It's the last week of smutember! The trope I used for this one was, obvious enough again, was 'Sexting', and we're back to torturing Mamoru I guess, lol. My always-thanks to my beta Uglygreenjacket (I swear I don't do it intentionally, love, these things just get longer than I intent them to!) who has one hell of a beta job with me this month, and to Antigone2 – thank you so much for cheering me on during this?!
Anyway, this is the last week, so make sure to check out the other smutember fics written over on tumblr too, if you're in the mood, and cheer all the authors on! They'd love to hear from you!
And so do I, of course, so let me know how you found this!
As in my previous chapter: Since this is an Established Relationship setting, please assume they figured out what to do for protection aaaages ago, and won't make it a topic before sex everytime thus! But it's there as it should be!
Sextual Harrassment
A Short Story in the Lemon Tree Series, Written for Smutember 2019
Even before it had all gotten all out of control, Mamoru had already been quite sure that if Usagi were to ever learn that some of the things she texted him from time to time really did things to him... he'd either die a mortified puddle on the spot or be in a hell lot of trouble.
But yes. Yes, it really, really did. Things to him, that is.
(And in the end, it was kind of both – the puddle and the trouble.)
The fateful Monday it had finally started getting out of hand had begun innocently enough, when out of the blue something had switched and suddenly it was no longer the kind that he'd gotten used to by now, the kind he could deal with—
He usually had it under control. And it's not that it was a problem per se – His life was good right now. There was no enemy, they were comfortable. And while the tables had recently flipped, now that Usagi had started working and doing so well at her event company that she was saving money for their future while he was still stuck in classes for his never-ending medical degree and coming by on his orphan's pension and the odd strange summer and student jobs, this wasn't anything that bothered him beyond the fact that it meant they would have to wait a little while longer until they could afford to get a bigger apartment than his little one-room number that would fit them both. He sure as hell was used to her being the person with more power in this relationship, and more than anything, it felt kind of sexy.
So, the fact that his biggest current problem seemed to be that his girlfriend texted him unintentionally sexy things he couldn't deal with should be a cause for celebration, really.
As if he could sense it, like a foreboding wave of 'this will be the end of me', his eyebrow twitched in an almost nervous tic when he felt his phone vibrate multiple times in short succession in his pocket this particular Monday morning.
Even if on the outside no one would ever notice, Mondays had become quite a pain for him this semester. While Usagi didn't work on Mondays, he had classes 8 through 12 back to back followed by a free slot that he used to review or have lunch before he had classes all the way till 6. So his Mondays nowadays were hard to cope with as it was.
Yet, it really wasn't even so out of the ordinary what he found.
He'd managed to refrain from waking up his phone to check his messages for about 3 minutes until he caved, shifted slightly in his wooden folding chair in the back row of this particular lecture hall to withdraw the device from his tight jeans, and then rubbed his hand over his face and mouth to suppress a groan.
Usako, 11:41 am.
I'm out shopping with Mina-P and I can't quite decide between these. What do you think?
What followed were a series of pretty much nude selfies taken in what was apparently a changing room. Nude except for the bras Usagi was confidently modeling with a cute little way too inviting smile and tilted head into the mirror and the camera of her phone.
A black one with an underband that criss-crossed in ribbons across the smooth creamy skin beneath her breasts, contrasting deliciously, a different black one in almost transparent, delicate eyelash lace that hugged around the soft swell of her breast as if it were painted on, a soft pink one she modeled with her back turned to the camera to showcase the little satin bow in the back in lieu of a clasp that he just knew would fall off of her with the smallest tug to the ribbons, and a fourth red, corded, triangle one that made the soft mounds plunge in a way that made his mouth run dry.
He felt himself bite his finger of the hand still tightly pressed against his mouth, his eyes glued to the screen, lecture completely forgotten.
She doesn't mean it that way. She just wants your opinion is all. It was a mantra to will the abrupt pressing in his too tight jeans down, one meant to hang on to his sanity.
These weren't even the first changing room photos he'd ever received, and yet it was somehow the most torturing thing she'd ever sent him. And she'd send him a number of unwittingly seducing things over the years.
She was biting her finger around a cheeky smile in the red bra photo.
How was she getting sexier every day? How was this even possible?
The eyelash lace one framed the little birthmark that sat in the valley between her breast like the teasing little treat it was as if it had been made solely for this purpose alone.
He hadn't even noticed the class had been dismissed when he found himself alone in the lecture hall and finally able to answer the mesmerizing photos.
Mamoru, 11:52 am.
Buy them all.
He barely even registered the immediate reply of a 'good, cause Mina-P said the same' with lots of widely smiling emojis underneath the open thread and slumped with his back heavily against the hard wood of the folding chair and cursed into the echoing, empty room.
He had to take a series of calming breaths before he dared to eventually exit from behind the small desk that hid his swelling problems so well.
Most days, Usagi's brand of accidental sexting was both torturous and surprisingly oblivious to what she was actually doing to him. In a way, it usually had almost been adorable if it didn't tend to give him such a hard time.
Turns out, his life would have stayed a hell of a lot easier had she stayed oblivious.
The day that changed really was his own fucking fault.
But the previous week had started with sexy lingerie and continued with lamentations of how her days were too long and she'd rather want to crawl into bed with him followed by long, rambling, all-encompassing descriptions of everything she'd rather do than work her project (their current client seemed to be a pain in the ass even if balloons and bouncy castles were involved) (and licking ice cream off his chest in the summer heat was among the long list of optional alternatives.)
(He'd bought two tubs of ice cream on the way home, yet, when he invited Usagi she ordered him out to join her spending time with the girls instead.)
So, it really was no wonder that come NEXT Monday he was hanging by a dangerous, flimsy thread and really couldn't take a lot.
The first text of a long day of torment once again hit in his Immunology class.
Usako, 11:01 am.
Do you mind if I go hang around your apartment today while you're not there?
He sighed in audible relief when he saw he wasn't greeted by bare skin and sultry eyes this time when he opened up his phone.
Mamoru, 11:01 am.
Of course you can. You don't have to ask.
Her reply was almost immediate… and made him freeze up.
Usako, 11:02 am.
Good. It's so hot. I need somewhere where I can run around naked in the aircon.
Oh.
He'd already been riled up. It was a long week, he was studying for a set of upcoming oral exams long into his nights and that always left him a little vulnerable and over-stimulated as it was, and so his deprived brain had decided to play the image of Usagi in lingerie on repeat for the past 168 hours.
And that's why the simple information that any moment now Usagi would be in his apartment, strip down, and he was not there to see, was kinda something he felt on his skin, although last time he checked, he wasn't thirteen anymore.
