Work Text:
"Don't forget another line here," you say, voice gentle as you point to the previous word Sanemi scratched out on the paper. The kanji for 'love' is missing the top, slanted horizontal line. It's not a glaring error when compared to how well he has been doing, but you see the way his grip around the fountain pen tightens in frustration. The only reason he doesn't throw it across the room is because you were transparently open about how much it had cost.
"Why is this so complicated?" He grits out, placing the pen down and scooting back from the desk to take a deep breath. It's something he's gotten better at since retiring from Demon Slaying; self-regulating his emotions in a healthier way. You're quite proud of him, but don't say anything so as not to make him feel as though you're talking down to him. At least he isn't trying to pummel everything in sight.
"I suppose any new skill is complicated. Not everyone is as naturally gifted at writing as they are swinging a sword. Some of us needed practice before we were beheading demons," you tut playfully. "You need practice penning letters. It'll be harder with your non-dominant hand, but you'll get there eventually."
He rolls his eyes. You're losing him, and fast. The session has barely begun, though. You need something to keep him from giving up on his evening lessons already, but what?
"Just…come on. Give it one more shot. I'll help you."
You move behind him and put all your might into scooting his chair back toward the desk. He lets out a huff and uses his legs to help you the rest of the way.
"Stubborn," he mumbles.
"Not as stubborn as you, Shinazugawa. Not as stubborn as you."
From over his shoulder, you point at the next line for him to copy. He looks back at you, then at the paper, groans, and puts his pen to work.
You rest your head on his shoulder, making him noticeably tense up and incorrectly lengthen a line on one of his words.
"Quit distractin' me."
"If I wanted to distract you, you'd know," you bite back, not intending for it to sound as flirty as it does.
He gulps heavily and returns to his writing exercise; the energy in the room notably changed.
You and Sanemi have been skirting around this for months now. Neither of you has taken the plunge, but the inklings of a nefarious idea are beginning to fire off in your brain. It's about time one of you makes a move. So why not now? Maybe it'll work in both your favor.
"I have a proposition for you," you practically purr, leaning against him.
"Yeah? What? Gonna give me a treat like a dog every time I get something right?" He sighs, irritable at having finished one line near perfectly yet struggling on the next.
"Something like that."
"I'm not a damn do-"
"One kiss for every line you get right," you propose confidently despite your heart shaking like a leaf.
He freezes for a moment, a droplet of thick ink pooling where the tip of his pen rests against the paper.
Just when the silence is getting long enough that you start to plan your apology, he replies in a gruff voice.
"You're not fucking with me, are you?"
You stand this time, pulling away just long enough to round his chair. When you bend at the waist to lean into his personal space, he doesn't hesitate to crane his neck to meet you halfway. The kiss is relatively chaste, just a press of your lips to his, and then it's done.
"Come on, then. There's your proof. Now write another line for me, and I'll give you another."
His jaw tenses in determination this time. You mentally cheer.
As you lean back against the desk, his eyes flit over to you for just a moment. You watch him look up at you, gaze drop to your lips, and then return back to the paper with renewed fervor. It's quite interesting. The only time you see him this driven is when you spar in your downtime, a hobby the two of you have continued after your 'retirement' from your previous occupation.
The next line comes out nearly pristine, and you can't stop the small laugh from escaping you as you review his work.
"Well?!" He barks out impatiently.
"Don't get greedy," you scold as you begin to lean down again.
This time, he's chasing after something he didn't think he'd ever get. Something he's been yearning for. This time, he cups your face with one hand and rests the other gently on the side of your neck as he actually kisses you. His mouth slides along yours, and he sucks your lower lip between his teeth, nipping at you gently as if testing how much he can get away with.
It isn't until you feel the first flick of his tongue trying to push for more that you put a hand on his chest and break away from him. But you can't hide the way you pant quietly to catch your breath or the flush of your skin.
You clear your throat, trying to collect yourself.
"Another."
He groans but doesn't argue. It's strange seeing him take the command so obediently and without a sarcastic quip. Kind of hot, actually. You won't stroke his ego by saying so aloud.
When he messes up his next line, he looks up at you like a kicked puppy. You whip your neck to the side to look away immediately, refusing to laugh. After a deep breath, you return and offer a smile.
He snorts, knowing full well why you can't make eye contact.
"It's alright, try again," you urge.
Perhaps now his complaints about you distracting him are justified, but he fails to properly finish the next line as well. Contempt for the task at hand rolls off him in waves. It takes some quick thinking on your part to avoid him giving up.
