The bedroom door clicks shut behind them and Enji’s back is against it, Keigo’s mouth hot and demanding on his. Enji’s hands are huge, clumsy things. They hover at Keigo’s waist, then grip his shoulders, then slide to his back, unsure where to land. He kisses back with a desperate, grinding pressure, all force and no finesse, like he’s trying to consume the air from Keigo’s lungs.
Keigo pulls back just enough to speak, their lips brushing. “Breathe, big guy.”
Enji sucks in a ragged breath. His eyes are wide, pupils blown. “I don’t—”
“You don’t have to know.” Keigo’s voice is a low murmur. He takes Enji’s right hand, brings it to his own hip. “Here. Just feel.”
Enji’s fingers curl into the soft fabric of Keigo’s shirt. He can feel the sharp line of Keigo’s hip bone beneath. He’s trembling. The cool, cedar-scented air of the massive room does nothing to cut the heat coming off his skin.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Keigo says, a smile in his voice. He leans in, nips at Enji’s bottom lip. “What’s the script in your head? ‘Man takes woman to bed’?”
The words hit Enji like a physical blow. He flinches. “It’s not… I’m not…”
“I know you’re not.” Keigo soothes the bite with a slow, wet kiss. “So throw the script away. This is just you. And me.” He steps back, taking Enji’s hands in his. “Can you follow my lead?”
Enji stares at their joined hands. His are scarred, knuckles broad. Keigo’s are slender, strong. He gives one stiff, jerky nod.
“Good.” Keigo guides him forward, away from the door, toward the center of the room where the silk rug meets marble. “Now stand still.”
Keigo’s fingers go to the buttons of Enji’s work shirt. They are small, practical motions. Each pop of a button is a gunshot in the silent room. Enji stands rigid, his chest rising and falling heavily as the shirt parts, revealing the thick, scarred map of his torso, the dense red hair, the heavy muscles held tight with tension.
“See?” Keigo whispers, pushing the shirt off Enji’s shoulders. It falls to the rug with a soft whisper. “You just stand there. You just let me look.” He runs his palms down Enji’s chest, over the rough hair, feeling the hammer of his heart. “You’re allowed to be looked at.”
Keigo’s hands slide down Enji’s stomach, fingers tracing the line of coarse hair that disappears into his jeans. He unfastens the button, drags the zipper down with a slow, metallic rasp. The denim is tight over Enji’s thick thighs, and Keigo has to push, his knuckles brushing against the hard swell of Enji’s cock straining against his briefs. Enji makes a choked sound, his whole body rigid as Keigo peels the jeans down his legs.
“Step out,” Keigo says, his voice soft but firm.
Enji obeys, kicking the jeans aside. He stands in just his briefs now, the white cotton tented obscenely by his erection. Keigo hooks his thumbs into the waistband. He looks up, meeting Enji’s terrified blue eyes. “Last piece.”
He pulls the briefs down. Enji’s cock springs free, thick and heavy and uncut, the flushed head already leaking. Keigo lets out a low whistle, a genuine appreciation. “Fuck, Enji.” He wraps a hand around the base, his slender fingers not even meeting. He gives a couple of slow, teasing tugs, his thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum over the slit.
Enji’s knees buckle. He grabs Keigo’s shoulder to steady himself, a ragged groan tearing from his throat.
“Easy,” Keigo murmurs, but he doesn’t stop the motion, just a lazy, maddening stroke. “You’re okay. Just feel it.”
“Keigo—”
“Lay down. On the bed.”
Enji stumbles backward, his legs hitting the edge of the mattress. He falls more than lies, his big body sinking into the duvet. He’s completely naked, exposed on the dark silk, his cock lying heavy against his stomach. He watches, chest heaving, as Keigo takes a step back.
“This isn’t for a crowd,” Keigo says, his golden eyes locked on Enji’s. He pulls his own shirt over his head, revealing the lean planes of his chest, the twin scars across his pecs. “This is just for you.”
His movements are different now. Slower. Softer. There’s no performative arch, no flashy grin. He unbuttons his own jeans, pushes them and his panties down his hips in one motion, stepping free. The air in the room is cool on his skin, and Enji can see the faint goosebumps rise on his thighs, the clean-shaven smoothness of him. Keigo turns, just a half-turn, letting Enji see the red wings tattooed across his shoulder blades, the curve of his ass.
