Work Text:
The dim light of the TV flickers as one scene turns into another, and you resist the noise of complaint that wants to bubble up. It's another sex scene. At the risk of sounding prude, there's two reasons you dislike this sort of scene: One, they're so pornographic. Two, they're in virtually every movie nowadays. There's a secret third reason as well, which is that it's awkward. At least that's what you think. You don't know what Moon thinks. He's never said a word during one and you've never dared to look him in the face for it. Sun, on the other hand, always has some comment or other about it.
Oh, goody. They sure are energetic!
They are not being as quiet as they think they are.
Oh! Oh, goodness. Oh, that's quite … violent.
With Sun, it's not that awkward past the first second, as you both joke it away. Moon rarely comments during movies in general, preferring to be a silent watcher, and not ever on the sex scenes. So you haven't either. And because he doesn't say anything, you're left with your own thoughts swimming about in your head, influenced by the pornographic, unrealistic sex on the screen.
Tonight, the scene turns out to be quite different. It's a sex scene, yes, but it's actually … pretty okay. It's good, actually. It's sweet and tender, with a little bit of realistic humor thrown in. You don't even see much of the action or even the skin, since it's not what the director wanted to showcase—it's the feelings between the characters that are highlighted, and that puts a whole different genre of thoughts in your head. Awkwarder stuff. Because your head's cushioned on a pillow in Moon's lap, and he's drawing shapes on the bare skin between your shoulder blades. And it's not the first time you think you might want to know what it feels like to have those fingers touch you elsewhere.
As the scene progresses, you can't help but project yourself and Moon onto the characters. Would he want to try something like that? He doesn't have the anatomy, but that's not a problem. You could make it work. But would he want to? Has he even thought about it? Is he thinking about it now, like you are? Or is he watching it with apathy, the thought not even close to crossing his mind?
You could ask, but how would you even formulate your question? And, god, it's so awkward. And perverted. Like you're perverting them, a daycare animatronic meant to work with children—as far removed from these things as possible. But that's such a flawed thought that you want to slap yourself for it. What they were made for is not who they are. The company that owned them does not determine their lives anymore—that is up to them as free people now. They are no longer the daycare attendant. They are just Sun and Moon. They have even flirted with you a couple of times in ways that challenge innocence! You're mostly sure it was just teasing—you and your friends make platonic sexual jokes to each other sometimes … but what if there was some truth in there?
You are not just platonic friends anymore. You've definitely kissed one too many times for that. No, what you have has grown into something romantic, but that doesn't mean it has to be sexual. It isn't even something you need. You are more than content in your relationship with the boys … but you are curious. You aren't averse to the idea. Perhaps they feel the same. You doubt they feel sexual arousal the way a human might, but they are always so curious and eager to be involved in your human life, learning everything there is to and more. They might be curious about this too. They might even be able to feel such attraction if they are able to feel love. You don't know.
You should ask. You really should. The worst that can happen is that he says no. No, he doesn't feel such attraction. No, he does not want to be sexually intimate with you. And that's that. It's not like he'd throw you off his lap in disgust and flee your home forever. That's ridiculous … But the moment's over. The scene is long done. You don't even know how long it's been, because when you tune back into the world, you've lost the plot of the movie so bad you barely understand what's happening. You can't just bring it up now. He'd know you've been thinking about it since the scene and that's an extra serving of embarrassment you just can't handle. So you don't.
The movie ends, and you brush your teeth while Moon gets your nightly glass of water to put on the nightstand. In bed, he cuddles up behind you and hums lullabies—a stark contrast to how it was before his security update was removed and the virus contained. No longer does he feel restless and anxious if he can't patrol your home and keep guard. He is now content to lie behind you with his hand on your middle and legs tangled together. It's good that he runs cooler than a human—that way, you can cuddle all night and never get hot and sweaty.
Your fingers trace the matte plastic of his hand as you think about how you should formulate the question for when it might arise again in the future. It must be on your mind for quite some time, because his voice startles you back to the present.
"Not sleeping yet." The low rasp in your ear elicits an involuntary shiver that he thankfully doesn't remark on. "Thinking about something?"
Fuck, this is too soon. You haven't come up with a way to word your thoughts yet. "Just silly things."
He hums. "Sleep. Think about silly things tomorrow."
