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“Mm, I love it when you get on your knees for me.”
Kaito is sprawled on the couch, still half-dressed as KID in his signature hat and monocle, but significantly more rumpled than normal from the neck down than he’s ever been at one of his heists. Shinichi is also still in his work clothes, on his knees in between Kaito’s spread thighs. He glares up at Kaito as he unzips his fly.
“Okay, I get it. You won. No need to rub it in.”
“Nah, that’s all your job, oh great detective. Should’ve been faster on the capture if you wanted to win our little bet tonight.”
Kaito’s voice is bright with his grin, monocle glinting in the moonlight as he basks in his victory. Shinichi kind of wants to strangle him, but he did manage to get out of the building with the newest treasure of the Suzuki family, despite Shinichi’s best efforts to prevent him.
One sex act to orgasm of the winner’s choice. That was the prize at stake for tonight, and Shinichi can’t go back on his word. He can, however, start plotting what he’s going to do when he wins next time as he shoves Kaito’s underwear out of the way.
“Shut up and let me suck you off. The faster you come, the faster this is over with.”
“Aw, don’t treat my love rocket like it’s a little sparkler! I’m a full fireworks show, baby. You’ve got to take your time enjoying me!
Kaito finger guns at Shinichi, who stares up at him in disbelief.
“I am not putting your dick in my mouth if you call it a love rocket.”
“No? What if I call it something else?” Kaito taps his lower lip in over-dramatic contemplation. “How about you blow a melody on my flesh whistle? Feel like charming my trouser snake? Or taking a slurp of my yogurt shotgun?”
“Y-yogurt-???”
Through it all, Shinichi has been trying to keep a straight face, but he cracks at the thought of Kaito with a fountaining Yakult bottle shooting from his crotch. Kaito dives in for the kill with a gleeful singsong, “Oho? You mean you don’t have a taste for my yogurt shotgun? I promise it’s not just a single-shot, although it is pump action-ah!”
There’s only one way to shut up Kaito when he gets going, and that’s to distract him. Shinichi dives down onto Kaito’s throbbing meat flute, swallowing hard even as he’s kicking himself for thinking of it as a meat flute.
“I hate you.” He hisses as he pulls off, a string of saliva stretching thin between his lips and the helmet of Kaito’s warrior of love until it snaps.
With all the gravitas of a man who is not talking like a fourth grader, Kaito folds his arms over his chest and says, “My mayo-shooting hotdog gun and I are hurt, Shinichi. So hurt! You might even have to kiss it better!”
If Shinichi’s eyes could kill, Kaito would be yet another homicide victim. “So. Much. Hate.” No court in the land could convict him, Shinichi thinks hysterically as Kaito wiggles his eyebrows.
“Don’t you want to take a delivery from my steamin’ semen truck? Or is the great detective going back on his word?”
Shinichi swallows down a strangled scream, then shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“I’ll do it.”
“Yeah? What are you going to do, Shinichi? Tell me.”
“Fuck off, Kaito! I’m not going to lower myself to your-”
“Aw, c’mon. I want to hear your best try.” With a flash of his eye teeth, Kaito delivers the finishing blow. “Isn’t this sex act supposed to be winner’s choice?”
They both know that Kaito has Shinichi dead to rights.
With a long-suffering sigh, Shinichi rolls his eyes and gives in. In a tone bereft of any enthusiasm or intonation, he says, “I’m going to put your donger in my mouth hole, you absolute chode.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Kaito shivers, seemingly more turned on by Shinichi’s surrender than by his mouth. “Alright. I’ll let you clean my custard launcher.”
His hand lands big and hot on the back of Shinichi’s head, and Shinichi lets himself be pushed downward. He doesn’t usually like deep throating -- he can handle being hoarse, but hates worrying that someone will figure out why he’s hoarse -- but he’ll do it if it means he doesn’t have to sing anymore praises about Kaito’s stupid wang doodle schlong.
Unfortunately, for all that Shinichi is trying to block everything out and focus on swallowing, Kaito’s babbling is relentless. There’s something about the way he speaks; maybe he just defaults to projecting stage performance-loud from all his training as a magician? Either way, it means that Shinichi can’t stop himself from registering when Kaito shouts, “T-that’s it! Impale yourself on my- on my murder weapon!”
He chokes and unintentionally makes a horrifyingly embarrassing offended yowl of a sound. When he does, Kaito gasps, “Did you just-?!” and then comes, cackling madly. His hand is still clutching Shinichi’s head, forcing his nose into Kaito’s belly, so all Shinichi can do is growl and swallow around him until he’s done.
The moment Kaito’s grip loosens, Shinichi spits him out and snarls.
“I’ll murder your weapon, you moronic-”
Even recovering from an orgasm, Kaito’s reflexes are good enough that he manages to roll himself over the back of the couch when Shinichi lunges at him.
“Gah! Hey, no murders!”
He’s frantically pulling his pants up as Shinichi vaults after him, a manic snarl on his face.
“Get back here!”