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It surprises Murasakibara – the change that comes over Himuro when he’s helpless. When he’s lying there bound and gagged, completely at his mercy.
On the court he is nothing but grace. Carefully calculated movements that flow smoother than the gentle run of water over a polished stone. He is fluid and it is breathtaking.
Here, in his bed, he couldn’t be further from fluid if he tried but the sight is no less breathtaking. His body jerks and twists in endless motion. He knows he can’t get free, they both know it. The evidence is plain on his wrists, rubbed red and raw from his constant squirming. He never stops though. Murasakibara might actually feel sorry for him if he didn’t find it so endlessly fascinating.
Himuro takes care of him. It’s just something he’s come to accept. He hovers, he reprimands, he fixes. He is gentle and patient and so Murasakibara does what he can to show his gratitude. When they’re like this, alone together and desperate to touch and be touched, he takes care of Himuro.
He gives him what he needs by taking what he wants. By playing with his body until he’s on the very edge, shaking because he need to come so badly but Murasakibara won’t let him.
He noses his way up Himuro’s stomach pressing light, barely there kisses so he can feel him arch and moan when he bites down harshly on his nipples. He keeps his head down, licking and biting until he can feel Himuro squirm and pull against his bindings, whether in an attempt to pull away or move closer he doesn’t know but he moves on anyways.
He takes Himuro apart bit by bit. Watches his composure fall to pieces when he’s left lying there, hard and leaking and desperate, unable to even beg. It makes his heart race. It makes his blood burn and his breath short and he wants nothing more than to take but he hasn’t done enough yet so he waits.
Waits until after he’s filled Himuro multiple times. Dildos, vibrators, beads, whatever he feels like. The gag is almost useless with how loud he screams, writhing against the sheets, legs spread wide. Murasakibara likes to tease him the most here, in awe of how wide Himuro can stretch, how much he can take. He pushes deeper, sometimes slipping a finger or two in as well and watches as Himuro’s cock jerks against his belly, smearing pre come against the soft skin. Sometimes he licks it off, just to feel the muscles twitch erratically beneath his tongue.
Sometimes he licks around his fingers. He likes doing that the most because that’s when Himuro truly breaks. When intense desperation just radiates off of every part of his body and tears like crystals decorate his eyelashes. That’s when it becomes a game. When he palms himself, making sure Himuro can see how hard he is, know how much they both want it but not give it to him. He moves his hand, in and out at a fast brutal pace until Himuro’s bucking his hips, grunting and on the very edge, and then he backs off.
Returns to the slow steady pace he began with and takes delight in the way Himuro’s eyes snap open and look down at him in such anguished pleading. He does it until he can’t wait any longer, until he refuses to.
Then, he either drags out the toy, much slower than any pace he had set before because he needs Himuro to feel it within every part of him, and slips himself in, hovering his face close enough to kiss away all of his tears of relief as he rocks into his body. Or he straddles Himuro’s waist, far enough up so just the tip of Himuro’s dick brushes against his back. He reaches behind with one hand to continue thrusting the toy into his body, whatever it may be, while the other works his own cock, smoothly, until he comes in hot messy streaks over Himuro’s chest.
It’s only then, after he’s come, that he touches Himuro’s cock. Himuro’s always so worked up, so tense and on edge, that it barely takes anything for him to come. Murasakibara will never stop loving the sight, regardless of how many times he’s seen it. The way Himuro pulls his legs up. How he throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut and moans. It’s beautiful.
And when he’s done, just lying there once more, eyes wide and out of breath, Murasakibara takes care of him. Gently, carefully wipes him down. Unties his wrists and presses soft delicate kisses to the angry skin. He removes the fabric from his mouth and kisses him sweetly, just like Himuro kisses him in the mornings before breakfast, when they’re lazing about on the couch, just before falling asleep. He wraps his body around Himuro’s until the shaking dies down and then holds on tightly even after.
What he does is different, but he takes care of Himuro as much as he possibly can. Just like Himuro takes care of him.