Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5561203.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ダイヤのA_|_Daiya_no_A_|_Ace_of_Diamond
  Relationship:
      Harada_Masatoshi/Narumiya_Mei
  Character:
      Harada_Masatoshi, Narumiya_Mei
  Additional Tags:
      Size_Kink, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Kink_Meme
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-01 Words: 2931
****** Stretch ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "'No,' Mei whimpers, fisting a hand on the sheets and shoving in a
     futile attempt to gain traction against Masatoshi’s movement. 'I’m
     ready now.'" Masatoshi worries about hurting Mei and Mei is
     desperate.
“Masa-san,” Mei whines, turning his head away from the sheets under him so the
shrill catch of his voice isn’t entirely muffled by the mattress. “Aren’t you
satisfied yet?”
“Shut up, Mei,” Masatoshi tells him, his voice rumbling into the low range that
always shudders electricity down the whole length of Mei’s spine. His free hand
closes on Mei’s hip, fingers pressing into a cage against the curve of it to
lock the other in place. “You’ll be ready soon.”
“No,” Mei whimpers, fisting a hand on the sheets and shoving in a futile
attempt to gain traction against Masatoshi’s movement, in an effort to rock
himself back hard against the too-slow, too-careful slide of the other’s
fingers into him. “I’m ready now.”
“No,” Masatoshi tells him. “I’ll hurt you.” He pushes his fingers in deeper,
reaching farther than Mei ever can himself; it’s enough to arch Mei’s spine, to
crush a groan of response out of his lungs, but he’s still aching for more.
Every breath that passes eases his body a little softer around Masatoshi’s
touch, every heartbeat strips away the hot friction of the stretch, and it’s
not enough, Mei can feel the fire in his veins dampening with every unneeded
second Masatoshi takes. The sharp edge of near-pain is receding, vanishing no
matter how Mei reaches for it, and even when he gets a moment of traction on
the bed and shoves himself backwards it’s only enough to win a half-inch of a
thrust before Masatoshi’s hold on his hip stalls him still.
“Fuck,” Mei gasps to the blankets, pressing his eyes shut as his cheeks go hot
with frustration and his throat tenses on the pressure of desperate tears.
“Masa-san.”
“Soon,” Masatoshi says again, sounding as completely unruffled as if he hasn’t
noticed the catch in Mei’s voice or the tremor running through his thighs as he
tries to rock backwards to fuck himself harder on Masatoshi’s fingers.
Masatoshi’s hand shifts, his fingers turning inside the grip of Mei’s body, and
it feels good but it’s only a moment of relief, barely enough to twitch a surge
of heat through Mei’s half-hard cock. Mei feels like he’s been chasing arousal
for hours, even though Masatoshi would probably insist it’s only been fifteen
minutes; it’s too long, is all that matters, and Masatoshi still won’t fuck
him. Masatoshi draws his hand back, the ridge of his knuckles sliding free of
Mei’s body; for a moment Mei’s breath catches with hope, his entire body
prickling with the adrenaline of anticipation. But then there’s the touch of a
third finger, calluses brushing over the tight of Mei’s entrance, and Mei’s
breathing jolts out of him in a frustrated sob as Masatoshi slides back into
him instead of pulling out to replace fingers with cock.
“Damnit,” he chokes down to the blankets, letting his fist on the sheets loosen
so he can land the weight of a punch on the mattress instead. Masatoshi’s
stretching him open, Mei can feel the push and drag against him as the other’s
fingers slide deeper and ease him wider around their base, but it’s no more
than a momentary flicker of relief, barely a spark amid the storm of want that
is tensing in Mei’s shoulders and arching him against the mattress. “I hate
you, Masa-san, why won’t you fuck me?” Mei knows he sounds petulant, can hear a
whine shuddering under the words, but he can’t pull himself together any more
than he can stop his hand closing on the bed again so he can push himself
backwards in tiny arcs made more pathetic by their desperation. He’s clenching
around Masatoshi’s fingers, his entire body quivering with the need for more
and faster, trying to set a rhythm to draw Masatoshi’s touch impossibly deep
inside him, but all that happens is Masatoshi’s grip on Mei’s hip tightening to
stall him still while he thrusts deliberately and slowly into him. The friction
is good but brief, only momentary shudders of heat in Mei’s veins before it’s
taken away by the steady pace of Masatoshi’s fingers, and the stretch is enough
that Mei’s fully hard but it’s not enough for more, or at least it’s not what
Mei wants. He thinks he could probably come like this, if he tried, if he
reached for the faint aching pressure inside him and clung to that awareness
like a lifeline, but he doesn’t want to strain, doesn’t want to reach for it;
he wants to be overcome, wants to be pinned down and forced open and made to
come whether he’s reaching for it or not.
