“You could shut me up,” Ryouma suggested. “Or distract me.”

“I’m getting that,” Raidou said, mouth quirking sideways. He pulled back, straightened. “All right then, sit up for me—without using your hands.”

That wasn’t tough. Ryouma curled up in a smooth flex of stomach muscles, hands locked at the back of his neck. Raidou stood at the foot of the bed, just between Ryouma’s knees. A scattered starburst of scars dimpled the hard plane of pectoral muscle at Ryouma’s eye level. More scars lashed his chest and abdomen, most white-faded with age, a few still red and raised and angry. Muscles wrapped solid and heavy over bone, framed his navel with mathematical precision and cut down into the low waistband of his jeans. He had a bandage high on one arm, where ANBU armor wouldn’t have covered, but it didn’t look like any red was leaking through.

Ryouma was beginning to wonder if maybe he should have asked to be allowed to lick.

“Lock your hands behind your back and grab each opposite wrist,” Raidou said. His voice was even as polished stone.

Ryouma had long fingers and narrow wrists; twisting and gripping was easy as sit-ups. He strained just a little more, to see if he could meet finger and thumb together over the knob of wristbone. Painful, but possible. He tightened his grip.

Raidou’s thumb brushed over his cheekbone, approving, and then fell away. Ryouma lifted his head, straining after it, but Raidou stepped a measured quarter-pace back. He stopped just within the wide bracket of Ryouma’s knees. His hands settled on his waistband, thumbs hooked through beltloops. “You’re so interested in getting my pants off, I’ll give you the chance. And a reward, if you can do it without your hands.”

There was no room for Ryouma to slide off the bed and onto his knees. He had to bend down, flattening over his thighs, and tip his head at a savagely awkward angle. “Bed’s too high,” he muttered, teeth skittering over the button fly.

“You bought it,” Raidou said, amused.

Ryouma bumped his forehead against Raidou’s navel and bent his neck again. He managed to get his teeth around the denim flap on the edge of the buttonhole, bit down, and twisted. The button slid and caught. He jerked, impatient, and the button popped free.

He’d already tugged the zipper down half an inch earlier, before Raidou caught him. The tab was loose, easy to bite and jerk down the rest of the way. Weighted by the heavy belt, Raidou’s jeans skidded down.

Ryouma laughed, low in his throat. “Commando. Of course. S’that my reward?” He rested his head against the warm juncture of Raidou’s hip and thigh, and decided, “I’ll take it.”

A hand wrapped warm around the back of his neck. Ryouma’s muscles tightened automatically, resisting any attempt at downward pressure, but Raidou didn’t shove. His thumb stroked up the side of Ryouma’s throat, gentle over the jugular and the corded tendons. “Smart guy,” he said, with the crooked smile in his voice. Ryouma shivered, and relaxed.

He almost protested when Raidou stepped back, but one step wasn’t far, and the hand didn’t slide away. “You can kneel, if you want,” Raidou offered.

Ryouma slithered down off the side of the bed, a little unbalanced with his hands still locked behind his back, and thumped to his knees. “You wanna sit?”

“You need me to?”

Ryouma shook his head. The angle was better here, and the thin, barely padded carpet was softer than some floors he’d knelt on. He wasn’t quite steady yet, shoulders pulled askew, but spreading his knees to widen his base helped.

It didn’t do much for the heat swelling in his groin, but that was another kind of pain, far more pleasant.

He tilted his head to seal a quick, stinging bite to the inside of Raidou’s thigh, then opened his mouth and took Raidou in.