Take me to your feeder

Wakuu was sitting on the edge of the bed, reclining and propped on his elbows, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs with a large front print of a shiba inu with a sunflower above the ears — the sunflower which Wakuu’s boner was tenting hard enough to make me imagine sunflower seeds spilling off his crotch and right into my face.

I was proudly kneeling before him.

My teeth were grazing and scraping along the tentpole. I was so turned on that I was almost, almost unaffected by the silly print. Even when I opened my eyes for a second, and the shiba inu was right there, staring deep into my soul. I felt around my left side and turned off one nightlight.

The faint glow of the other one was enough for me to retain a spectacular view above the briefs and prints. Wakuu’s hairless chest rising and falling rapidly, his pale skin dewy with sweat, his throat straining against the moans he was suppressing. At some point, though, those trembling lips stretched into a suspicious and complacent smirk which made him look wonderfully sultry and cute as heck, yet also like he was an international spy who’d stolen a whole bunch of secrets and anticipated selling them to the highest bidder.

As I hooked my index finger under the waistband of his briefs, his one-sided smirk extended a couple of centimeters.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, professor?” I teased in language number two, slowly tugging the elastic forward.

“Ma-aybe.” His voice, despite being whispery and unsteady, oozed with mischief. “I’m going to come in your mouth tonight.”

The words, the meaning, the boldness of his statement, all froze me solid for a few seconds. I remained silent and wide-eyed, processing what he had just said.

Talking dirty and being as straightforward as this was not typical for either of us. Especially not him. He’d been making further attempts to fight the ingrained shame and step out of the constraining comfort zone, and so was I, but everyone had limits, which was fine, and also, we continued resorting to comedy from time to time. On impulse. Out of habit. So, upon hearing his words (scorching hot), I was ready to face a battle. Upon losing it, I’d have probably blown air out through my lips, put a hand over my heart, and pretended to be scandalized.

Or compare us aloud to a couple of robbers who’d pulled a bank heist and were about to fuck on top of a pile of cash. Because, I imagined, Wakuu felt exactly how bank robbers felt after a successful job, and his state was making a transfer to me.

Either way, I was on the verge of clowning it all up when I threw another glance at his face, and his torrid expression instantly crushed the joke into tiny fragments, used them as kindling, and lit a battlefield-encompassing fire.

“Oh,” I said instead. And slowly licked my lips. Only this.

There was something in his eyes and manner... something new and bold, unwavering and insatiable and proud. In addition to his usual cocktail of gentle, affectionate, and adorkable. All wrapped up in that candid expression I loved so much: of trust and of yearning.

The tone of his voice remained smooth and determined. “But you know what?”

“W-what?” I dropped my hand from the elastic waistband back to his cock, spread my palm, and rubbed. For erotic purposes, mainly. But okay, yes, I was also covering that cheeky dog’s face and ears.

“You’ll have to tell me to do it.”

I held my breath on his behalf, but no awkward giggles, no apologetic half-smiles followed. No sign of Wakuu losing confidence. Blushing? Sure. But of a ‘so turned on, burning up’ kind.

“Oh yeah?” The brevity was compelled; I wasn’t sure I’d be able to say more words as opposed to formless gurgles.

His dick twitched in his underwear, right into my palm. My fingers squeezed in response. In reflex. The rest of me was transfixed by his gaze, the darkness and determination, and that roguish glint.

Swiftly, his upper body shifted forward as Wakuu rose and reached out for me. My face was already seeking out his touch when his right hand made the landing. The pads of his fingers gave my loose hair one tender stroke, then the knuckles brushed over my cheek, and finally, he grasped my chin. Wakuu pinched it softly and tilted my head a tad upwards. Motherffffff— My thighs pressed together, united in approval. And sheer horniness.

