Work Text:
There’s a back room in the Valhalla hideout. Something that used to be a management office or a coke den or a storage room. It came with an old couch and a coffee table and a filing cabinet with nothing interesting in it besides some dead bugs and a layer of dust. It’s Hanma’s now, and no one had anything to say about him claiming it when they established their headquarters in the abandoned arcade. He cleaned it up, boarded up the window that looked into the alley out back, and declared it open for business.
Right now, the only business being conducted in it is the scratch of pen across paper as Kisaki does his homework.
Kazutora is talking about something, sitting on the floor across from both of them. Hanma drags his gaze away from Kisaki’s profile, leaning his weight back against his hand.
“… I think if I bring it up one more time, he’ll start getting curious enough to pay us a visit.”
Hanma squints at the little silver bell dangling from Kazutora’s ear. “Who?”
“Baji Keisuke. The guy who’s got it out for Mikey almost as much as I do.”
That rings a bell. Hanma grins at his own joke. “Oh, him. Your little murder buddy.”
“He was friends with Mikey first, but he was closer with me by the time I was arrested. His loyalty to Toman isn’t so…”
Hanma has tuned him out again, because his eyes have slid back over to Kisaki. The thick frame of his glasses obscures his eyes from view, but Hanma can see the set concentration on his mouth. He works like the other two aren’t in the room, writing notes in neat little lines. So… pristine. Surrounded by grime and cigarette smoke and conversations about murder. Hanma laughs through his nose.
Kisaki turns the page of his book. His finger hooks in the collar of his school uniform, tugging it away from his neck and the thin layer of sweat accumulating on his skin. It’s hot in this little room with three bodies. No air conditioning in the whole building to stave off the dying summer heat.
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Hanma says, draping an arm across his bent knee. “When’s he coming in?”
Kazutora frowns at him. “He hasn’t agreed to come yet. I just said that.”
“You’ll make it work. Who can say no to a face as pretty as yours?”
“I…” He blinks and looks away, at Kisaki instead. It’s fun messing with people who already know. Kisaki isn’t bothered by it, doesn’t even look up from his work. “He’ll be on our side before Halloween.”
“I want a popsicle from the konbini,” Kisaki says abruptly. He finishes the last sentence he was writing, then looks directly at Kazutora.
Kazutora’s eyes flick back and forth between them. “Okay?”
“It’s boiling in here,” Kisaki explains.
“You heard the man.” Hanma points with his chin toward the door.
With a sigh, Kazutora stands. Kisaki fishes a few yen out of his wallet and drops them on the table, just enough for what he asked for, nothing left for Kazutora to get anything. Hanma watches with amusement as he scoops up the coins and stuffs them in his pocket, heading for the door with a long-suffering glance over his shoulder. Hanma just winks.
“God, thought he’d never leave,” he says as soon as they’re alone.
Before Kisaki can pick up his pen again, Hanma hooks a finger under his chin and tilts him up for a kiss. There’s a gasp that Hanma blocks with his tongue, a brief moment where Kisaki is kissing him back, and then he’s pushed away.
“He’ll be back in a few minutes,” Kisaki grumbles, hand pressed flat to the center of Hanma’s chest.
“A few minutes is a few minutes.” He tugs at Kisaki’s bottom lip with his thumb, eyeing the way the shiny interior comes into view.
“I don’t like the idea of Baji Keisuke getting a laminated invitation.” When he knocks the hand away from his face, Hanma just moves it to hook behind his neck. “You shouldn't be so pushy about asking him to join. It’ll look glaringly suspicious in retrospect.”
“Haven’t met the guy, but from what I heard I don’t think he’s smart enough to connect that many dots,” Hanma dismisses, leaning down. The hand on his chest is just for show. Kisaki doesn’t try to stop him when he presses his lips to his neck.
“For all we know, he’ll feed information right back to Sano.” His head tilts back, exposing the underside of his jaw. “Seems like a stupid move, just letting him walk in.”
Hanma grunts against his neck, fingers creeping up to undo the first few buttons of his shirt. He won’t be getting anywhere interesting with the collar in the way. His tongue drags over salty skin, teeth following suit. Kisaki lets out another small gasp.
Leaning back against the couch, Hanma pulls him into his lap. It’s like handling a doll, he’s so tiny. Their lips slide together, and Kisaki’s knees dig into the floor on either side of his hips as he settles on top of him. Hanma holds him down where he wants it, wishing their clothes were gone so he could fuck up into that tight little hole.
