Work Text:
The coffee’s warm against the thin flesh of your palm, its warmth cascading down your throat, leaving a trail of comforting heat in its wake.
Your eyes stay focused on the man before you. Head arched backward, a cascade of golden locks flowing behind him; lips parted due to the daily weariness being a tantalizing invitation with a cold towel resting over his tired eyes.
You watch his Adam’s apple bob after he takes a sip of his own coffee. Muscles strained from the way his head is tilted back.
The steam rises from your drink as you set it on his work table, swirling like ethereal tendrils, carrying an aroma that fills the air around the two of you.
"You should go home and rest, Kento," you start, making him move the cloth slightly to look at you with one eye, once warm chestnut hue now faded, boring the marks of exhaustion, "you look like you haven’t slept in years. I can finish up for both of us."
He stays silent for a moment, contemplating your proposal.
With a weary sigh, he finally responds, voice a blend of fatigue and determination, "No. The report needs to be finished tonight. I just need to wake up a little."
An idea pops up in your head; you think it’s silly. Ridiculous. Yet, its temptation stirs a familiar ember of desire deep within your core. With your neck straining against its natural inclinations, you steal a glance over your shoulder, fixating on the doors of the office.
You take another sip, the rich flavor lingering on your tongue, before pushing your body from Kento’s desk. Knees assertively press against his, parting them with a newfound audacity; this time he leaves the towel on. One of his hands sneaks onto your thigh, the warm heat of his palm seeping through your formal skirt.
"What are you doing," his voice deceptively nonchalant, maintains an air of detached indifference. However, the way the pronounced contour of his jawline juts through the sharp angles of his face tells a different story – a tale of latent desire and suppressed cravings.
"I might have an idea on how to wake you up then," you murmur slowly, knees bending with your hands finding their place on Kento’s firm thighs while you drop on your knees. The man obligingly spreads his legs wider, granting you an expanse of room to maneuver.
"That’s–of course," you murmur, your voice a velvety caress; hand gliding along the seam of his tailored dress pants, tracing the path from his knee to the apex of his thigh, "only if you let me," a plea interwoven with a commanding allure.
Your touch lingers, a teasing promise that electrifies the nerve endings, sending Kento into anticipating frenzy.
Snatching the cloth from his eyes, he looks at you. Gaze unwavering, pupils spread in a perfect, enchanting blend of chocolate and onyx. Speaking with you without as much as a single word; a subtle nod from him, a gesture laden with consent and anticipation.
With effortless grace, he leans back into the plush confines of the chair, surrendering himself to you. The corners of your lips curl into a small smile.
A flicker of triumph. A small and sweet victory.
Wetting your lips, you don’t waste any time. Palm pressed flat against the swell of his groin, feeling the heat radiate from his body, you run your fingertip upwards to reach his belt. Soon, the cool kiss of air brushes against the tender, sensitive skin of his exposed cock as you free it from its confines.
Still barely hard, your fingers wrap around the girth, giving him a few deliberate pumps. He hisses when the wet tip of your tongue ventures forth and touches his frenulum, leaving a wet trail as you swirl your tongue over his tip before going back and applying a gentle flicking motion to the underside of the tip of his cock.
It earns you a pleased grunt, a testament to the pleasure you evoke in him; Kento’s hand finding its rightful place on the top of your head. Demanding yet gently encouraging.
Collecting the briny, piquant essence leaking from the tip with the pads of your fingers, you slowly trace around the throbbing head, spreading the wetness over; lips already placed on the delicate, taut skin of his balls. Gentle nibbles, occasional licks, and sucking at the sensitive area, your name a symphony spilling from Kento’s parted lips.
"Fuck–that’s it–s’good," he hums fervently when your lips kiss the side of his cock. The sensation resonates through him, his legs spreading wider in an instinctive response.
Fingers wrapping around the base of his hardened cock, slowly and tantalizingly stroking him up and down while the pad of your thumb dances over the frenulum, a sweet caress that heightens his arousal to dizzying heights; each deliberate motion coaxing waves of ecstasy to ripple through his body. Lips focused on the leaking tip, tongue occasionally lying flat on top of him.
Lips parting slightly, you kiss the tip one last time before wrapping your lips around him, eliciting a groan of pleasure from him, sending a prideful jolt throughout your bones. A moan escapes your preoccupied lips, sending vibrations right to Nanami’s core.
Taking him halfway in, using your hand to jerk the rest of his cock, you begin to suck gently, pressing the inside of your mouth against him, the friction fueling the flames of desire in both of you. Tongue following the natural curve of the underside of his cock, tracing every ridge and vein with a fervor that borders on worship, you move your head back, only leaving the tip before going back down, taking more inches in than before.
You follow a pattern. A dance of give and take, fueled by Kento’s praise. Sounds of pleasure fueling your determination to give him only the best.
"Fuck–fuck, don’t stop," he can’t stop talking,"such a good girl f’me," praising you to no end as you continue the circuit, taking more of him inside your mouth with each repetition. Each repetition draws him further into the depths of euphoria.
Hand twisting slightly at the base, the other cupping, softly squeezing his balls – applying very gentle pressure whenever the tip of his cock hits your uvula (sometimes going as far as into your throat).
Looking up, you being to suck harder the moment his groans grow in volume, hand tightening in your hair, the other gripping the chair’s arm to the point his knuckles turn white.
As the tension in his muscles grows, you feel his hand exert a gentle yet commanding pressure, guiding your head to take even more of his cock. The touch tender, an embodiment of care and consideration, even in its assertiveness.
"Gonna – fuck, y’so good – gonna cum," he mumbles what you already know and only moments later, s you feel the tip of his pulsating cock breach the threshold of your uvula, sliding into the warm depths of your throat; the culmination of his desire cascading forth in a pearlescent tide, coating the delicate membrane of your insides.
Drawing back, you don’t stop sucking, switching between the intensity as you move back until only the head remains nestled in the heat of your mouth; the tip of your tongue pressing against his frenulum, a deliberate tease. You collect everything he’s giving you. Every precious droplet he bestows upon you. Humming, moaning in tandem around him as you milk him dry, leaving no ounce of pleasure untapped.