Archive of Our Own

It was late—well past midnight—but Natsuki barely registered the hour. Time had a way of slipping away when he was working, and the JCC, stripped of its usual bustle, felt almost serene in the quiet. Floodlights along the walkways cast long, pale streaks across the concrete, and somewhere in the distance, the firing range crackled once before dissolving back into silence.

Most students were asleep by now. The few who remained awake were either buried in textbooks, tinkering with contraband experiments, or, like Natsuki, some precarious combination of both. He moved with the quiet confidence of someone who belonged entirely to the shadows, his satchel slung over one shoulder as the faint bite of the night air teased his skin.

The corridors were half-lit, a sterile glow from overhead lamps humming just loud enough to irritate, and his footsteps echoed in an unhurried, familiar rhythm. He was heading toward the workshop, the only place that ever felt truly like his own.

Shin should have been there already, of course, but Natsuki didn’t hold his breath. That idiot had a schedule that resembled a tornado more than anything else, careening unpredictably between missions, shifts, and whatever other nonsense he found himself tangled in.

And yet… Natsuki had caught himself waiting before. Listening for the soft scrape of sneakers against the concrete. Wondering which version of Shin would appear tonight—the smug, overly confident one, the exhausted, barely-holding-it-together one, or the rare, quiet one who looked at him with that strange, unsettling intensity, like he understood—or at least genuinely wanted to understand—how Natsuki’s mind worked.

A small, begrudging part of him hated that he even considered it.

He exhaled through his nose, almost amused by his own thoughts. Pathetic. There was no reason to think about him that much. Shin was loud, reckless, and had a remarkable talent for touching things that shouldn’t be touched. The kind of person who lived on impulse, not reason. Everything Natsuki wasn’t.

And yet, somehow, that very chaos made his presence linger in the room long after he’d left.

Natsuki’s phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking his train of thought. He ignored it for a few steps before pulling it out. Another message from that same number.

Unknown: I left you something at the workshop. Hope you like it ♡
*—Yuki, from Poison Department (Dorm 3A)

He stared at the message for a few seconds, thumb motionless on the screen. The same sender. The same tiresome pattern of persistence.

Natsuki wasn’t naïve enough to fall for it. The Poison Department girls were notorious for this kind of thing—half flirtation, half field experiment. “Love letters” that doubled as chemical trials, chocolates that could melt through steel if you left them out long enough. Beautiful, brilliant, and absolutely unhinged.

He’d never eaten a single thing they gave him, of course. It wasn’t personal. He just had a deep respect for the concept of survival.

Still, something about the message nagged at him. Maybe it was the timing—or maybe it was the thought of Shin stumbling across it first. Shin would definitely open it. He’d make a scene out of it too, all mock jealousy and terrible jokes. He’d grin that stupid grin, ask a million questions, and probably call it “cute.”

Natsuki’s jaw tightened. Idiot.

He slid his phone back into his pocket, face unreadable, and kept walking.

By the time he reached the east wing, the world had gone almost silent. Only the low hum of machinery filled the air, steady and mechanical. The workshop corridor was dimly lit, the air faintly metallic, like oil and solder. It was comforting in its own way—orderly, predictable.

But as he approached the familiar door, something made him slow.

Light spilled from the crack beneath it—warm, golden, unmistakably alive. Someone was inside.

He exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly as the faintest trace of a smirk tugged at his lips.

He’s already here.

The door opened with a faint creak, and the scent of metal, oil, and half-forgotten experiments hit him immediately. The workshop was quiet, the kind of quiet that let every small sound echo—Shin’s uneven breathing, the soft scrape of his hands against the bench, the faint thump of his foot tapping against the floor.

He knew Shin had been waiting—he almost hoped he wasn’t, just so he could savour the small, pleasure of scolding him—but sure enough, there was the faint bulk of the a certain boy hovering by his bench, back turned. The familiar posture that always made his chest tighten in ways he refused to acknowledge.

It was ridiculous. The boy was irritating, reckless, loud when he shouldn’t be, and yet, somehow, completely magnetic. He hated how predictable his reactions were. Every time he saw that infuriating, stupidly charming idiot, glove in hand, who had a knack for leaving him uncharacteristically rattled, he felt the same thing.

The sight made his chest twist in ways he refused to admit. Something tight in his chest, something that had absolutely nothing to do with gloves.

