Saihara stared at the clear plastic container in confusion. It had formerly housed a large gyoza dumpling shaped uncannily like a face. That in itself was worth a confused stare, but the empty container still inside the refrigerator, with no hint of gyoza left inside at all, was even more bemusing. “Oma-kun,” he called, “have you seen…” He trailed off. It was unnervingly face-shaped, but it was no missing person. “I mean, did you move my weird gyoza? I was going to eat that.”
“Ahhh, Saihara-chan, you’re back.” Saihara looked over and blinked at the sight of Oma leaning against the entryway of their shared apartment’s small kitchen, wearing only a long, loose white shirt. “Actually,” he lilted, tilting his head against the doorframe, “I ate your dinner. And what are you gonna do about that, huh?” He shrugged elegantly, his mouth curving into a wicked smile.
“Um…” Saihara’s eyebrows lowered, his lips drawing back into a grimace. “I’ll make something else? Oma-kun, I’ll let it go this time, but that’s honestly going too far for a joke.”
Oma raised both hands palms-up, his head tilting innocently the other way as his eyes went wide and ingenuous. “Noooo, Saihara-chan, it’s not a joke. It’s a scene. You’re meant to say ‘I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.’” His voice dropped on the last part, low and gruff and exactly unlike Saihara’s.
“Is that so? I apologize for not getting the script,” he muttered, opening the freezer and extracting a bag of frozen dumplings. “In that case, I’ll just defrost these and fry them.”
“You can do that later! For now, play with me. C’mon...” Oma cocked one narrow hip and set his hand on it, every inch of his body radiating smugness. “I ate the whole thing. There’s no way Saihara-chan doesn’t wanna punish me for real, right? Unless you really can’t read the atmosphere at all.”
“Ah...I understand. You’re lucky that I’m not very hungry right now,” Saihara sighed. “But I do get the message, Oma-kun.” He set the bag down in the kitchen sink and noticed the kitchen counter littered with other ingredients, flour and an egg and various baking items; could Oma have been intending to prepare something himself? Had Saihara interrupted him? Saihara looked curiously over to where Oma stood awaiting him, his expression mysterious. “Well then,” he said politely, “I’ll have to teach Oma-kun a lesson.”
“Oh, man,” Oma mumbled as he inspected his fingernails with an air of condescension, “so that was kinda too civil for this atmosphere...but I guess I don’t dislike that about Saihara-chan.” He strolled into the kitchen and sat on one of the two chairs, crossing his legs with a dramatic air and leaning one elbow on the table. “Okaaay, that’ll work. So how are you gonna teach me?”
“I don’t know,” Saihara conceded, getting a pan from one of the cabinets and setting it on the stove. “I think Oma-kun probably has some suggestions, right?”
“Got it in one try, Saihara-chan! And here’s your prize.” Oma pointed at a small saucepan beside his chair and Saihara startled at the abrupt sight of rolls and rolls of neatly stacked white vet wrap inside. The slightly rough bandages stood out against the smooth surface of the pot. “I don't know if you've used it before, soooo - this tape will stick to itself, but not to me. Let's get me tied to this chair already! C’mon, don’t bore me.”
“What the - wait a minute! Where did you get all of that?” Saihara asked in astonishment, hands palms-out as though to deny the possibility that it was there.
“I gotta have my secrets, Saihara-chan!” Oma gleefully slipped his hands through the vertical bars of the chair’s back, pressing his arms together. “Ooh, maybe I’ve had it all along and I just never brought it out to play with you. I just love seeing my beloved in cuffs too much, y’know? And how good you look with that spreader bar on your ankles,” he crooned sweetly, eyes sparkling. “I can’t resist.”
“Is that so?” Saihara felt heat creep up his neck, his irritation giving way to embarrassed intrigue. “I understand...I just need to tie your arms together with this, right?”
Oma nodded enthusiastically, kicking his legs back and forth. “Yep!” he proclaimed.
“This doesn’t really seem to be a punishment for you,” he observed ruefully. Despite that, Oma’s evident enthusiasm made it easier to go through with tying him up; Saihara picked up a roll from the pot, unspooling a little of it and wrapping it around Oma’s wrists. He wound it around and around to bind Oma’s arms behind him, careful not to pull it tight before smoothing the layers down to secure them. “How does that feel, Oma-kun?”
