Title: Surfeit
Characters/Pairings: Chris/Miyuki
Summary: Miyuki gets what he asked for, and then some.
Notes: 3858 words. Adult for smut. Who needs plot, anyway? Bondage, sensory deprivation, overstimulation.

Surfeit

The last thing Chris says is actually a question, shaped against Kazuya's mouth. "Any second thoughts?"

"Nope," Kazuya says, decided, and that's that, they're committed.

The blindfold goes on first, leaving Kazuya in absolute darkness. No light at all peeks in around the edges, which is definitely a step up from the eye mask he uses to sleep with. Maybe he'll filch it later on. Next are the headphones—really not sexy at all, big and bulky as they are, but they do the job of fitting over Kazuya's ears and cutting off outside sound. They leave Kazuya to the sound of his own breathing and the murmur of his own heartbeat. It's disorienting, even with his feet planted firmly on the floor and his ass just as solidly planted on the mattress.

Chris' hand lands on his shoulder for a quick squeeze.

Kazuya snorts in spite of his disorientation. "Green," he says, imagining the wry tilt of Chris' answering smile and the way he's probably saying something like Just checking.

At least Chris takes him at his word and presses Kazuya back, guiding him down and laying him against the pillows.

Kazuya's breath picks up then even as he's wriggling against the pillows and the mattress, settling himself comfortably. When he stops, he feels the mattress dip beneath Chris' weight and then Chris' hands spread against his chest, warm and broad. He strokes them up, sweeping them over Kazuya's shoulders and then down his arms to circle around Kazuya's wrists. As he holds them, Kazuya sucks in a deeper breath—there's something much more intense about that feeling when he can't see what Chris is doing or hear his voice.

Chris spends a minute—or a few seconds, time already seems to be playing odd tricks on Kazuya—holding his wrists, rubbing his thumbs against the insides of them, before he lifts them and presses them down again over his head. Kazuya groans in response as heat runs through him.

The sound is loud in his ears, loud like the faster beat of his pulse. He leaves his hands in place when Chris releases them, waiting for it as Chris wraps the band of the restraints around his left wrist and then his right. Kazuya tests them when it feels like Chris is done, shifting his shoulders and tensing and relaxing his arms before deciding that he's comfortable. "Good," he reports, though he can't honestly know whether Chris has asked how he feels or not—no, that's not true. He knows Chris, and Chris would ask. Chris always asks.

Chris always checks, too, and this is no different. He runs his hands over the bow of Kazuya's arms, following them from shoulder to wrist and back again, as much a caress as to assure himself that all is well.

Kazuya sighs, pleased. "That's nice." He can't hear anything Chris says, so maybe Chris doesn't say anything in reply, but that doesn't mean he doesn't receive an answer anyway. Chris kisses him, pressing his mouth against Kazuya's with the kind of tenderness that gets to Kazuya every damn time. He opens his mouth to Chris, kisses him like he can make an offering of his own heart that way. Maybe he can, who knows, Chris is still a mystery to him in some respects. There's no saying what Chris sees in moments like this.

He moans against Chris' mouth when he feels Chris' hands slide down his chest and over his ribs, slow and warm. He can feel the shape of Chris' answering smile against his lips before Chris draws away from him. Chris touches him slowly, running his hands over Kazuya's stomach and flanks before slipping them under his hips and nudging them up. Kazuya plants his feet on the mattress and raises himself up in response to that silent suggestion (if it is silent, Chris might be coaxing him along in words too for all he knows right now). Chris slides a pillow under his hips so that they're canted up even after Kazuya relaxes again, which puts a pulse of heat through him—he knows how he must look spread out for Chris like this.

He sighs as Chris runs slow hands over his thighs and hips, maybe just for the sake of touching him for all Kazuya knows. It feels good, soothing, being tended to like that. Kazuya drinks it in, humming a little with his pleasure. There's really not anything else he can do, of course, but the cuffs around his wrists make it easier to accept that knowledge. His inability to see or hear puts a premium on the sense of touch that Kazuya likes. He can feel the different textures of Chris' palms, the places where calluses drag rough over his skin and the smoother skin at his fingertips. By the time Chris strokes his hands down Kazuya's legs to press his knees farther up, Kazuya wishes he could purr like a cat with how relaxed he feels. That sense of lazy wellbeing lingers even after he feels the first touch of restraints against his skin as Chris wraps them around his thighs and then his calves, binding the one to the other. Now he is at Chris' mercy, trussed up and laid out for him, his to do whatever he likes with.

Chris touches the corner of Kazuya's jaw, stroking it lightly.

"Green," Kazuya says again; he has to clear his throat to do it, because yeah, he's definitely on board with this—Chris must be able to see that just by looking, but whatever. Better for him to check in with Kazuya than not, right?