This really shouldn't have been a problem. It shouldn't. At all.
And so, he simply forbade his mind to dwell on the happenings of which his walls could see and stubbornly (and successfully) focused back on the projector slides, and after class, instead of going for lunch, he holed himself up in the library for some reviewing.
A very secluded part of the library.
Mistake.
It meant if Usagi involuntarily decided to boil him in his pants, there was no external pressure to focus his mind on.
Usako, 1:18 pm.
Freedom for the boobs!
Ok. This was ok. He could handle this.
Mamoru swallowed uncomfortably as he typed. Unintentional. It's unintentional.
Mamoru, 1:19 pm.
… I'm glad you're having fun.
He set the phone back down – even when it was still opened to her message thread – and crossed out the last line of nonsense he'd written in his notes with a little bit more pressure, then corrected himself.
And really, it was stupid. The mere thought that his girlfriend was currently running naked around his apartment should not turn him on. A text clearly meant to be funny such as hers right now, should not turn him on. It should not. It didn't.
Usako, 1:20 pm.
I am. I'm lying on your couch naked and eating ice cream and your aircon is a gift. The breeze is so strong my nipples are hard. THIS IS BLISS.
It did.
He thunked his forehead onto the cherry wood of the library desk and counted to 10.
But as he tried to mentally brief his brain with the fact that he sees her naked all the time this is NOT a big deal get a grip, his mind instead latched onto memory material of Usagi's soft, luscious, delicious curves and endless, smooth legs and creamy thighs and golden hair tumbling across pink, puckered nipples to use and turn his mental image into unintentional technicolor.
Usagi naked on his couch. Usagi waiting naked on his couch. Usagi with the sultry eyes from the red bra photo, crooking her finger with her naked, long legs stretched out and her plump butt against the coarse fabric of his couch. Usagi on his couch with her soft thighs spreading open slowly as he crawled on top of her and slowly thrus—
He snapped his book shut so loud it made even himself jump and grit his teeth.
Normal. This is ok. This is nothing. So he was turned on. He'd been a teenager once and had thus been well trained in dealing with unwelcome and spontaneous boners. He could ignore this. He needed to ignore this.
Mamoru, 1:29 pm.
Good to hear.
He breathed a calming sigh and crossed his legs, tilted his head back against the backrest of his chair and stifled a groan as he ran a hand through his hair and fixated on the ceiling until it was time for his next class.
Through which he made it almost completely before his phone vibrated again. And though he braced himself, this one made him smile.
Usako, 3:30 pm.
I miss you.
He flicked his eyes up to the slides, weighing his options briefly and let his pen drop almost immediately to text back.
Mamoru, 3:31 pm.
Yeah?
His professor was listing factors affecting lymph node metastasis practically word for word from the textbook while he shifted his attention fully to his phone.
Usako, 3:31 pm.
Yeah, it's lonely on this couch.
He smiled a dumb smile at his phone, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other.
Mamoru, 3:32 pm.
That's impossible. It's never lonely on that couch when you're there.
He could almost imagine her slightly charmed, slighting blushing smile as she rolled her eyes to that over-the-top flirt, and stared at the three dots that indicated she was writing with a smile that was even dumber.
But it derailed fairly quickly.
Usako, 3:32 pm.
Hmm : ) Well, come home and join me then and get on me.
Did she just…?
He licked his lips.
Mamoru, 3:33 pm.
…What?
Don't don't don't don't, his brain chanted. He looked up deliberately at the surgery pictures of lymph node deformations currently displayed on the slides to keep his boner from greeting him back full-force, but somehow even these wouldn't seem to want to work.
(And god would that one be hard to explain if anybody saw him walk out of this class in his current state.)
His phone vibrated again almost immediately.
Usako, 3:33 pm.
Well I'm lying here all spread out and not gonna move. If you wanna join me, you need to get on top. ; )
He squeezed his eyes and mouth shut and reminded himself hard that she didn't mean this, she didn't know what this was doing to him, she was making a fucking joke don't—
Usagi naked on his couch with her puckered pink nipples and her manga slipping to the floor and his hands slowly stroking up her inner thighs to spread her wide open for him as he crawled on top of her. Those breathy, shaky gasps she made when he dragged his cock slowly up and dow—
Usako, 3:35 pm.
For real tho
Don't you wanna come?
Yes. Yes, he very much wanted to come. Preferably in her.
He chose to just not answer.
And he also chose to remain seated once again, though this time deliberately, when class was dismissed, pretending to rework his notes during the break between classes right there in the frigging second row.
In the end he had to tug his dark button up out from his pants and let it hang down freely to hide him somewhat semi-successfully that left him sweating all the way to his last class, and it took all his resolve not to skip his last seminar and run home to fuck a naked temptress right into his couch cushions.
Although he did find himself pleading with fate to please, please, please make it so that she would remain naked and in his apartment for the rest of the night, please, he'd hurry home extra fucking fast and never ask for anything else.
Usako, 5:01 pm.
I thought I might pick you up later?
No.
He read the message in open-mouthed, protesting appalment. No. No. Stay. Stay where you are until I can get there so I can—
Mamoru, 5:02 pm.
You could just wait up for me at home…
He held his breath.
Usako, 5:02 pm.
But we get to the gallery quicker from Mita I think?
OH… shit.
Right. Michiru's vernissage. Tonight. Ginza. Little artisan gallery they'd promised to come by tonight and support her.
His disappointment was so harsh and fierce he could taste it on his tongue.
Usako, 5:02 pm.
We could go out for dinner after the exhibition thingy?
He exhaled in a pained shudder.
Mamoru, 5:04 pm.
Sure.
She wore nothing but the thinnest excuse for a little black cotton dress he'd ever seen, tiny straps holding it up and tinier straps criss-crossing across her chest not unlike one of the bras from the pictures that started this extended blue-balling session from hell. It fluttered in the wind down to just above her knees and hugged her in all the right places and looked spectacularly fashionable even if it was clearly chosen for the late summer heat, her skin glistening just that little bit where a thin sheen of sweat pooled in the nape of her neck and the dip of her elbows and the swell of her breasts barely visible beyond the straps of her almost modest neckline. She was flushed and pink and gorgeous and shit he was going to suffer.
And from the way the fabric dipped low down her back and shifted across her chest he was half-sure she wasn't wearing a bra beneath this thing.
