Archive of Our Own ^beta

“ Ohhh, fuck, fuck, fuck—!”

Fingers digging into your arched shoulders, Hiromi crushes his nose into your neck. He fucks you with short, uneven thrusts through your shuddering orgasm, arms cinched tight around his back as you shiver and gasp into his slobber-slick shoulder. 

His face buries in your throat, breath hot, erratic, panting breathless praises of: “good girl… shiii-hah—so good, just one— one second—” as his hips slap against yours, resistant to but utterly gripped by the feral desperate-for-climax beast in his brain, not to be left behind, hellbent on chasing you over your climax.

His body freezes, every muscle tensing when his soul goes blank with the ecstasy that, years ago, he thought he’d never deserve. A groan cracks out of him, and he abruptly pulls out.

His cock slips free, wet and smacking lewdly against your belly with a sticky splatter. You feel every hot, dripping stripe of his seed paint across your skin, shivery and weak at the end where his cocks jumps and bobs. He gasps big, heavy exhales against your throat, crushing you into his chest as he’s made stupid and fuzzy by the blissful agony of his peak.

You couldn’t move if you tried. You lie there under him, arms like overcooked noodles slung around his back, legs gone limp and dumb where they used to be ankle-locked around his waist. You’re a bit sore, very sweaty, and stupidly satisfied. But you smile through the aching pulse low in your hips, sucking in air like you’ve both just run marathons — and in a sense, you had been for the better part of the evening.

You lay there long enough for the cum on your belly to cool and for your husband to reanimate. Collapsed on top of you, he noses behind your ear, murmuring sweet, unsanitary nothings and praises that make the baby hairs on your neck prickle.

“Hiromi…”

“ Hi, honey… ”

His fingers are between your legs again, dragging between your messy folds, already gone dry, coaxing and nudging and urging you back to a state of arousal for a third go.

Flinching, you yelp and try to snap your thighs closed when he brushes over your oversensitive clit. “Done—!” You squeak. “We’re done, I’m done. ”

He groans, but his fingers stop immediately and withdraw to gentle your thigh instead. “Please, just—just one more. I’m still… kind of hard. Hard-adjacent. ”

You bark out a laugh, dopey and delirious, then sob at how it makes your stomach hurt. But you decide to humor him anyway, slipping a sluggish hand between your sweaty, heaving bodies, curling your hand around the velvety soft, tacky weight of his cock, flaccid beyond function. You give a slow indulgent squeeze, one stroke of your thumb over the head—

He shouts and convulses, hips jerking back and away from you like you’ve zapped him. “ Hhholy shit—! ”

Hiromi’s elbows give out and he collapses onto you like you’ve pulled the plug on his spinal cord. You oof under his full weight. Then he groans, rolling over onto his back and covers his face with one arm.

“Humiliating.”

“Mm, I dunno.” You turn to look at him, squirming closer on your back to press your lips to his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, peppering his face and any close bit of skin with petalsoft kisses. Your nails walk little circles up his chest, circling a nipple and traipsing through the black hair on his sternum to the rapid gallop of his heart. “Hard-adjacent is still pretty sexy.”

“I’m— hah— glad you think so…” 

Swinging blindly for your hip, uncoordinated and blurry-headed, Hiromi paws at the plush flare of you and drags you closer against him. His fingers flex and fall into the same concaves dug over the course of the evening, ample handholds previously clutched at and slammed against, already formed to the shape of his digits. 

Closing your eyes, you almost fall asleep that way; naked and gooey, the masculine scent of sweat-warmed cologne and sex in your nose, the placid warmth of his soft body beneath your head and cushioning your lofty come-down.

But eventually Hiromi exhales, long-suffering and bruised, dislodging you as he rolls to the edge of the bed.

You watch the long line of his back, admiring red crevices you’d carved there and into his ribs, flanks, and shoulders. You smile, goofy and sleepy, and mash your face into his pillow.

Standing with an absurdly over-aged groan and stretch, you turn your head again to watch him stumble to the doorway. He just catches himself from falling on wobbly, cum-drunk legs. You giggle. 

