let me take care of you

[sop]

makoto/haruka
nc-17
4,006w
another fill for the iwatobiswimclub years ago

By the time Makoto finishes negotiating the latest batch of endorsements on Haruka’s behalf, the little hand on his watch has ticked from four to eight, and bright neon lights have replaced the quickly setting Tokyo sun. He rubs his tired face with two hands and shuffles stacks of paper inside his briefcase—paper that probably won’t even be glanced at for at least another week. Legal jargon is not his forte; that’s Rei’s, who is only too happy to look over the more complicated contractual obligations that usually come with these types of deals. Especially since Nagisa sort of skimmed over the last contract that landed Haruka in a fried chicken commercial involving a giant yellow bird suit and roosting over a bucket of poultry. Needless to say, Nagisa has been banned from any and all paperwork.

So far they’ve managed to nab Speedo of Japan and Omega, but one more endorsement couldn’t hurt.

After high school, nearly every major swimming organization had wanted Haruka in their club and it really wasn’t a surprise when he’d managed to make it onto the Japanese team for the upcoming summer Olympics, either. Two records broken and three gold medals (not to mention the publicity, interviews, and TV time he’d racked up) at the age of 19, and Haruka’s career had only just begun.

Five years later and Haruka’s still the star athlete every child wants to be when they grow up, begrudgingly accepting of his numerous accolades and praise with an increased indifference, and Makoto’s right there with him, managing his career because, hey, someone has to. And who better than his best—no—boyfriend. Everyone knew, in a way, that they’d end up together. Except for Makoto and Haruka. Who were too oblivious to the fact until a high-stakes swim meet sort of pushed them over the edge and Makoto hadn’t realized he was pulling Haruka in for a congratulatory kiss until after the fact.

Makoto flags down a cab and stuffs his oversized frame inside the car. He’d grown another 5cms since high school, much to Nagisa’s disappointment—being 165 for the past 8 years without a single growth spurt had prematurely killed his dream to pursue any sort of aquatic sport past high school. Rei, however, doesn’t seem to mind all that much.

He fumbles for some cash to give the driver just as he pulls up toward Makoto’s and Haruka’s shared apartment, a huge high rise they’re staying in for the time being until the house in Miyazaki’s finished. The elevator dings once it reaches the twentieth floor. Makoto’s keys jingle against the lock as he opens the door and, finally, he’s home. He expects fish or chlorine—sometimes Haruka spends hours at the pool and brings back the smells of it—something salty or clean to waft through the apartment, but is instead hit with a whiff of his own cologne, a deep, musky scent that barely tickles his nose. And then Makoto realizes, just as he locks the door behind him, that Haruka wants to play.

They don’t do this often, maybe once or twice a week, but when Makoto comes home to find Haruka in sub mode, it’s enough to get him half-hard by the time he’s done taking off his jacket.

Haruka’s sitting on the couch waiting for him, wearing one of Makoto’s dress shirts he probably picked out from the hamper, leather collar tightly fastened around the slender column of his throat; the bell tinkles softly when Haruka jerks his head to the left, eyeing Makoto with interest before stretching lazily against the cushions. Fuzzy black cat ears and a small tail complete the look. Makoto shivers with want as he imagines Haruka fishing out the plug and lube from inside their top drawer, coating an obscene amount on the tips of his fingers before spreading his cheeks and scissoring, stretching his ass with two, maybe three digits deep until he felt comfortable enough to push the toy inside with minimal pain. Makoto’s cock twitches inside his slacks.

“Did I keep you waiting?” Makoto asks, tone soft and gentle, as if he were speaking to a real pet. He is, in a way. When Haruka’s in sub mode, he really does act like Makoto’s pet, desperate for affection one minute and then painfully indifferent the next.

Haruka doesn’t respond verbally. He never does when he’s like this. Instead, he just wrinkles his nose in faux annoyance and scratches the back of his fake ear with a cupped hand.

Makoto places his briefcase near the front door (he can sort through the paperwork later) and toes off his shoes. “Ah, sorry, Haru-chan. I should’ve come home sooner. Are you hungry? Would you like some dinner?” The damned tie takes forever to unknot for some reason—Makoto chalks it up to nerves and perhaps a bit of excitement. Once he’s free, Makoto carelessly tosses the green silk onto the dining table with his long-forgotten jacket, and unfastens the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

Haruka makes no effort to reply or even glance his way.

