Gift Fic for cielmelodies 4/5

[stormymood]

A piece of rainbow for cielmelodies  Part 4

 

Souta jumps with his finger hovering over the light switch.

Yoshimoto is standing by the door, in his brown coat, wearing earbuds, hands proudly lifted in the air, announcing his presence with a huge smile, “Souta-kuuuun~” he singsongs, and Souta tries to keep his face impassive, not wanting the tutor’s antics to get to him, “You did good.”

The praise should not have had the effect it has, like a wave, filling Souta with a sense of warmth again, just a little against the cold from Saeko’s visit. Nevertheless, Yoshimoto’s visit is unannounced, “What do you want?”

“Why Souta-kun, you hurt my feelings.” Yoshimoto grins, and Souta does not believe him one second, “We had an agreement, remember? And I won.” Only then does Souta realise the state of matters. Although, what sort of coincidence is it, the tutor showing up not 5 minutes after Saeko has left? He could perhaps have guessed the series of events taking place, if he passed by Saeko on the way here, sneaking past her like he has been so good at so far. But this almost seems too convenient, a scheme? What strings has he been pulling?

“Did you plan this?”

Yoshimoto makes Souta feel first naïve when he breaks out in laughter, clapping his hands as though what Souta said was endlessly funny. Then he calms down, face settling to serious just the next moment, appearing as though he would never laugh, “Don’t be stupid. There is no way, I could have foreseen those circumstances.” And Souta narrows his eyes, finds it in himself to not quite believe the man.

“Now, you are not going anywhere.” Yoshimoto declares next, stepping closer to Souta with long, fast strides, “I suggest we go to the backroom,” he tilts his chin towards past the glass door.

Souta scoffs and grabs his jacket from the hanger, “I am going home.” He sends Yoshimoto a challenging glare, and steps right up and past him.

Only to get pulled backwards roughly by an arm at his elbow, the grip firm like steel, matching Yoshimoto’s eyes when he brings Souta up real close, so close that Souta’s eyes can flicker down to Yoshimoto’s lips when he speaks next, “You stay here.” His voice is a growl, a command, “Through the door. Now. Don’t make me tell you again.”

There is danger in those eyes, and a promise of consequences carried out, that Souta cannot ignore. But it is with reluctance and a hard stare at Yoshimoto that Souta gives up and turns around, heading towards the work stations, where Yoshimoto always joins him and Olivier and Kaoruko during the daylight hours. Yoshimoto has never been here after dark, and Souta instantly understands why, and how Souta is lucky not to have been placed in this situation until now. Although Souta turns on the light, the darkness that always seem to accompany Yoshimoto spreads throughout the room, underlined by the darkness in the window frames.

Souta puts one of the big working tables between the two of them on purpose, walks to the sink to wash his hands for no reason what so ever. But it places him with his back towards Yoshimoto, in what he hopes is a clear sign of rejection and of him not wanting to indulge the tutor in whatever wicked scheme he is planning. He watches his hands under the water, his long white fingers with no cuts and no scars from burns or accidents in the kitchen. Is that a sign of his talent in his line of work? Or does it signify his reluctance to take risks? How he never quite finds himself on deeper waters? Never challenged and pushed to the edge. Not far enough to hurt him, as satisfied as he was, watching Saeko from the side line, content with being heartbroken.

The sound of the running water fills his ears, and almost makes him forget time and place, why he is here to begin with. And he soon realises the mistake of dropping his guard in the company of Yoshimoto, silent as the man has been after closing the glass door behind them, letting Souta put distance between them and lull himself to a false sense of security. Thus, when Souta turns around, Yoshimoto is right in his space, breathing into his face.

Souta gasps, but there is nowhere to run, his backside pressed against the counter, hands gripping the aluminium. Those black eyes are holding his own prisoner, immobilizing Souta, and he forgets how to breathe, trapped in what little space there is between them now. It rings in Souta’s ears when Yoshimoto takes a deep breath, the sound of it unnaturally loud. And although Souta is supposed to be taller than Yoshimoto, Souta feels small when the man leans forward, hand moving to rest beside Souta’s on the counter, effectively bringing Yoshimoto closer, with his weight supported by an arm so close to Souta’s side, their chests mere centimetres from being in contact. And every time Souta inhales, it brings them closer. Closer and closer still as his breathing quickens.

Souta’s mind drifts to last night, to knowledge of actions he has forced himself to supress. The urge given into when his hand found his straining, painful erection under the covers, touching himself while the first tendrils of sleep created dancing visions of fingers across his lips, a strong smell of cologne and dark words in his ear, playing tricks on his mind and haunting him until he finally submitted. The release had been bittersweet, Souta realising what he had done when the traces of the act stuck to his fingers, forcing him to get out of bed in the same misty haze. He had barely washed his fingers when the inspiration hit him.

Only now does he realise the filthy thoughts poured into the black bonbon chocolate. The one Kaoruko tasted, when in actuality, Souta wanted Yoshimoto to be the one to eat it – for Yoshimoto to praise him for the creation of something secretly inspired by Souta’s nightmares.

“Souta.” His name falls like a dark whisper from full lips against the side of his face. Yoshimoto is studying his expression closely, the warmth of his skin so close to Souta’s, Souta wants to close his eyes, but instead he looks straight ahead, scared of his body’s reactions, “What is it you want?”

Souta opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out, his mind not working properly.

“You rejected Saeko-san. Why did you do that?” the damp, taunting whisper moves past his cheekbone, to his jaw, “Had you said yes, she would have been yours. It would only have been a matter of time, before she’d be in your arms, in your bed.” There is a tickle by the side of his neck, the sound of Yoshimoto inhaling, and Souta swallows a gasp, trying and failing at concealing his desires. “Why, Souta? Didn’t you want to consume her?”