She'd risen up adorably on her toes in her little strappy summer wedges to great him with a kiss and he'd curled a hand around her waist to draw her flush against him to inhale her kiss to savor. And yet, it had ended way too soon, and he was forced to let go and walk beside her almost impersonally, just too far to catch the lingering scent of fresh shower on her skin.
They got on the metro and changed trains in Hibiya, and he longingly looked down at the crown of her head as he stood a little too close to her on the metro as she checked directions on her phone and scrolled through her messages. It had originally been his suggestion to go to this event in the first place, and now here he was desperately trying to think of ways to make them turn around and throw her on his bed instead.
He didn't end up voicing a single one of those and ended up trailing after Usagi into the brightly lit venue with slumped shoulders and his hands deep in his pockets.
The gallery itself ended up being located in a tall, hyper-modern building surrounded by other galleries in tall, hyper-modern buildings, visited by crowds made up of people wearing expensive fedora hats, haori jackets and nail polish and he felt a flash of pride that Michiru was doing so well even in her hobbies.
They were handed tall champagne flutes with cut strawberries and rosemary floating in the bubbly alcohol that Usagi quickly fawned over, and altogether the vernissage was kind of cool and kind of not Usagi's world with their talk of color delicacy and texture changes and expressionism in the medium, even when the contrast was blurring every day as she blossomed into the kind of person they all wanted to be. They found Michiru quickly and chatted with her briefly before she was pulled away to network, and then chatted with Haruka a lot more and walked around the venue mostly together until Michiru held a small speech and someone played the cello in her honor.
When the whole thing had almost dwindled down, Mamoru was found by a small group of a few people from university and stayed to small talk politely while Usagi went off with Haruka and made some friends in her charming ways, and he somehow lost her from his sight.
He could stand it for about 30 minutes in which he'd more and more disengaged distractedly from the conversation until he excused himself, wandered the small, bright, white-walled and illuminated maze until he found Usagi sitting on a nearby serving table next to all the champagne flutes and dangled her long legs lazily as she stared forlornly at a watercolor of the Moon seen from outer space with the Earth rising just behind it.
She was so lost in the painting she didn't even seem to notice him walk up to her side, and even when he was all contained and all under tight, careful control, he couldn't refrain from leaning into her personal space, bending in the back and brushing her startled ear, and couldn't help the flirty tone.
"Like what you see?" he breathed down her neck.
Her eyes jumped up to his even as her shoulders fell from their startled tenseness, and she sent him a warm smile that quirked up a little more on one side and turned those enchanting eyes back to the watercolor.
"I really do," she said in an almost apologetic tone towards the painting. "It's breathtaking. I kinda want it."
He should be focusing on the painting. Should acknowledge the fact that it probably reminded her not only of their past lives, but of her Senshi's view of it, should address the fact that it was nice to see the reminder paint a smile on her face and not something else. Instead, he didn't face the painting at all, took an even closer step and inhaled deeply, his eyes raking down her shoulders, her bare arms, her attractive dress down to its hem and her long legs.
She raised her eyebrows, smile stretching even further up one side.
"Like what you see?" she joked.
He didn't even miss a beat.
"I really do. It's breathtaking. I kinda want it."
He saw the impact her own words had in his mouth on her, and it abruptly brought out Mamoru-baka's smirk, and he shifted even closer, eyes fixed firmly on hers as he looked down at her.
But then she recovered, and her head tilted in sweet challenge as she nodded toward the storage door beside him. Her expression was one meant to tease, one that full-well knew this was nothing he would ever go for.
He looked at the storage room – a little revolving door with a bull's eye – dark inside.
Her expression derailed when he breathed an 'ok,' and grabbed her hand to pull her off her perch only to back her towards the door.
Her eyes were wide and amused and scandalized and he watched her scan the room to see if anyone was noticing which should be his job, but he was far beyond caring at this point, and he bodily pushed her into the door that gave way behind her hips and then swung closed behind them with a click.
"Mamoru!" she half admonished, half giggled in a tone clearly meant to convey 'what's gotten into you?!' Or, 'who are you and what have you done to my prissy nerd?!'
It gave way for a little mewl as his hand grabbed firmly around her waist. They were surrounded by shelves filled with tools and cables and a few step ladders and frames and he supposed this was where they kept everything needed to change and maintain the exhibition, and light filtered in only through the bull's eye window when he tightened his hold and lifted her up onto a low apothecary cabinet of which the little labels read things like 'bolts' 'screws' 'nylon' 'bulbs white' and 'bulbs vintage', and his mouth and tongue attached itself to the sensitive skin just behind her ear.
"Mamo-chan…" she breathed, her tone now changed to say, 'what's with you today?' but also, 'do go on.'
His hand slipped from her waist to her thigh and pressed into the soft flesh, delighting a little in their position like this, her thighs spread open and clamped around his form between her legs, her skirt hitching up ever so slightly as he dragged his hand beneath and to her inner thigh.
"You promised me dinner," he whispered into her ear as if it were an explanation, then flicked his tongue out to lick along the outer shell of her sensitive ear, and shivered a little to the impact this had on her, the immediate flush that spread down her décoltée, the lift of her chest as she took a deep, shuddering breath, the way her thighs twitched around him and the way her lower lip did this little quiver as her mouth popped open just so briefly, presenting him with the burning urge to lean down and suck it into his mouth.
He did just that with a little hum, and her fingers curled against his arm reflexively as she inhaled sharply and stole the air right from his own lips in the process.
He didn't release it, continued to suckle her plump, warm lower lip with an appreciative moan low in his throat when his fingers found her panties, and she writhed against his hand where his finger traced the edges of it on the junction of her thigh.
When he finally released her lip with a pop, her eyes were a little glazed over, half-lidded and intense, and both her soft, delicate hands clutched at his bicep when he moved his mouth back from her lips to her throat.
She leaned her head back against the wall behind her with a surrendering moan and thud.
"This isn't usually this easy," she hummed with her legs spreading just that little wider, causing him to press more insistently against her.
He chuckled against her jugular and felt her thighs quiver just so slightly as he brushed a finger up and down the center of her panties ever so softly, then moved back to its edge. "Are you calling me easy?"
She bucked her hips in a way that was so miniscule he would almost have missed it, and her voice came out breathy and worked up.
"We're in a storage closet with a window in the door and there's hordes of people outside and you said yes to it."
He shrugged. "It's dark."
He absolutely coveted the way she shivered as he let his other hand slowly travel from her neck, down her collarbone, catching in the fabric of her dress and dragging it down with him ever so slightly until he circled one peaked nipple over the black cotton fabric.
"How?" she moaned.
"How what?" he rasped too low against her throat, his tongue returning immediately against the junction of her neck, his hand traveling further to stroke one finger along the underside of her breast.