“Ah, forgive me,” Makoto mumbles, almost forgetting.

The sofa dips with the added weight of another body as Makoto takes a seat next to Haruka and extends his hand cautiously, waiting for Haruka to accept the small gesture.

Which is apparently what Haruka’s been waiting for since Makoto walked through the door because he leans into the touch and affectionately nuzzles his face into Makoto’s larger palm, occasionally nipping and licking the skin until he’s making small, contented moans in the back of his throat. If his tail were real, Makoto imagines it would be swishing back and forth right now.

“Did you have a good day, Haru-chan?” Makoto rubs his thumb in circles against Haruka’s reddening left cheek.

Haruka nods his head; the bell jingles.

“Good. I’m glad. Maybe tomorrow I’ll leave you a message on the answering—hey!”

Haruka’s not interested in whatever Makoto’s saying because he’s too busy burying his head into his owner’s solid chest, rubbing his face under Makoto’s chin and then drifting lower until Haruka’s turned Makoto’s stomach into his own personal pillow, first kneading the pliant muscle with his fingertips and then plopping his head down happily. Makoto lovingly pets the top of Haruka’s head as a sort of reward for such good behavior. Sometimes Haruka will sulk for hours before deciding to give Makoto the light of day, but, thankfully, he’s quite needy today.

Makoto spends a few minutes running his fingers through Haruka’s hair, careful to not accidentally knock the headband off. Or glance back at Haruka’s raised rear, trying to ignore the fact that his kitty is completely bare from the waist down. An unintentional groan slips past Makoto’s lips when Haruka innocently wiggles his behind, dress shirt riding up until Makoto’s got more than an eyeful of that toned, muscular ass. Haruka takes this small opportunity to start pawing at the far more sensitive places of Makoto’s body, hand sliding downward to palm the growing tent in Makoto’s dress slacks. When that doesn’t seem to grab his attention, Haruka turns toward more drastic measures. Makoto nearly chokes on his own saliva when he feels Haruka’s cheek nuzzling his cock, rubbing against his clothed erection shamelessly while making the most desperate tiny mewling noises. Haruka’s getting hard too and he makes his little situation known by humping Makoto’s thigh.

“Hey, wait!” Makoto forces the words out even though he’s seconds away from losing control. “Wait, Haru-chan.” He pushes gently at his kitty’s shoulders. “Let’s eat dinner first, okay? You need food first.”

Haruka whines in protest and makes a dive for Makoto’s dick, but is stopped at the last minute.

“No,” Makoto says firmly, wagging his finger authoritatively. “Dinner first. And if you behave, maybe…”

The cute pout on Haruka’s lips almost has Makoto going back on his word. But it’s always better this way—denying Haruka want he wants most until the very end.

When they’d first decided to try this out (at Makoto’s request over a few bottles of rice wine during dinner one night, liquid courage giving Makoto the strength to drunkenly blab about his deepest, darkest kinks) Haruka hadn’t been too keen about the whole ordeal. Wearing a collar and pretending to be a cat seemed beyond ridiculous. Until Haruka realized just how much he enjoyed being told what to do, when to eat, and how to behave. In sub mode, Haruka could be needy and selfish and completely demanding of Makoto’s attention, something he’d never really allowed himself to be even after all these years of dating. He could whine and beg and scratch at Makoto’s legs until Makoto gave in, and the best part was that Makoto loved it. He loved the clingy co-dependency and how naturally he fell into the caretaker role. But most of all, Makoto loved the fact that Haruka openly returned his affections, something he’d never seen or felt before, and if wearing a collar and cat ears helped, then Makoto thought he could definitely get used to this kind of lifestyle.

And judging from the way Haruka is sitting right now, sulking against the arm as he watches Makoto pull tupperware after tupperware of food out of the fridge, he has too.

“Here,” Makoto says after a few seconds of silence. “Come eat these.” He pops off the lid. Two rows of onigiri line the inside. “They’re salmon filled.”

Haruka sighs.

“You love my mother’s rice balls, Haru-chan. Now stop being so stubborn and come and eat something.”

But even the promise of good, home cooked food hasn’t enticed Haruka to move from his spot on the couch.

