#sanocollab

[hiwofumi]

𝚊 𝚞 𝚐 𝚞 𝚜 𝚝

Summer love with the Sano boys. Izana’s ver.

For context, the Sanos own a beach house. It’s the same setting for each boy, but on different occasions.

18+ ⭒ MDNI ⭒ 1.7k words

starring ⭒ Manila Arc Izana ⭒ AFAB Reader

tags ⭒ Fluff and smut ⭒ Reader is a bikini wearer ⭒ Whipped Izana ⭒ Public sex ⭒ Finger sucking (Izana does it) ⭒ Ice play ⭒ Face-sitting ⭒ Cowgirl ⭒ His hair is tied

note ⭒ Final entry for @fueledbysano’s Sano Collab! ⭒ Big thank you to the kind @muchoccino for beta reading! Giving you the biggest squeeze ♡

network ⭒ @tokyometronetwork wasn’t mine to lose

versions ⭒ Shinichiro’s ver.⠀Mikey’s ver.

𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚗

𝚆𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗’ 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝

You lace your fingers over your stomach, fidgeting demurely. “Is this really necessary?”

Your feet are flat on the sand as you stand in front of a lounging Izana, his body laying sideways on a picnic blanket, his head propped up on one elbow. He eyes you with an eagerness subdued by a lax expression. “Yes. You’ve been keeping it from me too long. I think I deserve a show.”

As if to agree, the wind blows the lower end of your short beach kimono up, granting him a brief look at the garment underneath. You catch his eyes glimmer in excitement, a pair of amethysts under the morning sun.

Before you found yourselves a spot along the shore, you were alone in his room, admiring yourself in a fine bikini you chose with him at the mall. When you first picked it up, you held it against your figure, and he scanned you from head to toe, then he smirked, shooting you a thumbs up. He surprised you at the counter when he purchased it himself. He also surprised you when he insisted in the following days that you present yourself in it before you went to the beach.

“No,” you said for the nth time with a lilt of amusement. After you’ve starved him for days, he was prepared to feast when you walked out of his room this morning.

But to his utter disappointment, what he saw upon whipping his head was another layer of concealment—one he wouldn’t deny looked ravishing on you, but was so . . . hindering.

He decided, then, that it would be the last time the sparkle of anticipation in his eyes faltered.

He waits in front of you now, his hair in a high ponytail which exhibits his clean undercut. His fringe is left at the front, veiling his forehead. His earrings dangle from both ears. He wears only a pair of tropical-patterned swimming trunks, his chest tan without having to bask in the sun.

He flaps his hand impatiently, beckoning you to continue. “Go on,”

At this point, you’re inclined to admire his dedication to this. You think to yourself, Maybe I have been teasing him for too long.

So you put it to an end. You take a deep breath, and with your eyes holding him, you tug on the string securing your robe. When you shed it off, your skin sparkles under the sun, and you reveal to him your golden body kissed by a pretty two-piece.

Here is your moment of truth: his eyes double in size, and his mouth hangs open. You can’t hear it, but you can tell from his lip movement that he mouths, “Holy shit,”

He shifts to a cross-legged sitting position. He seems to have forgotten how to close his mouth, shaping it into a smile you’re grateful to see. It thrusts a boldness into you: you cross one leg over the other, jut your hip out slightly, then put your hand on your hip. The wind, seemingly in favor of you this time, blows your hair back, painting the full image of a beach goddess.

You laugh sheepishly, aware of the risk that you look ridiculous. But you genuinely enjoy yourself, and the prolonging might not have been for naught, after all. “Here’s your show. What do you think?”

His dominance, his cool, and his words—they all seem to have evaporated in the heat.

He bats his eyes, seemingly his last resort to revert to reason. “You’re perfect.”

You grin wider, then you prance forward and tackle him, knocking the air out of his lungs as you fall skin-to-skin.

✱

You’ve mellowed since then. You lie next to each other, you on your stomach, him on folded arms under his head. The sky is a strong, clear blue, a strange but welcome drape over his purple eyes. Your head is dipped into a book, hence your lack of attention for the last three ice cubes he’s tossed into his mouth. They came from a cooler of beers he carried along when you left the house to lie in the sand.