You straddle his lap, situating yourself directly on his half-hard cock. It gives you a satisfying spark of arousal in your abdomen knowing he's already this heated from not even two full kisses.
"Again. Do it correctly, this time," you chastise him, but your tone is hardly reprimanding.
"I-" he goes to say something, and it's cut off instantly as you wiggle against him, adjusting until you're suitably comfortable. "Fuck. Okay. Okay."
You can practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he wraps his arms around you, head resting on your shoulder now as he begins writing. It takes him longer to do his next line. Whether it's due to the now fully hard cock twitching beneath you, the ever-so-awkward angle he's in because you're on his lap, or his desperation to succeed in his writing, you don't bother to guess. Most likely, it's all of the above.
When he's done, he sighs and puts his hands on your hips. You don't give in to him until you have the opportunity to twist and look at the words he's written. They're a bit shaky, but you think you can cut him some slack given his current position. When you turn back, he doesn't even get a moment to gauge whether he did well or not before your lips are on him again.
"Fuck yes," he groans into the kiss, giving you the perfect opportunity to slip your tongue past his lips. It startles him, not expecting you to take charge, and drags another noise from deep in his chest.
You stay like this for, perhaps, longer than necessary. It's hard not to let your mind go foggy as you kiss him, the heat of his mouth overwhelming in the perfect way. The lewd sounds make you shiver in anticipation of something else. Something more.
When you part, there's a nearly obscene string of spit connecting you for just a moment. Seeing it almost makes you throw your inhibitions to the wayside, but you want to see how much further you can take your little ploy.
"Another line."
He looks like he's about to argue, so you up the ante.
"Three more lines, and I'll reward you for being so, so good for me."
Conflicting emotions play across his face. Indignation. Excitement. Arousal.
"Just three," he reiterates, as if you'll go back on your word as he reaches for the pen again.
"Just three. But you have to get them right," you raise a brow, "can you do that Sanemi?"
"Mm," is all the response you get.
Knowing that he has to do three lines in a row without any glaringly obvious issues, he tries his hardest to all but ignore you. His right hand still grips your hip, but he remains as stoic as ever while he writes.
His eyes unfocus as your hand slips between your bodies. He doesn't look, just remains frozen, waiting to see what you'll do. Anticipation is a hell of a drug for him, it seems, as you can feel the way his hips shift almost imperceptibly up into you. He'll enjoy your gamble, even if it's to his detriment now. This especially goes for if he wants to finish his task.
You unbutton his pants one handed and lean your upper body back enough to look at him. Now he returns your gaze, his eyes half lidded and confused.
"What-?"
"Are you going to finish?" You ask, fully aware of your double entendre as you free his cock from his pants and take him in the palm of your hand.
He bucks up into your touch. It's accompanied by the sound of the pen scratching across paper. You look to your right with just your eyes and then back to him, teasing him with the worry that you'll turn around and see the mess he's made of his work.
"I'll go slow," you whisper in his ear when you lean forward again, trapping your hand and his cock between your bodies with just enough room to give him a slow tug, "so don't stop."
"I won't if you don't," he hisses through his teeth as he starts anew, visibly shuddering.
You use your thumb to rub gently just beneath the head of his cock. It's too sensitive, and he has to pause, biting down on your clothed shoulder as he tries to regain himself under your fingers. Each stroke of your hand makes him gyrate his hips, needy and wanting more, knowing full well what he has to do to get it. You, for one, can't wait for him to finish his work.
"You can do it," you encourage him by tugging at his earlobe with your teeth for just a moment before you continue, "and then you can have whatever you want."
He nearly growls, unable to form a coherent sentence between what you're doing to him and his tenuous attempt at concentrating.
It's nearly another minute before he finally speaks.
"First line is done. You gonna check it? It's correct."
"I believe you."
You sit back, and his arms fall for just a moment, allowing him to knead the softness of your thighs after having abandoned his pen. He doesn't do so for long, pausing with his mouth agape as you take off your top. All you do is smirk and go one step further, unwrapping your chest bindings next until you're bare from the waist up.
His hands clench and unclench, unsure if he is allowed to touch.
He throws caution to the wind, taking one of your breasts in his palm and running a thumb over a hardened nipple. For his hard work, you allow him some time to enjoy himself. It'd be a lie if you said you didn't also like it. Hands that once knew only violence now caress you so gently it's intoxicating. It's only as he's about to lean forward and take one in his mouth when you burst his bubble.
