DECAF

“Figured you should know,” Tzuyu says, appearing in the bathroom mirror behind you, “you’re all out of coffee.”

This unfortunate revelation comes as you’re halfway into brushing your teeth. Comes when her warm arm reaches around your waist, fingers splaying out across your stomach before they decide to slip past the waistband of your pajamas.

“Did you—” You raise an eyebrow at her before leaning over the sink to spit, and the mouthful of toothpaste no longer muddles the question, “check the cupboard above the fridge?”

“And the pantry.” Tzuyu gives your cock an experimental pump. “And the hall closet.”

As you eye her reflection, Tzuyu is already distracted, trading one vice for another: dragging her lips against the side of your neck. Of all the places she loved to be—at your side, in your arms, on the end of your cock—the pucker-shaped bruises shadowing in across your throat were beginning to indicate something of a clear favorite.

“Hey.” You drag the toothbrush out of your mouth, minty foam nearly drooling off your lip as you let out a dry laugh at the fingers wrapping your cock. “Can you, like, give me a minute?”

Tzuyu looks up over your shoulder, straight into the mirror and blinks a few times. Caffeine conundrum aside, it’s not a sleepy kind of blink, rather the kind that might buy one but a moment to think, get their thoughts in order. She rolls her eyes, because she likes getting what she wants, especially when you’re involved, but you like her better when she’s a little riled up, after the suspense of waiting has caught up with her. Chipped away at that prim and proper outer layer of perfection.

“No,” she says finally in a surprisingly steady voice, and squeezes her fingers tighter around you. Gets a couple of gentle pumps going under your shorts. “I don’t think I will.”

It’s not through any fault of her own, but she looks an ounce less put together than when you both staggered through the front door of your apartment the night before—you’d gotten your hands into the delicately styled waves in her hair and as a result, all those primly smooth toffee-brown locks either tightly curled or straightened stiff to their own volition. Then it’s your sweatshirt thrown over her shoulders, she’s absolute swimming in it. Perhaps impossible to not find it endearing. And her cheeks, still flush (because oh, had you just done a real number on her) are smoldering and probably hot to the touch. You usually have no problem getting out of bed in the morning, but the fact that she’d woken you up with her ass in your hips made it hard not pick up where you’d left off the night before.

That fact that she’s all bundled lust and sin in your arms, playfully teasing your cock between her fingers and looking at you like you’re the one who’s at fault is en route to the same outcome again.

By the time the two of you are out of the bathroom and stumbling down the hall, it’s all hot kisses and heavy hands, working toward a common goal one moment, tugging gently at your hair, lined firm beneath her jaw, faces pressed together in this sloppy, consuming kiss—and antagonistic the next, silencing the loud smacks between your lips as Tzuyu begins to tug your shirt up over head.

Tzuyu pushes you down the hallway which is every bit as ludicrous as it sounds, presses your back against drywall with a hand at your waist, and gets her fingertip tracing a lazy circle over your chest. “ Hey,” she says, and her voice comes out cool and composed like she isn’t standing there in her underwear, the long lines of her legs getting tangled up with yours. “Do you think it’s bad?”

“Gotta be more specific, beautiful,” you tell her, snaking a hand up her sweatshirt. Still no shirt. No bra. The same as how she woke up.

As she leans her body against you, all gentle angles and immaculate curves that would make Euclid roll in his grave, you’ve got a handful of incredible ass to knead and a second sinking fingers into her chest that makes her question come across all that much more ridiculous:

“That the two of us are always together, you know, like this.” And even as she considers—however seriously—that the two of you might spend too much time behind closed doors and under fitted sheets making each other cum over and over and over until you’re gasping and red in the face, she begins to rut her hips gently against you, finds a circle of motion that brushes your stiff cock between her legs in just the right way.

“Well,” you say, voice trailing while your thumb skates beneath her lip, admiring how much better she looks in your hands than on TV, in magazines, all glitzed up in studio lighting and digital effect.

