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A summer storm rips through Hiragahara.
The festival committee has already decided to cancel the fireworks show. Thirty minutes prior, the pub street was a bustling cornucopia of food, people, and life. Smoke from the long line of grills and open stove wafted in the air, dispersing the harsh amber light of incandescent bulbs in soft glow.
To say Togame was excited about the festival is an understatement. This is his first year as a member of the committee after all, and the task of holding the fireworks display easily fell into his lap.
Before Sakura arrived, he and several Shishitoren folks were hauling crates of sandbags near the riverbank. The bags encircled the line of fireworks to lessen any chances of offshooting and wayward explosion. But none of it mattered, as heavy clouds that registered purple against the bright orange town loomed over and poured.
Standing at where he is, Sakura regards how the makeshift awning yields to the weight of accumulated rain. He’s about to do something about it, maybe push a blunt object against the underside of the awning to release excess water, when he sees Togame’s silhouette approach him. One extra umbrella securely tucked at his radial joint.
“Sorry about this. We didn’t expect for the rain to come so soon,” Togame greets him, his smile stiff from cold and disappointment.
“You couldn’t have fully known it would rain. Don’t beat yourself up for something you can’t control,” Sakura replies. A hand reached out to Togame’s forehead to move clumped wet hair that hangs too close to his eyes now. Rivulets of rainwater caress his face more than they should. Sakura’s hand cups his cheek. “You’re soaked.”
Togame tilts his head in favor of Sakura’s hand. He closes his eyes and nods. He’s exasperated, tired, in need of relief.
“Sakura, let’s stay at my old home. It’s closer.”
—
The first time they got fully intimate, or ‘reaching the fourth base’ as Kiryuu would so appallingly call it according to Sakura, Togame did not expect to see pink, flushed lips underneath the gusset of Sakura’s boxerwear. Moistened well and glistening perfectly, thanks to molten hot kisses and incessant grinding on his thigh that Sakura made a habit of doing every time, strings of his essence connected the fabric to his sex.
“Is it weird?” Sakura asked, meekly. Leaning back on his elbows, legs spread open, a moat that circled Togame’s waist. Sakura looked like a cornered animal, ready to flee at the slight prospect of getting hurt. An undercurrent of anxiety betrayed by his face turned on and red. Mouth quivered hidden by his clenched fist, before pushing his resolve. “I didn’t tell you before. I’m sorry.” If it’s not what you expect.
Before his fishlike gaping gets misconstrued and ruins the moment forever, Togame’s brain connects with his mouth. “Gorgeous” was all he could say at the time. To him, it felt right.
“Don’t just say things like that,” Sakura punches his shoulder with no real weight to it. A mild confirmation that he was okay. Something that was further reaffirmed when he grasped Togame’s loosened samue to pull him closer to him, to hide his face at the crook of the man’s neck. “You have to do something too.”
Togame chuckled at his half-brazen directive, but moved along at his lover’s behest.
—
Closing the shoji determinedly pulls them in another dimension. Petrichor and wet earth stick against the lattice frame, lasting until they reach the small living room. There, the remnants of incense that has long burned out settles softly against the surface of things.
Without a word, Sakura pulls Togame down on the tatami-softened floor. He straddles on top of him, sodden fabric spilling the excess water as their groins grind to the tune of hurried breaths and moans. When they pull apart, yet ever close, Sakura holds Togame by his nape like his life depends on it.
“Togame,” he calls. “You can take it out on me.”
Unravelling Sakura with his tongue is probably Togame’s most treasured skill. He maps the ridges of Sakura’s teeth, the undulation of soft cells on his undercheek and gums. His tongue intertwines against his, eager and assertive.
He works his hands down Sakura’s torso to loosen the yukata he’s wearing, while he attacks Sakura’s neck. Light nips that won’t bruise. Togame’s hands move down Sakura’s chest, appreciating the pebbled nipples that seem to bloom even more under his touch. He wets them thoroughly with his tongue. A small rosy garden of two.
A hand grabs Togame’s hair, still wet from rain. “Togame,” Sakura cuts a moan with a plea guised as his name. Sakura can go from zero to 120, something that Togame has learned over the course of being together. When Sakura came to realize that his curious attraction for Togame actually surpassed the spectrum of friendship, it only took a matter of one afternoon patrol to unravel at the Ori rooftop, hot and heavy under the autumn sun.
“Take this off,” and yet he is still the one to excitedly remove his own boxers. There’s wetness in the middle that momentarily glistens before it gets shucked somewhere on the floor. Pale white legs bend and fold. Sakura makes himself more comfortable beneath Togame as he plops his wet jinbei on the side.
Sakura gazes up at Togame. His skin takes in whatever amount of outside light seeping through the sliding door that opens to a small balcony. Rain continues to pour, and the moon remains captured by the sea of purpling clouds.
He looks at him with the hunger of a lion out for a hunt. In response, Sakura guides Togame’s head to where he can feast.
He cries out when Togame makes contact with his cunt. First, with kitten licks on his clit, already engorged from his earlier ministrations. The whole flat of his running tongue up and down his wet folds before pushing in. He feels the pliable member explore his insides, a sensation he’s felt many a time, yet still feels sparkly and new.
Togame devours him like food, metabolises his instinct to flee into pleasure. At every grind of his hips against Togame’s mouth, heat gradually traverses every synapse of his body, until everything pools in his core. Coiling and wounding up tighter and tighter.
Until it snaps.
Togame feels it. A silent explosion. Convulsions of inner flesh. A muffled scream of his name followed by a series of please, please, please.
Streams of release gush down his face. He drinks it, like a lion satiating its thirst in the river.
