Morning light cut through the curtains in blades, falling across Kanato's bedroom in strips of gold and shadow. The air was warm, still, carrying the faint salt of sleep and the deeper musk of Akira's body — that new scent that had settled into the sheets over the past weeks, something sweet and dark, like honey left too long in the sun.

Kanato lay on his side, propped on one elbow, watching.

Akira was still asleep, face half-buried in the pillow, one hand curled loose near his own cheek. The duvet had slipped down to his waist, leaving his back bare — the long line of his spine, the dip at the small of his back, the way his incubus tail lay curled against his thigh like a sleeping animal. The golden sigil on his stomach caught the light, a faint pulse beneath his skin.

Beautiful, Kanato thought. He'd thought it a hundred times. But there was something different now, something that had shifted since the hunger wave broke. Akira's skin seemed to hold the light differently, warmer, almost luminous. His cheekbones sat sharper under the morning glow, his lips fuller, darker at the edges. The hunger wave had burned through him and left something else in its wake — something that made Kanato's mouth go dry just looking at it.

He reached out, slow, and traced the base of Akira's tail where it met his spine.

Akira's breath hitched. His brow furrowed, then smoothed. A small sound escaped him — soft, questioning, still mostly asleep.

Kanato did it again, dragging his thumb along the sensitive root of the tail, feeling the fine muscles twitch under his touch. Ririmu's words echoed in his head: touch his tail more often. It helps him regulate his energy flow.

Well. He was nothing if not a diligent student.

"Mm…" Akira shifted, pressing his face deeper into the pillow. His tail curled away from Kanato's hand, then back, as if caught between instincts. "Nn… Kanato…?"

"Morning," Kanato murmured, and stroked him again.

Akira's eyes opened — dark, unfocused, still hazy with sleep. He blinked up at Kanato, and for a moment there was something soft and unguarded in his face, the look he only wore in these early hours. Then his gaze dropped to where Kanato's hand was resting on his tail, and his cheeks flushed.

"What are you—"

"Ririmu said I should touch it more." Kanato smiled, easy, lazy. "I'm following medical advice."

"That's not—" Akira's voice cracked as Kanato's thumb pressed into the base of his tail, finding the spot that made his whole body jolt. "That's not what she—hnn—"

"No? She said touch your tail more often. I'm touching your tail more often." Kanato's smile widened. "Very attentive of me, don't you think?"

Akira's jaw worked. He looked like he wanted to argue, but his tail had already betrayed him, curling around Kanato's wrist like a vine seeking sun. The golden sigil on his stomach flickered, a warm pulse.

"You're doing this on purpose," Akira managed.

"Obviously." Kanato dragged his thumb down the length of the tail, slow, feeling the fine shiver that ran through Akira's whole body. "And you're enjoying it, aren't you? Look at you. Already getting hard, and I've barely touched you."

Akira's face went red. He turned away, pressing his forehead into the pillow, but not before Kanato saw the way his cock twitched against his thigh — half-hard, already leaking a bead of clear fluid onto the sheets.

"Don't hide," Kanato said, and there was a thread of command in his voice now, soft but unmistakable. He curled his fingers around Akira's tail and pulled, just enough to tug Akira's hips back toward him. "I want to see you."

Akira let out a sound — caught between a whimper and a protest — but he didn't resist. He let Kanato turn him onto his back, let him push the duvet down to his hips. The morning light fell across his chest, his stomach, the sigil that glowed low on his abdomen, just below his navel.

Kanato's breath caught.

He'd seen Akira a hundred times, a thousand. But there was something about the way the light moved over him now, the way his skin seemed to drink it in. The sigil was brighter than it had been, a warm gold that pulsed in time with Akira's heartbeat. His nipples were tight, dusky pink, and his cock lay against his stomach, flushed and leaking, the head glossy with pre-cum.

"Gorgeous," Kanato breathed.

Akira's hands came up, trying to cover his face. Kanato caught his wrists, pinned them to the mattress on either side of his head.

"No. I said I want to see you."

"Kanato—"

"Why are you hiding it?" Kanato leaned down, close enough that his breath stirred the fine hairs on Akira's chest. "You're beautiful like this. Shameless. Needful. Already close." He pressed his palm flat against the sigil, and it flared under his touch, hot and alive. "You don't get to hide from me, baby."

Akira's hips bucked, a helpless, involuntary motion. His tail lashed against the sheets, then curled around Kanato's wrist, squeezing.

"Hn—ah—"

"That's it." Kanato pressed harder, grinding his palm into the sigil, feeling the heat of it seep into his skin. "Let me hear you. You know I love the sounds you make."