And psychologically, you think you understand it. How this is the only way the two of you can put any part of yourselves—the joint self, the you and Tzuyu, the combined unit—first. You can’t do what regular couples do; you can’t indulge in everything that Tzuyu so desperately wants to do. You want to as well. Of course, you don’t whine about it as much as Tzuyu, but in reality, there’s nothing more than you’d like than to hold Tzuyu’s hand in the middle of a crowded street or kiss her passionately in an airport terminal, in front of a tourist attraction, get an indulgent makeout going at a concert or a bar like you see of so many other couples. You see them all the time, so happy, so wrapped up in each other, so oblivious to what they get to enjoy that you don’t.

So you’re both lenient about the going-ons in the privacy of your own home. To a degree.

Doesn’t mean you can’t say you try to be responsible about it, keep the way you two go at each other in check, under control. You know better than to let Tzuyu have access to you where her name is up in lights, where cameras are flashing and under all those prying eyes, where the two of you could turn a mistake into calamity.

But still you like to test those limits.

“How do you figure?” You nuzzle your lips into Tzuyu’s neck. Her response is exactly like what you expect: a heavy sigh and a tilt of her chin that tells you to kiss her more, touch her more, get your mouth all over her and make her feel good. When you get closer to her ear, you whisper, “where’s the harm?”

“I just think we really have to be more careful,” Tzuyu has to tell you. Frequently. “You know you drive me crazy. But if someone were to find us—”

“Tzuyu,” you start, and the sound of her name on your voice, coming out low and austere, always brings her to heel. Quickly. “No one’s going to find out. So tell me. What do you want me to do to you? Right now.”

Her cheeks burn brighter with that beautiful rosy shade of pink, a flush heat that travels across the bridge of her nose—eyes flicking down to where you can’t see them, suddenly bashful like she wasn’t the one who jumped you in the bathroom, gotten you hard and ready—like she wasn’t the one who woke you up with her thighs sandwiching your cock and silently demanding you fuck her right there.

“I’m just saying—”

“ Tzuyu,” you say again, and this time she all but shudders. Starts to quietly whine as your fingers get closer to where they can have her absolutely creaming and whimpering and coming undone; teasing at elastic, tracing the wide form of her hips; only closer without ever arriving. “Tell me what you want.”

You watch the usual suspects: the swell of her lip twisted between her teeth, eyelids lidding and dusky irises glinting with thoughts of you. It’s all there, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. The Want. The need.

Tzuyu’s mouth falls open in a whiny moan as you realize there’s not a lot keeping you from simply shoving her across the hallway, turning the tables and getting your weight on top of her. She bites back a needy sound as you pin her in place. Normally, the proud smirk on your face would be enough to make Tzuyu groan and roll her eyes, but it’s hard to muster up the resolve required to send you a piercing glare when her current expression is as far from intimidating as it could ever be.

“Tzuyu,” you say a third time, after a long pause, breathing slowly and keeping your voice even. You don’t need her knowing that seeing her like this gets your heartbeat going rabbit-fast. Don’t need her knowing how bad you want to turn her around in your hands and fuck her senseless.

“What are you doing?” Tzuyu asks, and the muscles in her body are coiling so tight they’re practically screaming. “I’m not a little girl. Stop teasing me.”

You’ve got your free hand running a thumb down Tzuyu’s chest, along her stomach and sliding it across the smooth pale skin that stretches over her ribs, until in one quick delivery, you’re pulling her soft cotton panties down around her thighs. When your pointer finger makes contact with where she’s hot and fidgeting between her legs, Tzuyu’s throat clicks with a swallow.

“Just tell me what you really want,” you repeat, gliding your finger across the surface of her cunt’s aching lips, “or I’ll stop.” It’s possible you’d never be able to help yourself, you have to tease, playfully nudge her. The real fun is when you could get her to start cussing and swearing and begging—that’s how you knew you’re giving it to her good, that toe-curling, mind-blowing sex that everyone dreams of, when that delicately maintained veneer started to show cracks and rough edges. “Let me make this easier. Do you want me to hold you down?”

