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It’s been a long, hot week, one of those kinds of weeks that Jamrock does best – screaming, sweltering, noisy, alive. Broken fire hydrants and melted ice cream, dogs panting in the shadows of rolled-out awnings, clothes off and music on all through the night. The city is boiling, and Kim is feeling levels of compressed frustration comparable to a pressure cooker without a valve, both from the incessant heat and from the way Harry’s been acting. He grits his teeth as he ascends the stairs, several bags in hand, eager to get home. Their flat, although cramped, weirdly shaped and run-down, has one big advantage: really good heat regulation, cool in the summer and warm in the winter, and Kim is entirely ready for some cooling off. Today has been a day off, and they’ve been running errands, trying to keep up with everything that needs to be done despite the oppressive heat; getting groceries, a couple small spare parts for the Kineema, some fresh bed linens.
When they finally get home, he slams the door behind him, drops the bags and turns on Harry, who’s untying his snakeskins. When he notices Kim glaring, he straightens up and gives Kim an innocent look, nonchalantly wiping his brow on his rolled-up shirt sleeve.
“Oh wow. You look flustered, Kim. Heat got to you?”
Kim’s eyes narrow. “The heat? The heat. You’re asking me if the heat got to me, Harrier.”
Harry smirks at him, that infuriatingly endearing grin of his, successor to the Expression – much less tragic, just as irritating. Issuing a challenge, stating an intention. Everything he’s done today has been entirely intentional, carefully engineered to drive Kim up the wall. The way he acts sometimes can make you forget how devious he can be when he wants to. He knows exactly why Kim is flustered, he just wants to hear it, and Kim obliges.
“The heat has nothing to do with it, and you know it. I’ve had to watch you stuff yourself all day and not do anything about it. First lunch, then those donuts, and the milkshake? I swear you’ve been trying to pop some buttons on that shirt of yours.”
“Oh, really? You think so? Why don’t you finish it off, then?”
The grin is an invitation, now.
“You mean you can fit even more?”
Kim knows he does, but lays a note of scandalised incomprehension in his voice nonetheless, as an answer to the challenge – stating his own intention of willingness to play his part in this particular game, one they’ve played before. Harry notices it, and grins even wider. 10-4, message received.
“Why don’t you find out? Do some detecting, detective.”
Kim hums. “I just might do that.”
He takes a step forward, crowding into Harry’s space, and Harry moves back until he’s pushed against the wall, trapped between the hard wood and Kim. Kim’s hands are on him in an instant, catching one wrist against the woodwork, the other on Harry’s belly. Kim aches to touch all of him, here and now, tanned leather sliding across sweaty skin – but this is the game, now, and these are the rules, so he focuses on the main attraction. He pulls up Harry’s shirt and pushes his fingers into the soft pudge, exploring, feeling the tautness of the muscle beneath. He’s become very adept at figuring out the limits of Harry’s body by now, in more ways than one – how far he can be pushed, how long they can go, and how much he can fit. Tonight, there’s still plenty of give to him, despite how he’s been teasing Kim. In all certainty, not by accident.
Kim doesn’t like the feeling of being full all that much. It’s uncomfortable, restricting – he prefers to eat a little but often, instead. Harry has tried to explain it multiple times, and Kim has accepted that he simply won’t get it. But even if the feeling doesn’t apply to him, he sure as hell appreciates it in Harry, because it brings them here: Harry leaned back against the wall, practically moaning from the slightest touch of Kim’s hands. Harry knows Kim’s tastes by now, too. Kim’s not entirely sure when he went from enjoying seeing him in this state to wanting to help him reach it, but tonight is one of those nights when he really feels like helping Harry out. He breaks off, giving Harry a light slap.
“You’ve done a good job of it. But… I think you can fit some more.”
Harry groans. “Really? Okay, I defer to your expertise.”
“Khm. I’m the expert, now?” Kim gives him a sidelong glance as he peels off his driving gloves.
