Happy Valentines' Day, Zebra!
Because fanart, Late Night Iridescence, and my size kink.
And February.
Definitely February.
So, I was on tumblr yesterday and saw my Toriko idol had a tumblr with lots of delicious ZebraxKomatsu yaoi. So I'm writing about it. Sorry if my Zebra and Komatsu are a bit OOC.
Summary: Zebra gets an unexpected Valentines' Day gift.
Warnings: PWP, shameless smut, bondage, cheek…kink?, oral, anal, fingering, language, blah, blah, blah, you know the drill.
Dat cheek, Zebra. I'm sorry, I had to incorporate it somehow, and because this is PWP, well…
Late Night Iridescence, Please finish "Second Partner"! I know you have the before and the after, so please, post them doing the dirty deed! I hope this will encourage you~ And help you with any other fics you have coming along.
As well as you other fanfic writers who write Toriko! I WANT SOME OT5 PORN! SO COUGH IT UP! ˚^˚ Or, just, you know, any fic in which Komatsu has fluffiness and hot passionate sex with the Heavenly Kings…
Also, I kinda stole it from Sweet Talker by FattySkeleton. Please don't flame. I love it, I really do, and I've incorporated a couple ideas from it into my fic. Some other choice elements that I found appealing stolen from other fics. Please don't hate me.
Love it or hate it, gimme feedback and maybe even an idea or two. *wink wink*
Waking up was never a good experience. Birds chirping, animals starting the new day-
Hell on his sensitive ears.
But this morning, something was…different. There was an extra sound, like an animal trapped under a blanket, the rasp of cloth over skin and shallow breathing, as well as a heart speeding like a hummingbird's, added to the normal sounds of dawn. Cracking open an eye, he groaned as he straightened, and the creature-what was it?-stilled, its breath hitching and its heart quickening as it thumped, almost unbearably loud in the early morning. Glancing over to the side, he gave his room a cursory glance-no furnishings except for his bed, as well as a couch—…what the hell?—his eyes snapped back to his couch.
And he blinked in disbelief.
Because there lay Komatsu, the head chef of Hotel Gourmet, trussed up like a prize chicken in red ribbon. The chef wriggled awkwardly under his gaze, his eyes flickering up to his face and away.
"U-um…G-good morning, Zebra-san." He managed to stutter out, shrinking under the critical gaze. It didn't help that he wasn't wearing anything other than the constricting ribbons. "U-um…would you mind untying me?"
He squeaked as the ferocious Heavenly King squatted, looking him in the eye. "THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE, KID!" Zebra roared, triggering Komatsu's own outburst.
"D-didn't you read the card! Toriko left it on the couch!" Komatsu snapped, looking fearfully at the convict as he grabbed the letter, practically tearing it in half.
Hey Zebra!
Me and Coco thought you'd be lonely, so we brought you a gift!
He's yours for the whole day!
Happy Valentines' Day,
Toriko.
Zebra cursed under his breath, crumpling the letter into a wadded ball. Damn that Toriko! He'd been planning on a quiet day by himself, even if he could hear the overly active gushing and lovemaking from nearby towns and cities. But then again…
He looked back at the tied up chef. This was an opportunity he really should take advantage of. Komatsu was here, and really, the sight of him like this was hushing the tiny little part of him that told him what he was doing was a bad idea.
"What the hell," he muttered, "don't really have anything to lose."
Hearing this, Komatsu began to sweat. "Um, Zebra-san? What are yo—mmph!"
Shock froze the small man, as a broad tongue forced its way into his mouth, rough lips enveloping his. He jerks away, gasping, attempting to speak -a plea to stop or continue, he didn't know—before a large hand on the back of his head forces him back up into the kiss. Dizzy from lack of air, the dominating kiss forces him to crane his neck, arms and legs spasming as they tried to move, but are trapped in place by the ribbon. Zebra growls into his mouth, feeling the first tendrils of warmth begin to gather low in his stomach. He's thankful that he sleeps in the nude and that Komatsu's already naked— right now, he just doesn't have the patience for clothes.