“Yes. When I’m close. You’ll have to say: Wakuu, please come in my mouth,” he whispered, still looking into my eyes, still holding my face chinned up. He’d punctuated every word of the last five and drawn out the ‘i’ sound in ‘my’, trying to make his voice deeper and more gravelly, and to flatten his accent. Sounding almost as if he was narrating an erotic story. And oh hell, it was working. It worked wonders.

The ‘but how would I do that if my mouth is going to be occupied’ died in that same mouth with a needy whimper. Firstly, who cared how? I’d find a way. Secondly: spoiling the Hottest Ever version of ‘your consent is important to me’ with my jokes would be absolutely unacceptable. I’d never forgive myself.

His cock strained into my hand again. “And then I will.”

Ladies and gentlemen, SOLD to the devilishly cute, brilliant king of silly underwear who had gotten through his PhD thesis defense less than thirty hours ago, had ritually burned the notes and the paper bag he’d been breathing into for fifteen minutes prior to the start, and was still soaring on a cloud made of triumph, running on the same adrenaline that had been fueling him for months, but now without any impending doom looming above his head, and the threat of random panic attacks eliminated (or so I believed at that moment).

He thumbed my lower lip and let go. Through the ripple of shivers that followed, I straightened up. Like a mechanical claw, my arm shot out and grabbed the back of his head, and I pulled him in for a groan-loaded, tongue-filled kiss.

When our lips parted, his face stayed near, and he leaned his forehead into mine, and I discovered that he’d grabbed the back of my head too. We were panting, both of us. In addition, I was struggling to keep my eyes open, because the world outside of our shared cradle was spinning way too fast, and I suspected Wakuu felt the same.

The kiss, despite how it was supposed to be super mega hot and nothing else, had cracked our horny reverie. Just a bit. Damnit. The bone-deep sensation of how fleeting everything was, one I identified as the fear of losing him or just the generic fear of loss — this irrational, stupid, justified, entrenched fear, the one that had put the clown noses and wigs on both of us many years ago — always hit me at random, and it always hit with all the gentleness of a wrecking ball.

In the pause and the embrace that followed, we collected ourselves, slowed down the breathing, and calmed the rapid hearts as they thrashed around. Wildly. Like they were trying to reach each other through the flesh and bones that were separating them, in order to ram one another while screaming ‘bruuuh! why is ev-v-erything so scary when it’s also absolutely meaningless and we know it to be meaningless!’ — ‘I dunno, bruh! it just is! hey so d’ya wanna explode togethER?!’

I opened my eyes to find his own wide open too.

That was when I thought for the first time of countless many: ‘I hope I die before you’.

And then I thought, for the first time of countless many: ‘I hope you die before me, so you won’t have to go through grief and pain and mourning while also needing to deal with all of the dumb and sanctimonious and clueless bastards who’d be telling you and expecting you to mAn Up and gEt yOuRSelF toGEtHer ALrEadY.’

And then I felt around for a punchline, but there was no punchline. As for ‘I love you and I want to spend my life with you’: that’s a setup, duh.

Reality and stress were gaining on us. As always, whenever it happened, we scrambled to engage boosters and get away: Wakuu rubbed his nose against mine, then repeatedly pecked the tip of it, which felt ticklish, so I scrunched up my face, dodging and whining, poked his shoulder, and tried to tickle his ribs in retaliation, but Wakuu caught me by the wrist, brought my palm to his lips, kissed my knuckles, swept his tongue across them in a long lick, and then led my fingers back down to the Dog, and I honked the Dog’s entire face.

Pulling away with a gasp, Wakuu looked at me. His eyes still brimmed with that playful mischief, but now his features looked softer, covered by a sweet and misty layer of tenderness.

Sounding drunk, being fully sober, he whispered, “I want to be so deep inside you tonight, you have no idea.”

And I, in fact, had all of the idea, because I noticed the familiar drop of melancholy dissolving in his smirk.

I thought: okay, enough of the existential moping, I was promised hawt seks. But I also thought: samesies.

To improve the mood, I caught his thumb in my mouth and sucked without any silly smacking noises, and held his gaze until it got glazed over from anticipation. Better.