“Perfect!” Oma squirmed in the chair, eyes sparkling. “Gonna get my legs too, Saihara-chan?”
“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere as it is,” he said, glancing away from the sight of Oma with his arms pulled behind him, his body left vulnerable. Oma kicked the legs of the chair and wriggled with a whinny of laughter, pushing the chair back. The wooden chair legs grated noisily on the tile floor.
“Maybe I can’t get away, but I can still make lots of noise like this!” He kicked and stomped louder, grinning broadly. “Did Saihara-chan think I’d just go quietly, huh? Huh?”
“I get the point,” Saihara said, kneeling in front of the chair. “It wouldn’t be like Oma-kun to do anything quietly, right?” Oma laughed as Saihara’s hand pressed one of his legs against a chair leg.
“You got me!” Oma chirped, not bothering to struggle against Saihara’s grip. Despite his residual annoyance, Saihara became fascinated by the textures and the process of binding Oma properly - the slightly rough feeling of the wrap beneath his fingers, Oma’s soft, milky skin and the wiry hair of his leg, the way Oma tried to kick as though testing the restraint once he had finished. Oma had fallen curiously quiet, his eyes bright and watchful. Saihara moved to the next leg and wrapped it firmly against the chair, stroking the wrap down almost tenderly when he had finished and watching Oma’s muscles work uselessly against the bindings.
The long shirt had risen slightly as Oma wriggled. Saihara looked up from his work and saw the deep violet curls of his pubic hair close up, his hardening cock directly in front of Saihara’s face, his balls half-concealed by shadow and the dark, coarse hair between his thighs. He found himself entranced for a moment too long by the realization that Oma could do nothing to hide himself, realizing his mistake only when Oma went still and began, knowingly, to smirk at him. “Th-there,” Saihara said, shaking himself out of it. “Is that enough?”
“Mm, yeah...I’m not going anywhere like this,” Oma murmured, still smirking. “Good job, Saihara-chan. But even like this...I don’t think I’ve been punished enough, right? I mean, finally getting tied up by Saihara-chan is more like a reward.”
“It’s okay,” Saihara said, looking away again from Oma in his restraints. “I’m not sure what I would do to you like this.” Unbidden he thought about kneeling in front of the helpless Oma and freely feeling him up, using toys on him, teasing him without mercy until he pleaded for release. Slowly, his face suffused with a flush. “Just don’t do it again.”
Oma stared pensively at him. “Saihara-chan’s lying. Judging by your expression right now, I bet you’ve got some idea...but you’re in luck anyway, y’know. ‘Cause it’s all set up for you already.” Saihara glanced back up at him in confusion. “I ate something you wanted,” Oma said in a challenging voice, leaning over as far as he was able. Saihara found himself thinking about wrapping his body, securing him tightly to the chair back - even if Oma struggled like that, he would be completely unable to move. The idea sent a nervous thrill down his spine, heat coiling low in his belly. “So you gotta punish me. And the punishment’s gotta fit the crime, right? You need to really teach me a lesson. That’s what punishment is about, right?”
“So I should make you stay there while I fry these dumplings,” mused Saihara, sparing him a serious glance.
“No, jeez, Saihara-chan! You gotta correct me,” Oma whined as he squirmed in the chair. “That’s the whole scene, you gotta punish me for what I did.”
“Ah...” Saihara nodded patiently. “They’ll still be frozen right now anyway, so what is Oma-kun thinking?”
“Still waiting for cues from me, huh? Good thing I’m prepared. See those ingredients on the counter?” Oma asked, nodding toward the gathered items. Saihara glanced at them, half-startled; amongst the reveal of the bandages and the process of binding Oma to the chair, he had entirely forgotten they were there.
“Were you going to cook, Oma-kun?”
“Nope!” Oma shouted. “Saihara-chan is gonna cook. And I’m so thoughtful, I’ve left the recipe for you right there next to the sugar, okay?” Saihara shot him a dubious glance before walking to the counter and examining the collected ingredients more thoroughly. Baking powder, sugar, flour, bitter cocoa powder, chopped dark chocolate in a small bowl, an egg…
Saihara looked at the recipe, which clearly described a cake alongside a doodle of Oma giving a winking thumbs-up, and frowned. "Is this for you? Because I don’t like sweet-”
“Yep, Saihara-chan sure is gonna teach me a lesson,” Oma interrupted loudly. “Really gonna make me regret it!” Saihara shot him another dubious look but let out a sigh of resignation, peeling the lids from the baking powder and the cocoa.
