Wine and whisky.

We’ve spent many nights drinking our respective preferred spirits, and some good-natured teasing has come from it. I’ll sometimes point out that California reds have won international contests, and her adherence to vintages with a pretentious ‘Chateau’ emblazoned in gold on the label is more of an affectation than a matter of taste.

She…

She will just outright sneer any time I so much as glance at a Suntory brew, the objectively best whisky in the world.

Which is why she gave me a bottle of Lasanta Glenmorangie last Christmas. Aged for twelve years on a sherry cask, expensive, but not expensive enough that I could refuse it out of sheer principle, and…

Fragrant.

Honestly, the scent is the best part of the experience.

Which is why, for once, I listen to her constant nagging on proper (bothersome) whisky etiquette and have a small white porcelain jar full of iced spring water lying on the floor by the end of my (perfectly hygienic) sofa. I’ve just poured a thin stream of it on my glass of expensive whisky to chill it to my taste without (and it’s hard to even think this without rolling my eyes) making the aromas in the liquor precipitate rather than simmer over the amber surface that swirls in irregular eddies at the passage and mingling of water.

She’s sitting away from me, on the other end, resting against the L-corner and looking up at the glass of red I only keep for her, letting the streetlights and the dimmed lamp near the balcony go through the red liquid to let her appreciate shades and nuances I never bothered to learn.

Then…

Then we drink.

I allow the whisky to remain on my tongue, to warm up and awake. To flood me with as much of the fragrance bestowed by a sherry cask as I can take in before slowly letting it down my throat, the familiar burning sensation making me close my eyes in appreciation.

We are stalling.

To absolutely no one’s surprise.

“Do you like it?” she asks as I slowly open my eyes to meet hers over the ridge of a glass of wine that I believe I paid too much for.

The glass, not the wine.

She gave me the wine.

“Yes. It’s… I don’t have the proper vocabulary, but it’s just… mellow. Fire in the throat, but not the tongue, if that makes any sense?” I say as if I wasn’t a veteran drinker who just knows good things when she tastes them.

“It does. I never liked harsh whiskey,” she says as if I hadn’t heard that already years ago, the first time she insultingly scrunched her nose when she saw me take a long sip of something that maybe wasn’t as luxurious as she’s used to.

“I know,” I say with a smile that is a bit fond, a bit tired, and a bit…

A bit of too many things for me to make sense of.

Much less while confronting Haruno while she drinks a glass of the wine that she gave me as a perpetual invitation into my home years ago, just a few months after a drunken incident that should’ve made me restate firmer boundaries.

Honestly, it’s a wonder it hasn’t turned to vinegar.

The wine, I mean.

“You’re not going to work for my mother,” she finally says after another sip of wine that ends with her slowly taking the rim of gleaming glass away from fascinatingly glossy lips.

“You can’t stop me,” I say with an affected shrug that would be far more expressive if I was wearing my coat rather than a shirt with rolled-up sleeves.

“Do you want to put that to the test?” she says with an arched eyebrow that is not exactly like Hachiman’s.

Just… a passing resemblance.

“Please, no,” I say with a bit of tired humor.

“Perfect. Don’t test me then; just listen to me and drop this stupid plan of yours before—”

“It’s not stupid.”

“But it’s yours.”

“What—how do you make that sound so insulting?”

“Because, my dearest Shizuka, love of my life,” she says, briefly pausing at the dismissive words that nonetheless bring a hint of color to her cheeks and a pleasant tingle to mine, “this was supposed to be a Hachiman plan. I let you all conspire behind my back, knowing that he would tear Heaven and Earth to make the impossible happen, only for you to steal his thunder at the last second and turn it into a sacrificial play of all things.”

“I had to,” I say, maybe more stubborn than I should be as my fingers tighten over the thick, round glass of whisky.

“No, you didn’t have to do anything at all. You just wanted to,” she says as if she hasn’t embodied that very line plenty of times.

Just… not always. Not when I would’ve liked her to. When I would’ve cheered for her defiant spirit to step out of a long shadow whose source I finally met today.

“No,” I contradict her, as I often do when we’re drinking together. “I had to. This was my mess. My responsibility to clean up.”

“It was my mother who—”

“Your mother didn’t get in bed with three of her students.”

She pauses, the glass of wine like a guitar string quivering to a stop in front of her chest.