You leave his hand be as you attempt to follow his advice. As typical, however, the more you tell yourself not to think about something, the more you think it. You'd pretend to be asleep, but even if you were good at it, there's no fooling Mr. Naptime. His whole career was built on making sure people were asleep.
"Still not sleeping," he says and nuzzles into the back of your head. "You okay?"
The question is sweet. You usually have no trouble conking right out, but there are times you just can't because you get caught on terrible memories stirring from the dust. Nowadays, those times are few and far between, but the concern is warranted. It is, however, embarrassing that that's not at all what keeps you from rest.
"I'm okay. Just … I mean it, it's just silly things."
"Must be really silly then. Will you tell?"
And there comes the dreaded question. "Mm … I don't know. It's really, really silly."
"Really?"
"Really, really, really."
He hums again. "Tell me," he says softly.
You know that if you avoid to again, he will drop it, but that's what makes you hesitate. This could be the perfect time to bring it up. You're cozy. You're silly. You're about to go to sleep. Worst case happens and you can just say good night and snooze it away. Move on from it tomorrow. It's perfect, really. You should say it.
"Just …"
Agh, the words. You don't have them. It'll be a disaster if you start talking without a goal. Without some guidelines. He doesn't urge you on, but his silence is expectant.
"I was wondering … since you and Sunny can feel, uh … platonic and romantic love …"
He nuzzles into your head again.
"Can you feel … sexual love?"
Moon is still and silent for an uncomfortably long time, which doesn't really mean anything since you're uncomfortable the moment he doesn't immediately answer.
"I was just thinking … or the movie got me thinking … and I was just curious if that's, um, something you've … ever felt?"
"Don't know if we can. Have not felt it." His painfully neutral voice makes it hard to gauge his thoughts on the matter.
"Okay, makes sense," you say, keeping your voice just as neutral. Muffled voices from outside pass by your apartment—it's a Friday night and the clubgoers have awoken. The silence they leave behind is louder than the one they entered. "Good night. I'll sleep soundly now that I got my silly question answered," you joke. Attempt to. Moon doesn't acknowledge it or even bid you good night back. He always says good night. This is worse than the worst case.
"Is it … something you want?"
Oh. Oh, god. Is he really asking you that? If you want sex with him? Or is he asking if you want sex in general, like how you asked him? Your face burns and you want nothing more than to smother it with the pillow.
"I mean … I'm, I'm kind of neutral on it," you say. "Like, I'm not a horndog, but I'm not ace. But, like, it's not a necessity for me in a relationship. Can be nice, you know, depending on, but it's not like it's a must. Like, I know some people need sex for a relationship to work, but I don't personally feel like that. I actually had one where it didn't work out because he felt that way, and— Sorry! That's so not an appropriate thing to talk about with you."
There's a telltale click behind you. The one you hear when he tilts his head in response to something you said or did. A silent question.
"You know, since you're— since we're together. You don't usually talk about your past partners with your current ones. Especially nothing sexual! Sorry 'bout that."
His hand comes up to hold yours, and it's only then that you notice you were scratching at the sheet with your nail in a rather obviously nervous way. This conversation is turning out to be a mess, just like you predicted. You hate that you tend to prattle when you're nervous, and that your use of the word like skyrockets. You wish you were more collected and sparing with your words, like Moon. However, in this instance, you wish he weren't so sparing with them.
"Doesn't bother me," he says.
"Well, it wasn't what was important anyway. Just that I … Sex is fine, but not a must."
"Is it something you want?" he repeats.
Oh, your cheeks are on fire. "With you?"
He hums and nuzzles you again. His face feels warmer against you, closer to Sun's temperature. But then again, everything feels warmer right now. His fingers have taken to playing with yours.
"I … I wouldn't … I mean—" Your voice cracks, so you cough and try again. "I wouldn't— Not if you don't want to." Oh, god, there it is. You practically said it. I wanna fuck you, that's what you said. With far, far more words. Wishy-washy and clumsy ones. Your heart is trying to escape out of your throat.
"And … if I want to?"
Has your heart fled yet? Because it feels like it managed to beat itself out of your skin, pack its bags, and jump out of the window. "You said"—you swallow for no reason than to stall—"you don't feel that sort of want?"
"No, but … want to try with … with you."
Oh. Okay. Okay, yeah. Okay. You only realize a minute later that you said none of that aloud, and that the fingers toying with yours have grown rather antsy. "Okay."