“Masa-san,” Mei hears himself saying, his voice cracking like it’s breaking,
like all the stretch and ache he wants is forming itself in his chest because
Masatoshi won’t give it to him directly. “Please” and he can hear the sincerity
on the word, can hear the way it trembles on the ache in his spine and cracks
over the knot in his throat. Mei squeezes his shut eyes tighter, feels his
lashes catching heavy on the first tears of desperation; he pushes at the
mattress again, takes an anxious rocking movement back that gets him so little
change in Masatoshi’s pace he can barely feel it. “Please.”
Masatoshi sighs. Mei can hear frustration under it, the weight of Masatoshi’s
breathing framing the sound low and hot in the air, but there’s something else
too, some higher range that brings his eyes open on hope even before the other
speaks. “You’re so demanding,” he says, sounding exhausted, as if there is some
great burden in what Mei is begging him for. “You’re not ready.”
“I am,” Mei says, craning his head back so he can blink through his hair at
Masatoshi behind him, so he can see the way Masatoshi is looking at him, can
watch the weight of his sad eyes hot on Mei’s face. Mei’s tingling
anticipation, can feel it like static rippling over his skin, and this time
when Masatoshi moves to press fingers inside him he doesn’t even rock back for
more, just lets the ache of the friction wash over him. It’s not enough for
what he wants but it doesfeel good, he can admit now, with the promise of more
to come; the knot in his throat thrums into a groan instead, his eyelashes
flutter under the weight of Masatoshi’s stare, and when his fingers shift on
the bed it’s to hold himself still instead of pushing back for more. “Please,
Masa-san, please.”
“I’m going to hurt you,” Masatoshi sighs, but it’s true resignation, now, a
statement of fact instead of a reason for why he’s not acting, and then he’s
sliding his fingers free entirely and Mei is moaning over the sheets, feeling
his thighs quiver in expectation of what is coming. He aches with the absence
of Masatoshi’s touch, can feel the emptiness in him throbbing with every
anxious beat of his heart, but Masatoshi is shifting his knees wider and
leaning closer and everything in Mei is chanting soon, soon, soon, Masatoshi’s
maddening delay converting into a promise sweet, now, with the promise of
satisfaction.
“Hold still,” Masatoshi tells Mei, his hand tightening on the other’s hip as if
to hold him in place, as if Mei needs a reminder of what the words on his lips
even mean. “And relax.”
“Do it,” Mei says, feeling his heart stutter in anticipation, feeling his
entire body tense in expectation. “Do it, Masa-san, fuck me.”
“Relax,” Masatoshi says again, his tone resigned already to disobedience, and
then he’s leaning forward, his legs flexing against the back of Mei’s thighs as
he moves. Mei can feel the weight of him already, the pressure of Masatoshi’s
body bearing down on him like a wave, and then there’s friction against his
entrance, the head of Masatoshi’s cock fitting against that aching want in him.
Mei catches a breath, his whole chest tightening on sudden anticipation, and
Masatoshi moves, pressing against him with the same slow force he showed with
his fingers. He’s hot against Mei’s skin, the slick head of his cock fitting at
the other’s entrance like it was meant to be there, and for a moment there’s
just pressure and the weight of force bearing down against Mei’s body. Mei
can’t breathe for the electricity in his veins, can’t relax for the tension in
his thighs, and then Masatoshi says “Mei” over him, the sound like the distant
thunder of a summer storm, and Mei shudders and relaxes and lets the head of
Masatoshi’s cock push into him.