After stroking his chest once, I abruptly pushed him backwards. Wakuu returned to propping himself up on both elbows and watching me with smoldering eyes and parted lips.

“That’s where I want you to be,” I whispered and got right down to business, bringing my face close to his crotch in order to plant a line of kisses down his abdomen back towards the taut bulge in his br— AaaAAH! —in order to finally remove the cheeky voyeur with his stupid sunflower.

Echoing my short-lived laughter, Wakuu was chuckling almost soundlessly at my reaction (because of course the prop comedy was on purpose and not a lost bet) as I licked the Dog to confuse it, as I hooked my fingers under the waistband and pulled, and he continued chuckling when he lifted his hips off the mattress to help me, when his cock emerged, pointing up like a rocket bound for outer space, when I was peeling his underwear down to his thighs and lower. He chuckled right until I took a deep breath (no more rookie mistakes!) and gobbled up the whole construct down to the main engines, until my nose poked into the launchpad, by which point the air stopped leaving Wakuu in these quiet ‘hehehe’ noises and instead got suddenly sucked in, hissing a liftoff sharp and loud past his teeth, while the muscles of his abdomen seized up harder than my other hand seized up his balls.

Heroically, I lingered, keeping his full length sheathed inside my mouth and spearing my throat for one, two, three— My eyes swiveled sideways, to his fist crumpling the sheets. Feeling the gag reflex coming, I retreated. Sliding back up, I slurped up along the length of his cock, then circled the tip with my tongue, while rubbing my thumb against his scrotum. Slowly. Just as slowly, his knuckles unfurled. At last, he exhaled. He exhaled a squall that got tangled in my hair, and threw his head back for a couple of seconds, revealing the entirety of his soft, pale throat as he convulsed in a long moan aimed at the ceiling.

Popping off him, I grabbed the midsection of his cock and nipped the tip, causing him to twitch his hips forward.

“So. Deep enough for you?” I asked in a low voice, pretending to be all smug and extra confident and also clueless in regards to what his words actually meant. But we possessed enough of each other’s trust and context by this point; veneers were just a game. He knew that I knew.

Dropping his chin down to his chest, breathing through an open and feverish smile, Wakuu just grabbed the back of my neck and nudged me back down. Normally he would have produced a whine to go along, but this time the sound he made was more of a groan, raw and impatient. With a hint of an unspoken but very much implied ‘yeah-yeah, just get on with it, come o-on!’

The next second, though, his lips curved back into the mysterious wicked half-smirk, challenging me like a model of an ethical dilemma. To say nothing of the dark meaningfulness of his gaze. The almost animalistic intensity radiating off him.

Scrutinizing his expression, I peppered the side of his cock with a few quick little licks.

Wakuu was definitely hiding something from me. Or planning something. Either way: teasing me.

To hell with teasing back, I wasn’t capable of such sophisticated maneuvers tonight. Stomach aflutter with excitement, I gave up all pretense of maintaining a suave pace.

Namely, I grabbed his hips, yanked him closer, took another prudent deep breath, and dove back in, submerging the whole of his cock deep, then gulped around the head to make him shudder, and slowly drew back almost all the way, in one slow glide. The motion created a delicious wet slurp that joined the combined music of moans, hums, and labored breathing as I immediately slid back down and repeated the pattern. And repeated and repeated and repeated— The very tip brushed the roof of my mouth, smearing a thick drop on it and on my flattened tongue. My tastebuds were ready for the drop to be salty and viscous, yet it had a sweet taste and light consistency. Not neutral and ‘I can live with this’, but actually pleasant.

My eyes widened, and he noticed. Emitting a surprised ‘awoo?’ I hollowed my cheeks to suck out more of his pre, and Wakuu moaned louder while simultaneously attempting (and almost succeeding) to cackle like a smug villain.

