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Kento's body is like clockwork.
He doesn't need to roll to the side to check the time; he knows it's round six in the morning and that in about thirty minutes his body will demand breakfast and coffee. Blinking the remains of sleep away, he turns the other way instead and looks straight at you, still sound asleep, head resting on his arm.
You've kicked the blanket away and curled into fetal position, a faint trail of light sipping through loosely drawn curtains has you scrunching your nose. Kento fights the temptation of kissing it, instead he slowly turns your way until he's wrapped around you, chest pressed to your back. You stir and fill the crevices he's left for you, your breathing slow and steady, and your body not as warm as he hoped. He gathers the blanket and pulls it on top of you both before finally sealing the spoon and nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
Your scent is sweet and intimate, a mixture of your shower gel, sweat, and faint aroma of your shared sheets.
"Morning," you mumble, eyes still closed from what he can see from his spot. "You tickle."
Arms wrapped around your middle, Kento rubs his scruffy cheek against your sensitive skin. You twitch and laugh mid-yawn, playfully dig an elbow into his torso, "That wasn't a request for more."
He continues the torture with his lips, tracing down to the curve of your shoulder. Using his nose, he moves your shirt out of the way and kisses your bare skin. His hands follow suit, wandering through the strip of your uncovered tum and pushing the hem of your underwear more and more down, until his fingers brush against your pubes.
"You tickle!" you repeat, giggling and squirming, and rubbing your ass against his crotch. Kento's inner beast has been silent so far, but the pressure and rhythmic movement stirs it awake.
He stifles a groan against the back of your neck—and lightly grazes it with teeth.
"Someone's needy early today," you try to scoff, your voice guttural and much lower than usual. It's sleepy and lazy, and sprinkled with your own interest.
Kento sneaks a leg between yours, thick thigh pressed to your cunt. He stills there, just flexes muscles, testing the waters and soaking in your most intimate warmth. You squeeze him and adjust your position, not rubbing yourself against yet but leaving him no doubt you will if he teases you long enough.
Peaceful, lazy mornings are a treat. Kento is used to being up early, much earlier than you, and doesn't linger in bed. A kiss brushed to your temple, an extra squeeze around your middle, and he leaves you alone in the deliciously warm, tangled sheets. On the rare days when he allows himself to sleep in, you don't dare to take his well-deserved rest away and sneak out before your stirring could steal it. Being in his arms is always tempting but so is having an opportunity to return the countless favors he's doing for you and serving him coffee and breakfast.
You can always have your share of cuddles—and more—when you settle to sleep.
But the perfect circumstances have happened, and Kento doesn't let the chance slip away, with quite voracity to it. His hold is not overwhelming but it's tight, no easy way to slip out unless you explicitly ask. His hands keep seeking contact with your bare skin, once teasing your stomach, once wandering under your shirt and kneading your chest. It's gentle, as it is with Kento when he's not lost in the sensation yet, but his true intentions are palpable even at the lightest brush.
And so is his bulge, slowly but steadily hardening against your ass.
"Good morning, my love." His voice is low, rumbling straight from his chest, and it breaks a little at the last word when he finally indulges and humps you. Thick arms squeeze you tighter and closer, too shortly for your building-up moan to peal though—his patience finally snaps, and he reaches for what he's craving.
He slips your underwear down to your knees, fingers tracing and kneading their way back up across your thighs, until he's cupping your hot pussy. Breath hitching and shaking, Kento nuzzles his nose into your hair, right above its line on the nape of your neck, and spreads your wet lips with a single finger, then nudges your clit with its tip.
You survived the temptation of getting off on his thigh, but your patience is too thin to withstand his hand. Lazily, you sway your hips and rub your cunt against his palm, meeting the dry thrust of his bulge mid-way.
Kento's brain is melting. There's still sleepiness at the back of it, and the need to squeeze and kiss you rivals the one to ravish you. Your soft moans and drowsy sighs are the sweetest music to his ears; he wants to hear more and dreads to overstep the thin line that will change its tone, equally sweet but not quite the same. You're so sweet and docile in his arms now, squirming and ticklish, and melting for him, perfectly filling the crevices of his heart. He sips warmth from your skin, sinks fingers between your folds and deeper, curling them until you mewl, and the melody of your voice teeters on the verge of the sweetest timbre. Your nipple is deliciously hard against the palm of his other hand, sneaking under your shirt and rolling it over your chest. He pinches it with sadistic care, relishing in the way your back arches for more.
"You're adorable." He whispers when one of your soft moans melts with a yawn. His pajama pants are soaked now with precum and stick uncomfortably to his burning erection, but he lingers with a relief for himself. He doesn't want to let go of you, not even for a few needed seconds, not yet when you're so erotic, tangled in his arms and warm sheets, stretching like a lazy cat and scrunching your nose whenever your face ends up in the sunspot.
Kento will never have enough of your morning beauty, he's sure of that. He loves your messy hair and barely open eyes, and all the awkward positions you take right before you wake up. If he had time, he would stay by your side just to watch you, ignoring how badly he craves to roll on top of you and listen to your sighs as he nestles inside of you. He keeps the stolen afterimage of how he found you by his side for the day to come, until he can feed his eyes with your smile in the afternoon.
Those sights belong only to him.
Kento's body is like clockwork but you're a crumb able to sneak in between the minute hands and stop him in his tracks with only one path he can follow: you. He can't sate himself with shy touches only anymore; whining for you, he finally lets go of you and pulls his pants down. You groan in unison when he rubs his bare, wet erection against your ass, and finally angles himself right against your slit.
You're ready. You seek him yourself, lift one leg and reach between your thighs, guiding him towards the entrance, so he wouldn't have to let go of you again.
"I'm sorry," he's apologizing, not sure himself why and for what, maybe for how he can think of only one thing now, and how harshly he fills you up. He throbs hard and his balls tighten, threatening to spill inside of you as soon as your heat engulfs him—so he stills immediately and wraps arms around you so hard he surely squeezes some breath out of you.
It's so hot and easeful, and in this moment, cradling you close and feeling every spasm of your slick walls, Kento is the happiest man alive. You're his, so painfully his he almost cries into the crook of your neck, but your scent and sweet, vibrant hum you let out when he tickles you with his unshaven cheek, soothes him and turns the switch in his brain from the feral, brutal need to the lazy, sleepy bliss that soon swallows him whole.
You reach behind and run your fingers through his hair, and he lets out a sound as close to purring as a human is capable of.
"Can we stay like this?", you ask a question he's not able to ask. He nods and kisses the sweet curve of your shoulder as he thrusts into you one more time for the best, deepest angle, and finally melts against your back.
The sunspot finally crawls away from the pillows and lets you completely still as well. Light, cool wind brushes against your uncovered shoulders and has him nuzzling into you even closer, no ounce of shared warmth able to escape from his embrace. It's too early for the noise of the city to drown out the bird songs; their little chirps are the last Kento hears before he, soothed with your breath and pulse and warmth squeezing him tight, lets himself drift into the state between dreams and reality.
Six in the morning, coffee and breakfast, and stock quotes, and shower, and email check: all be gone. You are his, and he is yours, and that's all he ever needed and wanted.