“After this, I’m still going to fry those dumplings,” he said firmly, measuring out the dry ingredients into a bowl. It probably helped, he thought, to set a few boundaries on this scene Oma had prepared. “Since I’m meant to be the one in charge, after all,” he mumbled a little wryly.
“Ah, nothing.” As expected, Oma had prepared everything to the point of overengineering the situation, he noted as he poured minute amounts of flour and salt into the bowl. The milk was already portioned in its own measuring cup, the small bowl of dark chocolate clearly chopped ahead of time for him. All the premeasured portions, to his confusion, were extremely small. “This doesn't seem like enough, Oma-kun.”
“Ohhhh…” Oma tilted his head, eyes wide. “I wonder? I’m such a ditz, maybe I got it all wrong after all. Eh, I’m just no good at converting stuff from cups to metric, y’know?”
“Why would you use a recipe that uses...no, that has to be a lie no matter what. I know how serious Oma-kun is when he's making plans, after all.” Saihara noticed the tiny springform pan near the kitchen sink, already greased and floured. Metal clips held the two sides of the pan together, the thin base already held between them and ready for cake batter. “Ah, it’s just a small cake...” He sifted the dry ingredients together, looking thoughtfully at it before he turned to mix the sugar with the portioned butter. “Why is it that we’re doing this, Oma-kun?”
“Well, Saihara-chan can’t take charge. That means you need motivation to do a scene with me properly, and what’s better for motivation than getting you real good and frustrated, huh?” Saihara cracked an egg into the wet mixture, creaming it thoroughly as Oma watched with an eager grin.
“Is that a lie? Does Oma-kun…” Saihara trailed off as he set the chocolate shavings in the microwave. “Does Oma-kun have a thing for this?”
“Mm-hm, you got me, it was a lie. Cakes really get me off,” Oma said, his expression open and genuine. “Watching you mix ingredients together, and there's nothing I can do to stop you...it really gets my motor running, y'know?” Saihara shook a little of the flour bowl into the wet mix, whisking it together. “Mmmm,” Oma moaned, writhing in the chair and making it judder loudly on the hard floor. Saihara glanced in alarm at it - could Oma tip over the chair by wriggling too much? “Oh, Saihara-chan, whisk it harder-”
“O-Oma-kun,” Saihara stammered in embarrassment, watching the batter form as he stirred and shook the flour in.
“But I can’t resist it,” whined Oma. “Saihara-chan looks so hot when he’s baking!”
“You’ve never seen me bake before.” Saihara glanced at the recipe, which was thankfully simple. “Also, I don’t know how.”
“Are you saying it’s your first time?” Oma lilted, his tone shifting at once from whiny to playful. “I'm so lucky...good thing I gave you written instructions, huh?” Saihara whisked the mixture silently and thoroughly, trying to channel the nervous frustration into his mixing arm. “Wow, and you’re soooo enthusiastic!”
Oma wriggled energetically again, the chattering of the chair legs on the floor deafening in the quiet room, as Saihara stirred the melted chocolate into the batter. Saihara briefly thought again about restraining him further, then closed his eyes for a long moment. The batter poured smooth and even into the tiny pan. It was no surprise to find the oven already preheated for him.
“Now we’ve got all the time in the world,” Oma said, beaming as Saihara slid the pan in to bake and set the timer. “Well, we’ve got exactly twenty minutes. Does Saihara-chan have any idea what to do during that?”
Saihara stared at him for a long moment, taking in his welcoming smile and feeling the thoughts rush back into his mind at the sight of Oma restrained. The heat in his belly had coalesced into a driving force as Oma teased him, his head light with the prospect. “You’re…” He trailed off; Oma let out an encouraging hum, wriggling with excitement. “You’re still making a lot of noise,” he said shyly.
“With my mouth, or with this chair?” Oma asked. “I only wanna know so I can do it more, y’know.” He swiveled his body back and forth, using his small leverage to jostle the chair loudly. “What’s Saihara-chan gonna do about it?”