His fingers slow down. "Okay?"
You nod, accidentally bumping the back of your head into his faceplate. You then remember his unanswered question. And if I want to? "Then I … want to try too."
Neither of you moves. Neither speaks. A bajillion commands from your brain are aborted until one makes it through and you turn around to face him, propped up on your elbow.
"Now?"
The moonlight shines through the window and reflects off his bright crescent. It might just be in your head—a trick of the light—but you think his cheeks glow a subtle blue. But it's definitely not in your head, because that shade glows brighter still at your single word.
"Okay," he says.
You bite your lip as you stare at him staring back at you. You might have to be the one to make the first move here. The boys have surely no experience with this sort of thing aside from the shitty sex scenes in the movies. You're really hoping they haven't taken too much away from those.
"Sit up a little," you say to him, and he dutifully obeys. His back sinks into a hill of pillows and plushies.
You lift the duvet enough to swing a leg over his waist, and instantly, his hands come up to rest on yours. With his face so close, you waste no time and drop your lips to his forehead. His nose. His cheeks. His teeth. He leans into your touch, and his thumb draws circles in the fabric of your tank top. The watchful glow of his half-lidded eyes is intense as you debate on your next move. Too intense. You fix it with another kiss and roll your hips against him. Just a tiny one. To test the waters before you dive in.
You roll your hips again, then once more, still with your face glued to his. You don't think you can do this with his eyes taking you in like that, but you eventually have to break away from the kissing. And you do it—you move your hips to his as your eyes flicker between his unwavering ones.
Big hands slowly trace a path from your sides to your ass. He doesn't grab. Doesn't play. He just rests his hands there. It makes you aware of the muscles underneath, working to make your little movements in his lap possible. He then helps you by pulling you against him in your established rhythm, by your ass. Even more astonishingly, he meets your rolls halfway. It doesn't take long after that for you to work up a faster rhythm. One that leaves your breaths uneven while he doesn't even need to breathe. So unfair.
Does he even feel any pleasure from this? If so, not in any way you can detect. You kiss him again, because you at least know he enjoys that, but they are broken up by your gasps for air. Still no noise from him. Obviously he just doesn't have erogenous zones the way you do. But then he is getting nothing out of this and—
There's a click of a tilt as your pace slows to something hesitant. "Is this still okay?" you ask.
He gently takes your face in his hands. "Yes. Very."
"You sure? We can stop if this is not doing anything for you."
His thumbs stroke your cheeks. "Don't stop," he says with a roll of his hips.
Okay. If he insists. You pick up the pace again, but the muscles in your inner thighs complain about the prolonged stretch. You stop your motions and turn around in his lap, lying your back flat against his front and spreading your legs, using his thighs to keep them parted. His hands remain hovering uncertainly above your midsection.
"Sorry, can't do that pose anymore." You grab his hand and guide it to the valley between your legs. "Touch me." Afraid that it sounded too bossy, you whisper, "Please."
His finger teases you through your pajama pants and underwear. It doesn't take long for you to start grinding against the friction, trying to make it more, because those damned layers are in the way.
You grab his arm and squeeze. "Under." You sound pathetically desperate to your own ears, but it must get the point across, because those fingers slide under your clothes and— Oh! That feels so good. So, so good.
There's a humorous hum behind you, and you realize you must have said that aloud.
It's so good, but it doesn't take long before you're desperate for something else. "Inside," you say. Plead, really. You angle your hips upward to help him, but his finger doesn't move away from its previous duty.
"Can't. Will pinch you with finger joints."
"Please."
His faceplate shakes no against your head and you let out a whine. To his credit, he turns the speed of his fingers up to a notch that makes you forget whatever it was you were so desperate for before. The clinking of his bells barely registers in your mind, lost to the sea of sensory stimuli. You buck against the friction at the same time as you shy away from it. It's too much. It's not nearly enough. Your body begs to differ as it trembles against the onslaught. Then it really becomes too much and you scramble away from the attention bordering on painful.
He pulls his hand away and puts them both on your shaking legs instead, holding them steadily against his and drawing soothing circles with his thumbs. One of them never left the cover of your pants, stroking the bare skin underneath.
