So just so you know, I'm a little out of order. This is a week 4 trope (Oh Crap There's Fanfic Of Us, plus Established Relationship), but you're still gonna get my week 3 trope. Either way, I hope you'll have fun with this nonsense right here lol!
Thank you thank you thank you to Antigone2 helping me out at short notice when my beta was insanely busy. Thank you SO much, love! And thank you to my fanfic book club ladies who chucked ridiculous romance sex tropes at me to rant about lol!
So, here goes! Please have fun!
Oh Crap There's Doujins Of Us
A Short Story In The Lemon Tree Series
Written For Smutember 2020
So, sometimes, being in the public eye was mortifying.
Like that time when they were still just barely teenagers , and he didn't know what doujinshi were. Mamoru had naively asked about it one particular Sunday afternoon that he would never forget, sitting in their usual booth at the Fruit Parlor with the girls.
And granted, while he had grasped immediately by their reaction (and Usagi's horrified gasp especially) that this was one of the things he should have just ought to have known apparently, he still wasn't prepared. And frankly, Minako with that scary, smirking glint in her eye was telling him quite soundly that he never should have asked.
And so, after a flabbergasted round of interrogation, all 'how could you have gone through puberty never seeing one?' or 'how could you have been with Usagi for this long without seeing one?', the girls had decided he needed to be educated.
That same evening he found himself in the creaky elevator of Ami's large apartment building of all things (because, apparently - and surprisingly - her collection was even bigger than that of the others), a snickering girlfriend at his side clutching a bundle of slender books from her own collection in a pink bag to her chest. And Chiba Mamoru was introduced to the quite obviously popular genre of fans drawing him (and all of them) into sometimes-racey, fan-made manga that had apparently been around for so long at this point that (among some entertaining variations) some overarching 'fanon'-consensus had developed — on things like what they looked like beneath the transformations, who they were with, who had a praise kink, and what they did for a living.
And yes, he admitted it. There were some pretty entertaining views in there he did think were interesting. Like the fact that apparently the drawing side of the senshi fandom was firmly and passionately convinced that Sailor Venus and Sailor Mars must be an item, while Michiru was seen to be the oldest and married with 3 kids to some bland, random salaryman, or that most of them were seen to be in job-having ages. But next to those, he'd learned that night that apparently Tokyo 'shipped' him not only with a whole array of the Senshi, but also with almost every villain that had ever popped up on their horizon. Graphically. And if that wasn't bad enough, apparently the world thought he was pretty much a jerk. The douche fans imagined underneath the mask looked nothing like him, and yet apparently at some point they'd all slowly agreed that this just was what he must look like, and also that he was really kind of a giant dick. (Called mostly 'Darien', they'd agreed on. What the hell.)
But while those examples that the girls had showed him when they'd all still been young were altogether pretty tame, (and he only much later learned of the stash of those that weren't tame that NOT ONLY HIS GIRLFRIEND KEPT) — the hentai? That came later.
The first time Usagi showed him one was after she'd moved in. And he got so flustered that she got flustered right along with him, and also coo-ed at him a lot in ways that made him glare at her very hard.
Really, it was so fucking strange. This weird mixture of feeling flattered in a way that made him feel ashamed and absolutely totally weirded out altogether. That little tiny, tiny spark in himself that got pushed down very very far and was vehemently ignored that did find these depictions a little arousing after all (though even allowing that particular thought any room was pretty much impossible as it was.) Mamoru was pretty sure he now knew what celebrities must feel like - those whose face and body were plastered all over pubescent girls' walls (and their dreams, and their fanfictions). Or worse, what celebrities felt like when they found their faces photoshopped into porn. At least it wasn't really him. It was 'Darien'.
But for better or worse, doujinshi were to stay a firm fixture in his life. One would think with them being way less active after Galaxia was defeated, it would die down. But no.
Every poltergeist and angry spirit, or even just disaster help that made the Senshi show up for assistance and reassurance, brought new surges. Wherever he went, there they were. And Usagi never tired of buying more (even when she got angry at them a lot. Tuxedo Mask was not solely shipped with Sailor Moon, after all, and sometimes she got jealous-angry at HIM because of something a fanartist had written. Yes. No, thank you.)
And sometimes it really was his own fault. Like shopping strolls in Ikebukuro because he never learned.