“Maybe not expertise, then. I defer to your will, lieutenant.” Harry gives him a knowing smile.
If Harry stuffing himself silly hadn’t made Kim horny before, that certainly would have done it. This is the best part of this new game, when Harry lets go and lets Kim do what he wants, trusting Kim to know both their limits. Fine, okay. He has become an expert at this, devoting his time to figure out the perfect steps to this dance. Never let it be said that lieutenant Kitsuragi does anything less than perfectly. And if that thing should be satisfying his partner’s unorthodox urges, as well as his own? So be it.
“In that case, here’s my will.” Kim grips Harry’s chin lightly. “You’re going to put all this stuff away, clean up the apartment, then go take a cold shower. I’m going to get started on dinner. When you’re done, you’re keeping an eye on it while I shower. And then you can show me just how much you can fit.”
Harry grins. “Got it, chief.”
While Harry obediently stows away groceries and newly bought sheets, Kim botanises in the fridge and the fresh produce, deciding what to make. In the end, he decides on a mince pie. It’s the wrong kind of weather for hot food, really, but he wants something heavy and rich. As he starts preparing a pie dough, Harry makes the bed, whistling; while he fries together onions, minced meat and tomatoes, Harry sets the table and takes out the trash.
This last year, Kim’s found a new joy in cooking. He liked it fine before, the rules you have to adhere to, the science of chemical reactions, heat and time – and the benefit that sometimes comes from breaking the rules. But now, there’s the added flavour of having someone else to appreciate it. And boy, does he. Harry is almost ridiculously easy to cook for, approaching everything Kim makes with the same gusto that he does with the rest of the world – devouring it like he devours information, sensations, experiences.
Finally, as Kim puts the pie in the oven, Harry gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before he heads to the bathroom. As he starts on a salad, Kim can hear the shower turn on, the water splashing against the sides of the tub. Then, after a few seconds, Harry starts singing. Kim smiles. He nearly always sings in the shower. It has to have been a pretty bad day for him not to; even on bad days, he sings, usually something slow and sad. Today, it sounds like a goddamn aria, some old disco song echoing between the tiles. His voice isn’t half bad, better suited for karaoke than opera, but he makes up for it in volume. Kim is seized by the sudden urge to abandon the cooking and go join in, but composes himself. That would go against the rules he set up. Besides, he doesn’t need to. He can see Harry in his mind’s eye, face upturned against the spray, chilly water running down his warm, sweaty body…
Kim prides himself on his composure, his ability to never crack under pressure. But today has been very long and very hot, and Harry’s been a goddamn menace. Kim grinds his teeth and leans his forehead against the fume hood, fingers tightly clenched around the wooden spoon handle to avoid putting them somewhere else. The sound of water stops. Harry must be soaping up, massaging shampoo into his hair, huge hands caressing his wide shoulders, his chest, his belly, his ass, his crotch. He’s probably touching himself. He must be, he has no restraint, not like Kim who is absolutely calm right now, completely unperturbed by the thought of Harry’s hands, roaming. The water turns on again. He’s rinsing himself off now, suds running down his furry, muscular, soft body, leaving him clean and wet, droplets of water glittering in his sideburns. Kim’s free hand rubs against his thigh, unconsciously; when he notices, he pulls it up, embarrassed. Yes. Kim has so much restraint. He swallows and tries to concentrate on cooking.
After a while, Harry comes out again, clean clothes and long hair twisted up in a towel. Kim gives him a satisfied nod that betrays none of the turmoil underneath.
“Good. This just needs a few more minutes in the oven. Keep an eye on it so it doesn’t burn.”
Harry grins and gives his neck quick kiss. “I think I can manage. Go, go!”
Gratefully, Kim ducks into the blessedly cool bathroom. The cold water helps calm him down, and when he’s done he feels almost back to normal, with only an undercurrent of tension and anticipation. When he gets back to the kitchen, Harry’s rinsing his hands off under the faucet, and the smell of fresh bread mingles with the smell of pie. Kim peeks at the little uneven balls cooling off underneath a towel.
