[ An embarrassing noise escapes Katsura's mouth when Sakamoto finally sits up and crashes against him, knocking him backwards in an aggressive kiss. It's more mousy than anything, the curve of his head reaching the foot of the bed as they both almost fall off of it. A turn of events, and positions, it looks like. Surprisingly enough, Katsura shows no indication of rebelling against it.
His heart is racing, practically falling out of his chest as he looks up at Sakamoto with wide eyes. It's a good thing he relaxes from the change when he does, because Sakamoto bucks into him, not quite hitting where he needs to but Katsura's response is positive. A loud noise that he's been holding back finally rings in the air, and he can only lift one hand and cup it over his lips, looking at Sakamoto like he had done something terrible. For shame.
Meekly, he speaks through his fingers, which begin to spread apart: ]
It's not filthy lil' rascal, it's K—atsura. [ Locks of hair fall against the side of the duvet, his face turning a bright, new shade of red. ]
W—What do you think you're doing? [ He doesn't sound scolding or harsh— it's more curious, if anything. ]
no subject
His heart is racing, practically falling out of his chest as he looks up at Sakamoto with wide eyes. It's a good thing he relaxes from the change when he does, because Sakamoto bucks into him, not quite hitting where he needs to but Katsura's response is positive. A loud noise that he's been holding back finally rings in the air, and he can only lift one hand and cup it over his lips, looking at Sakamoto like he had done something terrible. For shame.
Meekly, he speaks through his fingers, which begin to spread apart: ]
It's not filthy lil' rascal, it's K—atsura.
[ Locks of hair fall against the side of the duvet, his face turning a bright, new shade of red. ]
W—What do you think you're doing?
[ He doesn't sound scolding or harsh— it's more curious, if anything. ]