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Your nails drum on the top of the polished cypress table, a steady rhythm that does nothing to quell the fluttering in your stomach and the flush on your cheeks.
While Kanezaka in the spring was breathtaking, you much preferred it in the fall - the pink of the sakura trees bloomed without restraint, nestled along the glow of reds and oranges from the maple and beech was truly something to behold. And at night, oh, at night, the colours of the leaves glowed with the soft light of the lanterns in the village, as though their own embers burned from within their branches.
There was a lovely view of said foliage from your garden and few things could pull your gaze from it. But there was one thing.
You shift, turning on the pillow, taking in the exquisite sight before you.
The light in the room is low, soft light from the paper lantern on the floor flickering on the tatami mat. The scent of jasmine wafts through the cool night air, wrapping silky, smoky tendrils around Hanzo’s soft whimpers.
The way you flit your gaze over him is almost lazy, disinterested, casual.
His arms flex at his side, the ink of his tattoos shifting over the layers of muscle and sinew; his hands are clenched fists at his hands. His chest heaves, and you notice he’s trembling slightly. His cock, erect and twitching, leaks in anticipation of a release you had not yet granted him.
Hanzo locks his intense eyes with yours, pleading and desperate.
There’s a warmth spreading up your chest and the back of your neck, and you almost break, almost give him the go ahead to just come right then.
Almost.
But he hadn’t said anything yet, so with a slow smile, you turn back around and take another sip of tea. A frustrated huff sounds from behind you and you fight the urge to laugh.
When he’d come to you, asking for this (and Hanzo never asked for anything), you sensed that he needed it. Needed it in a way that had him aching, enough to swallow his pride, asking you to take over, to relinquish the control he so desperately clings to. And when you’d thought about it, really thought about it, you realised that Hanzo losing control would be a sight to see indeed.
And as you predicted, he’s as beautiful as the cherry blossom trees that surround your tiny home, cheeks tinged the same rosy hue from arousal. You almost want to comment on it, to tease him a little bit because he’s so serious but his tiny gasps float through the crisp night air, and you let that punctuate the silence instead.
A stubborn silence, because after all, he was a Shimada. And Shimadas did not beg.
At least, not until tonight.
You’d started at the top, knees on either side of his hips, nestling your core overtop of a rapidly growing bulge that was already starting to tent the dark blue cotton robe he wore. Gently kissing his lips, the same ones always pursed in contemplation or disapproval, and although tense at first, they’d melted under your soft ones, letting you sweep your tongue into the warm cavern of his mouth.
Softly biting and nipping at his neck, enough to leave just the lightest mark, ones only you would be able to see because no one else had a chance of getting close enough. The way his pulse had fluttered against your lips had sent a thrill down your spine, pushed a heaviness into your lower belly that you were all too familiar with.
When you pushed aside the folds of his robe and lightly scraped your teeth against his chest, his hands, roughened with callouses from wielding the arashi no yumi, had traced gently up the sides of your thighs before you’d slapped them away gently, chiding, “Don’t touch.”
Hanzo had obeyed, laying them flat against the blanket spread across the futon, and he’d remained still, unwavering as the full moon in the sky.
But it seemed that even the disciplined scion of the Shimada clan was not immune to your administrations, and once you slowly untied the belt that held his robe together, exposing him completely to the night air, he started to gently fall apart.
You had wrapped your hand around his hardening cock, the skin silky-soft, slid your thumb once over the beading precome on the tip, smearing it around the head. Hanzo had swallowed audibly, the only sound he’d made since you’d lit the jasmine incense earlier that evening, as the burning sun had dipped below the trees. It was the first sound he’d made that night.
When you gripped him harder and started to pump his length, he’d made a choked sound in the back of his throat. Dark lashes fluttered against his razor sharp cheekbones, ones you had peppered with kisses earlier that morning over cups of green tea in the garden.
You watched him carefully, quietly, varying your movements, waiting for his tells to show. Eventually they did, a tightening of the abdomen, the muscles in his lean thighs flexing, his breathing sped up - and then you let go of him.
