because Mutsumi was usually chief of preparation.


Still, making a learning experience out of something would build trust, and that'd be important since, after tonight, well, they may be on the path to becoming more than just friends...


"Matsu-san, are you gunna' fuck me?" Ebumi pants, obliterating Matsuo's train of thought.


Very succinctly put, as always.


Matsuo shakes his head however.


"... Nah kid," he decides, helping Ebumi unwind by littering thoughtful little kisses across his thighs and lower body once he's laid him down and repositioned himself between his open legs.


"I... need some time to plan this. I'm sorry if that isn't what you wanted, I know it's a special day after all... but if you're serious about wanting sex I'll need to get serious too."


"Eh?!" the blond sneers amusedly, "ya' say that like ya' plannin' on makin' me yer' boyfriend!"


He deadpans then, and a furious blush floods his face.


"A— are ya'?!"


Matsuo smiles and responds with an adoring sound, like a soft hum as he adjusts himself and kisses Ebumi's forehead, then shuffling up further and pulling him safe into his arms.


"Let's just get some sleep now kiddo," he sighs, reaching for the TV remote to switch it off before feigning unconsciousness as he holds the fidgety blond to his chest.


"Oi! Don't dodge the question, bastard! Are— are ya' serious?! Are we— are we dating now?!"


"Good night, Masaru."


"Matsuo?! Matsu— tch, go die then!"


"Don't ruin it," Matsuo berates drowsily.


"Well... whatever..." Ebumi grumbles, regardless of the fact that he's snuggling closer anyway, and is secretly smiling like an idiot.


"Happy birthday, kid."


"Yeah... thanks... I hope ya' got the gift receipt for a lousy boyfriend though," he grins menacingly, receiving some semblance of confirmation when Matsuo smiles too and lets Ebumi tuck his head under his chin.


"I hope we can get you better at giving blow jobs by my next birthday."


"Fuck you," Ebumi grunts.


"Heh... you first kiddo."