The mattress shifts as Chris' weight does, and Kazuya is tipping his chin up for the kiss even before Chris' mouth touches his. He feels Chris' laugh more than he hears it, but really, even tied up and deprived of sight and sound, Kazuya saw that one coming.

All of Kazuya's focus narrows to the taste and texture of Chris' mouth against his, the slickness of his tongue against Kazuya's and the slow movement of their lips together. Kazuya finds himself melting into the slowness of Chris' kisses, the simple sensual pleasure that unspools between them as Chris continues kissing him. He groans against Chris' mouth, hard and hungry and still not hurried even so—it's not as though he can do anything anyway, which makes it easy to let go of any sense of urgency he might have.

When Chris runs a hand down his side, slow, the warmth of it is all of a piece with the sense Kazuya has of Chris' bulk over him, radiating heat. He sighs, relaxed for it, and makes a pleased sound when Chris slips his hands under his back, lifting him just a bit and resettling him against the pillow wedged under his hips. He can feel the way Chris shifts his weight over him and can even guess what he must be doing, but he still isn't quite expecting the first slick touch of Chris' fingers between his legs, rubbing against him slowly. There's no way to react to that except by groaning, which Kazuya does.

Chris takes his time, sliding his fingers back and forth, rubbing them against Kazuya until he's panting against the slow movement of them, every nerve ending alive to the touch of Chris' fingers. When Chris finally sinks his fingers into him, the stretch of them blends seamlessly into the way Chris has been caressing him. Kazuya groans again and arches against the sharp-edged stretch and the first fullness of having Chris' fingers inside him. "Yeah, please," he says as Chris sinks his fingers home. "That feels good, keep going." There's no harm in encouraging Chris, after all. The words come easily, too, a little more easily than Kazuya would have expected, but they're also the only thing he can control right now. Maybe it only makes sense that they come so easily.

Chris spreads his fingers against the inside of Kazuya's thigh and rubs his thumb along the skin just above the straps wrapped around it. The contrast between the restraint and the caress makes Kazuya's breath stutter, or maybe it's the way Chris' fingers feel sliding in and out of him that does that. It doesn't really matter, not when both are so good and it's so easy to give himself over to the sensation.

He's just beginning to wonder whether Chris is planning on making him come on his fingers—which Kazuya has no problem with, if it is the plan—when Chris draws his fingers free. Kazuya sighs, feeling empty, and wets his lips. "Already ready to fuck me now that you've got me open for you?"

Chris might say something or he might just be smiling, small and full of wicked promises (Kazuya can see it going either way), but he does squeeze Kazuya's thigh, a quick gentle pressure, right before Kazuya feels the first nudge.

He'd been expecting to feel the mattress dip with Chris' shifted weight, so the cool, blunt touch of the toy catches him off guard. He hisses in surprise and the pressure eases immediately. "Green," he says; when Chris doesn't resume, he says it again. "Green, you just surprised me."

Chris squeezes his thigh again, peculiarly reassuring, and slides the toy into him.

Kazuya groans as he does, muscles aching around the way the thing swells wider, wide enough to stretch him hard before it tapers again as Chris seats it inside him. It's a plug, he realizes, though the academic nature of the identification takes a very distant second place to the way it feels inside him, filling him full and holding him open, keeping him ready no matter what Chris decides to do to him next. "Fuck," he breathes, a bolt of anticipation striking up his spine. "Fuck, yes…"

Chris runs his hands over Kazuya's thighs, pressing against them until they're splayed wide open. Kazuya groans, imagining what he must look like, and arches into it as Chris runs his hands over his torso. "Yeah, please," he says, breathless as the stroke of Chris' fingers pulls him taut and aching with anticipation. "Green, please—"

Chris clasps his fingers around Kazuya's cock, one slow hard pull on it, and that's enough. Kazuya would be embarrassed about how easily he's just gone off, but this isn't exactly a normal kind of afternoon. Besides, he's busy with the way pleasure washes through him, drawn out and out by the steady movement of Chris' hand and the way it feels to have that plug inside him, solid and huge as his body tries to wring tight on it but can't.

"Fuck," Kazuya says as the first intense rush passes. He sprawls against the bed, panting. Chris still has a hand on him, fondling him gently, and he's rubbing his other hand along the inside of Kazuya's thigh. Kazuya relaxes into the easy, warm afterglow, shuddering just a little when Chris' thumb slides over the head of his cock and pulls a sharper ripple of pleasure through him.

Chris lets his fingers linger against the inside of Kazuya's knee, rubbing a circle against the soft skin there before he leans over Kazuya to kiss him again.