A suspicion started to form in my clouded head. Or more like a hypothesis. Along with a solution to the mystery of the disappearance of a huge pineapple that I’d bought in the General store two days ago and left to ripen on my windowsill, and how perhaps the culprits weren’t seagulls or monkeys. And an explanation for why Wakuu had said ‘I’ll buy another one tomorrow’ instead of ‘I don’t know’ when in the morning, drowsy and incoherent, I’d asked him if he’d seen the last cinnamon stick which was supposed to be stashed in my mug.

But I let the hypotheses and solutions be as I picked up the pace and focused on the amazing task of pleasuring his cock. I enjoyed doing it way too much to let myself get distracted by abnormalities.

Whenever I was out of the initial messy teasing phase, everything about the process turned meditative and as comforting as nothing else in the world could possibly be. I just loved blowing him, so mu-u-uch. Loved. It. I’d never thought I would actually come to this realization beyond jokes, had never suspected the truth before meeting Wakuu, but: there was no mindfulness exercise better and more effective than giving a well-choreographed, unhurried blowjob to your significant other. No joke.

I loved settling into a steady, ironclad rhythm and sticking to that rhythm. I loved observing the physical sensations of his slick and soft firmness in my mouth, loved noting details, like how precisely my cheeks felt, loved the controlled breathing through my nose, and loved the extra-mindful concentration provided by the endeavor of relaxing my jaw and neck. Loved the repeated and repeated and repeated movements.

Loved the smell and taste of his skin. Loved the sounds he was making, loved his fingers getting impatient and seeking to either gain purchase in my hair or to show affection to my face, or both, every time, without fail, so predictable and so reliable. I loved to feel his shaft getting increasingly slick with my spit, loved registering my blood beating against my temples and his veins pulsing against my tongue. I even loved the numbness settling in my jaw, the faint twinges of pain behind my ears. Loved to always introduce my palm into the equation only when I felt like I would not go on without assistance, loved how the playing field was wet all over by the time I grabbed his cock to start pumping in a corkscrew motion, loved how he wheezed whenever I squeezed.

And yes, of course I loved to use my other hand to rub one out of myself while blowing him, or to use a toy (without government surveillance), because oh-nonexistent-god, I knew that unless he would decide that he didn’t want to go all the way via this method, he would inexorably, predictably, reliably, always always always start to roll his hips by the end and thrust into my mouth to meet me halfway, and I would always feel him getting there and would always help by tightening my mouth and my palm, and there was no delight more exquisite than to trigger my own explosion while getting my face or my chest or my neck bathed in cum, and to cry out along with him while milking every last drop with my very shaking, very mindful right palm. And I loved that.

A calm, emptied mind. And then bliss and emotional gratification. What more could a human want? A hundred of these? A thousand? A lifetime of these, please and thank you.

Normally, even if a partial blowjob wasn’t a part of foreplay, he’d always push me off himself before coming, because he was insecure, believing that his sperm tasted unpleasant, too salty, and ‘like mushrooms, and not the good kind’ (was there a bad kind..?). Although Wakuu’s feelings about mushrooms were completely neutral. This snag persisted no matter how many times I assured him that my feelings regarding these particular ‘mushrooms’ were completely neutral too.

I actually preferred to not have a mess that needed cleaning. But I knew all too well that insecurities couldn’t be magicked away. Some of them, even with all of the available help, would persist in the background of one’s thoughts, ready to poke the brain with that sneaky, prickly doubt at the most inopportune and random moments.

Tonight, though, there was an extra layer to the comforting process, because of what he’d said. Had my persistence finally paid off? I certainly hoped so. More than just hoped so; my brain was getting a bit fried. I started to feel like I wanted to consume Wakuu. Devour him whole, until we ceased being separate entities. Envisioning this session not as the coveted exercise in mindfulness meditation, not even lusty oral worship, but as a feeding frenzy, as some primordial urge to nourish myself with the very substance of him. Blah blah add a cannibalism joke, whatever.