“You made scones?”
“Got a craving.”
Kim quirks an eyebrow at him. “I bet you did.”
“They go really well with the pie,” Harry says lightly.
Dinner is good – a rich, warm mince pie and a tossed salad, paired with golden brown scones, still warm from the oven, slathered with sour cream and butter. They talk, go over the day, reminiscence about friends, crack jokes. And all the time, Kim studies Harry surreptitiously. Each bite he takes is deliberate, tasting and enjoying Kim’s cooking enthusiastically, filling his belly slowly but thoroughly. Kim finds himself lost in looking at him more than once, his own food forgotten on the plate. Harry continues long after Kim’s done, until he finally stops and pushes back from the table with a contented sigh.
“That was really good, Kim. My compliments to the chef.” He closes his eyes and stretches his shoulders like an old tomcat.
“And my compliments to the baker.” Kim takes a sip of lemon water and eyes his swollen belly. “No room for dessert?”
Harry opens one eye as he notices the tone in Kim’s voice. “I dunno. What do you think?”
Kim puts the glass down with a plink. “Oh, I get to decide? Well. You absolutely demolished that pie, so... we’ll just have to see, don’t we?” Kim stands up. “Let’s go over to the sofa. Get a bit more comfortable.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Harry gets up and gives him a pair of finger guns, just for good measure, and Kim can’t keep from rolling his eyes. Still, he’s teasing; it’s like he can’t help himself, the way he keeps pushing. Luckily, Kim knows how to handle him.
Harry sits down on the sofa with a grunt, holding his overtaxed gut to keep it from jostling too much. Kim sits down beside him and looks him over. He’s sweating a bit, a droplet running down his brow, partly from the heat, of course, but mostly from the strain. Kim wipes it off with his thumb, lets it linger on Harry’s hairline for just a second, then tries to wedge a finger into the waistband of his trousers. No luck. They’re way too tight, digging into the underside of his belly, pushing it up. He hooks a finger into one of the belt loops and tugs on it.
“This looks uncomfortable.”
“Very,” Harry says, shifting in place. “Want to help out with that?”
“Why not?”
He undoes the belt and trouser buttons. Harry takes a deep breath, stretches out, allowing his heavy gut to settle, and opens his shirt. Kim takes in the sight, the expanse of pale, hairy skin, all soft curves and rounded edges. He swallows. Composure, restraint; come on, Kitsuragi. He’d recite a Volta if he wouldn’t feel so stupid doing it right now. He allows himself one moment of weakness as he leans in and breathes on Harry’s neck, one hand on his chest; plays with a nipple, runs his fingers through the coarse hair.
Harry nibbles on his ear, then whispers into it. “You said something about dessert? Is it you?”
Kim breaks off, pinching the nipple. “Later. If you behave.”
“And right now?”
Kim gets up, goes to the fridge and picks out the treat he prepared while the pie was in the oven: a bowl of chocolate mousse, with a generous helping of whipped cream on top. Harry raises his eyebrows and licks his lips.
“Oh, man, that looks good.”
“You think you can manage?”
Harry spreads his hands. “Lo, I am become Harrier, the devourer of desserts. Look upon me and despair!”
Kim pushes down laughter. He’s very close to despairing indeed, and could look upon his partner for days if he didn’t have a job to go to, but that’s beside the point. He sits down beside Harry again and brandishes the spoon.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Tell me to stop when you need to.”
“Always.”
Kim puts the bowl in his lap and spoon-feeds Harry the mousse bit by bit, one hand on the top of his stomach, prodding gently. Harry swallows and licks the spoon between each bite, one hand on top of Kim’s, the other rubbing circles into Kim’s back, holding him close. Now and then, Kim takes a bite himself; the chocolate is silky and luxurious against his tongue. Harry’s eyes are fixed on him, reverent and intent. When he starts to see the bottom of the bowl, Harry takes his hand and squeezes the fingers.
