Chapter 18: The Patient Teacher
The dorm hallway was silent after midnight, just the hum of the vending machine at the far end. Taichi stood outside Yamato’s door, his knuckles hovering an inch from the wood. His heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. The memory of the practice room—the praise, the heat, Yamato’s knowing whisper—was a live wire under his skin. He had to know. He had to ask.
He knocked, soft.
The door opened almost immediately, as if Yamato had been waiting. He was in loose black sweatpants and nothing else, the tattoos on his arms and torso stark in the low light from his desk lamp. He didn’t speak. Just stepped back, allowing entry.
Taichi walked into the familiar clutter. The galaxy posters seemed to swim. The incense was stronger here, sandalwood and something darker.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Taichi said, the lie weak in the thick air.
“No,” Yamato agreed quietly, closing the door. The click of the lock was definitive. “You’ve been thinking.”
“About what you said.” Taichi turned to face him. His breath felt short. “About me… liking it.”
Yamato took a step closer. The space between them crackled. “And do you?”
Taichi’s mouth was dry. He nodded, a barely-there motion. “Yes.”
Another step. Yamato was right there, his body heat a palpable force. “What do you want, Taichi?”
“I don’t know,” Taichi whispered, the confession torn from him. “I don’t know how any of this works. I just… I want more.”
That was all it took.
Yamato’s hand came up, cradling the back of Taichi’s neck, and he kissed him. It wasn’t like the choreographed touch. This was consuming. Hard and deep, his tongue sweeping into Taichi’s mouth, claiming it. Taichi gasped against him, his hands flying up to grip Yamato’s bare shoulders. The feel of skin, of muscle shifting under his palms, was electrifying. He’d touched Yamato a thousand times, but never like this, with this intention.
Yamato walked him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his lips brushing Taichi’s.
“Don’t,” Taichi breathed. “Don’t stop.”
Yamato pushed him. Taichi fell onto the mattress, the comforter cool through his thin t-shirt. Yamato followed him down, a weight that was both alien and desperately right. He kissed him again, slower now, sucking on Taichi’s lower lip before trailing his mouth down his jaw, his throat. He nipped at the hollow where Taichi’s pulse hammered.
“Yamato…”
“Shhh. I’ve got you.” Yamato’s hands pushed Taichi’s shirt up. He broke away just to yank it over his head and toss it aside. His eyes drank in the sight. He lowered his head and licked a stripe over Taichi’s nipple.
Taichi jolted, a sharp cry escaping him. The sensation was white-hot, direct. Yamato did it again, then sucked, hard, his teeth grazing the pebbled flesh. Taichi’s back arched off the bed, a helpless motion. His fingers tangled in Yamato’s hair.
“That’s it,” Yamato whispered against his skin. “So responsive. Perfect.”
The words went straight to Taichi’s cock, already straining against his jeans. A groan rattled out of him. Yamato unbuttoned his jeans, peeling them and his briefs down in one rough pull. The cold air hit his wet, leaking cock and he shuddered.
Yamato sat back on his heels, looking. Just looking. Taichi felt exposed, utterly naked under that blue gaze. He whimpered, trying to cover himself.
“Don’t.” Yamato’s voice was a command. He wrapped a hand around Taichi’s cock, giving one slow, firm stroke. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. All undone. Because of me.”
He leaned down and kissed the tip, a soft, maddening press of his lips. Then he pushed at Taichi’s hip. “Turn over.”
A frisson of new fear, new anticipation. Taichi rolled onto his stomach, his face pressing into Yamato’s pillow. It smelled like his shampoo, his skin. Yamato’s hands smoothed over his ass, kneading the muscles. Taichi heard the click of a cap.
“Just my fingers tonight,” Yamato said, his voice low and thick. “I’m going to open you up. I’m going to make you feel so good you’ll scream.”
Cool, slippery liquid dripped onto his cleft. Taichi flinched. A finger, blunt and firm, circled his hole, spreading the lube. Around and around, a teasing, torturous pressure.
“Relax,” Yamato breathed, leaning over to kiss his shoulder blade. “Breathe out for me.”
Taichi exhaled, and as he did, Yamato pushed. The intrusion was strange, a sharp burn of stretch. Taichi tensed, a sound caught in his throat.
“Easy. Easy, sunshine.” Yamato’s other hand stroked his back. “Just let it happen. You’re taking it so well.”
The praise melted his resistance. He pushed back against the finger, a shallow, experimental movement.
“Fuck,” Yamato hissed. “Yeah. Like that.” He began to move, a slow in and out. The burn faded, replaced by a shocking, full feeling. Then Yamato crooked his finger, and brushed against something inside him that made Taichi see stars.
He cried out, bucking against the mattress.
“Found it,” Yamato said, a dark satisfaction in his tone. He did it again, that precise, rubbing pressure. Pleasure, raw and electric, shot up Taichi’s spine. A second finger joined the first, the stretch more intense, a burn that quickly morphed into a breathtaking fullness as Yamato scissored them, stretching him open.
Taichi was panting, drooling onto the pillow. He was hard again, his cock trapped beneath him, leaking against the sheets. “Yamato… please…”
“Please what?”
“I don’t know… more…”
Yamato withdrew his fingers. Taichi whined at the loss, but then he felt Yamato’s hands on his ass, spreading him open. The warm, wet swipe of a tongue over his exposed hole.
Taichi screamed.
Yamato ate him out like a man starving. He licked broad, flat stripes, then speared deep with the tip of his tongue, fucking into him with it. He sucked at the rim, nipped lightly with his teeth. The obscene, wet sounds filled the room, mixed with Taichi’s shattered moans. It was filthy. It was everything. His body was shaking, his fingers clawing at the sheets.
“Taste like heaven,” Yamato growled against him, before diving back in.
The coil in Taichi’s gut wound tighter, unbearably tight. He was babbling, begging. “Oh god, oh fuck, right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
Yamato slid two fingers back inside him, deep, crooking them immediately against that maddening spot. His mouth was still on him, sucking, licking. The dual assault was too much. Taichi’s vision whited out. His orgasm tore through him with no hand on his cock, wrenched from somewhere deep inside. He convulsed, his back bowing, a ragged, broken shout torn from his throat as he came in hot, helpless pulses onto the sheets beneath him.
Yamato worked him through it, his fingers gentling, his mouth softening to soft, soothing kisses on his trembling skin.
When it was over, Taichi collapsed, boneless and utterly spent. He felt Yamato pull the sheets out from under him, clean him up with a soft cloth. Then the bed dipped, and Yamato pulled him into his arms, turning him so his back was against Yamato’s chest. Yamato held him, one arm a solid band across his chest, his lips in Taichi’s hair.
Taichi’s body felt like liquid, his mind blissfully blank. But as the aftershocks faded, a new awareness crept in. The length of Yamato’s hard cock, still trapped in his sweatpants, pressed against the small of his back. The deliberate restraint in the tightness of Yamato’s embrace.
“You said… just your fingers,” Taichi mumbled, drowsy.
Yamato’s arms tightened. “I meant it.” His voice was rough with unmet need. “I want you to fall asleep feeling exactly how I made you feel. I want you to wake up tomorrow aching for it. To remember the way my tongue felt inside you. To hear my voice telling you how good you were.” He nuzzled Taichi’s hair. “This isn’t over. It’s just beginning.”
Taichi shivered, the words sinking in, a promise and a threat. The warmth of Yamato’s body surrounded him, but the chill of what had been unlocked—in both of them—settled deep in his bones. He had asked for more. He had no idea how much more there was to want.