And my rhythm was frenzied all right. For the umpteenth time, his cock hit the back of my throat, my lips touched his groin, my nose buried into the fluffy patch of pubic hair that would soon get eradicated by wax again. For the umpteenth time, I slid up, licking along the underside of his shaft as I did so, until only the tip was between my lips, and I lashed it with my tongue as fast as if I was attempting to start a hand-drill fire except my tongue was the hand and his cock was the stick and Wakuu was the fire. And back down, hollowing my cheeks out for maximum tightness. Loud, both of us, so very loud.

Wakuu broke the euphoric stupor, reached out for me as his cock disappeared into my mouth again, and attempted, “Ho-okay ah, haaa, do you n-need to, nngh, breathe..?”

Nope. Oxygen? Overrated.

Pushing into an upright position, or more like, absolutely failing to do that, he tried again, “Y-you’ll cho-oke—aahhh!”

Nope.

I wasn’t even attempting to foolishly demand ‘stop worrying’ through a mouthful of penis. Instead, I persisted until his hand dropped, and his head dropped back, and his inner caretaker dropped dead.

My brain stopped processing images and thoughts or recording them in a remotely coherent manner. As always, the process slowed down time, narrowed space, and my world shrunk down to only my body and his body, only the pleasure of pleasing him, and I planned on continuing at the same wild pace until I’d make him come, but I was only human, and no, oxygen wasn’t overrated, and my pace was faltering.

My lungs burned, my throat was spasming, and I was starting to feel woozy. Alas, I had to come up for air, after all: with a hoarse inhale, I dragged myself off his cock and leaned back on my haunches, and panted through my mouth — nothing short of a wet gaping maw which I promptly wiped across my shoulder. The accumulated tears, I left in place.

Both of my hands remained on him, though: one digging into his thigh (had it been there all the time? Judging by the angry red marks, yes), the other squeezing the base of his cock and still moving up and down.

Then something unexpected happened: despite how weak he was, despite his muscles having been reduced to mush, Wakuu half-rose, half-shuffled forward, put his right hand over mine, and dragged my fingers off, replacing the grip with his own.

I was just about to protest physically and chase after the treat with my whining mouth, but he caught my face with his other hand, and slid his palm under my chin, cupping it, and tilted my head upwards, urging me to look at him. All of this, done in a gentle, yet somehow extremely insistent manner. His dark eyes looked straight into mine. Crystals of sweat on his forehead, lips trembling, hair damp and drooping, he was no longer smug. And so beautiful that I wanted to cry, but this time on purpose.

Voice barely above a whisper, raspy and exhausted by moaning, and infused with so much sensuality that my insides got halfway to liquified, Wakuu said, “I need you to come too.”

At these words, I felt my pussy do a death grip over a void. His thumb came forward to swipe along my lower lip, lingering, but not slipping in, and he even managed to dodge my tongue when I tried to lick it.

“C-come on,” he urged, hyperventilating. His accent had gotten thicker; a sure sign, aside from his voice cracking overall, that his brain was also getting a bit fried. Adding fuel to the fire, Wakuu uttered a phrase I never thought I’d hear from him. At least, not this soon and not when he was one hundred percent sober and lucid. “Touch yourself, please, I want you to get there when I’m coming, please aahhhh—I love it so much when you, when we, together like this—aaahhhh!”

Thou shalt sayepffth no moar! I was already reaching down before he’d finished his request, right after the first two words, but at the confession, my hand’s descent turned into a dash. I shoved three fingers right into the greedy and lonely and overflowing, and the heel of my palm crashed into my clit, and I let out such a desperate moan that I couldn’t recognize my own voice, because I’d had no idea I was that close, and because the way he looked at my mouth was beyond hot, and his left hand was still cupped under my chin, and his right hand started moving, and his cock was aimed at my lips like a machine gun ready to fire, and all of the ‘wild’ got really confusing, because I wasn’t sure if it’d intensified or shifted to gentle and sensual.