“Whooo. Pause, Kim.”
Kim smiles and puts the bowl on the sofa table. “Good job, Harry. You finished nearly all of it.”
Kim grips his chin again, leans in and kisses him. He runs his fingers from Harry’s mouth down his throat, brushing the collarbones, over the sternum and across his distended stomach. Harry shivers and arches his back, leans into the touch, and Kim lets his fingers circle, feather light. He feels amazing, warm and yielding against Kim’s fingertips. He slides down, kneels between Harry’s legs, and tugs at the waistband of his boxers.
“That’s enough for tonight. Let’s get these off too, before you rip the elastic.”
Harry braces himself against the sofa and lifts his hips up, allowing Kim to pull his trousers and underwear off. He’s half-hard already. Kim runs his hand along his cock, and is rewarded with a tortured whimper. Overeating makes Harry sensitive all over, nerve endings receptive to the slightest touch. He doesn’t do more, however, not yet. There are other parts to this. Kim pats Harry’s well-padded flank with a glint in his eyes.
“Let’s see how you’ve been doing lately, hm?”
Harry’s eyes follow him as he goes over to the sewing machine and pulls out the measuring tape.
This part of the game was Harry’s idea, doing one of those little leaps of logic that he does. Clue number one: Kim keeps his thoughts in his notebooks. Notebooks for everything – cases, recipes, to-do-lists. Notebooks about sex, as well, things he likes, things he wants to try. Clue number two: Kim owns a sewing machine, along with all the things that come with sewing, such as a measuring tape. Clue number three: Kim likes to record changes. Noticing the way the seasons turn, traffic flows, buildings being torn down and erected. It helps keep him grounded, makes him feel in charge. Clue number four: Harry has a thing for being dominated, put on the spot, humiliated. Put it all together – et voilà! Why not keep a notebook about the things Kim notices about him? Recording the changes in his body, using the tape, tally it up, hard numbers on paper to really drive the point home. They both get what they want, deliciously so.
Kim is a bit embarrassed at how much he liked the idea, how quickly he agreed to doing it, but now it’s become one of his favourite parts of the game. He tightens the tape around Harry’s chest, then his belly, humming lightly as he works. Slowly, firmly, he runs his hands over the hot, stretched skin, takes his time, works methodically, mentally cataloguing the changes in Harry’s body before committing them to paper in neat little rows. He can see Harry’s cock swelling in response.
“You really like this, don’t you?”
Harry doesn’t reply, just grits his teeth and leans back, allowing Kim to manhandle him any way he likes. Kim grins. The question is superfluous, just for show – part of the game. He knows that Harry loves it, how horny he gets from the feeling of being checked over, knowing that Kim keeps track. And there is something to keep track off: he’s grown softer lately. There’s some added bulk to his gut that doesn’t come from the recent overeating, more padding over the ribs. The insides of his thighs jiggle slightly when Kim wraps the tape around them. He sneaks a pinch, and gets to enjoy the sight of Harry yelping and squirming.
“So, what’s the verdict?” He’s breathless, a deep flush creeping up his chest and neck. His cock twitches as it lies along the curve of his belly, pushed down slightly by its weight.
Kim smirks and puts the tape and notebook to the side. “Increase on all fronts. You’re getting chubby. You’ve really been working on gaining weight these last few months.”
Harry scoffs. “Me? I’m to blame here? Big words from the guy busy trying to fatten me up.” He jabs a thumb in the direction of the abandoned dessert. “I saw you adding that extra cream, dude.”
Kim’s ears redden in return. It’s been a journey, realising that he likes this just as much as Harry does, and finding out new ways to explore it.
“Only on special occasions. Besides, if I didn’t keep you well fed, you’d live off cigarettes, coffee and soggy canteen sandwiches.”