The chef always smells divine, scent changing every time he met him, from the dishes he made at the hotel and in cooking and preparing whatever the Heavenly Kings had brought for him. And now, kissing him, his taste was driving him even farther than even his scent could do. The restraint he'd shown around the chef until now had all but gone up in smoke, like so many of his own attempts to cook.
Unbidden, his hand reaches out, grasping the smaller man's crotch. A muffled plea for something comes from Komatsu's throat, but it's caught as he began to rub him, palm easily holding his cock and balls as he strokes, the small member twitching in his grasp, reflecting the chef's own trembling movements. Zebra pulls away, panting slightly. He lifts Komatsu up, one hand under his neck and the other cradling his backside, the chef's length hard and dripping onto his stomach. Komatsu's eyes are closed, still trying to figure out exactly how he got into this situation, but unable to hide the fact that he's loving every minute of it, no matter that it's unexpected and he never imagined that Zebra, of all people, the one who he'd come to care for after seeing him protect that child, would be the one doing this. Sure, he was scary, but not to the point he had been before the incident. And sure, Komatsu is fond of him, just as much if not a little more so than the other Kings, but this?
He never quite anticipated this.
Still, it's getting harder and harder to concentrate. Zebra's hand is flexing and rolling his cheeks together, the sensation of a warm, rough hand engulfing his butt just the smallest bit overwhelming. He cracks open his eyes, and is unable to close them again.
Zebra's staring down at him, licking his lips and running his tongue over the teeth showing through on his ruined cheek, the show erotic and obscene, eyes dark with desire and hungry and Komatsu stares back, eyes wide and slightly teary, a little bit of his own yearning showing in his eyes and oh, Zebra sees it and his eyes widen before narrowing again, now just a tad teasing as he swipes his tongue over his teeth.
"Hey 'Matsu," he squeaks as his backside is squeezed, "I wanna taste you."
And with that, he tosses Komatsu on the couch, and he tries to prop himself up, his ass sticking up in the air, just begging for it and Zebra indulges himself, drawing another indignant squeak from the chef as he bites down on it, gently, but hard enough to leave a mark. He kisses it in apology, gooseflesh popping up on the smaller man's body and he murmurs, "Mine."
Pressing himself over him, he covers the chef, nibbling his neck and Komatsu knows that by the end of this he's going to be covered in purple lovebites. But he doesn't really care because Zebra has one arm under him, keeping him from collapsing against the couch and he can feel Zebra's cock, long and hard and hot, pressing up against his ass, and he whimpers because the red-haired man is travelling down, trailing bites and nips across the expanse of lily-white skin, reddening under his treatment.
He bites the other cheek, drawing out a moan this time rather than a squeak. He grins, and although the ribbons are in the way, he doesn't remove them because he doesn't want this tasty little morsel scampering off quite yet. So he drags his teeth across soft thighs, nibbling here and there. He evens sucks on his toes, threading his tongue through the digits before biting the instep on one and the heel on the other. Moving back up again, he brings his tongue into play, laving a path up one creamy thigh, now decorated with darkening bite marks—he can't help it, sometimes he bites deeper than is needed to leave a mark. It's not in his nature to restrain himself, and the only time he's ever truly tried is around Komatsu. He's naturally wild, and extremely protective of what he views as his, and right now, he needs Komatsu, but he know it's near impossible; so he needs to do everything in his power to prepare him, to hold back for just a little longer.
Komatsu arches into him as his tongue follows his spine, mouthing at his shoulder before biting down, drawing out a keening wail and a full body shudder before he goes limp in his arms. Zebra knows he hit a nerve cluster, temporarily immobilizing him, and trails back down, biting at the tender flesh in between his cheeks before his tongue darts out to taste his entrance.
The chef squeals, wriggling and trying to free himself, his hands trapped awkwardly against his chest; the feeling is so alien, so strange and pleasurable and he's hard and dripping onto the cushions, his skin throbbing from the countless marks Zebra left on him, and his face is pressed against the armrest. He's embarrassed at the noises coming out of him, but he can't get away because the ribbons are restraining him and Zebra's hand is pressed against his back and he's growling at him to stop moving. But he doesn't really want to get away; the couch is uncomfortable, and his arms are going numb. He tries to convey this to Zebra, but it's just too damn difficult to think, much less speak a complete sentence. Zebra's still gnawing and mouthing his ass, and in between the teeth on his cheeks and the tongue on his anus, it's trying to do anything but keep himself from begging for more.