And was dialing it up to a hundred, touching her in a way that played her, dropping his voice down into the frequency that made her hum beneath his fingertips and it was working. And when he moved his fingers once again to flick along her panties, he smirked against her throat to find them damp.
She mewled in that frustrated hue when he removed his hand again to stroke along her thigh, and mewled again in a completely different way when his other hand softly pinched her nipple through the fabric with two fingers and pulled.
Her voice was sounding deliciously wrecked when she tried to speak "How are y— How are you a-agreeing to this?" she managed under gasps and he nibbled along her throat. "You'd n-never agree to this unless, unless—" she broke off.
The rest went unspoken. Unless she turned him on for hours on end until he broke. This was usually the only way a thing like this would ever happen and she was absolutely right.
"Well, you have," he moaned into her skin.
The noise she made in answer was all confusion and all sigh and he bit with no pressure at all into the hollow skin above her collarbone. "Usako, you've been turning me on all day."
It was when she stiffened up that his eyes blew wide and he realised his horrendous, giant, blaring mistake. Oh god. Mistake. Mistakemistakemistake. Take it back—
"I mean—" he fumbled for words, drawing back.
But the damage was done.
Her expression transformed from a surprised 'Oh' to a rather mischievous 'O-hohoho!' to a big, glaring, 'OH?!' in a matter of seconds.
Then she punched him in the arm.
"You've been 'How nice, honey'-ing me all this time even when it worked?!" she whisper shouted at him, clamping her thighs around him to keep him prisoner. "I thought you were being a clueless rock!"
What— He blinked. "Usako…" —had it… had it been on purpose?!
His eyes flashed into an answering glare immediately. "I don't 'sext', Usako."
He realised his airquotes had been too much the second he had made them, and she raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.
Her eyes took on that challenging glint that really meant no good for him.
No.
He shook his head. "Usako, no."
Really. He knew it was hopeless. He had no base to argue, here. He was the one with the aching, throbbing, sad boner pressed against her.
She nodded with too bright eyes. "Usako, yes," she said, all the challenge in her eyes.
And then her hand was around his neck and slipping against his scalp and curling in this way that made him weak no matter what and her tongue was in his mouth and now he was the one to mewl.
But before his hands could find purchase in her luscious hips, she slipped out from under him and hopped down from the apothecary even to his protesting whimpers.
"No, Usako, wait!"
She grinned too widely, winked too knowingly, and didn't give a damn towards his throbbing plight. She was out the door, holding it open for him.
"C'mon. I did promise you dinner," she said with a wide, cheeky, bright and cheerful grin.
Swallowing hard, he adjusted his shirt once more and flushed brightly upon following when he saw someone had been politely waiting outside with a blush and averted eyes and a cardboard box in his hands who walked into the storage room after Mamoru exited, and switched on the light behind them to rummage for something or other.
Usagi mingled just a little bit longer even when there almost no people left to mingle with anymore, and dinner, to his utter dismay, turned out to be actual dinner.
Michiru and Haruka joined them for a surprisingly down-to-earth hearty bowl of most delicious Ramen in a small owner-run store two side-streets away from the bustle that Usagi had found because Usagi just found these things. For the remainder of the night he then endured both Usagi's way too familiar appreciative moans into her meal as well as Michiru's not so subtle underhanded teasing that made clear that word had travelled fast about what apparently everyone assumed had happened in that storage room.
Except it hadn't. And it didn't for the rest of the night. When Haruka offered them a ride and had asked where to drop them off, Usagi shot him that challenging smile and requested to be brought home to her place.
Michiru snickered at his disgruntled face for the whole remainder of the short drive back to his lonely, empty apartment, afterwards.
It didn't happen for the next few days of the week either and Mamoru was slowly combusting.
Apparently Usagi had decided until he texted back in a way she deemed acceptable, he was going to stew. Kept throwing his own arguments back at her and reminding him he needed to study for his exams anyway, so her not staying at his place was a good thing in that way.
Somewhere along the line this had become a battle of wills and he was being slaughtered. He was being very slowly murdered is what was happening here. Killed indeed very softly by text message after text message.
And Mamoru was rubbish at texting as it was, never-mind sexting. He didn't know why she got it into her head to keep trying!
And… what would he even… 'I'd like to … put my...mouth on your...body? …' No. No, he wouldn't. No chance. This ain't happening.
Usako, 10:53 am.
This is torture for me too, you know.
I'm not kidding when I keep telling you I'm like, really, really, REALLY fucking endlessly horny for you by now. This is working me up, too!
At least he'd learned his lesson and was wearing looser pants by now so that the chronic boner at least didn't hurt so much. Still, reading this was doing him in. He could barely follow his classes today as it was. (Or yesterday, or the day before. He'd have so much catching up and reviewing to do when this was finally over).
He punched his answer into his phone and had to keep himself from grumbling out loud.
Mamoru, 10:53 am.
Well, you have the choice to end this.
Her reply came promptly.
Usako, 10:53 am.
SO DO YOU.
He put the phone back and re-focused on the slides. Tried to, at least. Then he snatched his phone back up when it vibrated noisily against the wood of his desk because he'd left it lying out and ignored the side-eye of his co-ed one seat over.
Usako, 10:56 am.
Well I am. Btw. Really, really horny for you.
He inhaled harshly and yet for some reason, even when he knew inevitably what was gonna follow as he stared at the animated three dots next to her name, he didn't put the phone away. Didn't ignore it. Because really, there was no way he could. He just wasn't this strong.
Usako, 10:56 am.
Mamo-chan, you have no idea. I'm so wet for you I'm dripping. Tell me what I'm doing to you and then come relieve me of my problem, please.
Her tactics had clearly changed over the course of this and he was ready to cry.
Usako, 10:57 am.
I'd do anything for you to burst into this bloody office right now, bend me over my desk, flip up my skirt and pound into me…
The imagery drove into him so hard he quivered. Full body shudder as he crossed his legs painfully and cursed his life and no, no, no, don't imagine it—
He imagined it. Of course, he imagined it.
He bit the inside of his cheek hard.
Mamoru, 10:58 am.
Fuck Usako I'm in CLASS
Just a second for her reply, this time, and he continued his death glare at his phone, as if it would magically procure the love of his life underneath his desk and make it all better…
Oh god no, don't imagine that too—
Usako, 10:58 am.
So?