Kazuya moans against the slow insistence of his mouth, pleased by the thoroughness of his kisses. He moans again when Chris rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, tracing the slit and prompting Kazuya to shudder when a pulse of renewed need runs through him. Chris shapes the question against his mouth, and Kazuya murmurs, "Yeah, green," back to him.

This time the pleasure builds more slowly, a leisurely pooling of heat low in Kazuya's belly that rises with every pass of Chris' thumb over him and each lingering kiss Chris gives him. Kazuya lets himself float in it, groaning against Chris' mouth and moving his hips gently against the lapping tide. The plug shifts inside him whenever he moves, adding to the pleasure, until it rises high enough to overflow and sweep Kazuya under again. He shudders with the rush and heat, slow and sweet and relentless—Chris keeps on stroking him, not allowing the sensation to ebb away again, and the plug presses against the right places inside him every time he shudders. Kazuya has to pull away from Chris' mouth when he can't stand any more. "Yellow!"

Chris releases him immediately and draws back as Kazuya sags against the pillows, gasping for breath and still shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure that roll over him. "Fuck," he says. "Oh fuck…" Some of the raw intensity passes, easing enough to let him do something like think clearly, which in turn lets him sense Chris' bulk, hovering over him—anxious, though Kazuya only has intuition to go on there. He clears his throat. "'S good, just a lot. You can keep going."

Kazuya doesn't think it's his imagination that there's a moment of hesitation before Chris touches him again. When he does, it's to run his hands over Kazuya's skin, along his thighs and hips and up his body, across his chest and over his shoulders and arms and back down again, unmistakably soothing.

It's amazing how Chris always seems to know exactly the right thing to do.

Kazuya groans as Chris strokes the tension back out of him, sweeping it away with the long, slow touches until he sprawls limply against the bed, sighing with the simple pleasure of being touched so gently.

Well. Mostly limp. There's one increasingly noticeable exception to that as Chris gentles him down again. Kazuya breathes deeper as heat pools low in his belly again, slow and unhurried as the movement of Chris' hands over him, perfectly content to enjoy the gradual renewal of his arousal—well, why not? Chris has definitely taken the edge off and has things well under control. He lets himself melt under Chris' hands, sighing as Chris handles him, until Chris bends down to kiss him again as he trails his fingers over the line of Kazuya's cock, light and questing. He draws back, but not so far that they're not still sharing the same breath.

"Green," Kazuya says.

The next thing he knows is the softness of Chris' mouth against his throat and the brush of his tongue against its hollow. The mattress moves beneath him as Chris does, shifting his weight as he traces his lips over Kazuya's sternum, which is when Kazuya catches on.

He groans Chris' name as a shudder rocks up his spine, groans it again in something rather like shock when he feels Chris' tongue flicking across his stomach, which has to be a mess by now. Then he just groans when Chris takes him in his mouth, all out of words when Chris swirls his tongue over the head of his cock and pleasure dances up his spine. Chris strokes his hands over Kazuya's thighs, spreading them wide and kneading them as he sucks Kazuya deeper into his mouth, humming around him until the gentle vibration of it makes Kazuya gasp and squirm—try to squirm, anyway. He can't really move like this, can't do anything but feel the way Chris works his mouth up and down his cock, tonguing the head and sucking just firmly enough to make Kazuya's breath come short and fast. He can't move, can't rock his hips up against Chris' mouth or move with the plug inside him, filling him up and holding him open and almost touching all the right places. It's so good, and it's not enough, not even when Chris swallows him down and hums around him again, triggering a rush of pleasure that cascades over Kazuya as he comes again.

Kazuya groans, the sound of it almost drowning out the furious thunder of his pulse, and the pleasure ripples over him as Chris' throat works around his cock, relentless. It's amazing and keeps going and going, but it's still not enough, not what Kazuya needs. "Green," he gasps, and, "Please, fuck me, I need you inside me, I need to feel it—

Chris lets him slip out of his mouth, which might otherwise have been a tragedy, but he also slides a hand under Kazuya, first to finger the way Kazuya is stretched open around the plug—the delicate touch makes Kazuya's breath hitch—and then to ease the thing out of him.

Kazuya cries out at the way it feels, the initial pressure and stretch and the empty feeling after, and by the time he feels the mattress shake and dip with Chris' movement, he's all but chanting green, green green green, until Chris pushes into him, hot and sleek as he fills Kazuya again, bottoming out inside him. Kazuya gasps with how perfect Chris feels inside him, holding steady against him. "Green," he manages. "Please." And Chris begins to move.

Kazuya doesn't know what he says, if he even says anything at all, because he loses track of everything but the long drag of sensation as Chris draws back, all the way back, until Kazuya is empty again and trembling with the nudging touch of Chris against him and the spike of sensation when Chris pushes into him again, working his muscles hard as he sinks all the way home.