Suddenly, Souta finds himself scrambling sideways, somehow escaping Yoshimoto’s enchantment. But it is only temporary; Yoshimoto is already following him towards the wall that he is slowly backing up against. Like a cornered animal with his defect mind and a body he cannot control, he is easy prey for this domineering, unpredictable presence aiming to corner him once more.

-

Kouya merely follows Souta when he tries to flee again, watching the chaos in his eyes with great amusement. What a turnaround. He wants to laugh, but he knows it would ruin the mood he is trying to awaken, playing on what Souta has been pushed further and further towards. And what Kouya’s plan involves.

Since Kouya has been unable to find an appropriate substitute for Saeko, if things are left as they are, choco la vie will disappear in a matter of days, and Souta will most likely leave the country – both outcomes Kouya seeks to avoid. As to why, for the time being, to him, the reason is simply that it would be a waste.

Standing with his back against the wall, in that almost see-through simple white shirt, with his cheeks flushed and panting laboured, all Kouya needs to do is make Souta realise what his body is telling him. His eyes are beautiful; huge and framed by those long eyelashes when he stares wide-eyed at Kouya, still unable to wrap his head around what is essentially going down, the conclusion drawing near.

“What do you want?” his voice is hoarse when he asks Kouya the main question, the one question Kouya himself can never quite answer. He wants nothing. He wants everything. Always.

“I want to ruin you.” Whether it is realisation that seeps through Souta and drains the blood from his face, Kouya cannot perceive, but he does witness pieces falling into place within Souta, some answers surfacing only to bring along new questions.

Kouya steps closer again, lets the tension rise as though it is a living creature in the kitchen while he watches how Souta’s eyes flicker between Kouya’s face and the door behind him. There is no escape – how would it even look for him to run like a madman to escape someone who is neither a murderer nor a thief? When Souta realises that there is no way he will get past him, Kouya smirks. That look of realisation, the spark of despair Kouya catches in Souta’s eyes suits him and beckons Kouya closer. Closer, as close as possible.

The weekend was undoubtedly lonely for Souta – to have that loneliness grow, Kouya did not contact him, and yet, a part of Kouya’s subconsciousness whispers that it was even harder on him. Kouya has grown a little attached to this overly-romantic and philosophical chocolatier, who always tries to act as though Kouya does not get to him, although he is affected nevertheless, allowing Kouya to chase him around, guide him in the darkness, Souta created in his own mind. He has been interesting to watch and teach.

“This game has been going on for long enough,” Kouya announces, his voice splintering the silence, yet makes the air around them seem darker. But is that not what he does? Takes away the light, to bring along with him an eerie atmosphere, taking pleasure in watching people shiver and writhe in his hold. Continuing to tighten his grip until they stop fighting and give in.

The wall is ice cold under Kouya’s hands when his palms meet stone, mentally and physically trapping Souta. There is no longer any chance of escape. Perhaps there never was. Not for him. The cage is real this time, and Souta shrinks before him, scooting as close to the wall as possible as if that would make him invisible under Kouya’s scrutinizing gaze. As if that would make it easier, avoidable. Challenge itself appears to be the greatest challenge for Souta.

Kouya snorts, “Why Souta, your acting is so good, you almost look like you enjoy the role of prey.”

“That’s wrong. I don’t.”

The cruel laugh is unstoppable. Souta’s voice is a breathy, squeaky whisper, and Kouya knows that this is as good as game over, even if Souta continues to try and lie to himself. Kouya lets a smirk grace his face, lets it grow as desire takes a firmer hold inside him, consumes him. He leans forward, puffing hot, sticky breath against Souta’s ear.

“Liars get spanked.”

Wouldn’t that make for a pretty sight.

But it is too early for that. At this point, even Kouya has to just follow the turn of events, see where this leads. Because, as calculating as he is, his own mind is the only one he cannot predict.

Souta glares back with spite, although there is no venom with the way he gnaws on his lip then, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Narrowing his eyes, letting lust surface, Kouya reaches forward to grab Souta’s chin softly, delighting in the way Souta does not resist. Not yet at least, “Oh, you watch me.” He thumbs at Souta’s bottom lip, watches as he pulls it from between Souta’s teeth, and it comes back swollen and red. He wants. And what he wants, he takes.

With eyes flickering only briefly to Souta’s eyes that are resting on Kouya’s face – with anticipation that Souta does not realise he is showing – , and following Kouya’s slow actions, Kouya leans forward inch by inch, wanting to observe every small contraction and reaction, listening for any noise Souta could possibly make. When he finally closes the gap between them, he is the one to exhale rapidly.

Souta’s lips are softer than Kouya imagined, plump against his own. He only gets a brief taste because Souta pulls back then, eyes so wide in incredulity they may be close to popping out of his skull, and the graphic imagery sends a grin to Kouya’s face. Souta’s expression is screaming no, but it does not stop Kouya from leaning close again, giving Souta another kiss. This time, Souta turns his head away, breaks their eye-contact, which just makes Kouya grab his chin firmer, fingers sliding across his jawbone.

The next kiss is harder, Souta sealing his lips shut and whimpering to try and get free, resulting in Kouya biting at Souta’s lip in retaliation, “Don’t resist,” Kouya growls against his mouth, dragging it back once it escapes again, “Don’t let that mind of yours dictate what your body wants.” A poke of his tongue against the wedge between Souta’s lips makes Souta jerk in Kouya’s iron hold, hands now rising to push feebly at Kouya’s firm chest. The touch burns and sparks like electricity shooting through flesh, and Kouya wonders if Souta can feel that too.

