It matches you, [ he agrees, plucking out of the roll of Gojou's long fingers. he holds it in his mouth by the cord at its base, pulling the body tape out of the box and tearing off a strip, listening as he peels his cock out of his underwear again. some finicking, another round of tape, and him humming right along with those little fantasies all culminate in the bullet snugly secure against the underside of Gojou's cockhead, the bullet tip flush with the sensitive glans beneath a blushed-pink frenelum. the slick body runs parallel the pronounced ridge on the underside — and Getou kisses his thumb wet to trace around the slit of him as he tucks him back into place. ]

Every night? You're so insatiable... [ as if he isn't just as bad; he just has some decency about it all. or, pretends to. ]

[ the band of his boxer-briefs go up, and his jeans delicately zip and button, cords connecting to a small receiver that he tucks into Gojou's pocket along with the baby blue slack. the remote is his, placed into a palm and disappeared — though the six eyes will inform him it's been tucked into a kimono-sleeve pocket for safe keeping. his safe keeping. ]

But for now, [ and always: dreams like the ones Gojou's talking about are an impossibility for sorcerers, and Getou knows this is the result of spending a recent mission with Nanami, ] We're going to the arcade, right? Right?

[ he pitches forward, arms wrapping around Gojou's shoulder, mouth carried to his ear as his teeth find a lobe and nibble; this proximity, really, just to feel the oh so subtle vibrations of the bullet where it is as he clicks it onto the lowest setting, a soft and steady hum without pause. ]

I remember something about a purikura booth. [ how long's he had this in his back pocket? ] That one in Chiyoda is in a nice dark corner.