Kisaki breaks the kiss. Fingers grip the hair at the back of Hanma's head to drag him away. “Do something about it, Shuji.”
“I’ll give him a test or something, alright? Fuck.”
“What kind of test?”
“I don’t know. Something that’ll make it seem like we don’t let people in so easily. You think of one since you’re so smart.”
“I’m not part of your gang, remember?” Kisaki murmurs against his mouth, smirking.
“Ha ha.” He fills his hands with Kisaki’s ass and pulls him back in. Kazutora will be back any minute, and Hanma intends to make use of every second until then.
He laughs against Kisaki’s lips, imagining Kazutora walking in to find them like this. Maybe he’d stand there and watch. Hanma’s hips roll up at the idea, and as if he can hear what he’s thinking, Kisaki sharply bites down on his bottom lip in warning. He should know by now that it only riles him up more.
Kisaki pulls away from him with a wet smack at the sound of the door opening again. In a flash, he’s out of Hanma’s lap and back in front of his homework, one finger pushing his glasses back into place. He doesn’t look at Kazutora.
Sighing, Hanma adjusts the front of his pants as his eyes flick over to Kazutora, who’s still standing there in the door with his fist wrapped around the knob. His other hand holds a plain white package. No change.
Without a word, Kazutora steps in and shuts the door. Kisaki takes the popsicle from him and tears open the wrapper. It’s bright blue. Coconut flavor, Hanma guesses as he watches Kisaki pull it out and wrap his lips around the tip.
Mouth pulling up in a grin, Hanma glances at Kazutora again, who’s also watching.
“Could’ve given us a few more minutes. We would’ve been done before the ice melted.”
Next to him, Kisaki scoffs. He grabs bulky headphones from his school bag and plugs them into his MP3 player. The earpieces completely cover his ears when he puts them on, blocking out Kazutora and Hanma and anything else he might feel like saying just for shits and giggles.
Hanma runs his finger across his bottom lip, still tasting Kisaki.
“So we were thinking,” he says as Kazutora sits at the table in front of him, “about this Baji guy.”
“Yes?”
“We don’t wanna make it too easy for him to join. He’s still a rival for now, no matter how much he secretly does or doesn’t hate his leader. My guys won’t be happy if I let him in just like that.”
“So you want him to publicly prove his loyalty,” Kazutora says. His eyes shift briefly over to Kisaki. “Was this your idea or his?”
Hanma shrugs. “He’s smart. He tells me what he thinks, and I listen. Or I don’t. I’m still the acting leader here.”
“Are you,” Kazutora hums with a small smile, and it isn’t a question. He props his chin in his hand, elbow on the table. His bell winks in the light. “Lately, it seems more like he’s got you wrapped around his finger.”
“Lately, huh.”
“Sending people to fetch ice cream for him. Letting him hang out in our headquarters. The other day, I watched you break open one of the old claw games just to give him the stuffed toy inside.”
“What can I say? I like to spoil him.”
He glances over in time to see Kisaki absently gliding the popsicle sideways across his tongue, eyes focused on the notes in front of him. The first few melted drops of ice sink toward the wooden stick.
“In exchange for…?” Kazutora raises an eyebrow at him.
Hanma laughs. “What, you think he puts out? My balls are bluer than that fucking popsicle. He hasn’t let me tap it yet.”
It’s the ‘yet’ that he’s holding onto. Maybe Kisaki does have a tight leash around his neck, but Hanma is good with big picture planning. Let yourself get hungry, and the food’ll taste even better.
“Why, then?” Kazutora asks. “You could have anyone you wanted.”
He watches Kisaki write in his notebook, oblivious to both of them. The buttons on his shirt are still undone, exposing the hollow at the base of his throat. Either he forgot to straighten himself out when Kazutora came back, or it’s still too hot for him to care. Or he’s doing it to tease Hanma, kind of like how he’s teasing him with this popsicle. He sucks it into his mouth, taking almost all of it, then slowly drags it back until it pops out from between his lips.
Hanma wonders what Kazutora would say if his answer was ‘I’m in love with him.’ He wonders how Kisaki would take that. Probably not seriously. Hanma isn’t sure if it’s love or lust or infatuation, but he knows whatever it is, he’s long gone.
“I’m obsessed with him,” he says because it’s true.
Kazutora chuckles. “You’re in it for the long run, I see. Your patience is admirable. And not something I expected from you.”