“God, I hope not…” she whispers.

…

“I am going to ignore that quip just so we can have a productive discussion that, for once, doesn’t get buried in nonsensical asides and tangents,” I say

“But that’s our thing,” she complains in an annoyingly acute tone.

And I groan before taking another long sip of mellow whisky, but not mellow enough that the scent doesn’t immediately clear my nose.

“Haruno…” I grumble after I bring the glass up to my forehead for a brief second of soothing coolness that pairs magnificently with my burning throat.

“Yes, dear?” she asks in a tone that pairs magnificently with her exaggeratedly fluttering, long eyelashes.

And my grumbling turns into a groan.

“Stop. We already have Hachiman and Iroha to act like an old married couple,” I more or less plead.

“Do you realize we’ve been arguing like one since before I graduated high school?”

“No, we haven’t. We’ve argued like old friends who may know one another too well but never had sex until we did, which was long after you graduated high school, and please stop humming ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’ before I strangle you.”

“Kinky.”

“Wha—gah! No! No, Hell no. How do you—stop turning everything into an innuendo!”

“Young teacher, the subject, of schoolgirl fantasy—”

“Haruno, I’m warning you—”

“She wants her, so badly, knows what she wants to be—”

My glass is by the side of her face, my left hand covering her mouth, and my eyes right in front of her wide, shocked ones.

“Do you? Do you know what you want to be?” I growl out.

Her pupils grow larger, and I take my hand just a bit away from soft lips exhaling warm clouds of air that I know will taste of a deep burgundy, of the aroma that her frequent rants and aborted lectures have told me is characteristic of the pinot noir variety of grapes she often favors.

She leans forward, chasing my hand to lay a brief kiss on my open palm before pulling back to stare straight at me.

“Yes,” she answers in something that is too earnest to be a whisper. “Yours.”

I take her glass of wine away from weak fingers, the stem of the cup as delicate as ever when it rolls along the pads of mine as I straddle her lap.

“Then listen to me,” I say, but mostly because I don’t know what else to tell her when she’s so… so fragile. So open in her yearning for something I denied us for too long not to have left a scar.

“I did,” she says. “That’s why I am who I am.”

And my heart breaks.

I don’t even realize when I’ve leaned down to take her lips, a soft noise coming between us that could be a reassuring mumble or another apology.

I do realize when her tongue comes out, and her taste brings me something dryer than the whisky I’ve been savoring. When the red wine mingles with us, turning our kiss into something just slightly different from the earlier ones, those we shared while dancing around the very same subject we’re yet again avoiding.

Her hands cup my cheeks, and I’m still holding up both our glasses, my awareness brought abruptly back to them whenever one of us shifts and the drinks feel like they’re about to spill over.

My sofa already gets enough sass as it is.

And that absurd thought allows me to slowly pull back and away, looking down at her all the way as we breathe heavily and in tune like we have in the few nights we’ve shared since that stupid duel on a school rooftop that forced me to rethink just how solved matters were between me and my old student.

“Don’t you see, then?” I manage to ask her.

She blinks in confusion, the prodigious mind behind lavender irises trying to find the thread my question alludes to before those gorgeous eyes of hers narrow in accusation.

“Stop self-flagellating,” she says.

“You just told me you’re who you are because of me. How do you expect me not to take responsibility for—”

“This is the worst-timed marriage proposal ever.”

“Wha—no! I—the job! The job! With your mother! That’s me taking responsibility for seducing my students—”

“That’s the worst proposal rejection ever—”

“Stop talking about marriage! We’re in the middle of a fight!”

“And how do you think most marriages end? May as well start things properly; stories rhyme, don’t they?”

I glare down at the insolent student throwing my lessons in my face who is a woman.

She shoots a wide smirk up at me that makes me rethink my earlier decision not to strangle her.

Also, groan. It makes me groan.

That should go without saying at this point.

“Can you be serious for even a second?” I beg.

“Hi, I’m Serious, nice to meet you—”

“Haruno, kink or no kink, I’m this close to wrapping my hands around your slender neck and squeezing until you gasp for a breath that isn’t coming, your cheeks tinging a pleasant red as your eyes widen and—fuck. Now you got me thinking that’s sexual.”

Her only answer is a flat stare that seems perfectly calibrated to shame me.

As if I needed any help with that particular subject.