His head lolls to your side. He watches your side profile, starting from the curl of your lashes, ending in the balls of your feet. He knows this sight well. You read like this often; when you laze at the park in the afternoon or wait for him to wake up in the morning. He would be well-rested after a long night of lovemaking, finding you naked and partially covered in sheets, a book on your pillow.

He might have grown attached to this image of you. His stomach warms the longer he admires.

He likes the point where your back arches, starting at your ribs and moving upward. He thinks about what you would look like on top of him, here and now, rolling your hips with the call of his name. He gulps the last of his melted ice down before the thought parches him. When your eyes flick to him, he considers taking another cube from the cooler.

“Yes?” you smile faintly, having felt the intensity of his stare. You reach for his face and stroke the corner of his lip with your thumb. The pattern of his breath changes, you note from how it fans your skin, but his face remains unswayed.

With a slight turn of his head, he takes your thumb into his mouth. You jump at the sudden prickle of wet and cool. “Why’s your mouth so cold?”

“I’ve been eating ice cubes,” he confesses, his tongue hitting the pad of your thumb as he speaks.

“Why have you been eating ice cubes?” you tip your head in question.

“Because,” his eyes trail to the picnic blanket, “you’re hot.”

He meets your eyes again to await a reaction. You blink, then you turn your head away from him and snort. “Please,” you say amusedly.

You close your book with your vacant hand and push it aside, drawing all your attention to him. His tongue continues to swirl around your thumb, indulging in your taste. “How’s it feel?”

“Cold,” you tell him. “I like it.”

He pulls back, leaving your thumb coated in spit. “Would you like it if you felt it elsewhere?”

His hand glides over the back of your thigh, tucking in-between. He rubs your sensitivity delicately. Heat sparks in your nerves.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about?” you manage to utter in response.

“This whole time.” he affirms. “You’ve just been so . . . fuck,”

You carefully move up from your spot. “Ran out of words?” his eyes follow as your knees straddle his head, your groin above his face. “That’s okay. You won’t be needing any.”

He hastens to tug your bikini down, clasping your hips to pull you toward him. When his cool tongue meets your slick cunt, you cry.

You rock against his mouth, the cold accompanied by his warm breath, making for a wakeful sensation that drives you to curl your fist in his hair. His tongue flicks your throbbing clit, flattens over your fluttering lips, and you mewl as you roll harsher, tingles shooting down your legs and up your stomach. “Izana,” you gasp when his hands move to your ass and squeeze.

He relishes the sweetness, the dripping honey he takes into his tongue. His gaze falls to your arched neck, to your gaping mouth where noises tumble relentlessly. You bow your head to see him, admiring how your fingers pull his fringe backward and unmask his forehead, where thin sweat sheens. It glistens like his mesmeric eyes, like his pillow-soft lips as they press zealously against your cunt.

His lips pucker over your slit, then they trail up to your clit, sucking in hard patterns. Your knees draw toward each other until they press his temples, your thighs clenching as the heat intensifies. Your vacant hand joins the one in his hair, tugging off the tie that holds it together; the more you rock above him and rake your fingers through, the more his wavy strands spread across the blanket. Your nails mark his scalp in fervor, messing his hair even more.

Your eagerness swells, and you bounce as you roll over his tongue. You stain the edges of his mouth with the fluid you leak for him, his nose meeting your pubic mound. He says in his muffled voice, “’M hard,” and although your mind spins in circles, you comprehend it.

You slow down, and your hand loosens from his hair. “Let me,” you tell him, your chest heaving.

He lets go of your ass, then you crawl backward, aligning yourself to his groin. You eye the tent centering his trunks, and without hesitance, you pull the garter down. His erection has a tiny drop at the tip, and you run your thumb over it, spreading it down his cock. “Fuck,” he curses, moaning with the movement of your hand before you position your entrance above his tip. You lower yourself carefully, shivering with him as you do.

You pause to take in his size, eyeing each other with panting mouths. “You’re so hot,” he exhales. “I could come just by looking at you.”