“He’s not a complete prude.” Hanma folds his arms on the table and leans forward. “He likes to rub off on my thigh like a little girl. Keeps his clothes on, though. It’s kinda cute.”
The satisfaction of knowing Kisaki jizzed his pants used to be enough for Hanma. But now, watching him slowly pump the popsicle in and out of his mouth, all Hanma can think about is what that would feel like around his dick. Some of the melting, sticky ice dribbles down his chin.
“Still sounds like he’s got you right where he wants you,” Kazutora says, looking back and forth between them.
“I’m fine being his puppet if that’s what gets him to keep me around.”
Kazutora snorts, getting up to stand. “I’ll let Baji know we’ll have some conditions if he decides to join. And don’t worry. I won’t tell him the idea came from a thirteen-year-old.”
But Hanma hardly hears it, too busy tracking the rapid drip of liquid sugar that runs up the side of Kisaki’s wrist. A pink and blue tongue darts out to lap it up before it catches on his sleeve.
The door closes, and Kisaki looks up at him. He slides the wooden stick into his mouth, teeth scraping off the last chunk of the popsicle. While the stick is dropped onto the table, clattering wetly, Kisaki fists the front of Hanma’s shirt and drags him in for a kiss.
As soon as Hanma parts his lips, the cold weight of syrupy ice pushes itself onto his tongue. Coconut, just like he imagined. He groans, swallowing the last of the popsicle and prodding into Kisaki’s mouth for more.
But Kisaki lets him go and pushes him away, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. Fucking tease.
“You’re bold today, aren’t you?” Hanma mumbles to himself, eyes not leaving the blue tinge on Kisaki’s lips.
He sees when they quirk up at the corners. “I don’t think you care that much if I am. Since you like to spoil me and everything.”
“You—” Frowning, Hanma glances at the headphones still covering Kisaki’s ears.
He pulls them off and lays them on the table, swiping up the MP3 player to show Hanma that it isn’t even turned on. “Interesting how comfortable you get when you think I can’t hear you. But I guess you can’t help it, being obsessed with me like you said.”
“Congratulations, baby. If we were playing a game, you would’ve won.”
He wins every time, and Hanma is always left to sit there and stew in it. The room is still hot, like a pressure cooker. That little taste of Kisaki’s popsicle wasn’t enough.
“I was under the impression everything is a game to you,” Kisaki says.
“More fun that way, isn’t it?”
Instead of waiting for a response, Hanma grabs his chin and swoops down. The banter can wait until later. Kisaki is already enough of a brat right now, and Hanma is frankly tired of watching his mouth do anything other than what he wants.
Kisaki leans back against the couch and accepts the kiss as it comes. Hanma braces one hand on the cushion while his tongue does some exploring. Sticky, sweet. Kisaki pants into his mouth, fingers grasping the waist of Hanma’s shirt as the rest of his uniform buttons are popped open, one by one.
Hanma’s fingers dance across his chest, cupping the flatness of him, finding a nipple and playing with it. Here is where Kisaki abandons all pretense of being in control and whimpers into the kiss. Hanma barely has to touch him, and he’s already like this.
He could end it with this. Walk away leaving Kisaki flushed all the way down to the chest and too hard to be dignified about it. There’s fucking plenty for Hanma to do at headquarters right now instead of helping his boyfriend soil his underwear. Payback for being an extra little shit today.
But Hanma is bored of letting him win all the time. Maybe it’s Kisaki who’s gotten too comfortable, thinking he can get away with it. And here he is, gasping when a hand settles over the tent in his slacks and rubs hard.
Kisaki draws his shoulders up, breath getting stuck in his throat. He’s small under Hanma’s palm, restricted in the confines of his tightening clothes. Must be hot in there. Too bad Kisaki has his little rule about keeping his clothes on.
Hanma, however, has no rules. Asking forgiveness rather than permission is more his speed, and he has no doubts Kisaki will make it abundantly clear if he doesn’t like something Hanma’s doing.
So he removes his hand and backs away from the kiss, giving Kisaki a moment to catch his breath. He pushes up his glasses again like they’ll actually stay there. If he thinks they’re done here, he’s in for a surprise.
The belt buckle jingles as Hanma works open the front of his jeans. All this touch-and-go has him more than a little hard, and he pulls his dick out to wrap his fingers around. Kisaki makes a point of not looking at him, drawing his knees up as if he can hide the bulge in his own pants.