Sure we can go into Mandarake, Usako, if you want. Sure.
They'd strolled through Book-Off, ate a bowl of Tsukemen ramen at the counter of one of the restaurants around with the cheap lunch sets, browsed through Sunshine City, and exiting through the back of it, Usagi had insisted on Otome Road. And while he was still talking about Reika's surprising break-up with Motoki that had all shocked them the previous evening, Usagi had pulled him around the corner of the black building that was Mandarake and down the steps to its basement floor.
He'd stopped talking, baffled. This was a whole floor dedicated to second hand doujinshi. Every square inch of it covered in slim print media, top to bottom. Rows and rows and rows of tightly packed and neatly organized shelves under fluorescent light like any library, just that this one was all fan-made manga. And turns out, the Sailor Senshi occupied a whole wall of it.
He blushed so hard he was sure he ought to have gone up in flames. Or at least be instantly recognized by the staff, or thought to be a hentai, or both.
Surprisingly, none of these things happened. Instead, Usagi pulled him by the arm nonchalantly, chatting on about speculations the girls had about the whole thing (Did Motoki cheat? Did Reika? Were they good about keeping constant contact long distance? Etc etc) even as she started mindlessly browsing through the slender books and at least some of its very explicit covers. Her long fingers brushed them aside to inspect them as nonchalantly as if she was swiping through her phone, and occasionally she stopped to pull one out a little and push it back in with the pad of her index finger to the quiet swish of paper on wood shelving.
Mamoru's hands shot into his pockets only to shoot out again because what if anyone thought his hands were too close to his dick like that, and oh my god what was Tuxedo Mask doing with his stick on that one?!
She pushed Tuxedo Mask and his vulgar stick abuse back in and pulled another out to flip through.
"—Remember Ami-chan says maybe they just drifted apart with changing lifestyles and changing social circles, but this morning Unazuki texted Mina-P back and said that—oh, look!" she interrupted herself mid-sentence, snickering, and held the open book towards him.
He didn't think he had any blood left to travel up into his face, and yet he felt himself immediately flush some more. Felt the heat crawl up his neck so fast and hard his face tingled, and Usagi blinked in startled amusement.
Definitely hentai. They tended to bestow Tux... plenty generously. And everyone on the page looked really into it. It was very artistic, he gave it that. Not one of the really lewd ones.
Usagi pulled it back, flipped through it some more. "I'm buying this," she told the book more than she told him.
"Absolutely not," Mamoru choked under his breath, trying to talk as quietly as possible.
Usagi flicked her eyes up at him prettily, gave him that coy smile, the one that said 'watch me you prissy boy', and gingerly put it into her red plastic basket before leafing through the next. A moment later her eyes lit up again. "LOOK!" She held open another image of him, in yet a different artist's style.
Oh god. This one was even worse.
Into the basket it went.
Which was how he knew at least some of what she owned that would make his ears tip red, though he used to refuse to look.
And she didn't bring them up. Even when it did amuse her how much he got flustered over them, she respected his boundaries day to day. Not like, 'look what I bought', unless he made the mistake of going with her when she bought them. But she also lived with him, and read them, and so he still came across them. But even when she didn't specifically mention where she had certain ideas from, he still knew right away. Sometimes in the most unfortunate contexts.
Like when she'd just come on his cock and started talking about them in one form or another from the bathroom as she peed afterwards. (Because of course that's just what you'd want to hear your girlfriend talk about right after sex - sex acts you didn't do. His mind immediately traitorously started whispering if she was missing something.)
And yes, the bathroom - as in that one room that carried sound across the pipes for all the apartment building to hear, even without her talking from the open bathroom door in that loud pitch meant to carry as it was.
"Hey, would you ever want like, a tit fuck?" she called from the loo that night when he was still lying on his back splayed out across the mattress helplessly sweaty and trying to get his breathing and heartbeat back under control.
He blushed bright red and squeaked somewhat because oh my god a what?
"You know, like in hentai. Where you rub your dick between my boobs?"
"Usako," he groaned helplessly.
"Well, would you?"
Her voice echoed a bit off the tiles, sounding far away and still way too loud.
With a groan, he got up. Pulled the drawer open for new underwear and pulled them on before padding over to the bathroom. "Where is this coming from exactly?" he asked her in his 'don't let the neighbors hear' voice.