You're seized by the last shivers and pant as if you've run twenty laps around your home. When your legs settle from the exhaustion, you grab his hands and bring them around your middle. With your eyes closed, you let your head fall back to his chest, trying to recover your breath. His faceplate bonks your forehead.
You don't mean to drift off, but resting against Moon has never failed to lull you to sleep. Especially when he hums to you in that deep, soothing voice of his. You sleep undisturbed until a ray of light hits you in the eye, making you scrunch your face and groan in discomfort. You raise a hand to block out the sun, but it collides against something, and you realize there's already a shadow on your face. Fingers intertwine with yours and create an effective shield against the light.
"Good morning, Sunshine!" a chipper voice greets from behind. "Did you sleep well?"
You groan again.
"I'm glad! You went out like a light last night. Tuckered yourself right out!" he says with a giggle. "Moon was quite happy with himself."
You hum in response and try returning to sleep for three whole seconds before the meaning of his words jolts your eyes wide open and slaps recollection back into your mind. Oh, god, last night. You become painfully aware of every crevice of your body. The warmth of Sun's against your back.
You clear your throat and croak out a greeting in return, ignoring everything else he said.
"Did ya have any fun dreams?"
"Mm, don't remember."
He hums in acknowledgement, which then turns into the daycare's theme. That song will be forever ingrained in his robot brain, no matter how long ago he last heard it.
You disentangle your fingers from his and rub your face as you sit up, feeling sweaty and icky and hot all over, and your mouth tastes like dogass. All in all, it sucks, especially as you're caught up in the thought of last night. A sip of your disgusting room-temperature water helps some.
You get up from the bed with a stretch and grab a clean pair of underwear, barely turning to face him as you announce your intention to shower. In that short glance, you see that he is working on a new crochet project, though his hands have paused their task for now. You'll have to ask him what the moss-green lump of yarn will turn into later.
He puts the work aside and jumps out of bed with sudden eagerness. "I'll join ya!"
You grab the door jamb and pull yourself back into his view. "No, it's okay! I'll be quick. You stay and crochet and I'll be right back."
Sun pauses. You quickly head to the bathroom to shower by yourself, in dire need of some time to digest everything and lose your ickiness before you can face your cheery, clingy boyfriend.
Once your teeth are brushed and body clean, you feel a little more like yourself again. You pop into the bedroom for a second to grab your glass and head to the kitchen to fill it with fresh, cold water. And as you can't delay it any further, you head back to the room again, where Sun hums on another song as he crochets.
You take a long sip and return your glass to the nightstand before falling into bed, lying across its width with your head propped up by your hand, elbow digging into the soft mattress. A soft smile graces your lips as you watch him hook the yarn with the needle and pull it through loops with speed you can barely follow.
"Feeling all new and refreshed, Dewdrop? You look posi-tively beaming!"
Your smile widens as you reach out a hand to play with his foot. He's wearing their favorite Happy Socks—an instant buy the moment you saw the day and night sky sold as a pair.
"What are you making?"
"A frog! I saw a tutorial on YouTube and it looked so cute I just needed to make one myself! It had an adorable little outfit too—that's my next project."
"What're you gonna name it?"
"Hmm, oh, I don't know yet. I'll have to see how it turns out! Or maybe you can name it?"
"I think Moon should do it. He hasn't named one yet."
"Oh, haha, he has actually!"
You raise your brow. "Which one? Wait, don't tell me. I wanna guess."
Sun wiggles his feet in anticipation and restraint. You shift your gaze over to the wall of plushies at the head of your bed. The collection was a small and humble one before Sun's influence. Now you've got Bumble the bee, Bloopy the jellyfish, Snuggles the … goose.
"Snuggles?"
"Nope! That was me. Try again!"
You take another look at the mountain of softness, not wanting to admit that you don't remember all of their names. "Nimbus," you say. Obviously it's Nimbus the cloud.
"Right on the money!" he says and throws the beginnings of the crochet frog to the side, sitting up straight and leaning into your face. "You win a little smooch for that one."
The warm silicone of his lips touches your cheek in a chaste kiss. It feels like he transferred all his warmth over to you with the action.
"You're such a good guesser," he says with a boop to your nose. It doesn't help your predicament.
"I only guessed it on the second try."
"That's good enough to deserve a little smooch in my book."
"Mhm. And what would first prize have been?"