“You see me?” Keigo asks, looking over his shoulder.
Enji can only nod, his throat too tight for words. He sees everything. The scars. The tattoo. The beautiful, terrifying truth of him.
Keigo turns back. He climbs onto the bed, knees on either side of Enji’s hips, not touching yet. He hovers there, letting Enji look his fill. “Touch me,” Keigo breathes, lowering himself until their mouths are a breath apart. “Your hands. Put them on me.”
Enji’s hands rise, trembling. They settle on Keigo’s waist, the skin hot and smooth under his palms. He splays his fingers, spanning the narrow frame.
“Anywhere,” Keigo whispers, and then he kisses him.
It’s not like the kiss at the door. This is deep, desperate, open-mouthed hunger. Enji groans into it, his hands sliding up Keigo’s back, feeling the shift of muscle, the ridges of the tattoo. He pulls Keigo down against him, their chests pressing together, the rough hair of Enji’s torso against Keigo’s smooth skin. Keigo grinds down, the wet heat of his pussy sliding against Enji’s aching cock.
“Need you,” Enji rasps against his mouth, the words ripped from somewhere dark and raw. “Keigo, I need—”
“I know.” Keigo kisses him again, swallowing the rest of the sentence. He rocks against him, a slow, slick friction that makes Enji’s hips jerk up. “I’m here. Breathe with me.”
Enji’s hands are everywhere now, mapping the dip of Keigo’s spine, the curve of his ass, gripping his thighs. He’s shaking, a fine tremor running through all that massive strength. Keigo nips at his lip, soothes it with his tongue, his own breathing coming in sharp, hot pants against Enji’s skin.
“You feel so good,” Keigo murmurs, dragging his mouth along Enji’s jaw. “Just like this. Just letting me feel you.”
Enji turns his head, captures Keigo’s mouth again. It’s messy, uncoordinated, all clashing teeth and shared breath. He kisses like he’s drowning and Keigo is the only air. His hands slide between them, fingers searching, finding the wet, hot seam of Keigo’s body. Keigo gasps, his hips stuttering forward, pushing against Enji’s touch.
“Yes,” Keigo hisses, his forehead dropping to Enji’s shoulder. “Just like that. Fuck, Enji.”
Enji strokes him, clumsy but earnest, his thick fingers learning the shape of him, the slick, swollen flesh. He’s panting, each breath a ragged prayer against Keigo’s temple. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He only knows that the sound Keigo makes, the way his body clenches around Enji’s fingers, is the most right thing he’s ever felt.
“I want to taste you,” Enji rasps, the words a raw, guttural command that surprises even him. His hands, still slick from Keigo’s body, grip his hips.
Keigo goes still above him, his golden eyes wide. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation now. Enji pulls, guiding Keigo up his body, maneuvering the lean frame until Keigo is straddling his chest, knees pressed into the mattress on either side of Enji’s head.
“Fuck,” Keigo breathes, looking down at him. He braces his hands on the headboard.
Enji’s world narrows to the view between Keigo’s thighs. It’s clean-shaven, smooth, and utterly drenched. Keigo’s clit is prominent, thick and throbbing, easily two inches of hard, needy flesh, the hood pulled back, the head flushed a deep, desperate red. It’s not a woman’s pussy. This is a man’s. The realization hits Enji not as a shock, but as a profound, settling truth. This is Keigo.
“You see?” Keigo’s voice is tight, strained with vulnerability.
“I see you,” Enji says, and he means it. “You’re beautiful,” He rasps, the words a rough exhale against Keigo’s skin. Then he leans forward and takes Keigo’s clit into his mouth.
Keigo cries out, a sharp, broken sound. His hands fist in Enji’s hair, not pushing, just holding on. Enji moans, the vibration making Keigo’s thighs shake. The taste is musky, salty, profoundly intimate—it’s Keigo, pure and concentrated. Enji licks up the length of his slit, then down again, slow and thorough, learning the map of him.
“Oh, god,” Keigo gasps, his hips giving a helpless little jerk. “Enji—fuck—right there.”
