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winterysomnium · 4 years

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did I really come back after a month or so just to drop a explicit nsfw fic for a completely different fandom? Yes,yes I did.

Hope you’ll enjoy!

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I came, I saw, I fingered; Daisuke/Haru; Fugou Keiji: Balance Unlimited, 1,500+ words, rated: R,full tags and trigger warnings under the cut

you can read the fic on AO3 here

warnings/tags:

bdsm, dom/sub play, sub!Haru, dom!Daisuke, glove kink, praise kink, orgasm delay, come eating, (let me know if I should add a bit more, full tags on AO3)

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The basement is surprisingly well-lit for a garage, not unlike a shopping mall’s underground parking lot if Haru doesn’t count the clean metal walls and line of wide windows, exposing the hidden parts of the estate garden.

The heavy, sweet scent of oil and worn tires is muted, soft, merely a stir at the base of his skull. It sweetens when it mixes with Daisuke’s cologne as he walks a step, two ahead of Haru and looks back at him, lingers on Haru’s lips.

“So, which one?” he asks and Haru stares at him for a second too long before his pulse picks up, the scene seeps under his skin.

“Which one?”he repeats, swallowing dryly, wishing he had accepted the offer of water while they were passing through the kitchen. The situation is catching up with him too fast, the resolve barely made: he hasn’t even finished properly looking around.

“Yes,”Daisuke answers, patiently. “In which of these cars do you want to get fingered? I’ll let you choose,”he says, calm, entirely too composed for what they’re about to do.

(Haru hates just how damn turned on he feels about that.)

There’s always a faint trace of a challenge stuck between them, a quiet tug where the other pulls and if Daisuke’s so sure about this, so nonchalant in the way he asks, Haru wants to test him, too, wants to watch him give something up, watch him yield, as well.

So, Haru decides.

“The most expensive one,” he says, with enough attitude to get him into trouble any given day, but he’s not afraid of this, of Daisuke or his responding smirk, the way he makes a show of pulling his gloves on just a little bit more snug.

“The Rolls Royce Sweptail then,” Daisuke establishes, leading Haru deeper into the depths of the garage and there’s a vague sense of a prey being lured, being strung along a line of pretty lies and deceitful beauty; Haru’s heart beats.

(His skin feels too hot under his collar: a summer’s heat.)

“A fine choice,” Daisuke remarks as he jingles the keys and unlocks the doors, opening Haru’s side first, a kindness that clashes with the hungry, dark look in his eyes. Haru almost wants to take a deep breath, like he’s going underwater, like he’s about to drown as he slides into the passenger’s seat, closing the door.

(He’s been caught.)

The scent of leather hits him the second he settles in his seat, every move a ripple of sound, a tense crackle, a tender sigh.

“Take off your shirt, pants, underwear and shoes.” Daisuke orders him right away and something in Haru shudders, Daisuke’s eyes on him a burn in his gut, a need he can’t explain.

He puts his hands on the hem of his pants, about to unzip his jeans when Daisuke stops him, a gloved finger pressing against the bottom of Haru’s lip. “What do you say when I give an order, Haru?” he asks, gentle.

(Vaguely, Haru wants to bite the thumb rubbing along the seam of his lips, wants to suck on it even more.)

Haru gathers his thoughts, insistently echoing the rapid thumping of his heart, and answers, kissing Daisuke’s thumb with his words.

“I’m sorry, master. Yes, master.”

“Good boy,” Daisuke praises, letting go of both Haru’s hands and lip, letting Haru strip himself in hurried movements, Haru’s fingers trembling in anticipation, in undeniable arousal stirring through his blood.

Once he’s fully stripped, Daisuke spreads his own legs and taps his thigh lightly, softly puts a stray strand of hair behind Haru’s ear.

“Come here, Haru.”

He doesn’t help Haru as he climbs across the shift stick panel and steadies himself above Daisuke, knees pressed closely against the sides of Daisuke’s thighs, the top of his head dangerously close to the roof of the car.

The leather pushing against his knees is firm and a little cold.

(Haru shivers.)

Daisuke makes a show of unbuttoning his cufflinks and rolling up the sleeves of his Balenciaga dress shirt, his bare forearms a vivid contrast to his gloved hands, the neat tie he still keeps firmly looped around his neck.

“Suck my fingers,” he orders, pushing his fingertips against Haru’s mouth and Haru’s lips part. Haru’s hard, painfully so, and there’s a moan at the back of his throat when he grabs the top of Daisuke’s car seat and rubs his tongue against the soft leather of the glove, sucking on the taste, the tart, tobacco trace stuck in the creases between.

