Eijiro's footsteps faded into the kitchen, the screen door slapping shut behind him. Izuku stayed impaled on Katsuki's cock, cum still leaking down his thighs, the evening air cooling the wetness against his skin. His heart hammered—not with arousal now, but with the cold dread of being caught.
"We should—" Izuku started, his voice cracking.
"Yeah." Katsuki's hands found his hips, gentle but firm. "Come on, baby boy."
Izuku lifted himself off slowly, wincing as Katsuki's cock slid out of him, leaving him empty and dripping. The cum ran down his thighs in warm streaks, the evening air hitting the wetness and making him shiver. He pulled the cropped hoodie down as far as it would go—the only thing left on him now. His shorts and black thong were gone, tossed somewhere into the dark of the porch, lost to the night. He stood on trembling legs, bare from the waist down, the rough fabric of the hoodie scraping against his nipples. Katsuki fastened his own robe with a single knot and took Izuku's hand.
They walked into the house together. Eijiro stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of water in his hand. His red eyes were soft, his expression unreadable. He didn't look away or flinch when they entered.
"Kirishima," Katsuki said, his voice low and rough. "We need to talk."
"Yeah," Eijiro said. He set the glass down and turned fully to face them. "I figured we did."
Izuku's throat closed. He pressed closer to Katsuki, his fingers curling into the fabric of Katsuki's robe. The words wouldn't come—what could he possibly say? I'm sorry you saw me fucking my grandfather? I'm sorry I'm a disgusting pervert who can't keep his hands off the old man who raised my mother?
"I've known for a while," Eijiro said quietly.
The words landed like a punch. Izuku's breath stopped.
"What?" Katsuki's voice sharpened.
Eijiro let out a slow breath, running a hand through his spiked red hair. "I live here now. I'm not stupid, and I'm not deaf, and I'm definitely not blind." He met Katsuki's eyes without flinching. "I saw you two in the barn three weeks ago. Through the crack in the door. You had him bent over the hay bale."
Izuku's face burned so hot he thought he might pass out. His knees felt weak. He remembered that day—Katsuki's cock buried deep in him, the hay scratching his palms, the way he'd screamed Katsuki's name when he came. And Eijiro had seen it.
"Why didn't you say something?" Katsuki's voice was gravel. Not angry. Confused.
"Because it's not my business." Eijiro shrugged, but there was weight behind it. "I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me. And if you didn't want me to know, calling you out would just make things awkward for everyone."
Izuku's voice finally found him, small and hoarse. "You're not... disgusted?"
Eijiro's expression softened. He looked at Izuku—really looked at him—and there was no judgment in his eyes. Just something tired and knowing. "I don't have any room to judge, kid."
The silence stretched. Katsuki's hand tightened around Izuku's.
"What do you mean?" Katsuki asked slowly.
Eijiro was quiet for a long moment. He picked up his glass, took a sip, set it down again. When he spoke, his voice was lower. "I have a twin brother. Tetsutetsu." He paused. "We have a complicated relationship."
Izuku's eyes widened. The implication hit him like a wave—warm and strange and unexpectedly relieving. "You mean—"
"I mean I'm the last person who gets to throw stones about who fucks who in their family." Eijiro let out a humorless laugh. "So no. I'm not disgusted. I'm not gonna tell anyone. It's your life, your business, and honestly?" He shook his head. "The way you two look at each other? I've never seen anything like it. Wouldn't wanna be the one to fuck that up."
Izuku's knees nearly gave out. The relief was so overwhelming it left him lightheaded. He sagged against Katsuki, his face pressing into Katsuki's chest. He felt Katsuki's arm wrap around him, holding him up.
"Thank you," Izuku whispered. It came out broken. "Thank you, Eijiro."
"Don't thank me." Eijiro's voice was warm again, almost his usual self. "Just... maybe warn me before you do it on the kitchen table. I sit there for breakfast."