“I need to stop you, right?” Saihara said quietly, approaching to kneel before the chair and gazing up to meet Oma’s eyes. He unrolled another long strip of wrap between his nervous hands.
“You’re getting into it!” Oma cheered, lighting up as he sat upright and flat against the back of the chair. Saihara pushed his loose white shirt up to expose the fine musculature of his torso, his hardening cock. Unable to remove the shirt completely, he bunched it up just beneath Oma’s arms.
“Um…” He leaned close to wrap the bandage around the fabric and around Oma himself, binding him to the chair back and keeping him exposed. Oma was near enough to him in that position that Saihara could smell the citrusy aroma of shampoo and body wash. His violet eyes shone, his lips curved in a satisfied smile as though being bound to a chair was the fulfillment of a dream. Maybe it was, Saihara realized. In fact, since Oma had engineered the entire situation, it definitely was.
Saihara tried briefly to look up and meet Oma's eyes, wavered back down to stare at his body instead. “What are you acting shy about? You’ve seen it all before...but it’s nice to watch Saihara-chan enjoying himself like this,” Oma said brightly.
“I haven’t seen you like this, exactly.” Saihara reached up to stroke the pale curve of his side. Oma twitched as Saihara’s palm coasted just beneath his ribs. Could he be ticklish there?
“Ooh, Saihara-chan. Now that we’ve got me good and tied up,” he continued, his voice going low and syrupy-sweet in a way that made Saihara’s heart pound, “Saihara-chan’s gotta, mmm…get the ganache ready!”
Saihara startled at the sudden shout. “The...the what?” he asked, his pulse thundering in his ears.
“Ganache is just chocolate sauce, Saihara-chan,” Oma chirped in a condescending voice. Saihara looked at him, the lean muscle of his exposed body and the dusky cock heavy against his thigh. Oma was definitely excited by the scene, Saihara noted with mild confusion, but which part of the scene excited him more was the real mystery; being tied up, or the prospect of chocolate sauce? Saihara desperately hoped it was the former. “‘Cause what am I learning from all this without the chocolate sauce?” Oma asked severely, worrying him further. “Just that Saihara-chan’s a dirty pervert.”
“That’s not fair,” he pointed out, standing up and dusting off his knees. “You always...you always tie me up, right?”
“Well, duh. I already knew I was a pervert!” Oma sang out, shifting slightly back and forth in the chair. To Saihara’s surprise, the movement of his hips was still enough to continue chattering the wooden chair legs against the floor. “At least get it started, or this will take even longer. It would get soooo boring, I’d never forgive Saihara-chan. You’ll be exiled to the Kalahara Desert before you know it!”
“You’re the reason this is happening,” Saihara told him, but reluctantly pulled back and turned toward the ingredients. Oma watched, practically radiating enthusiasm. “An equal amount of dark chocolate chips and heavy cream,” he read out, then looked at the cream and chocolate chips set beside one another. His cock stood eager and rigid as an iron bar as he stared at the innocuous bowls. It felt like a scene from a dream.
“They’re both four ounces,” Oma informed him loftily. “I knew all your blood wouldn’t be in your brain at this point, so I wouldn’t wanna make it too hard for poor Saihara-chan, y’know?”
“You’re hard too,” Saihara protested, pouring the cream and chocolate into the same small bowl and setting it in the microwave. “One minute...”
“Yep!” Saihara stole a few glances at Oma’s restrained body during even the single minute that the bowl rotated in the microwave; despite that, he obligingly stirred the melting chocolate in with the warm cream afterward instead of going back to him. The mixture settled quickly into a thick sauce. “See, it’s so easy even Saihara-chan can do it.”
“Thank you,” Saihara said dryly, scraping the bottom of the bowl. “Which of us is meant to be in which position right now, Oma-kun?” Oma hummed noncommittally. “Leave for five minutes,” he recited, then looked back at Oma.
“Oooh,” Oma lilted. “Looks like you have plans for those five minutes too, huh? You looked soooo unruffled at first...but am I getting to you after all, Saihara-chan?”