Getting to his feet, Hanma steps one leg over him so Kisaki has nowhere else to look but up. Finally, his gaze drags down Hanma’s body and stops at the cock in front of his face. His cheeks turn a deeper red. Hanma reaches forward and cards fingers through his blond hair.
“C’mon, baby. Suck on it like a popsicle.”
Kisaki grimaces, and Hanma waits. The hand stays in his hair, running through the styling and messing it up. For a long second, Kisaki looks away, but then his eyes slowly drift back, and he leans forward.
Hands in his lap, Kisaki parts his lips and swipes his tongue over the slit of Hanma’s cock. He holds it in place for him, fingers gripping his hair a little harder. Kisaki keeps licking, shy and unsure of himself, but maybe that’s what feels so good about it. His tongue is soft and hot, tracing around the slippery head until it dots with precome. When Kisaki laps that up too, he lets out an unhappy sound at the taste and closes his eyes.
If that’s what helps him pretend he has another popsicle, fine. Hanma stands above him, eyes fixed on his shiny lips, and imagines grabbing his face and fucking into it.
Just when it seems like he’s only going to lick up and down his cock, Kisaki wraps his lips around the tip and sucks. His tongue works over the slit again and again, and Hanma groans. He tugs just a little on Kisaki’s hair to make him take more, and he sinks down the first few inches before pulling back to slowly bob his head. That’s all he can fit in that tiny mouth, but Hanma wants to know what it feels like swallowed to the back of his throat.
He rolls his hips the next time Kisaki comes in, hitting deeper than before and making him sputter. Kisaki lets out a noise of frustration—or tries to, until Hanma tugs him forward so his cock drags over his slick tongue.
“Just a second,” Hanma promises. His fingers leave Kisaki’s hair to stroke down his cheek, feeling saliva escaping the corner of his lips. He barely thrusts and gets to hear Kisaki gag and groan around him. “Feels good in here. Just another second, and I’ll stop.”
Kisaki opens his eyes to glare, but he looks too good with Hanma’s dick stuffed in his mouth to be intimidating. Glasses off-center, panting through his nose, palms pressing over his crotch. So fucking cute.
“Okay, okay.” He laughs and slides out, a string of saliva snapping off when he leaves Kisaki’s lips.
Kisaki gulps for air and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. What Hanma would do to paint his face in come.
He pulls Kisaki up onto the couch, leaning him back until his head meets the armrest. He climbs over him, one knee pressing into the cushion as he leans down to seal their lips together. But Kisaki doesn’t kiss him back right away.
“Aww, don’t be like that,” Hanma says against his grumpy pout, nudging their noses together. “Don’t you think I earned a little teasing as payback for your antics today?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. Why else would you have sent Kazutora to get you something to suck on if it wasn’t so you could pretend to blow me in front of him?”
“I sent him out so I could talk to you in private about Baji Keisuke.” Two hands cling to his Hanma’s shirt, keeping him close instead of pushing him away.
“Could’ve told him to step outside and put his thumb up his ass.” Hanma chuckles. “But you wanted to rub it in my face, mm? ‘Cause you know I can’t keep my eyes off you.”
“You’re terribly easy, you know that?”
Hanma plucks the glasses right off his nose and puts them with Kisaki’s homework. They’re just in the way right now. “And you’re the bane of my existence, Kisaki Tetta. I’ve never wanted something so much and worked so hard to get it.”
Kisaki snorts. “You really are obsessed.”
“Bite me~”
He moves in to give him a chance to do it, and Kisaki kisses him back this time. Fingers tug on his shirt, urging him down. He knows what Kisaki wants is to rut on him until he’s finished. He wasn’t lying to Kazutora before when he said it’s really cute, but Hanma thinks they shouldn’t stop here.
Kisaki shifts impatiently on the couch when Hanma doesn’t touch him where he wants. Teeth close on his bottom lip, and Hanma groans because he literally asked for it. He loves it when Kisaki gets aggressive with him, a tongue wiggling its way into his mouth. His dick hangs down between them, saliva cooling on his skin and reminding him how hard he still is.
Since Kisaki was so kind as to let him use his mouth for a few minutes, Hanma should return the favor. He separates from Kisaki’s lips to leave rough kisses down his neck and chest. There are areas he’d like to acquaint himself with more thoroughly, but it’s hard to ignore how his mouth basically waters at the thought of getting his lips around Kisaki’s dick for the first time.