Izuku laughed—a wet, hysterical sound that turned into a sob. He was crying. He hadn't realized he was crying until the tears hit Katsuki's robe.
Katsuki's hand came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. "You good, baby boy?"
Izuku nodded against his chest, not trusting his voice.
"Alright." Eijiro pushed off the counter. "I'm gonna go take a shower. When I come back down, we're gonna pretend this is normal, and we're gonna eat dinner like normal people." He paused at the doorway, looking back. "And Katsuki? For what it's worth—you deserve to be happy. I've punished yourself enough."
Katsuki's jaw tightened. He didn't speak. But he nodded once.
Eijiro disappeared up the stairs.
They stood there in the kitchen, Izuku's face pressed to Katsuki's chest, Katsuki's hand in his hair. The only sound was the creak of the stairs and the distant hum of the refrigerator.
"He knew," Izuku breathed. "He knew the whole time."
"Yeah." Katsuki's voice was rough. "Guess he did."
Izuku pulled back to look at him. Katsuki's crimson eyes were wet—not crying, but close. The vulnerability there made Izuku's chest ache.
"What does this mean?" Izuku asked softly.
Katsuki cupped his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "Means we don't gotta hide."
"We don't gotta hide," Izuku repeated, testing the words. They tasted like freedom.
Katsuki kissed him. Slow and deep and full of everything they'd been holding back. Izuku melted into it, his hands finding Katsuki's waist, pulling him closer. The kiss said what words couldn't—we're okay. We're safe. We have this.
When they broke apart, Izuku was smiling. It felt strange on his face, like a muscle he hadn't used in days. "I don't want to wear clothes anymore."
Katsuki's eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"I mean it." Izuku stepped back, taking off the last piece of clothing on him, the cropped hoodie, which already wasn't doing much. The cool air hit his skin, made his nipples tighten. "I want to be able to touch you whenever I want. I want you to be able to take me whenever you want. No more waiting. No more hiding." He reached for the knot of Katsuki's robe. "We don't know how much time you have left. I'm not wasting another second being ashamed of wanting you."
Katsuki's breath caught. His hands found Izuku's wrists—not to stop him, just to hold him. "You're serious."
"I've never been more serious about anything in my life."
Katsuki's robe fell open. His cock was half-hard already, stirring at the sight of Izuku naked in his kitchen, cum still drying on his thighs. "Baby boy, if we start this, I'm not gonna be able to stop."
"Good." Izuku dropped to his knees. "Don't stop."
He took Katsuki's cock in his mouth before Katsuki could argue. The taste of himself—of them—was thick on his tongue. He moaned around it, hollowing his cheeks, taking him deep. Katsuki's hand fisted in his hair, a guttural sound tearing from his throat.
"Fuck, Izuku—"
Izuku pulled off Katsuki's cock with a wet, lewd pop, spit stringing from his lips to the swollen head. He looked up, green eyes glassy and desperate, his voice wrecked and raw. "Please, Papa. Fuck my throat. Use my mouth like a toy—like I'm just a fleshlight for you. Please."
Katsuki's breath hitched. His hand tightened in Izuku's curls, tugging his head back, baring his throat. "You sure, baby boy?"
"Yes." Izuku's voice broke on the word. "I want to feel you. I want to be nothing but your slutty little cocksleeve. Please don't be gentle."
Katsuki's jaw tightened. Then he shoved Izuku's head down onto his cock, burying the full ten inches in one brutal thrust. Izuku's throat convulsed around him, tears springing to his eyes, but he didn't fight it. He went limp, hands falling to his sides, letting Katsuki use him. Katsuki fucked his face in earnest—rough, relentless, balls slapping wet and loud against Izuku's chin with every thrust. The kitchen filled with the obscene sound of it, the wet choking, the desperate moans Katsuki couldn't hold back. "Fuck—look at you. Taking it. Taking all of it like the good little grandson you are."
Izuku's eyes rolled back. He was crying now, tears tracking down his freckled cheeks, but his cunt was dripping, slick running down his thigh. He'd never felt more owned. More wantonly, perfectly his.