“Don’t resist.” He says again, this time softer, recognising how Souta’s struggles turn less determined, body going less rigid in Kouya’s hold, and he takes that as his cue to push forward, aligning their bodies closer, to get more of the heat from skin concealed. “Good boy.” With the closeness, Kouya gets to feel Souta shiver against him, and once again he prods with his tongue against the barrier preventing him access to invade Souta’s mouth.

There is a soft whimper escaping Souta, different this time, and it is a sign of resignation, of Souta giving in. Kouya wastes no time in jumping the chance, in one firm motion, he tilts Souta’s head to his liking, and his tongue breaks through to Souta’s pliant mouth by the time he pushes a thigh between Souta’s legs. Another shudder and a soft moan, and Kouya knows Souta can feel his desire.

There should no longer be any question of what Kouya wants, “Forget her.” He whispers when he breaks away from the kiss, only to dive in again, tongue sweeping over Souta’s, to the roof of his mouth, “I’ll make you feel good.” Souta’s mouth is so hot, and Kouya is not sure he can get enough, swallowing Souta’s breath, whatever sounds he may think of making.

It is dark around them, but time is still limited, the space far from optimal. However, it is so damn appropriate, that this is the place that it should all come down and begin.

“Souta-kun. Touch me.” Kouya demands. Souta is relenting what is taken from him now, but he is still stiff, his hands have yet to move from their place on Kouya’s chest, and Kouya wants him to explore. He does not only want to take what he himself wants, he wants Souta to want him too, to take from Kouya what Souta likes, what he desires, “Come on.”

Souta draws his face away, and surprises Kouya by burying his face in Kouya’s neck, “I don’t- I don’t know what to- how to…” What he clearly does not know is how he affects Kouya by just doing exactly what he is doing now. His lips are close to Kouya’s skin, his breath warm, and the thought of him inhaling Kouya’s scent is more than enough to turn Kouya on.

He chuckles hoarsely, puts a hand to the back of Souta’s head, “What you are doing now. Don’t stop.” It takes Souta a few seconds after the request, but then he presses a tentative kiss against the protruding vein at the side of Kouya’s neck, and Kouya inhales sharply. Souta grows bolder.

Slowly, the kisses become longer and hotter, until he is sucking and licking his way across Kouya’s jaw. Kouya’s erection stirs, and it is purely by instinct that he starts rubbing his pelvis forward, seeking friction against Souta. And by doing so, he notices that Souta too, is hard. But the action also makes Souta gasp and stop what he is doing, drawing back swiftly, an objection undoubtedly coming. So, Kouya decides to shut him up first, kissing him deeply by holding a hand to his neck and bringing him forward. It is filthy and wet and Souta struggles to keep up, right until he figures out that tilting his head and wrapping his arms around Kouya’s shoulders lock them perfectly together and allows for Souta to fight back against Kouya’s tongue.

Kouya growls, lust burning in his veins at how quick of a learner Souta is. There will be fewer barriers to break down now, less struggle from Souta now that he is slowly letting go of those ropes he seems to have bound himself with – most likely caused by his choice to devote himself solely to Saeko and the female sex – and Kouya presumes right when he grabs onto Souta’s thin shirt to pull it up from his trousers, hands quick to sneak up under the fabric and steal a feel of warm, firm skin against a flat belly, and Souta gasps. But this time, his mouth finds Kouya’s ear in retaliation and tugs at his earlobe.

So, Kouya lets his hands wander. Upwards, and upwards towards what he really wants to touch, although he lets them roam slowly, delighting in the shivers they cause in their wake and the way stomach muscles clench and unclench as if tickled. Kouya wastes no time once he finds Souta’s left nipple, having been dying to discover how sensitive the skin is, how responsive Souta is. And he is not disappointed, when he thumbs the nub, teasing it between two fingers. Since their mouths are not interlocked, Kouya gets an unrestricted, wanton moan right next to his ear, and it ignites him, setting fire off in the pit of his stomach. With one hand, he grabs a hold of one of Souta’s wrists, pinning it above his head temporarily, in a display of dominance, and the other he uses to pull at Souta’s shirt, fumbling with buttons while he growls in frustration at how long it takes, that he cannot just rip the fabric apart.

Souta’s skin is so pale, almost as white as the shirt itself, and Kouya surges forward, this time not considering Souta’s feelings or restrictions at all – all he knows is that he needs a taste, objections or not, and he wastes no time once he has access, bending down to take a nipple into his mouth, tonguing at the soft, sensitive skin.

There is a thump from above, Souta knocking his head back against the wall, his eyes closed, and then there are hands in Kouya’s hair, fingers digging into the strands and pulling at them. And Souta grows louder, panting and moaning messily, clearly trying to keep the sounds from escaping by biting his lips. It is futile, and one hand quickly leaves the tugging to the other so Souta can put a fist against his open mouth, moaning and moaning, and he just does not stop. He tastes so good, and Kouya is reluctant to cease what he is doing, when he finally gives the abused nub a break, only to surge up and take the hand away from Souta’s mouth, to kiss his lips, to tongue at the mole beneath and above.

“You sound so good. Moan for me, Souta. As loud as you want. I want to hear you.” He touches Souta’s left nipple, slides his hand over Souta’s chest while putting his lips to the side of Souta’s neck. That long, enticing neck which is too white. Kouya immediately starts sucking at skin, inhaling Souta’s scent, his spicy cologne as he does so, working towards a hickey, a mark that is his.

A wave of heat surges down his spine, when Kouya realises where Souta’s hands currently travel. Growing bolder and bolder, one of Souta’s hands is resting on the back of Kouya’s neck, the other is traveling up and down his chest, feeling his pectoral muscles over and over again, making Kouya grin against his neck. He has figured out what Souta likes.

“If I strip off my jacket and shirt,” he starts, breaking away to interlock eyes with Souta, “I get to touch you.” Leaning forward with his lower arms resting on the wall, Kouya entraps Souta between them, has him right where he has always wanted him.