And as though he can read his mind (maybe he was whispering it under his breath while just trying to breathe), Zebra places a hand under his legs and the back of his head, mirroring the position they had taken not so long ago; but now Komastu is much more willing and pliant, whining as Zebra swipes his thumb over his puckered entrance, writhing in his arms before he tosses him onto the bed, following close behind.
He loathes doing this (but what other way is there to do it? He can't tell where the ribbon begins or ends and he's too impatient to find it) and borrows that move that Toriko like so well—Knife and Fork, only now there's no Fork and the Knife is more like a scalpel, only using one finger to deftly cut the ribbons to shreds, and Komatsu's just lying there, shivering, surrounded by the shredded remains of what was constricting him, and before Komatsu can do anything (move, take a breath to breath, scream or talk) he's back on him, flipping him deftly on his stomach so he can resume devouring plump flesh and opening him up for more to come.
He starts pumping him, and from Komatsu's enthusiastic thrusting, he's close. So he closes his hand around the small member, and when he finally spills, from stimulation to both his front and back, Zebra catches it all. Zebra wants nothing more than to lick his palm clean of every drop and go back for more, but he knows he needs it right now and he can get more later. Komatsu's boneless in his arms, putty in his hands, and he trickles the cum on his hand onto Komatsu's entrance.
It twitches, and Zebra thinks it's the most adorable thing in the world. Gently, slowly, so as not to make Komatsu tense up as he assaults tender nerves, he presses in, inexorably, and stares, fascinated, as Komatsu swallows up his index finger to the second knuckle before shifting, mumbling nonsensical nothings at it.
The first is big, too big, but he's too relaxed to notice much more than the heated body hovering over him. Komatsu tenses up when he adds the second one, but a hand on his back, smoothing over darkening marks, calms him down quickly enough. The feeling is…odd, not entirely painful, per sei, like when he'd been hit from behind and woken up aching from head to toe in the sweltering heat of the desert. But it's still…not natural to him.
And being turned over when it's happening is both unpleasant and delectably perfect, because now he can see just how much this is affecting Zebra. Zebra's eyes are even darker, and it looks like he's going to start drooling; he's panting like a dog, breathing deeply and swallowing rapidly. Zebra's free hand catches his chin, and he's forced to look into those deep, near-black pools of desire that promise him everything.
"Look at me," he growls, and Komatsu looks and can't look away. It's embarrassing, watching Zebra look at him like he's everything, like there's nowhere he'd rather be, that he wants him, now, and relishes in the fact that Komatsu's with him right at this moment. He blushes, and as Zebra begins to scissor him (too big, too much—they're too big, and yet they still fit and it's driving him nuts) he just keeps getting redder, going from desert strawberry to neo-tomato, eyes flickering away and back again, unable to hold Zebra's gaze. By the third finger, it's just too big, and Komatsu squeezes his eyes shut, tears burning his eyes. Zebra smells the salt, he knows, and he keeps going, but now he's back on him, biting and sucking and licking until Komatsu believes that it's more uncomfortable than painful.
A fourth truly is too much, and the tears fall unbidden from his eyes as he whole body clenches up, fighting against the pain. Zebra's frozen, panting above him, not moving, his chest heaving and shuddering breath the only sounds and movement coming from him. Komatsu's taut as a bowstring, overcome by the fullness inside him and he whimpers when they twitch. It's hard to breath—and then it only gets harder.