There were a number of things he could have texted back that would have been the truth and probably also gotten him instantly out of his misery by falling into sexting-category just by the nature of its content. Like, 'So, I've been having a hard-on so purple and hard for like one and a half weeks I'm going insane and yes, yes I really wanna come into your office and fuck you on your desk, thank you very much, also you're doing this to me on purpose.'
But he wouldn't budge, and so he typed something different, of course.
Mamoru, 11:00 am.
This is really hard for me.
The truth and nothing but the truth.
He had to bite his lip to keep from whimpering at what she answered.
Usako, 11:01 am.
Want me to come lick it?
Too close. Too close to what his imaginary Usagi had been doing underneath his desk right here anyway. Too close.
Had he said his boner didn't hurt in these pants? Because he was wrong.
Mamoru, 11:01 am.
USAKO!
Usako, 11:01 am.
I could also sit on it... whatever you want.
Side-eye from one seat over again when Mamoru couldn't keep in the whimper this time and he slapped his hand over his mouth, then squeezed his eyes shut ever so briefly to calm down.
Oh god. Usagi here with him in the back row, reaching for his belt and his zipper as she stared him down, straddled him on the wooden folding chairs and with a relieved moan bursting from her lips slowly, slowly sank down on—
He ripped his eyes back open. Closing them was a bad, bad, very bad decision.
Usako, 11:03 am.
Tell me, then get over here.
Usako, 11:03 am.
Come put it in my mouth.
Usako, 11:04 am.
Just tell me and you can do anything you want to me, Mamo-chan.
He was so over-stimulated he couldn't even deal, and he closed his eyes despite better judgement and swallowed the moan right down. He needed not to show. He needed to—
Come put it in my mouth.
You can do anything you want to me, Mamo-chan.
He nearly jizzed his pants and it wouldn't even be the first time this week. Usagi had opened Pandora's box on his behalf, and she made him live through every sexual fantasy he'd ever had of her on repeat and she usually did it while he sat in class.
Usako, 11:06 am.
We can do it the other way around too. There's something about your pretty, pretty face between my legs…
This time he moaned out loud.
He just barely managed to fake a cough mid-moan, and with his face pulsing and red and flushed to the roots of his head (a hard task all in itself since all of his blood had taken up permanent residence elsewhere), he'd grabbed all his stuff and pressed his notepad and book bag to his crotch as he fled the lecture hall under the bewildered sideways glance of his professor and the slow, judging head-shaking of his co-ed one seat over.
He fled into the library with his lungs burning and some head turning, and dropped his books and bag noisily in the most secluded corner he knew, then breathed consciously and harshly to try and get his cock back under his own control, even if he knew it was a lost cause.
But he calmed down enough to sit down, drink his whole water bottle in one go, and to flip his textbook open. He could review what he'd learn in class on his own. He didn't need a professor to slide-karaoke it for him.
But Usagi wasn't done with him.
As if she could read his mind, his phone vibrated the minute he felt he could somewhat concentrate again.
Usako, 11:28 am.
I want your hands on me. On my thighs, slowly spreading me open.
Really, the most sensible thing would have been to switch off his phone. But…that would mean not reading these words, and as torturing as they were, there was really no way this was an option.
He really didn't know why it was that they hit him so, why they had him so paralyzed and shaking, why he couldn't BUT imagine just that, him on his knees, his palms dragging up her thighs to do what she was saying, and his cock throbbed at the image his head procured, of her face contorted in bliss as he greeted her clit with a stroke of his tongue.
Usako, 11: 28 am.
And then I want your dick slowly stroking me until you fill me up all slow and hard.
Or, you know, that.
It would take him about 19 minutes to get from here to her office. Maybe 15 if he speeded. And by now, admitting defeat really didn't sound so bad.
Who was he kidding, she was going to win anyway. When it came to sex, she always had him beat. Like all things indulgent, Usagi knew how to enjoy herself. She was a master at it. The Queen of Unapologetic Wants and Needs. Be it sleeping in until the afternoon without a guilty conscience, buying stacks of manga without checking her budget obsessively, eating dessert for breakfast, suggesting sex in storage rooms or sending him suggestive and explicit text to torture him while he sat in class.
He'd never learned to let loose as much as Usagi had. But she was a patient teacher, most of the time. Her lessons usually were simple ones, ones he learned to embrace over time even if they cost him quite an effort. Getting him to sneak snacks into the theater, making him put syrup in his coffee, hiding away his alarm clock on Sundays.
Or sexting him until he caved.
Really, this was just another of her lessons. A really, really, really hard lesson.
Just fucking text her.
His forehead hit the wooden desk and he breathed in harshly. He was so hard he felt his pulse in his cock, and whenever he let his mind stray only a second he was seeing himself slam into her so hard and fast she cried out, her back arching, her thighs quivering and wrapped around him, her face contorted in that silent scream as she chanted his—
That. Just text her that and you could do that in 15 minutes.
Usako, 11:31 am.
Please. Just tell me. I want to see you tonight. I need you in me.
He cupped his erection and pinched it painfully to get himself under grips, and then he flipped the page back to start again.
Mamoru, 11:32 am.
I'm meeting up with a study group tonight anyway. We'll study late into the night. I won't even be home.
Judging by the fact she didn't answer again for a while, he must have disappointed her about half as much as he had himself at least.
He even managed to be pretty productive for a while. He decided to skip lunch (food was too strong a reminder of Usagi and Usagi's lips wrapped around things), reviewed all of the lesson he'd not been able to pay attention to and then skipped, as well as its syllabus contents for next week and even managed to write a few more flash cards for his upcoming Immunology exam.
He was kind of proud of himself, considering he was studying with a cock that had apparently decided to never be completely flaccid ever again, and a mind that made himself glance at his phone every five minutes, refusing to acknowledge the fact he was hoping for another text.
He also refused to acknowledge the relieved sigh and speed with which he snatched up his phone from its noisy dance on the cherry wood desktop hours later when she finally texted again.
Usako, 4:08 pm.
I'm getting off early today and I have some ideas for later.
He didn't think of pretending he hadn't read every single of her texts the second they arrived and texted back immediately.
Mamoru, 4:08 pm.
Later?
He knew of course that he was walking straight into a trap, and he would regret this in less than a minute, but he couldn't help himself.
Usako, 4:08 pm.
When you've told me what this does to you and you ditch your study date to fuck me instead.
Yup, there it was.
Mamoru, 4:09 pm.
Usako
When he sighed it was as if all that breath went straight down to his crotch to stir him right back to full attention. It really didn't take a lot these days, it was pathetic, really. He was wound so tight she could just breathe on him and he'd come—
Breathe on him with her pink, warm lips just so close to his cock to barely not touch, but if she licked her lips is would graze him and he'd—
Usako, 4:10 pm.