She was flushing the toilet and twisting the faucet, holding her hands underneath the loud spray in the tiny sink of their separate toilet stall, and met his eyes in the mirror apologetically.
"Ah," he answered himself.
"Well," she said somewhat sheepishly. "I just thought about it because you were so into my boobs today, and you super super like it in 'His Rod Of Love' and—"
"Oh my fucking god, Usako," he squeaked. And shortly after followed his naked girlfriend into the washroom as she started her shower, to vehemently correct her that Darien liked these things and it didn't mean he did, and he thought even that term alone seemed a bit objectifying, didn't she? And, well. Then she rolled her eyes and pulled him underneath the shower with her, underwear and all, and he squeaked again but forgave her quickly.
And somehow, over time, almost slipping through his consciousness how that could have even happened, he really simply started to get ok with it.
While even the mere suspicion that somewhere in any given room of any given person might be visual depictions of Darien's monster dick was enough to turn Mamoru into a burning lobster in the first eighteen months or so of knowing this art form even existed, somehow, along the years, he strangely found himself starting to be wholeheartedly blasé about the whole thing.
And he couldn't deny there was something intriguing about them. There was a whole series named 'V-Card' by this apparently very popular artist with individual doujin-titles such as 'Love-Me-Chained' that shipped Venus with Sailor V of all people (who was anything in real life from a soldier to the reborn pirate legend Ching Shih). A series that both Minako and Usagi devoured, and it reminded him very curiously that no, the public had no way of knowing they were the same person. Or that one unexpectedly and bewilderingly entertaining book Usagi loved where every single Senshi was a Drag Queen in real life, transforming into girls only when they fought (and him a Drag King). Or the fact that yes, some of their attacks made better innuendos (and without any modification whatsoever) than he would ever have thought about on his own. (Sparkling Wide Pressure, World Shaking, Sailor Body Attack, Star Gentle Uterus… and so sometimes whenever he heard some of them shouted in real life these days instead, it was hard to keep a straight face.)
And some of them? Some of them were downright adorable and sweet. The sexual and non-sexual ones alike. Slices of life so well-meaning and well-intentioned towards them it moved him dearly. (And Darien's fictional mother was so precious he could barely stand it.)
So yes, some of those were interesting. Especially the ones that didn't feature him (though he would probably always hate how gleefully Usagi devoured the ones that featured Sailor Moon — sometimes an actress, sometimes an aspiring and brilliant politician fluent in 5 languages with double degrees in real life — shipped with anyone and everyone and everyone together and especially Sailor V.) And so he developed a morbid fascination and in that process sometimes forgot to be mortified about the whole thing.
Which was exactly how he found himself turning to her little stack of newly bought colorful specimens still in the bag she'd bought them in, and started reading.
They'd been netflixing the night away because he was a freshly-baked resident of Juuban General Hospital and it was exhausting and so on his rare days off he tended to collapse on the couch and do nothing at all. And so he'd lain sunken into the cushions, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the shell of her ear as she lay with her cheek against his chest, legs tangled with his, bare ankles crossing with hers. They were watching some romantic comedy series about two high school students sharing an apartment, and with every stroke of his thumb, her eyes were drooping a little more, her breathing slowly turning deep and calm, fighting to stay awake. He gave her three more minutes tops to lose this particular fight.
"Bed?" He tilted his head down at her as Uehara and Nao pretended not to walk home together from school on the screen.
"Episode's not dun—" She broke of for a giant yawn bigger than a kitten's, and he chuckled. The movement in his chest shook her slightly, and she only snuggled in closer.
"You're missing half of it," he argued, and stroked his hand down the soft fabric covering her back. It crinkled beneath his fingertips.
"Um not," she mumbled, eyes closed and mouth in his sweater.
He leaned his head back against the soft velvet cushion behind him and drew her in a little closer. She was wonderfully warm. "You're gonna make me sit through this episode again because you won't remember a thing."
"Mhmmm," she said in that sleepy way that made it clear she was already out.
He smiled.
Stretching ever so slightly beneath her, he reached for the remote. With that distinct sound of power going out, the TV switched off, and all at once the room turned a little darker and quieter, Usagi's deep breathing filling out the silence.
But she was warm and the couch felt glorious, and so instead of getting her to bed, he carded his hand lazily through one streamer of her hair and settled in. Getting his book would have required him to get up and shift her off of him, and so he didn't. This was how his eyes fell on the paper bag on the side table next to him.