“So it’s a chore, huh? Try again, I know you like it,” he says with that grin of his and rubs his foot on Kim’s thigh. “I’d be huge by now if I let you do it as much as you want.”
“And if you didn’t run around everywhere.”
“No more running today, I’d just trip and roll away.”
The sounds of a hot summer evening drift through the window, accompanied by gusts of warm air, smelling of garbage and wildflowers. Harry lounges against the sofa, heavy-lidded, drowsy. Kim rubs his belly, digs the heel of his hand into the sides, relaxing the tense muscles. Harry groans and stretches out, moving into the touch, luxuriating in it, and Kim has to bite his lip to keep his hands steady.
“You’ve been so good tonight, Harry.” Kim’s other hand wanders back to his cock, stroking slowly, circling the tip. “I love it when you’re this stuffed. You get so loose.” He shifts on the floor, realising that his own cock is straining against his pants, hard and insistent.
Harry smiles, calm and wide. “I feel a bit loopy, yeah. Goes right to my head.”
“What if I wake you up a bit?”
Kim’s hand moves to his soft underbelly, grips a handful of pliant fat, and pinches. Harry grips the sofa cushions tightly, hissing between his teeth, his cock twitching in Kim’s grasp. Kim pushes his fingers deeper and runs his thumb along Harry’s length.
“Ooh, fuck. Yeah, that’ll do it. You feeling frisky?”
Kim jiggles the handful of pudge playfully. “How could I not when you look like this? What do you feel like?”
“Anything you want, as long as you do most of the job,” Harry huffs. “I’m not precisely up for cardio right now, you know?”
“I can do that.” He stands up and gives Harry a thoughtful once-over, head to toe.
“Whatcha thinking?”
“Go lie on the bed. I’m going to undress. I want you to touch yourself. Slowly. Keep yourself hard.”
Harry whistles. “Yeah, that won’t be a problem. Damn, Kim.”
Harry doesn’t waste time; he throws his shirt on the sofa and makes himself comfortable on the newly made bed. Kim admires the sight of him leaned against the pillows as he unbuttons his trousers. A lot of time when they have sex, he remains clothed. It does it for both of them, for Harry to be the only one naked, the exposed one, the vulnerable one; and for Kim to be firmly in charge, put together. This time, he wants the feel of skin against skin, flesh against flesh, searing intimacy rather than titillating distance.
He undresses slowly, deliberately, piece by piece, taking his time. Harry watches him, enraptured, one meaty hand on his cock, moving slowly. As he sheds his tank top, Kim looks at the sliding of the muscles in his arm, the tendons flexing under the skin as he grips tighter. Kim loves this feeling. Knowing that Harry is entirely focused on him, just as mesmerised by Kim’s body as Kim is by his. All the things that Kim is unsure about, his weak chin, his narrow hips and thinning hair – Harry loves and praises all of it, all of him, endlessly, with hands and eyes and words.
He bathes in Harry’s adoring gaze, feels his eyes as they drift over Kim’s sinewy frame, the dark trail of hair from his crotch to his navel, the expressive mouth and dextrous fingers. He’s coiled potential energy to Harry’s explosive kinetic, complementary, two aspects of a whole. Kim looks back at him, content in Harry’s loving worship and in the knowledge that soon, all that strength will be reduced to a quivering mess underneath him.
When he’s fully naked, he grabs a pair of gloves and some lube. Harry winces slightly when he snaps them on, and Kim can’t keep himself from grinning.
“Good boy. Now, hands to the sides.”
Harry’s face falls. “But Kim. You said.”
“Ah-ah. You’ll get to touch me. But right now, I need to make sure you understand how this day has been for me. Hands to the sides. Or above your head, if you prefer.”
