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“It’s embarrassing!”

Hearing that from their open bathroom door, Masahiro hides a fond expression behind his hand. “It can’t be that bad, Tomo.”

“It is that bad!” comes the whine, and after that, Tomoya himself as his head pops out. He looks torn between laughing and crying; so shy, really, this stupid boy, and it’s not as if Masahiro’s never seen him naked before, so he doesn’t get what the big deal is.

Tomoya’s hands curl around the frame of the door, his body effectively hidden. “I look all… I dunno, stick-like! Like a giraffe leg. Just the one leg.”

“You look perfectly person-like, moron,” Masahiro says with a laugh, but all Tomoya does is give him a pleading look in reply. Finally realising he isn’t going to come out, Masahiro sits up from the bed himself, coming over and standing by the doorway.

Tomoya backs off a little, trying to hide more of his body inside. Masahiro stops him with a hand reaching out to cup the curve of his jaw.

“You’ll look great,” he promises.

“You’re just saying that because you’re the perv who wanted me in panties.”

“Well.” It’s not like Tomoya’s wrong, and they both know it. Masahiro lets his touch drift from Tomoya’s face down to his neck. “Yeah. So won’t you come out?”

Tomoya’s cheeks puff up, his lips pushing out in a pout, and he scratches a little over the doorframe before finally taking those steps to let himself be shown.

It’s a simple number, really. Tomoya’s upper body is nude, but resting on his unfairly wide hips is the deep, dark garter of French knickers–lace and lovely and in a swirling pattern over his skin. The ends are a pure black, the panties themselves in elegant crimson over Tomoya’s caramel skin, and the sight of the swell of his soft cock between his legs has saliva building in Masahiro’s mouth. Tomoya’s beautiful; he’s always thought it, always known it, but today feels like a treat. Today Tomoya dressed up for his voyeur of a lover, and God did it pay off.

Masahiro doesn’t realise he stopped breathing until he finds himself robbed of air and gulps it in, but on instinct his hands trail to grip Tomoya’s sides and slide lower to hook his thumbs in those garters, snapping them against Tomoya’s body.

Tomoya grips Masahiro’s arms. When Masahiro glances back up at his face, he notes how his cheeks have become the same colour as his underwear.

It makes him grin. “Tomoya,” Masahiro murmurs, his voice knocked down an octave like he knows Tomoya likes. He feels a tremor run down Tomoya’s body, sweet and innocent, and the hands on his biceps drift over his shoulders.

Tomoya can’t look him in the eye, clearly too embarrassed to. “Wh-What?”

So Masahiro brings his hands around from the curves of Tomoya’s hips to cup the swell of his ass, round and firm under his palms. He pulls him close and squeezes, relishing the way Tomoya’s arms wrap around his neck on instinct.

Masahiro noses at his cheek. “You’re really sexy.”

“They’re just panties,” Tomoya whispers, but doesn’t argue the moment Masahiro’s lips touch his. The pressure is simple–a small kiss for an equally small boy–and Masahiro starts to knead his cheeks at the same time his head dips to kiss Tomoya’s neck.

“They’re erotic.”

“Matsuoka-kun–” Tomoya’s voice edges into soft panting when Masahiro sucks a mark into his clavicle. He’s always so sensitive, so easy, and Masahiro leads him back to bed to lie him down on the covers.

On sheets so soft and white, the bombshell beauty of Tomoya’s frame atop it looks like a sin. The browns of his skin tinged so slightly with pink, the red and black of his underwear, the way his thighs try to press together–

He’s already a little hard. Sometimes Masahiro really wonders how someone can be this cute.

His hand drifts between Tomoya’s legs, cupping over the swell of his growing erection. Tomoya squirms a little, the flesh beneath his palm twitching, but the moment Masahiro’s forearm settles in the space beside his head, Tomoya stills like a good boy.

“You look so good, Tomo.”

“How many times do you have to say that?”

Massaging his cock through his panties has Tomoya gasping and turning his head away, his fingers curling into the sheets and drawing them taut. Depraved of his mouth, Masahiro kisses down his body instead.

Tomoya’s muscles twitch beneath him as his frame twists to meet Masahiro’s lips–so obedient and sweet, so willing and wanting. Embarrassed he might be by the underwear he has on, but the way he throbs and fills in Masahiro’s palm tells him enough of how much he likes the attention.