The creak of the stairs made Izuku's heart stutter. But Katsuki didn't stop. Didn't slow. And when Eijiro walked into the kitchen, rubbing his damp hair with a towel, he took one look at the scene—Katsuki's balls slapping his grandson's chin, Izuku's throat bulging around that massive cock, both of them completely shameless—and let out a low chuckle.
"Y'all want pasta or rice?"
Katsuki pulled out enough for Izuku to gasp, "Pasta—" before shoving back in, throat-deep, gagging him silent.
Eijiro shook his head, a warm smile on his face, and opened the pantry. "Pasta it is."
Izuku's tears fell faster. Not from shame anymore. From relief so immense it felt like drowning. This was real. They were free. And his granddaddy was still fucking his throat in front of the hired hand like he was the most natural thing in the world.
Katsuki's grip tightened in Izuku's curls, pulling him off with a wet, obscene pop. A string of spit and precum connected Izuku's swollen lips to the flushed head of Katsuki's cock, stretching thin before breaking.
"Can't have you fillin' up on that," Katsuki rasped, voice ragged. "Gotta save your appetite for dinner."
Before Izuku could even whimper, Katsuki's hand was working his shaft, stroking fast and rough, and then hot ropes of cum were painting across Izuku's face—across his cheeks, his nose, his lips, splashing down onto his freckled tits in thick, milky ribbons. Izuku's eyes fluttered shut, mouth falling open, letting some of it land on his tongue. The taste was salty and bitter and perfect, and he wanted more.
"Papa—" Izuku's voice came out broken, desperate. His hands flew up to his chest, fingers spreading the warm cum across his skin, rubbing it into his tits like lotion. He smeared it over his nipples, watched them glisten under the kitchen light, and moaned at the sight. Eijiro was at the stove, stirring pasta, but he glanced over his shoulder and let out a low, appreciative whistle.
"Damn, Katsuki. That's quite a load."
"Shut up," Katsuki growled, but there was no heat in it. His chest was still heaving, cock still half-hard, and his eyes were locked on Izuku—on the way his grandson was painting himself with his cum like some kind of offering. "You like that, baby boy? Rubbing my seed all over yourself?"
Izuku nodded frantically, fingers still working the warm slick into his skin. "I love it, Papa. I love your cum. I want to wear it all day—want everyone to know I'm yours." He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean, tasting Katsuki on his tongue. His cunt throbbed, empty and aching, and he spread his thighs wider where he knelt on the kitchen floor. "Please, Papa. I need you inside me. Need you to fill me up again."
Katsuki stepped forward, his hard cock brushing against Izuku's wet, smeared lips. "You want this cock in your cunt, baby boy?" His thumb traced Izuku's lower lip, pushing slightly into his mouth. Izuku sucked it eagerly, moaning around the digit, eyes never leaving Katsuki's face.
"Yes, Papa. Please. I need it so bad."
Katsuki's eyes flicked to Eijiro, who was leaning against the counter now, arms crossed, watching with open curiosity. "Dinner's gonna get cold," Eijiro said with a shrug. "But we can reheat it later."
Izuku turned his head, cum still drying on his cheeks, and looked at Eijiro with those desperate green eyes. "Stay," he breathed. "Watch. I want you to see how good Papa takes care of me."
Izuku didn't hesitate. He rose on shaky legs, cum still warm and sticky on his cheeks, and turned toward the counter where Eijiro leaned. The redhead's arms were crossed, his expression open and curious, not a flicker of judgment in his eyes. Izuku hoisted himself up onto the cool granite, the surface pressing against his bare thighs, and lay back. His head rested near Eijiro's hip, his green curls falling across the stone as he spread his legs wide, knees falling open, heels digging into the counter's edge for purchase. Every muscle in his body sang with exposure, with the sheer obscenity of presenting himself like this—cunt glistening, Katsuki's cum still leaking in a slow, milky trickle down the inside of his thigh.