A smirk suits your face, and your palms flatten on his stomach. “Fill me,” you say as you grind on him. You moan the further he stretches your cunt, exhaling with length when he presses your sweet spot. “Oh,” you breathe sharply. “Fuck. That’s it.”

He grunts, clutching your hips again, adding force to every rock of your hips down his cock. While your skin makes harsh contact, your fluid stains his balls and inner thighs. He hears the sound of slapping even amidst the waves; it has him losing touch with his sanity, adding weight to his falling eyelids.

“Izana,” you cry above him, “you fuck me so good.”

Your bodies strain to the point of shivering, and your rapid pace spills vowels out of his mouth. Your cunt clenches around his throbbing cock, and you lose your fiery rhythm amidst the rush to orgasm. His stomach is hot, his chest fluttering.

“Come inside me,” you whine. With a loud groan, he releases, filling you on the inside.

You slow down on top of him before stopping altogether. You rest your weight on him, and he embraces you as you pant heavily. You feel his chest expand and contract against yours.

His palm glides over your back, soothing you with each stroke. “You’re the loveliest.”

You smile over the crook of his neck, nuzzling his skin affectionately. “Thank you. Let’s have some beer.”

[fueledbysano]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁.

ㅤ

⚜️ The Sano brothers' birth month; August, is fast approaching! In celebration, I'm opening a collab dedicated to the hottest siblings in TR. (Adding Emma too though her birthday is on November ♡) ´ˎ˗

⚜️ This is open for writers and artists. ´ˎ˗

⚜️ SFW, NSFW and DC are welcome. Please tag your content properly. However, you must be 18+ in order to join for the latter content. ´ˎ˗

⚜️ To join, kindly send me an ask :)) ´ˎ˗

⚜️ Don't forget to tag your work with #sanocollab and mention me in it for a reblog ´ˎ˗

ㅤ

MASTERLIST.

˗ˏˋ Shinichiro Sano ´ˎ˗

august — @domineer

ignite — @fueledbysano

birthday blues — @fuyuluvr

ㅤ

˗ˏˋ Izana Kurokawa ´ˎ˗

bonten kurokawa izana — @blueparadis

to stardust — @20-08-1990

august — @domineer

the end of august - @izanazqueen

ㅤ

˗ˏˋ Manjiro Sano ´ˎ˗

When My Mind Drifts, It Always Returns to You — @saturnandhope

drapetomania — @20-08-1990

august — @domineer

@clovers-garden-co

.

ㅤ

˗ˏˋ Emma Sano ´ˎ˗

.

.

ㅤ

[hiwofumi]

𝚊 𝚞 𝚐 𝚞 𝚜 𝚝

Summer love with the Sano boys. Shinichiro’s ver.

For context, the Sanos own a beach house. It’s the same setting for each boy, but on different occasions.

18+ ⭒ MDNI ⭒ 1.9k words

starring ⭒ Post-Black Dragons Shinichiro ⭒ AFAB Reader

tags ⭒ Fluff and smut ⭒ Reader is a bikini wearer ⭒ Wardrobe malfunctions ⭒ Loss of virginity ⭒ Mutual masturbation ⭒ Vaginal penetration ⭒ Buildup before smut, Chief!

note ⭒ Not the first Swift song that would inspire me to write the naughty-naughty—that’s the reputation album’s job—but it’s their birth month, so I had to. Here’s entry #1 for @fueledbysano’s Sano Collab! ⭒ I tried to make it special for Shin’s first time. Goodness. I don’t know if I’ll be able to give Izana and Mikey the same treatment :,)

network ⭒ @tokyometronetwork pulled up and said “Get in the car”

versions ⭒ Mikey’s ver.⠀Izana’s ver.

𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 “𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎?”

“𝙽𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝙸 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎”

The sea leveled with your hips seems to still when Shinichiro says it: “Your top’s loose,”

He points it out sheepishly, a finger raised to your chest. You understand, then, that his flushed cheeks weren’t caused by spending the late afternoon under the sun.

His intention was not to shame, yet that is what you feel when you tilt your head down and see the strings of your bikini swaying at your sides. Your chest would be bare if not for the lace keeping the top around your neck. “Oh.”