“Finally decided to show up on time,” Natsuki said, his tone clipped but carrying a teasing edge. “You know, you’re the only person who thinks 1 am is a reasonable hour for a meeting. Assassins really don’t care about us normal people’s schedules.”

Shin turned at the sound of his voice, a half-grin tugging at his lips. “You’re early,” he countered, blinking like the thought barely made it through the fog in his head. “I mean… I’m here at the time we agreed, and I’m pretty sure you’re the only person I know who would actually agree to meet at this time. You don’t sleep, Seba. You’re far from a normal person.”

Natsuki arched an eyebrow, trying not to let the faint smile show. “Uh-huh. Right. Insult the guy who so generously keeps fixing your gear. Real smart, Asakura.”

He moved closer, the smell of metal and machine oil clinging faintly to the air around them. Shin’s back was still to him, the dim light from the bench lamp outlining his shoulders in a soft, uneven glow. Natsuki’s eyes lingered there a second too long before he forced himself to focus on the glove in Shin’s hand.

“You’re putting my precious invention through hell,” he said lightly, reaching out to tap the scorched edge of the material. “Try not to blow yourself up next time, yeah? Telepath or not, you’re still only human.”

He meant it as a jab, but the concern threaded too easily through his words, and he hated how natural it felt coming out.

Shin waved a dismissive hand, but there was a subtle tremor in his fingers, the faint sheen of sweat along his jawline, and the flush creeping across his neck and cheeks. Natsuki noticed, but filed it under “odd, probably fatigue.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance to the bench, letting his eyes flick over the frayed edges of the glove, scorched palm, and stitching that had come undone. “Hm. Creative as always,” he muttered.

Shin gave a faint, distracted chuckle, brushing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah… just fix it please.”

Natsuki let his lips twitch up, then leaned back slightly, thinking he’d play their little mental game. I’m serious. Stop pushing yourself so hard, idiot, he sent through his mind, the thought gentle but firm, trying to reach him telepathically.

Nothing.

He frowned, trying again, more direct. Hey, stop fiddling for a second, talk to me.

Still nothing.

“Really?” he muttered under his breath, brow furrowing. He leaned just enough to glance at Shin’s distracted face, noting the faint flush across his cheeks, the slight tremor in his hands, and the way his chest rose a little too fast with each breath. He tilted his head, bemused. “Did I just… lose the telepathy lottery, or are you actually ignoring me?”

Shin blinked, finally looking up at him, a dazed grin spreading. “Hey… what’s up?” His voice was normal enough, but there was a strange sluggishness, like his thoughts were wading through molasses.

Weird.

Natsuki gestured to the ruined glove in Shin’s hands. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time. I’ll need a full debrief on how you’ve manage to do this.”

Shin blinked, running a hand over the glove’s torn fabric. “It was…uh…an accident.”

“An accident?” Natsuki repeated, arching an eyebrow, letting the words stretch out with just enough mock skepticism to annoy. “How accident-prone are you, exactly?”

Shin let out a nervous laugh, low and uneven. “Yeah… maybe.”

“Maybe?” Natsuki’s tone sharpened as his lips dipped at the corners. “That’s not really an answer, Shin.”

Shin opened his mouth, probably to defend himself, but the words faltered halfway. There was a hitch in his breathing, subtle but enough to catch Natsuki’s attention.

The expression Natsuki had been holding softened, almost imperceptibly. He took a step closer, letting the casual mask slip just slightly.

“Dude… are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head, careful not to let the concern show too clearly.

The older boy’s shoulders twitched slightly under his gaze. His forehead was shiny, the flush across his cheeks now impossible to ignore. His focus wavered, the breath coming in slightly shallow bursts. Natsuki paused mid-step, suddenly alert.

Shin’s eyes flicked toward the desk, then back at Natsuki, and Natsuki’s gaze followed. His attention landed on a small box of chocolates, lid open, a faintly sticky residue where the wrappers had been.

Everything clicked in a single, horrified instant.

“You didn’t—” Natsuki began, voice tight with disbelief.

“Didn’t what?” Shin asked, confusion lacing his words.

Natsuki’s eyes narrowed, a mix of exasperation and stunned incredulity. There was no way, absolutely no way.

His eyes flicked back to the decorated box on the desk.

