It was just one of those days.
Ichiro had spent the past hour and a half in front of the mirror in his bedroom. Not a single one of his shirts satisfied the demon spawn of his dysphoria and body image issues. Nothing could satiate the need to cover his chest and belly. Even the baggiest hoodie clung to his stomach and hips in ways that made him feel sick. ‘Guess I’ll just stay home today,’ he grumbled to himself internally, glaring himself down in the mirror.
His phone buzzed from his bed.
A text.
“omw”
Kuko was a regular visitor to the Yamada household and had been for years, so this wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary. If anything, the young monk usually showed up without a word, bursting through the door and filling the air with obnoxious chatter. And if he was honest, Ichiro wasn’t really in the mood today.
Ichiro sighed and pulled his hoodie down, trying to straighten out the curves it hugged. Whatever. It’s no use. He pulled off the hoodie and it added to the pile of rejects on his floor.
By the time Kuko had arrived, Ichiro had finally settled on a pair of sweatpants and his biggest hoodie. The air in the room was tense when Kuko walked in, pecking his boyfriend on the lips and flopping down onto his bed. Maybe it was that or the scowl on his boyfriend’s face that alerted the monk to the other’s bad mood, but he was determined to do something about it.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“f*ck off.”
Ichiro replied defensively, shooting daggers back at his boyfriend.
He was met with an unusually earnest expression, concern wrought within Kuko’s brows.
“I’m sorry,” he added meekly afterwards, shaking his head and running his fingers exasperatedly through his hair. “I’m just having a sh*t day.”
Ichiro glanced back at his mirror, where it sat taunting him from the comfort of his deep-red wall. His perception of his curves swirled, expanding and deflating in his visual field, making him motion-sick the more he stared.
“I look like a f*cking girl.”
A moment of silence. Kuko hesitated.
“A girl?” He rolled his eyes. “If you’re a girl, I’m a fairy princess, and I’ll grant you a wish right here, right now.”
“It’s true. Look at my hips, they’re so wide. And my damn chest, and my stomach, I just… I can’t look at myself.”
Ichiro looked defeated, it broke Kuko’s heart, or it would if he were a little more honest with his emotions. How could he take that look away, even if for a moment?
Kuko pondered the conundrum for a moment, before a sparkle seemed to catch his eye. An idea.
“Show me.”
The redhead looked intently at the other male.
“Show me?”
Ichiro was confused. Crossing his arms over his chest, he shook his head.
“Here, I’ll go first.”
Kuko made a show of his generosity by stepping out of his baggy pants and removing his shirt, tossing the clothes haphazardly on the floor without care and rolling onto his back on the bed.
Something about the way Kuko looked, half-naked and legs splayed open on his Hatsune Miku bedspread, took any residual breath and capability of thought away from Ichiro.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had seen Kuko like this, not by a long shot, but it still managed to render him speechless. The piercing hugging his belly button caught Ichiro’s attention in particular, from which his eyes trailed past scraggly red stomach hair to..
“Uhh..”
Wow, smooth as ever, aren’t you, Ichiro? He wanted to punch himself in the face. His ears reddened, and he looked rather helplessly at his boyfriend for instruction, following his lead with the whole ‘show me’ thing.
“Quit your starin’ and c’mere.”
Kuko’s cheeks were minimally reddened from the attention on him when he yanked the taller male down for a kiss, his painted hands sharply gripping the base of his head as if he were a rag-doll. Ichiro keened at the rough treatment, his hips rutting forward in search of heat and friction. Humiliated by his desperation, Ichiro would have mumbled some excuse for the transgression if it weren’t for the tongue down his throat and fist keeping his head firmly in place. Their teeth clacked with the force with which Kuko kissed him, like a ravenous jaguar feasting upon the delicate flesh of a slaughtered deer. When he finally allowed Ichiro to catch his breath, his head was spinning from deoxygenation and lust.
“Take that sh*t off, ‘s no fair.”
Kuko’s voice was low, gravelly and so convincing.
Shaky hands fumbled through removing his pants as if Ichiro had never encountered a belt before in his life. It was ridiculous how badly his want for Kuko left him too brainless to function. It was as if all the blood in his body had suddenly rushed elsewhere, his brain struggling to keep up with the demands. In fact, he had to be guided through pulling his hoodie over his head, revealing pale chub spilling over his boxers and healing scars that raced across either side of his still-beefy chest. Kuko’s ringed fingers slid over the broad, pale skin of his chest, groping the fat there and tracing the lines across his skin with rough fingertips.
“Look.. You’re f*ckin’ gorgeous. A chick couldn’t pay for tit* this nice.”
“tit*? Come on, Kuko-“
“Whatever, you know what I mean! Your chest.”
Piercing yellow eyes met Ichiro’s mismatched pair with a rare seriousness.
“None of it matters, not to me or anyone important anyway. You could have the biggest rack in Japan and I’d still think you’re twice the man as anyone else. You’re taller than me, for f*ck’s sake, Ichiro. Nobody sees ya like a girl.”
Ichiro snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Pierced brows scrunched together. “And I mean it, ya f*ckin’ brat,” Kuko leaned up to meet him with a silencing kiss, his hips pushing against the weight that pinned the redhead to the bed. That should shut him up, take his mind off his insecurity.