Akira's mouth opened, but only a broken sound came out. His eyes were glassy, his pupils blown wide, the dark of them swallowing the light. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, and his cock twitched against his stomach, leaking another thread of clear fluid.

Kanato watched it, fascinated. The hunger wave had done something to Akira's body, awakened something that had been sleeping. He was more sensitive now, more responsive. Every touch seemed to land harder, every stroke drew a deeper sound from his throat. Kanato had spent the last few days cataloging the changes, learning the new map of Akira's body — and finding, to his delight, that the territory was richer than ever.

"You're wet," Kanato murmured, dragging a finger through the slick bead of pre-cum on Akira's stomach. "Look at that. I've barely done anything and you're already falling apart."

Akira shook his head, a small, desperate motion. "That's—that's not—"

"Not what? Not true?" Kanato held up his finger, showing Akira the glistening strand. "This says otherwise."

Akira's face burned. He turned away, but Kanato caught his chin, forced him back.

"Eyes on me, Nagi."

Akira's throat worked. His eyes were wet, but not with tears — with something else, something bright and desperate. He looked at Kanato, and Kanato saw the plea in them before Akira even spoke.

"Kanato… please…"

"Please what?" Kanato's voice was soft, almost kind. His hand drifted down, trailing fire across Akira's chest, his stomach, coming to rest just above his cock. Not touching. Just hovering. "Tell me what you want."

Akira's hips lifted, chasing the contact. Kanato pulled back.

"Words, baby."

"I—" Akira's voice broke. He swallowed, tried again. "I want… please, I need—"

"Need what?"

Akira made a sound of pure frustration, his tail lashing against the mattress. "You know what. You always know—"

"I want to hear you say it." Kanato's thumb brushed the edge of Akira's cock, feather-light, and Akira jerked like he'd been burned. "Tell me what you need, and maybe I'll give it to you."

Akira's breath came in ragged pants. His eyes were bright, desperate, and Kanato could see the war in them — the shame, the need, the fear of asking. But the need was winning.

"Touch me," Akira whispered. "Please. Kanato, please touch me."

Kanato smiled, slow and satisfied. "There it is. Was that so hard?"

He wrapped his hand around Akira's cock, and Akira cried out — a sharp, broken sound that cut through the morning quiet. His back arched off the mattress, his hands scrabbling at the sheets, and his tail curled tight around Kanato's wrist, squeezing like a pulse.

"Ah—ah—Kanato—"

"Shh." Kanato stroked him slow, deliberate, his thumb sweeping over the head with each pass. "I've got you. Just let go."

Akira's hips bucked into his fist, chasing the friction. His mouth fell open, sounds spilling out unchecked — high, breathy whines that stuttered with every stroke. Kanato watched his face, the way his eyes screwed shut, the way his brow furrowed, the way his lips moved around words he couldn't quite form.

"That's it," Kanato murmured. "You sound so pretty like this. So lewd. All those sounds just for me."

"Hnn—ah—Kanato—I'm—I'm close—"

"Already?" Kanato's smile sharpened. "Barely a minute in, and you're already falling apart. My greedy little incubus."

Akira's face flushed darker. He tried to shake his head, to deny it, but the words dissolved into a moan as Kanato's thumb pressed into the slit, spreading the slick heat.

"Don't be embarrassed," Kanato said, working him faster. "I love how needy you are. How your body gives in so easily. How you can't help but beg."

"I'm not—ah—I'm not begging—"

"No? Then what do you call this?" Kanato leaned down, his lips brushing Akira's ear. "Please, Kanato, touch me, I need it—that sounds like begging to me."

Akira whimpered, a sound that was almost a sob. His hips were moving in frantic little jerks now, chasing the stroke, and Kanato could feel him tightening, the telltale tension building in his thighs.

"Close," Kanato murmured. "You're so close, aren't you? I can feel it."

"Please—Kanato—please let me—"

"Let you what?"

"Cum—please, I need to—" Akira's voice broke into a moan as Kanato's thumb swept over the head again. "Please, Kanato, I can't—I need—"

"You need to come?" Kanato's voice was soft, almost tender. "You want my permission?"

"Yes—yes, please—"

"Ask me nicely."

Akira's eyes flew open, bright and desperate. His lips parted, and Kanato saw the words forming — saw the shame warring with the need in his face. And then, in a voice that cracked and broke around the edges:

"Please… Kanato… let me cum…"

Kanato smiled. "Good boy."