Harry obeys with a frustrated grumble, one arm behind his head, the other picking at the sheets. Kim parts his legs and sits between them, enjoying the view of his body from this angle, splayed out and inviting. He warms the lube in his hands, then starts massaging the soft insides of Harry’s thighs, sliding and teasing. Harry hums and grips the sheets as Kim spreads him open, rubbing at the taint, then at his hole. He circles it, plays with the silky skin, then presses one finger against it until Harry relaxes, allowing Kim to push into him. Harry sighs and shifts, lifting his hips a little.
“Doing good?”
“Yeah. More.”
“You always want more of everything.” Kim slides the finger in and out, his other hand on Harry’s belly, shaking it gently.
“Ah- it’s always good.”
“Greedy. How many can you take today?”
He grins again. “Try me.”
“Oh really.” Kim yearns to wipe that smile off his face and replace it with slack-jawed incoherence.
Kim takes his time, draws it out, keeps Harry stimulated but frustrated, constantly on the edge of deeper sensation but not tipping over; massaging the taint with his thumb, the other hand gripping his thighs and ass. At two fingers, Harry’s panting, moaning into his clenched fist as he twitches around Kim’s hand. At three, he’s gripping the bedframe tight, swearing, begging.
“God, Kim, just- just do something to me, please.”
“What, this isn’t doing something?” Kim slides his hand along the inside of his thigh, caressing it, skirting just out of reach of his cock.
“You know what I mean, Kim, come on.”
“Hmmm… no, I don’t think so.”
“Fuck, can I at least touch myself?”
Kim gives his thigh a sharp slap. “Absolutely not.”
“Ow! You’re a cruel man, lieutenant.”
Harry tries his best to give him those puppy dog eyes that usually work all too well on Kim – but not today. Today, Kim has a mission, and that mission is to transfer all his pent-up energy to Harry, potential converted into kinetic. He just looks into Harry’s eyes and smirks.
“I’m just making sure you get to feel the same kind of frustration I have, Harrier. Or are you implying you haven’t earned some punishment today? With your antics?” He twists his fingers, drilling into Harry, moving over the prostate precisely and mercilessly, and Harry whines. “This day” – another twist – “has been torture. You’ve been driving me up the wall, showing yourself off, flaunting this body of yours when I was trying to get things done. For us, for this household. Your behaviour has been absolutely atrocious. Don’t you agree?”
“Oh, fuck!”
“I said, don’t you agree?”
Kim leans down puts his mouth to the place where he slapped Harry, and sucks a hickey into the skin. Harry shudders; Kim can see precum dribbling from his cock.
“Yes, fuck, yes, of course!”
“And what do you say then, Harrier?”
The answer comes quick and high, strained and breathy. “I’m sorry, lieutenant!”
“Sorry for what?” Kim twists his fingers again.
“God, ah, I’m sorry! Sorry for being a tease,” Harry pants.
“Good boy.”
He absolutely isn’t sorry at all, but Kim rewards him for the right answer nonetheless. He withdraws, carefully, leaving Harry panting and wound-up, and throws the gloves in the trash. Kim’s pleased to see that he’s diligent enough to keep his hands off himself, still. He swallows, concentrates, tries to be just as good, just as patient, to play along till the end. He leans forward, his free hand pushing down on Harry’s belly. The shower he took earlier is undone, completely; Kim breathes in sweat and musk and the heady smell of arousal. He lets his hands roam, digging into fat and muscle, palming the love handles. Harry groans and squirms under him as Kim lets his tongue swirl around his navel.
“God, you’re beautiful like this. I’m going to try something fun.” Kim gives his sides another pinch as he gets up.
“Oh, really?” Harry pants. “I don’t know if my heart can handle more fun that I’ve had already.”
Kim rummages in a drawer, and picks out a plug and a vibrator. “I’m going to use these. Unless you have any objections?”
Harry swallows. “None. No objections, nothing, not a bit.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
He spreads Harry open again and lubes him up. The plug slides in easy with all the work he’s done. Kim gives it a few tugs, then flips on the vibrator and touches it to the base. Harry throws his head back and whines again, clenching around the plug, hands gripping the bedframe, legs splayed for Kim to reach.
