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"Drink," Shouta said, voice quiet and neutral as always. One of his hands held a glass of water to Toshinori's lips, the other lifted and supported Toshinori's head so he didn't choke.
Even the concept of protesting, of insisting that he could hold his own head up even though at this point he decidedly could not, had fled Toshinori's mind a long time ago. He was aware of his body as a buzzing hum, the places where it came into contact with the sheets, the ropes, and most of all, Shouta, vibrating almost too intensely to be borne. He drank.
"Good," Shouta said, and set the glass of water on the nightstand. He lowered Toshinori's head and dragged his blunt fingernails across the plane of his chest. Though Shouta was touching Toshinori lightly, the tracks of his nails vanishing almost as soon as they appeared, Toshinori whimpered. He didn't know how long it had been. He'd lost track of his orgasms, of time, of everything beyond this room and the man by his side. And still Shouta touched him, wringing more pleasure out of Toshinori than he thought his body capable of producing.
Shouta's nails skated lower, just to the right of the edges of Toshinori's scar. Skin that normally felt dull and muted from lost nerves and thick scar tissue felt electric, raw, scraped open with an intensity that bordered on overwhelming. Toshinori whimpered again.
"It's almost too much for you, isn't it?" Shouta asked, and his tone of voice was cuttingly conversational, as if his fingers weren't skimming closer and closer to Toshinori's groin, as if his fingers hadn't been wrapped around Toshinori's dick only a few minutes prior. "But I'm sure you can come a few more times."
Toshinori lacked Shouta's confidence in the matter. But then, it seemed Shouta sometimes knew more about Toshinori's body and how to get it to respond than Toshinori himself did. Regardless, he was utterly at Shouta's mercy, pliant and willing in the younger hero's hands.
And what hands they were.
Toshinori never appreciated the strength and stamina required for Shouta to fling himself and other people around with his capture weapon all night quite as much as he did when he was subject to the attentions of Shouta's hands. Shouta's fingernails glided over Toshinori's hip, and then suddenly both of his palms were pressing into the meat of Toshinori's thigh, pushing and massaging and drawing a strangled groan from Toshinori's throat. His muscles were sore and aching, but not with their usual combination of tension and strain. This was a sweeter ache, one that came from the full-body exhaustion of coming over and over again and the shivery aftereffects of several of Shouta's massages. Several times now Shouta had used Toshinori's refractory period to knead his muscles into quivering goo, and it seemed Shouta was intent on turning Toshinori entirely liquid before this was over.
Shouta let his thumb trail over Toshinori's length, a movement both casual and unmistakably deliberate, and Toshinori's hips bucked as far as they could off the bed. His thighs and ankles were bound together, his arms apart from his side and wrists bound to the headboard with silky ropes. It wasn't a position that offered much in the way of leverage, and much of Toshinori's strength had drained away, but the shock of the contact had him instinctively seeking more. Just as deliberately, Shouta moved his attentions down Toshinori's leg, ignoring the way that Toshinori's dick was, impossibly, hardening again. Toshinori whined.
"Shh," Shouta said. "I'll take care of you. Just wait a bit."
It was maddening, the way his body demanded more when even the slightest touch was so intense that it bordered on painful. The more Shouta gave, the more he took, the more Toshinori wanted. He could have been satisfied so many times before, but at even the slightest hint that there was more to come, he became insatiable.
Shouta took his time, working his way down one of Toshinori's legs and up the other. He encountered no resistance. All of the usual stubborn muscle knots had already been worked out. But Shouta lavished attention on Toshinori all the same, digging his fingertips in and coaxing increasingly loud sounds of pleasure out of his partner. Shame, too, had evaporated long ago. Toshinori was more sensation than thought. When Shouta finally wrapped his hand around Toshinori's dick, Toshinori keened. He was still slick enough from lube and cum that Shouta's hand slid along his length easily, carefully modulated pressure working Toshinori closer and closer to orgasm without quite being enough to push him over. Shouta's free hand continued to wander, cresting Toshinori's hips and creeping along his abdomen. All of Toshinori, all of his scars and loose skin from lost muscle mass and prominent tendons and bones, was subject to Shouta's attention, to his affection, to his praise.
"Are you going to come again?" Shouta asked, and Toshinori found that he was. He nodded, biting his lip. "Good." Shouta squeezed Toshinori's dick with a quick twist of his wrist and began jacking him off in earnest, setting a brutal pace that went unaffected by the twitches of Toshinori's hips and the stream of barely linguistic babble spilling from the older hero's mouth.