He barely hesitated before fishing out one of the slender books. Only rolled his eyes at the cover. Tuxedo La Smoking Boner. Flipping it open, he frowned. And yet continued to read.
And yes, damn, he would not ever admit it aloud, but some of this was sexy.
But after a while he snorted so hard it made an almost comical sound through his nose, and she startled a bit on his chest. "One thrust and you come?" he asked her sleeping form incredulously.
"Mmmhh," she made again in pure reaction, heavy and drowsy.
He flipped the page, stroked her hair. "Why are they making you behave like being about to orgasm is somehow a bad thing that must be stopped?" he asked again after a while, not expecting an answer, really.
"Mnnhh," she grunted, and it was little more than a noisy exhale.
He flipped another page.
Maybe that night was when his curiosity won out, he didn't know. But from that night onwards, he was more curious than weirded out, gravitated towards her when she was reading them.
Therefore it happened that when the situation was almost the reverse, a few months later, that he didn't turn away.
He lay in her lap and started ignoring the words in his book when she stroked and stroked his hair, absentmindedly carding her fingers through it delicately, running her fingertips ands nails ever so softly along his scalp, behind his ears, along the nape of his neck and into his collar, and it was the most blissful thing in the universe. He was, after all, a bit touch-starved. Had always been. To the point that only Tsukino Usagi ever managed to fill that void. And when she did it so very willingly, he soaked it up body and soul. He would have started to purr if only he could.
He let his book slip away and turned fully into her caresses. Turned in her lap, he focused on what she was reading instead, flipped open one-handed on her knee, and silently read along as he moved his head with her fingers in blissful content.
Sailor Moon was being brazenly - and quite coquettishly in way it honestly deserved a good pinch of second-hand embarrassment - seduced by Darien. Except apparently she had no idea he was Tuxedo Mask.
And the way it was drawn was honestly arousing, even when he didn't remark on it. There was something quite enticing about the idea.
A dozen flipped pages later, Mamoru's eyebrows shot up.
"That," Mamoru started dryly, "is the biggest dick Darien has ever been given," he commented.
Usagi snorted, shrugged, and her hand stilled in his hair. He nudged her until she dutifully continued.
"Isn't that gonna hurt?" he asked.
She scratched her fingers lightly along his scalp, shrugged again, and he reached out and flipped the page for her so she wouldn't stop scratching again.
Ah nope. Of course, they'd make it be super great instead of super painful. He glared. If this would be real, that would definitely be hitting her cervix in the most painful way. He was already doing that in the middle of her cycle, and needed to be careful about it because that hurt her, and he was not that big.
He turned another page for her.
"And you're supposed to be a virgin in this?" he huffed in annoyance. Because what, making it even more painful? What were they even thinking?
"Yup," she said, and popped her 'p'.
"Your first time with that scary monster dick of mine?"
Her hand stilled again, and she bent over him in wild contortions and threw him an amused look, then leaned forward to press a peck of a kiss against his forehead before she stroked his fringe away from his face.
"That scary monster dick of Darien's," she corrected haughtily, and Mamoru rolled his eyes and flipped her page.
And for a second there, he caught himself enjoying it. This. With her. On their new, gorgeously comfortable velvet couch with her naughty-in-an-inaccurate-way doujins. So when months passed until he found her reading one again, he didn't quite dwell on the feeling, but if he had, he would have found confusing, confusing excitement.
He was cooking then, vent hood whirring loudly and catching the steam from his dashi-and-mirin broth cooking his onions on the stove as he cut his noodle dough into strips of homemade udon because he was feeling fancy and Makoto had taught him well. Usagi, as was to be expected, was magically drawn in by the smell of homemade food and came in sniffing, open doujin pressed to her chest as she followed her nose and melted happily.
He smiled, dropped the noodles into his noodle sieve, water boiling up in the pot immediately, and moved to the fridge. The chashu was leftover from yesterday and only two strips of it were left but they had to do. They still smelled good when he sniffed at them either way, and he put the small plate on the counter with the cracked eggs in one of their expensive ceramic bowls that Rei had given them as a housewarming gift.
"What are we having?" she asked with pure saccharine bliss in her voice, sidling up next to him and standing on her tiptoes to hold her nose into the aromatic steam, sighing into it.