You rush to tie it back on and curse inwardly—at the waves’ strength for untying the knot, at yourself for not tightening it enough. You fail to notice Shinichiro reaching for you with a reluctant hand, clumsily shaping words: “Uh, let me,”

You raise your head at him. He’s wading his way to you, immersed from the thighs down. “Oh . . . okay,” is your stuttered response before you turn your back to him.

The sight of the rocking sea greets you amidst the subtle squeeze around your bust. “Is that fine?”

“Yeah,” you answer, still diffident in his quiet. The sun is a yolk sinking halfway under the horizon. By breathing in warm air, you’re somewhat relaxed, and when you exhale it’s with an awkward chuckle. “How embarrassing.”

“What?” he laughs as well. “No. Don’t be. It’s just me,”

Just him.

Shinichiro has been with you long enough for you to know that his love for you is true. He’s seen nearly every part of you—the pretty and ugly, the highs and lows, the best and worst.

But he hasn’t seen your body quite yet. Not to the fullest extent, let alone felt it.

As the sun stares back at you, a thought comes to mind: What do I have to hide from him?

The signs are dangling right in front of you: the private beach, the unshared company of each other, the sudden shows of skin. If there is a flower that will blossom from this trip, it’s a step further into intimacy.

“All done,” he says.

When you face him, he smiles from cheek to cheek. You love him more for this, catching you whenever you slip, reminding you that you can fall in front of him.

Comforted, you smile back at him. “Thanks, Shin.”

✱

He can’t tell you what he saw. If he did, he would soil the sacredness of first times, a belief you share with him.

So he shoves it aside as you spend the remaining daylight playing in the water, then you walk home covered in towels, holding hands in the subtle dark.

But even if he fails to acknowledge it, the body responds to what it sees: beneath his stomach, a faint pulse resides, and he suspects his body temperature is warmer than the sea in the daytime.

While the door clicks shut by his hand, a wet plop sounds behind him. When he turns to you in the entryway of his house, his heart skitters.

Your towel and bikini top is on the floor. Your naked chest is exposed to his eyes.

“What are you . . .” the last word evaporates from his hanging mouth. The lower half of your swimsuit—your last piece of clothing—doesn’t cover much, either. You may as well be fully naked in front of him.

You’re still shy about this; it shows when your eyes move to the floor, your hand tentatively rubbing your upper arm. “Your trunks . . . they’re a little small.”

Small?

He looks down. He almost thinks it’s funny how the tables have turned, seeing an “accident” of his own making: a tropical heat in his shorts. Fuck.

“I’ve noticed. Since earlier.” Your eyes meet in the space taking up the middle of you two. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?”

He gulps, the lump on his throat bobbing. He wants to steady his eyes on yours as much as he can. He’s trying—trying terribly hard. “Yeah,” he admits quietly.

You amble to him, grains of sand scattering in your trail. You take his hand and lace your fingers together, staring past the dark threads framing his eyes, where mania wanders. You say it clearly so he understands: “It’s just me.”

Just you.

He’s loved you through words and gestures, through thoughts and daydreams. When the dreams get too dark, he helps himself to relief, soothing the sparks that string across his aching nerves.

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t considered this happening when he brought you here alone. The mood, the scene, and the time felt right. It was a neon sign flickering in his face: Now. It can’t be any more memorable than this.

“Shin,” his name, when it escapes your lips, is cool in the heat growing under his skin, calm in the loud flutter of his heart, “I’m ready when you are.”

When he sees the slight upward turn of your mouth, he frames it with his fingers. Then his hands fall to your hips, and he sighs warmly. “You’re beautiful,”

He takes the plunge, falling into a kiss that is hungry but patient, neither gentle nor rough. He lifts you up to his waist, and you drape your arms over his shoulders as he carries you to his room.

Pale sheets chafe his knees as he sets your back on the mattress delicately. Though the light is dim, his face above yours is as clear as the night ahead of you.

The little space between you recedes. His saliva wets your lips, and your palms glide over his back, over his protruding shoulder blades and the subtle dips they lead to. He fondles your breasts, evoking soft hums that only encourage him to go further.