Makoto places the small box on the dining table in defeat. “Fine. I’ll leave it there in case you change your mind. Would you eat if I grilled you some fish, Haru-chan?”

The small bell on Haruka’s collar jingles and Makoto knows, without even looing, that he’s piqued his pet’s interest. For all of thirty seconds. Makoto casts a glance over his shoulder and tries not to look disappointed when he notices Haruka still rooted to the cushions, arms hanging lazily over the arm.

Makoto’s not exactly gifted at cooking, but if there’s one thing he knows how to do, it’s grill.

As soon as the meat hits the hot pan, Makoto’s stomach starts to rumble. The last meal he had was around two in the afternoon, which consisted of two breath mints and a jumbo cup of coffee to go. Not exactly substantial or filling. And if Haruka’s been like this for most of the day, Makoto figures he’s probably starving as well, just too stubborn to admit it.

When there’s a good ratio of fish to beef arranged on the platter (a few veggies thrown in for good measure), Makoto takes their dinner to the dining table and pulls out a chair, patting the seat to signal Haruka over.

Haruka huffs.

Makoto rubs his temples. “Please come and eat,” he begs, which isn’t how these scenarios are supposed to play out. He’s the owner, after all.

Haruka stretches out on the couch in defiance, not even caring that his shirt has bunched up around his stomach, giving Makoto a view of his still semi-hard cock and balls. It doesn’t help that he’s spreading his legs and making annoyed little noises, either. Makoto doesn’t realize he’s adjusting his pants until after his erection throbs against his right thigh.

“Fine, if you won’t come sit at the table, I’ll just feed you over there.”

It’s a balancing act carrying all of the dinner dishes to the coffee table without spilling everything on the carpet, but somehow Makoto makes it. Haruka finally sits up and hovers around him, invading Makoto’s personal space as he sniffs the food and then tentatively licks the grilled tuna. Apparently it’s good enough to eat because Haruka leans forward just that much more to take a bite, stealing a large chunk off the platter. He licks his lips with wide sweeps of his tongue after, satisfied.

“Eat some rice, too, Haru-chan.” Makoto breaks off a piece of the onigiri and offers it to Haruka. Surprisingly enough, he opens his mouth and accepts the small morsel. “Good boy.” Makoto pats the top of Haruka’s head, who only hums in approval and then begs for a second bite.

Haruka prefers being fed by hand sometimes and, in all honesty, Makoto prefers feeding him that way, too.

Haruka laps and sucks at his fingers before he swallows down the food, each swipe of his tongue slow and deliberate, and Makoto’s not sure if he can get through dinner without springing a boner. He’s already starting to feel hot around the collar and his gut’s twisting and turning with an all-too-familiar need. To make matters worse Haruka’s decided sitting right beside him isn’t close enough and has crawled halfway into his lap so he can lap at the juices clinging to the corners of Makoto’s mouth. The hand not currently fumbling with chopsticks finds Haruka’s behind to help steady him and the groan that escapes Haruka’s throat when Makoto accidentally squeezes his ass goes straight to Makoto’s cock.

Haruka’s hands scramble for the zipper on his slacks, yanking it down impatiently. Makoto wants to prolong this a little more, see how much further he can push Haruka until he’s a practically sobbing for it, but Makoto’s hit his limit for today and right now all he wants is to be buried balls deep inside his boyfriend. That doesn’t mean he can’t tease Haruka, though.

Makoto grabs Haruka’s wrists, pulling his hands away from his crotch. Haruka whines in protest and tries rutting against him.

“Have you been a good boy today?” Makoto asks.

The bell tinkles noisily as Haruka enthusiastically nods his head up and down.

Makoto makes a small tsk noise. “No, you were not. In fact, you were very bad. You refused to listen to me and now you’re lying. Do you know what this means?”

Haruka trembles, but it’s not out of fear.

“That’s right. If you misbehave you deserve to be punished.” Makoto slowly unbuttons the shirt clinging to Haruka’s body and pushes it off. He won’t be needing it. “Across my lap. You know what to do.”

Once the shirt’s tossed somewhere behind them, Haruka gets down on all fours and lays across Makoto’s thighs, ass poised right in front of him. They’ve done this before and if Haruka ever wanted any part of it to stop he’d only have to say freestyle, but Haruka’s never really had to use their safe word before because he secretly loves being punished.

