Hope's Sticky Luck

Hajime's dorm room hummed with the low buzz of the AC, but nothing could cool the fire raging through his veins. Late night shadows danced across his crisp white shirt, now clinging to his lean chest as he paced like a caged animal. 'What the hell did Teruteru put in that damn food?' he muttered, olive-green eyes flashing with frustration. His ahoge twitched wildly, mirroring the throbbing ache between his legs. He was unbelievably horny, cock already hard and straining against his black trousers.

Nagito lounged on the edge of the bed, his messy white-tipped hair catching the moonlight, a sly smile playing on his lips. 'Ah, Hajime, your luck must be shining tonight. Or is it despair wearing a delicious mask? Let me help turn that ordinary frustration into something... hopeful.'

'Help? You're the last person I'd trust with this,' Hajime shot back, voice sharp and pragmatic, though his body betrayed him with a visible twitch. 'This is ridiculous. I don't need your eccentric nonsense right now.'

But Nagito was already closing the distance, slender fingers deftly unbuttoning Hajime's trousers. 'Skepticism suits you, but your cock says otherwise—hard, dripping with need. Why fight the greater hope blooming here?' He slipped a hand inside, stroking through the thin fabric of Hajime's boxers, feeling the wet heat already soaking through.

Hajime gasped, hips jerking. 'Nagito, cut it out! My boxers are going to be soaked. I can't deal with laundry at this hour.' Sweat beaded on his brow as he panted, the sensation too intense to ignore.

'We'll handle the mess later,' Nagito purred, witty and unrelenting, his grip firm. 'Think of it as my ultimate talent serving yours. Your ass clenching like that—pure inspiration.' He squeezed Hajime's cock hard through the boxers, eliciting an incredibly loud moan that echoed off the walls.

'Don't—ah!—do that!' Hajime protested, body squirming and arching into the touch despite his words. His cock throbbed, wet and dripping precum that made the fabric slick. Nagito kept stroking and squeezing, alternating pressure in a teasing rhythm, his free hand roaming to cup Hajime's ass for leverage.

'Your protests are adorable, but your panting and that horny twitch tell the real story,' Nagito teased, leaning in. As another squeeze drew a desperate groan, Nagito sealed Hajime's mouth with a deep kiss, tongues tangling to muffle the sounds. Hajime squirmed harder, cock pulsing, until he came with a shudder—thick spurts of cum erupting through the soaked boxers, dripping down his thighs in warm, sticky trails. Nagito held him through it, whispering about hope amid the panting aftermath.