“In what way is any of this my plan, Oma-kun? But…” Saihara knelt beside the chair, picking up another roll of wrap. He circled it around Oma’s abdomen, binding him even more securely to the chair's back. “You’re still making noise when you move around,” he said softly, his voice almost apologetic.
Oma giggled in response, quivering with laughter. Saihara felt himself sliding into a sort of trance as he rhythmically encircled Oma’s body with the wrap. He felt closer and closer to Oma as he worked - the way his belly rose and fell with deeper breaths as Saihara wound the fabric around him layer by careful layer, the soft warmth of his bared skin, how exposed he looked with his shirt pushed up and held in place. He pressed his hands softly against the bindings, smoothing the wrap down against itself and feeling the tender give of Oma’s belly beneath.
Oma wriggled as though testing the setup, smiling in obvious delight when he barely shifted in the restraints. “So you like me totally immobile, huh? We can work with that, y’know. Saihara-chan...” Saihara felt hot all over at the sight, as though his entire body were flushed. The kitchen felt cold and he wanted more of Oma’s soft warmth, stared at the way the rough bandages encircled Oma’s belly and upper chest but left his dark nipples exposed to the air. “There’s all sorts of fun stuff I can wear for you,” Oma said softly, his smile widening wickedly with promise.
Saihara could imagine fastening a set of black clover clamps to his nipples, attaching small, sparkling weights as Oma squirmed. “R-really?” he asked, wondering if Oma was imagining the same. “Like what…?” He was so close to Oma’s cock, still hard and wanting attention - close enough to lean forward and lay a series of teasing kisses up the length of it as Oma watched, helpless to push into his mouth or demand anything more.
Saihara startled when the oven beeped, jumping suddenly upright as though he had been caught doing something shameful. He hurried toward it as though running away. “We could try lots of stuff,” Oma said cheerfully as Saihara opened the oven and pulled out the small springform pan with oven mitts, setting it down on the countertop. “An armbinder so I can’t move my arms at all, or you could put a plug in me and wrap me up reeeeal tight…” Saihara clicked the pan’s metal clips open and shimmied the halves of the pan apart, staring fixedly at the tiny cake as a fresh blush climbed his throat and mounted high on his cheeks. The bitter chocolate fragrance rose to his nostrils. He let out a long, shivering breath.
“Ooh, Saihara-chan could use a collar to keep my head up so I can’t see what you’re doing to me. If it’s Saihara-chan,” Oma said softly, his voice perfectly audible against the soft ticking of the cooling oven, “I’ll let him do anything he wants…” Oma cleared his throat loudly; Saihara jumped again at the noise. “Oh, but you look kinda distracted from the cake!” he chirped. “Can’t you do two things at once? Saihara-chan’s hopeless.”
“It’s definitely your fault,” Saihara said, his voice a little weaker than he would have liked as he carried the cooling cake to the table on the base of the pan.
“Oh, wow. Even though you made it yourself, it looks really good!” Oma squirmed, his expression set in a dismay that was almost convincing. “Saihara-chan will let me have a little bite, right? If I promise I won’t steal your food anymore?”
Saihara set the cake on the table in front of him, lightheaded with the sudden revelation of what the scene was about. The sight of Oma struggling as though to reach the food did things to him, despite how ridiculous it was; he felt another blush rise to his cheeks as he watched Oma wriggle against his bindings. “Um…” He cleared his throat, a little overwhelmed by the prospect of saying it. “I think I understand. I’m...correcting you, after all. Right?” He sat down at the table and stirred the ganache before scooping up a spoonful and drizzling it over the surface of the warm cake, watching it pool and spread. “If you eat this too, you won’t learn anything.”
“But it smells so good.” Oma licked his lips, his expression openly shocked. “You wouldn’t force me to watch, would you? Saihara-chan isn’t cruel enough to just eat the whole thing in front of me...”
Saihara considered reminding Oma that he himself disliked sweets, but something about the set of Oma’s half-smiling mouth seemed well aware. “Oma-kun needs to learn what his boundaries are,” he said, infinitely daring as the rich ganache trickled across the top of the cake, thick droplets coursing over the sides. Oma lit up, his eyes sparkling, and the sight made Saihara’s heart leap.
“Are you saying you’ll teach me?” Oma asked, glancing at the cake. Saihara trickled more of the chocolate sauce over it, blanketing the top of the small cake in a glossy layer and letting it run down in untidy drops all the way to the table.