Wakuu looked at me kneeling between his open legs through this insanely heat-hazy lidded gaze, probably in the same way I was looking at him, and the thought of his cum flooding my mouth right as I’d orgasm, well, now it was the only thought in my head, spurring my fingers on as I frantically rubbed and dipped in and out of my pussy, which was beginning to spasm and contract, and his hand was speeding up until it was a blur, and our heavy and fast breathing mixed, and I was ready, I was so ready for a finale, and so was he.

“I’m so close, ohhhh—hngh, tell me you’re— Pl-please, say, say it, p-please, I can’t hold back for much l—”

“Feed me, please feed me your cum, I want it so bad!” I interrupted, in a plaintive whine reminiscent of actual begging or crying. Or praying.

“Open-openopen y-your mouth, I’m going to—”

Redundant, because my mouth was already open, but I threw my head back to present the widest possible target, and stuck my tongue out and held my breath, and Wakuu choked on an indistinct noise, and his hips rose to meet his hand, his jaw went slack, and his neck strained. He was staring at me in a way I wanted to remember until my dying day.

“Ohhhh that’s so. Beautiful. You’re so beautiful.” Would you look. Who’s. Ta-a-alki-ing-g-G! “I’m c— Aaaaaaahhh!”

Damn that was hot. So hot hot hot I shook like a leaf that hadn’t heard of postmodernism or of dying metaphors in the wind, and Wakuu was as red as an uncooked beet and other very red non-food items, and moaning in full voice as he aimed the eruption at my outstretched tongue, and I was burning all over and on the verge of losing my damn mind and my consciousness and my wits, and I had no idea why his palm snuggly cupping my chin was in the top three hottest aspects of the whole experience, but it was, and by the time the first spurt hit my waiting mouth, I was full-on fingerfucking myself to the accompaniment of squelching noises, trying to catch up with him, and by the time either I dove back down to capture his cock, or he grabbed the back of my head and nudged me down, not sure, who cares, I was coming all over said fingers, right as I’d clamped my lips, gulping down whatever I could and letting the rest drip out, and screaming around the microphonehead like I was attempting to sing opera while having no idea how to sing opera or use a microphone, so I’d just gobbled up the microphone and started screaming around it at the top of my lungs. And all stupid jokes aside, this was hot as lava.

And...sweet...as...candy? Huh?!

His blissful shudders subsided, his fist slowed down and unclenched. Hollowing my cheeks in the nick of time, I was able to suck out the last spurt or two of the sweet goo straight from the source, then kept slurping even after his hand left his cock and landed on the edge of the mattress with a thud. Through the wild flurry of fireworks in my head, through the long and breathless and triumphant high, I gathered the runaway drops on my chin, as well, and licked his cum off my fingers, then jumped back at Wakuu despite his feeble protestations or maybe noises of confusion.

It was a human’s sperm, so not like it was delicious per se or my favorite dessert now or anything, but I’d gotten so astonished by this rare positive manifestation of cognitive dissonance that I simply couldn’t stop. Giddy with wonderment and joy, and further spurred by the acquired knowledge of how ‘wtf lol’ sounded when actually turned into laughter, I lapped and licked everything and everywhere like a happy Taco with a Sunflower, until every single drop was swallowed and gone.

When I looked up into his face, beaming, Wakuu’s eyes drooped. He was blubbering incoherently, halfway to unconsciousness as he made an honest and polite attempt to help me up (failed miserably). I ended up climbing the mattress, while he just flopped down on it with an umph, with his hand clawing at my shoulder, calling me to crawl to him and into a cuddle, without the use of words, because he couldn’t words.

So I did. I managed to crawl a whole half a meter and plant my head on his chest, and we tangled our arms and legs together. This action was habitual and impulse-driven and satisfying, like slotting puzzle pieces into one another. For a time, we lay panting like survivors of a natural disaster. Although one of us yanked a covering out of somewhere, and we successfully cooperated to get the blanket over us both. We couldn’t help but be efficient and optimal even in the state of blissful exhaustion... Well, at least we weren’t moving our heads.

