Chapter 19: The Morning Blowjob
The first thing Taichi felt was warmth. A solid line of heat against his back, an arm heavy across his waist. The second thing was the ache, a deep, internal throb that made itself known as he shifted on the mattress. Memory returned not as a flood, but in vivid, sensory flashes. The press of fingers, the burn of stretch, the shocking wet heat of a tongue. The pleasure that had torn through him like a structural failure.
He blinked in the gray morning light filtering through the blinds. Yamato’s bedroom looked different in the dawn—softer at the edges, the clutter less chaotic, more lived-in. The concert posters were just paper. The train schedules were just numbers. The only real thing was the body wrapped around him.
And the hard, insistent press against the back of his thigh.
Yamato’s breathing was still even, deep with sleep, but his body wasn’t fooling anyone. Taichi lay still, listening to his own heartbeat. The phantom sensation of Yamato’s mouth on him, inside him, pulsed in time with the dull ache. I want you to wake up tomorrow aching for it.
He was.
A slow, unfamiliar boldness uncurled in his gut. It felt like stepping onto a stage before the lights came up—terrifying and exhilarating. He knew what that hardness meant. He knew, now, what he could do about it.
Moving with careful slowness, he eased out from under Yamato’s arm. Yamato mumbled something unintelligible, his hand flexing on empty sheets, but he didn’t wake. Taichi slipped beneath the rumpled comforter, into the dark, warm cave of their shared space. The smell was intensely masculine, sweat and sleep and them.
He nuzzled against Yamato’s thigh, then higher. The outline of Yamato’s cock straining against his black sweatpants was clear. Taichi mouthed him through the fabric, feeling him jump. A low groan vibrated from above.
Taichi hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled them down, just enough to free him. Yamato was already leaking, the head dark and wet. In the muted light, Taichi saw the vein running along the length, the way it curved. He’d never really looked before. He leaned in and licked a broad stripe from base to tip, tasting salt and skin.
Yamato’s hips jerked. “Taichi…?”
Taichi didn’t answer with words. He opened his mouth and took him in, just the head, swirling his tongue around the crown the way Yamato had liked before. He remembered the praise, the way Yamato’s voice had cracked. Just like that.
He sank down further, relaxing his jaw, letting his throat open. It was easier this time. Less thought. More instinct. He focused on the weight on his tongue, the silken-skin feel, the low, choked sounds Yamato was making above the covers. One of Yamato’s hands found his head, fingers threading into his messy brown hair. Not pushing. Just holding.
“Fuck,” Yamato breathed, his voice thick with sleep and need. “You just wake up and decide to be perfect?”
The words sent a jolt of pure fire through Taichi. He hummed in response, the vibration pulling another sharp gasp. He bobbed his head, establishing a rhythm, using his hand to work the base in tandem. Saliva gathered, making the glide slick, obscene. He glanced up, meeting Yamato’s bleary, half-lidded gaze looking down at him from over the edge of the comforter. Yamato’s hair was a wreck, his lips parted.
“Look at you,” Yamato rasped. “My sunshine. Taking my cock so good first thing in the morning. Your mouth was made for this.”
Taichi’s own neglected erection twitched against the mattress. The praise wasn’t just nice; it was a fuel, a direct line to his lust. He sucked harder, taking him deeper until his nose pressed into dark gold curls. His eyes watered.
“Yeah, just like that. Oh god, Taichi… I’m close. So close.”
The hand in his hair tightened, guiding his pace now, gentle but insistent. Yamato’s hips began to piston up in shallow, helpless thrusts. Taichi relaxed completely, letting him fuck his mouth, his throat working around the intrusion. The sounds were filthy, wet, echoing in their little tent.
“Gonna come,” Yamato warned, his voice strangled. “Where do you want it?”
Taichi didn’t pull off. He just looked up, holding Yamato’s gaze, and sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks.
It was the final trigger. Yamato cried out, a raw, broken sound, and his release hit the back of Taichi’s throat in hot, bitter pulses. Taichi swallowed instinctively, again and again, milking him with his mouth until Yamato was trembling and oversensitive, gently pushing his head away.
Taichi released him with a soft, wet pop. He licked him clean, every last shuddering inch, before crawling back up the bed. Yamato was breathing like he’d run a sprint, chest heaving, eyes wide with a kind of shattered wonder.
Taichi kissed him. Deep. Letting him taste himself. Yamato made a hungry noise, his tongue surging forward to claim his own flavor.
When they broke apart, Taichi grinned, the familiar Sunshine Prince expression now laced with something new, something knowing. “Good morning.”
Yamato stared at him for a long moment. Then a slow, real smile—the kind fans never saw—spread across his face. He pulled Taichi tightly against him. Taichi could feel him, already hardening again against his hip.
“Best morning ever,” Yamato murmured, his voice rough with emotion. He rolled, pinning Taichi beneath him, his weight a welcome anchor. The look in his blue eyes was possessive, awed, and utterly desperate all at once. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Outside, the city’s morning traffic began to hum. Somewhere in the dorm, a shower started. Their world was waking up. But here, in the dim clutter, the only thing that mattered was the heat between them, and the terrifying, thrilling understanding that there was no going back to what they were before. This was who they were now.