“Oh, motherfucker! God, that’s- ah, fucking hell!”
Kim slides his other hand between Harry’s legs, stroking his leaking cock, moving torturously slow. Harry sobs and bucks up into Kim’s hand.
“Ah, Kim, please, just-”
The words turn onto a strangled howl as Kim increases the vibrations. There he is, now, exactly where Kim wants him – incoherent, needy, undone. His knuckles are white, his whole body trembling with the effort of keeping still, keeping his hands off Kim, and Kim feels his own cock pulsing, heavy between his legs. He needs it now, too, almost as much as Harry, needs to see him unravel completely. He moves faster, just a little, and leans closer, feels Harry’s trembling body against his.
“Do you want it now?” His voice is husky. “Tell me, Harrier.”
“Yes, yes, fuck, please, Kim, please…”
Kim grips him tighter, moves faster, pumps his hand until Harry comes, body tensing, head thrown back.
Kim turns off the vibrator and stares at Harry, lounging on the bed, chest heaving, slack, spent, and so goddamned fucking sexy. Kim licks his lips, his own energy still not expended, boiling over. Kim has so much restraint, but no more. There’s no way he can keep himself calm any longer, not when Harry looks like this. His hands tremble as he grips Harry’s thighs again, suddenly unsure of what to do.
“C’mere here, Kim.”
Harry reaches out with a wide smile and pulls Kim down until he straddles him, his hard cock pressed against Harry’s soft gut. Now that he’s finally allowed to touch him, his hands are all over Kim, gripping, caressing, encompassing all of him, holding him tight against his body like he’s trying to melt them together. Harry kisses him deeply, lazily, then sucks at his neck, licking it, leaving traces of spit on his hot skin. Kim groans and digs his fingers deep into his pecs as he ruts up against Harry in a desperate, animalistic search for friction. Harry’s lips leaves marks on his collarbones, hands gripping Kim’ ass tightly, pushing him closer.
“What d’you want?” he murmurs. “Tell me.”
“Harry, I need-” Kim bucks his hips, frustrated. He can’t even think anymore, can’t find the words to tell what it is he wants. “I need you, your body, please…”
Harry slides his hands up Kim’s arms, squeezes his shoulders. “Take it. Come on, turn around. You’ve been so patient.”
Harry slides down and lets Kim sit on his face, knees to each side of his head. Harry guides him home, lips around the head of his cock, tongue lapping at the slit. Kim grinds his teeth at the feeling, to finally get some kind of release after a day of frustration. Finally, he allows himself to take in all of Harry, and he devours him with hands and mouth; licks him, tastes him, bites down, none too gently. He digs his fingers into his yielding body, squeezing and caressing. Harry pulls him down, takes him deep, and Kim buries his face in Harry’s belly and fucks his mouth, thrusts desperately, lost in the moment, chasing an orgasm that floors him when it comes. Harry holds him tight, strong arms around his lower back, swallowing him down until Kim is done. When the last spasm has passed, Kim manages to sit up, then collapses at his side, leaving a trail of cum and spit down Harry’s chin and chest.
Motes of dust dance lazily in the last rays of sunshine, before the sun sinks beyond the rooftops and leaves the room in a hazy dusk. Kim breathes in, deep lungfuls of summer night air, as the world comes back to him.
Harry wipes his mouth and grins. “Feeling a little less frustrated?”
“Mmm.” Kim turns towards him, cuddles in against his warm, soft body. There’s no trace of tension; he’s calm, finally.
“Good, cause that was… wow. I don’t even know what that was.” Harry turns, cuddles him back, runs his hands along Kim’s back, then kisses the top of his head. “Thank you.”
Kim wraps his hand around the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, soft and warm. “Hah. I should thank you. For being such a tease.”
“I have certainly learned my lesson.”
“And what is that?”
“I need to be a tease more often.”
Kim chuckles and snuggles closer to him. “Fine. On occasion.”