“Awesome,” Ryouma corrected. “That was better than books, wasn’t it?” He ran his tongue around the inside of his teeth, swallowed again, and decided smugly, “Much better.”

Kakashi’s abdominal muscles heaved with the effort of catching his breath. They’d pushed his shirt up, just a little; sweat gleamed in the hollow of his navel, bracketed by the puckered dimples of old blast burns. Ryouma wanted to lick it, but—

Maybe better to wait for Kakashi’s agreement, first. If he did agree.

Of course he would. Ryouma knew he was good; hell, from the amount of time it’d taken Kakashi to speak again, he must’ve been spectacular. Still, until the first full sentence, you could never quite be sure…

“The books are responsible for your flashcard education,” Kakashi said primly.

Good enough, Ryouma decided, and licked a long streak up the pale, sparse trail of hair from Kakashi’s groin to his navel. Kakashi shuddered beneath him. His hand flexed in Ryouma’s hair.

“I could keep showing off my education,” Ryouma suggested. He licked three framing strokes around Kakashi’s navel and came back for the central components: 肉. He wasn’t sure he’d remember all the strokes for the next character 棒, but maybe Kakashi wouldn’t notice. “You could tell me what you like from the books…”

Kakashi’s skin quivered beneath him, like a horse shivering at a fly. His hand dropped from Ryouma’s hair, fisted in the front of Ryouma’s shirt, and hauled him up the long lean length of Kakashi’s torso. His chest still heaved, but Ryouma wasn’t exactly breathing easy either. Especially not when Kakashi’s knee slid between Ryouma’s thighs, delicious friction and pressure. Ryouma’s breath hissed through his teeth. He rested his forearms in the grass on either side of Kakashi’s head and let his weight come down a little more heavily on Kakashi’s body.

Kakashi made a sound more stirred than squashed, and tugged Ryouma flat. His thigh rocked against Ryouma’s groin. “Tell me something you want.”

He hadn’t exactly been worried that Kakashi might not want to reciprocate, but it still eased something indefinite in him. He ground down against Kakashi’s leg. “Just… this’d be good. Or your hand. If you want.”

“Mm.” Kakashi’s chest vibrated with the sound, like a purring cat. His left hand dragged down Ryouma’s back, found the hem of his shirt, and shoved it up. The graze of his short nails trailed sparks up Ryouma’s nerves. Ryouma was steel-hard again, and when Kakashi’s hand scratched down once more to flirt with the back of Ryouma’s waistband, Ryouma might have moaned.

Kakashi caught his breath, shifted, and worked his other hand down between them. Ryouma lifted his hips obligingly. Kakashi found the open belt and fly, traced a curious outline around the front of Ryouma’s trunks, and then pushed down the waistband and curled his warm hand around Ryouma’s cock.

Ryouma definitely moaned. He shoved his hips down, rubbing against sword-callus and softness, the gentle cradle of Kakashi’s palm and the hard press of his fingers. Kakashi changed his grip and tried a slow, easy rhythm. His hand was dry and rough, but the pressure was perfect and the friction just shy of too much, and his taste still lingered on Ryouma’s tongue.

Then his other hand worked beneath the band of Ryouma’s trunks and gripped Ryouma’s ass, while his right thumb pressed against Ryouma’s slit, and Ryouma gasped and bucked and swore. “Fuck you’re a quick learner. Your books teach this? Or you been thinking of it?”

There was something almost feral in Kakashi’s rumbled laughter. Ryouma looked up to catch the blown-wide gleam of Kakashi’s pupil thinly ringed by grey. He entirely missed the signaling shift before Kakashi flipped them over in one sleek, perfectly leveraged movement, all muscle and sinew.

Ryouma’s back thumped into the grass. His pants were halfway down his ass, his shirt shoved partly up his chest. Kakashi leaned over, pinched out the lantern, and settled back onto Ryouma’s thighs with his other hand still wrapped firmly around Ryouma’s cock. In the sudden darkness he was a shadow cut against starlight, the moonglow catching only at his hair.