Wanna hear my ideas? It involves a lot of teasing. I want you to be a little rough with me.
—and he'd curl his hand around the back of her head and hold her steady as he thrus—
He snapped his book shut. He needed to leave to meet up with his study group soon-ish anyway. If he left now, he had enough time to walk there. He could calm down on the way and avoid another Usagi-text-induced-train-pervert debacle.
He sighed through grit teeth. He should have switched off his phone. He really should have. What was he thinking? Why was he never really thinking anymore?
Mamoru, 4:11 pm.
Usako…
Usako, 4:11 pm.
Hm?
Mamoru, 4:11 pm.
This is torture.
Logically, he knew of course that this was very much his own fault for being so condescending about the whole thing in the first place. But he also knew that Usagi was getting an absolute kick out of this. That she'd probably googled sexting examples or, worse, asked Minako for advice and they'd set down and compiled ammunition, delighted in making him squirm like this. For the sole reason that he'd made fun of it vehemently as he did with all things that were a little too indulgent and out of his comfort zone at the start. He and his stupid, arrogant airquotes had given her the perfect reason and he was suffering the consequences.
Usako, 4:12 pm.
Good. I want you really hard.
Well, she got that part down. He was in agony. Painful, hard, throbbing agony. Constantly.
Usako, 4:13 pm
Is it working? Are you hard for me?
I am. I really, really, really am.
But he couldn't say that. He'd have lost if he did. And so he pocketed his phone, breathed heavily, and packed his bag.
The two co-eds that hosted their study session chose a café not far away from campus – a small place of a thing about a 10-minute walk away from Mita station more towards Azabu-Juuban.
He picked a large detour that unconsciously put him in a path where it would have been so easy to take a turn and walk straight to Usagi's…
It was only the thought that her parents might really like him, and didn't really bother what Usagi did now especially since she was working and only living there to save up for their future, could move out any second if she wanted, yet still he felt weird barging in there with a boner while they were awake.
And as if she could read his mind, his phone vibrated just in the moment he looked longingly down the street that would take him to her.
Usako, 4:36 pm.
I'm at home now and in the tub. No one else is home. Sprayhead didn't help TOO much tho.
Oh, what the holy fucking fuck.
He couldn't believe his traitorous fingers.
Mamoru, 4:36 pm.
No one else is home?
And his traitorous lungs holding his breath as he stared down at his phone, standing on this street like a moron, waiting for her to answer.
Usako, 4:37 pm.
Nope. They're in Sapporo. Shingo's ice hockey match, remember? My parents went with him for support.
Usagi's naked, glistening, wet body in her tub, hair curling around her face, nipples just so grazing the water; him stepping into the water with her and running his hands down, down, down until she gasps, water splashing all around them as she arches her back and—
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
He took four, five weak hurried steps, almost a jog, into the direction of her house until he jolted to a stop and turned around in his original direction.
Study group. Immunology. Oncology. Several judging people in a room studying cancer and substances ending up in needles. Dying people with diseases. Unappetizing, unerotic diseases. That. Think about that.
He took an even larger detour, bought and ate an onigiri from the nearest conbini on the way because he hadn't eaten during all of this and also because it left him a few minutes alone time to collect himself until he had to be bonerless among people.
He ended up arriving right on time and had all his flashcards and notes open and on their table when his phone buzzed again.
Really. Why he had no self-control to just not look was beyond him.
Usako, 4:59 pm.
Minako also did take me toy shopping last week, so... I could try out the new pretty pink and purple one…
He choked, didn't even pretend to listen to what Kobayashi was saying about oxygen-dependent and -independent pathways of antimicrobial armamentarium in Neutrophils. It all went far, far, far into the back of his perception, all drowned out by the image of Usagi wet and delicious in her tub as she came fluttering around a fake penis instead of him.
Mamoru, 4:59 pm.
No!
He couldn't deal. This was to much. He held his phone in an alarmed way and he knew someone was asking him if everything was ok, but he couldn't even nod or pretend or anything.
Usagi's flushed, pink chest as she started to climb toward release, her breathing that became harsher and breathier, those little mewls she did as she started to clench and flutter and grow stiff, her hand pumping between her legs instead of—
And he couldn't even watch?
Oh god.
Usako, 5:00 pm.
Why not?
He typed at the same time, sent it off at the same time her message arrived.
Mamoru, 5:00 pm.
Don't put anything in you. Please.
Usako, 5: 00 pm
Why not?
Because you wanna be?
He licked his lips.
"Uh, Mamoru?" Akagi said next to him, bewildered.
Mamoru, 5:00 pm.
I can't take it. Please.
Someone placed a coffee cup in front of him. Probably the waitress. He didn't even look up. The guys were talking over his head. His name was mentioned. He didn't care.
Usako, 5:00 pm.
What can't you take about it?
He squeezed his eyes shut. Refrained from reaching down and squeezing other things. When he opened them back up, strained and worked up and sweating, five pairs of eyes were watching him as if he'd gone insane.
He swallowed. "Uh… o- oxygen-dependent pathways…" he mumbled and sorted through his flashcards with shaking hands.
Kobayashi raised an eyebrow, Hasegawa was clearing his throat and nodding. "Yes. Well, as Kobayashi was saying, it wasn't clear in the lecture if these also included—"
Mamoru gripped his pen tighter. He only glanced at the preview when his phone flashed again, and he nearly whimpered, grabbing his pen tighter and inching his chair closer to the tabletop so no one could ever see a glimpse of his crotch as all cost.
Usako, 5:03 pm.
I'll imagine it's you the whole time—
Oh, fuck.
Akagi was onto him all the time, calling him out about every 5 minutes because his concentration was nearly nonexistent, his leg wriggling so much he knew it was driving everyone at the table insane, but he somehow made it almost forty-five minutes before breaking and snatching up his phone even when Akagi gave him what Usagi would have categorized as the 'stink-eye'.
He was usually running these study groups. He was usually the one providing answers. Not the distracted and scatter-brained one. This was not his style.
Except his girlfriend broke his brain.
Mamoru, 5:44 pm.
…Usako?
Her answer came like thunder after lightning.
Usako, 5:44 pm.
Yes?
He swallowed heavily, bit his lip.
His coffee was cold and untouched.
Mamoru, 5:44 pm.
Did you…?
Usako, 5:44 pm.
Did I put a pink vibrator into me?
He inhaled harshly through his nose. No, no, no, imagination, don't. Don't.
Usako, 5: 45 pm.
Hmmm. Wouldn't you like to know?