“That’s my responsibility, isn’t it?” he asked. He sank the fork into the cake and twisted off a piece, turning toward Oma. Oma’s eyes followed curiously as Saihara raised his other, empty hand. He slowly, deliberately pressed his palm over Oma’s mouth, watching for any sign of fear.
“Mm-?” Oma looked more confused than anything; he made no motion to tilt his head away. Saihara raised the fork and held it in front of his covered mouth, letting the warm cake aroma rise into his face. “Mmn-!”
“Oma-kun, does it smell good?” Oma moaned, a muffled noise as his cheeks pinked beautifully beneath Saihara’s palm. Saihara’s pulse hammered in his own ears at the reaction. “Do you want to taste it?” He pulled the bite away before releasing Oma’s mouth, watching his tongue dart out to lick his lips.
“I do, I wanna eat Saihara-chan’s cooking. Please...”
“Do you like it when I cover your mouth?”
“Yeah,” Oma breathed as Saihara slipped the bite into his own mouth. “Hey!” Oma whined obnoxiously before Saihara set down the fork and covered his mouth again, reaching down with the other hand to tweak one of his nipples. Oma squeaked into his palm and squirmed in the chair, moaning as Saihara caressed his chest, stroking and pinching until both nipples stood out hard and vulnerable beneath his fingers. Saihara felt his own body reacting to the muffled noises, his cock throbbing in his pants as Oma struggled and whined against his hand.
Releasing Oma, he turned back to the table and took another bite. The cake was dark enough that the sweetness was tempered by bitterness, close enough to palatable that he could accept it. “You wanted to try it?” he asked, summoning up enough courage to blow the aroma lightly into Oma’s face. Oma shivered at the demeaning treatment and, almost uncharacteristically, said nothing at all in response. The faint flush on his cheeks had darkened into hectic spots high on his cheekbones; his lips parted to reveal a glimpse of pink tongue.
“Yeah…” he breathed. The genuine reaction was too intense for Saihara, who withdrew and turned toward the table again. He spared Oma a nervous, sidelong glance before taking another bite, blowing patiently on the hot cake before eating it. “Saihara-chan, I’m...I’m really turned on, at least...hey, at least touch me. Touch me more. Are you ignoring me? You’re ignoring me?” Oma struggled and got nowhere, bound firmly to the chair back, his cock darkly flushed and rigid against his leg. “Saihara-chan, gimme a bite. Saihara-chan, touch me again...Saihara-chan, Saihara-chan!”
Saihara took another slow, well-considered bite, glancing from the corner of his eye to make sure Oma was still raptly watching him eat. Even the ganache was a little bitter, the dark chocolate less sweet and more rich, and the crumb of the cake felt dense in his mouth. He focused on it to calm the hammering of his pulse, the way his cock throbbed in his pants at even the memory of Oma making muffled sounds into his palm.
“You ate my food...and now I’m eating sweets instead,” he murmured. “I don’t particularly like sweets, though.”
“That’s why you should learn to share,” Oma whimpered, his eyes welling up. “Be a good example. I can’t believe Saihara-chan is being so mean to me…”
“Are you even the one being punished here?” Saihara wondered ruefully, but took another bite. Only half of the tiny cake remained. “Thinking about it, I’m the one who got chores and didn’t get dinner-”
“I am too being punished! Saihara-chan doesn’t believe I want it? Waaaaah!” Oma wailed, writhing in the chair, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “Gimme some of it, gimme, touch me, Saihara-chan! Saihara-chan-” Saihara took another bite and set down the fork, taking a deep breath before turning to hold Oma’s mouth again. Oma made muffled sobbing noises into his palm, but Saihara felt his lips curl into a smile beneath the covering hand.
“We’re doing this because you ate my food,” Saihara said evenly. Saying it out loud in such a firm voice made him tremble, his entire body shivering as though chilled. His cock felt hard as diamond, throbbing mercilessly behind the prison of his zipper. “We’re doing it to correct you. I-it’s for your own good,” he concluded a little breathlessly.
Oma sniffled when released. “For me?”
