Chapter 13: The First Lesson
The weight of Taichi on top of him was a revelation, solid and real and everything Yamato had imagined and more. That familiar, sunny grin was gone, replaced by a look of intense, focused curiosity. The lamplight cut across his face, highlighting the determined set of his jaw, the dark pupils swallowing the warm brown of his eyes.
“Teach me,” Taichi whispered, the words a warm puff of air against Yamato’s lips. He dipped his head, catching Yamato’s mouth in a kiss that was less frantic now, more purposeful. “Show me how to make you feel good.”
Yamato’s breath stuttered in his chest. Four years of fantasies had not prepared him for the sheer, devastating reality of Taichi Yagami asking for instruction in his bed. He nodded, his throat too tight for speech. He reached between them, his own fingers trembling slightly as he guided Taichi’s hand down the flat plane of his stomach, over the rough denim of his jeans, to the hard, aching line of his cock.
“Start slow,” Yamato managed, his voice grating. “Touch me like you’re learning a new song. Learn the rhythm.”
Taichi’s brow furrowed in that familiar way it did when he was mastering a complex dance sequence. His fingers, usually so graceful and sure, fumbled with the button of Yamato’s jeans, a clumsy, endearing struggle. The rasp of the zipper going down was obscenely loud in the quiet room. He pushed the fabric down just enough, freeing Yamato’s erection, which sprang up against his stomach, flushed and full and leaking.
Taichi stared for a heartbeat, his lips parted. Then he wrapped his hand around it.
The contact was electric. Yamato’s hips jerked off the mattress involuntarily, a choked sound escaping him. Taichi’s grip was tentative, his skin calloused from guitar strings but his touch unsure.
“Like this?” Taichi asked, giving an experimental upward stroke, his eyes locked on Yamato’s face, watching, always watching for feedback.
“Tighter,” Yamato gasped. He let his head fall back, exposing the line of his throat. “And use your… use your thumb on the tip. Right there. Spread it.”
Taichi obeyed, his grip firming, his thumb swiping over the slick head, smearing the beads of precum. Yamato cursed, a raw, unfiltered “Fuck,” that made Taichi’s eyes widen slightly before a spark of proud understanding lit them up. He began to move his hand in a steady, exploring rhythm, his gaze fixed on the place where his fist met Yamato’s flesh, watching the skin glide, learning the angle that made Yamato’s abs clench and his breath hitch.
“You’re so hard,” Taichi murmured, more to himself than to Yamato. His strokes grew more confident, mimicking the pace Yamato’s hips were setting, meeting his shallow thrusts. “Is that good? Tell me.”
“So good,” Yamato panted. His hand came up to clutch at Taichi’s shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
The praise ignited something in Taichi’s expression. A flush spread from his chest up his neck, and his own breathing grew ragged. He was getting off on this, Yamato realized with a dizzying jolt. On the instructions, on the visible effect he was having, on the filthy, wet sounds of his hand moving. Taichi bit his lip, his own hips giving a small, unconscious grind against Yamato’s thigh.
“Now your mouth,” Yamato said, the words torn from him. He was fraying at the edges, his control a thin ribbon about to snap. “Please.”
Taichi hesitated for only a second. Then he leaned down, his messy hair brushing Yamato’s stomach. He didn’t dive in. He explored. He nuzzled the length of him first, inhaling, then his tongue darted out, a kittenish lick across the sensitive head.
Yamato saw stars. His back arched. “Christ, Tai.”
Emboldened, Taichi licked again, a longer, lapping stripe, then swirled his tongue around the crown, tasting him properly. He hummed, the vibration traveling straight to Yamato’s core. “Okay,” Taichi whispered, as if convincing himself. Then he opened his mouth and took the head inside.
The heat was instantaneous, devastating. Yamato’s hand flew to Taichi’s hair, not pushing, just tangling, holding on. “Open wider,” he instructed, his voice thick. “Take me in. Easy. No teeth, just… yes. Just like that.”
Taichi obeyed, sinking down slowly, his lips stretching in a perfect, tight ‘O’. He got about halfway before he gagged, pulling off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Yamato’s cock. He coughed, eyes watering, but there was no shame in his face, only determination.
“Again,” Yamato urged, gently guiding his head back down. “You’re doing so fucking good. So perfect.”
The words ‘perfect’ made Taichi moan around him, the sensation making Yamato shout. Taichi’s eyes slid shut, his focus turning inward as he found a rhythm, bobbing his head, taking a little more each time. His free hand cupped Yamato’s balls, rolling them gently, a move so instinctively good it had to be luck, but it stole the air from Yamato’s lungs.
Yamato was dissolving. The careful teacher, the protector, was being unmade by eager, clumsy heat. Filthy, beautiful sounds filled the room: wet suction, ragged breaths, the soft creak of the bed. Taichi was a quick study, finding the angle that made Yamato’s thighs tremble, using his tongue in ways that had Yamato seeing white at the edges of his vision.
“Gonna come,” Yamato warned, hissing as the crowd began chanting voice shattered. He tried to tug Taichi off. “Tai, I’m gonna—”
But Taichi just gripped his hip, holding him down, and took him deeper, swallowing around him. The vibrations of Taichi’s groan, the sheer willing acceptance of it, tipped Yamato over the edge.
His orgasm ripped through him, violent and blinding. He came with a raw, broken cry, pulsing into the hot, willing clutch of Taichi’s mouth. Taichi took it, swallowing convulsively, until Yamato was spent, sensitive and shaking, gently pushing him away.
Taichi pulled off, panting. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips swollen and glistening. He looked wrecked and triumphant. He crawled back up Yamato’s body, collapsing beside him, pressing his face into Yamato’s neck. They lay there, hearts hammering against each other, the only sound their struggling breath.
After a long moment, Taichi spoke, his voice muffled against Yamato’s skin. “Did I… was that okay?”
A laugh, weak but real, bubbled out of Yamato. He turned his head, pressing his lips to Taichi’s damp temple. “Okay?” He dragged a hand down his own face. “Taichi, I think you short-circuited my brain.”
Taichi lifted his head, a slow, dazzling, genuinely proud smile spreading across his face. The Sunshine Prince, here in the shadows, glowing for a different reason entirely. “So… an encore then?”
Yamato just stared at him, at this beautiful, confounding man who had just rewritten his entire world in twenty minutes. The secret was no longer a quiet, painful thing inside him. It was out. It was tangled in the sheets, tasted on Taichi’s tongue, etched into the stunned and sated flesh of his body. And it was terrifying.
And it was just the beginning.