He listens to Kisaki panting while he pulls the zipper down. Eyes bore into his head, but he gets no protest when he tugs the pants off completely. Hanma wonders if there was ever a rule in the first place. Kisaki’s briefs are dark gray, filling up in the front with a small wet spot where the head of his cock is trapped underneath. Hanma’s fingers rub over his clothed dick, and he stares at the sharp contrast of light and dark skin tone at the tops of his thighs where the sun never touches him.
Kisaki sucks in a breath and pushes up into him. Hanma grins and takes his hand away, fingers hooking in the waistband instead. The briefs slide down his legs easily, his cock bouncing free and hitting his lower stomach. Hanma sits between his bent knees and traces light fingertips up his thighs. It earns him a shiver.
“Cute,” he says to the sight spread out in front of him. Kisaki looks irresistible—shirt rumpled and falling to the sides, legs wide open, solid as a rock. Basically begging to be eaten right up.
And yeah, he’s pretty small in Hanma’s hand. He strokes down the shaft, plucking it off his stomach and pointing it in the air. Lowering his head, he swallows him in one go. Kisaki cries out, a surprised noise making its way out of his throat. His breaths are harsh as Hanma sucks on him, tonguing the underside of his cockhead and drinking the precome that drips out.
There’s an urgent tug on his hair, and then he’s being pushed down until his nose meets Kisaki’s stomach. Hanma groans around him, eyes rolling back a little. The tip hardly hits the back of his throat, and Kisaki still tries to go deeper by thrusting up off the couch.
“Fuck,” he spits, and that’s how Hanma knows Kisaki is losing it. He never swears. Too undignified.
Hanma could be drooling on him, who knows. He bobs his head, the grip on his hair more for show than anything. Or just something for Kisaki to hold onto. Hanma feels for his balls, pressing them, rubbing the seam between them. Kisaki moans louder and spreads his legs. An invitation for Hanma’s touch to wander, so it does.
The pad of his thumb rubs circles around Kisaki’s hole, clenched tight and quivering. Fuck, he wants in. Good thing he’s not the type to quit while he’s ahead.
Pulling up, Hanma lets Kisaki’s dick go with a wet pop. It slaps back against his skin, right onto his heaving stomach as Hanma sits back. He licks his lips, eyes dragging up Kisaki’s torso until he finds his flushed cheeks.
“Wishing you could blow your load all over my face?”
“You could’ve done it less messily. I feel like I got slobbered on by a dog,” Kisaki says.
He also doesn’t deny it, so Hanma gets up from the couch knowing exactly what Kisaki is picturing in his head, heavy-lidded eyes following him as he rummages through the cabinet drawers and grabs something.
He watches the red in Kisaki’s cheeks brighten when he sees that it’s lube. Smirking, Hanma settles back on the couch. Kisaki’s knees are still bent, giving him a perfect view of his hard, dripping cock and unused hole.
“You know what’s next, right?” Hanma asks, waving the bottle.
“I’m not a child.”
“Of course you’re not, baby.”
Kisaki clicks his tongue and looks away, grabbing the back of one thigh to hold himself open, just a little more. Hanma could spend the rest of his life on his knees for this boy.
But for now he just teases his rim with a slick finger, tracing around it and testing the give. He has to go slow to coax it into letting him in, then sinks down to the last knuckle. Kisaki is quiet, eyebrows pinching together. Hanma works his finger back and forth a few times before going for two, greedily watching Kisaki’s tight entrance stretch around him.
“You gotta relax for me. I love a snug fit but I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You try relaxing when something of that size is going to try and fit in you,” Kisaki huffs with a pointed glance at Hanma’s dick.
Grinning, Hanma rubs two fingerpads along his walls. “If you want to compliment me, you can just say it.”
Kisaki opens his mouth for something much ruder than a compliment, but interrupts himself with a sharp intake of breath, followed by a moan.
“Oh? Found it.”
Hanma focuses only on that spot, feeling Kisaki clench down on him before loosening up. He has enough space to scissor his fingers now, working him open even more.
Kisaki’s hand flies over the back of the couch and grips the fabric. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he pants, wide pupils staring at the ceiling. Hanma is captivated, can’t look anywhere other than his face while his fingers circle his prostate over and over.
“Shuji, s-stop…”
“How can I? You feel that? You’re sucking me in, it’s like you’re ready for me already.” His other hand rests on Kisaki’s thigh, thumb digging into his soft flesh.
Kisaki lifts his head off the armrest, face blotchy. He’s so wrecked. “Stop or I’ll come.”