A hand tugs the black mop of hair harshly, signaling Sakura’s overstimulation. Togame gives his cunt and inner thighs small pecks before he re-emerge.
As if pulled by a string, Sakura raises himself at an angle and props his elbows on the tatami floor. He always wants to see Togame after he eats him out.
Togame’s face is wet as if caught in torrential rain. Sakura’s eyes follow the last of the rivulets of his essence before it disappears with a swipe of Togame’s tongue. Hot pink colors Sakura’s cheeks. Not in shame, not anymore. Rather, it’s satisfaction. “I made a mess,” he mumbles unapologetically.
Togame knows how badly Sakura can get wet. And by wet, it meant puddles of his essence soaking their sheets. On most nights, they sleep on a sheet-less bed. Occasionally, they make do with the half remainder of their bed before they finally decide to place towels before they fuck.
Light and shadow fight for dominance on the planes of Sakura’s skin. His youthful paleness contrasts against the open and disheveled yukata. Lower half of the garment is undeniably darker than the rest of it.
Togame takes Sakura’s face with his hands. His palms alone cover the entirety of Sakura’s flushed cheeks. His fingers run through the mop of his silky hair.
When held like this, Sakura feels small. Not in an aggravating, oppressive, deprecating way. Rather, he feels himself condense into a being that can ignore the world. Only him, Togame, and the space they occupy exist.
He meets Togame halfway, and tastes himself on his lips. On the corners of his mouth. On his tongue. Teeth. Gums.
When they part for air, he acknowledges it. Togame is still hungry, ravenous. And Sakura is still offering.
Ever so slightly, Sakura leans back on his elbows, inviting him again. Take what you need. Togame accepts. He inches closer and starts to feed his cock inside his cunt. In this position, the dim light reveals Togame’s sculpted body, sweat-licked, taut.
Sakura’s small frame belies his strength. But at times like this, Togame feels Sakura yield. His sticky inner walls part to welcome his cock. Loving him is his life’s work. Feeling him like this is phenomenal. Otherworldly.
As for Sakura, it never gets old. Seeing Togame’s cock slowly push inside, its girth filling up his walls nicely, like a boxer’s fist coming home to his glove. He observes how pleasure paints Togame’s face. Large mouth forming into an O. Muscles clenching from self-restraint. Eyebrows creasing as if he’s trying to understand how another person’s body could feel so good.
Sakura envelops Togame’s waist with his thighs. Moat to his castle. It hastened the entry of the man’s cock until it’s fully seated inside him.
“Can feel you here,” Sakura mutters, his hand travelling to palm the patch of taut skin below his navel that seems to distend. The cock inside of him twitches, and he hears Togame take one labored breath after another.
Big. Everything about Togame is big. His appetite. His capacity to cherish and love. His gestures of affection and firm resolve. His cock.
It takes two words for Togame to seriously hold his waist with both hands and truly fuck him. In return, Sakura plants his feet on the tatami floor and eagerly meets every thrust. In rhythm, they rut against each other. Take me.
Outside, the rain continues its assault on tin and tiled roofs. But Sakura is determined to drown the noise out so it wouldn’t reach Togame. He plays with his clit. It schlicks wetly against his fingers. Staccato of moans fills the space.
“You’re unfair for doing that.” Togame slows his movements and guides Sakura to lay flat on his back on the tatami. Carefully, he navigates the wet puddles of slick on the floor. They may need to do something more than just wiping it off.
He hovers over Sakura’s body, his build casting shadows that cover the other man. He brings Sakura’s legs to rest on his shoulders and pushes further in, the tip of his cock kisses the opening of Sakura’s small cervix.
Pressed firmly like this, Sakura truly appreciates how small and lithe he is.
Reprieve is short. Togame punishes his earlier trick by pounding him into the floor. Long thrusts that carve into his deepest parts. Deep grinds that seek further entrance.
His nails, short and square, scratch the skin on Togame’s back.
“F-fuck, Togame. C-close. I’m coming again,” Sakura hiccups against his lover’s neck.
“I got you. I got you. You can let go,” Togame says, pistoning his hips with precision and vigor. To aid, he slips a hand in between their bodies and flicks the erect clit from hood to base like his life depends on it.
He hears the rhythmic schlick of Sakura’s final climax of the night. A confection of their musk, sweat and sex effervesces, fully replacing the scent of incense that lingered before. Sakura’s back arcs upwards.
If pleasure makes one lose their faculties, then consider him utterly stupid. Because Sakura can’t get pregnant. It’s an anatomical impossibility. But maybe, tonight, it might take.
“Inside. Do it inside.” It’s an order Togame cannot decline.
Sakura takes one of Togame’s hands, and places it right on the skin just below his belly button. Instinctively, Togame applies pressure on the soft muscle. And feels himself there. Moving.
Sakura’s eyes roll. He’s lost the ability to speak as the girthy cock plows inside him. His legs that rest on Togame’s shoulders shake. Afraid that it might cramp, Togame lets them fall on his side. With it out of the way, he kisses Sakura. Bites his lips. Sucks his tongue. Until he releases his hot cum inside.
They do not separate immediately. They allow themselves to relish in the warmth they created. Sakura is on top of Togame, hand on his chest. He feels the thumping beat of his heart.
An arm wraps around his shoulders. Togame maps the undulations of Sakura’s deltoids. Even without looking, he knows the presence of a birthmark sitting just above the fold of his armpit. He kisses the top of Sakura’s head, a vow he’s made since they got together.
Outside, rain eased up to a light drizzle. On the glass surface of the sliding door, condensation starts to form.