"Second line."
"You're fucking joking!"
"Second. Line." You kiss him, hoping to satiate him. "Do it for me. Please."
The second line goes faster. You leave his cock well enough alone and allow him to focus this time like a truly selfless mentor, despite how badly you ache to continue.
"Okay, okay! Done. Now let me-"
He tries to continue from where he left off, only for you to stop him.
"You're only dragging this out, aren't you, Sanemi? Why not finish the third line now and then be done with it? Or do I need to give you even more motivation?"
He looks lost, unsure if he should pick up the pen or wait for the motivation you're dangling so tantalizingly in front of him.
"Tsk, alright. Have it your way," you admonish.
You slide off his lap. He makes a choked off protest, but his mouth audibly snaps shut when you remove everything from the waist down. You kick them to the side, out of sight, out of mind, and return to him.
You're embarrassingly wet, but you don't give a damn because that just means you sink down on his cock with ease. There's no warning. You don't scold or tease him; you simply line him up and take a seat.
His arms wrap around you, and he inhales shakily.
"Holy shit," he groans, dropping his forehead against your shoulder and giving an experimental thrust into you.
"Ah! No-" you hold onto his shoulders to steady yourself, "no moving until you finish your last line. Just one more, Sanemi. Please. Please just finish it so you can fuck me."
It's unbecoming to plead. But you just need him so bad at this point. He just needs to finish the damn line.
He scoffs, and then you're hoisted up into the air, held up only by one of his arms under your ass. There's a sweeping noise just as you turn to watch all of the books and papers go scattering to the floor. His patience has finally worn too thin for you to keep toying with him.
"I'll make it up to you later," he promises.
You believe him.
Then you're dropped onto the table with a yelp. He's polite enough to give you a moment to adjust, watching as you lean back and brace one hand on the desk while the other remains on his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt. You clench around his cock and roll your hips experimentally, finally letting yourself enjoy. He fills you perfectly; now he needs to move.
He turns the tables, taking it nice and slow. One languid pull out and one languid thrust in make you clench your jaw and whine.
"Before we do all this," he leans down to press a kiss to your jaw, "…you and me. This is what I think it is, right? I mean, if you're just trying to get me better at this whole writing thing, that's fine. Can think of worse ways to get it through my thick skull, but I gotta know, y'know?"
You always knew he was a softie, but it's nice to see it so openly.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's what you think it is," you kiss his cheek, lips curling in a smile at the absurdity of holding a conversation with his cock inside you, "and I would have done it sooner if I knew how bad you wanted it."
"You fuckin' play too much. I like it."
Then he slams into you, making you see stars.
The pace he sets is a brutal one that has you immediately on edge. This whole lesson has been thinly veiled foreplay to begin with, so it's no surprise the two of you go at it so feverishly. You barely have the sense to hold on for dear life, and he's already several minutes into fucking you before he remembers to slip a hand between your bodies to thumb over your clit.
"Next time," he pants hot and heavy against your neck, "I'm fucking you in a real bed. I'll take my time with you, too. See how many times I can make you cum, yeah?"
"Keep talking like that and you're going to make me cum," you reply.
"Oh? And whose fault is that, huh? Giving me lessons just so you can fuck me? What a good little teacher you are for me."
The allegation makes your cheeks warm, and arousal pulse through your veins. You hadn't even thought about it like that, but now you feel like a pervert. Not that Sanemi is complaining.
"Hah, you liked that, didn't you? Squeezed me real fuckin' tight for that one. Come on, then. You wanted to ride me so bad. Cum on my cock. Show me how much you like it."
He takes the reins so fully that you can't even protest. Because he's right. He's so fucking right, and you're kidding yourself if you try to deny it or him.
"Gonna…" you whine, barely able to give him a warning before you're crying out, hips rutting up against him, hopelessly unable to control them as you orgasm. Pleasure overwhelms you until the only thing you can feel is him inside of you and the oversensitivity of your clit as he rubs you through it devotedly.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he stays inside of you until the last possible second before pulling out. He barely makes it, cumming all over your pussy. He obviously loves seeing you covered in him if it's any consolation, eyes glued to where your bodies were just connected to enjoy the view.
It isn't until both of you have caught your breath that you fall back on your elbows and look at all of the things on the floor.
"You're cleaning that up, not me," you snark. "And you better find my good pen."
It appears in front of your face less than a second later.
"Yeah, yeah. Here you go, I kept it nice and safe. Now come on, you're spending the night at my place. You can tutor me at home this time."