Finally, I went limp against his torso and closed my eyes. Wakuu’s arm weaved around my shoulder. My head rose and fell and rose and fell with every heavy breath he was taking and giving, and the tempo continued slowing down. His heart was no longer beating up a storm beneath my ear. He emitted a soothed, soothing, peaceful hum, and I echoed the sound. The remaining nightlight was on a timer. Sleep was calling. We could have blacked out like this, snuggled up together, our limbs entwined. Sated, spent, relieved, happy, relaxed...

So what, what in the everliving heck made me whisper the abso-friggin-lutely unnecessary, “Mmmmm, that was sweet as candy.”

Wakuu stirred underneath me. I registered his heart speeding up and his muscles tensing. His fingers on my shoulder tensed too. Something was making him anxious. I dragged my head across his chest to get a look at his face.

His eyes were squinting, his mouth pursed, and his brow furrowed. “Is it really? Was it really that sweet?”

I blinked up at him. Confused. Was he feeling insecure? “Well, yes. Very.”

“Very? Do you mean— Is it really— What’s the word..?” Feebly, he snapped his fingers over my upper back. “Like ‘compliment’, but not exactly a compliment, because it’s not true.”

“Datark govas—uuuuh. Wait, that’s uuuuuh.” Helplessly, I groaned and rubbed my eyes, then my temple. “Uhm. Seji?”

He nodded, then shook his head. “No, I don’t mean in— I mean, uhm. ‘Frattery’?”

Aargh, our brains were fully fried by this point...

“Flattery? So like ‘platitude’?”

“Yes!” His eyes narrowed further. “Is it?”

“No, it was indeed super sweet. I’m not lying. Wh—”

Maneuvering his head downwards, Wakuu gave me a short kiss, looked away, frowning, and smacked his lips.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “I can’t taste anything.”

“Come on, what is it?” I tugged at his arm, gently insistent. “You look distressed. Please tell me?”

“It shouldn’t have been too sweet.”

“Why not? I loved it.”

“Yes, but.” Wakuu stared back at me. In muted horror.

My awkward smile dissolved. Sliding off his chest, I rose up higher, and so did my eyebrows.

“What’s wrong? What did you do to make it sweet, anyway?” Propping myself on my left elbow, I stared down at him in earnest.

“I’ve been hydrating properly.” He shuffled up, then threw the blanket off. “With cinnamon. I ate fruit. A lot. Including your pineapple. S-sorry about that.”

“Pineapple,” I repeated dully. “Well, yes, that’s what I thought. Also, it’s fine, don’t worry. They’re in season. Okay, but that’s not a problem, right?”

“Isn’t it? You said, candy. This isn’t normal. Doesn’t this mean that my blood sugar is elevated to dangerous levels?”

“But you avoid added sugar. Your diet nowadays is fine.”

Stricken with worry, he ‘yes-but-ed’ right back at me again.

“When did you last get your blood sugar checked?” I blurted out in reflex.

“Years ago.” Wakuu was getting more and more worked up.

He even licked his fingers, reached down, and tried to get a remnant off the tip of his cock, but I’d done too good a job, slurping and licking him squeaky clean in my blissed-out enthusiasm.

Nonetheless, he insisted, “I bet it was. It was too sweet. It’s like when a man takes a pregnancy taste, I mean test, and the test comes back positive, and that means he has a tumor, it’s like that.”

It was absolutely not like that, but Wakuu was catastrophizing and panicking, and now, so was I. Both of us, ignoring the late-night factor and the exhausted-factor and the prone-to-anxiety factor. Ignoring even the PhD-defense factor and how, although he had been joyously riding a high, he was not immune to the low. His PhD was his PMS cubed.

Meanwhile, I was already making contingency plans in my head... And simultaneously trying not to make them or think about them.

“Any history of diabetes in your family?” I asked.