Shin’s guilty expression, flushed and trembling, told him otherwise. “Yeah… I did,” he admitted quietly. “Why?”

Natsuki’s jaw tensed. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to never eat chocolates from the girls in the Poison Department?”

The flush across Shin’s cheeks was ridiculous—almost comical if it weren’t so alarming.

Natsuki leaned back slightly, arms crossing over his chest, exhaling a long, measured sigh. There was a teasing glint in his eye, but the crease between his brows betrayed the faintest flicker of actual concern.

“Dude,” he said slowly, enunciating each word as if testing them first, “either you’ve just eaten a deadly poison… or an aphrodisiac. And considering who it’s from and the fact that you’re not dead, I’d put my money on the latter.”

Shin’s brain took a moment to process, the words lagging behind the sudden rush of heat and awareness flooding his senses.

“W-What the fuck, Seba! How—?” His voice cracked, eyes widening, panic sparking like static electricity.

Natsuki’s smirk deepened, perfectly casual. “I can’t help it that I’m popular.”

“Oh my god,” Shin muttered, the words barely audible over the thudding of his pulse.

Shin’s panic was immediate, his shoulders jerking with every shallow, uneven breath. “Oh god, oh god—what do I do?!” His hands fidgeted, tugging at his own sleeves, fingers tapping the edge of the bench like he could somehow push the sensation away. 

There must’ve been a heat pooling low in his stomach, unmistakable and completely at odds with the chaos of his mind. Normally so strong, so able to mask everything, Shin was unravelling in right front of Natsuki.

Natsuki let out a low, exasperated sigh, hiding the tiny spike of amusement behind a careful veneer. Calmly, deliberately, he pulled out his phone and started typing, thumbs moving with practiced precision. That explains why telepathy is… lagging. Makes sense.

His thumbs twitched a bit as he sent a message to Yuki, his patience already thinning. How do I stop this?

The reply was instant, annoyingly cheerful: “I’ll help you out. Bring condoms to my room. See you soon ;)”

Natsuki groaned audibly, tossing the phone onto the bench. “Yeah… not helpful. At all,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “She’s completely useless in this context. I’ll have to figure it out myself.” His mind immediately shifted into problem-solving mode, scanning everything he knew about aphrodisiacs, toxins, and whatever else might help Shin without alerting the rest of the school.

Natsuki’s eyes darted from the laptop screen to Shin, who was now practically pacing in a tight circle, each step betraying the flush of his desperation.

The workbench, the tools, even the faint scent of metal polish and solder—the things that normally grounded Natsuki—felt suddenly intrusive in the way they forced him to notice every shiver, every tremor, every faint, unwilling noise Shin made. Him crouching into Natsuki’s personal bubble to nervously scan the screen didn’t help either.

”Please tell me you’ve found a solution,” Shin’s movements were subtle at first—just a faint grinding of hips against the edge of the workbench—but the escaping noises, low, reluctant, and desperate evidently betrayed Shin’s body’s increasing urgency.

Natsuki’s chest tightened in ways he was very aware of, and he gritted his teeth, annoyed at the distraction even as his mind betrayed him with a flush of his own. He can’t help it. Shin’s dry-humping his desk for god’s sake.

“Stop that,” Natsuki muttered, the words clipped.

“Sorry, sorry! I can’t—” Shin’s voice wavered, breaths coming short and uneven as he pushed away from the bench, horrified. His hands trembled at his sides, unable to keep still, his normally boyish charm now tinged with frantic vulnerability.

Natsuki still felt a pull in his chest he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge. Scolding himself, he tried to focus on the practical: this was just a stupidly strong aphrodisiac, not a disaster. He could think, plan, mitigate…

But even as he muttered through the options—hospital, calling for help, surrendering to Yuki’s room—Shin visibly shrank back from every suggestion. Too embarrassing. Too exposing. Too…humiliating.

A reluctant, grudging part of Natsuki knew exactly why Shin reacted that way. Knew exactly what he needed to feel better. The boy’s heat, the flush in his cheeks, the way his hands fidgeted—it was textbook. Dangerous, but… compelling in a way Natsuki would never admit aloud.

“We could call Sakamoto,” Natsuki suggested, voice low, measured, the words meant as a practical option. “I’m sure he’d know where to find an antidote.”