He’s as big a pervert as Masahiro is.

“Oh…” Tomoya’s voice leaves him in a breath as lips dress his nipples with kisses and sucks, one after the other, Masahiro’s tongue hot and wet over them until they’re perfectly hard. “‘hiro, no–”

“No?” His tone is teasing, just how Tomoya likes it, and he feels the tell-tale pulse of his lover’s cock in his hand. “I thought you like when I kiss you here?”

So he kisses him again and Tomoya shivers, a hand fluttering over to the back of Masahiro’s neck to grip him.

When he takes a nipple between his teeth, Tomoya’s knees jump up. Masahiro settles nicely in the space this makes for him, and like clockwork he feels Tomoya’s long, long legs wrapping around his body.

“It’s just–” Masahiro starts to kiss lower, mouth flitting over the inches of Tomoya’s skin, and the hand on his neck drifts to his hair instead to grip it. Tomoya’s stomach is sucked in when Masahiro starts to lick up his navel, then shudders altogether when he drags his teeth all the way back down. “–o-oh, God, I’m–these panties are so–”

“Beautiful,” Masahiro finishes, the tips of his fingers rubbing up and down Tomoya’s twitching shaft. “If you get any bigger it’s gonna peek out the garter, you know? Super sexy.”

“Why do you say things like that!”

Masahiro laughs and nuzzles Tomoya’s belly, his eyes flicking up to catch his vocalist frowning at him.

“I like this side of you,” is what he says, deciding to go the honest route. “Like you’re a virgin again and we’re having sex for the first time.”

Tomoya blushes harder. “Hey!”

“It’s not bad,” Masahiro promises, and he brings his lips down to kiss over the bulge in Tomoya’s panties, fleeting and innocent. Tomoya’s legs tighten around him, and even more so when Masahiro rubs hs tongue into the length of his shaft.

The taste of Tomoya’s skin is muted by the lace, but there’s something fulfilling about making these pretty panties dirty. Masahiro sucks and licks like he did Tomoya’s chest, slow and deliberate, and above him Tomoya becomes more and more sensitive, his voice starting to leave him in high sighs and gentle whines.

When Masahiro’s hand creeps into his underwear and wraps around his cock, he lowers himself just enough to kiss Tomoya’s balls as they peek out. “You’re dripping.”

And Tomoya almost answers to that, but coos out instead when Masahiro starts to stroke him, his legs slipping off Masahiro’s body if only to spread themselves wider in offering.

Oh… oh, that feels…” Tomoya’s voice slips out in long, breathy vowels the more Masahiro jerks him, drawing hotter and heavier the harder his fist draws over flesh. Each motion gets his panties making wet, wet sounds, soaked as they are in saliva and the loving drip of pre-come out the tip of Tomoya’s dick, and it’s almost filthy, but not quite enough.

Not until Masahiro starts to eat.

Tomoya’s panties are pulled to the side, just enough for Masahiro to drag his tongue over his hole, but even that has Tomoya’s body jolting up in automatic response, his fingers going tight in Masahiro’s hair. Where his thumb presses into the tip of Tomoya’s cock he feels more of him ooze out, thick and dirty, and Masahiro hums as he licks and curls and presses in. The taut muscle goes looser–relaxing the more Masahiro teases it with his mouth–and when he brings a hand covered in spit and pre-come down to push his fingers into it, Tomoya cries out and presses his body down onto them.

Masahiro pulls away now, his head lifting and his eyes drinking in the sight of Tomoya’s arousal. Tomoya flush with pleasure, Tomoya’s body peppered with sweat, Tomoya’s legs spread and his thighs taut while Masahiro fucks him with his fingers–he admires and he watches, his throat going dry, and Tomoya draws him low enough to kiss him.

And kiss him he does, their lips brushing and pressing together, Tomoya’s tongue hungry as he begs Masahiro to taste him here too. Unable to resist, Masahiro drinks in the sounds that come from Tomoya’s body as they pass into his mouth, feels Tomoya start to fuck himself down onto Masahiro’s hand, and burns with the urge to ruin this pretty boy himself. Tomoya who wore panties for him, Tomoya whose cock drools onto the lace, Tomoya who keeps clenching around his fingers because he needs more, and thicker, and bigger, and Masahiro knows.