Zebra goes down on him, swallowing his privates in his mouth, balls and all. Komatsu howls as his tongue twines around his cock, and before he can babble out "oh, aaaahn~", Zebra starts up again with his fingers, in and out so slowly that the voracious mouth on his cock feeels like it belonged to a totally different person, the rhythms clashing and confusing Komatsu at the mixture of pain and pleasure to the point of orgasm. And he glances down and he can feel the cool air on his cock and he can see through Zebra's cheek his cock bobbing in and out of his mouth and Zebra's eyes are smoldering as he looks up at him and oh, he's coming, he coming, sosoclose-
And as if from some silent cue, Zebra stopped, pulling off with a wet pop and twisting his fingers one more time for good measure before pulling them out completely. Komatsu is whining and moaning and the sounds are delicious and he just wants to ravage him until dawn tomorrow. And he can; no one dares to come close to his home, except for the other Kings, and he's already gotten consent from them. He swallows the sound in another devouring kiss, and Komatsu is open and willing and oh so eager. One day this kid is gonna kill him.
"Hey, kid," Komatsu mind is fuzzy, it's too hard to think and he just wants to come now, "Are you sure?"
His mind clears just a tad at the concern in Zebra's voice. He reaches up, tangling his hands in thick red locks, and he pulls Zebra down into a kiss. He's trembling; he tries to convey that it's okay, he can take it, and he needs it because right now he can't think of anything else other than Zebra, Zebra, Zebra. Their tongues intertwine, and Zebra's hesitant until he pulls away and looks into Komatsu's eyes and he knows.
He pulls Komatsu into his lap, tender and careful rather than fast and hard because he wants to savor this, being here with him and nothing else in the world mattering. He's still a little nervous, though, because Komatsu's so small; he wraps his hands around that skinny little waist that is so breakable and fragile in his destructive palms. But he isn't here to hurt Komatsu. Lifting the chef up just slightly to line himself up, he begins the long and tedious process of lowering Komatsu down onto him.
Even with the stretching, it was nothing in comparison to the real deal. Zebra's going slow, the pressure gradually increasing until his body opens, and it's nothing like Zebra's fingers. It's so overwhelmingly big, and hard, and hot and he thinks that the stretching truly didn't do anything to help him cope. He's squirming, but he can't move much because of Zebra's hands and he just keeps pressing in, no stopping, continuing inexorably until Komatsu thinks he's going to burst. It's painful and he believes this can't be physically possible until Zebra thrusts in, shallow, soft, and he sees stars.
He starts writhing, trying to get that inexplicable and utterly wonderful feeling back again; Zebra takes comfort in this, thrusting again, gradually lowering Komatsu down until he's almost entirely in. And waits, shuddering.
He's always taken comfort in his physique; he always takes a chance to flaunt it, wearing skin-tight tanks and play-fighting with the others. He believes his stamina is the best part about it.
Right now, though, he might as well toss it out a window.
Komatsu is just too perfectly…perfect, for lack of a better word. He's moving in all the right ways, tight and hot and twitching and he feels like he's about to just come from this. No real sex, just penetration.
And he isn't going to let that fucking happen. When was it when he'd first started admiring the little guy? When had he fallen head over goddamn heels in love? He doesn't know; he just knows Komatsu needs to stop squirming before he climaxes prematurely.
"Stop. Moving," he manages to grunt, "Goddammit kid, you're really too much." He mutters.
Komatsu stills; he can hear the struggle in Zebra's voice. If he should say anything, he knew Zebra would be able to pick up the same note of desperation and taut restraint that really wanted to just go for it. As it is, he can probably hear the desperately fast thumping of his heart. It's hard not to move; he wants Zebra to find that spot again and pound into it, and Zebra's in deep enough that the side of his cock is applying a constant pressure that has him leaking.
"Please…" he can barely get enough to breathe as he arches, thrusting out his chest and revealing his neck, trying to urge Zebra into action, "please…" it's all he can do to beg for more, and keep repeating that magic word, "please…"
And this show of submission starts up the cycle. Zebra growls, leaning forward to bite and mark the tantalizing show of flesh before him, curling inward on himself as he reaches down to bite pert nipples. He thrusts shallowly, still not quite sure if Komatsu would be able to take him when he loses it completely. He finds his answer as Komatsu grabs his ears to drag him back up to face level. Determined black pools met his own, and through gritted teeth, he asked for it.
"Fuck. Me."
And he snaps.