It’s not a surprise that you’re hitting the nail on the head. She’s yours. You know Tzuyu, and her eyes go wide. She nods, because it’s what she’s only ever wanted—filled her nighttime fantasies and daydreams for months before she’d ever truly seen it, truly felt you over her and fucking her with your tongue, your fingers, your cock. She’ll later swear up and down that you’re the one always dragging things to the bedroom, getting her so worked up she can’t help but ride out her own frustration. The way she sees it, you’re the one who’s corrupted her. Not that it’s even half the truth.

“Do you want me to get you wet?” You ask, even lower now, like a growl at her throat, and Tzuyu lets out a delightful sound at the mere mention of it.

She spreads her legs wider as you continue to finger her, wriggles her hips desperately on your hand to find some sort of friction that might set her loose, but you bring a grip down hard onto her waist, pressing her firmly into the wall to keep her from shifting.

“I want—” Her words become cut off and unintelligible when your fingers find purchase inside her, find her immediately soaked and dripping around you. She gets that adorably needy tone in her voice the moment your thumb comes to rest on her clit, prodding at the bud just light enough to make her shiver. “ Please.”

It seems to take a special kind of awful to look down at Tzuyu’s desperate expression and find it nothing other than charming and adorable, but much to her impatient displeasure, you’re that exact kind of awful.

“Speak up,” you say, even though rationally, everything is clear to you—the fact that you can get Tzuyu begging for it a whole separate matter. “Wanna hear your lovely voice, Tzuyu.”

She sighs. It’s anxious. It’s needy. It’s a perfect honesty: “want to feel you in me.”

“Want me to fuck you,” you amend, kissing her once, hot and hard, and when you pull yourself off her mouth, you make sure she’s listening. “Want me to cum in you.”

She nods. Swallows. Rolls her lips between her teeth.

“Want it.” Tzuyu’s chest heaves to shoot out a hot, pointed breath, and she preens the misplaced hair off her cheek and back behind her ear before returning to a moment more composed. “Want you now.”

“Oh, I think we all have all the time in the world, darling,” you breathe into the hollow of her throat, and the two of you don’t stop kissing this time, your lips always on each others, the smiles growing at the corners of your mouths giving way to something more heated and intense. More urgent.

Tzuyu’s arousal is like a living thing, fighting for control, getting her furious and blotchy and burning up to the roots of her hair. When you draw your fingers out of her throbbing cunt, she doesn’t even stop to think; takes them between her lips and starts sucking. She doesn’t decide to do it, you figure, it just happens, as if she’s meant to. She’s perfect for everyone, and then she’s flawless for you.

“Gonna make you cum now,” you growl against her cheek, and she coos the moment you sink to your knees. Starts slipping her hands through your hair in anticipation. Gets your face between her legs where you’ve got wet kisses trailing down her inner thighs. It’s so close to where she needs you, has her rocking and circling her hips in the hope she might reach your mouth, the pleasure she might only realize at the end of your tongue.

And finally, you slide your mouth upward. Tongue flattened, lips hot and loose, you let her find it.

“ Fuck!”

Between her legs, you grin, pull back enough to murmur, “there’s my girl.” And with that you’re hooking a hand behind her thighs and diving back in.

Tzuyu’s eyes are all docile gleams and innocent glimmers, watching from above as you push her legs open wider for you—sharp draws of air as you eat her pussy with delicate and calculated approach: the tip of your tongue against her clit is just the right amount of hot and wet and firm to get her dizzy, voice flooding full of lust and want. She yearns for nothing more than the way you pull at her swollen lips, masking her cunt with these hot, hungry kisses that cover your chin in her slick, fill your mouth and your thoughts with her.

“Oh, my god,” she says behind the knuckle worrying her teeth, crying out in such obvious satisfaction that it has you nearly laughing—so smug and self-satisfied that you push your face into her hot pussy harder to hide the expression. Like flicking a switch, you’re tapping, teasing, torturing that button that makes her feel all of that pure concentrated relief. Makes her feel like you’re pulling her apart and tearing her to pieces—makes her desperate and choke back moans, ones that cry for more.