"Hmmm," he hums in thought, leaning back a little to regard you with his hand on his chin. He drops it promptly to walk two fingers toward you on the dark-blue bedsheet. His next words are delivered lower, almost secretively. Seductively? "Anything you wanted in particular?"
"Mm, a big smooch?"
"Mhm, you sound a little unsure of your answer." He boops your nose again.
You lean back a little to look at him with a raised brow and a smirk. "An even bigger smooch."
"Aaaanything you want …" He leans in a little more. "You locking in your answer?"
His finger draws spirals on your thigh, and the heat creeps back to your cheeks. "Sounds like you want something in particular."
He draws back with a note of surprise. "Whaat? Noo, not at all! This is your prize we're talking about, silly, not mine." He stares at you intensely, his fingers drawing faster spirals and undefinable squiggles on your thigh. "Buut, if it's a big smooch you want, I'll gladly oblige."
He leans in again and you put a finger on his mouth, playfully stopping him. "But I didn't get it on the first guess, remember?"
"Ohh, details, details. See it as your consolation prize instead."
You grin and drop your finger to the back of his hand. "I'll take it."
He closes the little distance that remains and kisses you, grasping your hand in his and tugging it behind him, pulling you along with it to deepen the kiss. You make a surprised sound against his lips, and the moment you part, he grabs you and hoists you into his arms as he falls back into the pillows and plushies behind him.
Your front is flush against his, and your legs end up on either side of his slim waist. It's not unlike how you sat atop Moon only yesterday. You came in his lap yesterday, his fingers coaxing it out of you. The very same fingers currently pressing into your back, even if they are a different color in the morning light. Your eyes flicker down. The very same lap.
Sun's being awfully affectionate and flirty this morning. You wonder how much of yesterday's romp he witnessed. At least some of it, you figure thanks to his comment earlier. Moon was quite happy with himself. You bury your face in Sun's chest. How did you get here? You were just watching a movie yesterday, and now you've boogied in bed with your beloved Moon, and Sun might be flirting you into a second round.
"Sun?"
"Yup, that's me!"
"Was … Yesterday was okay? With you guys? Or is it a one and done deal?"
Sun scritches your scalp. "Of course it's okay. What sorta bugs do you have running around in your head saying otherwise?"
You close your eyes to better enjoy Sun's attention. "I don't know. Just stupid ones, I guess."
Sun lays his palm flat on your head and strokes it lovingly. He caresses your cheek and plays with your ear. "I, for one, am heartbroken I missed it all! I was napping and only came to at the very end! Moon didn't even try to nudge me awake, that little doofus. But I can tell you he was very happy about the whole thing … as am I."
His hands trail across your back, down the small of it and just past, wisping over the curve of your ass.
"I would certainly not mind if you ever wanted to indulge me in some quality time with you."
"You're very enthusiastic," you say with a disbelieving chuckle.
"When it comes to you, am I ever not?"
"Okay, okay, don't get corny on me." Or horny, for that matter. Your face hasn't cooled off since yesterday it feels like. "I wouldn't say no to some quality time," you mumble into his chest.
He makes an excited noise and squeezes you to his frame, supporting your back as he sits up again. Your butt drops to the mattress, sandwiched between his thighs. Your legs naturally end up hooked over his and your hands cling to his narrow back. You think this is the worst of it before he lifts you by your ass and drops you further down the bed. Your pelvis is flush against his and the second he hovers above you before pulling back is agonizingly mind-scrambling. His hands travel down a seductive path across your sides and your thighs, settling there with a light squeeze.
You were not ready for Sun to be this diabolical in bed, and you haven't even gotten started yet. The contrast between Moon's sweet and doting attention and Sun's playful, devilish one is sending you into a tizzy.
"I think it went a little something like this …" he says and rolls his hips against yours.
You slap your hands to your scorching face and squeeze his waist, peeping at him through your fingers. "I thought you said you missed it yesterday?"
"I"—he laughs nervously—"might have taken a little peek in our memory files afterwards. I was so curious and Moon wouldn't tell me!"
You hide your face again and make a strained sound. He repeats that sinful movement, and when he does it again, you meet him in the middle. Those devious hands travel up your body and gently peel your fingers off your face.
"Peekaboo," he says. "There you are."
He leans in, chest pinned almost flush to yours if not for your joined hands trapped between.
"Your face is such a pretty color. Bright red like our ribbons."