“But you are.” Souta answers, the innocence of the statement enough to make Kouya smirk. He touches the side of Souta’s swollen lip, strokes the fat mole below again, and he licks his lips.

“No.” Kouya removes the hand, lowers his arm. And then he puts his palm unabashedly against the bulge in Souta’s linen trousers, “I want to touch you.”

Souta instantly throws his head to the side, body twisting in what seems to be half struggle to get away, half rubbing himself against Kouya. It signifies how he is clearly battling his dignity and thoughts of wrong and right. But Kouya will not allow him to get too far in such thinking. He steps back, out of Souta’s space which makes Souta look at him, search for the heat gone away. That moment, Kouya shrugs out of his blue jacket, grabs the edges of his shirt and tears it off, over his head, tousling his long hair in the process. Once again visible, he stares right at Souta with heavy-lidded eyes and witnesses how Souta’s stare swiftly dances over his chest, lingers at his muscular upper arms and pectorals.

And Kouya smirks, “You get to touch in return. Don’t worry.” Then he steps back into Souta’s space, groaning when he feels Souta’s naked skin aganst his own, Souta’s arm instantly wrapping around Kouya to bring him close. Sparks set off between them, and this time, when Kouya grinds against Souta, Souta rubs back in circles, driving Kouya absolutely crazy with the shots of pleasure spiking through his groin, all the way to his toes.

“Fuck.”

“Kouya.” Souta pants, and Kouya bites his lips this time, tugs harshly at them.

With Souta’s hot, hesitantly exploring hands distracted against Kouya’s skin, he can let his own stray towards the waistband of Souta’s pants. Quickly, he lets them sneak inside, only to find the tip of Souta’s cock dangerously close to his palm. And he wastes no time, instead skipping the teasing to slide his hand right home to close around Souta’s stiff length. The moan tearing at the air around them is no surprise, and Kouya growls in return, mouthing the inside of Souta’s ear, nipping at the skin and tasting with his tongue. But he does not want Souta to come in his hand, they will have time for teasing later. Despite Souta’s initial resistance, his actions grow rushed, bodily needs taking over as he now scratches against skin, leaving red marks across Kouya’s chest.

Enough.

Kouya pushes him away, just manages to catch his surprised expression before he quickly manoeuvres Souta around, to push him chest first against the nearest big, aluminium table. Next, he moves up real nice and close, a hand pushing Souta down against the cold surface just as he presses his straining, restrained cock against Souta’s backside. Souta jerks in his hold, and Kouya leans forward over him, body effectively trapping him.

“I am going to fuck you, Souta.” Souta inhales sharply, twists underneath Kouya, but it is too late for that, “And you will end up asking for it.”

“Wai-” Kouya decides not to hear the anxious tone in Souta’s voice. Souta is realising what exactly he has signed up for, exactly what the initial touching is turning into. And there is no way Kouya is going to stop now.

With his bodyweight holding Souta down, Kouya can easily open Souta’s pants, pull them down past his knees, and once there is access, Kouya touches – caressing Souta’s narrow waist and hips, moving over the curve of his ass, “I would never do anything you do not want me to, Souta.” He declares and meaning it, “But in this case, you don’t know how to ask for it. So, let me teach you.” Reaching for the inside pocket of the jacket that lies on the counter to his right, Kouya finds the lube he brought along, and deftly opens it with one hand, the other holding Souta down, with his palm pressed firmly against the space between Souta’s shoulder blades.

“Wait. Wait, please.” Souta trashes below him, Kouya’s hand eventually slipping despite his attempt to keep Souta down. But where Kouya thought Souta would see the chance of escape now, he instead turns clumsily around and slings an arm around Kouya’s neck. He steps close, lifts one of his legs slightly up against Kouya’s thigh and hip. As if asking.

“Let me see you, while you… While you… Prepare me.” He cannot help but avert his eyes, a blush on his cheeks as he throws his eyes down, and Kouya would never have thought such an action would charm him. But with Souta‘s honest wish to please, him finally asking for something for himself, is enticing.

“Then look at me, do not take your eyes away,” Kouya commands, fire rising in him. He grabs the offered leg and hooks it onto his hip, pushes forward to have Souta arch slightly backwards and give Kouya the space he needs, the opportunity to touch, to slip a hand around and between Souta’s buttocks.

Souta jolts, releasing a cute surprised sound that has Kouya chuckling against his cheek, “How cute.”

And Souta breaks the promise between them when Kouya prods against his rim, massages it gently with a wet fingertip, until Souta is loose enough for Kouya to slip the first link in. Souta pants and hides his face in Kouya’s neck, he clings to him, the hold around Kouya’s neck tightening.

“Relax. If you stay tense like that, it will only hurt. Spread your legs more.” Kouya’s whisper is hot and sticky against Souta’s hair, wisps of light brown locks moving when Kouya breathes.

And Souta does, a strained whimper and a harsh bite against Kouya’s neck when the digit slides all the way in, Souta’s walls pulsing around it. Kouya cannot wait to be in him, can only imagine the pleasure it will bring, although he knows it will hurt Souta given how tight he is, and unused to it. But they both want it, and despite the bigger part of him yelling to just do it now, to take what he wants and soil Souta, a smaller, growing part of Kouya does not want that.

He wants Souta to look at him after this night. He wants Souta to still trust him. Despite what he is about to do to him. “You are so tight. At this rate, I am afraid I'll tear you apart.”

“I- It’s ok.” Souta mewls, and Kouya’s craving skyrockets. Kouya presses his pelvis forward, retracting and pushing forward again in a signifying motion of what will happen soon, underlining his former promise. With only one layer of fabric between them, the friction is delicious, and the precome gathering at the tip of Souta’s cock gets spread between their lower abdomens, the heat in the air so thick it is almost unbearable, “I can take it.”

