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Makoto has no idea how he got here.
Okay, that’s not quite true. If he clears his head and thinks about it, he can retrace the steps to the exact moment it began. It plays in his mind like a poorly rewound tape. Byakuya’s body pressing into him…Makoto tripping over the plush red carpet on the bedroom floor…Byakuya locking the door behind him…Makoto being yanked inside…Byakuya scowling at the distant sound of Toko’s voice…Makoto finding himself outside Byakuya’s room.
Although, really, it might have started long before that — from the moment he first laid eyes on the Ultimate Affluent Progeny.
“Toga—” Makoto barely manages to squeak his name out before he’s violently shushed by the taller boy towering over him. He shudders as a cool palm is slapped over his gaping mouth.
“Quiet,” Byakuya hisses. Toko’s obnoxious humming rises and falls in volume like an ambulance siren. While Makoto can understand the dire need to avoid a person like her, in his current position, he’s starting to feel a dire need of his own form in the space between his legs. To make matters infinitely worse, Byakuya then lowers himself further down until his head is right next to Makoto’s, on the soft bed, his pursed lips tickling the corners of Makoto’s ears.
Maybe he really is the Ultimate Lucky Student.
Eventually, Byakuya loosens his grip and releases his hold on Makoto’s mouth. Toko must have finally left the area, he muses. The coast is clear. Why then, is Byakuya’s face still inches from his own…?
“You’re red,” Byakuya states bluntly. “You better not be carrying a disease.”
“I…no…um…” Makoto stammers, unsure of where to look. Unsure of what to say.
“If you desire something,” Byakuya’s eyes flick down to Makoto’s lips.
“Ask.”