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Legs spread, face burning, Naoya squirms. He doesn’t like this intense attention, hates the feeling of Satoru’s scarily perceptive eyes focused on him—they look right through him, almost searching for any lies buried all the way down deep. As if Naoya would ever lie to him.
No matter how dubious Satoru still is, Naoya's telling the truth. “I know what I’m doing,” he says, fighting against the slight waver in his voice. “Toji taught me.”
Satoru wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t argue back this time. Instead, he shuffles down the bed, scoots back on his knees until there’s enough room for him to settle between Naoya’s thighs. They’ve never been this close before, never this intimate—kissing and snuggling under blankets isn’t the same as being exposed in the bright, mid-afternoon sun that streams through the window. Satoru can see everything.
It takes all the self-control Naoya has to not close his legs around Satoru’s head, but he manages. Barely. The tingle in his abdomen worsens, ticking up from a slight discomfort to an urgent desperation. If they’re going to do this, they need to do it now. Naoya might make a mess all over the clean bedsheets.
Soft breaths blow over his most sensitive parts—pulling a surprised moan from his throat—and he knows Satoru did it on purpose. He can be mean when Toji isn’t around to keep him in check, bullying Naoya whenever he has the chance; Satoru’s lucky he’s pretty, otherwise Naoya really wouldn’t want to play with him like this.
They don’t usually muck around without Toji; today’s different because Naoya can’t keep secrets and Satoru really wanted to know why he can’t stop squeezing his hands between his legs and whining. Toji didn’t say he wasn’t allowed to tell… It’s only fair.
Satoru has to do dirty things too, but humiliation bleeds Naoya’s cheeks a ruddy pink. “When Toji needs to… go, he makes me get on my knees and swallow it all like when we suck his thingy. It upsets him if I don’t.” Just the memory of it makes Naoya tremble, in both embarrassment and arousal; his cunnie is dripping, and he doesn’t even know if he accidentally let himself relax a little too much.
Stroking his fingertips up and down the soft skin of Naoya’s inner thigh, Satoru makes a face again. “The yucky white stuff?”
Naoya's leg twitches slightly, the muscles jumping under the attention. “No, no, his pee. It was even worse, ‘toru! I nearly choked!”
“He pees? In your mouth?” Satoru squints, like Naoya would possibly be trying to trick him. “That’s icky.”
“I know, I know, but he tells me I’m good when I don’t make any mess, and you love being good too. We could– we could show Toji that you’re really good, because I don’t have a thingy like him so it might be easier. No mess at all.” Naoya’s panting now, fisting his hands in the bed sheets. He just wants Satoru to say yes already, to put his mouth on Naoya’s cunnie so he can finally stop holding back.
It hurts. Below the overpowering wave of need that throbs through him, it hurts. Soon, whether Satoru is ready or not, Naoya might accidentally let go. His stomach cramps with how desperate he is, and—looking down at Satoru—he can see the slight protrusion of his stomach, bloated and full of his pee.
Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, Satoru absent-mindedly sucks on his bottom lip. He tucks even closer to Naoya, breath fanning over his slick, puffy pussy, and nods. “I want to be good,” he says, softly. Naoya wants to kiss him, but he thinks sitting up might make him explode.
“‘Kay, tell me when I can–”
“Now, do it now.” Before he’s finished saying the words, Satoru ducks forward and fits his mouth over Naoya’s wet hole, eyes closed and nose bumping against his clit.
After waiting so long, it’s an agonising sort of pleasure, drowning out Naoya’s ability to actually go. He thrashes on the bed, choking on a ragged wail, before reaching forward to jerk Satoru away from him. “Wait– Wait, ‘toru, stop!” Naoya gasps, fingers clutching at fistfuls of soft, pale hair. “Too much!”
He groans when another cramp spikes through his abdomen, tries to scrabble up the bed, but Satoru never pulls off. He licks at Naoya’s pussy desperately, hands snaking up to caress his swollen tummy.
“I can’t!” Bright lights spark over Naoya’s eyelids, swallowing up the rest of the room. He’s dizzy, lightheaded, and Satoru still does not stop. It’s horrible, it’s the best thing he’s ever felt; Naoya feels like he’s dying.
Satoru tugs him closer and moans against his cunnie, and the vibrations make Naoya go limp. His body drops to the bed, limbs shaking through the excruciating pleasure that tears through him. He doesn’t know if he screams, he isn’t aware of anything other than the rush of blood pounding in his ears.
Something snaps loose, and there’s a flood pouring out of him. Distantly, past his own sobbing, Naoya hears Satoru gulp it all down, lips sealed against his pussy so nothing spills onto the sheets. He’s grateful for that, at least—Toji hates mess, and Naoya’s brain is stuffed with static, the buzz of it snatching away his ability to be cautious.