“Good.”

Souta is probably biting off more than he can chew, but nevertheless, Kouya starts pulling his finger in and out, going in small circles occasionally, searching for a spot that can bring Souta pleasure, while Souta’s whines increase in volume at the burn and stretch, up until he lifts an arm and pushes lightly and half-heartedly against Kouya’s chest, as if that would make it less uncomfortable. But Kouya takes his hand in his, intertwines their fingers at his chest and brings his mouth to Souta’s cheek.

Then he inserts a second digit in Souta’s hole, kissing the yelp of pain and surprise from Souta’s open mouth, his tongue sweeping over teeth and flesh to distract Souta, before he briefly pulls away, "I will show you how much pleasure you can get by being with me. Forget her, Souta." Kouya uses the hand by Souta’s ass to press him closer, removing the last bit of space between their bodies.

More.

 

-

Such an alien feeling should be wrong. So very wrong.

Souta hiccups, breath lost in his throat, and his legs tremble underneath him, threatening to give out. And they could, it would not bring him to his knees with the way he is pressed against the counter, chest against the cold aluminium and with Kouya’s weight pressing him down, his deep, firm thrusting taking the breath from Souta’s lungs and the strength from his arms.

“N- No. Please. No. Stop. Please stop…” His voice comes out a whimper, with no conviction at all, hesitant and anxious. Nothing remotely enough to stop Kouya. It is even as though Kouya does not hear him. Instead, one of his hands slides down Souta’s sweaty back, causing shivers in its wake. Souta feels it all the way to his toes, when Kouya draws out, feels every inch of Kouya’s cock against his inside walls, before Kouya pushes back in, deeper this time, with meaning and purpose, and Souta yells, falling forward and going even flatter against the table which is supporting his weight.

The contrast of the cold aluminium against his stiff, overly sensitive nipples and Kouya’s body which is like a hot, burning furnace, Souta’s nerves are on spikes, stimulated by more than just Kouya driving in and out of him, forcing his entry against Souta’s resisting entrance. One shiver after another rolls down his spine uncontrollably, mirroring how the muscles of his hole clench around the hard cock in him, reacting in a way Souta finds they should not. A moan tears itself across his lips, one he cannot stop, and he ends up whimpering, knowing there is nothing he can do to stop it, to stop Kouya. Not with one of Kouya’s hands wrapped solidly around his hip to keep him in place, to draw him back now that Kouya starts increasing his pace, the other pressing down on his back, forcing him to submit.

He can only take it. Take it and bite his lip and wait for the pain to go away. But above him, Kouya grunts in his ear, taking pleasure in what is hurting Souta. Although…

“Bear with it,” Kouya hisses in between trusts and his voice has changed, to a deep baritone that makes pleasure run down Souta’s spine unexpectedly. Kouya sounds like this because of him, “It will be better. I promise.” And with the promise, Kouya takes a hold of Souta’s only half-hard cock and moves his hand firmly and with just the right amount of pressure with each thrust, the movements synchronized. And just then, after a couple of strokes, after he thumbs the slit and spreads the precome over the glans, Souta feels himself stirring again. Feels pleasure rising from deep within him, a place he did not know could feel good.

And he lets Kouya know as much. Souta gasps, then lets a dragged out, filthy moan tear across his throat, exaggerated, but it has the wanted effect with Kouya’s hold on his hip becoming firmer. And the pace increases; he thrusts harder, deeper, when Souta feels how Kouya’s palm rests briefly against Souta’s sweaty shoulder blades. There is no longer a need for Kouya to hold Souta down – he does so by his own will, takes Kouya’s cock again and again as his mind goes more and more blank, as he loses himself in pleasure he never imagined he could feel. From sex with someone he never initially imagined he would crave the touch of. He never knew before Kouya forced him against the wall and pulled it out of him. All rational thoughts are torn from him, along with memories of who he is supposed to be, where he is, who he was supposed to love and save such an intimate moment for.

“I want you to come all over this counter, Souta.” Kouya husks against his skin. There is only Kouya’s voice and the slick hardness in him, driving in and out, almost tearing at his insides. In a dark, forgotten corner of his mind, Souta thinks that come morning, looking at this counter will make him feel gross. But right now, the thought of what Kouya plans, makes Souta feel hot. So incredibly hot and strung out, like an elastic band, “And think of it tomorrow. That I made you defile the very table you use to make chocolates.”

Suddenly, his vision goes white, an arrow of pleasure shooting through his pelvis with one particularly hard thrust, so deep, and Kouya falls forward, Souta’s name spilling from his lips and there is that pain at his hip where Kouya’s nails dig into his flesh, and then Souta clenches around the length in him, his walls almost tugging at Kouya’s cock and the spot it hit, deep within Souta. Then he comes. Hard. Harder than he ever has before, only vaguely aware of how Kouya pounds into him, pulls Souta’s hips harshly back against his cock again and again and bends his knees to reach as far as he can and exploit Souta’s pulsing walls. Only to abruptly stop. To shallowly thrust through his own orgasm, riding out the pleasure, while Souta becomes limp under him.

 

*

 

Souta still has to prepare the birthday cake for Saeko. She will be picking it up tomorrow. But it seems so unimportant now, pointless even. What had he been thinking? Going after a married woman. Going for all these intricate designs to impress her and show her all the feelings he could not convey in words. For someone like her…

Souta has not slept well, however exhausted he was last night. The deal between him and Kouya was for Kouya to have that one evening alone with him, so after he left, Souta felt terribly cold, none of his blankets providing warmth comparable to Kouya’s body against his. And he is not less confused this morning, wondering what Kouya meant with it all. Whether it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, or something true.

