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There were a lot of things about the outside world that took some getting used to after Kohaku left home. On a larger scale: handling her own finances, the anonymity of a big city, the behind-the-scenes politics of idol business. The behind-the-scenes politics of ES specifically, which seemed to have its own fucked-up little niche in the larger ecosystem of the industry. The very front-facing politics of Crazy:B, which was like a fucked-up little invasive species in the already-fucked-up niche of ES.
But there are a lot of mundane things on the list, too. Remembering her keys when she leaves her room, using cash, eating at restaurants. Falling asleep to the distant sound of traffic. Choosing outfits and putting on western-style clothes.
After a year, the culture shock had boiled down to nothing more than an occasional inconvenience; after three, it was practically gone. Until today. Now, all her progress — particularly in the realm of putting on anything other than kimonos — seems to have been undone in one fell swoop by none other than—
“This fuckin’ harness,” Kohaku curses.
“Hang on, let me see,” Madara says with a laugh, and shuffles a little closer to her — much appreciated, since the harness of the strap-on seems to have transformed into some sort of bondage contraption during Kohaku’s attempt to put it on, and she’s certain she’d fall face-first into the mattress if she tried to move now. “...Hmm. If you wanted to be tied up, you could have just asked, you knooow.”
“Ha ha, real funny.”
Madara rarely passes up an opportunity to poke fun at Kohaku, but she’s never joked much about her struggles with clothes, even back when they were working as Double Face and her blunders were far more frequent (half because of her lack of experience, half because Double Face’s outfits always seemed like they were designed to be as convoluted as possible to punish them for all the grief they put Anzu through). Sometimes it’s nice that she doesn’t really comment on it. Sometimes it feels more condescending than if she were to just crack a joke or two.
She pushes the thought to the back of her mind — not the time. Madara gets her untwisted and buckled in properly and Kohaku only feels slightly ridiculous as she does and it’s all fine. “Theeere we go. If it’s too loose, you can tighten it with this one,” Madara says, tapping the buckle on Kohaku’s hip.
“‘S fine. Thanks,” Kohaku says. “Y’sure know your way around these things, huh?”
“Haha! If you think I’m good with the harness, you should see me with the rest of it…”
“Well, that is what I’m here for.”
“Is that all you’re here for? I didn’t realize I was sleeping with such a skirt-chaser,” Madara says, mock-offended, leaning back against the pillows. Kohaku nudges her legs apart so she can settle between them, kneeling over her.
“‘Course that ain’t all I’m here for,” Kohaku replies. “I’m also here so you can show me how to put on the harness. Y’know, for my future skirt-chasin’ endeavors and all.”
“Always glad to be of service,” Madara says, and pulls her down into a kiss.
Her hand trails up Kohaku’s arm, then down her chest (pausing to squeeze at her tits), past her stomach, and finally stops at the strap, a finger hooking under the harness and tugging her in closer. The toy bumps up against Kohaku’s stomach as it’s pressed between them. Madara pulls back just enough to ask, “Do you have the vibrator in already?”
Right. The bullet vibrator that came with the harness, sized perfectly for the little pocket in front. (Madara’s choice, of course, because Kohaku wouldn’t have known to look for that sort of thing even if she tried.) It’s already tucked inside, pressing up against Kohaku’s clit, and she nods.
“Yea—ah,” she gasps, cut off by the toy suddenly buzzing to life against her, and Madara grins in a way that makes Kohaku kind of want to smack her.
“Good,” she says, putting aside the remote. Kohaku hadn’t even noticed her pick it up. She sits up again. “Lie down for me.”
“Y-Y’really ain’t worried about easin’ me into this whole thing, huh,” Kohaku mumbles, obeying nonetheless (albeit a little shakily).
Madara leans over her, plants a kiss on her collarbone. “This is me easing you into this.” Another kiss on her neck. “Makes sense to start with me on top while you’re still getting used to the harness, riiight?”