He reached down with both hands, fingers finding the slick folds of his pussy, and pulled. Spread himself open like a offering, showing his granddaddy exactly where he needed to be filled. The air hit his wet heat, made him shiver. "Look, Papa. See how your cum is dripping out of me? Need you to push it back in. Need you to fuck me full again." His voice was wrecked, raw, but there was no shame in it now. Only hunger. Only need.
Katsuki stepped between those spread thighs, his cock already hard and slick with Izuku's spit and his own precum. He grabbed Izuku's hips, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh, and positioned himself at that dripping entrance. The head pressed, nudged, and then he pushed—slow, deliberate, letting Izuku feel every inch as his cunt stretched to accommodate that massive girth. Izuku's back arched off the counter, a broken moan tearing from his throat, and his eyes found Eijiro's. The redhead was watching, gaze steady, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Eijiro," Izuku breathed, his voice thin and desperate, "do I look pretty? With my Papa's cum on my face?" His fingers found the streaks on his cheek, spreading what remained, painting himself more deliberately. "Do I look like a good grandson?"
Eijiro let out a low chuckle, warm and genuine. He shifted his weight, leaning one elbow on the counter beside Izuku's head, looking down at the beautiful mess of a boy with something like admiration. "You wear it beautifully, Izuku. Like you were made to be covered in his seed." His voice was soft, almost reverent. "He's a lucky man."
Katsuki growled at that, his grip tightening on Izuku's hips, and he began to fuck him in earnest. Each thrust was deep, punishing, the slap of skin echoing through the kitchen. The counter groaned beneath them, knives rattling in their block, but Izuku didn't care. He let his head fall back, mouth open, eyes fluttering shut, and let himself be taken. Every inch of his inside burned, stretched, felt impossibly full. His pussy clenched around Katsuki's cock, gripping him like it never wanted to let go.
"Look at you," Katsuki rasped, his voice a guttural snarl, "lettin' me fuck you in front of my employee. Letting him watch me breed my own grandson." His pace quickened, rougher now, balls slapping wetly against Izuku's ass with every thrust. "You like that, don't you? You like being watched."
Izuku's only answer was a desperate, keening moan. His hands found his own chest, pinching his nipples, rolling them between his fingers as Katsuki pounded into him. The sensation was too much and not enough—every nerve ending on fire, his whole body a conduit for pleasure. He opened his eyes, finding Eijiro's gaze again, and saw the redhead's hand drift down to his own crotch where there was a wet spot form on his jeans. That sight sent another wave of heat through Izuku's core.
"Harder, Papa," Izuku begged, his voice cracking. "Fuck me harder. Want him to see how well you take care of your slutty grandson. Want him to see how much you love me." The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, years of shame dissolving in the heat of the moment. He was theirs—this old man's cock buried inside him, this kind farmhand watching, and it was exactly where he was meant to be.
Katsuki obliged, his pace becoming brutal, animalistic. The counter shook, and Eijiro reached out one steadying hand to brace it, his fingers brushing Izuku's hair. "Beautiful," Eijiro murmured, his eyes never left the place where Katsuki's cock disappeared into Izuku's cunt.
Izuku's orgasm built like a wave, cresting, threatening to crash. His fingers dug into the granite, nails scrabbling for purchase, and his thighs began to tremble. "Papa—I'm gonna—"
"Come," Katsuki commanded, his voice a low growl. "Come on my cock, baby boy. Let him see how well I make you feel."
"Eijiro—please—watch me," he gasped, his voice cracking with desperation. "Watch me squirt for my granddaddy. Please, I need you to see it." His green eyes found the redhead's, wide and pleading, tears and cum still slick on his freckled cheeks. "I want you to see how good he makes me feel."
Eijiro's breath caught. He leaned closer, one hand bracing on the counter beside Izuku's head, his kind red eyes tracing the boy's flushed, wrecked face. "I'm watching, Izuku," he said, voice low and warm. "I see those hearts in your eyes. The way you look at him—that's love, ain't it? Real love." He shook his head, a soft, wondering smile spreading across his face. "Go on, baby. Squirt all over that old man's horse cock. Show him what he does to you."