It’s a stretch. It’s always a stretch, always startling for the first aching
moment of pressure. Mei can feel the minimal relief as the wide ridge of the
head slides past his entrance, as his body closes tight against the weight of
Masatoshi’s shaft, but it’s not enough to ease the ache of the stretch so wide
he can feel the threat of pain inside him like an oncoming wave. Masatoshi
slides deeper, sinking in by another inch, two, and Mei can’t see, can’t think
for the pressure inside him, for the force of Masatoshi’s movement filling
spaces in himself he didn’t know existed. He’s achingly hard, his cock spilling
droplets of precome to land on the sheets underneath him, but Masatoshi is
still coming, hasn’t even completed his first full thrust. Mei’s vision is
going white, his whole body tensing desperate heat around the heat of
Masatoshi’s cock sliding into him, and he can’t possibly stretch any wider but
Masatoshi is bigger at the base, and he’s still thrusting forward, and Mei
doesn’t recognize the sound he’s making, a strange broken wail of sensation
like he can’t decide if he’s in the throes of agony or ecstasy. He’s tipping
forward over the mattress, the brace of his knees giving way to the insistence
of Masatoshi’s thrust to press his chest and stomach flat to the bed, but
Masatoshi follows, his weight coming forward and down until his chest is
pressed flush to Mei’s spine, until the weight of his elbow bracing at the bed
is forming a cage for Mei’s shoulder. He takes a breath, takes one last rocking
motion forward, and Mei can feel the weight of Masatoshi’s balls bump between
his legs as proof that he’s got the whole of the other’s cock inside him.
“Mei,” Masatoshi says, his voice a low rumble Mei can feel all the way up his
spine, like Masatoshi has plugged in directly to his bloodstream. “Are you
okay?”
Mei takes a breath, a shallow thing that shakes audibly no matter how hard he
tries to control it. He can feel the strain of Masatoshi in him through his
legs, up his back, quivering in his shoulders and down his arms to tremble in
his fingertips. “I’m fine,” he says, even though he’s not, even though the
attempt to pretend otherwise is pointless when Masatoshi can feel the way Mei’s
body is tensing involuntarily around him in irregular waves of reaction. Mei
licks moisture back over his dry lips. “Fuck me, Masa-san.”
“Relax,” Masatoshi tells him again, but he’s moving, slowly, drawing back by a
half-inch before pressing himself deeper again. The forward thrust jolts up
Mei’s spine, the drag of friction at his stretched-wide entrance forces a groan
from his throat, and his cock is aching against the sheets but he barely
notices it as separate from the tension all through him as his body strains to
take Masatoshi’s cock. Masatoshi pulls out by an inch the second time, moves a
little faster when he slides forward again, and Mei’s shaking through his
entire body, thrumming between the friction of the sheets and the weight of
Masatoshi over him. Another drag of movement, another forward push, and Mei
can’t see straight, can’t keep his breathing even as Masatoshi steadies himself
over him and starts to rock them into a rhythm of motion.
Every forward thrust is blinding enough to shudder sensation out to the very
tips of Mei’s fingers and curl against his toes, but Masatoshi is moving fast
enough to outpace Mei’s recovery, now, drawing back and fucking back into him
while Mei is still groaning through the blinding heat of the last thrust. It
feels like Masatoshi’s going deeper with each movement, like he’s swelling
hotter and harder with every motion of his hips, and Mei is sure with each
thrust the other takes that this will be the one that is too much, this is the
one that will force the ache of pressure over the sharp edge of pain and ruin
him. But he keeps taking it, keeps straining up to the very precipice of hurt
and not over, and he can’t breathe and he can’t think and he’s clenching
through helpless shudders of tension but he can’t stop and Masatoshi’s not
stopping either. His cock is stretching Mei apart and Mei is too heat-blind to
see but he can feel Masatoshi moving inside him, can feel the thick head of his
cock dragging over his inner walls with each thrust, and he doesn’t want to
come yet but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t have a chance to hold himself back.