His brows pinched together in surprise and confusion and when Hanzo opened his eyes, it was accusatory, scathing, a how could you, but you’d smiled like the cat that got the cream, returning to gentle kisses and caresses of his body.
And when he’d started to shift, you returned to his cock, bringing him not quite to orgasm, then taper off.
And you’d kept him like that all night. When it seemed like he was teetering over the edge, looking down into an abyss of pleasure that he’d gladly fling himself into, you’d pulled him back, gently, coaxingly, never abrupt, never startling, just a gentle comedown that had him moaning into your mouth as you kissed your way back up his body and caressed your hands over his flushed skin.
And so there you find yourself, trying to play it casual as Hanzo fights his release.
At this point it’s become a sort of game - how many times can you do this to him? Although you’d been curious as to how long you could keep him on the edge, you’re playing with fire - drops of precum leak down the side of his cock, the tip is red and angry with an unspent release. So you’d let go of him with a stern, “Stay there. Don’t you dare come.”
He made a sound like a frustrated cat, but you had ignored him, sauntered over to the sliding doors that led directly to the garden and settled onto a cushion with your back to him. You’d poured a cup of tea from the porcelain set resting on the coffee table and made a show of drinking it, listening to the shifting of the blankets as his hips had jerked into the air, his heavy breathing echoing in the room, in your ears, in your chest. You almost put him out of his misery right then, almost stripped down to nothing and sank onto his cock and rode him until he came deep inside you - but you have more self control than you thought.
And so you drink your tea, finishing the last sip demurely and politely, a stark contrast to the filthy images running amok in your head, all the while watching the heir of the Shimada clan work himself into a frenzy over the mere thought of you touching him.
As you set the porcelain cup down on the low table and glance over your shoulder, you see, not hear your name fall from his lips; the last of his normally cool, reserved facade crumbles like old stone and you take pity on him.
Standing quickly, you stride over to the futon and settle between his thighs, and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and he damn near jumps out of his skin at the sudden contact. Pleased with this reaction, you gently slide the tip into your mouth, sucking gently, further and further down each time. Oh-so-gently, you cup his balls and gently massage, and as he cries out into the open air, you know this will be the end of him, he’s about to throw himself into that bottomless pit of pleasure, he just needs a little more, just one more push.
With a stammered gasp of your name, his fists open up, spreading across the mattress as you feel his cock jerk in your mouth, pulsing and throbbing; it must be on the verge of painful by the way you can hear him start to sob, and you know he’s close, but nothing will happen, not until you hear -
“Please, please, please - “
Finally.
You hum your permission, sliding your hand up his thigh as you hollow out your cheeks.
Hanzo’s hand scrabbles for purchase and find yours, lacing his fingers into yours, squeezing; a surprised cry, then a loud wailing whimper tears from his mouth as he comes, hard, into your mouth, warm and salty, and when you swallow it down, a groan tears from his throat.
Pulling away, you meet his gaze, dark eyes glistening with arousal and satisfaction. You relish the sight: your lover completely undone, sleek black hair uncharacteristically mussed, cheeks bright pink, positively obscene sounds dying in his throat as he trembles in the afterglow of his orgasm.
He releases your hand, reaches down, wipes the corner of your full, reddened lips and gives you one of his rare smiles, lazy and easy in the flickering lanternlight.
You return it, pulling yourself up to lay a soft kiss on his lips, one that he deepens, grabbing the back of your neck with a still shaky hand to pull you closer. The other hand caresses your cheek, gentle and careful as he always is, but a subtle reminder that you belong to him.
When you pull away, you realise how slick you are, evidence of your own excitement of getting him off and he slides a hand between you to swipe between your glistening folds, brushing against your clit. You jerk a little in surprise, and a soft chuckle tumbles from his lips.
It’s late. The crickets are chirping, and the moon is high in the sky. The night is cool, still, and calm, but as Hanzo gently rolls you onto your back, knee parting your thighs, you know it is nowhere near over.