“You’re gonna trip and die.”

“Well, if I do … please bury me back between those thighs of yours.”

You hear a thud in the dark hallway, then a muffled “fuck,” which makes you laugh harder — then wail at how your abs ache — then laugh again.

Hiromi shuffles back in, his gate an awkward discordant shuffle of slapping bare feet across the hardwood and stubbornly half-hard dick bobbing against his thigh.

Your eyes slide over him, no less appreciative than you began, feline in your languorous stroll up and down his sinuous body, interest snagging on the warmer, softer, more homely bits of him, perfect for scratching and biting and you’d done plenty of both — your feet tap gleefully against the mattress, overcome with post-orgasmic adoration that as always, this is your man and you want to eat him.

His dick does its damnedest to rise to the occasion, but manages little more than a heroic twitch.

He hands you a glass of water, a towel tossed to the sheets, and a tired smile.

“You’re limping,” you snicker smugly.

“And you’re welcome, ” he rasps, just as pleased. Partially for the cleanup but mostly for the thorough fucking he’d given you. After nearly a fortnight of impromptu forced celibacy due to late hours and conflicting schedules, it was the least he could do. Make up for lost time, and all.

You feel the bed dip as he crawls up the mattress. And without ceremony, you squeak as he bats your legs apart again.

“All right… clean-up.”

“ Nooo, leave me alone, ” you grin and wriggle away from his hands, snuggling into his pillow.

“And leave you all messy?”

“You made the mess!”

Humming, he grips your knees again and hikes them up, nuzzling against the soft inside. “I sure did—” he kisses first one knee, then the other, and pries your legs back apart. “Ought to take responsibility, then.”

The towel is rough between your legs and you whine, no matter how gently he touches you. 

Hiromi moves slowly for your sake, long sweeping passes through the mess of your thighs, folds, and the sticky trails he marked your belly with. A thin trickle of cum drips free of your pussy, and he soaks it into the damp terrycloth before it hits the sheets.

He rests his cheek on your knee and stares at your pussy with open admiration. His brow furrows like it hurts to wipe you clean, blatantly mourning the loss of everything not left inside you with a wistful frown.

He considers, and then talks himself out of, simply easing it back inside you with his long fingers, coaxing it back where it should be .

You catch his gaze, lashes drooping low over hangdog eyes, pupils huge and dark and eclipsing the satisfied spark they held before, his flint to your steel. That look ignites you, warmth prickling under your skin and turning your face ruddy with false modesty. Your toes scrunch against his calf and he smiles, teeth bared and dragging against your skin.

He kisses your knee again, higher this time, without blinking. 

You sigh, because you know that look. And the twist in your belly that it inspires has no business causing any further ruckus this evening .

God, you love this man. 

And if your whole body weren’t twitching like a dying bug every time the towel touched you, you’d let him have you again. Happily. Those eyes are what got you here.

But Hiromi doesn’t push. He finishes the regretful removal of his artistic efforts on your body, then tosses the towel in the general direction of the laundry bin. It misses. He groans and crumples face-first between your breasts. 

You feel his warm, open-mouthed kisses against your sternum and he sighs contentedly, happy to suffocate exactly where he is. It could only get better if you—

You comb your fingers through his hair and scratch lazy circles against his scalp. Hiromi whines, low and raspy, a sound that absolutely stirs something in you, but you’re damned by the inability to act on it.

“ ... god, ” he mumbles into your chest. “ —Missed you. Want to go again… ”

His hand tries to wander back down to your waist and you have to swat it. “Not tonight, I’ll actually faint.”

He groans, rolling you both over and bundling you into his arms, his face in your throat. His arms curl over your back, warm and heavy on your spine. You nuzzle your nose in his tangled, sweaty hair and inhale him deep.

His lips graze your skin, halfway between gratitude and temptation. “Tomorrow, then…” he promises.

But tomorrow suddenly feels awfully far, and there’s too much time to make up for.

“... or maybe in a few hours…” you counter suggest with a sly caress of his hip.

You feel his sloping grin against your skin and his teeth nip into your breast. “Mhmmm… a few hours. Even better. ”