“Can we go back to discussing the heavy subject we’re dancing around rather than you looking at me like you found my porn folder?” I say, trying very hard not to pout even as my eyebrows tent in supplication.

“You have a porn folder?” she asks with no mercy to be found under the single arched eyebrow.

“I swear, Haruno, a single joke about schoolgirl uniforms, and I’m going to—”

“Are those for you or for me? Because I’m game either way.”

I blink at her.

She looks at me like somebody who isn’t joking.

… This is all so unfair.

“Please, please, please, just go back to the life-altering choice I took earlier and how angry you are at me over it. I can take that. I’ve been stewing on that for days. I’ve prepared for this fight.”

“And for how long have you stewed on schoolgirl uniforms?”

“That was a random example! I don’t have a fetish for—I don’t want to discuss you and me in—no! Enough! You aren’t making me even more mortified than you already have!”

“Are you sure about that? Because I’m in dire need of punishing you, and I could make that fun for both of us if—”

Aaaand I’m kissing her.

I’m not drunk enough for this.

Really, it’s more to shut her up than anything else. I just want her to stop throwing quip after quip at me, and to…

To, apparently, run her hands up my back to bury them in my hair, tracing blazing lines of desire and need over my body as she moans into our kiss, her tongue licking along my palette until the hardened tip digs into a spot behind my teeth that makes me close my eyes and whimper as I lose all strength and—

“Fuck!” I yell, jumping up and away from the two carelessly dropped glasses spilling all over my sofa.

“You—wha—” she starts before her lidded eyes widen when she feels both wine and whisky seeping into her skirt.

And, going by how those same eyes immediately narrow, my sheepish look of apology may not be enough to make up for the cleaners’ bill.

***

“White vinegar,” she says with a dry tone as I frantically try to attend to both her skirt and my sofa—her clothing soaking in the kitchen’s sink as I try not to weep while scrubbing an up till now pristine cushion with an old toothbrush because I know how thoroughly I can ruin the piece of furniture if I go hard enough to destroy the fabric’s finish, but not doing anything is not an option...

“You’ve never washed a red wine stain off?” I ask, trying not to come across as pissed off when I’m really just mad at myself rather than the woman who kept pushing and distracting me until I spilled both our drinks and—

…

On second thought, some anger directed her way may be actually warranted.

“I’m not in the habit of doing anything with wine other than imbibing it,” she pointedly accuses as she deigns to turn back toward the sink and do… something vaguely like scrubbing her skirt.

While swaying her behind.

Her panty-clad behind.

I’m in Hell. I don’t know how or why, but I suspect that Hachiman and Iroha may have had something to do with it.

Haruno is a given. And likely a high-ranking officer.

“Is it salvageable?” she asks, and my first instinct is to answer that no, that things stopped being salvageable about the time I got my picture taken with Hachi’s cock between my lips.

“I don’t know,” I answer, trying to get my mind back on the foam I’m rubbing into the red stain.

At least the whisky seems not to have left much of a mark other than the wet spot I’ve soaked in enough white vinegar that it can’t be accused of having a sherry cask fragrance by anybody with functioning nostrils.

“You know, I can buy you a new one. With a somewhat less suspicious color—”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with my sofa, and I’m not giving you permission to refurbish my home,” I say, dipping the toothbrush once more in the plastic tub containing a mix of heated water, laundry detergent, and white vinegar.

The foam I’m scrubbing is pink. I guess that’s a good sign? At least it isn’t grey…

Wait, it isn’t grey.

“Ha! Suck it!” I say, with a sud-sprinkling fist pump and about as much enthusiasm as lack of dignity.

“You only had to ask,” she drawls from my open kitchen.

“Not like that! I mean, I’m rubbing detergent into the cushion, see? And the foam isn’t grey. It isn’t,” I say, leaning away from the backrest so I can meet her flat stare over it and counter it with enough pure, unbridled joy to fuel a magical girl war of conquest.

“Congratulations.”

“You know what that means…”

“It means that you’re rubbing detergent into something that should, presumably, turn the foam pink—”

“It means that there are no traces of ash. So you three can finally shut up about my perfectly hygienic, well-vacuumed sofa—”

“Is that where you usually sit?”

My victorious smile freezes.

“What?” I ask, maybe pretending I’m just a tad less quick on the uptake than I actually am.