He threw her a smirk. "Tamago Toji Udon. More or less," he said, pushed his index finger into the gap between her chest and the spine of her book and pulled it down so he could see, slanting his head to see even better, and let his eyes glide over the page perhaps too eagerly.
His eyebrows still flew up. "Ok, why am I fucking Rubeus?"
Usagi blushed just a little, and it was adorable. "Darien is dom'ing Rubeus to save Sailor Moon from kidnapping. They even have his UFO in the sky and all!"
He basically ripped it from her hands to see for himself, leafing through the pages blinking and wide-eyed. And shit damn, yes, some of this was actually a little hot. Usagi tried to get it back from him, but he held it out of reach and started to rant about inaccuracies.
That was until Usagi started snacking on the already so scarce chashu.
He stopped reading immediately. "Did you just eat the—"
She was still chewing, wide-eyed "... no?"
His glare was instantaneous and so was his finger pointing to the door as he shoo-ed her from their narrow kitchen.
But he was still ranting about it 15 minutes later, leafing through the book with a heavy frown and tapping fingers against the glossy paper on their small cherry wood coffee table while Usagi was loudly slurping to cool the fresh Udon down.
And he was still ranting a week later, a different book from her pile in his hand when it was her turn to cook, and that meant pouring boiling water into two tonkotsu instant ramen bowls.
"You the way they're doing this would actually be dangerous, yeah?" he pointed at the hard anal pounding Sailor Moon was getting. "Like, for both. Look, they're even drawing you screaming out!" He accusatorily jabbed at the image.
And yeah, he had been talking himself into a rage. All 'why does everyone think spit counts as sufficient lube' and lecturing about sphincters and lack of female prostates and how passive anal sex, while way more pleasurable for men, would still be hella risky for them too if done like this. And how all that translated to the fact that this inattentive and rather brutal but way too common portrayal was a recipe for demonstrating effective ways to anal incontinence with a high chance of penile fracturing and frenulum-ripping if done untrained and unwidened and landing straight in his ER like way too many people every day if done in the way it was shown here, while probably not even being pleasurable for the female receiver in the least if done at this speed and depth, since women, if they even were among the 10% of those who enjoyed butt-play at all, are only sensitive around the many nerve endings directly on the butthole, and not in it. After all, there were literally none inside in their butts whatsoever (which was clever of nature after all, since shitting would be hella painful if there were) and again, no sensitive prostate to be found in Sailor Moon's butthole that would make it more worthwhile for her.
He might be her prissy boy in these regards, but he did know his anatomy.
"Mamo-chan," Usagi tried to interrupt.
"It doesn't even anatomically make sense. The inner sphincter can't be controlled voluntarily at all!" he growled. "This at least ought to be done slow. And has any of these people ever even looked at an anatomical model? There's the tiniest fraction of a passage only where the anus is tighter than a vagina, but the rest of the rectum? Definitely not as tight!"
"Mamo-chan," she tried again, and noisily sat down his ramen cup in front of him, chopsticks even clankier next to those.
He flicked his eyes up from the offending inaccurate anal.
Usagi looked at him concerned, lowering herself down next to him, his purple slippers with the little white masks on them too big on her small feet as she folded her legs underneath her. "What are you even doing?"
He blinked, all the rant whooshing out of him, and looked back down at the booklet he'd pulled out of the shelf this time, and not her. He pulled a face, cheeks heating. "Reading your doujinshi?"
"But why," she asked with a furrowed brow. "You hate them."
He felt his cheeks grow hotter by the second. And so he picked up his chopsticks and stirred the stiff noodles in his cup apart.
"Are you doing this for me?" she asked with a tilt of her head.
Uh.
Her brow furrowed in concern. "Mamo-chan, you're allowed to hate them ok? Just because I enjoy them doesn't mean you have any obligation to—"
"That's not it," he interrupted, but frowned. Because he really didn't know what he was doing. But he wasn't doing it for her, he knew that.
She waited, eating, but when he wouldn't elaborate, she didn't push.
Only late that night did she turn around in bed and ask, "So, I'm taking it you never wanna try out anal sex?"
He'd blushed heavily in the dark and hid his face in the crook of her neck. "...I didn't say that."