His spine arches, his lungs spill a wail of unthinking sound, and his whole
body tenses, the heat of the pleasure so all-encompassing he barely feels his
cock pulsing sticky between his stomach and the sheets as a separate component
of it. It’s the stretch he feels most clearly, the push of Masatoshi inside him
made sharper by the way each wave of satisfaction clenches his body tight
around the other’s cock, and Mei can’t catch his breath and can’t stop shaking
and can’t stop coming, shuddering through each rush of heat even as they keep
hitting him, even when his chest is spasming with a need to breathe that he
can’t satisfy.
Masatoshi grunts over him, a low rush of sound against the back of Mei’s neck,
and Mei realizes what’s about to happen with just enough warning for his whole
body to seize tight as Masatoshi’s cock jerks and spills into him. It’s too
much, the pressure of Masatoshi coming and the twitch of his cock inside Mei’s
body and the jolting aftershocks of pleasure that are still riding along Mei’s
spine, and Mei wails, his voice cracking hoarse on the sound as his vision
slurs into the white of insignificance under the combined distractions. He
can’t breathe, he can’t see, he can’t even hear; there’s only the sensation,
the stretch and the ache and the pressure, the weight inside him so
overwhelming Mei nearly expects to taste Masatoshi’s come at the back of his
tongue. He’s shaking, he’s gasping, and somewhere Masatoshi’s hand is bracing
at his hip to hold him still but Mei is lost to reality, unmoored from
existence by the aching stretch all through his body.
He’s still shaking when Masatoshi pulls out with a careful slide of friction
that is still enough to pull a gasp from Mei’s throat even with the lesser
breadth of Masatoshi’s softening cock. There’s a slick spill of liquid in his
wake, come catching at the inside of Mei’s thighs as the pressure of
Masatoshi’s cock slides out of him, but Mei doesn’t even roll onto his side at
the sensation. He’s too busy panting against the sheets, too busy feeling the
ache of emptiness inside him merge with the all-over tremors of satisfaction
still shaking through his body at odd intervals. He feels raw, undone by the
force of friction and heat together, until even the gentle touch of Masatoshi’s
hand against the inside of his thigh is enough to pull a groan from his chest.
“You should take a bath,” Masatoshi tells him, a command more than it is a
suggestion. “Hot water will help.”
“Run it for me,” Mei orders him without lifting his head from the sheets or
opening his eyes. “I don’t want to move.”
Masatoshi sighs again, the familiar weight of resignation purring over his
tongue. To Mei it sounds like capitulation even before the other shifts his
weight on the bed and moves to get to his feet.
Fingers skim Mei’s shoulder, come up to push gently through his hair; Mei turns
his head up to the contact without opening his eyes, presses his skin against
the callused weight of Masatoshi’s fingers on him. There’s the weight of a palm
against his cheek, the contact pushing him down gently to the sheets; then warm
breath at his skin, lips touching just against the edge of his hairline, and
Mei smiles without thinking at all.
“I’ll be back,” Masatoshi tells him, as if there were any question at all, as
if Mei needed the reassurance. “Just relax.”
Mei takes a breath, sighs it into satisfaction. “Masa-san.” A shift in the
touch at his skin, fingers tensing in a reaction that is as good as speech. Mei
blinks his eyes open, turns his head to look up at Masatoshi’s dark gaze. His
smile goes wider, tugging bright at the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t hurt
me.”
Masatoshi’s smile comes suddenly, startled out of him before he has a chance to
hold it back. He ducks his head as it comes, like he’s trying to hide the soft
in his expression, but Mei doesn’t need to see it to know it’s there.
“Good,” Masatoshi says, and presses his hand flush to Mei’s cheek for a moment.
“Stay here.”
Mei smiles, and shuts his eyes, and obeys.
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