Concerning the cake, Souta luckily has the sketch, so all that is left is to make the cake, and for that, he can ask Olivier and Kaoruko to make the basics: the spongecake base, the mousse, the cream and the melted chocolate. And Souta can make the decorations, put it all together, like he would with any other job. With no special Saeko-treatment.

“I cannot believe you are not going to make that yourself. You don’t want her to devour part of you? Have your feelings consumed by her?”

“Shut up.”

Kouya is having too much fun from his barstool by their work-stations, his presence a distraction to Souta, although Souta was pleased and relieved when he called 5 minutes after Souta’s alarm, demanding coffee because, quote “I woke up early, and I cannot fall back asleep.” With his grainy voice, he made Souta think of his dreams. Of Kouya’s hot whispers in his ear, of his dangerous words. And of last night. Of the way Souta allowed Kouya to fuck him, to put his cock in him and give them both pleasure against the very counter Souta is standing in front of now - no way he could let Olivier or Kaoruko make chocolates at this work station. Souta feels himself go red at the images popping up in his mind. He is still incredibly sore, his hips aching every time he has been standing still for too long and moves, so he tries not to. Later, he will have to hide his waddling movements from the eyes of Olivier and Kaoruko.

Damn it.

“When will Kaoruko arrive?” Kouya asks as he gets up from his chair.

Souta quickly turns back to his work-station, randomly moving some utensils around for no purpose at all, his senses on high alert and painfully aware of Kouya moving behind him, “Around 7.”

“So, in less than 15 minutes, huh?” Arms suddenly slither around Souta’s waist, creep across the white fabric of his chef’s jacket, and Souta shivers under the touch, not wanting it gone, much less the warmth he feels enveloped in, “guess I'll have to keep my hands off you then.” Kouya nibbles at the side of Souta’s neck, making him freeze on the spot, a shockwave sent down his spine, “You smell nice.” Then Kouya lets him go and steps back.

When Souta turns to look for him, missing the warmth, he finds Yoshimoto with crossed legs, an elbow propped up and his head resting in his palm. Slowly, a smirk creeps over his face, and Souta finds himself trapped by his darkening gaze, those orbs that never fail to catch everything.

“Good morning.”

Souta’s head snaps to the door, eyes wide as though Kaoruko just caught him doing something illegal or highly embarrassing. “G- good morning, Kaoruko-san.” She raises an eyebrow, expression sceptic, and her eyes flitter to Kouya. Who merely grins at her and lifts a hand in greeting.

“Yo.”

She scoffs, “Seriously, that guy is already here? He is taking liberties not befitting a tutor. He exploits your hospitality, Souta-kun.” She places her bag on the counter opposite Souta’s and unwraps her scarf, her tone sharp. Souta smiles apologetically at her, as though there is nothing either of them can do, and her expression softens. “Well, he is a help to you, isn't he? It cannot be helped then, I guess.”

Kouya remains a quiet presence in the room following that, content with watching Souta and Kaoruko work by their benches, only occasionally sneaking up to peak over Souta’s or Kaoruko’s shoulder, the latter wawing her hand as if chasing off a fly that is buzzing annoyingly around her ear. After half an hour, where Kaoruko has been getting ready for work, starting to put out utensils and bars of chocolate, Souta turns to look for Kouya and finds him staring into space, at nothing in particular, and Souta is stunned by how soft he looks, distracted by his thoughts. In a spontaneous wish to do something for him, Souta walks to the fridge in which they keep samples and gets a pain d’epices. He cuts a thick slice and fills a cup with black coffee and one with milk from their machine, all while being aware of Kaoruko’s gaze following him curiously, with some reservation as the woman always displays. But he ignores her completely, consumed by this thought of surprising Kouya.

On his way back, he hands Kaoruko the cup with the latté. He offers her a silent smile, when she thanks him. The city is awakening, the sound of cars and people starting to fill the morning silence. It will not be long before they open the store and let the world in.

“Here.” It's either his voice or the smell of coffee and cake that makes Kouya blink and return from his open-eyed slumber, to look up at Souta and the offering. Whatever the reason, it pleases Souta, when Kouya breaks into a big smile. Seeing how he honestly surprised the man makes warmth creep into Souta’s chest, makes him fight to not mirror the smile - he does not want to return to his goofy self, wants to retain dignity and pretence that Kouya does not get to him. What a joke.

Kouya does not thank him, but their eyes interlock and there is more than thankfulness to find in the connection there, “Souta-kun.” Is all he says, fingers touching Souta's when he receives the plate, and Souta believes the small stroke of his forefinger against Souta’s is calculated and on purpose.

 

A quarter of an hour passes before Olivier shows up in the door too, half-way through taking off his coat, and he immediately smells the coffee – not the cake, since Kouya devoured that twenty seconds after it was handed to him. “Good morning. Smells like coffee here. Mind if I have a cup, Souta-kun?” He is clearly in high spirits, and Souta puts his hands on his hips.

“How is Matsuri-chan?” Souta’s question makes Olivier freeze on his way to the coffee machine, and his ears go red. Souta grins, “Did you two sleep together?”

“What! No! I wouldn’t do that to her yet, Souta-kun, I swear!” he is all panicky, and Souta cannot help but laugh, now that he is not the victim of someone’s teasing, now that he can finally give Olivier something back for all the taunting and bullying he has inflicted upon Souta.

“But you came home late last night.”

“Ho- How would you know?!”

Well, how would he indeed. Souta tilts his head, praying Kouya will keep his mouth shut behind him. No way he is letting Olivier and Kaoruko know whom he slept with. It is enough that he must wear his red collar high and tight, risking Kaoruko walk up to him to try and fix it, only to discover the huge hickey Kouya left on the side of his neck, right by the sternomastoid. The bastard.