“No!” Shin jerked backward instinctively, a short, sharp exhale escaping him. His eyes went wide, and Natsuki practically watched the colour drain from his face. The chocolates had been meant for him originally. That fact made a flicker of guilt creep through Natsuki’s otherwise calculating mind.

He sighed, a quiet, deliberate sound, and closed the space between them, bridging the gap he hadn’t realised he’d left. He wasn’t really good at comforting people, albeit his little brother. He was even worse at doing it for someone who simultaneously frustrated him, made him notice his own body, and refused to be quiet even when needed.

“Relax,” he muttered, almost mechanically. His hand brushed against Shin’s forearm, intending a casual, grounding gesture.

It didn’t calm Shin. Not at all.

Shin shivered at the touch, lips parting slightly, eyes widening, groaning low and helplessly, as a low gasp escaping him. Natsuki’s eyes widened in horror at the immediate consequence. Shin’s body completely tensed, his eyes rolling back.

“Did you just—” Natsuki’s voice caught on his own disbelief, eyes snapping down to the telltale evidence.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t—fuck— I have to go,” Shin stammered, half standing, panic lacing every movement.

The absurdity, the tension, the way Shin looked both mortified and desperate—it all made Natsuki grit his teeth. All it took was a touch. Part of him hated it. Part of him… hated that he was intrigued. That he was watching. That he wanted to…

“Wait,” Natsuki said sharply, stepping in front of him before he could bolt. “Did it… Did it at least help?”

Shin shook his head, cheeks flushed pink even under the dim workshop lights. Natsuki’s eyes flicked down, heart clenching despite himself. The wet spot in Shin’s jeans was obvious, yet the boy was still stubbornly… very, very tented.

He shook his head in disbelief, muttering under his breath as if the sound alone could somehow restore rational thought. His gaze betrayed him, lingering on the wet patch on Shin’s jeans longer than it should have, tracking the way his body shifted, involuntarily and extremely eager.

Natsuki exhaled softly, almost inaudibly, a mixture of exasperation and reluctant fascination threading through the sound. He crossed his arms and leaned against the edge of the bench, grounding himself with the cold, hard metal.

It was futile. His eyes still scanned Shin’s tense, flushed form, noting the tremor in his hands, the uneven rise and fall of his chest, the way every small movement carried the weight of uncontrollable need. He’s got to actually help the idiot before he melts into a puddle of embarrassment and pheromones.

“Alright,” he murmured aloud, voice deceptively calm, “I’m going to help you out.”

Shin tilted his head, then froze, eyes widening until they nearly popped out of his skull. His face went even redder, if such a thing was physically possible. “Wait—what? Seba! No! I—I can’t—”

Natsuki arched an eyebrow, masking the sadistic jolt of satisfaction that zipped through him at Shin’s flustered reaction. Good lord, he gets so red… it’s absurd. Not that I mind.

Natsuki’s kind of glad Shin’s ESP is out of order. For the first time ever around him, he can think exactly what he wants. No consequences.

His voice came out low but deliberate. “I’m… fine with doing it,” he said aloud, letting the words hang in the air. Inside, he admitted the truth he never let anyone—or even himself—say: I want to do it.

Shin froze, eyes widening again as his hands fisted at his sides, his chest rising and falling a little too fast, basically panting. “No! I—I’ll just… wait it out!” he stammered, voice cracking, struggling to form coherent sentences and clearly trying to cling to some fragment of pride.

Natsuki blinked at him, letting the incredulity hang in the air like a weight. “Wait it out? You actually think that’s a thing?” His voice was sharp, clipped, but underneath there was the faintest trace of worry. “You’ll be a mess for… hours. Maybe days. Those girls in the Poison Department? They’re not joking. They make shit strong enough to take out giants. That’s not a polite suggestion—it’s a guarantee.”

He paused, letting his gaze flick down at Shin, noting the damp stain settling across his pants. The sight was both absurd and still frustrating in ways he wasn’t willing to admit. “And you’ve already… came in your pants like a teenager,” Natsuki added, voice lowering into something that sounded like half-exasperated, half-amused warning. “Save what little pride you have left, idiot.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying just how entertained he was, even as a reluctant, gnawing part of him twisted uncomfortably. Why am I so invested in this? Anyone else, I would’ve left on their own, he thought, though the answer was painfully clear. Because it’s him. It’s always, him.

