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It was a lazy awakening for Kei. The dawn light coming through the blinds warmed him up like a cat in its leisure, but warmer still was the bare skin he had his arm wrapped around and cheek pressed up against. Kei loved that his boyfriend ran hot at night, leaving him to shuck his shirt to some far corner of the room; leaving him nude but for a much too thin piece of fabric.
And Kei knew just how thin it was with his usual morning “predicament” testing its integrity.
He adored any time he happened to wake up before their alarm could wrench him from his sleep. In his opinion, a quick fuck was the best way to start out the day. Of course, Kei was typically of the inclination that making love takes time—time to draw out every moan, every call of his name, every modicum of pleasure possible from his lover. But on occasions such as these…
The body had lost some of its muscle since the days of routine practice in high school only to be cushioned by a thin layer of fat due to his nervous snacking during midterms. Kei delighted in sinking his fingers into the pliant flesh of his abdomen, feeling every minute deviation in his otherwise flawless skin and the downy trail of hair leading down his stomach. And being so flushed in the sunlight Kei could feel his fingers melting right into it.
No, this was an appetizer. Though short and savory, it was piquant enough to make his mouth water for more, waiting all day, agonizing over the plethora of pleasures he must get out of his system. It served as a little reminder of what was to come at the end of that day, a little taste of ecstasy. Yes, this was the ideal way to start the day.
Ring-ring-ring…
Until that goddamn, son-of-a-bitch alarm clock brought hell to an otherwise lovely, sensual morning. The scent of sulfur and brimstone was practically wafting through the air.
“Mmm…” Tadashi groaned in his waking as Kei ripped the clock’s cord from its outlet and hurled it toward the far side of the room. “What was that?” Tadashi asked, jolting at the clang of it hitting—and likely denting—the wall.
“Nothing, baby,” Kei said into the nape of his boyfriend’s neck, nuzzling into the sweet scent of his shampoo, still lingering in his hair from the day before. “Just a bird.”
“I’m not stupid, Tsukki.” The old pet name did not stop Kei from wrapping his long arms around him as he tried to get up from their bed, catching on him as if seaweed on a man emerging from the ocean. Why not sink back in, succumb to the ebbing tide, water so salty it’s turned sweet?
“Don’t leave just yet.” If either of their friends had seen them in this moment (or even any of their acquaintances, at that) they would bewilder at such a strange twist of nature. Tadashi, so firm and outwardly annoyed at his boyfriend, who in turn was the yearning man. Like two cats walking about on their hind legs.
“C’mon—five minutes?” he continued pleading. “Throw me a bone, here. We both know you can be quick.” With a sharp tug, Kei pulled the other back into bed. He pulled Tadashi in close, bodies flush against one another, his yet-clothed hardness slotting into the crevice of Tadashi’s yet-clothed behind. He knew how to play this. A kiss, a nibble, a scratch of his day-old stubble against his lover’s neck, all to drive Tadashi wild. He knew how to draw him in.
“We both know that you’re—ah—that you’re the quick one.”
Tadashi was still getting words out. Kei must not have been doing enough.
Kei reached his hand (the one not currently roaming and raking over Tadashi’s torso) behind him, opening their nightstand drawer and rummaging around he felt the cylindrical bottle of lube. Ever so practiced, he flipped the lid open, turned it around, and squeezed a healthy amount onto his palm all with one hand.
Once he had coated his fingers, he slipped the waistband of Tadashi’s boxers just enough to tease a fingertip around his entrance, circling it briefly, before delving in. He may have been tall but he wasn’t in the least bit clumsy, so he used that dexterity to reach inside—not too deep, but not too shallow, either—finding the little spot within he knew would shut his lover up.
“Maybe so,” Kei said, his gravely morning voice harmonizing with the deep groan elicited from Tadashi’s throat. “But don’t pretend like I haven’t convinced you already.”
Tadashi moaned again, just as firm and persistent as Kei’s maneuvering inside him. He soon covered his mouth with his own hand.
“Just don’t let the neighbors hear again,” he huffed against his palm.
A light chuckle was the only response—that and Kei swiftly slicking himself with the remaining lubricant and sheathing his length entirely inside his boyfriend. No promises, Kei thought as the tight warmth enveloped him.
He had been inside his partner many, many times before. Countless mornings Kei had awoken Tadashi with such lust (and, on slightly less common occasions, the reverse), but not once had he ever thought it in the least bit mundane. It’s a popular icebreaker: stuck on a deserted island, which book would you bring to occupy your time for the rest of your life? Some might say something long, maybe something dear to their heart, maybe something religious.
As for Kei? His Count of Monte Cristo, his epistolary of love letters, his Holy Bible was and always will be Tadashi. He knew every word, every verse, could anticipate every beat, but that only made his satisfaction clearer. If he were marooned with that book, he’d burn any ship trying to save him home.
Kei would be happy to read Tadashi over and over again for the rest of his days.
“Kei,” Tadashi said between gasps, halfway desperate and halfway annoyed. Kei could tell he was close just by the pattern of his breathing and the way his muscles started going slack. He knew they needed to finish up soon (there was only so much tardiness he could explain away), but the man himself wasn’t too far behind either, each sharp thrust taking more effort yet drawing him perpetually closer to that edge. And Kei knew exactly how to turn that page.
He reached around Tadashi’s front—so smooth and sly he didn’t even notice—and circled his fingers around the neglected hardness. The weight of it was, in an odd sense, comforting. Its slight curve molded the bend of his fingers, and the skin there was softer than anywhere else (and there wasn’t an inch of Tadashi’s body Kei hadn’t graced with his touch).
Just one, two, three flicks of his wrists and it was there—and they were there. First the throbbing of Tadashi’s shaft, rhythm matching that of the liquid shooting into Kei’s palm. Then the familiar tightening of that ring of muscle as Tadashi convulsed in slight jolts of ecstasy, the pulses bringing Kei into his own peak, dominoes falling one after the other.
The two bodies were stuck together with sweat, nothing in the air but their panting respirations and a sore miasma.
“Kei, did you just finish inside?” Tadashi asked as he pulled back the covers, and Kei could indeed see the dribble of white making its way down the curve of his ass as he pulled his now-softened self out of the other.
Kei wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. “In my defense—“
“And you made me get it all over the sheets again,” Tadashi said before he could finish answering. He picked up his phone from the other nightstand to check the time. “Shit, I don’t know if we have enough time to wash that off you.”
Kei dragged his hand from where it still lay around the other, then without breaking the contact of their eyes licked a wide stripe through the white mess on his palm. “But I suppose we saved some time on breakfast, don’t you think?”