Hanma’s cock throbs at the thought. If he can make Kisaki come on just his fingers, it’ll go straight to his head. Dizzy with it, he pulls his fingers out halfway. He’d love to see Kisaki’s face when that happens, but not today.
“That wasn’t too difficult. Now let’s find out if you can come on my cock,” he says, getting a third finger into Kisaki before he can respond.
His head falls back down to the armrest as he groans. It’s tight again. Hanma can barely move, but he rocks his hand until there’s more room to glide in and out of his slippery hole. Kisaki gasps, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his neck. His cock drools all over his stomach.
“Hang in there. You’re doing so well.”
Hanma rubs his thigh and pulls out a second later. Kisaki’s entrance closes around nothing as soon as his fingers are gone. Maybe an indication that he’s not loose enough yet, but Hanma will let him decide for himself.
He gives his cock a few pumps with lube, feeling the jolt of pleasure spread out from between his hips. Fuck, he’s too excited for this. Grabbing Kisaki’s waist, he tugs him down until his head is flat on the couch, their hips lining up. Hanma angles forward and presses a hand to the armrest, watching Kisaki underneath him as he prods his hole.
“What about the condom?” Kisaki asks in a rush. He glances down nervously, and Hanma laughs.
“Don’t got any.”
Kisaki sighs, and then sighs again when Hanma dips down to kiss him.
“You don’t trust me? I’m clean.”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?”
“I’d never hurt you,” he murmurs through another kiss.
When he pushes up and nudges forward again, the head of his cock slips in. Kisaki clenches his jaw, grabbing Hanma’s wrist and digging his nails in. He squeezes harder and harder the more he’s filled, and Hanma bottoms out surrounded by heat.
Around his waist, Kisaki’s thighs shake. The little tremors are distracting, and Hanma pictures grabbing his legs and folding him in half. Kisaki is probably pretty flexible.
He lets out a groan of satisfaction as he grinds his hips into Kisaki’s ass. His body is like a vice around Hanma’s dick, squeezing him so hard he might not even be able to pull out. When he tries, the drag around his shaft is slow and delicious and makes both of them moan. He gets everything but the tip out, then goes back in just as slow. It feels like he’s carving a path for himself in Kisaki’s body.
“That’s it, baby, nice and easy,” he coos, eyeing the vein popping out from Kisaki’s sweaty neck. “You feel so fucking good.”
“S-Slow down…” Kisaki gasps.
Poor Kisaki. They’ve barely even started. Hanma was hardly moving to begin with, but he decides to stop going all the way in and out in favor of something else. He sinks in as deep as he can go and stays buried there, only giving shallow little thrusts, balls tapping Kisaki’s ass.
Kisaki mewls for it, writhing uncomfortably on the couch, toes curling. Without having to ask, Hanma knows he’s just barely hitting his prostate. That’s gotta be frustrating. Kisaki twists under him like he doesn’t know if he wants to move away or get closer. Between his legs, he’s still leaking.
“If you need more, just say it.” The next thrust Hanma gives him is a little faster, a little harder.
Kisaki’s hand detaches from around Hanma’s wrist to clap over his own mouth. He moans behind his fingers, starting glassy-eyed at some middle distance between Hanma’s head and the ceiling. Hanma makes the same move again, and then again, drunk on how Kisaki so clearly loves it.
“Mmph!”
“Ah, don’t hide your screams from me.” Hanma grabs his wrist and joins it with the other, pinning both hands on the armrest above Kisaki’s head. He resituates, circling his hips, and pushes hard into him. “I told you to say it, didn’t I? If you want more, I need to hear it. Hell, the whole hideout needs to hear it, so don’t hold back. I’m definitely not.”
Kisaki has no way to muffle himself when Hanma starts up again. His back arches off the couch as a moan is punched out of him, arms tugging against their hold with nowhere to go. The way his ass squeezes down around Hanma makes him moan too, and they fill the small, dusty, sweltering room with their harsh breaths and the sound of skin slapping against skin, the squelching of lube. Springs in the old couch faintly squeak in time with Hanma’s thrusts.
“A-Ahhn… Shuji…” His name in Kisaki’s throat gets a few extra syllables fucked into it. Steely eyes closed, Kisaki’s breathy moans tick up in pitch as he loses himself. Finally he lets himself have it.
Hanma stares down at him, panting, in love with how vulnerable Kisaki looks. Bottom lip tugged between teeth, eyebrows pinched together. Hanma feels it when the last of Kisaki’s resistance fizzles out into nothing, and his body welcomes the sharp snaps in and out, in and out. Hanma moans on the next slide in. He wants to possess him.