He didn't stop. He didn't slow down. He kept stroking, kept working Akira's cock with the same steady rhythm, and Akira's body went rigid, his back arching off the mattress, his mouth open in a silent cry.

And then the orgasm hit him — and it was a dry, brutal thing, his cock pulsing against Kanato's fist with nothing to show for it, no release, no relief. His body convulsed, his tail lashing, his hands fisting in the sheets, and a sound tore from his throat that was half-moan, half-sob.

"Ah—ah—no—no, please—"

Kanato didn't stop. He kept stroking through the orgasm, kept working Akira's oversensitive cock, drawing out the dry, aching pulses until Akira was sobbing, shaking, trying to twist away.

"Too much—it's too much—Kanato, please—"

"Shh, shh." Kanato's voice was soothing, almost crooning. He didn't let up. "You can take it. You're doing so well."

And he was — he was beautiful, Kanato thought, watching him. The way his body arched and twisted, the way his mouth fell open around sounds he couldn't control, the way his skin flushed and his eyes went glassy with overstimulation. The dry orgasm had left him trembling, hypersensitive, every nerve alight. And Kanato could feel it, the way Akira's body had somehow grown more sensitive, more reactive. Each stroke of his hand drew a sharper cry, each pass of his thumb made Akira's whole body convulse.

He was going to take his time with this.

"Kanato—Kanato—" Akira's voice was a broken, desperate thing. "I can't—I can't take it—"

"You can," Kanato said, and he finally slowed, easing off the relentless pressure. Akira slumped against the mattress, gasping, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. "You're doing so well, baby. So good for me."

Akira's eyes were wet, glassy. He looked at Kanato with something like betrayal, something like worship. "Why—why do you—"

"Because you're beautiful like this." Kanato leaned down, pressed a kiss to the corner of Akira's mouth. "Because I love watching you fall apart. Because I love knowing that I'm the only one who can put you back together."

Akira's breath hitched. His hand came up, weak, and curled into the front of Kanato's shirt. "Kanato…"

Kanato caught his wrist, pressed a kiss to the inside of it, where the pulse beat fast and fragile. "I've got you," he said again. "I'm not going anywhere."

And then he lowered his mouth to Akira's chest, dragging his tongue across a nipple, feeling the way Akira's whole body jerked in response.

"Ah—!"

Kanato smiled against his skin. "Is that a sensitive spot?"

"N-no—it's not—"

"No?" Kanato sucked the nipple into his mouth, and Akira cried out, his back arching, his hands flying to Kanato's hair. "Then why does your body keep saying yes?"

Akira's breath stuttered. He couldn't find words. His head fell back, his throat exposed, and Kanato took full advantage, dragging his mouth down the column of Akira's neck, tasting salt and heat.

"Here?" Kanato murmured against his pulse. "Or here?" His hand drifted lower, tracing the sigil on Akira's stomach, and Akira's whole body shuddered. "I think I know this one."

He pressed down, and Akira moaned, long and low, his hips bucking against nothing.

"There it is." Kanato pressed harder, feeling the sigil pulse under his palm like a second heartbeat. "This is the spot, isn't it? Right here. Just below your stomach. Where the mark sits."

"Kanato—please—"

"Please what? More?" Kanato's hand moved in slow circles over the sigil, and Akira's mouth fell open, sounds spilling out unchecked. "Or less? Tell me what you want, baby."

Akira's eyes were screwed shut, his hands fisting in the sheets. "I don't—I can't—"

"Can't what?" Kanato's voice was soft, relentless. "Can't think? Can't speak? That's alright. You don't need to think. You just need to feel."

He dragged his hand lower, sliding between Akira's thighs, and Akira's breath caught.

"Open your legs for me," Kanato said, and it wasn't a request.

Akira's thighs fell apart, trembling, and Kanato's smile widened. He traced his fingers down the sensitive skin of Akira's inner thigh, feeling the fine shiver that ran through him.

"So obedient," Kanato murmured. "So good for me. Do you know how beautiful you look like this? Spread open for me, desperate and needful, your body betraying everything your mouth can't say."

Akira made a sound — a whimper, a protest, something caught between shame and want. His tail curled around Kanato's wrist, squeezing, and Kanato let it, using the grip to guide his hand lower.

He found Akira's rim, slick with sweat and something else, and pressed his thumb against it. Akira's whole body jolted.

"Ah—!"

"Shh." Kanato pressed his forearm down across Akira's hips, trapping him against the mattress. "I've got you. Just relax for me."

"Kanato—that's—"

"Beautiful," Kanato said, and he meant it. He dragged his thumb in slow circles around the rim, feeling the muscle flutter under his touch. "You're so tight. So hot. I can feel you clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled."