Enji does it again. And again. He laps at the slick heat, suckles gently on that hard, throbbing flesh, his own cock aching against the bed with a need he ignores. This is everything. The weight of Keigo on his chest, the tremble in his thighs, the wet, open sound of his own mouth on him.
Enji spreads Keigo’s slick lips apart with his thumbs, opening him completely, and pushes his tongue deep inside. He fucks him with it, slow and thorough, his nose grinding into the swollen, throbbing heat of Keigo’s clit.
“Enji—fuck—I’m gonna—” Keigo’s warning is a choked gasp, his fingers tightening in Enji’s hair.
But the orgasm doesn’t build. It detonates. It’s faster, bigger, a tidal wave that crashes over Keigo before he can finish the sentence. His whole body seizes, a violent, beautiful shudder.
Enji seals his mouth over Keigo’s entire slit and sucks, hard.
Keigo throws his head back, a raw, shattered cry tearing from his throat. He squirts into Enji’s mouth, a hot, sudden rush that floods Enji’s tongue, spills past his lips. Keigo shakes, his thighs clamping around Enji’s head, his back arching as the pulses keep coming, wave after wave, until he’s trembling and spent, collapsing back onto Enji’s chest.
For a long moment, there’s only the sound of their ragged breathing. Keigo stares at the ceiling, his golden eyes wide with shock. “Holy shit,” he whispers, the words airless. “I’ve never… that’s never happened before.”
“What does that mean?” Enji asks, his voice a low rumble against Keigo’s back. He’s still trying to process the hot flood on his tongue, the violent beauty of the convulsion that wracked Keigo’s body.
Keigo shifts, rolling onto his side to face him. His golden eyes are dazed, pupils blown wide. “Means I’ve never squirted before. Not once. Not even close.” He lets out a shaky, incredulous laugh. “Holy shit.”
He leans in and kisses Enji, a slow, deep, tired kiss. His mouth tastes of himself and of Enji, a mingled intimacy that makes Enji groan. Keigo’s body is loose, pliant against him, all the performative tension gone.
“That was incredible,” Keigo murmurs against his lips, his hand coming up to cup Enji’s jaw. “You are incredible.”
A strange, warm feeling blooms in Enji’s chest, cutting through the haze of his own untouched arousal. It’s pride. Rough and unfamiliar, but undeniable. He made Keigo feel that. He did that. The realization is a quiet earthquake inside him.
“You liked it,” Enji says, not a question. His own voice sounds foreign to him, stripped of its usual gravelly defensiveness.
“Liked it?” Keigo snorts, nuzzling into the column of Enji’s throat. “Enji, I saw god. I think I left my body for a minute.” He traces a scar on Enji’s shoulder. “You have no idea what that did to me.”
Enji’s hand finds Keigo’s hip, his thumb stroking the smooth skin there. He’s still achingly hard, his cock trapped between their bodies, leaking against his own stomach. But for this moment, the need is secondary to the look on Keigo’s face—the raw, sated wonder.
“I wanted to,” Enji says, the confession simple. “I wanted to taste you. I wanted to make you feel good.”
Keigo pulls back just enough to look at him. His gaze is soft, searching. “You did. So good.” He glances down between them, a sly smile touching his lips. “You’re still a mess, though.”
“I don’t mind,” Enji says, and he means it. His hips give a small, involuntary thrust, his cock sliding through the wetness on his own skin and Keigo’s thigh.
“I mind,” Keigo whispers, his smile turning wicked. He shifts, sliding a leg over Enji’s hips, settling his weight back astride him. The damp heat of his pussy presses against Enji’s abdomen. “Your turn.”
Keigo rocks his hips, the slick heat of his pussy dragging against the length of Enji’s cock. He’s still wet, still trembling from his own climax, and the slide is electric. “I want you to fuck me,” Keigo breathes, his lips against Enji’s ear. “Hard.”
Enji’s entire body jerks, a thick, desperate throb pulsing through him. His hands clamp onto Keigo’s hips, fingers digging into the lean muscle. “I don’t… I don’t have any condoms.” The admission is a ragged scrape of shame.
Keigo pulls back just enough to smile, a wicked, knowing thing. He leans in again, his whisper a hot promise. “I’m on the pill, big guy. Don’t worry about it.” He grinds down, deliberate. “You can fill me up with as much cum as you want.”