He pulls Komatsu up until he could feel himself almost slip out, before thrusting up and pushing Komatsu down, burying himself completely in that perfect mix of tightness and heat. He sets the bruising pace; he wants to make Komatsu cum before he does, and the line between nirvana and completion is already blurred.
The hands gripping his hips are going to leave big, hand-shaped bruises, some little part of him notes, but the rest of him is gasping and moaning and whining at the maddening pace and thickness that Zebra is and has set; the blinding pain that had initially struck him now replaced by blinding pleasure. His fingernails are scrabbling at Zebra's scarred chest, and he's trying to gain back some shred of dignity or control, but Zebra's looking at him and his thumbs flick out over his nipples and it's over much too fast.
The world shatters white and Komatsu goes limp. It doesn't take much more for Zebra to follow. Komatsu lays his head against Zebra's chest, too low to lean on his shoulder. He shudders as Zebra moves, still impaled on Zebra's length. He swallows, and when he tries to talk, his voice is a hoarse, breathless whisper.
"Th-that was—AAAHH?!" His head jerked up, wide eyes staring at the ceiling as Zebra lazily pushes his hips forward, almost casually starting up on Komatsu again. Komatsu tries to brace himself, getting over his initial shock to glare accusingly at Zebra.
"ZebraAAH-san, waAAit wait wait, IIII'm not recoOOOvered yet-" his voice rose and fell as Zebra continued, ignoring him in favor of a second round. Komatsu's still trying to protest the sudden renewal when Zebra turns him around, his back now flush against Zebra's chest and he reddens at the whine that escapes him at the action. Belatedly, Komatsu realizes he's hard again as Zebra's hand encircles it, pumping him as he lets loose a moan.
They're both too relaxed to go fast, and Komastu finds he doesn't really want him to stop. It's slow and loving, Zebra's hands brushing over his body, calluses chafing but comforting against his skin. This time it lasts longer, the languid rhythm lulling them into a state of perpetual bliss as climax took them over again.
Zebra lay him down on the bed, pulling out slowly and groaning at the loss. Moving downwards, he lapped up the cum on Komatsu's chest and privates like a cat laps cream. It was thick and richly flavored, telling him that Komatsu doesn't relieve himself often. His member twitches, and Zebra grins wolfishly at the reaction.
"Really, 'Matsu?" he was almost asleep at this point; Zebra's rumbling chuckle sent pleasant shivers through him. "Two times wasn't enough?"
And then he goes down on him again, swallowing him and swirling his tongue devilishly around the hardening member. Matsu lets loose a tinny whine—he's overstimulated, but he still wants more, and he was screaming so much his throat is sore and he can't manage much more than whines and a startled croak when Zebra's hand goes behind him, teasing his entrance. Zebra pauses, and when Komatsu looks down, Zebra's looking up at him, eyebrows furrowed. He lets out a squeak as Zebra's hand engulfs his butt, lifting him while still keeping his member in his mouth. The abrupt change jarred his backside, and a trickle of cum flowed down his leg. Zebra's eyes alighted on this, eyes gleaming; more fun for later.
He goes to the kitchen, managing to pour a glass of water for the wriggling chef in his arms whilst still sucking him off, swallowing whenever he feels Komatsu go still. By the time he's done so, though, Komatsu's released, shuddering in his arms. A little bit escapes his mouth out the side of his cheek; he licks it away, lowering Komatsu so he can cradle him one-handed and returns to the bedroom. He tilts the glass up to Matsu's mouth; he drinks, swallowing, and the motion drives Zebra to bite just a few more times on it, even though there's already plenty of them decorating what used to be a flawless pale column.
He lets Komatsu drink until he's had enough, placing the glass on a bedside table. Komatsu's snoozing, his chest rising and falling as he breaths in and out. Gently, Zebra turns him over, and Komatsu murmurs sleepy nothings before settling into the new position. He leaves briefly, fetching a towel from the adjoining bathroom to clean Komatsu off.
He dabs up what he can see, pausing when Komatsu stirs. When he can see no more on his skin, he gets started on what's still inside Komatsu.