“Not on my dad’s side, but I have no idea if— Maybe on her side.” He moved his skinny butt forward in something of a crab-walk across the bed, but gave up halfway. “There’s no way of knowing. Which type is not inherited?”

“Well, technically they both can be caused by— But you have a healthy lifestyle, you wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t I?” Climbing over me, Wakuu got off the bed and reached for his underwear. “I spent over five years in. In.”

I sighed. “The accursed sugarhole.”

“Yes.” He swept his arms around, half-shrugging. “Plus, I’ve been subsisting mostly on takeout for the last two years.”

“Well, it’s local takeout, so—”

Wakuu looked me dead in the eye. “I have a history of depression. Isn’t that a factor?”

Busted.

“Okay. Okay, let’s try to not panic,” I said, while already full-on panicking. And forgetting to do anything rational, like maybe ask him if he showed any other symptoms. “This is a simple test. We’ll go first thing in the morning and—”

Shaking his head, Wakuu interrupted, “I won’t be able to sleep, I need to learn now.”

The next thing I knew, he was jumping in place and pulling on his cropped pants.

“Now? But it’s midnight. The clinic is closed.”

And his shirt. “You have the backdoor key, right?

Without thinking, I got up too. “Yes, but not the key to the lab.”

His fingers shook as he was buttoning the shirt. “You can pick locks. You said your father taught you to pick locks.”

“Yes, but I haven’t practiced in almost a decade, I—” Scrutinizing the panic that distorted his face and just how pale he was getting, I trailed off and yanked my shorts off the nearest chair. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Once dressed, we dashed out into the night and towards the clinic. It was dark, quiet, and creepy as hell. Everyone was asleep, all of the lights were off, and we resorted to using our phone flashlights. We did not meet anyone on the way, not even any wildlife, and nobody was there to see us sneak into the building. Or so we thought.

Ten to twenty terrifyingly anxious minutes later, after picking the lock to the lab and probably damaging it, after poking around every single reachable drawer and cabinet, after finding a glucometer and realizing that neither of us had any idea how to use a glucometer, after discovering that there were no batteries inside, after poking around again and finding a battery, after dropping it, after crawling around the room on all fours... we were sitting on the floor of the lab, huddled together and screaming a duet as all of the lights were turned on at once, revealing Yuri towering in the doorway with an antique sword raised over her head.

She seemed substantially more scared than we were and looked downright feral.

Lowering the sword, she asked, “Guys, are you for real?”

Unsure. The answer depended on her views on solipsism.

Yuri tried again, “Is this a prank?”

We explained the situation to her in as few words as possible. The censored version, of course.

In an exhausted voice — the grayest rote — she listed all of the symptoms of diabetes, of which Wakuu had none.

Helping us up, although she looked like she herself was barely capable of standing upright, Yuri told him, “You can come for a test tomorrow. Please just go home now and get some sleep.”

Wakuu hunched into a chair and then into himself in abject despair. “But I won’t be able to sleep.”

Heaving the heaviest sigh in history, expressionless, Yuri fumbled around a drawer, got a blister pack, and slapped it on the table in front of him as if it was a literal trump card. “Yes you will.”

We got apology tacos for Yuri and brought them over the next day.

We also got proper bloodwork done and returned for the results together. Neither of us had diabetes. My cholesterol was a bit high. Wakuu had slight iron anemia from chronic lack of sleep (although he'd slept like a log that night, yay for meds).

Upon learning the truth, he grabbed my hand in obvious relief, and loosened up.

In conclusion, Wakuu was given an appointment for an iron infusion, and I was told to eat more ‘good proteins’, and the heroism he showed as the battle raged within him, was legendary. His eyes bulged hard as he fought the urge to make a dirty joke and looked at me looking at him and fighting the urge to make a dirty joke.

He went to visit his dad, procured All Of The Fish, got a bucket of full-fat yogurt and two dozen eggs from Jack, and stuffed my fridge in my absence and his fridge too.

Then he rehydrated and ate more pineapple. They were in season.