There’s a click of a bottle being opened and Daisuke slicks up his other hand, circles the rim of Haru’s asshole. “You’re doing well, Haru,” he reassures and plays with Haru’s rim for several maddening minutes, never dipping into Haru directly, teasing the sensation until Haru’s thighs tremble from the way he’s been kneeling for so long, from the strain of not thrusting against Daisuke, of not rubbing his erection against Daisuke’s expensive dress shirt.

(There’s punishment for that and any other day he’d risk it and take whatever Daisuke deems punishing enough, but Haru wants this today, wants exactly what was promised and there’s no way he’s going to sabotage himself, not when they’re so far in the game.)

Haru pants against Daisuke’s fingers, slackens his jaw so Daisuke can go deeper, if he wishes to.

“Thank you, master,” Haru says, a jumbled mess of syllables but Daisuke seems to understand, seems to appreciate Haru’s patience and obedience, finally slipping one of his fingers into Haru, fucking him slowly, carefully.

Haru is impossibly tight and there’s precum dripping down the length of Haru’s cock: a drop lands on Daisuke’s thigh, wets the fabric to indigo black.

“Are you sure you’re not gonna come soon? We agreed on four fingers, remember? Don’t come before that,” Daisuke warns and Haru nods absentmindedly, his grip tightening on the leather of the seat as Daisuke picks up the pace, hits his prostate for the first time.

Time slips through Haru’s fingers like fine sand after that, he can’t remember when Daisuke thrust another finger in him or the third one at all, can’t tell just when has Daisuke started fucking Haru’s mouth deeper, rougher, but he’s feeling too good to care, the insistent throbbing of his erection and the thrum of his heart overpowering, blocking out most of his thoughts.

Haru forgets to not sink down onto Daisuke’s fingers, to not push them deeper and he whines against the warmed up leather of Daisuke’s gloves on his tongue.

“Impatient after all, Haru?” Daisuke clicks his tongue and removes the fingers from Haru’s mouth, slowly, knuckle by knuckle and caresses the side of his neck before he rubs Haru’s nipple, flicks at the sensitive skin that makes Haru jerk, curl his body in pleasure.

Haru lets out another desperate, wordless whine.

“No, master,” Haru grinds out between his teeth, with a difficulty he hasn’t anticipated, still slightly disliking the way he can’t help but melt and obey someone like Daisuke, his stubborn, unyielding side forcing itself out of him, his frustration predictable on his skin.

“Are you unsatisfied with me, Haru?”Daisuke asks, pushing a fourth finger inside of him, stretching him even wider, the tips of his fingers curling against Haru’s prostate, pressing, not letting up on the pressure or intensity of touch, rubbing slowly, methodically.

“N-No, master,” Haru moans out, knowing that’s not it: it’s him himself he’s unsatisfied with and it’s a thought for a later time, because in the end he can’t help but lean into Daisuke, can’t restrain the gasps when Daisuke sucks on his reddened nipple, when he softly bites at the skin.

“M-master, fuck --” Haru lets go of the seat, presses his head onto Daisuke’s shoulder, gulping in his scent, the tender way he’s holding his hip, the way he kisses his temple before he fucks him that much harder; Haru helplessly writhes against the soft fabric of Daisuke’s shirt.

“Daisuke … master ....please...” he begs through a sob, finally overcome with inexpressible need, a want that burns through all his inhibitions, through all of him, leaving him raw and heated, stimulated to the point of frantic desperation.

“Please?”

“Please!”

Daisuke chuckles, voice strangely fond, moving his other hand to Haru’s erection, teasing the tip, spreading the pre-come across the head.. “Alright, I understand, Haru. You’ve done well.”

Still relentlessly fucking him with his fingers, Daisuke strokes Haru’s cock in swift, tight strokes, feeling rather than seeing the moment Haru tenses around him, hearing him sob out his name in a hoarse, breathy whine, hearing him swear as Daisuke lets him ride his out orgasm, Haru’s come splattering against his bare chest, his chin, wetly dripping into the creases of Daisuke’s glove.

“Feeling better now, Haru?” Daisuke asks when Haru’s stopped shuddering against his shoulder and Haru lifts his head heavily, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, his lips swollen and a lush, pale red.

Haru nods.

“Good. Before we end, clean this up for me. You got it dirty, after all.” Daisuke lifts his come stained hand palm up and Haru nods again, a scratchy “Yes, master” disappearing under the sound of Haru licking the glove and Daisuke feels Haru clench around the fingers still inside of him, a deep flush staining Haru’s cheeks.

Daisuke smirks.

(Maybe they’re not finished, after all.)

#daiharu #haru katou #daisuke kambe #nsfw #bdsm #car sex #glove kink #praise kink #fugou keiji balance unlimited #fkbu #anything else to tag?

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