That teasing little—
He plants a kiss to your cheeks and nuzzles your forehead as he grinds against you.
"Is Moon awake?"
"Yup," he confirms, popping the P, and not at all bothered that you're bringing up his counterpart during your quality time.
"He's watching?"
"Mhm!"
You try to hide behind your hands again, but they're still held hostage between your bodies. You resort to turning your face, doing your best to burrow into the sheet even if it's impossible.
Sun frees one of his hands to bring it further down your body, to where his thumb meets your bundle of nerves and rubs it through your clothing. He doesn't let up the movements of his hips, however, and the combined friction will quickly become too much. You desperately want to prolong this just a little more.
"Want you inside."
"Lovebug, I promise my fingers won't feel as good as you want them to."
"I know, pinching, but I meant— If it's okay, I have, um … toys."
He giggles excitedly and slows his movements, except the thumb. "Fun! Let's play with them."
Oh, god, you won't make it long if he keeps talking like that in that deceivingly innocent, stupid voice. It makes you feel like you're the dirty one when he's the one getting you off, on his very enthusiastic insistence. You're pretty sure he's doing it on purpose.
"Second drawer of my nightstand," you tell him.
There's a delay that makes you go crazy, like he can't bear to pull away from you, before his warmth disappears from your chest. You can only listen as the wooden drawer slides open and his hand rummages through your little collection of funtime toys. This is so embarrassing. You should have fetched it yourself.
"Pretty colors! I like the swirly pattern."
You open an eye and see the pastel-pink-and-blue silicone shaft held in his hand. Now that your own hands are free again, you pull them up to hide your face.
He gasps. "It glitters too!"
Its familiar weight settles on your lower abdomen and the sound of more rummaging taunts your ears. A satisfied hum later and the drawer closes with a soft thud. Your curiosity gets the better of you, so you take a little peek again. Sun holds up a plastic bottle of …
"Cum lube," he reads. "Very creative!"
Silent, nervous laughter shakes your body and you hide again. It feels illegal to hear Sun's pretty voice saying such dirty words. You also totally forgot he would see that when he opened the drawer. You don't know if you should feel mortified or excited.
Sun sets the bottle down for later and leans over you again, hooking his fingers into the hem of your pants. "Very naughty."
Red pinprick eyes, hunting you in dark halls—naughty, naughty thing. In this moment, the memory makes your heart skip not in fear.
You let out an undignified squeak, yet lift your hips all the same when he pulls the fabric down. The air hits your bare skin and you realize he managed to rid you of your underwear in the same motion. What have you gotten yourself into?
You watch as he squeezes some of the white lube onto the toy and smears it around to cover it well and good. That same hand touches you now without any barriers and lubes you up as well. It is a rather big toy, even if it doesn't look it in his hands.
"Love," he says softly. The tone catches you off guard enough that you meet his eye. "I wanna see your pretty face."
You take a shaky breath.
"Pretty please?"
Sun's bright smile meets you when you drop your hands from your face and resign to watch as he pleasures you.
"Thaank you!"
His finger teases you a little before he replaces it with the tip of your toy, letting it sink in just a bit. Slowly and steadily it slides further in, until his fingers holding the base hit your skin. He pulls it out just as slow before repeating the motion.
Your hands fly up to cover your face again but pause midair. You present them to Sun instead. "Hold my hands or I'm gonna end up hiding behind them."
"Done and done!" he says and acts immediately, except he doesn't hold your hands—his free one wraps around your wrists instead, holding them still against your chest.
He does something even more unexpected then. He holds the base of the toy to his crotch and— You reflexively try to tug your wrists out of his grip when the visual threatens to do you in. He's grinding the toy into you with his— He's essentially pretending the toy is his—
You throw your head back against the bed to escape the debauchery before you. The soft chimes of his bells make that a hard feat.
"Where did you even learn that?" you ask, feeling strangely out of breath. You can hardly believe this is the same person who performed dramatic puppet plays for kids and crochets cute little plushies because he wants you and Moon to be surrounded by soft, happy things while you sleep.
"Oh, you know. Instinct."
"Sun."
"Ack. Perks of being connected to the World Wide Web, my dear!"
"No!" you exclaim and lift your head, which is a mistake. His hips rock in sensual waves. His waist moves with hypnotic quality. You drop you head back down and watch the ceiling. "You did not watch porn for educational purposes," you say with a disbelieving laugh.