Izuku's hand shot out, finding Eijiro's calloused fingers, gripping them like a lifeline. His thighs began to shake uncontrollably, his whole body a taut wire ready to snap. Katsuki's thrusts didn't let up—harder, deeper, each one driving Izuku closer to the edge. "Papa—Papa, I'm gonna—it's gonna be everywhere—"
"Let go, baby boy," Katsuki growled, his voice a ragged snarl. "Let me see it. Cover me in it."
And Izuku did.
His orgasm ripped through him with a scream that tore his throat raw. His cunt pulsed, and then the first gush came—hot and clear, spraying across Katsuki's stomach, splashing onto his chest. Another spasm, and another, the stream arcing wild and uncontrolled, hitting the floor in a wet patter, soaking the cabinets, dripping from the counter's edge. Izuku's whole body convulsed, his grip on Eijiro's hand turning bone-white as he rode the wave, squirt still streaming as Katsuki kept fucking him through it, driving his cock deep into that clenching, flooding heat.
"Fuck—fuck, that's it," Katsuki snarled, his hips stuttering, his rhythm breaking. He pulled Izuku closer, buried himself to the hilt, and let go. His cum erupted inside Izuku in thick, pulsing ropes, filling his grandson's cunt, spilling around the base of his cock, dripping down onto the counter and mixing with the puddle of Izuku's release. He kept coming, his body shuddering, a guttural moan tearing from his chest as he emptied every last drop into the boy who'd claimed every broken piece of him.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the wet drip of cum and squirt pooling beneath them on the granite. Izuku's body went slack, his hand still clutching Eijiro's, his eyes half-lidded and glassy. Katsuki stayed buried inside him, forehead dropping to rest against Izuku's sweat-sheened shoulder, his whole body trembling with the force of his release.
Eijiro let out a slow, steady breath. He didn't pull his hand away. He squeezed Izuku's fingers gently, then lifted their joined hands and pressed a soft kiss to Izuku's knuckles. "That was beautiful," he said, his voice thick with something like wonder. "The way you two love each other—it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Made me miss my brother, if I'm being honest. But in a good way. In a 'I'm happy for you' way."
Izuku's eyes welled with fresh tears, but these weren't from pain or desperation. They were from being seen. From being held in someone's gaze and found worthy. He turned his head, met Eijiro's warm red eyes, and whispered, "Thank you."
Katsuki pulled out slowly, a thick rush of cum following, spilling down Izuku's thigh and onto the counter. He didn't move far—just enough to look down at the mess they'd made, the cum and squirt painting the kitchen like evidence of something sacred. His rough hand came up to stroke Izuku's sweat-damp curls. "Yeah," he rasped, voice shot. "Guess it is."
Eijiro let out a slow breath, his hand still loosely holding Izuku's. "Alright, you two. Get yourselves cleaned up and comfortable in bed. I'll reheat the pasta and bring it to you." He gave Izuku's fingers a final squeeze before letting go, his smile warm and genuine. "You've earned a rest, Izuku."
Izuku's chest swelled with a gratitude so deep it ached. He pushed himself up on trembling arms, cum still sticky on his thighs, and reached for Eijiro before he could think. His lips found the redhead's cheek—soft, brief, a whisper of contact. "Thank you, Eijiro," he breathed, his voice raw but sincere. "For everything. For being—for seeing us."
Eijiro's cheeks flushed a faint pink, but his grin only widened. "Anytime, little man."
Katsuki scooped Izuku up before he could protest, one arm under his knees, the other around his back. Izuku melted into the hold, his head falling against Katsuki's shoulder, the old man's scent—sweat and sex and something earthier—filling his lungs. As Katsuki carried him toward the hallway, he glanced back at Eijiro. "You're getting a raise," he said, gruff but not unkind. "Double what I'm payin' you now."