When your lips part, it’s with a soft smack. Both are glossy and swollen, expelling heavy breaths. “Do you trust me?” he asks softly, voice deep and considerate.

You knew this when he was just a friend, then a best friend, then a lover: “I trust you,” you whisper back, stroking his warm cheek.

This would be his first time. The thought alone made you want him to take his sweet time, to soak up the glory of tangling with a lover, of holding their shape in its purest form.

His eyes also smile when his lips do, then his hand slides down to discard your last piece of clothing. It comes off easier when you fold your legs.

He strokes you with his whole palm as if to study the shape and width of you, a wetness already there, increasing with his touch. He rubs your clit in circles, breaking the pattern of your breath, and your mound leans further into his hand to heighten the sensation.

His other hand cups your breast and kneads, his eyes fixed on every small movement of yours: the perk of your nipples, the uneven rise and fall of your chest, the loud and hot breaths.

“You look helpless,” he tells you with a hint of pride. Your eyes are half-closed from the weight of his touch, but you can still see him, and you can see the lust coloring his eyes. Then his finger enters you and strokes slowly, and everything but him darkens in your line of vision.

You angle your hips upward to get him to where it feels best, and you hold yourself still when he reaches it with light thrusts, moaning when his pace quickens. “That good?”

“Mmm,” you hum in return. You yelp when he nudges another finger in, a breath catching in your throat. You see concern mark his face, but you shake your head briefly, biting your lip. “It’s good.”

You cup his face and take his moist lips into yours again, sinking further into the pillow. You’re not so helpless that you’re unable to pull his trunks downward, take a glance at his swinging erection, then hold it steady in your hand.

“Fuck,” he hisses, hardening more when you stroke him, gently at first. You feel him shiver on top of you, hearing a breath sucked through clenched teeth. Your pace hastens, and he responds by burying his fingers into you deeper. You exchange harsh breaths and soft moans, his fingers curling inside of you, your hand twisting around his cock. You listen to each other’s sounds, absorb each other’s breath, and mutually need more, more, more.

A bubble expands in your chest when his fingers leave your cunt, glistening amply. Your hand is still around his cock when he steadies himself above you, aligning with your entrance. You spread your legs a tad wider as his tip comes in contact with your pulsing, wet hole. Then your hands move to his hips, clutching as he slides in, drawn out moans spilling from either side. He pauses midway, shaking above you, and throbbing inside of you.

He moves, bobbing ever so slightly to make you adjust to him little by little. “Is this okay?”

“Very,” you exhale, thinking you should praise the thoughtfulness, but you can’t when your mouth is parted for lewder things; he deepens his thrusts, and you cry out, “Oh,”

He spreads your thighs further apart, his hands squeezing plush skin, and with the lubrication he slides with such ease that you spout monosyllables, throwing your wrists over his shoulders. He raises your hips, doubling the amount of bliss. “Shin. There. There. Fuck,”

His pace hastens at the lustful sound of his name, and you take a good look at his flushed face as he bucks over you, the heavy crease in his brows and his fallen eyelids, his mouth puffing short breaths. The thought sparks again, that he’s lost his virginity to you, and it mixes with the thrill bleeding into your bodies, dripping in your veins.

His heat spreads all over you—you feel it in the skip of your heart, the curl of your stomach, the pulse drumming in your wrist. You moan so sweetly as he juts toward a point that sends tingles down your whole body, straining your legs and hips and rasping throat. “So . . . good . . . fuck,” you sigh.

“Shit,” he curses, and you trap him between closed legs, sealing the rhythm, taking the heaves of his chest against your own. He’s reached your limit, skin slapping and producing the wet noise accompanied by the squeak of the bed from your harsh and weighty movements.

“Shin,” you keep crying, approaching the point of giving in, “Don’t stop, Shin,”

“Fuck, you’re clenching around me,” he groans, flushed and fast-paced, losing control of his own scheme. He’s beautiful in his strain. You capture it with glossy eyes: his erratic breaths, his shaking arms, the hard click of his teeth. You embrace him as he rakes the noises out of you with rough and brisk motions. You near the end, and he pours all of his strength into his final thrusts until you release into him, and he releases into you.

