Work Text:
“You can touch me, you know,” he says with a coy smile as he kneels down on the futon. “I don’t bite.” He drapes the long sleeves of his kimono across his lap before tilting his head and peering impishly up at his patron for the evening, then follows up with, “Unless you want me to.”
The man in front of him stands as still as a statue, his clear lack of familiarity with brothels glaringly obvious in both his stance and stiff, formal language. He neither takes the bait nor does he move closer, and Ryouta can almost hear the pounding of his heart from halfway across the room.
Sighing internally, he maintains the smile on his face as he lifts a hand and beckons the man closer. “Come here,” he murmurs, voice seductive and breathy, and he gazes up at the other through lowered lashes. He watches the jut of his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as the other swallows twice before taking a steady step forward. “That’s it,” he encourages, using his free hand to draw the sleeve up and expose his upturned wrist fully, and waits as his patron comes closer.
“What’s your name, sir?” he asks as the other man comes to a stop before him.
There is silence before the man finally finds his bearings, and the voice that comes out is gruff and deep, attractive in its own way. “… Kasamatsu Yukio.”
“Kasamatsu-san, nice to meet you,” he bows his head and provides his working name. “Please call me Ren.”
He expects the other to attempt to make some comment on how his beauty rivals or exceeds that of a lotus, like so many of the other men he’s entertained, but Kasamatsu merely nods before lowering himself down to a formal kneel in front of the futon, still a respectable distance from him. Ryouta expects that he will be doing most of the work tonight and wonders idly if the other is a virgin.
“I’ll take good care of you, Kasamatsu-san.” Charm comes as easily to him as breathing, and he leans forward and brushes his fingertips against the other’s knee, watches Kasamatsu’s eyes fixated on his outreached hand. He reaches up to loosen the fold of fabric across his chest to reveal his collar bones, and he knows full well that the gold thread highlights his tanned skin in a beautiful way. As predicted, his patron watches his every move, and he sensually begins loosening the thick layers of fabric around his body. He’s beginning to untie the front-knotted obi, still a bright red in the dim candle-lit room, when the other man speaks again and completely stuns him into stillness.
“Please fuck me, Ren.”
Ryouta gawks; he can’t help it. His left shoulder is completely exposed, the kimono has split open around his legs to reveal almost the entirety of his right thigh, and he knows that he looks irresistibly fuckable in the flickering light. So, it’s funny—so funny that, for the first time since he was originally sold to the matron years ago, this extremely stoic and proper-looking man wants to play his role for the night. Once the surprise passes, the thrill hits him, and he feels absolutely wicked like a thief that has stolen palace treasure.
“Why, Kasamatsu-san,” he purrs as he shifts to all fours and crawls over to the kneeling man, “I didn’t know you were so naughty.” The increased tension is visible in his patron’s posture, and he has to wonder if the other man is regretting his bold request. The loosened obi slips apart, and the kimono falls open around his body as he spreads his thighs and straddles the unmoving man. “It excites me,” he states truthfully, and the evidence is clear in the suddenly growing flesh between their bodies.
His patron takes a shuddering breath, looks both terrified and aroused as Ryouta looms over him. When he finally touches Ryouta, hands trembling against the skin of his thighs, he looks so vulnerable that it just nearly drives Ryouta crazy with desire—and that confuses him, for he’s never wanted any of the men who fucked him, but now he can’t wait to pin this man beneath him and make him moan.
“Please,” his patron whispers, and Ryouta grabs his face with both hands before kissing him hard. Kasamatsu grunts into the kiss, the sound dying upon his own tongue, and he can’t get enough of the way the other’s lips slide wetly against his own.
When they break apart, his patron’s mouth is covered in rouge and flecked with white foundation. “Of course,” he murmurs huskily against those stained lips, “I promised I’d take good care of you tonight.”
He guides his patron down to the floor, pushing him by the chest onto the futon. He revels in the hungry look that the other man casts over his exposed body and slides his hand across his abdomen to the hardened flesh below. Kasamatsu grips onto his thighs and watches as he fists his cock, stroking and teasing the flesh, and Ryouta moans as he imagines sinking himself inside the other’s overly heated body. Bending down, he lets go of himself to begin undressing his patron, who futilely tries to help with shaking but useless fingers (it’s a little endearing).