Akira's face was a mask of shame and want, his eyes screwed shut, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But his body was telling a different story — his hips pressing down, chasing the pressure, his hole fluttering around Kanato's thumb like it was begging to be breached.

"Look at you," Kanato murmured. "So shameless. So needy. You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you? You'd open up for me, take anything I gave you, beg for more."

"N-no—"

"No?" Kanato pressed his thumb against the rim, just barely, just enough to tease. "Then why does your body keep saying yes?"

Akira cried out, a broken, desperate sound. His hips bucked, and Kanato felt the moment his body gave in — the muscle relaxing, the hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

Kanato smiled, slow and satisfied. "There it is."

He slid his thumb inside, and Akira's whole body arched off the mattress, a sound tearing from his throat that was almost a sob. His hands flew to Kanato's shoulders, gripping, digging in, and his tail tightened around Kanato's wrist so hard it was almost painful.

"Ah—ah—Kanato—"

"Shh, shh." Kanato worked his thumb in deeper, feeling the tight, slick heat of Akira's body. "You're doing so well. Taking me so beautifully."

Akira's breath came in ragged, broken gasps. His eyes were wet, his face flushed, and Kanato could see the tears gathering at the corners — not from pain, but from pleasure so intense it was spilling over.

"Please," Akira whispered, and his voice was a wreck. "Please, Kanato, I can't—I can't—"

"Can't what?" Kanato curled his thumb, finding the spot that made Akira's whole body convulse. "Can't take it? Can't stop yourself from feeling so good?"

"Yes—no—I don't—" Akira's words dissolved into a moan. "Please—it's too much—"

"It's not too much." Kanato's voice was soft, certain. "You can take it. You were born for this, baby. Your body was made for pleasure, made to feel, made to open up and take everything I give you."

Akira shook his head, a frantic, desperate motion. "Nn—ah—Kanato—slower—please—"

"Slower?" Kanato's smile was sharp. "But you feel so good around my finger. I don't want to stop."

He pressed in deeper, and Akira's head fell back, a long, broken moan spilling from his lips. His body was trembling, his skin slick with sweat, and Kanato could see the arousal pooling on his stomach, his cock leaking steadily, untouched.

"Look at you," Kanato murmured. "So wet for me. So desperate. And I haven't even touched your cock in minutes."

"Please—"

"Please what?" Kanato added a second finger, and Akira's cry cut through the air. "Tell me what you want."

"I want—I need—"

"Say it."

"I need you to fuck me." The words came out in a rush, desperate and broken, and Akira's face burned crimson even as he said them. "Please, Kanato, I need you inside me, I need—"

"That's my good boy." Kanato pulled his fingers out, and Akira made a sound of loss, his hips chasing the emptiness. "You want my cock, baby? Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes—yes, please—"

"Then beg for it."

Akira's throat worked. His eyes were wet, glassy, and Kanato could see the war in them — the shame, the need, the desperate desire to please. And then, in a voice that cracked and broke around the edges:

"Please, Kanato. Please fuck me. I need you inside me. I need to feel you—I need—"

Kanato's smile widened. "Good boy."

He positioned himself between Akira's thighs, his cock heavy and hard, and Akira's breath caught, his eyes fixed on the length of it. Kanato saw the fear flicker there, the anticipation, and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to Akira's lips.

"I've got you," he murmured against his mouth. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

Akira nodded, a small, desperate motion. His hands came up to grip Kanato's shoulders, and his legs wrapped around Kanato's waist, pulling him closer.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, Kanato."

Kanato pushed inside, and Akira cried out — a sharp, broken sound that cut through the morning quiet. His body clenched around the intrusion, tight and hot, and Kanato had to stop, had to breathe, had to give them both a moment to adjust.

"So tight," he breathed. "So perfect. You're taking me so well, baby."

Akira's eyes were wet, his face flushed. He looked up at Kanato with something like awe, something like worship, and his voice came out in a whisper:

"Kanato…"

Kanato's heart clenched. He leaned down, pressed his forehead to Akira's, and began to move — slow, deep, each thrust drawing a broken sound from Akira's throat.

"That's it," he murmured. "Take all of me. Let me fill you up."

Akira's hands fisted in the sheets. His head fell back, his throat exposed, and the sounds he made were lewd and desperate and beautiful — moans and whimpers and broken gasps that stuttered with every thrust.

"Ah—ah—Kanato—"

"I know," Kanato said, and he was lost in it, lost in the heat of Akira's body, the way it yielded to him, the way it pulled him deeper. "I know, baby. I've got you."