Toshinori came with a wrenching gasp, back arching off the bed. But Shouta didn't stop. He kept working Toshinori's dick at a punishingly quick speed, not relenting to account for the post-orgasmic sensitivity.
"Sh-shouta, please," Toshinori panted, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and he wasn't sure if he was asking for a reprieve or begging Shouta not to stop. He wanted both, simultaneously. Shouta looked at him, eyebrows raised.
"Please what?" he said.
"Please," Toshinori repeated, because all he knew was that he needed. "Please… pl- ah!"
Shouta was rubbing at the base of Toshinori's dick, the callused pads of his fingers a symphony of textures that sent jolts of pleasure up Toshinori's spine. It wasn't a cessation of sensation, but with his shaft no longer the center of attention, Toshinori had a bit more of a grasp on language. A tear glazed a path down his cheek. "I don't… I don't know if I can come again," he said. He would have said he was certain he couldn't come again, but he'd been certain he couldn't come as much as he already had, and look how wrong he'd been. But he didn't know if he could take this, if Shouta kept pushing and he wasn't able to find release, if he might actually die from the accumulation of pleasure without an outlet.
Shouta hummed acknowledgement. "Do you want to stop?" he asked, and Toshinori remembered their conversation, remembered blushing his way through plans and agreements and fantasies, remembered that if he could truly take no more, Shouta would stop. Remembered that unless he reached the breaking point, Shouta would keep driving him, seeing how much his body could give.
"No," Toshinori said, and the word emerged barely a whisper. Even as the friction of the rope against his skin nearly pushed him out of his head, to say nothing of the assault of sensation from Shouta's hands, Toshinori's need to come overrode the rawness of his nerves. "Please… don't stop."
The hand that wasn't circling Toshinori's dick abruptly lifted. But before Toshinori could protest its removal, it reappeared beneath his balls, the roughness of Shouta's fingertips catching at the soft, delicate skin.
Toshinori keened.
A smirk played at the edges of Shouta's lips. "Come for me once more, Toshinori," he said, and for the first time he let Toshinori hear the catch in his voice, gave him a taste of how much he was enjoying being in control. How much he was enjoying what he was doing to Toshinori.
Desperately, Toshinori's hands flexed, grasping at air. His toes curled, giving him the barest amount of purchase. And then Shouta descended, kissing Toshinori hard. A careful balancing of his position, kneeling at Toshinori's side while his arms stretched down and his upper body curved up, allowed Shouta to deepen the kiss without a second's pause in the motions of his hands. When they separated, Shouta dipped his head down and whispered into the curve of Toshinori's ear. "You're doing so well." His breath was like fire, licking along Toshinori's skin and leaving a streak of heat in its path.
The ropes tightened across Toshinori's thighs as he tried to buck upwards into Shouta's hand, and Shouta responded, wrapping his fingers around Toshinori's length once more and pumping mercilessly.
When Toshinori came, he made a high, thin noise, squeezing his eyes shut so hard he saw sparks. Shouta talked him through it, murmuring praise and stoking Toshinori gently through his release. Finally, Shouta removed his hand, releasing Toshinori's sore dick as the aftershocks faded. Though his eyes were still closed, Toshinori was aware of Shouta's every movement, his sensitized skin picking up the vibrations in the mattress as Shouta shifted and began to untie the ropes.
"Wow," Toshinori said, voice weak and wobbly. His lung was working overtime just to keep him breathing, and speaking was almost beyond his abilities.
Shouta gave a short, chuffing laugh. "That was… more than I expected," he admitted. "I'm impressed."
Toshinori offered him a loopy grin so wide his cheeks hurt. "I live to impress."
"Mm." As he removed the ropes, Shouta rubbed each newly-freed body part to encourage proper circulation and check for numbness. Though his movements were brisk and efficient, there was a tenderness to the way his fingers hesitated on Toshinori's wrists and ankles, like he was reassuring himself the restraints hadn't damaged the older hero's fragile joints. When he was fully untied, Toshinori curled himself against Shouta, pressing his face into Shouta's hip and flinging an arm over his lap.
"That good, huh?" Shouta asked, and Toshinori didn't need to see his face to imagine the small, pleased twist of Shouta's lips. Toshinori hummed an affirmative, then sighed as Shouta began to rake his fingers through his sweat-dampened blond hair.