Makoto’s right palm smooths over the skin Haruka’s ass, letting him get used to the feel of it before rearing back and bringing his hand down with a loud smack. Haruka yelps at the stinging pain and then moans once he’s adjusted, more turned on by the ache in right cheek than anything. Makoto can feel Haruka’s cock hardening against his thigh. He’s definitely enjoying this more than Makoto is. Spanking wasn’t something Makoto had been all that into, but watching Haruka lose it each time they do this is reward enough.

“I think four more should do,” Makoto says, admiring the faint pink dusting Haruka’s pale skin. “Don’t you agree?”

Haruka simply whines in response.

Each time Makoto brings his hand down, the audible slap gets louder and louder until Haruka’s screaming, desperately rubbing himself against Makoto’s body in need of friction. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, balls so swollen they have to be aching, but Makoto’s not done administering Haruka’s punishment just yet. Three more hard hits and Haruka’s ass flares a deep red, Makoto’s handprints brightly outlined. The skin will be raised and sore tomorrow, and Haruka might have some difficulty sitting down, but this is what he likes, being completely humiliated and dominated by his boyfriend.

Makoto pets the top of Haruka’s head. “Good boy. You did very well. Maybe next time you won’t be so stubborn. Now get on your knees. I’m not done with you yet.” It’s taken Makoto a while to build up enough courage to bark out these orders; he’s not exactly the bossiest person around. But it boosts his confidence knowing that Haruka’s so visibly turned on by his attempts.

Makoto’s belt clangs noisily against the floor as he hurries to get his pants down, metal teeth nearly snagging on his boxers. Once his slacks are pushed to mid-thigh, Makoto tugs on his cock and hisses at how hard he is. He’s already wet and they haven’t even done all that much.

Haruka licks his lips and stares, waiting for permission.

“Go ahead,” Makoto says, holding the base of his dick with one hand and gripping the back of Haruka’s head with the other. “Suck me off.”

A wet heat envelops his cock as Haruka quickly wraps his lips around him, slurping and licking his way down until Makoto’s wiry pubes tickle his nose. He’s gotten good at riding out his gag reflex. Haruka relaxes his throat and then moans contentedly when he’s fit as much of Makoto as he can inside his mouth, saliva dripping down his chin. A low moan rumbles from deep within Makoto’s chest as he throws his head back against the couch, trying his best not to thrust his hips up into Haruka’s wet mouth. If he wanted to he could just hold him still like this and fuck his face, shoot hot cum down Haruka’s throat and leave him hard and needy in the living room. But that’s not how he wants to come. Makoto would rather be balls deep inside his boyfriend, filling him up with so much cum that he’s dripping all over the cushions.

Haruka bobs his head a few times to set up a slow rhythm, applying tight suction the way Makoto likes. It’s fast and sloppy, and the obscenely wet sounds Haruka’s making around his dick as he sucks him off on the couch are pushing Makoto over the edge. Haruka pulls off with a wet pop and teasingly laps at the tip, beads of precome salty against his tongue.

Makoto grabs a chunk of Haruka’s hair and pulls him onto his lap until Haruka’s straddling him again. “Do you want me to fuck you now?” Makoto asks, kneading his fingers into Haruka’s firm ass.

In lieu of an answer, Haruka just nips at Makoto’s neck, peppering kisses up and down his throat, chest, and abs until he’s crawling back up again and twining his tongue with Makoto’s in an open-mouthed kiss. Makoto can taste himself on Haruka’s cheeks and between his teeth, and he wants to lick every inch of his mouth clean.

“Show me how much you want my cock.” Makoto grabs the base of the butt plug still inside Haruka and teasingly wiggles it; not pushing deep enough to brush his prostate, but just enough to drive him up the wall.

Haruka whimpers and tries thrusting back, but Makoto lets go at the last second. Haruka practically sobs in desperation.

“Come on, show me.” Makoto bites Haruka’s lobe, sucking it between his teeth.