It becomes clear to Ryouta that this is his patron’s first time, at the very least with a man. His touches are hesitant and brief, as is he is afraid of doing something wrong, of perhaps hurting Ryouta in some way—which is funny, as he’s the one spread out on the futon, panting heavily through clenched teeth as Ryouta’s fingers press into his body. But it’s also one of the first times that he’s welcomed a patron touching him, and as clumsy as the strokes are, his cock jumps at almost every press of fingertips, every squeeze of the other’s fist. So he kisses him repeatedly—on the mouth, down his neck, across his chest between taut nipples—and simply delights in the tiniest of noises that Kasamatsu makes as he pants through the intrusion.
Ryouta tries to be gentle because he is seldom ever offered that kindness, and he finds that he really does want to take good care of his patron like he had promised. He presses his fingertips against clenching muscle and bites back a moan of his own as Kasamatsu’s hips buck up suddenly in pleasure, and he is so delighted at the other man’s response that he keeps pressing and stroking that inner wall over and over again until his patron is shaking beneath him.
“Ren…” The other’s voice is barely audible over the rushing of his own blood. Kasamatsu whimpers when he withdraws his fingers, and Ryouta feels like he’s going to explode any second, he’s so turned on. The wandering thought crosses his mind that this is how his other patrons must feel towards him as he sweeps his kimono to the side and settles in between the other man’s legs.
“Kasamatsu-san, I’m going to fuck you now,” he announces. He receives a quiet grunt in response as his patron lifts his legs to spread himself open, and he presses one leg back even further as he guides his member to the other man’s opening. He presses in slowly, shallowly, and vocalizes his own pleasure at the tightness that engulfs him. Kasamatsu struggles to breathe beneath him, and his face is clenched in an expression of both pleasure and pain that Ryouta knows all too well.
“Do I feel good, Kasamatsu-san?” he asks as he rolls his hips slowly, pushes himself in just a bit further. He feels his patron clench around him and catches just the barest of nods from the dark-haired man, trying to focus on Kasamatsu’s face rather than the pleasure coiling tightly in his groin with each measured movement. When he’s finally seated fully inside his patron, the other man’s legs drop down to wrap around his waist, and the tremor in Kasamatsu’s thighs pleases him almost as much as the other’s throaty request.
“More,” and the word sets off something inside of him, urges him to grab his patron’s waist as he pulls back fully to slam into Kasamatsu roughly not a half second later. The other’s cry makes his heart race, and he pounds his hips repeatedly into the other man’s restrained body until they are both breathless and dizzy from pleasure. He feels like he’s losing himself yet finding himself at the same time, and the desperation to Kasamatsu’s kiss tells him that his patron feels the same way.
When he comes inside the other, hips bucking with stilted rhythm, he repeats the other’s name with whimpered tone. “Kasamatsu-san, Kasamatsu-san…”
The other doesn’t come but he’s shaking nonetheless as Ryouta pulls out, and it’s utterly fascinating to see his own come dripping out of someone else’s reddened, stretched hole. His patron looks absolutely debauched, and Kasamatsu moans quietly as his hips shift back and forth, as if the phantom feeling of Ryouta’s cock is still filling him up. The other looks so enticing that he feels the stab of desire hit him all over again, and he longs to slip into that twitching, tight heat once more.
Instead, he slides down on the futon, carefully shifting his kimono out of his feet’s way, and curls over the other’s supine form. The gasp that his patron makes as Ryouta’s lips descend on his still erect member fills him with a surprising sense of pride, and he drags his mouth up and down the shaft with deft skill. It doesn’t take long before he feels the other come, the telltale pulsing of the cock before bitter fluid strikes the back of his throat, and he continues to massage the sensitive flesh with his tongue as Kasamatsu’s climax winds down.
They spend a long moment simply looking at each other, and it’s only broken when his patron turns onto his side out of embarrassment, if the blush that’s risen on his face is any indication. Ryouta laughs, not at his patron but out of joy, and leans down to kiss the other’s shoulder, the taste of his ejaculate still coating his tongue.
“Thank you, Ren,” his patron mumbles quietly into his arm, and Ryouta may have missed it had he not been so close to the other’s face.
“I should be thanking you, Kasamatsu-san,” he answers genuinely, still somewhat disbelieving of the encounter.
After Kasamatsu cleans up and leaves, giving Ryouta one last, lingering kiss goodbye, he is left with naught but his thoughts and the musty smell of sex. He’s reeling, and his heart thuds as he hopes quietly to himself, I want to see him again.