Shin’s blush deepened, if possible, and his mouth opened as if to argue, then closed again with a nervous swallow. “…Here?” he managed finally, voice small and hesitant, as though saying it aloud made it somehow worse.

Natsuki shrugged lightly, letting his eyes sweep over the empty workshop. “Yeah. It’s fine. Who’s going to be in a place like this at this hour?”

Shin’s gaze flicked up sharply, a spark of panic—or was it something else?—in his eyes. “You would be.”

Natsuki’s lips quirked, “Yeah, I would be. And you’re lucky I’m here.”

There was a pause, the air between them heavy with heat and unspoken thoughts. Natsuki’s mind ticked over the absurdity of the situation, the tension, the ridiculous blush curling Shin’s ears, and the strange, unwilling thrill that ran through him.

His hand was already moving before his brain could fully process the sheer insanity of what he was doing. Fuck it. Fuck it all. The rational part of him screamed in protest, but it was a faint, distant noise drowned out by the heavy, frantic sound of Shin’s breathing and the overwhelming need to just fix this.

“Stop squirming,” Natsuki muttered, his voice a low command that brooked no argument. His fingers, usually so precise with tools and circuitry, fumbled with the button of Shin’s jeans. The denim was rough, the metal cold. A sharp inhale from above made him pause for a fraction of a second before he pushed on, sliding the zipper down with a rasp that sounded obscenely loud.

Shin was trembling, a fine, constant shake that seemed to vibrate through the air between them. “S-Se-ba… fuck…”

“I know,” Natsuki cut him off, not wanting to hear the plea, the embarrassment. He didn’t need words. He needed results. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Shin’s boxers and briefs, pulling them down just enough to free his cock.

It sprang free, achingly hard, flushed a deep, angry red and already leaking a clear, sticky bead of pre-come from the tip, the rest of his shaft already a mess from his previous release. The sight was… a lot. Natsuki’s own breath stuttered for a moment, his mouth going dry. It’s just a biological reaction. A problem to be solved.

“Impressive...”

“S-Seba!”

Natsuki spat into his palm, a crude but available lubricant, and wrapped his fingers around Shin’s length.

The sound Shin made wasn’t human. It was a choked, guttural groan that tore from his throat, his hips bucking forward involuntarily into the touch. “Oh, God—”

“Hold still,” Natsuki whispered, but his command lacked its usual bite. He started to move his hand, a slow, tentative stroke that quickly grew more confident. The friction was all wrong, his spit already drying. Shin was panting, his head thrown back, eyes screwed shut, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the workbench.

It was clumsy, rough, and over far too quickly. A series of ragged, broken moans spilled from Shin’s lips, his entire body going rigid as a thick, hot pulse erupted from him. Natsuki felt it splatter against his hand, warm and wet. He watched, mesmerised, as globs of white, glue-like cum landed on Shin’s stomach and his own wrist.

He stopped moving, waiting for the tension to leave Shin’s body. It didn’t. The boy was still shuddering, his cock still standing firm and full in Natsuki’s sticky hand, twitching as if asking for more.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Natsuki breathed, staring at the evidence of orgasm that had done absolutely nothing to diminish the need. This Yuki girl must be top of her class.

Shin’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. “I’m… I’m sorry… it’s not… it’s not going down…”

Natsuki looked at his hand, glistening and white. Waste not. He smeared the mess over his palm and fingers, coating them thoroughly, making a new, slicker lubricant. “Let’s try that again.”

But the second his come-slicked hand closed around him, Shin cried out, a sound of pure overstimulated agony. “Too much! Fuck, Seba, it’s—too sensitive, please—your hands are r-really rough!”

Natsuki dropped his hand instantly, stepping back, a flicker of frustration twisting with an unfamiliar tug of concern. He stared down at his own calloused fingers, as if they had betrayed him. “Ace weapon maker, remember?” he said, the teasing edge in his voice doing little to hide the tension beneath.

Natsuki froze for a fraction of a second, heart thudding in a way he absolutely refused to admit was inappropriate. He hated that he was intrigued, hated that the sight of Shin trembling under his touch made a flush climb his own neck. God, this boy could make a grown man feel like a pervert without even trying.

He adjusted his grip slightly, deliberately gentling the pressure while still keeping the slick friction consistent. “I’m not doing anything different,” he muttered, voice clipped, though internally he was bargaining with himself to keep his mind on the task instead of spiraling into admiration for how absurdly reactive Shin was.