It went on like this, over the months, and suddenly years. He'd read her doujins, especially the hentai ones, and once he'd find something atrociously unrealistic in them, he'd point it out, to which she'd shake her head at him, often over food. Why was she always a virgin in all of these? Did they have to portray him so sex-crazy? Why could he always go on after he already came?
"So what's happening?" he asked one day when they were close to their wedding date, and he walked in with take-away while she was reading.
"Sailor V just found my g-spot and I came instantly," Usagi reported with a sheepish smile, and Mamoru rolled his eyes and threw her a pointed look immediately.
"Just because I don't find mine doesn't mean this can't happen," she defended automatically.
And so he threw her a longer look, set the plastic bag down, and started reading to her from the internet. About persisting nonsense myths about a g-spot invented by a German dude who named something after himself in vaginas that wasn't there no matter how many people still stubbornly believed in it, because back then no one knew the clitoris was a whole organ and that the whole thing moved and so yes there was a whole area that was sensitive in there but it was the clitoris and not anything else.
"Wait." Her voice was so appalled as she flicked her eyes repeatedly from her book to him and from him to her book. "You're not kidding? It's not a thing? Really?"
"Not in the way they all keep portraying, no," he shrugged, and pulled the still warm Sukiya cartons from the bag, condensation water dripping from the cartons as he lifted them out.
She looked at her book as if it had betrayed her.
"Where do you know that from?" she asked after a while.
He flushed, but didn't say.
And on and on it went.
"So I just know what you like? Magically?" he'd ask, holding up one of her books as he came out from the living room where he'd been cleaning up her stuff, and honestly it was perhaps the sexiest one of her's he'd ever read, even though he didn't mention that.
Or lying in bed in various stages of undress on lazy sunday mornings when they both were reading and she curled herself against him in the best of way, and proceeded to read over her shoulder instead.
Or when she was already his wife, in the park on a blanket, and she stretched the kinks from her body in a way that allowed his very interested gaze to lazily enjoy the show and read over her shoulder again, trying to talk quietly.
The way she looked at Tuxedo Mask in some of those. He gulped and blushed and rubbed his warm cheek against her hair.
"Why are they never using any protection?" he whispered against the crown of her head.
"Senshi magic," Usagi shrugged in his arms.
Ah. "Well that would be nice," he remarked, and she snort-huffed a laugh at him.
And really, after all of this commentary of his, maybe he should have noticed some things way, way earlier. Like the fact that he was enjoying them. At least the fact where he was sharing them with her. Or the fact that he was overdoing it in a way that she'd stopped enjoying them as much.
Because one day he noticed she'd started picking at them herself, and she was wrong.
"I found another unrealistic thing," she'd said one Saturday evening close to their one year wedding anniversary. Across the room, he stretched and closed his laptop, craned his neck and watched her on the couch, one leg dangling over the other, smiling at the way she sat there in a faded T-shirt and her underwear.
"Oh?" he asked, swivelling his office chair around to face her.
"Mhm," she said, and turned the page. "Yeah, so Darien is in that porn-y trope where he's getting a blowjob under his desk at his office job and he's getting hard without even having been touched yet, just because he's so excited about it."
And with that Mamoru started hard. "You think that's unrealistic?" he asked slowly, after a little while.
Had he nagged at these so much she was even beginning to question… what, desire?
Only then her head shot up in utter confusion. "But you're the one who always points out that—"
He frowned hard. That …had not been his intention.
If someone had told him back when he first learned of doujinshi that one Saturday in his mid twenties he would decide to start acting them out - and that it was his own idea, and also that he'd kind of never stop doing it again in his marriage after that - he would have laughed if he'd not been so busy flushing even at the thought.
But Mamoru just calmly stood, took the book from her bewildered hands, and leafed through it for a little while to know what he was gonna try to emulate. Then he put it down next to her, leaning over her in the way that made her shudder and him smirk.
She was even more confused when he walked out of the room and to their bedroom without a word, her eyes following him with every move. When he returned, she was so visibly confused. But he just knelt in front of her and didn't tell her.
Slowly, deliberately, holding her gaze, and revelled in the way she recoiled back into the couch, eyes flashing.
"Really?" he said with a sort of calm he cherished, one side of his lips crooking up.