He drove in harder, faster, and Akira's voice rose, a high, keening sound that cut through the morning air. His body was trembling, his skin slick with sweat, and Kanato could feel him tightening, the telltale tension building in his thighs.

"Please," Akira gasped. "Please, Kanato, I'm close—I'm so close—"

"Not yet." Kanato's voice was strained, but firm. "Not until I say so."

Akira whimpered, a sound of pure desperation. His hips bucked, chasing the friction, but Kanato held him down, kept the pace steady, relentless.

"Please—"

"I said not yet." Kanato reached down, found the base of Akira's tail, and squeezed. Akira's whole body convulsed, a broken cry tearing from his throat. "You come when I tell you to. Understand?"

"Yes—yes, I understand—"

"Good boy."

Kanato kept moving, kept driving into him, and Akira's body was a symphony of sensation — the tight, slick heat of him, the trembling of his thighs, the desperate, broken sounds spilling from his lips. Kanato watched his face, the way his eyes screwed shut, the way his mouth fell open, the way his whole body seemed to surrender to the pleasure.

He was beautiful. He was everything.

"Look at me," Kanato said, and Akira's eyes opened, glassy and desperate. "I want to see your face when you fall apart."

"Kanato—"

"You're so close, aren't you? I can feel it. Your body is begging for it." Kanato's hand found Akira's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. "But you can't come until I say so. Can you?"

"N-no—"

"That's right." Kanato's smile was sharp, delighted. "You're going to hold it for me. You're going to stay right on the edge until I decide to let you fall."

Akira's breath came in ragged gasps. His body was trembling, his skin flushed, and Kanato could see the effort it took to hold back, the way his muscles strained, the way his hands fisted in the sheets.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, Kanato—"

"Not yet." Kanato stroked him faster, and Akira cried out, his back arching, his body convulsing. "Hold it. Hold it for me."

"I can't—I can't—"

"You can." Kanato's voice was soft, certain. "You're so strong, baby. So good for me. Just a little longer."

Akira's whole body was shaking now, trembling on the edge of something vast and overwhelming. His eyes were wet, his face flushed, and Kanato could see the desperate, aching need in them.

"Please," he breathed. "Please, Kanato—"

Kanato watched him, drank him in. And then, with a smile, he said:

"Come for me, baby."

Akira shattered.

His body arched off the mattress, a broken cry tearing from his throat, and Kanato felt the hot pulse of his release against his hand, felt his body clench and convulse around his cock. He didn't stop, didn't slow down, kept driving into him through the orgasm, drawing it out, making it last.

"That's it," he breathed. "That's my good boy. Let go for me."

Akira's cries dissolved into sobs, his body shaking, his hands scrabbling at the sheets. His tail lashed against the mattress, then curled tight around Kanato's waist, squeezing like a pulse.

Kanato followed him over the edge, a groan tearing from his throat as he spilled inside Akira's body, filling him, claiming him. He buried his face in Akira's neck, breathing him in, feeling the aftershocks ripple through both their bodies.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of breathing, the warmth of the morning sun, the closeness of two bodies tangled together.

Then Akira spoke, his voice hoarse and broken:

"…You're going to kill me."

Kanato laughed, a low, satisfied sound. He pressed a kiss to Akira's shoulder, then pulled back just enough to look at him — flushed, wrecked, beautiful.

"Not yet," he said. "I'm not nearly done with you."

Akira's eyes widened. "Kanato—"

"We have all day," Kanato said, and his smile was sharp, delighted. "And I intend to use every minute of it."

Akira's protest died in his throat as Kanato's hand found his tail again, stroking the sensitive base, and his body betrayed him once more, melting into the touch.

Kanato watched the way Akira's body betrayed him—the slow, helpless melt of his spine, the way his tail curled around Kanato's wrist like it had a mind of its own, the soft, punched-out sound that escaped his lips. The hunger wave had done something to him, something that made Kanato's mouth go dry every time he looked at him. His skin held the light like warmed honey, his lips fuller, darker at the edges, and every sound he made seemed to come from somewhere deeper, somewhere raw.

"You know," Kanato murmured, dragging his thumb along the underside of the tail, feeling the fine muscles twitch, "I think the hunger wave made you even more beautiful. Like it woke something up in you."

Akira's eyes were glassy, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. "K-Kanato… hnn…"

"Mm? What was that?" Kanato's smile was lazy, delighted. He curled his fingers around the base of the tail and squeezed, just enough to make Akira's whole body jolt. "I didn't catch that."

