Disclaimer: They belong to Hoshino Katsura, and it's a damn good thing.
*
Devit's not hard because he's wearing fucking girls' panties. The distinction is important. He's hard because he's a teenage boy, 15 when he stopped growing, and really, all he needs to do to get hard is remember that he has a cock. Sometimes he'd like to forget he has a cock; right now it's playtime with Road, he'd stupidly refused the coat with frills and tails that she'd tried to force him into, stupidly ignored the evil look on her face when she assured him she had something even better for him to wear to a proper lady's tea party. Right now, fuck yes, he'd like to forget.
He's used to leather and laces and his dick and nothing else between his legs, not pink satin and white lace and Road's small hand as she adjusts the fit of the panties over his hips. Her fingers smooth down the lacy hem over Devit's inner thighs. Devit's cock reminds him again that it exists with a little throb. She doesn't notice, she doesn't care, she doesn't understand, she doesn't notice—he can't decide which it is, but Road hasn't said a word to him on the subject of how fucking hard he is, so it has to be one of them. His mind cycles through the list again and again, and it's not helping him forget his dick, but it's a mantra, he thinks, the longer he can concentrate on Road ignoring his erection, the longer she will, the sooner she'll finish up with the fucking panties and move on to the inevitable doll-like dress and ribbons in his hair, the sooner he'll be able to focus on the humiliation of that and not how scratchy-soft satin feels on a hard cock.
Road says something that he misses, so Devit turns a carefully blank face to her, waits for her to repeat it.
"That thing's going to stretch out my panties," she says. Her face is equally blank. Devit doesn't know how the fuck she manages that. It makes the situation even worse; he can feel his own face reddening with whatever blood isn't between his legs right now, and he opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is uh I uh ummm.
"Devit," she's interrupting him, "you can't go to a lady's tea party like that. Take care of it." It's the same tone she uses for "But I wanted chocolate cookies" or "But we read that story last night," only she's not shoving a cookie into his mouth or throwing a book in his face; Road's grabbing Devit's hand and guiding it into his panties—her panties, his panties, the panties that are touching his dick, that's the point, he thinks. He lets his hand curl around his erection, because what else do you do, and Road's hand curls around his, her thumb dragging itself slowly across the head of his cock, just once, as if by accident. Then her hand slides down to rest on his inner thigh, it rubs little circles there, it waits for him to get started.
Devit chews on his lip and begins to stroke himself. It's just jerking off, except for how he doesn't bother to flip the panties down over his cock and so the satin slides along the head of it in time with his movements. Except for how Road's hand is still teasing his thigh, and once in awhile she slides it over to brush against his fingers, his balls, behind them, and Devit can't stop himself from moving into it, and he thinks is this sex? Are we having sex? It's a fucking stupid thought. It's just jerking off with Road there. It's sex if I say her name, he thinks, and groans through his teeth and lips as his fingers catch on some satin, dragging it along his cock briefly before Road plucks it away. Her hand is that close, her hand is right there.
"Hurry up," she says, "or the tea will get cold." And Road is pushing Devit's fingers away from his own dick and taking over, as if that's going to help speed things along, which is completely stupid, nevermind that Devit can tell as soon as she begins to stroke him that he's not going to last much longer if she keeps it up. Road jerks his cock hard and fast, harder and faster than a little girl should think is good, even though it is. Like maybe she's going to hurt him by doing it. Like maybe that's the point.
Then she leans up and licks a quick stripe across Devit's ear, she says "Come now, okay?" If this is sex they're having, Devit thinks, he's either really good at it or really bad at it, because that's when he loses it; he doesn't say her name, but he chokes out a gasp and squeezes his eyes closed, he doesn't watch himself come all over Road's pink panties and Road's gray sleeve and Road's glossy black fingernails.
When he opens his eyes, she's holding out a clean white handkerchief, even though she's the one with the come-covered hand.
"Your makeup," Road explains. "It's all over your face, Devit, you're not drinking tea with us looking like that. Wipe it off! You know, I have some really good pink lipstick I think we should try out . . . "
"I'm not wearing anything fucking pink, Road!" Devit protests. Now—now it's time to take control.