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Hitoshi says, “I want to top you.”
He says it the same way he asks for things he knows he’ll get in the end, when he breaks into Shouta’s apartment and the first thing out of his mouth is “Take the day off, sleep in with me, fuck me breathless.” I want to top you.
“You want to, or you’re going to?”
“I’m going to.”
Shouta sighs, but it’s less weary than it usually is if the slow spreading grin on Hitoshi’s face means anything. He’s so spoiled it should make Shouta sick. Instead he just stretches, pushes himself into standing and offers Hitoshi a yawn. “Whatever you say, kid.”
—
Hitoshi squirms and cries and begs when they fuck. He digs his fingers into Shouta’s shoulders and snaps at him and says harder, daddy, faster, fuck me. Shouta wonders if he thinks it’s like that for everyone. He realizes, laid out in his own bed and with his arms under his head, that maybe he should remind Hitoshi how good he really gives it to him.
“Am I…” Hitoshi says, with an adorable tilt of his head. “Doing this right?”
Shouta yawns. “You tell me, baby.”
He doesn’t mean to be so rude about it, but watching Hitoshi huff and cross his arms is more entertaining than the current stationary silicon cock in his ass. Which, don’t get him wrong, he’s enjoying that too, just because it stretches him open perfectly, and it’s still Hitoshi between his thighs. Shouta eyes his soft belly and lightning strike stretch marks with the kind of hunger that leaves him a little dizzy. He fakes a yawn again, just because it makes Hitoshi pout deeper.
“Typically,” Shouta says, and stretches his arms above his head, “people move after they put cocks inside of you.”
“I know that,” Hitoshi grumbles. “But you’re not…”
“Not?” Shouta says, with a raised eyebrow. “Not what, pretty boy?”
Hitoshi flushes. “You don’t seem like you’re enjoying it.”
Shouta fights off a sharp grin, all teeth and teasing. “Why’s that?” he asks again. He skims fingers over his own throat and down his chest, stopping to tap his fingers at the wet tip of his cock. “Cause I don’t scream for it? Is that what’s wrong, baby?”
Shouta expects more pouting, maybe a dejected concession. What he doesn’t expect is Hitoshi’s frown and his quiet, “I want you to.”
Shouta blinks. “Want me to what?”
Hitoshi squeezes his hips. “Scream for me.”
Oh. Shouta shivers. Oh, his little boy is all grown up isn’t he? “Look at you, using your words,” he purrs, and Hitoshi opens his mouth to protest, cut off when Shouta beckons him closer with a slow tilt of his head. “Let me tell you a secret, yeah, Hitoshi?”
Hitoshi nods, and folds down over Shouta’s body, yelping quietly when Shouta catches him by the back of his neck and drags Hitoshi against his chest. “If you want anything out of me,” he says, and Hitoshi watches his mouth instead of his face, eyes dark. “You’ve got to fuck me first, sweetheart.”
Hitoshi swallows. “Yes, sir.”
“Huh? What was that?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“Good boy,” Shouta says, and eases his hold on Hitoshi’s head, relaxing back into the soft spread of his hair around him, his breathing coming slow, heavy. “Show me what you got, pretty boy.”
“Yes, daddy,” Hitoshi says against his skin. He yanks Shouta back by the hips and Shouta rewards him with a hum of approval, his breath catching with the first, slow roll of Hitoshi’s hips. It’s nothing world stopping, but Hitoshi squeezes his waist hard enough that Shouta feels it shock through his body like electricity, even if his only response to it is a quick, tight press of his knees on either side of Hitoshi’s hips.
Usually when they end up together, Shouta towers over Hitoshi, a curled spine and Hitoshi’s legs spread in some uneven split. He drools with his whines and carries on, and Shouta loves watching him cry. And Hitoshi tries it out, that same slow intensity that Shouta knows like air, rolling his hips and teasing Shouta on a good, desperate fuck.
He stutters a little bit, like he’s holding back, and Shouta yawns again, on purpose.
“I know you’re trying to get a rise out of me,” Hitoshi says, nuzzling at the base of Shouta’s throat. There’s a quick flash of teeth on his collarbone, another shaky thrust, and Shouta turns his head to the side with a hum. Hitoshi adds, growled, “It’s working.”
“Don’t take it too hard, baby,” Shouta says, sitting up on his elbows. He digs the curve of his heel into Hitoshi’s back. “You make a pretty bottom. Why don’t we trade, huh? I know that pretty pussy probably misses daddy’s cock.”
“Hey, daddy?” Hitoshi says, and leans up, the corner of his mouth pulled into a wobbly smile. Shouta meets him with a flash of his teeth and then a gasp, Hitoshi’s fingers sinking into the column of Shouta’s throat. “Shut up.”
Shouta grins, and tips his chin back, baring more room for the fluttering squeeze of Hitoshi’s hand. “Yes, baby.”
And then, then Hitoshi fucks him. One hand at Shouta’s throat and the other on his hip, holding Shouta still as Hitoshi lays into him with some force behind it. Shouta slips his fingers down his bedsheet with a gasp, overtaken by the new rhythm, but Hitoshi seems to figure it out. He’s a little ruthless, a little mean, and his grip on Shouta’s skin teeters from punishing to petting and Shouta takes it with quickening breaths, still too quiet for Hitoshi to hear.
“Fuck,” he gasps, when Hitoshi misses his sweet spot by little more than a twitch. Hitoshi catches it and adjusts, just barely, until Shouta eyes roll back, and he sinks into the bed, his arms and legs jelly.
“Is that how you take it, daddy?” Hitoshi asks, and Shouta feels that crushing hold on his throat cut off his air. “You want me to fuck you hard while you just want to lay there?” Shouta blinks open his eyes and fixes Hitoshi with little more than a dark stare. Hitoshi laughs, leaning closer. “I didn’t know you were such a pillow princess.”
“Surprise,” Shouta rasps. Hitoshi rolls his eyes.
The next swing of Hitoshi’s hips makes Shouta’s back arch, and then he settles with a shiver, content to let Hitoshi fuck him right up to the edge, barely offering more for it than the occasional bitten off moan, quiet hisses that sting his teeth and the spit that tracks out of his mouth without his say so.
“Hey, daddy,” Hitoshi purrs. “‘m I gonna make you cum? Can I make you cum like this?”
“Fuck no,” Shouta groans. “Touch my cock, Hitoshi.”
Hitoshi bites the rough line of his jaw with a frustrated grunt. “Fine, old man.”
Shouta spreads his legs wider as Hitoshi slips his hand between his thighs and strokes him in time with the punishing pace of his hips and it’s good—it’s fucking perfect.
“Good boy,” Shouta gasps, and feels Hitoshi’s quiet breath against his skin. “Fuckin’ me so good, ‘toshi. I’m close—”
“I wanna see,” Hitoshi murmurs. “I want you to cum for me, daddy.”
Spoiled, spoiled little boy—how’s Shouta ever supposed to turn him down?
Shouta cums with a deep shudder, down to his bones, and feels like unspooling ribbon, sinking low and practically holding his breath as Hitoshi fucks him through it, careful, consistent, only slowing when Shouta sighs and his cock stops spilling onto his stomach. He looks proud, and it knocks a sighing laugh out of Shouta, watching Hitoshi drag two fingers through the mess on his stomach.
He’s smiling when he pulls out, lopsided and sweet, and Shouta stretches his arms over his head again, settling with a hum and a flutter of his lashes.