He releases Kisaki’s arms, red fingerprints around his wrists, and leans down. Kisaki’s hips flex with the movement, knees and feet in the air as Hanma claims him in a hungry kiss. To hell with letting him scream out in the open. Hanma needs this more.
Arms wrap around his neck, fingers in his hair. Kisaki tilts his head into the kiss and sucks on Hanma’s tongue when it invites itself into his mouth. He’s good at sucking on things, they’ve both already learned today.
Hanma gets his hands under Kisaki’s shoulders and holds him in place. His thrusts slow down so he can reach deeper, and Kisaki’s moans devolve into slurred whimpers that are muffled in the kiss. He tastes like coconut, and Hanma feels the sticky blue transfer onto his own tongue as he drinks down every single sound Kisaki gives him.
Kisaki pulls away from the kiss and turns his head to the side to breathe. His eyes slit open, fogged over, and his fingers leave Hanma’s hair to skate down his back. His lips are red and shiny from use, reminding Hanma how good it felt to fuck that mouth. He catches the glint of Kisaki’s earring in the light, the bob in his throat when he swallows thickly. Bangs cover his damp forehead and stick to it, his hair having loosened from its styling.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Hanma hears himself say. It just slips out, but the second it registers to both of them, he realizes he’s thought so for a while. “So pretty, and all mine. How’d I get so lucky. You’re my whole world.”
The last part gets whispered into Kisaki’s neck. There’s a gasp next to his ear, Kisaki’s hands pausing on his back before trailing up his spine again. He rolls up into Hanma, cock grinding on his stomach and pulling a moan from both of them.
“You’re all mine, actually,” Kisaki says with a hum, petting his shoulder blades. “You want to hear me say it? Fuck me harder, Shuji. Take me like you need to prove a point. You’ll ruin your reputation if you start getting all emotional on me now.”
Hanma chuckles, giddy from this fluttering in his gut and having no idea what the fuck to do about it. He rubs his nose in Kisaki’s neck before pushing up on his hands. Kisaki’s blushing face comes into view. Is he even redder than before?
“Can you say it again while looking me in the eyes?” His fingers brush along Kisaki’s jaw, thumb tracing his lower lip.
The tongue that pokes out to taste him is hardly blue anymore. Hanma pushes his thumb into his mouth, rubbing over the flat of his tongue, tracing his tiny little incisors. Kisaki’s lips close around him the same way his hand closes around Hanma’s wrist.
All while maintaining charged eye contact, Kisaki sucks on him, pulls him out, and says, “Fuck me hard. Make me come first.”
Hanma’s cock throbs in want. It should be ridiculous that he’s being ordered around by someone who was a virgin a few minutes ago. But Kazutora was right. And Kisaki is right. Hanma feels owned and it feels so good. He’s so wrapped around that dainty little finger that he might as well be wearing a leash.
“Anything for you, baby,” he drawls, then steals a kiss.
Kisaki always gets what he wants. Hanma delivers on his command, hips pulling back only to slam into his boyfriend’s ass hard enough for even the couch to groan. Kisaki’s gasp is wet and muffled by Hanma’s tongue, nails biting into the skin on his back. He’s not gentle about it either—it probably draws blood.
“Someone oughta declaw this feisty kitten,” he hisses, sitting up and out of Kisaki’s grasp.
Now, Kisaki’s legs are just in the way. He wants to be fucked properly? He needs to give Hanma the room to do it.
It’s nothing to get both hands under Kisaki’s knees and push them up. Hanma folds him in half, laying his palms flat against the backs of Kisaki’s thighs. The movement really stretches his hole—Hanma can feel it around the base of his shaft where he’s still buried, getting the life squeezed out of him.
He gives Kisaki no time to protest the position. It does everything he hates, making him exposed and vulnerable and submissive and humiliated. But Hanma thinks he’s never looked hotter, knees by his ears, gripping the couch, cock and balls squished between his legs. This position basically begs Hanma to use him like a hole.
Leaning his weight on his hands to keep Kisaki down, Hanma pounds into him with the singular goal of making him come. If Kisaki starts screaming, that’s just a byproduct.