A raw, guttural sound tears from Enji’s throat. The image—the permission—hits him like a physical blow. His cock aches, a deep, primal need that has nothing to do with thought. Four kids. The proof of what his body can do, what it’s meant to do. He’s shaking.
“Yeah,” Keigo murmurs, reading the tremor in his hands. “That’s it. You want that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” The word is a vow.
Keigo shifts, lifting himself up on his knees. One of his hands wraps around Enji’s cock, guiding the thick, leaking head to his entrance. The pressure is an exquisite, burning promise. Enji can feel the heat, the wetness, the tight clench of muscle waiting for him.
“Look at me,” Keigo says, his voice dropping, losing its playful edge.
Enji’s blue eyes, wild with hunger, lock onto gold.
Keigo sinks down.
The stretch is immense, overwhelming. Enji feels every inch of his own girth as Keigo takes him, a slow, torturous descent that makes them both gasp. Keigo’s face is a mask of intense concentration, his lips parted, his eyes never leaving Enji’s. He bottoms out, his ass meeting Enji’s thighs, and they both go still, utterly full.
“Fuck,” Keigo chokes out, his internal muscles fluttering wildly around the intrusion. “You’re so big.”
Enji can’t speak. He can only feel. The hot, velvet clutch of Keigo’s body, the perfect, impossible tightness. His hands are frozen on Keigo’s hips, holding him there, afraid to move and break the spell.
Keigo begins to move. A slow, rolling lift of his hips, then a sinking drop. The wet sound is obscene. Enji’s head falls back against the pillow, a broken groan ripped from his chest.
“That’s it,” Keigo encourages, his own breath coming in short pants. He sets a rhythm, deep and grinding, using his thighs to ride Enji with a dancer’s control. Each downward stroke punches the air from Enji’s lungs. “You feel that? You’re all the way inside me.”
Enji’s control shatters. His hips snap upward, driving deeper, meeting Keigo’s next descent with a force that makes the bedframe creak. Keigo cries out, a sharp, pleased sound.
“Harder,” Keigo demands, his nails raking down Enji’s chest. “Don’t hold back. Give it to me.”
Enji obeys. He flips them, a surge of strength that leaves Keigo pinned beneath him on the silk sheets. He doesn’t pull out, just re-angles his thrust, and drives back in. Keigo’s legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back.
The pace is brutal, punishing. Enji fucks into him with a single-minded intensity, each thrust a desperate claim. The slap of skin, the wet, sucking sounds, their mingled grunts and gasps—it’s a symphony of raw need.
“You gonna cum inside me?” Keigo gasps, his voice wrecked. His golden eyes are glazed, locked on Enji’s face. “Gonna breed me, Enji?”
The filthy, perfect word undoes him. Enji’s rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, harder. The coil in his gut winds impossibly tight, a white-hot pressure building at the base of his spine.
“Keigo—” It’s a warning, a prayer.
“Do it,” Keigo commands, arching beneath him. “Fill me up. I want to feel it.”
Enji’s orgasm erupts. It’s not a release—it’s an expulsion, a torrent. He buries himself to the hilt, his body locking as pulse after pulse of hot cum empties into Keigo’s clutching heat. He shouts, a raw, animal sound, his forehead dropping to Keigo’s shoulder as the waves rack him.
Keigo holds him through it, his own body clenching rhythmically, milking every last drop. His hands stroke the sweat-slicked planes of Enji’s back, gentle now. “That’s it,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “Good. That’s so good.”
Enji doesn't stop. The pulses of his orgasm are still wracking his body, his cock still buried deep, when a new, deeper hunger seizes him. He pulls back and slams into Keigo again, a raw, guttural groan tearing from his throat.
“Fuck,” Keigo gasps, his body arching off the bed. His internal muscles flutter wildly around the renewed intrusion, sensitive and overstimulated. “You’re still hard.”
“Can’t stop,” Enji grunts, the words muffled against Keigo’s neck. His hips find a brutal, piston rhythm, each thrust a desperate, claiming drive. His cock, slick with his own release and Keigo’s wetness, never softens. It’s like a fever has taken him, a need beyond thought.