“Is that where you sit when you smoke? In that very same cushion that is not graying the foam?” she replies, vicious and merciless as ever.

I try not to guiltily stare to the left of where I’m cleaning, at the cushion that has a noticeable, permanent depression born out of many hours of watching what Haruno would not charitably deem adult entertainment.

“I mean, yes?” Occasionally. Sometimes.

Just maybe not regularly.

The water faucet turns off, and a barefooted, panty-clad Haruno that kind of reminds me of what I must’ve looked like to Hachi this morning steps out of the kitchen with a predatory gait that has her walk on her tiptoes, slowly setting one foot in front of the other, her hips swaying as her grin spreads in a way that would have the Monster Girl Encyclopedia Cheshire taking frantic notes.

“Really?” she asks.

I, my mouth dry for reasons that have very little to do with my smoking habits, nod.

She walks around the sofa and behind me, her fingers lazily trailing along my right shoulder and up my neck before sharply dipping down my jaw to grasp my chin and tilt my head back.

She’s looking down at me.

And I’m kneeling on my floor.

… I swear this isn’t on my porn folder.

“Give me that,” she says, reaching for my old toothbrush.

“Over my dead body,” I calmly state.

This, somehow, ends up with an upturned plastic tub, two soaked sofa cushions, and Haruno lying on the floor under me, panting and gasping as I hold her hands above her head.

“Been a few days since I was lying here,” she comments with a fake calm that fools absolutely no one.

“Yes. Because you had to pull a stupid, boneheaded sacrifice that—”

Her arms flow over mine, and I know what’s coming.

So, rather than wait for her to twist and pull me down to her, I drop.

And take her.

She gasps in surprise when my lips crash against hers, but I’m already pushing my left thigh between her legs, grinding against panties that are wet only because of the splashing war that just took place but that are about to be drenched in an entirely different way as I recapture her right hand and unbutton her blouse.

She, with her free hand, pulls my shirt out of my pants before sliding past my waistline, groping me over my own panties, de facto inviting me to grasp her breast so we’re even as we devour one another and squeeze the other’s flesh.

Her left thigh slides up, pressing against the front of my pants, and we undulate over one another in synchronicity that has very little to do with martial arts and a lot to do with…

Lonelines, yearning, and fear.

And I finally understand what’s been going on since we were left alone.

Since we did everything we could to avoid having the talk we both know we need to have.

I leave her lips behind, and there’s a look of betrayal on her face that softens into raw desire when I dive back down to surround her neck with my teeth, pressing down on her and licking sideways, up from the divot in the middle of her collarbone and up into the soft flesh under her jaw.

Our entangled fingers tighten against one another, hard enough to hurt.

But not hard enough.

“Don’t leave me, please,” she finally begs like she silently has since…

Since long ago.

“I am going to work for your family, Haruno,” I whisper over wet flesh that I softly kiss as soon as the words leave my mouth.

“Don’t you see how that would scare me?” she pleads, her voice turning into a surprised whimper when I press more of my weight between her legs.

“I’m going to work for you,” I finally clarify.

Her fingers lose strength until they suddenly spin out of my grasp and a steel claw pulls my hair back so I’m forced to stare into furious lavender eyes.

“You what?” she says with something that sends some contradictory signals, given the way she pushes up harder between my own legs.

“Do you really think your mother is going to even acknowledge a charity I forced her to build? By the time I graduate and the whole thing’s in motion, it would be you at the helm of that particular project—”

“That is the most stupid thing you’ve ever planned—”

I shoot her a flat glare that all but screams, ‘Three students.’ That seems to shut her up.

Not calm her down, though.

“You assume I’m going to inherit the company,” she says.

I roll my eyes. Which is a bit of a struggle, given the circular massage of unpredictable pressure a certain part of me is getting.

Also, the way she’s possessively and angrily squeezing my ass.

Which is definitely not in my porn folder. I’m usually more into vanilla.

“You are going to inherit the company, Haruno. And you’ll keep the seat warm for Yukino while you clean up as much as possible of the mess you’ll be left behind so that, when your sister takes over, there will be no moral quandaries for her to deal with,” I, apparently, explain to her what should be obvious.

She blinks up at me in disconcert only punctuated by the fingers digging into… yes, into my ass.

It’s getting steadily harder to affect a calm façade.

“I’ve never planned for… that,” she says.