He manages to keep it down for the first few minutes, clamping his lips shut and only letting out garbled, hoarse groans. But it doesn’t take long for Hanma to hit his prostate again, and he abuses the spot over and over, egged on by the moans that seem to rip themselves out of Kisaki’s throat. His cock is flushed so dark it almost looks painful. Hanma kind of wants to take pity on him, stroke his fingers down the leaking shaft, but he doesn’t have to. Kisaki asked to get fucked, not pampered. Maybe another time.
The sporadic squeezing around his own cock is driving him crazy. He’s never had it so good.
“Hah… A-Ah…!” Kisaki moans above the sounds of Hanma’s panting, the rhythmic slap of their bodies. He stares at the ceiling, and Hanma thinks he can see the stars reflected in his eyes when he arches and comes with a full-body shudder.
The backs of his hands are tense and white-kuckled where they grab at the couch cushions. Hanma fucks him through it, fast and deep and steady, even after his cock is done spurting all over his stomach and the insides of his thighs. And when he starts to soften, Hanma speeds up.
It pulls a groan out of Kisaki’s throat. He sounds drunk, slurred. His body goes slack under Hanma, head thrown back as he struggles to catch his breath. A wave of something greedy and possessive washes all over Hanma’s limbs. Slamming in as deep as he can get, taking Kisaki’s body as his own, Hanma revels in the wild heartbeat around his cock and comes with a low and slow groan.
Pumping lazily in and out, he fills Kisaki’s ass and will pretend it’s an accident later. Didn’t mean to, just felt too good, take it as a compliment. Forgiveness instead of permission.
He could spend all day in here. But he doubts Kisaki would go for round two, so he pulls out and indulges in the sight of his mess spilling out of his boyfriend’s puffy red rim.
“Mm, fuck,” he breathes, releasing Kisaki’s legs so he can unfold. His dick gives a twitch.
“What?” He sounds irritated and fucked-out, pushing up on one elbow. His other arm comes up so he can swipe his wrist across his forehead.
Hanma shakes his head and grins. “You’re a luxury, baby.”
“Whatever that means. Probably something perverted, knowing you,” Kisaki grumbles, pulling himself up. He only makes it halfway before he flinches, his face scrunching up in discomfort. “Ow.”
“C’mere.” Hanma sits on the other end of the couch and pulls Kisaki in by the arms. He settles in Hanma’s lap, straddling him, as Hanma wraps his arms around his waist.
“At least make yourself decent first,” Kisaki says, but he gets comfortable with his knees spread across Hanma’s hips. The room is no cooler than it was before they started, and not even their cooling sweat makes it any more bearable. But Hanma still hugs him close, letting their sweat mingle.
“I’m decent enough to be around my boyfriend,” he comments, one hand slipping down to pat Kisaki’s bare ass.
Arms winding around Hanma’s neck, Kisaki breathes a quiet and tired laugh. “There’s not a decent thing about you.”
“I think that’s what you like most about me.” Hanma leans in, murmuring against Kisaki’s mouth. “You don’t have to confirm it. I already know all about it.”
They kiss comfortably for a few minutes. Kisaki is so soft and pliant in Hanma’s arms, letting him trace around his rim just to feel how wet and sticky he left it. Kisaki shivers despite the heat and pulls back with a slow peck. He twirls Hanma’s earring around his finger.
“You’re passionate.”
“Hm?” Hanma hums, lips busy around Kisaki’s chin and jaw.
“That’s what I like most about you.”
Hanma’s first instinct is to deny it. He’s not passionate about anything. He lives life not caring what he’s doing as long as he’s having fun. But the way he gets all gushy just from hearing Kisaki say something nice about him is evidence against that. Sometimes it’s not so clear. Yeah, they’re dating, but sometimes Hanma has to wonder if Kisaki actually likes him. Getting it in words makes something in his chest swell. So he can agree he’s passionate, as long as it’s Kisaki they’re talking about.
He smirks. “Don’t get all emotional now. You have a reputation~”
“You’re hazardous to my health,” Kisaki deadpans as he crawls off Hanma’s lap in search of his pants.
He dresses, finds his glasses, and tries to make his hair look the same as it did earlier. Hanma watches him plop down in front of his homework again and can’t help but laugh.
He puts his own clothes in order and decides he can go out with his hair down. Anyone who heard what went on in this room will know why.
Ditching his Valhalla jacket because it’s too fucking hot, he dips down for a parting kiss. He kind of misses the coconut flavor. He’ll have to buy Kisaki more popsicles while it’s still warm enough to suck on them. Spoil him rotten.
“Stay a while. I’ll walk you home after the meeting,” he says, then heads into the arcade to gather the chess pieces.