"I—ahn—I said—" Akira's voice cracked, dissolved into a whimper as Kanato's thumb found the spot where the tail met his spine, the place that made his hips buck off the mattress. "Kana—hnn—yame…"

"Yame?" Kanato's voice was soft, almost mocking. He didn't stop. He pressed harder, watching Akira's mouth fall open, watching the way his hands fisted in the sheets. "But your body is saying something else entirely. Your tail is wrapped around my wrist so tight, baby. Like it never wants me to stop."

Akira's face burned. He turned away, pressing his forehead into the pillow, but Kanato caught his chin and pulled him back.

"No, no. I want to see your face when you fall apart." Kanato's thumb kept working the base of the tail, slow, relentless, and Akira's breath stuttered, his eyes screwing shut. "You're so sensitive here, aren't you? Ririmu was right. I should have been touching this tail every day."

"Nn—ah—Kanato, please—"

"Please what?" Kanato's other hand drifted down, tracing the line of Akira's stomach, coming to rest on the golden sigil just below his navel. It pulsed under his palm, hot and alive. "Tell me what you need, Nagi."

Akira's mouth opened, but only a broken sound came out. His hips were moving in small, desperate circles, grinding against nothing, and Kanato could see the arousal pooling on his stomach, his cock hard and leaking, untouched.

"I—I can't—" Akira's voice was a wreck, barely a whisper. "I can't think when you—ahn—when you do that—"

"That's the point." Kanato pressed his palm flat against the sigil, and Akira cried out, his back arching off the mattress. "You don't need to think, baby. You just need to feel."

He reached over to the nightstand, his hand closing around something cool and smooth. Akira's eyes followed the movement, and when Kanato held up the toy—a sleek, curved thing of black silicone, unassuming but unmistakable—his breath caught.

"W-wait—" Akira's voice was high, panicked. "Kanato, that's—"

"A toy," Kanato said, turning it over in his hand, watching the light catch the curve. "I bought it a few days ago. Thought you might enjoy it." He smiled, slow and sharp. "And after seeing how your body reacts to everything now, I think you're going to love it."

Akira shook his head, a frantic, desperate motion. "I don't—I've never—"

"Never what? Never used one?" Kanato's voice was soft, almost tender. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Akira's forehead. "That's alright. I'll take care of you. I always do."

He let the toy rest against Akira's stomach, cool against the heated skin, and Akira flinched, his breath hitching. Kanato watched his face, the way his eyes went wide, the way his lips parted around a sound he couldn't quite form.

"You're nervous," Kanato murmured. "That's okay. I like you nervous. You get so pretty when you're nervous."

"Kanato—"

"Shh." Kanato pressed a finger to Akira's lips, then trailed it down, over his chin, his throat, the hollow of his collarbone. "Just relax for me. Let me show you how good this can feel."

He brought the toy to Akira's mouth, and Akira's eyes widened, his lips parting on instinct. Kanato smiled.

"Open up. Get it nice and wet for me."

Akira hesitated, his cheeks burning, but his mouth opened, and Kanato slid the toy between his lips, watching the way his tongue curled around it, the way his eyes fluttered closed. The sight of it—Akira's lips stretched around the black silicone, his cheeks hollowed, his lashes dark against his skin—made Kanato's cock twitch.

"Good boy," he breathed. "Just like that. Get it nice and slick."

Akira made a small, muffled sound, his throat working, and Kanato pulled the toy out slowly, watching the string of saliva connect his lips to the silicone. He dragged it down Akira's chest, leaving a wet trail, then lower, over his stomach, past the sigil, until it rested between his thighs.

"You're already so wet for me," Kanato murmured, pressing the toy against Akira's entrance, feeling the slick heat. "Look at that. Your body knows exactly what it wants."

"N-no—" Akira's voice was broken, desperate. "Kanato, I—hnn—I don't—"

"You don't what?" Kanato pressed the tip inside, just barely, and Akira's whole body convulsed, a sharp cry tearing from his throat. "You don't want this? Your body says otherwise."

He pushed deeper, slow, watching the way Akira's mouth fell open, the way his eyes went glassy, the way his hands scrabbled at the sheets. The silicone slid in easily, slick with saliva and arousal, and Kanato felt Akira's body clench around it, trying to pull it deeper.

"Ah—ah—Kanato—"

"That's it." Kanato worked the toy in, feeling the tight, slick heat of Akira's body. "You're taking it so well, baby. So tight. So perfect."