Shin’s head tilted back, lips parted in ragged breaths, eyes half-lidded but still locking onto Natsuki’s. “Fuck… I can’t… not… it’s too much, it’s not enough,” he gasped, body shivering against the edge of the workbench. Every small movement he made pressed into Natsuki’s control, like he was both begging and punishing him at the same time.

Shin’s hands fisted, digging into the edge of the workbench, and the muscles in his legs quivered as the overstimulation intensified. “I… I can’t… I can’t think straight…”

He adjusted his posture, pressing just enough pressure and speed to keep Shin from escalating further but not so much to overwhelm him. “Okay,” he murmured, voice low, steady, “Just stay with me.”

Shin’s shaky inhale was all the acknowledgment Natsuki got, but it was enough.

The workshop was silent except for the soft, desperate noises escaping Shin, the faint rustle of clothing, and the muted hum of machines. Every second felt like a high-wire act, balancing between care and restraint, professionalism and the absurdly human reactions of the boy sprawled before him.

The handjob was a failure. Natsuki stared at the weeping, desperate cock, at Shin’s tear-filled, pleading eyes, and made another decision, this one even more insane than the last.

“Fine,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. He dropped to his knees on the cold concrete floor. The position sent a jolt through him, a thrill of submission he would never, ever admit to.

Shin looked down at him, confusion and awe on his blotchy face. “Wha—?”

“I said fine,” Natsuki snapped, cutting him off. He leaned forward, his face inches from Shin’s cock. The scent of him was overwhelming.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this, so you’re going to have to fucking bear with me.” The admission tasted like ash in his mouth, another layer of vulnerability he hadn't planned on shedding.

And then, with a final, internal scream of defiance, he opened his mouth and took Shin inside.

The groan that ripped from Shin was earth-shattering. His hips jolted, but Natsuki’s hands shot up, pinning his thighs to the bench, steadying him.

”Hold still,” he mumbled, mouth full. 

Natsuki’s head began to move, slowly at first, learning the shape and feel of him. He was decently thick, stretching his lips, his tongue flattening against the sensitive underside. The taste was pure, undiluted Shin—skin, salt, and that faint, indefinable electric tang that was just him. Natsuki lost himself in the rhythm, in the muffled, desperate sounds coming from above. How the selfish idiot was bucking, hard, into his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, revelling in the way Shin’s legs trembled under his grip.

“Seba… fuck… I’m… I’m gonna—” Shin’s warning was a broken sob.

Natsuki pulled off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening head. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he panted, his own voice rough. “Don’t you come down my throat. You warn me. You understand? You fucking warn me.” It was a rule, a necessary boundary in this dizzying freefall.

Shin nodded frantically, sweat dripping from his hairline. “Y-yeah… yeah, okay… fuck, okay…”

Natsuki dove back down. He bobbed his head faster, taking him deeper, until the head of Shin’s cock continuously nudged the back of his throat. He relaxed his jaw, swallowing around him, and the vibration drew a shattered cry from Shin that seemed to shake the very foundations of the workshop.

Shin’s third orgasm ripped through him with no warning, a violent, unstoppable tidal wave. His back arched off the bench as his cock pulsed, once, twice, and then a massive, flooding release directly into Natsuki’s throat.

Natsuki’s eyes flew wide in shock and betrayal. He tried to pull back, but it was too late. A thick, hot torrent of cum filled his mouth, so much more than before. It hit the back of his throat, thick and viscous, and he had no choice but to fucking swallow convulsively. He gulped once, twice, but it kept coming, a final, huge glob spilling past his lips and dripping down his chin.

He finally wrenched himself away, gasping for air, cum still on his lips. He glared up at Shin, shock and something else—something heated and dark—burning in his gaze.

“I said don’t come down my throat, dickhead.” he snarled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice hoarse.

Shin looked utterly wrecked, panting, his body slack with the force of his climax. “I’m sorry! God, Seba, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t—it just happened, you’re really good at- I couldn’t stop it—”

Natsuki pushed himself up from his knees, his own legs unsteady. He opened his mouth to scold him again, to curse Shin out for his lack of control, but as his eyes dropped downward. The words died in his throat.

Shin was still hard. Still fully, completely, impossibly erect. The aphrodisiac wasn’t done with him. Not even close.