Kohaku could come up with a snarky response, could try to keep up with their banter. Kohaku could also just shut up and appreciate where this conversation has already landed them, she realizes, as Madara straddles her. “Sure,” she says, palming one of Madara’s tits, “makes a lot of sense from here,” and Madara giggles and kisses her again. It’s messier this time, hungrier. Madara licks into her mouth and the slow-building heat that’s been rising in Kohaku’s stomach flares into sparks; she parts her lips a little wider, slides her tongue against Madara’s and revels in the low, pleased hum it elicits from her.
It’s a little disappointing when Madara pulls back, but only for the split second that it takes her to lean back and sit against the length of the toy. She reaches down to spread herself with one hand as she begins to rock against it, and even though it’s nothing more than a piece of silicone between them, Kohaku swears she can practically feel the hot, slick slide of Madara’s cunt against her. Part of her wishes for a moment that they’d forgone the toy entirely, that Madara was rubbing against her instead — but the thought vanishes in an instant when the tip of the toy catches on Madara’s entrance and Kohaku is overtaken by the urge to take, to fill her completely. Her hips jerk involuntarily; Madara grins.
“Goooosh, so impatient,” she murmurs. “Trying to stick it in immediately, huh? You’re just like a guy.”
She says guy like it’s an insult, and maybe it is. Kohaku’s face feels hot. Madara giggles and leans forward a little, angles herself so the toy is grinding right against her clit (and the sight is almost too much, then, almost enough to push Kohaku over the edge just like that); then leans in further, captures Kohaku’s mouth in a kiss, hot and open. Kohaku shuts her eyes, but it’s far from enough to dull the arousal searing through her. Now, all she has to focus on is the sensations: the buzz of the vibrator, Madara’s tongue in her mouth, Madara’s tits pressed against her chest, Madara’s hips rocking down against her, stuttering when Kohaku’s hands slide up her thighs to her hips, the slick heat of her cunt so so close—
Kohaku doesn’t realize how close she is to coming until she already is, her hands tightening on Madara’s hips as her body draws taut. Madara slows, draws back. “Ahah, did you just—?” Her voice is tight and breathy and way too pleased-sounding. “Already? And just from that?”
“F-fuck off,” Kohaku says through gritted teeth, ears burning with humiliation and stomach burning with need. The low hum of the vibrator against her clit sends shockwaves through her, and it takes active effort not to squirm. Madara bites her lip, pressing the toy closer against her cunt, grinding into it harder.
“And here I was thinking maybe you’d last longer than a guy would,” Madara teases breathlessly, eyes narrowing. “You’re no better than they are, huh? No, if anything, you’re even worse… I meaaan, your dick isn’t even real and you still came just from me rubbing on it?”
Kohaku feels like she’s smoldering, dangerously close to coming again — or maybe it’s the tail end of her previous orgasm, she can’t tell, all she knows is that she’s strung-out and sensitive all over. Madara leans in closer, her hair tickling Kohaku’s face. “You better not be done yet,” she breathes. “It’s awfully rude to leave a girl hanging, you know?”
“Shut up and put it in already,” Kohaku hisses, bristling, and Madara giggles again. She sits up, one hand wrapping around the dildo to hold it steady, the other reaching around to grab onto Kohaku’s thigh for balance. The tip of the toy spreads Madara open, presses inside, and Madara lets out a breathy moan as Kohaku eases her down by the hands on her hips.
Maybe it’s just the way the vibrator presses against her as Madara sinks down onto her lap, linking their movements, but Kohaku swears she can practically feel it as she pushes inside — the soft grip of Madara’s cunt around her, wet and slick and practically pulling her in. Madara stops for a moment when she seats herself fully, brow furrowed and mouth falling open in a quiet gasp. Kohaku drinks in Madara’s reactions as she brings a hand over to rub her thumb over Madara’s clit (a gasp, a jerk of the hips), then down along her labia to spread her (a hum; leaning back, giving Kohaku a better view). The base of the toy is soaked, shiny with Madara’s slick; a little higher, and Kohaku can see where Madara’s cunt is stretched full around the toy — around her. She sucks in a breath. Madara shivers.
