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Summary
Spit drips from Komori’s open mouth as his lips are parted by Osamu’s thumb. His rough hand—calloused from years of volleyball as well as working with knives—grips Komori’s jaw tight, forcing him to open his mouth.
Komori sucks on the digit, savoring the weight of it against his tongue.
“Say ahhh, pet.”
Komori moans around Osamu’s thumb, mourning the loss, but obeys nonetheless. He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue.
“You ready for it, angel?” Suna purrs in his ear, one leg folded up on the edge of the bed. Komori whines, drool falling from his chin, as his watering eyes dart down to what’s in Suna’s hand.
“Please.”