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shinonome akito is competitive as fuck. it’s not a secret; his words are obvious declarations of war at most time.
because at the crux of it all, akito likes to win, likes the feeling of superiority and triumph.
so, this? this whole thing?
akito isn’t sure where to begin.
right now, he can only focus on:
the warmth thrumming under his palms, a creamy thigh that is hitched higher against his hip where it was falling, if only to close the distance that much more.
the delicate curve of pink nails scratching at the nape of his neck, the accompanying fingers grasping onto strands of orange as if holding on for dear life, the inevitable tug of his hair when akito moves his own fingers a way that’s certainly right.
the itch of his hoodie as he starts sweating around the hem, the urge to break away against his will to chuck off a few layers of clothing if only to allow his skin to breathe, to allow his skin to touch hers.
the smallest of whimpers when akito grazes his teeth against the soft flesh near her ear, the breaths let out amongst gasps that meld with his own, the insistent need to lose more and more oxygen.
and, of course, the assault of it all.
the tears that prick at her eyes, the ones that taste salty against her cheeks. the flutter of her lashes as she turns her head, overwhelmed and unable to function for a second or three. the deep, brown eyes that are glazed with want and clear with consent, asking for more and taking all he gives. the swollen lips that akito has ravaged over and over with his own.
it’s a complete takeover, and akito is the conquerer. he did this, he created this. it lines up to be a clear victory.
he pulls back once more, needing to breathe, is only given a mere moment to take in brown eyes that close once more and drag him back into her, allowing him to taste once more.
akito had been the one to conquer, he’s the one who broke everything down…
…so why does it feel like he’s the one who’s lost the war?
she keens against him when his tongue drags against hers, when a string of saliva keeps them connected.
“shinonome-kun…”
there’s recoil inside akito’s stomach, a heavy weight that burns inside his chest and, honestly, also against the thigh that’s rubbing along him just right.
“hm?” akito sticks his tongue out, licks against his bottom lip to feel the sticky remnants of pink lip gloss. “tell me.”
azusawa kohane looks up, doe eyes big and wanting, and akito realizes hazily he’d surrendered long ago.
kohane’s hand sifts through akito’s sweat-soaked bangs, fingertips tracing around the cartilage of his ear and the adjacent earrings. “you promised dinner.”
akito digs his face into kohane’s neck, smiles against the mark he had sucked at earlier. “i did, didn’t i?”
“…i’m not dinner, shinonome-kun. i really am hungry, you know.”
the pout in her voice is too cute, and akito can’t help but want to encourage it. “aren’t i enough?” he teases, licking up from her jaw and eventually pressing his teeth over her earlobe, gentle and firm. “i’ve been told i’m a snack. i could be real delicious for you.”
akito has to give it to her; kohane holds her ground, doesn’t give in to akito’s ministrations, especially when his fingers massage the smooth muscle at her hip, right at the hem of her skirt.
in fact, kohane holds her ground a tad bit too well.
akito freezes when kohane’s hands come down in between them, one slithering inside his hoodie to dig her nails hard into his rib cage and the other resting right on top of his belt buckle, fingers hooked inside at the hem of his underwear and wrist resting innocently against his hard-on. kohane adds just enough pressure in both spots for akito to back off.
“ah, fine, you win.” akito chuckles when kohane lets go at the words, lips pulled into a beaming smile so lovely that akito wonders if this is the same girl he met all those years ago in weekend garage. he straightens his clothes, helps kohane do the same. “what do you want to eat?”
kohane pretends to think. “karaage chicken?”
“again? didn’t you have that the other day?”
“so? it was yummy! and if we go to the same place, you can get their shortcake for dessert,” kohane grins.
akito sighs. “yeah, okay. you win this time.”
kohane giggles. “oh, akito-kun. i win every time.”
akito’s heart stutters staccato, cheeks burning as he scowls. “you can’t just use my given name like that, c’mon.”
“yes, yes.” kohane grabs his hand, pulls it so it’s resting on her hip and his arm is wrapped around her waist. she leans up, kisses him sweetly on his cheek. “i’ll be sure to hold on tight when we ride on your bike. i’ll hug you super tight, okay? a-ki-to—kun~”
if akito grumbles all the way to where his motorcycle is parked and pinches kohane’s side, that’s between them. kohane still gets to hug her boyfriend, eat her chicken, and revel in the power her prince always grants her.
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