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“This drink is from the gentleman in the back.”
As the waiter sets down the colorful cocktail, the clinking of the glass against the table causes you to look up from your book. Thanking him quietly, you reach for the drink as he leaves.
It’s cool in your hand, your skin warmed by the Okinawan sun that shone down on you for a little too long, earlier when you had fallen asleep on a comfortable beach lounger.
Lifting it to your lips, you tilt it until the liquid flushes away the feeling of dehydration that has been settling inside your mouth. You had been too absorbed in the story to notice that you’d finished your last drink about twenty minutes ago, the empty glass standing idly on your table.
It’s a busy night within the little bar. Tonight marks your sixth evening in Okinawa, your fourth one at the Snapdragon – a colorful place you had found tucked away into a side street in Naha. It’s cozy, mostly popular with the locals and it was a secret location a colleague of yours had told you about at work before you had left Tokyo.
The air inside is humid, just as it has been outside these days. Cool satin rests against your skin, your dress accentuating your bodyline without clinging onto you uncomfortably. One of the straps keeps slipping off your shoulder but you don’t mind it much. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed by a little adjustment.
Whenever your hand moves to tug the strap onto your shoulder again, you feel his eyes on you a little more intensely.
Ever since you’ve entered the bar, his eyes have been glued to you. Obvious enough for you to tell, yet still discreet enough for no one to raise any complaints. The owner wouldn’t like for his patrons to feel any discomfort.
Glancing over your shoulder, you meet his gaze. Dark brown hues are set on you expectantly and there’s an excited glint to them as you shoot him a charming smile before turning away again. You don’t want to give him too much of your attention yet.
Just enough to do the trick.
Noiselessly, he walks over to your table, having taken the subtle invitation. “May I offer you my company?” he asks and you huff, holding back a laugh at his self-assured tone as you nod. How generous of him to grace you with his presence. Your book is still resting on the table, paper spread to display one of the many short stories within your collection of Anton Chekhov’s works.
“The Chameleon doesn’t seem like a regular pick for holiday literature,” the man in front of you muses and you finally spare him a proper look-over. He’s tall, his inky black hair falling over his brows and framing the lines of his face. The shirt he is wearing is one that matches yours – satin, but the patterns on it are a much bolder choice than your monochromatic dress.
“Why would you assume that I’m on holiday?” you ask, raising a brow at the man, sounding a little defensive.
He taps the surface of the table with one finger, drawing your attention to the tattoos that dance along the slender digits. “It’s obvious. You stand out,” he answers, his tone light. The way his eyes are fixated on your face makes you feel as if he can see right through you.
“How so?”
“You just do. At least to me,” he replies simply, ordering himself a drink while the waiter passes by your table once more. “Also, no local would buy any of those bracelets.”
Pouting, you play with the little bracelets on your right wrist with your left hand. They were cute – a small and easy-to-acquire souvenir to take back as proof of your little trip. You wonder if they look tacky to locals.
“Now… You don’t seem like a local yourself, seeing as how the people here know how to protect themselves from sunburn,” you shoot back and the slight flush across the high points of his cheeks and his nose only gets more pronounced when he laughs.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just curious,” he tells you earnestly. Tilting his head, he asks, “If your status as a tourist is too private of a fact, then would asking for your name also be me overstepping your boundaries?” That smile of his is disarmingly cute and the way his hair falls into his vision makes you want to brush it out of the way for him.
“Usually,” you bring your drink to your lips for a sip before putting the glass down again and leaning forward onto the table, “people offer their name first before asking someone else for theirs.” The look you shoot him is supposed to make you look a little more firm but the genuine mirth on his expression causes you to purse your lips in an attempt to hold back your smile.
“Yoichi,” he tells you, his foot bumping against yours under the table. You don’t move away. Instead, you offer him your name in return, moving closer to share it with him as if it is supposed to be a secret between you, your pointer finger circling the rim of your glass.
“Anything in particular that pulled you to this place?” you ask, watching as he orders another round of drinks for your table. The drinks he repeats off of the menu sport names so ridiculous that you wonder if it’s the recent Western influence on the scene or if the owner is perhaps some kind of eccentric.
“The climate, the beach,” Yoichi answers, his fingers tapping across the table until they bump into yours, his gaze trailing along. “Certain people,” he finishes, glancing up at you once more, offering you a charming smile.
It doesn’t take long for your conversation to derail. You tell him about how lunch made your tummy ache because it was so delicious that you’d eaten way too much, he tells you about his search for local snacks and what kind of odd sweets he had found.
The number of drinks you order is a mystery to you, just as is the bill at the end of it all when Yoichi sneaks off to pay while you’re gone for a short bathroom break.
When you’re making your way out of the bar and onto the street, Yoichi leans against you, arm slung over your shoulder as he nuzzles against the top of your head. It’s a struggle to walk like this, as both of you hold onto each other, a mess of giggles and slurred words.
You don’t know how you manage to fight your way back to the apartment but you thankfully do so unscathed.
Before you can even try to open the door, your back meets the sturdy wood as your companion pins you against it. His lips find yours rather haphazardly, black strands brushing against your forehead as he leans down, his tongue eager to explore your mouth.
A muffled gasp leaves you and your arms wind themselves around his middle as you stumble. You’re glad he still had enough coordination to put his hand at the back of your head. Had he not, you would have banged your head against the door pretty harshly.