“Congratulations~” Kouya singsongs, jumping down from his high chair and walking right past Souta.

Souta’s hip aches, and he fears the worst when Kouya walks right into Olivier’s face, to stare seriously at him, eyebrows raised. And Olivier tries to shy back, only for Kouya to follow, “So, Olivier-san. When are you two moving in together?”

“What?” Souta and Kaoruko inquire simultaneously. Souta is both surprised at the presumption of Olivier and Matsuri moving out of his house, and that Kouya did not just, as a matter of fact, announce his sexual intercourse with Souta.

Olivier looks flustered, eyes panicky and flickering between Souta, Kaoruko – who is staring with her mouth open-, and Kouya, “We only just went to look at an apartment yesterday…”

“Isn’t it great Souta-kun?” The Souta from a month ago would not have perceived that what Kouya is insinuating has nothing to do with the greatness and joy of Olivier and Matsuri moving together as a couple; Kouya is not entertaining that thought. Souta has to haul his thoughts backwards and prevent them from affecting his body, stopping it before he gets too hot, because Kouya’s eyes are black and his smirk seductive.

“I think it sounds wonderful.” Kaoruko answers, saving Souta who is opening and closing his mouth, not quite sure how to respond.

“Yes, wonderful.” He ends up repeating with a chuckle. He smiles at Olivier, “I approve. Really. You are a great guy.” And with that, he chooses to ignore Kouya.

-

He does not like being ignored. But he has got to give it to Souta, his reaction makes Kouya thrilled and excited, and now he wants to rush the other couple’s exit from Souta’s house, to have Souta for himself. Sooner rather than later. Although there is always the room above choco la vie which could be useful…

“Well, I must be on my way,” he announces, clapping a hand down on Olivier’s shoulder and causing the man to stumble to the side, “My poor student has his last exam tomorrow, and it is my duty to save him from himself. Do your best with Matsuri-chan!” then he grabs his bag and his coat to walk out. But not before narrowing his eyes and smirking at Kaoruko, who is staring at him as though she is speculating upon observations that would be better for her to ignore. Walking right past Souta, Kouya whispers, “See you soon, Souta-kun.”

After he has made his move to get Kaoruko out of the way.

*

Entering Ricdor is like entering a dark dream of hidden desires and starlight. It is a complete contrast to choco la vie which is white and open – pure. To Kouya, choco la vie would be the angel, whereas Ricdor signifies all the forbidden desires of a demon’s allure. It is no surprise to find more mature women here, even some men, enjoying the multicoloured chocolates with shiny surfaces and eatable glitter. But, to Kouya, he would rather devour what he finds behind the counter of choco la vie than what is here.

“Welcome, can I help you?” a handsome man with jet black hair is standing behind the counter, his expression open, but mind clearly reserved.

Kouya grins widely, “You definitely can.” It is not the first time he makes people uncomfortable, and Kouya merely takes pleasure in seeing the blood drain from the young man’s face, his smile shaking, “But first, could you fetch me Rikudou-san?”

Sekiya almost runs out behind, to the backroom where they most likely produce the chocolates. In Ricdor’s case, their work is not displayed for the customers, there is no glass wall, and Kouya admits that the image of this place is definitely carried out to a T. There is secretiveness to the process of work here, from the chocolates themselves to the employees – Sekiya with his deep black hair and reserved exterior – and the dark and purple walls and heavy leather chairs. And of course, Rikudou himself is a sharp contrast.

The manager almost comes running out and lights up like a Christmas tree when he sees Kouya, “Yoshimoto-sensei! So nice to see you again. Come to ask for the usual?”

This is not the first time Kouya is here, and it is not the first time he greets Rikudou. The first time he met the man, he took great amusement in the discovery of how Rikudou has a slight crush on Souta, finding him extremely charming and handsome. And it was endlessly amusing once he started a personal dialogue with himself of speculations upon Souta’s sexuality, blabbering and completely forgetting that he was talking to Kouya in the first place. Rikudou is like an open book, honest and expressive, and Kouya finds it quite refreshing. Additionally, he is into men, and upon realising how Rikudou found Kouya himself alluring – “In a rather dark and mysterious way, yesyes” as he muttered to himself, eyes blatantly running up and down Kouya’s form when they first met – Kouya has made use of the fact to get Rikudou talking. And Rikudou loves gossiping, loves talking, he is even worse than the ladies in the neighbourhood of the Numata family.

“I prefer our Chocolate Prince, I am afraid,” Kouya answers boldly, facing a big unattractive pout from the chocolatier.

Rikudou sighs, but waves a hand dismissively, “Yes well, I do understand. He is young and charming and all. How can I help you then?” The advantage with Rikudou is that he needs no money or bribery, no favours in return for his help, as long as Kouya gives him some details concerning Souta.

“I want to borrow Sekiya-san.”

“Sekiya?” Rikudou’s expressions are always exaggerated and comedic, and right now he looks like Kouya just announced that he has been unfaithful, “Why?”

“It is a secret.” Kouya winks, and knows he won already with how Rikudou’s face lights up.

“I love secrets! Will you tell me the outcome?”

“Of course.”

“Yay!” with that, Rikudou turns around and yells for the younger man. Way too easy.

 

“Rikudou-san told me: Don’t live in a small world. ‘To get stimulated, you need to meet people from time to time. Your homework is to go invite somebody for dinner.’ I thought a lot about whom to invite, and then you came to my mind, Inoue-san.” Sekiya looks up from the paper, his very emotionless face giving way to a little scepticism, “You want me to tell her this?”

Kouya smiles crookedly, “Those exact words. And she should agree to go out with you for the night.” Sekiya opens his mouth to continue, but Kouya shuts him up by taking his hand to put a brown envelope in Sekiya’s palm. “Sekiya-kun, I appreciate your help. Take care of Kaoruko Inoue.”