Akira's breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving. His tail lashed against the mattress, then curled around Kanato's forearm, squeezing like a pulse. His eyes were wet, glassy, and Kanato could see the tears gathering at the corners—not from pain, but from pleasure so intense it was spilling over.

"Please," Akira whispered, and his voice was a wreck. "Please, Kanato, it's—it's too much—"

"Too much?" Kanato curled the toy, finding the spot that made Akira's whole body convulse. "But you feel so good around it. I don't want to stop."

He began to move the toy in and out, slow, deliberate, each thrust drawing a broken sound from Akira's throat. Akira's hands flew to Kanato's shoulders, gripping, digging in, and his mouth fell open around sounds he couldn't control.

"Hnn—ahn—Kana—yame—"

"Yame? You want me to stop?" Kanato's smile was sharp. He didn't slow down. "Then why does your body keep clenching around this toy, baby? Why does your cock keep leaking?"

Akira shook his head, a frantic, desperate motion. "I—I can't—it's too—ahn—"

"Too good?" Kanato pressed deeper, twisting the toy, and Akira cried out, his back arching off the mattress. "Too much? You can take it. You were made for this, Nagi. Your body was made to feel."

He fucked him with the toy, faster now, relentless, and Akira's sounds dissolved into a continuous, broken stream—moans and whimpers and gasps that stuttered with every thrust. His hips bucked, chasing the friction, and Kanato could feel him tightening, the telltale tension building in his thighs.

"Close already?" Kanato murmured. "Barely a minute with this toy and you're already falling apart." He pressed his palm flat against the sigil, and Akira's whole body shuddered. "But you can't come yet. You know that, don't you?"

"Please—please, Kanato—"

"Please what? Let you come?" Kanato's voice was soft, almost cruel. "You know the rules, baby. You come when I say so."

Akira's face was a mask of desperation. His hips bucked against the toy, chasing the pressure, and Kanato let him, watching the way his body moved, the way his mouth fell open, the way his eyes screwed shut.

"That's it," Kanato breathed. "Chase it. Feel it building. But you can't let go until I tell you."

"I—I can't—I can't hold it—"

"You can." Kanato's hand found Akira's cock, stroking in time with the toy. "You're so strong, baby. So good for me. Just a little longer."

Akira's whole body was shaking now, trembling on the edge of something vast and overwhelming. His eyes were wet, his face flushed, and Kanato could see the desperate, aching need in them.

"Please," he breathed. "Please, Kanato—"

Kanato watched him, drank him in. And then, with a smile, he said:

"Come for me, baby."

Akira shattered—but it was a dry, brutal thing, his cock pulsing against Kanato's fist with nothing to show for it. His body convulsed, his tail lashing, his hands fisting in the sheets, and a sound tore from his throat that was half-moan, half-sob.

"Ah—ah—no—no, please—"

Kanato didn't stop. He kept the toy moving, kept stroking Akira's oversensitive cock, drawing out the dry, aching pulses until Akira was sobbing, shaking, trying to twist away.

"Too much—it's too much—Kanato, please—"

"Shh, shh." Kanato's voice was soothing, almost crooning. He didn't let up. "You can take it. You're doing so well."

And he was—he was beautiful, Kanato thought, watching him. The way his body arched and twisted, the way his mouth fell open around sounds he couldn't control, the way his skin flushed and his eyes went glassy with overstimulation. The dry orgasm had left him trembling, hypersensitive, every nerve alight. And Kanato could feel it, the way Akira's body had somehow grown more sensitive, more reactive. Each stroke of the toy drew a sharper cry, each pass of his thumb made Akira's whole body convulse.

"Kanato—Kanato—" Akira's voice was a broken, desperate thing. "I can't—I can't take it—"

"You can," Kanato said, and he finally slowed, easing off the relentless pressure. Akira slumped against the mattress, gasping, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. "You're doing so well, baby. So good for me."

Akira's eyes were wet, glassy. He looked at Kanato with something like betrayal, something like worship. "Why—why do you—"

"Because you're beautiful like this." Kanato leaned down, pressed a kiss to the corner of Akira's mouth. "Because I love watching you fall apart. Because I love knowing that I'm the only one who can put you back together."

Akira's breath hitched. His hand came up, weak, and curled into the front of Kanato's shirt. "Kanato…"

Kanato caught his wrist, pressed a kiss to the inside of it, where the pulse beat fast and fragile. "I've got you," he said again. "I'm not going anywhere."

He reached for the toy again, and Akira's eyes widened, a soft, desperate whimper escaping his lips.

"No—please—Kanato, not again—"

"Again," Kanato said, and there was no room for argument. "I told you, baby. We have all day."