Eijiro let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Appreciate it, old man. Now go take care of your boy." He watched them disappear into the dim hallway, Katsuki's bare feet padding softly on the worn wood, Izuku's green curls pressed against his granddaddy's chest. The sound of a bedroom door clicking shut drifted back to him.
Eijiro stood alone in the kitchen, the air still thick with the smell of sex and cooling pasta. He let out a long, slow exhale, running a hand through his spiked red hair. His pussy was still slick and swollen in his jeans, a wet spot spreading dark on the denim. He glanced at the mess on the counter—the puddles of cum and squirt, the abandoned plates—and a small smile tugged at his lips.
His hand moved to his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease. He pulled his jeans and boxers down to his knees, the cool air hitting his bare thighs. His pussy was slick and glistening, still wet from watching, from wanting. He spread his legs, one foot on the counter's edge, and used two fingers to part his folds, revealing the pink, swollen flesh beneath. The sight made his breath catch. He fished his phone from his pocket with his free hand, angled it, and snapped a photo—the glistening wetness, the spread lips, the dark red of his dark pubic hair just visible at the top of the frame.
He attached the image to a new text, his thumb hovering over the contact: Tetsu ❤️. He typed quickly, "Miss you bro." Sent. The message read as delivered instantly, and he leaned against the counter, waiting, his heart thudding a little harder than it should.
His phone buzzed. A photo filled the screen—a massive, veined cock, hard and leaking, held in a familiar calloused hand. Below it, the reply: "Say the word and I'm there Ei." Eijiro's breath hitched, a low groan escaping his throat. His thumb moved without hesitation, typing a single word: “Word.”
Eijiro's phone buzzed again before he could lower it. Another message from Tetsu: "Fuck, Ei. That photo. I'm gonna jack off in the truck. Leaving now. ETA ten hours." His breath caught, a fresh wave of heat flooding his already-soaked cunt. He read the message twice, three times, his thumb tracing the familiar contact name. Ten hours. His brother was already on the road. For him.
He set the phone on the counter, screen still glowing, and let his hand drift back between his legs. His fingers found his clit—swollen, aching, desperate—and he circled it slowly, his head falling back, eyes fluttering shut. The memory surged unbidden: New Year's Eve, his parents' house, the guest bedroom with the door locked but the sound of champagne glasses clinking downstairs. Tetsu had him bent over the antique vanity, one hand clamped over Eijiro's mouth, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. Every thrust had been a risk, every sound a gamble. His mother's footsteps in the hallway. The doorknob rattling. Tetsu's hand tightening, his voice a hot whisper against Eijiro's ear: "Don't. Make. A sound."
Eijiro's fingers moved faster, his breathing ragged, the phantom sensation of his brother's cock filling him making his knees weak. He pressed two fingers inside himself, curling them, searching for that spot that only Tetsu seemed to hit with any precision. The kitchen air was thick with the lingering scent of Izuku and Katsuki's sex, and it mixed with his own arousal, with the memory of his brother's weight pinning him down, with the terror and ecstasy of almost being caught. He pumped his fingers harder, his thighs trembling, a low whine escaping his throat.
"Fuck, Tetsu," he breathed into the empty room, his voice cracking. "Ten hours is too long."
His phone buzzed again, and he fumbled for it with his free hand, nearly dropping it. A new message: "Send me another one. Want something to look at while I drive." Eijiro let out a shaky laugh, pulling his wet fingers out of his cunt.
Eijiro moved through the kitchen with practiced efficiency, scooping the pasta into two bowls and reheating them in the microwave. The smell of tomato and herbs mixed with the lingering musk of sex, and he found himself smiling as he arranged the bowls on a tray with two forks and a glass of water. He carried it down the hall, pausing outside the master bedroom door. He knocked softly—two quick raps—and pushed it open without waiting for an answer.
