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Rin’s always had something of an oral fixation.
The clearest memories Sae has of his childhood all involve Rin, so it’s no surprise that he remembers this with such clarity, too. From the ages of one to seven or so, Rin stuck anything and everything he could get his little hands on into his mouth—action figures, stuffed animals, his blanket, his hoodie strings, Sae’s hoodie strings—he was an indiscriminate, drooling menace.
As he got older, Sae suffered it with a sort of mildly exasperated fondness, gently withdrawing various objects from Rin’s wet maw and wiping them clean with one of the seagull-patterned washcloths he had long since learned to keep handy. And wiping Rin’s face clean, too, became commonplace, as he had the tendency of drooling all over himself when he got too into wrecking his toys.
Privately, he had wondered if Rin was ever going to outgrow that habit; while a little odd, it was fine for a five-year-old to still be messy like that, but it was a little hard not to imagine Rin at fifteen, or even twenty-five, still needing Sae to wipe spit off his chin.
The conjurings of Sae’s seven-year-old mind were hardly based in reality. But it’s admittedly strange, almost eighteen years later, to acknowledge that not all of it ended up being that far off from the truth.
At twenty-five, a good deal of Sae’s memories still involve Rin’s mouth. Rin at sixteen, tongue hanging loosely from his mouth as he carved a path of destruction across the field during the exhibition match. Rin at the U-20 World Cup, eyes dark and jaw open wide, scoring the winning goal against Spain. Rin at eighteen, pushing Sae up against the wall of their Madrid apartment in the dead of night and kissing him for the first time. Rin, countless times over the years, shoving his tongue into Sae’s mouth, dragging it over every inch of Sae’s body, learning him by taste.
Rin, at twenty-three, waking Sae up with his head between Sae’s thighs.
Heat is the first thing Sae registers—soft, slick, wet heat, and a gentle yet insistent pressure, flicking through his folds. A familiar sensation, but it still takes Sae’s sleep-fogged brain a moment to place it; he’s moaning before he even registers that it must be Rin’s tongue tracing circles around his clit, coaxing him to hardness.
An answering groan vibrates against his cunt, and Sae reaches down blindly, any tension unwinding as his fingers slip into silky, dark hair. “Rin,” he exhales.
Rin moans again, lapping indulgently up the length of his slit before he lifts his head with a wet slurp. Even after years spent learning exactly how to please Sae, he’s still messy, more passion than finesse—because that’s how Sae likes him. Eager to please, hungry for Sae alone.
“Happy birthday, nii-chan,” Rin murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to Sae’s inner thigh.
Clarity filters in like the pale morning light through the curtains. Even years after Sae first moved to Madrid, thirteen and arrogant and isolated, it’s still almost odd to not feel lonely on his birthday. But there’s no reason to feel homesick anymore, not when the main tie Sae had to Japan is here with him now, in his bed, nosing at his clit with a hot sigh that raises goosebumps on the backs of Sae’s legs.
“This feels more like a present for you than for me,” Sae comments, fingers tracing the shell of Rin’s flushed ear.
He’s only half-joking. Rin loves eating him out so much that he would do it every day, if Sae let him. Multiple times a day. He’d probably quit football entirely just so he could spend all his time with his face buried in Sae’s pussy. Sometimes, Sae thinks Rin might like it even more than he likes fucking him.
Rin pouts; his mouth and even his chin are shiny and wet. “Of course it’s for you,” he says. “You like it. You got so wet before you even woke up.”
That feels true. Sae’s cunt feels swollen and hot, slick with both Rin’s saliva and his own arousal, clit throbbing with want. “Then make me come,” he says, threading his fingers in Rin’s hair again with a light tug.
Eyes flashing, Rin lets Sae draw him closer. He went through a phase, when they still hadn’t quite resolved the bad blood between them, when he hated how bossy Sae could get, but now, it just spurs him on. Hooking his thumbs into Sae’s folds, he spreads him open, tongue wriggling into Sae’s hole.
Sae’s head drops back to the pillow, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck.” Pleasure drips through him, pools in his gut, thick and syrupy.
Now that Sae is awake and demanding release, Rin is more insistent, working toward a goal rather than simply indulging in the taste of him. He grunts, jaw working, nose shoving against Sae’s clit as he licks deeper. Sae’s thighs tremble, pulse rushing in his ears—Rin’s tongue is so long. Not long enough to hit any of those deepest spots inside Sae, the ones that truly undo him, but Rin more than makes up for that in other ways.
Pulling back with a faint growl, Rin draws in a ragged breath before fitting his lips around Sae’s clit, teeth scraping lightly over the hood. Pulls it into his mouth and sucks on that tight little nub, tongue flickering against the sensitive tip.
Sae jolts, other hand joining the first, twisting into Rin’s hair. “Fuck, Rin,” he gasps, voice thready, stomach tensing. “Rin—there—”
Without warning, two of Rin’s fingers plunge deep into Sae’s cunt, curling up to rub against his inner walls, and Sae unravels entirely. Stars burst behind his eyelids as he clenches around Rin’s fingers, back arching, hips rolling down. Rin grips his thigh hard enough to bruise, flattening his tongue for Sae to grind against, letting him ride it out until the pleasure tips over the edge into overstimulation.
Only then does Sae push Rin’s head away, but gently. Cupping Rin’s jaw, he draws him up until Rin can stretch out atop him, chest to chest, until Rin is close enough for Sae to press their mouths together. He tastes his own salt and musk on Rin’s lips, but Sae can’t bring himself to mind it. Not when Rin groans like a man starved and tangles his tongue with Sae’s, slipping a hand under the small of his back to hold him close. Still lightly shivering through the aftershocks of his orgasm, Sae kisses him with equal hunger, until they’re both out of breath,
When they part, Rin’s eyes are blown dark, hazy with want. He almost looks more fucked out than Sae does. Sae can feel the hard, hot line of Rin’s cock through his sweats, pressed against his hip; it twitches when Sae thumbs at the corner of Rin’s red, wet mouth.
“Messy,” Sae murmurs, fond. Some things never change.
Rin huffs, cheeks pink. “Nii-chan,” he whines.
Amused, Sae reaches down, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Rin’s sweats. “Well, come on, then,” he says, and watches Rin’s gaze sharpen, suddenly alert. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?”
“Obviously.” Rin squirms on top of him, helping Sae tug his pants down. “Nii-chan, do you think I can make you come twenty-five times today?”
Sae chokes. “No way. That’s impossible.”
It’s the wrong thing to say—he watches in real time as Rin processes his words, sees the moment he decides to take them as a challenge. Eyes glinting, Rin hooks his hand under Sae’s knee, spreading him open wider.
“Rin,” Sae tries, heart skipping in his chest. “Rin, wait, I didn’t—”
Undeterred, Rin just lays a soft, adoring kiss against his mouth. “Don’t worry,” he says, and lines himself up between Sae’s thighs. “I’ll make you feel good.”
That’s not what Sae’s worried about. He doesn’t doubt that Rin will make him feel good, he always does, it’s more that Sae doubts that his body can physically handle twenty-five orgasms in one day. Doesn’t seem like that’s a humanly possible thing, like, physically—but good luck telling Rin that. Once he’s set his mind to something, there’s no stopping him.
Sae exhales, resigned, and wraps his arms around Rin’s shoulders. If he dies on his twenty-fifth birthday by way of his heart giving out from too many orgasms, he supposes there are worse ways to go.