No. Not 'like'. He needed to know. He needed to know if he had to get up and walk out of this café with a boner tenting in his pants to go and rip a sex toy out of his girl to replace it with his cock, and then fuck her and tease her in a way until she promised to never do this to him again.
Usako, 5:47 pm.
Are you gonna come over now and fuck me into next week already, or do I have to keep dropping more hints?
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Usako, 5:48 pm.
I could be in your lap in 5 minutes.
He couldn't take it. He grabbed his bag and pressed it against his crotch and left his notes and flashcards discarded on the tabletop and sprinted to the restrooms.
Once inside, he turned the faucet, and, ignoring his own face in the mirror, bent forward uncomfortably to hold his head underneath cold water.
Only when his teeth began to chatter did he turn the faucet off, gripped the basin with white-knuckled hands and breathed harshly through his mouth, his hair dripping against white porcelain and running down his neck and spine.
It didn't help. It didn't help at all. He was harder than ever before in his life.
He fled into a stall, leant back heavily against the closed door and cursed the ceiling.
Usako, 6:06 pm.
Or you could come over afterwards. Even if it's late. After your study date is done you could come over and wake me up. Spread my butt-cheeks apart so you can see how wet I am for you and wake me with your cock plunging into me.
He whimpered out loud, hands shaking as he typed.
Mamoru, 6:07 pm.
This isn't funny, Usako.
Oh holy fuck. Usagi sighing in her sleep, writhing and aroused, his hands stroking the line under her butt, down between her legs and finding her—
Usako, 6:09 pm.
Just one little dirty text and I'm all yours…
He bit his lip so hard it hurt and tasted like copper.
He breathed in through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Repeat. Think of needles and diseases. Repeat.
But she texted again, and he groaned so guttural he wasn't sure if people in the café didn't hear it.
Usako, 6:12 pm
It really doesn't feel like you.
No. No, no, no, no.
Usako, 6:13 pm
I want you in me. Would you like to be in me?
Yes. Yes so badly.
That was it, he couldn't take it. The hand that wasn't staring at his phone like an addicted, perverted maniac fumbled with his belt, clumsy and breathless and frantically hurried.
Usako, 6:13 pm.
I want you to come and take it out of me and replace it with your cock. Can you do that?
He couldn't help it, couldn't help the thrust into empty air, couldn't help the traitorous hand that slipped into his jeans and grabbed his painfully hard boner even as he texted back.
Mamoru, 6:13 pm.
Oh god Usako please.
He started to stroke.
Usako, 6:14 pm.
I'm all nice and soft and clean from my bath, you know? Can you please come fuck me now?
GODFUCKING dammit.
He transformed into Tuxedo Mask and exited through the window.
Really, he didn't know how long it took. It felt like an hour of agony until he flew through her window and pinned her against her wall, but it was probably closer to about 3 minutes. He was completely out of breath when he started stealing her air.
Usagi hadn't even had the audacity to look anything but endlessly, arrogantly pleased – the way he would sometimes look at her, looking impossibly even more enticing on her bed than he'd even imagined in a loosely tied yukata she'd apparently used in lieu of a bathrobe.
That yukata stayed tied for all of two seconds.
"Mmmmh," she hummed against his lips, "finally."
He growled and caught her lip with his teeth and lifted her up higher, soft thighs wrapping around him and he pushed against her harder and groaned into her mouth when his throbbing, hurting boner finally made contact with where he wanted to be, even if it was through way too many layers of clothes.
"Finally," he agreed, pinning her there with his crotch to move his hands up to yank at the cotton fabric of her yukata.
One breast sprung free and he latched onto her nipple.
"You didn't sext back, yet," she gasped out, and he sucked harder, because she was way too coherent still after all the torture he'd endured today.
He squeezed her breast, his movements a little frantic, a little harried, a little crazed, and his other hand moved into the opened-up yukata to cup her ass and growled around her puckered, pink nipple in frustration because those stupid gloves, he couldn't feel—
With a flash of light and to her half-moaned, half-whined protest, he de-transformed. He whimpered instantly, grabbed her breast and ass a little tighter in his now bare palms, pressed his already unbuckled slacks harder against her crotch, but it was too much, and he released her nipple with a loud smacking pop and had to breath open-mouthed, cause shit... her breasts, framed so prettily by that open yukata still tied around her waist, her ass, her naked, wet sex grinding against his boxer briefs and cock, dampening the fabric... he groaned loudly, almost painfully at the contact, fueled intoxicatingly by her shudders.
Her fist curled into his shirt, pulling, slipping underneath, and with one hand he grabbed it from her hold and lifted it over his head, shifting clumsily as not to drop her, and shook it off blindly from where it hung weirdly from his other arm, hissing when her fingers stroked along his abs and sides as he was occupied with that awkward sort of hurried dance of a task.
"No, I didn't," he managed to growl just as his shirt finally landed in a pile, and shifted her in his hold, trying to bring her just that little bit higher and resulting in a bounce of hers that made her breasts jiggle beneath his mouth and he whimpered again and stuck his tongue out to graze the very tip of her nipple with the very tip of his tongue. His reward was an arched back and a guttural moan and her breasts thrusting against the flat of his tongue in one jerky movement. He relented, sucked the nipple back into his mouth and hummed in bliss and home.
"It's—" she broke off with a gasp as his teeth grazed her areola, his tongue following in reverent worship before he sucked again. "This is not— not how this game works," she managed.
He released her nipple with that wet, almost obscene sound again, unbent his back and pressed his lips against her throat, the soft skin behind her ear, instead, then rocked his hips into hers.
She reacted with that sweet, sweet tortured groan he loved most of all, and her head thrown back against the wall with a soft thud as he grazed the shell of her ear with his tongue and poked his clothed erection against her naked sex. "I know," he whispered, almost broken, "I forfeit. White flag. Mercy."
Then his fingers slipped between them, and he fumbled with her crotch, dragged his fingers up her surprisingly soaking slit and groaned in unison with her, his painfully swollen cock twitching as if it cried along.
Usagi was trembling harshly in his arms, her thighs almost shaking, and when he grazed her entrance just so briefly in his transit along her slit, it clenched against his fingers as if greeting him before he let them travel back up and start to rub, her gritting teeth and strangled moan the most erotic sound in the world.
"You can punish me," he keened into her throat, pressing open-mouthed, panting kisses against her skin. "I'll do anything you want."
His cock was throbbing so hard he thought he might explode.