Kohaku lets her gaze roam up Madara’s body — toned stomach, full tits, sharp collarbones — up to her face, where Madara looks as dazed as Kohaku feels, eyes lidded and hazy with arousal. “C’mere,” she breathes, propping herself up on one elbow, tugging Madara in by the hair with her other hand. She earns a quiet moan, and then Madara’s lips on hers.
It’s dizzying, having Madara enveloping her like this, over her and around her and somehow firmly enclosed within her grasp at the same time, hers for the taking — Kohaku coaxes her mouth open, and that seems to spur Madara into action again. She begins circling her hips, pressing Kohaku further inside with little rocking movements; Kohaku groans into her mouth as the vibrator grinds against her in rhythm with Madara’s, and Madara only doubles down at the sound, drawing upwards and then bearing back down, riding her properly.
“Kohaku-san is too cute,” Madara says breathlessly when she breaks the kiss, sitting back to let her eyes roam over Kohaku’s body. She trails a warm hand over Kohaku’s stomach — up to her chest — squeezes Kohaku’s tit and grins when she squirms. “Ahaha, always so sensitive too…”
There’s something vaguely condescending about that amusement of hers. There always is, really, but something about hearing it now that sends some mixture of annoyance and humiliation skittering red-hot down Kohaku’s back. She must be blushing, if the way Madara grinds her hips down is anything to go by — she always gets a kick out of riling Kohaku up. Bitch.
Well, Madara’s a hypocrite, anyways. Kohaku rubs her thumb over Madara’s clit again, drawing a little gasp out of her. “You ain’t exactly numb yourself,” Kohaku shoots back. “You know, makin’ fun of me for bein’ sensitive ain’t gonna be enough to distract me from how much of a mess you’re makin’.”
“Mm, I never said I wasn’t enjoying myself too.” Madara leans in, eyes narrowing with hazy amusement. “But I’m not the one who came from a little teasing like some quickshot boy, am I?”
In one swift move, Kohaku flips their positions. Under normal circumstances, Madara should’ve been able to jump to action to counter an advance as predictable as that one. Maybe Kohaku caught her off-guard; maybe Madara is humoring her. Kohaku chooses to believe it’s the former. Doesn’t matter — Madara is under her now either way, face-down (because fuck that stupid condescending grin of hers), letting her press her into the mattress with a hand between her shoulders.
“You keep comparin’ me to a guy today,” Kohaku says disdainfully. “If I’m really no better than a guy, maybe I should just finish myself off and leave you here like this, huh?”
Madara shakes her head. Tries to as best as she can with her head down, at least.
“No? Why not?” Kohaku presses. “I mean, finishin’ yourself off on your own is bound to be better than puttin’ up with some ‘quickshot boy’, ain’t it? Sounds like I don’t have much to offer you here.”
She drags her hand up Madara’s cunt, watches her gasp and jerk back into her touch. She wants to press inside, to make Madara come apart on her fingers, but that’d be letting her off far too easily. “Hey, say somethin’. You were awfully chatty just a moment ago, weren’tcha? What happened?”
“Mmn, come ooon,” Madara mumbles, still sounding all too pleased with herself.
“That ain’t an answer. Do you want me to leave you here or not?”
“No,” Madara breathes, and then adds, voice tight, “please.”
Better, but still not entirely what Kohaku’s going for. She ghosts her knuckle over Madara’s clit, half as a reward, half as a punishment. “Please what?”
“F-fuck me.”
She can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or impatience straining Madara’s voice. She doesn’t really care. What’s more important is the noise that Madara makes when she pushes back inside, somewhere between a moan and a whine, half-muffled by the mattress. Kohaku exhales shakily, hands coming up to grip Madara’s hips as the movement pushes the vibrator closer against her clit.
“You’re all bark and no bite, huh?” she says, beginning to roll her hips, working the toy in and out of Madara. “Y’talk real big, but it’s real easy to shut you up.”
It’s a real workout to talk this much while on top like this, but the way Madara trembles at her words is enough encouragement to push past the breathlessness. “If it’s an ego thing, then you should know that it ain’t workin’. Spoutin’ nonsense ain’t nearly enough to distract from how much of a needy whore you are.”