“Yes. We’re doing this for you,” Saihara said, taking another bite and trying to ignore the hectic fluttering of his own stomach. “So Oma-kun...behaves himself.” Oma watched him take another bite.
“Saihara-chan,” Oma said softly. “At least let me have that last bite.”
“Ah…” Saihara set down the fork. “I shouldn't let you, but…” He trailed off as he remembered his first idea, kneeling and tormenting Oma until he pleaded. He thought about Oma’s reaction to challenges, Oma’s eager responses to being touched and felt up while bound to the chair. His hands trembled. “I have an idea, Oma-kun.”
“Oh?” Oma lit up in obvious interest. “Saihara-chan’s finally having his very own idea?”
“If you can control yourself for ten minutes,” Saihara said, “then we’ll say that proves you’ve learned enough self-control to earn a bite. Is that okay?” He pushed the cake away from himself and reached over, pinching and fondling Oma’s chest again. Oma squirmed but brightened, his eyes going fierce with the challenge.
“You mean I just can’t come for ten minutes? That’s easy,” he said, but as Saihara’s hand finally closed around his neglected cock he let out a soft groan and tilted his head forward to watch. Saihara slid from his own chair and knelt before Oma’s restrained body, leaning forward to lay a series of sucking kisses up the length of Oma’s shaft just as he had imagined. He reached down to unfasten his own pants, finally freeing his rigid cock and palming it with a sigh of relief.
“We’re starting the clock now,” he said before rolling the skin back and laying a long kiss right beneath the head. Oma squirmed in the restraints and Saihara glanced up to find him staring, his eyes wide and reverent, his lips parted to let quiet breaths escape. Saihara’s hand sped up on his own cock, embarrassingly good as electricity curled low in his belly.
“That’s cheating,” Oma said, but there was nothing whiny about his breathless voice. Saihara nodded and leaned forward to suck tenderly at the tip of his cock, lavishing attention on him before swallowing down his shaft and working him hard and fast. “Ah-! Saihara-chan really means it,” Oma breathed. “It’s gonna be tough after all…”
Saihara half-expected the familiar touches, the way Oma’s fingers often stroked through his hair as he worked Oma up and down; the realization that Oma couldn’t do it, his hands bound behind him and his body exposed, made him shiver. “Mmmm,” he moaned, his hand rough and careless on himself, and felt Oma’s cock twitch at the vibration of his voice. Oma sighed and smiled down at him, his cock hard and velvety as Saihara sucked tightly up his length and plunged back down, the blunt head pressing where he had closed his throat against it. Saihara was already close, the slow build of the situation enough to drive him to desperation once his hand was finally wrapped around himself.
He could tell almost immediately that there was no way Oma would last either, the long muscles of his thighs jumping instantly as though struggling against the restraints, his abdominal muscles fluttering. Saihara bobbed his head with even more enthusiasm, pushing him farther and harder until his breath grew audible, his muscles jerking as though struggling to hold back. A faint, salty bitterness bloomed in the back of Saihara's mouth.
“Mmm,” he moaned again, carried away by Oma’s hazy, overwhelmed expression when he stole a glance up; he pulled back for a moment, quaking as he himself suddenly went over the edge. “Ah, Oma-kun-!” he gasped as he came messily into his own hand. There was, he thought, no time to spend letting Oma regain any ground. Dizzy with the intensity, still shivering, he returned to laying kisses up the length of Oma’s shaft before swallowing him down with sloppy but renewed vigor. Oma let out a raw groan and squirmed helplessly in his bonds.
“Yeah,” Oma breathed as Saihara’s mouth worked him relentlessly. “Oh...Saihara-chan’s really punishing me.” Perspiration had broken out on his forehead, his voice breathy but undeniably sarcastic. Saihara shot a quick, disbelieving look up at him, still working dutifully between his legs. “Mm, I’m really learning my lesson…” Saihara glanced up at him again, eyebrows lowering, and understood.
He let out a long sigh, pulling away from Oma’s dick. “I see…” He tucked himself away, sitting back and then lifting himself to his feet. “But if you can’t control yourself even enough to not give me a hard time during this, then you won’t get anything.”