Katsuki was propped against the headboard, Izuku curled against his chest like a satisfied cat, both of them naked and tangled in the sheets. The old man's hand moved in slow, rhythmic strokes through Izuku's green curls. "Brought you dinner," Eijiro said, setting the tray on the nightstand. He met Katsuki's crimson eyes and held them. "You need anything else, holler." Katsuki grunted—the closest thing to thanks he ever gave—and Eijiro slipped back out, pulling the door closed behind him.
Back in the kitchen, he attacked the mess with a sponge and soapy water, wiping away the evidence of what had happened on the counter. Cum and squirt soaked into the sponge, and he wrung it out over the sink, watching the milky water swirl down the drain. The act was mundane, almost meditative, and it gave his mind space to wander. To Tetsu. To the photo his brother had sent. To the ten hours stretching between now and the moment those calloused hands would finally touch him again.
He dried his hands on a towel, tossed the sponge in the sink, and headed upstairs to his room. His legs felt heavy, his cunt still slick and aching in his jeans, the wet spot dark and cold against his thigh. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. His phone felt heavy in his back pocket—a promise waiting to be fulfilled.
He stripped in quick, efficient motions: jeans, boxers, shirt, all discarded on the floor. Naked, he stood in the center of the room, the cool air raising goosebumps on his sun-bronzed skin. He grabbed his phone, propped it against a stack of books on the dresser, and angled the camera so it captured the full length of his body. He hit record, stepped back, and let his hands fall to his sides.
"Hey, Tetsu." His voice came out low, rough, the way it always did when he was already half-gone with want. His hand moved to his chest, tracing the lines of his pectorals, the hard nub of his nipple pebbling under his touch. "Lookin' at your photo while I was cleaning up. Got me so fuckin' wet I nearly came in my jeans." He let his hand drift lower, fingers combing through the dark thatch of pubic hair, then lower still, spreading his folds for the camera. "See that? That's all for you, bro. All this pussy, this ass, this mouth—every hole's yours the second you walk through that door."
His fingers found his clit, swollen and slick, and he circled it slowly, a low moan escaping his lips. "Need you in my mouth first," he breathed, the words tumbling out like a confession. "Need to taste your cock on my tongue, feel you hit the back of my throat, hear you moan my name when you come down my throat." His fingers moved faster, his hips rolling to meet the rhythm. "Then I need you in my ass—gotta feel you stretch me open, gotta feel you deep, gotta have you leave me sore and full and your cum." He let out a shaky laugh, his breath hitching. "But most of all, Tetsu—fuck—most of all I need this pussy filled. Need you to fuck me 'til I can't walk, 'til I forget my own name, 'til the only word I remember how to say is yours."
His legs began to tremble, the familiar coil tightening in his belly. He angled his body toward the camera, spreading himself wider with two fingers, showing the glistening pink of his cunt. "Come on, bro," he gasped, his voice breaking. "Come with me. Think of me. Think of how good it's gonna feel when you're balls-deep inside me." His fingers pressed hard against his clit, rubbing in frantic circles, and his orgasm crashed through him—a gush of clear fluid spraying from his cunt, arcing across the room, hitting the lens of the phone with a wet splat. He kept coming, his whole body convulsing, his moans turning into something almost animal as he painted the camera with his release.
He collapsed to the floor, panting, his phone catching it all. After a long moment, he lifted his head, wiped the lens clean with a finger that he brought to his lips, licking it clean with a slow, deliberate motion. His grin was lazy, satisfied, a promise in itself. "Drive safe," he said, his voice rough and warm. "But hurry the fuck up, yeah? I'm not gonna last ten more hours without you." He winked, held the grin for three heartbeats, then reached out and ended the recording.
He sat on the edge of the bed, legs still shaky, and attached the video to a new message. His thumb hovered over the send button, his heart hammering in his chest. He pressed it, watched the progress bar fill, and listened to the whoosh of the message departing. Then he tossed the phone onto the pillow beside him, lay back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling, counting down the seconds until his brother arrived.