“No. You just have been acting toward it for years,” I tell her.

She stares at me silently, her grip on my flesh lessening as she seems to look for something in my eyes.

“Only you,” she finally breathes with a relieved smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask with genuine confusion.

Confusion that she takes advantage of to spin me around, my back on hard wood and a half-naked woman sitting on my stomach that looks down at me in a way that may be in my porn folder.

“Haruno?” I ask, hoping her name will encompass something that she’ll answer.

“I forgive you,” she says.

“You what?” I ask her as her smile turns cheeky, and her fingers dance over the front of her blouse, straightening it until they reach the first button I’ve left untouched.

She undoes it.

Slowly.

And her white blouse parts down the middle at a sedate pace, only letting a thin strip of white, creamy skin crossed by a purple bra that matches her now wet panties as she keeps grinding her ass on my stomach, looking at me all the while in a silence that takes my breath away.

Then she leans forward to kiss my forehead, and the blouse falls open before she stands up, briefly straddling me and pausing to let me look up her long legs before walking away. She stops to shoot me a wink over her shoulder that turns into her shrugging and letting her blouse slide down her bare arms before she takes off her bra and teases me by dangling the purple lingerie from a raised right hand that beckons for me to follow right before she lets go and satin and lace flutter to the floor.

As I finally get the hint… she reaches my pull-up rack.

She turns around, facing me, showing me her bare, perky breasts, and jumps up, grabbing the bar and lifting her lithe body, her back toward the wall behind her, her breasts and eyes toward me, and…

“On every surface, remember?” she says, teasing me with my own remark from not even an hour ago.

I’m still in the middle of kneeling. There’s a wet sofa to finish cleaning up, and I should likely get some towels under it just in case something drips to the floor.

Haruno’s dangling legs rub against each other.

I stand up.

My hands tremble slightly when I pull my belt open, and then the button and zipper quickly follow so I can step out of my slacks, my hands already working at the buttons of my shirt.

My bra and panties… She looks at me, her eyes tracing every contour of my body in as noticeable a way as she can manage, and I feel like I did when I showed off for Hachiman and Iroha for the first time, unnecessarily teaching the young girl about the need to feel attractive. To show off. To play.

To turn loving into fun.

My cheeks are tingling, and I find it hard to look at Haruno’s eyes as I reach back to undo my bra, letting the lavender cups fall loose in front of heavy breasts that still don’t sag, but stopping the piece of underwear from falling right before my nipples peek above the lace trim.

Her arms are trembling with the sustained effort, but she still bites her lip in denied hunger as she waits for the bra to come off entirely, her heavy breathing doing wonderful things to her own breasts on display.

I step right in front of her, under her, my face just below those hanging breasts, and I breathe over her sternum in a slow, raising trail of cool air before finally meeting her eyes with something more self-assured, delighting in the yearning and desire she shows me.

“Hold on,” I tell her before getting on my tip toes and sucking her left nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it just long enough to get a better taste of that taut flesh of hers.

She writhes, her legs twinned at her ankles, a pendulum swaying to the tune of my caress on her body before I let go and slowly kiss a line to the center of her body and then down it, my hands gliding down her sides, delighting in the small shiver that trembles across muscles taut in the tension of holding herself above me as I keep sinking and sinking until I reach the waistline of her panties.

Of panties that are very much wet with something other than our brief brawl across a soaked sofa.

I tug, and I separate my arms from my own sides, finally letting my bra slide down as I take the last piece of damp satin and lace covering my lover, my breasts being revealed and offered as I all but unwrap Haruno until I can’t resist leaving a wet, hot kiss on her mons.

She moans, and I can see her stopping herself from instinctively reaching down to grab my hair and pull me harder against her.

I smirk.

My bra falls to the floor.

Her eyes widen.

And… and I know I’m flushing. In shame, pleasure, arousal, and excitement. I feel the tingling heat washing across the top of my breasts and up my neck, warming my cheeks, making the tips of my ears blaze, and my nipples harden.

Her panties fall on top of my bra, and her agile legs bend up so that her thighs can rest on my shoulders, some of her weight now on me rather than the bar.

I reach up to cup her firm cheeks, the muscle that reaches to her thighs tense enough that I have to grip her harder for my fingers to sink deep enough that she bites her lip yet again, making me feel as desired and wanted as I hope she feels.