Shin followed his gaze, a fresh wave of horrified despair washing over his features. “No… no, not again… please…”

Natsuki just stared, his own anger evaporating into a kind of stunned, lust-drenched awe. He stared, utterly defeated, at the evidence standing proud and angry between Shin’s legs.

The handjob. The blowjob. Both failures. The logical flowchart in his mind, usually so clean and efficient, spiraled into a frantic, desperate loop before arriving at one horrifying, inescapable conclusion.

Fucking hell. There’s only one thing left.

His own breath felt thin in his lungs. He met Shin’s glassy, panicked eyes. The words tasted like surrender and something far more dangerous.

“Shin,” he started, his voice a low rasp scraped raw. “I think… you’re going to have to fuck me.”

“What? No. I can’t—I won’t—”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Natsuki reasoned, the frustration a welcome shield against his own rising panic. “Nothing else is working. The chemical needs a… a full physiological response. A deeper release.” He was bullshitting, and they both knew it. He was operating on a hunch, a desperate, clawing need he refused to name.

Shin’s bottom lip began to wobble. Natsuki hated how young the esper looked, especially considering he was older than Natsuki. 

A reluctant, unfamiliar tenderness unfurled in Natsuki’s chest. Damn it. He exhaled, a long, weary sound, and stepped closer. “Hey,” he murmured, his tone softening despite himself. “Look at me.”

Shin shook his head, eyes screwed shut. Chest still rising frantically. Body still impossibly reactive. 

Natsuki reached out, his movements uncharacteristically hesitant. He cupped Shin’s jaw, his thumb stroking over the hot, flushed skin. Shin flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. “It’s just me,” Natsuki said, the words quiet, almost gentle. “It’s just us. In this stupid, fucked-up situation. Okay?”

He could feel the frantic beat of Shin’s pulse under his thumb. The boy’s breathing was still shallow, ragged. The need was a live wire under his skin, but layered over it was a pure, unadulterated fear. Natsuki’s mind raced, calculating the variables. He needed Shin pliant. Willing. Or at least, not fighting him every step of the way.

Fuck it.

Before he could second-guess the insanity of it, Natsuki leaned in and pressed his lips to Shin’s.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss. It was a dry, close-mouthed press, a deliberate attempt to soothe, to ground. Shin froze completely, a small, shocked sound caught in his throat. Natsuki held it for a moment, feeling the chaotic energy in the other boy begin to still, to focus on this one, simple point of contact. When he pulled back, Shin’s eyes were open, wide with a new kind of shock.

“There,” Natsuki muttered, his own face heating. “See? Not so bad.”

A faint, dazed noise escaped Shin, something between a whimper and a sigh. The rigid tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. He was malleable now, his defences knocked aside by the unexpected gentleness.

“Okay,” Natsuki breathed, more to himself than to Shin. “Okay. We need… we need to get ready.” His eyes flicked down Shin’s body, then to his own hands. No lube. Nothing. Another problem to solve. His gaze landed on Shin’s mouth.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed, his voice regaining a sliver of its usual command.

Shin blinked, confused, but obediently parted his lips. Natsuki brought two fingers to them, pressing them inside. “Get them wet. Really wet.”

The heat of Shin’s mouth was overwhelming. His tongue, clumsy and hot, swirled around Natsuki’s fingers, coating them in slick saliva. The intimacy of it was staggering, a thousand times more vulnerable than the blowjob. Natsuki pulled his soaked fingers free with a soft, wet sound.

“Now,” he said, turning his attention to himself, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he worked his jeans and boxers down his hips. “You’re going to have to bear with me. It’s been… a lot longer since I’ve done this.”

He leaned back against the cold metal of the workbench, reaching behind himself with his slick fingers. The first touch was a shock of cold and pressure. He hissed through his teeth, working one finger inside himself. It was a tight, unfamiliar stretch, a burn that made his eyes water.

“Never,” Shin whispered, the word so quiet Natsuki almost missed it.

Natsuki stilled, his finger buried inside himself. He looked up. “What?”

Shin’s blush was back in full force, painting his neck and ears a devastating crimson. He wouldn’t meet Natsuki’s eyes. “I’ve… I’ve never done this. Any of it.”