Keigo’s legs lock around his waist, heels digging in. “Don’t you dare stop,” he commands, his voice shredded. His nails rake down Enji’s sweat-slicked back. “Give me everything.”
Enji kisses him. It’s a messy, desperate clash of teeth and tongue, more a sharing of breath than anything tender. He fucks into the kiss, into the tight, clutching heat, and it feels like coming home. Like a lock turning, a key finally finding its fit.
“Only you,” Enji rasps against his mouth, the confession ripped from some deep, broken place. “It’s only ever been—” He cuts himself off with another punishing thrust.
Keigo’s golden eyes are wide, understanding dawning through the haze of pleasure. He cups Enji’s jaw, forcing his gaze. “I know,” he breathes. “I know, big guy. It’s me. It’s for me.”
Tears prick at the corners of Enji’s eyes, a confusing mix of overwhelming physical sensation and a terrifying, unlocking emotion. He hides his face in the crook of Keigo’s neck, his thrusts becoming slower, deeper, more deliberate. Each one is a punctuation to a sentence he can’t form.
The wet sound of their joining is obscene, constant. The room smells of sex and sweat and them. Enji’s huge hands grip Keigo’s hips, sure to leave bruises, holding him in place as he takes him, over and over.
“You feel incredible,” Keigo whispers, his own body beginning to tremble again, a new tension coiling low in his belly. “So full. You’re gonna make me cum again.”
Enji lifts his head, his blue eyes wild, glistening. “Do it,” he growls, his voice raw. “Cum on my cock. Let me feel it.”
Keigo’s body seizes, a violent, beautiful arch that tears a ragged cry from his throat. His pussy clenches, a series of frantic, rhythmic pulses around Enji’s cock, and then he’s coming, a hot, gushing flood that soaks Enji’s balls and thighs, slicking the already wet slide between them. It’s more than before, a torrent, and the feeling of it triggers Enji’s own end.
Enji’s vision whites out. He drives in one last, brutal time, burying himself to the root as his own climax detonates, a deep, rolling quake that empties him completely. He shouts into Keigo’s mouth, a raw, broken sound, as he pumps another thick load into the clutching, dripping heat. They cum together, locked eye to eye, the connection absolute.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of their panting, mouths inches apart, sharing the same air. The aftershocks make Keigo’s body flutter weakly around Enji’s softening cock. Enji’s massive frame trembles with exhaustion, held up by arms that threaten to buckle.
Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself, his full weight settling onto Keigo. The smaller man lets out a soft “oof” but his legs stay locked around Enji’s waist, his arms coming up to wrap around his broad, sweaty back. They don’t separate. Enji’s face finds the crook of Keigo’s neck, his breath hot and ragged against the damp skin.
“Holy shit,” Keigo whispers, his voice wrecked and full of awe. His fingers trace idle patterns on Enji’s shoulder blade.
Enji can’t form words. He turns his head, his lips finding Keigo’s jaw, then his mouth. It’s not a kiss of passion, but of discovery. Slow. Tender. A gentle press and retreat, tasting salt and sweat and them.
Keigo meets it, his own movements languid, exhausted. He licks into Enji’s mouth, soft and deep, and a quiet sound of contentment vibrates in Enji’s chest.
They kiss like that for minutes, unhurried, as their heartbeats slow. Enji finally slips out of him, and Keigo winces at the sensitivity, the sudden empty feeling, followed by the warm trickle of their combined release on his thighs.
“Mess,” Enji murmurs, the first word he’s managed. His voice is gravel.
“Yeah,” Keigo agrees, a smile in his tone. He doesn’t move to clean up. He tightens his arms around Enji. “Your mess. Stay right here.”
Enji obeys. He has no strength to do otherwise. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps on their heated skin. The scent of sex is heavy, intimate. He feels Keigo’s chest rise and fall beneath him, a steady, living rhythm.
“You okay?” Keigo asks softly, his lips brushing Enji’s temple.
Enji nods against him. He’s more than okay. He’s shattered. He’s rebuilt. He’s terrified. He’s found. He doesn’t know how to say any of it, so he just kisses Keigo again, a slow, lingering promise against his swollen mouth.
Keigo hums into the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle Enji’s face. He holds him there, in the quiet dark, and doesn’t let go.