“Hold on,” I warn her as I slowly sink to my knees, my thighs spreading over waxed wood, her bare sex right in front of my mouth, her scent filling me with a daze that is so much more fragrant than anything that could ever come out of a sherry cask.

And I kiss her.

Right beside her open pussy.

Haruno whines in a way that makes me clench deep inside, that promises me that the girl will go absolutely wild with desire as soon as I let her. That sends a rush of something through me that I’ve only ever felt when…

When making love rather than having sex.

When confident that my lover’s eyes are on me, desiring me, wanting me, caring for me.

I look up at her between her breasts, between the soft flesh moving up and down with shallow breaths as she hangs from her hands, her whole body taut even as she rests much of her weight on my shoulders, and I meet wide lavender eyes that have a hint of fright. Of the uncertainty of something unexpected happening, even if it’s something that you want.

Someone you want.

I know that fear all too well. It’s… something I’ve felt again and again since Hachiman decided not to take no for an answer, and then Iroha wriggled her way into a ludicrous arrangement that ended up…

Here and now, with the fourth member of our arrangement.

Yes, I know that fear.

It’s the best fear I’ve ever felt.

I languidly turn between her soft thighs, my cheeks brushing over the delicate, sensitive skin as she gasps, and I finally face the wet, open lips waiting for a kiss that I…

I look back up at her. At the girl squeezing a pull-up bar with a death grip as her heels hook behind my back and rest on my hair.

At the girl that claims I am her first love.

At the girl I know isn’t lying.

“I love you,” I say, perhaps unnecessarily.

But the smile melting all traces of fear, the incredulous, soft thing on the verge of tears, disabuses me of that notion.

It will always be needed.

I will always be needed.

And then, before the realization makes me unable to do anything but keep staring into her eyes, I do kiss her.

Her breathing grows ragged as my lips tug and pull at the edges of the exposed minor labia, tracing a circle of caresses that goes up and down around her opening until my tongue comes out to taste her and trace its own circles over Haruno’s flesh, still keeping things light but steadily growing in power and intensity even as I remain deliberately slow.

As I tease her.

As I make that breathing of hers deepen sharply for a single moment when I flick her clitoris only to stop until she looks back down at me, and I dive forward, finally kissing her with as much passion as the reddish tinge over my breasts tells her I feel, my face twisting around and over her sex as I try to take her all in, losing any hint of deliberate teasing and seduction when I lose myself to my hunger for Haruno.

For the girl I almost lost to her own care for me.

Her love for me.

I close my eyes stubbornly, diving into my other senses. Into the silky feeling of her flesh on my hands, my fingers kneading her ass without pause, our shared sweat making the gesture less sure as my grip glides when I squeeze her.

I dive into the heady scent overpowering everything else in the room, no traces of white vinegar to be found after I’ve licked and kissed her so thoroughly.

Into the weight shifting on my shoulders with every motion inspired by her pleasure. The pressure on my ears of soft skin closing around me and taking away all hints of red light crossing my closed eyelids as she takes me into a world where only the two of us exist.

As I’m surrounded by her warmth. By that precious thing she keeps so carefully hidden that I’m privileged to share with so few others.

I suck harder on her, my tongue tracing erratic patterns that may have a hint of calligraphy when I find myself at a loss as to how to better stimulate her, prodding at her from different angles in shifting pressure until her weight on my shoulders increases and her fingers get buried on my hair, pulling me harder against her.

Her hips sway against me, fucking herself with my face, her gasps turned into moans and whimpers that only make the heat washing across my skin grow higher.

I want to touch myself. I want to tug at my rigid nipples, tease them, pull my heavy breasts up, and squeeze them like she did a moment ago. I want to shove my hand down the front of my panties and fuck myself with my fingers to the same tempo as my tongue on her clitoris. I want to have her wail on top of me as I crest right over the edge, and everything turns a bright white of roaring silence.

I try to stand.

Slowly, carefully, doing my best not to dislodge her or turn this whole thing into a ridiculous tumble. Holding her tightly against me as she lets out an incredulous sound right before her thighs spasm a single time against my face.

I open my eyes.

She’s staring right at me, her mouth hanging open, her breasts rising and falling, the red over her pale skin mirroring mine, her nipples as hard and pointed as my own.