He moved to the floor fully, kneeling before the couch and before her, and waited. Only when she ran her eyes down his form - the black T-Shirt she loved because it was a little tight on him, the dark pants that stretched across his form, the shiny belt buckle, and her teeth scraped her lower lip, did he start so slowly move. With slow strokes that burned on her soft, smooth skin like they always did, he brushed her legs apart so he could move between her parting legs.
"There's nothing exciting about this?" he asked, tilting his head, smirking wider when her mouth popped open in a little gasp.
A gasp that immediately stuttered a little, eyes flashing, when he trailed his knuckles ever so lightly from the inside of her knee up the inside of her thigh and back down, watching the shudder in her.
The side of his lips turned up wider, his fringe brushing into his eyes as he tilted his head at her. He hoped he looked at least a little like that jerk Darien. "You have no idea what's sexy about the idea?" he purred.
"N-no…"
When his finger brushed the hem of her panties, her hips jumped, and his smile must have turned cocky.
He raised an eyebrow, looked her in the eye even when he brushed the fabric of her panties aside with his knuckles. "No?"
She groaned, couldn't keep her hips from lifting towards his fingers, and groaned again when, with a snap, the fabric slapped back against her when Mamoru withdrew his hand.
Instead, he craned his neck, licked his lips and closely watched her mimic the motion almost unconsciously, eyes on his mouth. Unable to keep in the smirk, he tapped his fingers against the crotch of her panties, walking them down top to bottom until she shuddered.
"Maybe a little," she said, biting her lip, and by then, she'd scooted down close against his hand, knees spread so very, very wide, and closer still with a little whine when he withdrew.
But her eyes flashed dark and wanting when he withdrew the small bottle of her favorite edible lube he'd gotten from the bedroom from his pocket, and pushed the flap of it open with a click and a flick of his thumb.
It was a sound she'd learned to love, conditioned into her for years now, and he knew it.
He took his time, teased her and laughed at her until she growled at him, drew it out until she was so turned on she was almost vibrating off the couch. And when he eventually did pull her panties aside and drew lube-slick fingers so easily down her slit and her swollen clit, she was, indeed, so wet and excited she was close to coming before he'd even started, because no, that wasn't unrealistic at all.
And later, when he'd transformed for her. So she would get to see Tuxedo Mask kneeling for her, hard for her and for her visible desire, ready and so very visibly turned on in this costume she so liked. Flicking his eyelashes up to her, he brushed her legs apart once more, slowly took off his gloves and mask and hat one by one without breaking her gaze, before he leaned in with a groan and touched his lips to her clit. Starting to suck it just as his slick fingers began to stroke and stroke and stroke ever so slowly around her entrance the way she'd taught him long ago, she came for the first of two times that night. Because even in the doujins no one would ever eat her out as long and eager as he would, and that night he aimed to show her that sometimes reality was often better than fiction. Mamoru, after all, touch-starved and all, had always been very eager to please.
From that night on, they both brought doujins home. And when something turned him on, he told her. And when he ranted how this would really go, he showed her. Sometimes it was ridiculous. Often someone fell from the bed. A lot of things weren't all that nice, but some of them definitely (and sometimes surprisingly) were, and for some they had to change a number of things to make them some sort of enjoyable in reality. And yes, turns out, he'd been right, passive anal sex was something he did enjoy more than her.
I've said it before and I'll say it again lol: No WAY wouldn't there be tons of merch (AND THERE CANONICALLY IS) and thus ALSO tons of FANWORKS if the Senshi were real. Shops full of it like TONS more than there would be of BTS and the like! ANYWAY, if you want more Mamoru-reacting-to-Doujins, check out Uglygreenjacket's smutember entry for last year: Deflowered, where Mamoru finds a handful of Tux x Moonlight Knight Doujins in Usagi's possession lol. ALSO ALSO ALSO check out this year's smutember week 3 entry by nari20 on tumblr: because before I ever posted this story, she already rummaged in my mind and kind of illustrated it PERFECTLY by coincidence!
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little story of them learning to navigate this special sort of sexual media together! I ALWAYS hope you enjoy these, and I love love hearing from you (though I totally get it can be weird to comment on a smut story, I get you, lol, but know you'd make me absolutely happy especially in these lonely times, and also there's anon commenting!)
And if you want more smutty stories, please check out the other smutember story entries! You can find them reblogged on my tumblr (same pen name) and on Ao3 in a collection: Smutember2020 Sailor Moon Fandom!