Chris doesn't let him have even a moment to process any of that before he's drawing back and doing it again, and again, until there's nothing left of Kazuya but the unceasing, relentless sensation of Chris' cock sliding in and out of him, fullness and its absence, muscles stretching and relaxing. He's gone somewhere beyond pleasure now, gone to a place of raw sensation that rocks his entire body, encompasses him completely in the absence of competing stimuli. When Chris reaches between them and curls his fingers around Kazuya's cock, the thing that seizes on Kazuya and wrings him out in merciless spasms is too raw, too fierce to compare to the way Chris has been making him come. It's brutal, elemental, a punch of sensation that rips a wordless cry out of Kazuya's throat with its force.

Chris pushes his hips higher and drives against him, fucking him with short, sharp snaps of his hips. Kazuya cries out again with the changed angle and the way each hard thrust strokes over his prostate, stabbing starbursts of unforgiving heat up his spine each time, until he's all but sobbing with the merciless rhythm driving him out of his head. It's too much, more than he can bear, breaking him into pieces; there's no way he can bear any more without crying for mercy—Chris falters, his hips stutter against Kazuya, who is so tightly wound that he can feel every throbbing pulse of it when Chris comes, stilled and tense for an endless moment that wrings Kazuya again with the stark contrast to being fucked.

Kazuya sobs for breath, trembling and undone, unmade, the pieces of him so scattered that he can barely stand the feeling when Chris shifts forward, leaning over him and moving inside him, too. Chris is panting; Kazuya feels it in the gusts of warm breath against his lips just before Chris brushes their lips together. His hand isn't quite steady when he slides it over Kazuya's hip and slips it under him to stroke between his cheeks. Kazuya gasps when Chris touches him, rubbing his fingertips over too-sensitive skin that is still stretched around Chris' cock. "Red," he manages, barely more than a whisper. "Red, no more, it's too much."

Chris' touch vanishes immediately; he kisses Kazuya again, soft, as he eases himself out of Kazuya's body.

Kazuya shudders, relieved and disappointed both, and doesn't even recognize his own voice and the sounds he makes as he subsides.

Chris lays his hand against Kazuya's knee, solid and simple, an anchor point to seize on, which Kazuya does. He doesn't say anything at all, but Chris seems to know anyway—he keeps a hand on Kazuya as he undoes the restraints on his legs, resting it against his knee or his ankle, neutral places, as he proceeds. When he has Kazuya's legs free, he coaxes them straight and rubs his hands over them, soothing them. Even then he's careful not to brush over the places where Kazuya might be sensitive. The simple touches make it easier than it might have been to subside, to allow himself to be eased and gentled down from the edge, grounded and made at home in his own body again as Chris slips the pillow out from under his hips.

Chris frees his hands next, stroking Kazuya's arms and coaxing the tension out of them before he removes the headphones from his ears.

The sudden burst of sound, quiet as it may be, is a shock after the isolation of his own breath and pulse. Chris is talking to him, a hushed and steady murmur of nonsense—he's probably been talking the entire time he's been tending to Kazuya, because his voice has gone hoarse. He reaches for the eye mask and Kazuya shakes his head. "Leave it," he rasps, hardly knowing why, except that he doesn't want to let go of the absolute darkness. Even the mellow afternoon sunlight filtering through the blinds would be too much now.

"All right," Chris says, hushed, stroking his fingers against Kazuya's cheek instead. Kazuya relaxes.

When he feels the touch of a wet cloth against his skin—its texture feels impossibly intense against hypersensitive skin, rougher than can logically be so, no matter how gently Chris strokes it over his skin. It can't take very long at all, but Kazuya is on the verge of whimpering for mercy before it ends. He does whimper as Chris finishes, the stark absence of sensation as overwhelming in its own way as the sensation was to begin with.

"Shh," Chris says, resting his fingers against Kazuya's chest as he settles against the pillows, stretching out next to him. He doesn't say anything else, but he lifts his hand to stroke his fingers through Kazuya's hair, carding the damp strands back from his face and smoothing them down. After a little while, he shifts onto his back and draws Kazuya along with him. He drapes Kazuya against his chest so he can run his hands up and down Kazuya's back, long passes that bring Kazuya a little closer to coming back to himself, helping him gather the shattered pieces of himself and set them back into some kind of order. It may not be the same order as before, Kazuya can't even tell, but then, maybe it really doesn't matter if it isn't.

Chris kisses him, his lips soft against Kazuya's forehead and cheeks and finally against his mouth. "I have you," he says softly, promise and claim rolled together, and as long as that holds true (and it will, true as the sun and the stars), Kazuya will be just fine.

"Yeah," he says, resting against Chris' chest, and lets the steady rhythm of Chris' heartbeat lull him to sleep.

end

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