You exhale in long pants, coming to a still underneath him. His warm fluid fills the inside of you, and his chest presses against yours, his face falling to the side of your head. After a moment’s rest, your arms loosen around him.

Your mouth’s gone dry from having been open a while. It moistens again as he raises his head to look at you.

You gulp, brushing away the sweaty strands over his eyes to watch the sparkle in his gaze. You will know this moment for a lifetime; it’s his and yours forever.

“I love you,” he blurts out amidst heavy breaths.

He’s mesmerized by your smile, the parting of your mouth to say it back, “I love you too.”

[hiwofumi]

𝚊 𝚞 𝚐 𝚞 �� 𝚝

Summer love with the Sano boys. Mikey’s ver.

For context, the Sanos own a beach house. It’s the same setting for each boy, but on different occasions.

18+ ⭒ MDNI ⭒ 1.4k words

starring ⭒ Manila Arc Mikey ⭒ AFAB Reader

tags ⭒ Smut ⭒ Reader is a bikini wearer ⭒ Whipped Mikey ⭒ Dirty talk ⭒ Public sex ⭒ He’s kinda rough ⭒ Standing doggy ⭒ Stand and carry

note ⭒ Entry #2 for @fueledbysano’s Sano Collab! Thank you for the warm reception of Shin’s version! ⭒ Just realizing now that I’m not posting in the right order of the lyrics ⭒ Robyn, it may not be a penthouse, but I think you get the gist :]

network ⭒ Meet me behind @tokyometronetwork

versions ⭒ Shinichiro’s ver.⠀Izana’s ver.

𝚂𝚊𝚕𝚝 𝚊𝚒𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛

𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎

When Manjiro reaches the balcony entrance, he stares.

You stand out against the backdrop of the sea—he knows he’s biased, but he has no shame in admitting it: you’re more breathtaking than the view of the beach, even with just your back facing him. Your elbows rest on the railing; the ribbon of your bikini top adorns your back; your curves cascade downward to more curves, where supple skin peeks out of your tight bikini bottom.

He’s committed plenty of sins before. But he believes, at this moment, his biggest sin is choosing a nap over the opportunity to be in the presence of this.

His knees wobble with regret.

He saunters, and the harsh sound of rolling waves mutes his footsteps. You turn your head in surprise when a pair of arms lace around your stomach, a warm figure pressing against your back. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” his voice is soft and low.

You regard him from head to shoulder. He’s in his favorite black tank top; it matches his hair, which sways lightly from genial winds; it matches his eyes, which still carry remnants of sleep. You smile, and your arms fall over his own, unaware that every motion rattles his chest—your whole presence has this effect on him. “’Cause you’re a grump when you’re woken up.”

“I’m not,” he has the nerve to deny, and you almost retort when his lips crawl over the slope of your shoulder, blurring any comeback you had in mind. “Especially not when you’re wearing this.”

His lips trail up to your neck, then behind the shell of your ear. Your skin prickles in response, but you hold your ground, leaning only slightly against his body while your head remains turned in his direction. “Is that so? Maybe I’ll wear bikinis more often, then. That ought to keep you tamed.”

“I’d like that,” he admits almost too quickly, “maybe a little too much.” The words vibrate against your ear, raising more bumps on your skin. Under the breeze cooling your chest, your heart thumps.

You hum in return, “What do you mean by that?” though you’re just playing coy. You’re entertained by this, this mania he disguises under a mask of calm.

“I think you look good against this railing. That’s all I’m sayin’.” His kisses behind your ear are too enticing, too hard to ignore.

You inhale quietly, “And?”

His hand wanders, cupping your breast over slippery fabric. “And I know how to make you look even better.”

You saw it from a mile away: his other hand burrows between your thighs, rubbing over the cloth. Your own hand finds the railing, needing to clutch it as your thighs clench around his rotating fingers. “If I moan,” you exhale, “do you think someone will hear us?”

“Maybe,” his fingers slide under both pieces of your swimsuit, brushing over your erect nipple and pulsing clit. You burn even more. “Would you let ’em hear you? Would you let ’em know what I’m doing to you?”

Your breath falters, and you can no longer help it. “Yes,” you arch your bottom to meet his groin, where his bulge resides, “so fuck me all you want.”