The admission hit Natsuki like a punch to the gut. A virgin. He’s a virgin. A violent, possessive thrill shot through him, hot and dark. Mine. I’m his first. All of this is mine. The thought was sadistic, intoxicating. But it was immediately followed by a pang of something else, something almost like guilt for the brutal, clinical way this was happening. He shoved it all down.

“Right,” Natsuki said, his voice tighter than before. He added a second finger, the stretch intensifying, a sharp bite of pain that made him gasp. Shin whimpered in sympathy, his hips giving a helpless, involuntary thrust into the empty air. The aphrodisiac was still ruthlessly at work.

“Behave,” Natsuki ground out, his breath catching as he scissored his fingers, trying to loosen himself up faster. “Just… give me a minute.”

He worked himself open with a frantic, utilitarian rhythm, his own arousal a distant, secondary concern to the overwhelming need to be ready, to get this over with, to finally, finally give Shin the relief his body was screaming for. When he decided he was as ready as he was going to get, he pulled his fingers out with a shaky breath.

“Alright,” he panted, turning around and bending over the workbench, his back to Shin. He pressed his chest against the cold metal, presenting himself. The position was one of utter vulnerability, and every instinct screamed at him to stand up, to regain control. He ignored it. “Now. Slowly.”

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, the shaky, hesitant touch of Shin’s hands on his hips. The blunt, hot pressure of his cock, nudging against him. It was clumsy, desperate. Shin’s first thrust was a frantic, aborted jerk that missed entirely. The second was too hard, smacking against his thigh.

“Easy,” Natsuki urged, his knuckles white where they gripped the bench’s edge. “Just… find the spot. Gently.”

A third attempt, guided by Natsuki’s own hand reaching back to position him. And then, with a slow, inexorable pressure, Shin was pushing inside.

The burn was immense, a white-hot streak of pain that tore a ragged gasp from Natsuki’s throat. Fuck, he’s kind of big. He was stretched far past what his frantic fingering had prepared him for. He clenched his eyes shut, breathing through the sensation, feeling Shin shudder and still behind him.

“S-Seba?” Shin’s voice was pitched high with worry.

“Don’t stop,” he bit out. “Just… keep going.”

Shin obeyed, his movements still jerky and uncertain, but he pushed forward until he was fully sheathed, his hips flush against Natsuki’s ass. They both froze, panting, connected. The initial searing pain began to ebb, replaced by a deep, filling pressure that was… a lot. It was overwhelming, a constant, insistent presence that seemed to touch him everywhere inside.

Then Shin moved. A shallow, experimental thrust.

A broken sound, half pain, half surprise, escaped Natsuki. But on the next thrust, something shifted. The friction sparked, the pain melting into a sharp, shocking bolt of pleasure. Shin found a rhythm, a slow, deep rocking of his hips that dragged against a spot inside Natsuki that made his vision blur.

Oh, fuck. His own cock, which had been mostly ignored, stirred to life, trapped between his stomach and the cold bench, throbbing in time with Shin’s thrusts. The feeling was incredible, a deep, internal massage that coiled a tight, hot spring in his gut. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe any of this. He was coming apart on a virgin’s dick in a fucking school workshop, and it was the best he’d ever felt.

His orgasm built with shocking speed, ripped from him by the relentless, perfect friction. He came with a choked, silent cry, his release spilling onto the cold metal beneath him, his body clenching tightly around Shin’s length.

Above him, Shin lost all control. The feel of Natsuki tightening around him shattered his fragile rhythm. His thrusts became erratic, pounding, his mumbled words a nonsensical litany against Natsuki’s back. “So good… fuck, Natsuki… thank you… so good… you feel… fuck…”

His pace stuttered, grew frantic, and then he was slamming deep, grinding his hips as he came. Natsuki felt the hot, pulsing flood inside him, another massive release that seemed to go on and on, filling him up. Finally, blessedly, he felt Shin soften within him, the rigid tension draining from the body slumped over his back.

A profound, exhausted silence fell over the workshop, broken only by their harsh, overlapping breaths. The aphrodisiac’ hold was finally broken.

Shin remained inside him, his weight a warm, heavy comfort. His voice, when it came, was slurred with exhaustion and something else, something tender and raw.

“Seba,” he whispered into the skin of Natsuki’s shoulder. “I really really like you.”

Natsuki closed his eyes, the last of his defences crumbling. A weary, wry smile touched his lips.

“Me too, unfortunately.”