"No!" he defends. "Articles and forums too!"
Quiet laughter shakes you. "When did you even have time for this?"
"Technically, I wasn't the one to look it all up, mm-mm! Moon is rolling around in my head right now because of what I'm about to tell you, but it miight've been his research. And it miight've happened yesterday. When I was napping."
Oh, god, it explains how Moon knew how to touch you so well without even asking. You wonder when he began his research. When you asked if they feel sexual attraction? When he asked if you want sex? Maybe when you said yes … During the movie, possibly, even?
Sun's hips slow to a stop, but the tinkling of his wrist bells certainly doesn't. You feel like putty as you buck against him, gasping at the effort. He lets go of your wrists to grab your leg instead, hoisting it up over his shoulder. The new angle, as well as both of his hands now working overtime on you, is bound to be your finisher. His energetic nature comes into good play here, you can't help but note. It doesn't take long before you're shaking like a leaf and pulling away from him, panting and gasping.
Something mischievous tugs at Sun's smile as he slides the toy out of you. He pulls your tank top up to bare your belly and rests the toy atop your pelvis, pumping it using only two fingers. That same hand grabs the formerly forgotten bottle, pops the lid open, and lines it up with the tip of the toy. He squeezes the plastic, making the translucent, white liquid squirt out in three pulses.
You're not aware of the jaw you dropped, or the hasty beat of your heart. When you manage to look up at Sun's face, it's still sporting that devious smile. You giggle in disbelief and only just now remember to breathe.
"Oops," he says, drawing a line down your belly, an easy glide through the lubricant.
"I don't even …" you trail off with a breathy laugh. "I think they made a typo when they named you."
Sun tilts his head with a click, eyelids dropping halfway.
"Think they meant to put an I where the U is."
He laughs at your joke and leans in. "Only in your bed."
You shake your head, still scarcely believing this is the same guy who cartwheels when excited. You draw your leg back from his shoulder and plant your foot on his chest, pushing him backwards just a tiny bit.
He lets go of the toy in favor of massaging your foot with both hands, which turns into massaging your calf and your thigh and back down your leg again. You give him an appreciative hum.
"Think your research came in handy."
"Mm-mm, Moon's research," he reminds you playfully.
"Uh-huh. You're very innocent."
"Mmhm!"
"What does Moon have to say about that?"
Sun glances up as if pausing to listen. "Something about stripy jester pants and fire. So cryptic!" he says, fully aware.
You shake your head again with a quiet laugh and lean your head back, closing your eyes. Plastic fingertips ghost across your hips and thighs. They drum on your bare skin with finality and you feel the bed shift as he leans away to open the second drawer again. A wet wipe glides over your stomach and down between your legs. The weight of your toy disappears as he cleans that too.
His front drapes loosely over yours as he nuzzles your cheek. "Don't forget your appointment at eleven-thirty."
You scramble up with a start. You definitely forgot your appointment at 11:30. Bit preoccupied.
You swipe the wipe and slap him across the chest with it. "You made me forget."
Sun accepts his punishment and only watches with fondness as you whirlwind across the room.
"What would you like for breakfast?" he asks as he toys with the pastel-colored shape in his hands.
You pause to kiss the top of his crescent and wiggle a ray. "Thank you, but I'll grab some takeout. Craving sushi today."
By the time you're ready to scoot, Sunny has already taken care of any collaborative messes and sees you to the door. You take a second just to look at him, your chest feeling full and happy. With one more kiss, you say, "Let's bake something today, Sunray."
His rays do a happy spin as he clasps his hands and kicks a foot back. "Ooh, fun! What're we baking?"
"Mm, I'm thinking raspberry pie."
"De-li-cioso." He grabs the door jamb and leans forward, kicking his foot up behind him again. "Superb choice!"
You flick a bell on his wrist, stick the tip of your tongue out, and leave for your appointment before you manage to get caught in your Sun's inescapable orbit again.
"Buh-bye, Love! See ya soon!" he says, voice accompanied by the jingle of his wrist bells. You hope you won't associate that innocuous sound with their sinful touch for the rest of your days.
You do a little spin and a wave before you round the corner with a skip in your step. You catch yourself humming a familar song halfway to the shop, giggle about it, and resume humming.