Once you say it, he can’t be stopped.

Two fingers slide into your cunt and stretch you immediately. The whine you let out competes with the roaring waves, the squawking seagulls.

He pushes you over the railing with his other hand, and you feel him tug at the string holding your bikini top in place; it slackens from your chest, pointing to the floor, and he fondles your bare breasts while working into your swelling cunt. As you loosen around his fingers, he grinds his pelvis against your bottom, and you feel his hard-on pressing, setting you further from reason. Your moans come out as stuttered hums, as messy vowels.

“Spread for me,” he tells you, and you comply, parting your legs wider. You feel him leave your figure all at once—his hands and hips gone, only an air of his silhouette left. Then he tugs your lower bikini down, and he grabs your hips, sliding his cock into you without warning. Your view of the sea blurs, and your throat strains with every inch he buries into you. Amidst his groaning, he utters, “Tight. And so fucking pretty,” he lets out a breath of pleasure before he moves at a fair pace.

You inhale sharply, arching your back as you fold your arms on the railing, dipping your head in-between. He strokes your clit at a brisk pace, and you curse over the sensation you’re unsure how long your body can withstand. “Fuck, Manjiro,”

“I like that,” he grunts between his movements, and you wonder how he can still speak in this position, “go on, keep saying it. Tell me who you belong to.”

“Manjiro!” you cry as he shoves himself further, his tip meeting a point that flutters your stomach and weakens your knees. You feel the hard contact of his groin on your ass, the slap of his balls against your wet bottom. Then your mind blanks when he pulls out, leaving you stretched and pulsating eagerly, heaving breaths.

He gives you a mere second of rest before he turns you around, your softened figure facing his own. You take a look at his earnest face, then you look down to where his cock glides over your wet slit. You moan faintly and meet his eyes again; you can see, even in your teary vision, that they burn with the same intensity as his flushed skin. “You’re stunning.” He breathes out.

His words are accompanied by another teasing nudge of his cock. You breathe through your parted mouth, your back pressing against the railing for support. “Manjiro, my knees are giving out,” you tell him weakly.

He snickers arrogantly; he knows what you’re asking for, humored by the hint of your statement. “You just wanna get fucked deeper,”

You mentally applaud him for knowing better, flattered by how well he knows you. You submit when he lifts you by the underside of your thighs, buckles your legs around the small of his back, and allows a glimpse of his cock as it enters you again. He slides far into you, and you reward him with soft cries and the clench of your cunt, admiring the stress on his features with your cloudy vision.

There’s a pressure in being sandwiched between his cock and the railing, one that urges you to throw your arms around his neck and cling on for dear life. Your body jerks with his harsh thrusts, his tip brushing the very end of you, your mind tossing into the seemingly endless wave of pleasure. “Manjiro. Manjiro. Oh, fuck,”

“Hold on to me,” he pants. Your skin rubs against the hot metal behind you, and your body shakes as you dig your nails into his shoulders. You tug him close until your chests press, the orgasm threatening to spurt with every beating pulse. “Come all over me,” he urges.

With a cry, you reach the peak of your arousal, and his warm fluid flows into you with the last of his thrusts.

You pant together in that spot, his body giving in to exhaustion, but his arms still securing you. He leans on your body, his chin resting on your shoulder as you let relief wash over you like waves.

“Can you stand?” he asks, his chest beating hard against your own.

“Yes,” you answer, heaving back. “You can put me down.”

With his remaining strength, he pulls out, and your bare feet meet the wooden floor. His hands rest on either side of you while he lowers his head. You take a moment to fix yourself; you pull your bikini back on, tying your top loosely, then you help him wear his shorts, too. You push his hair back and cup his face, brushing your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. “I wanted to swim,” you sulk jokingly.

He looks at you, resembling a puppy when he says, “Are you saying you rather wouldn’t’ve had sex?”

You linger in silence for a moment. “Sex is all right, too,” you feign nonchalance, but you’re unable to help the smile that grows on your face.

“All right? You were just all over me,”

You laugh, then you take his arm and drag him into the house. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s rest and go for a swim.”