First, he applies pressure with his fingertips. This causes the trickle to start up again, curving it's way down hickeys and bitemarks. He dabbed at it with the towel, pressing his fingers against the hole whenever it stopped flowing. Eventually it dried up, but he knew there was still some inside him.
So he tongued the entrance, groaning as the thick liquid flavored with his own personal tastes flowed over his tongue. Komatsu shifted, trying to wriggle away in his sleepy state, but he simply laid a broad hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles into the muscles until he relaxed completely. Sucking lightly, he drew out the rest of the liquid, spitting it into the towel before tossing it into a pile of dirty laundry.
Task done, he settled in next to Komastu; the bed stank heavily of sex, the faint undertraces of blood and tears mixing with the stronger scents of sweat and semen. He pulled Komatsu onto his chest, and took his time as he marveled at the small male cradled in his arms.
Bitemarks and hickeys decorated his skin liberally, and he lifted Komatsu to his mouth so he could nibble on skin that wasn't marked. He left his face alone, though—kiss-red lips and the peaceful expression on his face as he slumbered was enough.
Had anyone asked him before meeting Komatsu if he had anyone special, he'd have killed them before they could blink. Now, though, having gone through the experiences he has with the small chef, seeing just how tenacious he can be—
He believes he's found something worth cherishing.
Unfortunately, so had the other Kings. Zebra growled at the thought of having to share, but subsided when Komatsu nuzzled into his chest. He knew no amount of fighting or protests would allow him to keep Matsu to himself—the others care for him just as much as he does, and he's still baffled as to why Toriko thought to let him have the chef all to himself. But he knows that, as of now, they've formed a bond that goes deeper than love, a steel cord connecting them together—thinner cords run between the Kings themselves, the attachments to Komatsu are thick and sturdy, proof of the affection and protectiveness they feel for Komastu.
And he knows, for some unknown reason, that something is going to happen—something even bigger than what they've already faced down—
And it will tighten those chains to the point where none of them can go anywhere without Komatsu, in their heart, mind, or with him physically.
The imprint he's left with all of them is like a brand, but Zebra doesn't really care because some profound inner sense tells him that one of these days, all of them will be able to share with each other, and Komatsu will be their center.
And so he settles, dragging Komatsu back up again, dozing along with him. Something makes him look over to the bedside table; next to the empty glass, lies another note, this time on a piece of pink paper and written in curly, girlish handwriting.
Definitely a note from Sunny.
Reading it, Zebra's mouth twitches into a sardonic smile, shaking his head lightly as his body reacts to the words and their insinuation. Maybe in an hour or two. Komatsu's tired out and, unlike him, needs more rest to replenish his strength. Playing with sleepy Komatsu is tempting, but more tempting is what's to come if he has patience. He crumples up the note, tossing it into a wastebasket before settling down to wake for Matsu to wake up.
The note reads as such:
Dear Zebra,
I can see Toriko and Coco already dropped off Komastu.
I left some chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and strawberries in your fridge.
Enjoy!
Hope you have a stunning Valentines' Day!
Love,
Sunny.
What are you doing, porn.
Why didn't you stop, porn.
Why did you suddenly turn philosophical, porn.
PORN.
So…
Yeah.
Fuck. I try writing porn and then suddenly BAM!
…10 pages in Word.
10.
That had to be the most porn I've ever written.
Ever.
My friend has told me on a citrus level, it ranks hydrochloric acid.
That's how bad it is.
Someone help. Now I'm writing about sleepy Kings molesting Komatsu, and after that, an orgy with all of them.
SOMEONE. PLEASE. SAVE ME.
I've got, like, twenty more blips from assorted fandoms that I'm trying to write, but all I can think about write now is Toriko because—
Seriously.
Look at them.
Look at the innuendo.
Look at how sexual they are.
I can't even write other fandoms.
Not even my Skirt and Blush, and a lot of people are urging me to write it.
Please.
If anyone's who's into BuJeet is reading this, please message me a little blip of them, porny, fluffy, something so that I can get motivated to write more.
Please.
Otherwise I'm gonna start writing Star Wars porn with Chewy.
HELP. ME.
Like, favorite, comment, do whatever it is you readers do.
Ciao for now,
~Yaoi's Consort.