[ Ainosuke knows that expression. He's intimately familiar with the bliss that melts into Kaoru's features amid some of their rougher play, and he also knows the danger that comes with it; that, while this is Kaoru at his most rapt and subservient, it's also the surest sign that Ainosuke needs to approach everything with a more discerning eye. But that's precisely what Kaoru's entrusted him with, and though it's tempting -- comes with its own rush of sick satisfaction -- Ainosuke knows better than to abuse the privilege.
In any case, the knife is impeding his ability to maneuver Kaoru around, and that simply won't do. Metal clatters against granite when Ainosuke tosses it away, pushes it out of reach across the counter, and his grip finds Kaoru's hip instead. Ainosuke angles them up, tilts them to make it that much easier to drive his cock into Kaoru's hungry body. And in many a different scenario, Ainosuke would strive to bring Kaoru over with him, but that's not the point of this. Kaoru wants to feel used and worthless, and Ainosuke's all too happy to indulge the baser side of himself in turn.
Hot, tight, velvet, his. Kaoru is his. He's literally marked as such, in tight cuts, in blood seeping down his back. All of him, all for Ainosuke. In the end, that notion alone is Ainosuke's undoing. His hips stagger, falter in their rhythm, tighter, higher, and then Ainosuke comes with a muffled cry through clenched teeth. He shakes, throbs and spills into Kaoru, fingers rigid in their grip around his throat and hip, holding him still through Ainosuke's end. Awash in pleasure, drowning in completeness, love and love and love...
And even while he's still catching his breath, Ainosuke manages to be mean about it. The way he pulls himself too quickly from Kaoru's body, to let his sex drip down the inside of those well-loved thighs. The way he shoves Kaoru away, discards him over the countertop and takes a step back. The way he parts from Kaoru completely, and smirks sideways the mess he's made of him. Ainosuke drinks it all in, every hint of red he's painted over Kaoru's skin, and the entire tableau is utterly hypnotic. ]
I'd tell you to clean yourself up if I thought you were worth the good linens.
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In any case, the knife is impeding his ability to maneuver Kaoru around, and that simply won't do. Metal clatters against granite when Ainosuke tosses it away, pushes it out of reach across the counter, and his grip finds Kaoru's hip instead. Ainosuke angles them up, tilts them to make it that much easier to drive his cock into Kaoru's hungry body. And in many a different scenario, Ainosuke would strive to bring Kaoru over with him, but that's not the point of this. Kaoru wants to feel used and worthless, and Ainosuke's all too happy to indulge the baser side of himself in turn.
Hot, tight, velvet, his. Kaoru is his. He's literally marked as such, in tight cuts, in blood seeping down his back. All of him, all for Ainosuke. In the end, that notion alone is Ainosuke's undoing. His hips stagger, falter in their rhythm, tighter, higher, and then Ainosuke comes with a muffled cry through clenched teeth. He shakes, throbs and spills into Kaoru, fingers rigid in their grip around his throat and hip, holding him still through Ainosuke's end. Awash in pleasure, drowning in completeness, love and love and love...
And even while he's still catching his breath, Ainosuke manages to be mean about it. The way he pulls himself too quickly from Kaoru's body, to let his sex drip down the inside of those well-loved thighs. The way he shoves Kaoru away, discards him over the countertop and takes a step back. The way he parts from Kaoru completely, and smirks sideways the mess he's made of him. Ainosuke drinks it all in, every hint of red he's painted over Kaoru's skin, and the entire tableau is utterly hypnotic. ]
I'd tell you to clean yourself up if I thought you were worth the good linens.