Sekiya’s eyes widen proportionately and Kouya smirks.

*

Souta feels back in the game. He works fast and meticulously with the bonbon chocolates and tarts for the day, and even has time to greet some of the customers and take their orders. In between, he tries several flavour combinations for Saeko’s cake, but knows it will have to be prepared for real after they close the shop in the evening, to allow him time to focus solely on the cake. More than once, he feels Kaoruko’s eyes on him, mostly when he tries to hide his winces and does not do well enough to hide his ache from her. Should she ask though, he has come up with an excuse. Even if he told her the unlikely truth, she probably would not believe him.

There is a break in the wave of customers, two couples seated comfortably in the small store with cups of hot beverages and sweets, when Kaoruko walks up to Souta as he stands bent over, sprinkling lime zest on a tray of white diamond-shaped chocolates.

“Souta-kun, are you ok?”

In what he hopes is the best way of disguise, Souta continues working slowly, with the delicate work, “Hm?”

“Well, I have noticed that you limp a little but it’s mostly that you, well, you seem… Different. Yesterday you were cast-down, but today you are working faster than ever. Is it a coping mechanism, because I understand if that is it-”

“Kaoruko-san,” Souta finishes the chocolates and pushes them away, to drag the next tray over. Then he turns to her, “I appreciate your concern, thank you, but I think I just need time. Choco la vie is important to me, more important than Saeko-san.”

“What? Really?”

Souta would not blame her for being disbelieving. It is, after all, quite a turn-around from Souta who used to think nothing was more important than the love he could show and give to Saeko. That was until someone unexpected came along and forced him to open his eyes and see, forced him to grow up and grow a pair.

“That is unexpected.” Kaoruko admits.

Souta glances through the glass window, and when he sees there are still no new customers waiting by the counter, he continues, “Yoshimoto-sensei made me see, what she truly is. My life should not be devoted to someone who can never see the world the way, I do. I don’t want to participate in her games.”

“Games?” Souta finishes the first row of chocolates and moves onto the next. After this, he will decorate some of the chocolate tarts with orange and lemon zest just to make today a little special. He has already considered some autumn specials which he could start working on sketching today or tomorrow. The leaves will turn bright red and orange soon, so choco la vie should have something to accommodate the season, “Well, I guess you could call them games but… Is that how Yoshimoto-sensei described it?”

Souta chooses to ignore the hostility in her voice. Since Kaoruko always comes off as a little hostile towards the people that get close to Souta, be it Saeko or Elena or Kouya, “Maybe he did, I don’t remember. But that is what she does – she plays around with men. I just don’t want to be played around with anymore.”

“And yet, you are being played by someone else, aren’t you?” This time, Souta raises his head, abandons his work. Kaoruko is dead serious, her brow furrowed, her arms hugging herself as though she is scared or anxious, “Yoshimoto-sensei is playing with you, isn’t he?” she asks again, and Souta finds mixed emotions of anger and sympathy in her eyes. But once again, Kaoruko is only half right. She does not know the full story, and Souta does not intend to give it to her. He does not owe her anything.

“Kaoruko-san. I know you don’t like Yoshimoto-sensei, but please refrain from making this kind of assumption.” He demands.

“But-”

“Kaoruko-san,” Souta gives her a hard stare, “Your words insinuate that I am weak and easy to manipulate. So, please refrain from expressing your opinion, when you have nothing kind to say.” Her eyes widen and her lips tremble a bit, signifying the impact of Souta’s words. They needed to be said.

Souta likes his colleague, but since choco la vie opened, she has been berating and reprimanding more often than necessary. And Souta can guess why she might be jealous of others, seeing as she has no lover or interest, like Souta and Olivier. However, that is not an excuse to criticize others, and enough is enough. She may not have meant to criticize Souta, but she indirectly did. Moreover, Souta does not want to hear her judge Kouya with everything he has done for Souta. Souta will not allow that.

He returns to his work, not offering Kaoruko a second word or glance, and a moment later, he hears the glass door close behind her.



FOLLOW THE LINK for Part 5

 

Comments

[cielmelodies]

Spotting for myself here tooo XD 💜❤

Thanks for the praise kink, 3 paragraphs into this part XD I greatly appreciate it :3

Your character study of Souta is very in depth, and there is a very tangible sense of growth in what used to be little self awareness. But besides that point - HOT. the smut. :3 Yoshimoto questioning Souta, not to get answers, but rather to make him see what he doesn't really see.

On the other side, Yoshimoto himself is clearly affect by Souta, and that's what I appreciate the most. I think the most difficult part of writing any story with Yoshimoto is remembering or having attachment growing both ways, instead of in a one-way stockholm syndrome-esque relationships, which can be 'unhealthy'. That is not to say that dating Yoshimoto isn't unhealthy on its own, but at least there is some form of attraction building between the two.

So, the smut. Honestly, I was a bit fearful for the dubcon, but honestly, I don't think this reads as a dubcon because Souta does want it, despite initial fears and nerves - if anything Yoshimoto is probably the best tutor when it comes to the smut XD Guiding Souta, telling him what to do with his actions, and Souta catching onto his gestures and knowing how easy it is to pull about Yoshimoto's nerves as well. I love how detailed you went into how hot they are for each other, which makes this smut so amazing and hot and FLAILS.

...although Yoshimoto pls: 'That I made you defile the very table you use to make chocolates.' HAH. That is true. they better sterilize it x)

Perhaps its because I've never particularly liked Kaoruko's character, so I'm actually frankly glad he shut her down at the end of this part. If anything, Yoshimoto, I would say, was kind enough to allow her some happiness in spite of pulling her away from Souta at the end.