He slid the toy back in, and Akira's body arched off the mattress, a broken cry tearing from his throat. His hands flew to Kanato's shoulders, gripping, digging in, and his mouth fell open around sounds he couldn't control.

"Hnn—ahn—Kana—yame—"

"Yame, yame," Kanato mimicked, his voice light, mocking. "You keep saying that, but your body keeps pulling me deeper. Look at you, Nagi. So sensitive. So lewd. Every sound you make is like music."

Akira's face burned. He tried to shake his head, to deny it, but the words dissolved into a moan as Kanato curled the toy, finding the spot that made his whole body convulse.

"You're so pretty like this," Kanato murmured, working the toy faster. "All flushed and desperate. Your voice all broken and sweet. I could listen to you moan all day."

"Nn—ah—Kanato—too fast—"

"Too fast?" Kanato didn't slow down. He pressed harder, deeper, and Akira's voice rose, a high, keening sound that cut through the morning air. "But you're clenching around me so beautifully. I don't think it's too fast at all."

Akira's breath came in ragged, broken gasps. His body was trembling, his skin slick with sweat, and Kanato could see the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, spilling over, tracking down his temples.

"Please," he whispered, and his voice was a wreck. "Please, Kanato, I can't—I can't take it anymore—"

"You can," Kanato said, and he meant it. "You're so strong, Nagi. So beautiful. Just a little more."

He reached down, found the base of Akira's tail, and squeezed. Akira's whole body convulsed, a broken cry tearing from his throat, and Kanato felt the second dry orgasm rip through him—his cock pulsing uselessly, his body clenching around the toy, his hands fisting in the sheets.

"Ah—ah—no—please—"

Kanato didn't stop. He kept the toy moving, kept stroking, kept pushing Akira through the dry, aching pulses until he was sobbing, shaking, barely coherent.

"Too much," Akira gasped, the words slurred, broken. "It's too much—Kanato—please—I need—"

"Need what, baby?" Kanato's voice was soft, almost tender. He didn't let up. "Tell me what you need."

"I need—hnn—I need to cum—please—"

"You need to cum?" Kanato's smile was sharp. "But you just did. Twice."

"N-no—that wasn't—it didn't—" Akira's voice cracked, dissolved into a moan as Kanato curled the toy again. "Please—please let me cum—I need it—I need—"

"You need what?" Kanato pressed the toy deeper, watching Akira's eyes roll back. "Say it clearly, baby. Tell me what you need."

"I need you to let me cum—" Akira's voice was a desperate, broken thing. "Please, Kanato, please—I'll do anything—I'll be good—I'll be so good—"

"You're already so good," Kanato murmured. "You're perfect, Nagi. So perfect like this, all desperate and broken, begging for something only I can give you."

He worked the toy faster, and Akira's cries dissolved into a continuous, broken stream—moans and whimpers and gasps that stuttered with every thrust. His body was shaking, trembling, on the edge of something vast and overwhelming.

"Please," he breathed, the word barely audible. "Please, Kanato—"

Kanato watched him, drank him in. The morning light fell across Akira's body, gilding his skin, catching the tears on his cheeks, the flush spreading down his chest. He was beautiful. He was everything.

And he was Kanato's.

"Come for me," Kanato said, and his voice was soft, certain. "Come for me, baby. Let go."

Akira shattered for the third time—a dry, brutal thing that ripped through his body, leaving him sobbing, shaking, his hands scrabbling at the sheets. His tail lashed against the mattress, then curled tight around Kanato's waist, squeezing like a pulse.

"That's it," Kanato breathed. "That's my good boy. Let go for me."

He kept the toy moving through the aftershocks, drawing out the dry, aching pulses until Akira was a trembling, sobbing wreck, barely conscious, his body convulsing with every touch.

"Please," Akira whispered, his voice barely a breath. "No more—please—I can't—"

Kanato finally slowed, easing the toy out. Akira slumped against the mattress, gasping, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and his lips moved around words he couldn't quite form.

"Shh," Kanato murmured, pressing a kiss to Akira's forehead. "You did so well, baby. So good for me."

Akira's hand came up, weak, and curled into Kanato's shirt. "Hate you," he breathed, the words slurred. "Hate you so much."

Kanato laughed, low and warm. "No, you don't." He pressed another kiss to Akira's lips, soft, tender. "You love me. And I love you. And I'm going to take care of you for the rest of the day."

Akira's eyes fluttered closed. A small, broken sound escaped him—half-protest, half-surrender.

Kanato smiled, and pulled him close, and held him as the morning light crept higher across the bed.