And I finish standing up, her body hanging from both the bar and my protesting shoulders, her weight pulling me forward as she’s spread almost horizontally, parallel to the floor where her panties lie on top of my bra.

I pause for a single moment in my devoted licking, just staring at her, and it takes more effort to separate my lips from her sex than it takes me to hold her.

“I won’t stop you from leaving. But you can’t stop me from following,” I remind her with a finality that reminds me of the blazing eyes of a boy who should not have yet become the man he is.

Haruno…

Her face twists, her hand on my hair clutching me tightly without pulling or pushing, and…

“As if I ever wanted to leave,” she finally says, lifting a weight off me that’s far heavier than her wrapped thighs around my face.

I allow the silly smile to come out and break my façade of unrelenting seduction for a single moment, something passing between our eyes that would’ve been impossible months ago, and then I dive forward.

I taste her. Tease her. Kiss her. I make her writhe until she begs for me to finish because she can’t hold on anymore, and I still keep going, savoring everything I can find of the girl I love and pushed away. The girl who loves me and ran away. The woman I want to be with for the rest of—

And, before I can get even more carried away than I usually do, she finally comes.

Which I should’ve realized would mean her grip would slip from the bar, so I have to hurry and shift my hands on her ass to a tight hug around her belly, pressing her back against my lonely breasts when she falls, hanging from the hold her thighs have on my neck, and I try to stumble back before we end up messily on the floor—

Only to end up messily on a drenched sofa.

A sofa that, under the weight of the two women spread on top of it, just had enough water squeezed out of it and on my wooden floor that there’s no way for me to justify letting Haruno take care of me before I get up to gather enough towels to clear up the ongoing disaster before permanent damage seeps past the waxed boards.

Which is why I tremulously unwrap myself from my girlfriend and stand up as Haruno giggles almost hysterically, and I whine forlornly.

“I’ll help. In a minute,” she manages to get out between the laughter and the gasping afterglow.

“You better,” I mumble, thinking about something other than my floor.

***

Haruno Yukinoshita Mellows Out

So. Last night happened.

More than once.

On plenty of surfaces, some of them horizontal.

And… And now the morning is happening.

A morning that, so far, consists of me waking up in her arms, my face nestled over her bare breasts, her soft breathing warming my hair in irregular gusts, and just enough light slipping under the door of her bedroom that I can make out the silhouettes of apparently maturely expensive figurines.

One of these things, I can do without.

But it’s a package deal.

And I’ll greedily take all of it.

I keep lying here, enjoying the warmth and softness. The feeling of being held even as she sleeps. Her need to keep me close. As close as I ever wanted her to keep me.

I can’t go back to sleep. I’m still too filled with the nerves that not even a marathon of make-up sex entirely soothed, but… but I can stay here. In the dark. In the warmth.

In her arms.

That’s, of course, when my phone rings.

I try not to giggle at the noises of displeasure she makes, and I slide out of her embrace to turn around and reach for the unintended wake-up call intermittently glowing on her bedside table—

It’s Hachiman.

I lift an amused eyebrow and answer in the way he very much deserves for being a worrywart so eager to interrupt two beauties’ sleep:

“Oh? Couldn’t you wait to meet us for even a second, my dearest Hachiman? What is it, did you just realize I am the only one of your girlfriends that you didn’t fill to the brim with your cock and seed yesterday? Do you want me to cook breakfast for Shizu and you in that attire, or lack thereof, you prefer I—”

“Haruno, I am coming right now—”

“Love the enthusiasm, but you lasted quite a bit longer the last time we had phone sex—”

“—with my parents.”

I blink at the horrible, terrible way to keep our casual, playful banter going.

Then I look back and up to meet the horrified eyes of Shizu waking up faster than I think she ever has.

“… Crap,” I say.

“Grossther, why?!” a younger girl wails in despair from the other end of the line.

“Because you asked me to call Haruno. You should know what happens when I call Haruno,” he answers.

And, amid the cold, dawning panic that I’m about to meet my boyfriend’s parents, I can’t help the slight, prideful warmth that blooms in my bosom.

 

 

 

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This work is a repost of my second oldest fic on QQ, where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 117 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Also, I’d like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: aj0413, LearningDiscord, Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and help me keep writing snarky, maladjusted teenagers and their cake buffets, consider joining them or buying one of my books on Amazon. Thank you for reading!