And he pushed. Hard. Hard enough to push Ichiro off of him, and flip him against the bed. His hands grabbed his boyfriend’s hips, pulling them flush with his own, stirring hard-on pressing against Ichiro’s ass through their layers of underwear. And then trailing down, pushing between pale, chubby thighs, where it stuttered, grinding and seeking the warmth and friction of his boyfriend. It was almost too easy, the way Ichiro gave in, the way his breath hitches and stalls when he’s roughed up a bit.
Kuko’s lips ghosted hot breath over Ichiro’s skin as they moved from lips to jaw to neck, adding the pressure and heat of hot, open-mouthed kisses that quickly devolved into sucking and harsh bites. Each one would earn him a noise, and Kuko wanted that more than anything. To make him feel good. To make him feel like a man. To f*ck him like a man.
“You moan like a bitch, though,”
Pulling black hair backwards in a fist, Kuko spat filth into Ichiro’s ear, pushing particularly hard against him. And there it was, Ichiro /moaned/ at the degradation, unable to disguise his reaction in time to save his dignity or even deny the claim.
All he could manage was a weak, panted, “Haah, f*ck you..” Ichiro was painfully hard already, and his boxers were less-than-comfortable against his growing t-dick. His hands reached back to yank down his boxers fervently.
“C’mon, f*ck me already, you ass.”
Ichiro cursed at him, pushing his hips up and back against the clothed co*ck that teased his aching puss*. His dark green and red eyes were half-lidded and drunken with want as they turned back to gaze at Kuko with a look damn near p*rnographic in itself. Man, he’d seen Ichiro in bed, but never like /this/…
Ringed fingers groped his ass before spreading it, watching darkly how his puss* shone with the wet glaze of precum, spreading him open to see the way his hole eagerly begged for Kuko to fill it.
And how could he resist?
Isn’t it his duty to help, where he can?
“You’re such a f*ckin’ brat, Ichiro… Who said ya get to talk back?”
Smack.
Ichiro’s ass stung as Kuko’s palm hit it, leaving a bright pink mark in its wake. The taller male’s hips squirmed, their owner crying out weakly.
“Shut the f*ck up.”
Kuko yanked his own briefs down, pulling out his hardened, pierced dick. It pulsed, heavy in his hand as he slapped it against the waiting hole, basking in the whimper it earned him from Ichiro.
Ichiro wanted to say something. To fight back, if not for anything but his dignity’s sake. It wasn’t usually like this. They fought, sure, but Kuko was unnaturally gentle when they’d had sex in the past. Ichiro was the one to put Kuko’s hands on his chest, to kiss him, to top him, always eager to please.
This was different.
“If you’re gonna act like a bitch, I’m gonna f*ck ya like a bitch.”
His fist pulled Ichiro back by his hair and onto the waiting co*ck pressed against his wet hole. Kuko sucked the air in between his teeth as he filled his boyfriend, the feeling of his warmth and wetness swallowing his co*ck made him feel dizzy.
Dazed for only a moment, Kuko quickly recovered and remembered his mission, pulling his hips back only to slam back inside his boyfriend again. His hands had a death-grip on Ichiro’s plush hips, using them as leverage to f*ck into him.
“Kuko..!”
Ichiro’s low voice sounded broken as it cried out his boyfriend’s name, squirming in his grip and trembling from the sensation of a heavy co*ck colliding with his cervix. And again. All his energy went to keeping his hips in place, thighs shaking from where they held himself up, face pressed into the pillow and taking what he was given. The room was spinning, white lights dancing in the corners of his vision every time Kuko rammed into him. Oh, poor Miku, having to see him like this… He silently apologized, weakly whining beneath his boyfriend’s weight.
“Isn’t this how ya like it?” Kuko teased breathily, panting as he slammed his hips into his boyfriend, relentlessly pounding his cervix. Sharp canines bit into the pale flesh of Ichiro’s shoulder, his pierced tongue lapping at the pink wounds that formed after each bite. “I won’t go easy on you,” he mumbled against the flushed, hot skin of his back, sweating forehead pressed to his spine.
“You better not..” Ichiro huffed when he finally got enough air in his lungs to speak. It was hard to think of anything but Kuko filling him. Hot and stretching him and so full.. Every time he f*cked into him felt like pure bliss, hot liquid bliss spreading through his body, pooling in his lower stomach and rendering him practically useless.
He wasn’t sure how long this continued, in his blissed-out haze, before Kuko filled him with cum, gripping his boyfriend’s hips with both hands and whimpering like the kicked puppy he really is. Ichiro felt it spill from around the thick co*ck stuffing him full, leaking down his thighs and staining his pale blue bedsheets. When the hot desire and ecstasy started to clear from his f*cked-out mind, the thought of laundry foggily appeared to him.
“Aw, man, ya got it everywhere…-“ Ichiro breathed.
“Wasn’t it hot, though?”
Kuko gleamed, turning his boyfriend over to pepper his face with kisses. There it was, that eagerness to please, the puppy eyes. “Didn’t I do a good job?”
“Yes, you f*cked me great,” Ichiro laughed, rolling his eyes and pulling his partner down to cuddle him. Kuko could be ridiculous, but luckily Ichiro was a sucker for things like that. His long body curled around Kuko, arms enveloping his waist and face tucking into his neck.
Kuko couldn’t solve his boyfriend’s dysphoria, but he could f*ck Ichiro so hard that he forgot all about it. And maybe that’s just as good.