Her little whimper was almost pitiful, drowned out by her teeth that bit her lip when he swirled his fingers further up, two-fingered, tight, slow circles against her clit, his other hand squeezing her ass and holding on. He licked his lips in shuddering delight, reveling in her quaking thighs around his waist, but shit if he didn't—
She dropped her head into the crook of his neck, wrapped her arms tighter around his shoulders and held on, her breath stuttering in the rhythm of his slick, noisy, rubbing fingers, "Just fuck me already," she breathed right against his ear and he had trouble not to come right then.
Oh, what the—
He bit his lip hard, squeezed his eyes shut and her ass right along and propelled her off the wall and onto her bed.
She fell onto it with a little thud that made her breasts bounce, her thighs spread and her hair disheveled and pupils dilated and lips swollen and—
He had to take a calming breath, stared her down just standing there and she stared back up, and somehow the air was charged between them like it hadn't been in so long and her eyes could read every last embarrassing, shameful fantasy and every dream he'd ever had of her and she opened her thighs a little wider – it made him whimper stupidly, and he jerked to life and peeled down his pants and underwear gracelessly, frantically, clumsily, not even bending down to do so because he had to watch her—
Her yukata was wide open, pushed down her shoulders and pooling behind her hips, fanning open like a beautiful, colorful butterfly on her bed. It was opened up completely but held around her waist by her loose obi, knotted into a messy bow above her exposed navel. She looked like a glistening, delicious present.
In it, Usagi's creamy skin, her slick, wet inner thighs, her heaving chest, those half-lidded, thirsty eyes.
And then her crooked finger, as if it were a magnet connected directly to his straining cock, her tongue slowly licking her lips before her teeth grazed it.
He fell apart, weeping cock pulsing and impatient and he climbed onto her and reached into his present to grab around smooth, creamy-soft Usagi ass under his fingertips to lift her up and align her with him, and with one, slow, deep thrust that made him almost see stars, he drove himself in to the hilt.
She threw her head back and moaned his name and it shuddered through him so hard, his tip jumping inside of her, that he had to clench his fist around the base of his cock to slip out.
But she wouldn't let him. She knew this spiel, when he tried to not come on the spot, and she clenched her walls so hard it was almost a suction inwards keeping him prisoner and he howled and sat back on his heels, cock in his fist jumping free of her.
"Mamo-chan!" she growled, her elbows moving, and she stemmed herself up and bucked her hips at him and almost back onto him, and he needed to slip out of he'd come immediately.
Usagi whimpered and growled simultaneously, giving him that stink-eye.
But he was helpless.
With a tortured whimper and biting his tongue until he tasted blood for the shudder that went through him right to his toes, he dragged his cock up and down her slit and she rose up higher to watch and god—
She mewled that pitiful little sound when he swirled his dick around her clit and back down, and he was still almost losing it while he wasn't even IN her anymore, just barely nudging her inner lips and spreading them apart with the tip of his cock – and then she bucked her hips towards him again and he was sheathed inside her once more and he howled to her shuddered exhale.
He couldn't take it. He sat back, cock slipping out to just the tip inside of her, and she writhed underneath him, haggard pleas falling from her lips as she fucked herself on his tip, and he couldn't take it. He grabbed her thighs, pulled and snapped them back around himself, causing her to collapse fully back against the bed and then he rolled his hips in painfully slow, deep strokes against her.
He shuddered bodily, exhaling through his mouth every time he oh-so-slowly filled her up completely, pausing once he was in all the way, bit his lip to her wide-eyed groans when he ceased all movement for that brief moment after every stroke and to her tight clenching around him.
If he didn't go slow this would be over in 5 seconds and he'd waited 429 hours for this.
She growled in frustration, and he brought his sticky fingers back between them to rub his fingers against her in the speed she needed, bit down on his tongue harder when he looked down to see the moisture dribbling down his cock and smeared on her inner thighs every time he withdrew, and he rubbed a little harder, a little faster, around and around, once across, around and around again, like she'd shown him so long, long ago.
"Ohgod," she cried, head hitting back against her mattress, her toes curling against his shins, "Oh god make this last. Please, make this last."
He was an overstimulated, tightly wound mess, but he nodded breathlessly, choked out an "I'm trying," and rolled his hips into her even slower, if stronger.
"Don't come," she hissed, "Please, Mamo-chan, not before—"
"I'm trying," he repeated through gritted teeth, circled his fingers around her clit a little faster, slick and wet and smacking noisily and her hips were becoming less rhythmic, her pleas reducing to mere babbles, then chants of his name as her walls began to clench around him and he tried hard not to sob. Too much, too much, too much.
Her bucking hips no longer matched, her babbling ceased completely, and he cried out in relief when her release hit her first and he finally plunged in faster, just that tiny fraction, just that little, tiny bit harder and she clenched so hard and so long as he rode her through her orgasm, he didn't even notice he'd fallen forward, didn't even notice he'd cradled her face to watch those wide-open, darkened eyes as they came so beautifully.
When she finally returned to him, her vagina fluttering around him as if to greet him, he came harder than he ever had in his life, sensation rolling across him in white, warm, flashing waves and he came, and came and came, and her arms wound around his shoulders again and he was pressed to her chest and he whimpered because he was coming still, rocking his hips into her even when he'd already collapsed onto her in exhaustion.
He breathed hard, all nerve endings on high alert and tingling, and he could feel his heartbeat in his gums when he finally fully came to, her hands carding through his sweat-damp head of hair pillowed on her breast.
It took him a long while in which he simply re-learned steady breathing (hard, so, so hard) and thanked the universe for this woman and the invention of sex and the invention of windows and IUDs and phones, especially phones.
"Usako?" he panted out, breath stirring his hair and puffing against her nipple.
"Mhmm?" she made, and he felt it vibrating against his skin, and even with his sensations returning slowly he felt utterly gutted and oh so pleasantly boneless and he decided to stay here – she was a superhero, she could take his weight.
"Please never do that again?" he whimpered.
She chuckled and it moved him up and down, but her fingers in his hair didn't slow.
"I never came this hard ever before," he babbled into her soft breast.
Another chuckle.
"I noticed," she remarked, and he heard the amusement loud and clear.
"I've never been aroused this much ever before," he added. His filter was apparently all fucked out the window. "I was so hard, Usako. All day. All week."
"Mmmhh-hmm." Her voice was practically a grin, and her fingers felt so good against his scalp. "You sure you never want me to do that again...?"
He frowned, closed his mouth with a snap around his heaving breath. "Let me think about that…" he murmured finally, after a little while, and she laughed out loud.
(Yeah, torturing Mamoru has kind of become a hobby, ngl…)
Reviews are love :)