“What!?” Oma whined immediately. “C’mon, Saihara-chan, it was a joke! I was just joking,” he persisted, his eyes flooding with tears. “That’s no fair, those weren’t the rules-”
“But I’m the one making the rules right now,” Saihara pointed out. Oma’s tearful expression faltered; for a moment Saihara was certain he saw a smile before Oma reverted to whining and struggling. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted me to get to this point.”
“That's a lie,” Oma whimpered. “What’s Saihara-chan gonna do to me, huh?”
“If what I was doing wasn't going to teach you anything, I suppose…” Saihara stood up and walked behind the chair, leaning down to reach around Oma’s bound form and seize roughly at his dick. “Here,” he said politely, “we could try this instead.” With his clean hand he covered Oma’s mouth tightly, listening first to his surprised noise and then his helpless, muffled sounds as he writhed in the restraints. He jerked Oma roughly, setting a merciless, punishing pace as he worked his fist up and down Oma’s delicate length, hot and slick with his own come. For a moment Saihara let the hand over Oma's mouth slip, listening carefully for the reaction.
“Please,” Oma cried out, “yes-”
“Right...Oma-kun sounds nice this way,” he said, stroking Oma off in abrupt motions that were almost frantic and clasping his other hand over Oma’s mouth again. “You won’t be able to last like this, will you?” Oma trembled, his head pulled back against Saihara’s chest, his pale throat arched and delicate.
“Mmmn-” he moaned into Saihara’s hand, his body noticeably shaking.
“Do you like it when I do this to you?" he asked softly, politely. "Being tied up, with your mouth covered like this...” Oma nodded feverishly, shivering in helpless spasms. “Oma-kun,” he said, lightheaded with the feeling of Oma so close to the edge, how his hand slipped so smooth and fast over Oma's vulnerable cock, how Oma could do nothing but sit and take his touch. “Please tell me how much you like it.”
“Hmm - mmph!” Oma cried in obvious arousal, his body quaking. Saihara felt his muscles spasm, his cock jerking in Saihara’s hand as he painted his fingers with thick ribbons of white. He shuddered and cried out into the muffling palm, trembling helplessly as Saihara worked him through it and released him when his struggles intensified. “Oh...ah, Saihara-chan,” he breathed, his eyes bright as stars.
Saihara looked at the clock and smiled. “Hmmm...if we include all of it, then Oma-kun lasted over ten minutes after all. In that case...” He walked back around and scooped up the last bite of cake with his clean hand. Oma stared up at him, dazed, as he slipped the bite between Oma’s parted lips.
“Mm…?” Oma chewed as though the introduction of cake had revived him. “Huh...it’s a little overmixed.”
“Ah, well.” Saihara, gathering up the pan and the fork to wash, spared him a glance. “I never told Oma-kun I knew how to bake, after all.”
“That's no lie," Oma sighed in evident contentment. "Look in the refrigerator. The bottom drawer, please and thank you.” Saihara set the dirty dishes beside the frozen dumplings - almost thawed enough to fry - and rinsed off his hands thoroughly in the sink. Half-prepared for a trap, squinting and readying himself to catch something flying out, he then opened the bottom compartment of the refrigerator to find a cake on a plate. It looked almost exactly like the cake he had just eaten, though the ganache was thicker and applied more heavily, the droplets coursing down the sides to form a puddle around the dessert.
Saihara gaped at the finished cake. “What the…”
“Saihara-chan was so rough with me,” Oma said softly. Saihara glanced back to find him tearful again, his expression haunted. “Did you think that I wouldn’t need any aftercare?”
“Wait, though. Please, just a moment.” Oma nodded, his lip quivering. “Are you telling me that your plan the whole time was…” Saihara paused, gathering his thoughts and setting them in order. “That you first made yourself a cake, ate my dinner, forced me to make a cake to punish you, got me to eat it myself…”
Oma sniffled, his eyes swimming with unshed tears, and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, go on. This stuff’s almost too obvious, don’t you think?”
“But the whole time, there was already a cake premade...and you made it for me to feed it to you afterward?” Oma nodded again, blinking back the tears and replacing them with a sudden smirk as his eyes were cast in shadow. Saihara turned to stare at him. “Oma-kun...I don’t even know how to describe this plan.” It was, he thought, indescribable.
Oma stared back, his vicious smirk slowly broadening into a smile that closed his eyes in obvious delight. “Nishishi.”