“The keys,” you pant between kisses, a soft moan leaving you when his thigh finds its way between your legs, pushing against you so insistently that you soon end up on your tiptoes. Yoichi’s breath is warm as it fans across your face once he backs away just the slightest bit.
His gaze is hazy, his lips a mess – a result of your lipstick. Dark brown eyes search yours as if you’ve just asked him something incomprehensible and he looks almost a little lost. It would be adorable if you weren’t feeling like you were close to bursting.
Swiftly, your hand finds its way into the pocket of his pants and he hisses, pushing his hips closer to you. Effectively, your hand gets stuck in there at an awkward angle and you try to push him back just a little. He had put the key in there before you left the apartment earlier to play around… You think so, at least.
“Yoichi,” you complain between kisses and the sigh that leaves him sends heat crawling down your spine. His lips are on yours again, his tongue invading your mouth and the taste of the ridiculously sweet drink he had earlier mingles with whatever fruity drink you had.
“Say my name again,” he urges breathlessly and you feel him smile against your lips when you groan impatiently. Somehow managing to fish out the key, you twist around to push it into the lock and turn it. Before the lock can click to signify the mechanism having opened, Yoichi is turning you around again, hands finding their way to the back of your thighs before he lifts you up and pushes the door open.
He stumbles his way inside, almost causing you to bump your head against the doorframe, which rips a startled squeal from your lips. It’s muffled halfway through, once his lips find yours again and your back meets the wall in the hallway. The door closes, courtesy of his foot pushing it closed.
The journey to the bed seems much too long as the both of you help each other discard your clothing on the way there. A trail of fabric follows you and your laughter echoes within the walls of the small flat you had booked for this holiday. Cool sheets rub against your back once you’re settled on top of the big bed, offering sweet relief for your warm skin.
Yoichi’s face is buried against your throat, eagerly suckling and kissing your warm skin. His fingers press into the flesh of your waist, an appreciative hum leaving his lips.
When he leans back and sits on his heels to gaze down at you while he’s hovering over you, it’s just bright enough inside the room to make out the hazy look on his face.
His cheeks are flushed, his naked torso heaving as if he has exerted himself terribly, and that boyish grin is not on his face anymore. At least for a moment, until your eyes meet and he chuckles breathlessly.
“What?” he asks, grabbing your hips and hiking your bottom onto his lap. Slowly, he trails his fingers along your thighs, delighting in the way you squirm at his touch. “Why are you looking at me like that, hm?”
The familiar, playful tone of his voice is so sugary sweet that it causes goosebumps to erupt all over your body. You glance down at where your panties – the only article of clothing covering you now – rub against the front of his pants. You can feel the damp spot on them.
“You’re handsome,” you mumble, not sure if you feel dizzy as a result of the alcohol or if you’re simply drunk off of him, “and I really need you to take off your pants.”
Yoichi laughs; a soft, airy sound and then he leans back over you. His chest presses against yours and the way your nipples rub against his bare skin tugs a sweet sigh from your lips. Once his pants are off – not without a little fumbling – and he’s left in his black briefs, he settles against you properly. Your legs move to wrap around his hips with practiced ease as his lips find yours once more.
Languidly, he kisses you, his tongue tangling with yours as he licks into your mouth, seemingly unable to get enough. It’s greedy but slow, all-consuming but lined with a comforting familiarity. His hips grind into yours and you feel him smile against your lips as he swallows your moans.
“Feels good,” he murmurs, catching your lower lip between his teeth, pulling on it teasingly, and then letting go.
“It’ll feel even better if you fuck me,” comes your promise, your nails raking across his back. With the way his hips stutter against yours, a grin makes its way onto your lips. Lazily, he ruts against you, rubbing himself against you and pulling sweet sounds from you.
A frustrated groan leaves him as he plops down on you, not caring about the muffled grunt that leaves you when his weight settles on top of your body. “I know,” he mumbles defeatedly, almost whining as his lips trail along your neck. “I really want to fuck you, I promise but–”
“You can’t get it up?” you tease. You had figured, intimately familiar with how it should feel to be grinding against his hard cock.
“Shit,” he cusses, causing you to tremble with laughter underneath him. “Stop laughing.”
Now he’s whining.
Your laughter morphs into a soft hiss when he bites down on your shoulder in protest. Squeezing your arms around him, you hold him close, pressing your lips against the top of his head. “I told you not to drink too much,” you tease.
With mock annoyance, he clicks his tongue before he buries his face against your neck. “I had it all planned out. Was going to the cool guy at the bar who takes you home and gives you the best night of your life,” Yoichi sulks, leaning into your touch when you run your fingers through his hair.
“Don’t worry. I still think you’re cool – even with erectile dysfunction.”
That earns you a glare which doesn’t help at all as giggles bubble up within your chest.
Your sides hurt from all the laughing you’ve done tonight but the mood eases back into the dizzying tension between you, as his lips make their way down to your chest. Finding one nipple, he wraps his lips around it, teeth tugging on it a little less than gently.
A throaty moan leaves you, your toes curling when his fingers tug your panties upwards at the front, causing the fabric to rub against you almost uncomfortably, the friction against your clit a touch too much.
“I can just tide you over like this until I can fill you up properly,” Yoichi murmurs, tattooed fingers pushing the delicate lace to the side, continuing to find their way between your folds. “And if this isn’t satisfactory, we can just start our little act all over again tomorrow,” he promises.