“Fuck, oh,” Madara gasps, back arching, hips shakily rocking back to meet Kohaku’s thrusts. “God, Kohaku-san, don’t stop—“
“Rub your clit for me,” Kohaku murmurs — damn this awkward angle, keeping her from doing it herself — and Madara obeys, one hand coming down to touch herself and the other gripping the sheets. Kohaku can feel her clench down around her the moment she does, feels the way it gets harder to pull out because of how tightly Madara’s pussy is gripping her, so she presses in instead, pulls Madara back against her and grinds forward. It presses the vibrator against her just right and she curses; it occurs to her that she may come again just from this, just from fucking her.
Madara is faster to reach the edge, though, drawing tense beneath her. “Ah, hah, I can’t,” she pants, a satisfying edge of desperation in her voice, “I can’t, I’m— fuck Kohaku-san please,“ and then she’s coming with Kohaku’s name on her lips, curling into herself.
Kohaku stills inside her even though every part of her body is screaming to keep going, arousal still burning hot in her stomach. When the tense muscles in Madara’s back begin to relax, Kohaku eases the toy out of her, nudges her to roll over so she can kiss her. Madara tugs her down on top of her, lazily rolling her tongue into Kohaku’s mouth.
It’s nice, feeling Madara beginning to relax under her, but some primal little part of Kohaku’s stupid monkey brain has an idea of something that could be even nicer, and she follows it. Madara makes a cute noise when the toy bumps up against her sensitive pussy again.
“Madara-han,” Kohaku pants against her mouth, “‘m close again, can I…?”
“Y-yeah,” Madara says breathlessly, apparently fucked out enough to forgo her usual teasing. She squirms as Kohaku presses back inside — already on the edge of overstimulation, Kohaku is sure, though knowing that does nothing to tamp down the heat building inside of her.
She grinds forward again into the vibrator, chasing that white-hot spark of pleasure that shoots through her gut with every movement. She’s not going to last much longer, not like this, not that she ever can with Madara, but it doesn’t matter. She thumbs Madara’s clit just to make her whine, then lets her attention trail upwards, traces her hand over the curve of Madara’s waist and palms one of her tits — watches Madara’s eyes grow shiny with unshed tears and then kisses her again, because she can’t stop kissing her today for some reason, shuts her up and gets something out of it as she drinks in whatever noises Madara lets escape from her mouth—
—and then she’s coming, her tongue in Madara’s mouth and her strap buried deep inside her. Madara’s legs come up to wrap around her waist and Kohaku is dimly aware of a hand stroking her hair.
When the haze begins to clear, Kohaku goes limp on top of Madara, catching her breath. God, fucking like this is a real workout. Could probably replace the gym entirely if they set a consistent schedule. She wouldn’t complain. “Holy shit.”
Madara giggles, breathless. “Yeah, holy shit. I’ve never seen anyone finish just from wearing a strap like that before.”
“Yeah, well…” Kohaku’s sensitivity knows no bounds, apparently.
Kohaku eases the toy out of Madara, earning one last whine. Madara watches, sleepily amused, as Kohaku gets to wiggling out of the harness and shutting off the vibrator.
“Gooosh, you really are a jerk,” Madara comments. “You didn’t even pull out.”
“Ah hell. You’re right,” Kohaku says, curling back up next to her on the bed. “My bad. Don’t worry, I’ll take responsibility if I knocked y’up… I guess.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.” Madara trails a finger down Kohaku’s thigh. “Well, it’s gonna be preeeetty hard for you to take responsibility, but I think if we start now you might be able to get there by the time the baby’s here.”
“Hm?”
And then Madara is nudging her legs open and settling down between them. She plants a kiss on the inside of her thigh, then sucks a hickey next to it. Kohaku’s breath hitches.
“Y’damn horndog,” she says with as much scorn as she’s able to muster (which isn’t much).
Madara grins, kisses her other thigh. “You love it,” she says, and Kohaku rolls her eyes and pushes her head down.