With a shaky hand, Haruka reaches back and slowly pulls the plug out, gasping at the sudden emptiness. He props himself up on his knees, grabs the base of Makoto’s cock, and gently sinks down, a long, drawn out groan ripping from his throat until Haruka’s completely seated. Makoto’s hands grip Haruka’s hips so tight he’s sure there’ll be blotchy marks tomorrow where his fingers are pressing deep into his skin. They’re both panting and shaking, Haruka holding onto Makoto’s shoulders as he evens out his breathing while Makoto holds off his orgasm because Haruka’s ass clenching around his cock so tightly might just push him over the edge. And then Haruka starts to move, pushing up and then dropping back down, skin slapping against skin as the small bell on Haruka’s collar tinkles with each forward rock of Haruka’s hips.

The material of Makoto’s slacks chafes Haruka’s thighs, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Haruka just pants and whines as he desperately fucks himself harder, faster on Makoto’s cock until he’s found the perfect angle, head snapping back when the head of Makoto’s dick brushes against his prostate.

He wants to say there, fuck me right there but Haruka lets his strangled cry articulate what he can’t right now instead, hoping Makoto won’t drag this out any longer because he’s so ready to come.

When Makoto’s big hand wraps around his cock and jerks, once, twice, that’s when Haruka snaps, entire body shaking as burst after burst of cum shoots between them, white globs staining his stomach and Makoto’s dress shirt. He slumps forward, out of breath and boneless as Makoto continues to fuck up into him, little hiccupy moans muffled against Makoto’s chest. Makoto cups Haruka’s cheek to pull him in for a tender kiss, breaking character just this once.

Makoto comes seconds later with a shaky cry as Haruka’s muscles contract around him, legs trembling and hips stuttering as he unloads himself inside Haruka’s thoroughly fucked hole. They’re both covered in sweat and semen, but neither makes a move to get up, too tired to do anything about it.

Somewhere, a phone starts to ring.

It’s Haruka who leaves first, slowly dislodging himself from Makoto until his boyfriend’s softening cock slips out of him entirely, cum seeping down the insides of his thighs. He wobbles, legs still jelly, and then stumbles toward the bathroom for some washcloths and soap.

A loud thud echoes in the living room and Makoto figures Haruka’s taken off his collar and cat ears on the way. He’s too exhausted to check, though.

“Here.” Makoto cracks open an eye to find Haruka standing in front of him, still naked, but holding a damp cloth in his hand. He’s offering it to him expectantly. “Clean yourself up.”

“Thanks.” Makoto strips off the rest of his clothing and wipes away the cooled cum on his stomach. “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I, Haru-chan?”

Haruka snorts and then plops down on the couch beside him, wincing a little because his ass is throbbing. “No,” he answers, voice hoarse. “You could’ve been a bit rougher, actually.”

Makoto rubs the back of his neck and laughs. “Ah, maybe next time, Haru-chan. I don’t like being too rough with you, though. I always feel bad afterwards.”

“You shouldn’t.” As if to prove his point, Haruka stands back up, albeit with some difficulty, to clean between his legs, but he keeps missing a spot, and Makoto’s worried Haruka might topple over any second.

“Haru-chan, here.”

Makoto pulls Haruka back down so that he’s sitting in his lap, back to chest. With smooth, gentle strokes, he wipes away the rest of their mess, careful not to press into any sore areas. Haruka fidgets, but doesn’t pull away, just allows Makoto to clean him. He’d never admit it, but he likes being taken care of. And Makoto’s been doing just that for nearly twenty years now.

So tomorrow, when Makoto comes home from another pointless meeting about endorsements and advertisers, Haruka might just be waiting for him on the couch, collar secured tightly around his neck, waiting for Makoto to pamper and spoil him the way he likes, the way Haruka’s always wanted him to. They’ll watch some television, eat takeout, and lounge on the couch; too lazy to move when they’re both halfway asleep because the movie’s mind-numbingly boring. Haruka won’t pretend that he’s indifferent to the petting or that he’s not dying to crawl into Makoto’s lap and make himself at home, lick Makoto’s face, and kiss him during all the commercials.

And afterwards, when they’ve both climbed into bed and fought for spooning rights, Makoto will smile because it doesn’t take a tail or a collar or fuzzy cat ears to know that Haruka loves him after all.

author's notes: this is shameless and i have no excuse for it. oops. written before season 2 of free! was even an idea. continuities are obviously different than what is in canon. comments are nice, but not necessary. thank you for reading!