“Come on,” he hears Tomoya breathe against him, voice painted in sex. “'hiro, come on, come on… ‘hiro, inside–I want you inside, please, come on–”

He can never say no.

Four fingers are shoved into Tomoya’s body just to spread him wide, and the relief that vibrates in Tomoya’s throat is so honest Masahiro might die. But die he does when he presses into him, when Tomoya’s heat is generous as it opens up and grips Masahiro’s cock like a vise. He sinks deeper into him, feeling nails scratch over his skull, his neck, his upper back, up until Tomoya clings onto him–hugs him tight both with his arms and the greedy muscle of his ass.

“Tomo,” Masahiro whispers.

“What?”

“You really are beautiful.”

“Please–” But Tomoya shuts up as Masahiro starts to move into him instead, moans high and wanting and happy. Masahiro almost can’t stand it; Tomoya’s so tight, so warm, so welcoming around him, as hungry here as he was in his mouth. His flesh gives and his body opens, and Masahiro groans when all that fancy lace brushes up against his skin every time he sinks in home.

He takes Tomoya in deep, steady thrusts, pounding into his heat and feeling Tomoya’s ankles rub up over his back. He takes him and he kisses him, his hands roaming over Tomoya’s sides and over his curved legs, gripping his ass and squeezing at the same time his own pelvis smacks into it. Tomoya’s hands caress Masahiro’s face, his neck, his chest, his torso–every inch of naked flesh he can reach, he touches with love, and God if Masahiro doesn’t love him back.

“Tomoya,” he moans, pants, begs, and Tomoya understands because he kisses him harder.

There isn’t any room for finesse now–anything that could’ve resembled it thrown aside. Their kisses are wet and messy, their breaths rising and hitching like the synchronised play of an orchestra, and Masahiro doesn’t even have to reach between them before Tomoya’s hole goes impossibly tight around him and his sounds arc up into a high-pitched cry.

Masahiro swallows that noise. Relishes it.

And he fucks him harder because Tomoya’s gone tighter, and fucks him fast because the change in pace is making Tomoya’s oversensitised body start to draw up in too much too fast too soon.

His orgasm chases him in a blur and Masahiro bites into Tomoya’s lip when he starts to fill him with it, thrusting hard and fast and desperate. Their kiss is rouged with blood and metal and violence, but Masahiro’s hips continue to rock back and forth until a weak spurt from Tomoya’s spent dick gets his lover’s eyes filling with tears.

The kiss gets softer, though. Gets sweeter, even with the taste of blood. Masahiro’s hands caress Tomoya’s body as they pant against each other, Tomoya’s fingers shaking as they move over Masahiro’s skin, and when he finally pulls out he feels Tomoya’s arms curl around his back instead.

There’s nothing Masahiro can say when his gaze flicks down and he sees the mess of white all sticky and dripping amidst the red and black–smeared over Tomoya’s cock, dripping out of Tomoya’s hole. But he does grin as he starts to kiss Tomoya’s face, peppering his cheeks and jaw with pecks until he’s sure their heartrates have calmed down enough.

“It’s ruined…” Tomoya murmurs once Masahiro settles at his side. They’ve got to clean up, this much Masahiro knows, but Tomoya says nothing about it as Masahiro dresses his sweating skin with his lips. “You ruined my panties…”

Masahiro pauses, mouth over his shoulder. He tries his best not to smile. “Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not,” Tomoya argues.

“No?”

“I mean…” There’s a pause, and Masahiro lifts himself just enough to watch Tomoya’s face. “… you’re gonna buy me more, right?”

Masahiro’s lips twitch. Tomoya looks up at him, then offers a lopsided grin Masahiro loves way too much.

“Yeah,” he says, and if Tomoya’s easy, then Masahiro’s weak. He drops a kiss onto Tomoya’s mouth, shivering when that has Tomoya turning towards him and hooking a leg over his hip, when they roll just enough for Tomoya to lie on top of him. “Yeah, I’ll buy you more.”

Tomoya’s panties are wet against his cock, and feeling the ruined lace against him has Masahiro shudder with heat.

“Good,” Tomoya whispers, rubbing slowly against him and making Masahiro’s skin erupt in goosebumps.

Maybe he should’ve let Tomoya stay embarrassed after all.