A.N.: Somebody asked for nsfw kuroyachi so here's this
The couch is too cramped, and while she stretches out easy and with room to spare he struggles with how to place himself around her. His elbow digs into the arm rest above her head and his other hand braces near her shoulder, his back bowed uncomfortably and legs folded in just slightly enough it must be straining his abdomen terribly. The TV is still running, and the pizza is going cold. Their friends were supposed to be here an hour ago but perhaps they'd cancelled, perhaps they'd gotten lost, perhaps anything at all had happened to justify their absence. Regardless, they have no real reason to be doing this at all.
Just that they were there, at that moment in time.
Perhaps it's curiosity.
His tongue is in her mouth, and it is the first she's ever been kissed like this. He angles his head and tastes at her teeth, the insides of her cheeks, the underside of her tongue, the roof of her mouth; it turns and rolls and draws out only for breath. And her lungs ache, words stuttering against his moving lips, the attempt to form the right words to put an explanation to all this. He nibbles her lower lip lightly, with no clear intention of setting her on edge, and his sharp eyes find hers easily. A smooth flicker, burning right into her. He sucks her lip into his mouth and does not break her gaze until she furrows her brow and whines, and with a warm, wet pop he lets go entirely.
He mouths his way up her jaw and then back toward her throat, tucking his face against her shoulder to taste her pulse point. Her hand jumps to his shoulder and clutches at his sleeve, toes curling inward and knees pressing in around his thigh.
"Mm," he hums, deep within his chest, and then moves his mouth to her temple to place a fleeting kiss there. "No marks. They'll know."
Yachi very suddenly remembers that they, maybe, will not be alone soon. He'd been the only one to show up at her apartment and the disappointment at the time had been overwhelming. Now, she supposes, it's somewhat of a blessing.
He rises up on his elbow, right on the armrest, and looks between them to guide her thigh away. He settles snug between them, and folds her skirt back over her hips. He doesn't ask her if she's done this before, there's an unspoken agreement between them and she knows it's likely they'll never speak of this again. She is still in high school, and he is on his second year of college. There's a small gap between them she doesn't know how to fill, eager and yet afraid of what this will mean for her when it's all said and done.
He grinds down into her, a slow roll of his hips. They both move awkward and stiff, the coarse material of his jeans and the hard length of him a pressure she's never had before. It stimulates her in ways she hasn't dared, too hard and too certain. Her own trembling fingers have only ever feathered about herself, timid and fearful of hurting herself. He doesn't quite pick up speed, adjusting himself over her more than once and breathing out shakily every time she whimpers or gasps.
It isn't exactly pleasurable, though. He rocks his hips into hers steadily, and she curls fists into his shirt, biting her lip. There's a strange need for more, the hot friction of skin on skin, but this is as far as they dare go.
He licks his lips and a thrill runs up her spine.
Their eyes meet and he all too easily reads her expression, and just as easily, the intention shifts. His muscles coil and he pushes himself up until he can look down between them. He's straining against his jeans, and she's soaked right through her underwear and into the front of his pants. She's throbbing hard, slick and fluttering, and his eyes go invariably darker.
He leans his weight on one arm and moves his hand down between them, carefully peeling the thin fabric of her underwear aside and tracing his middle finger up her slit. She holds her breath, and he only manages to sink it down to the second knuckle inside of her before there's a loud knocking at the door.
"Fuck," he says, and she nearly feels her heart stop.
.x.