[Koby's first mistake had been to assume that he'd seen all the tricks Shanks had up his sleeve -- taking the dinners at face value, just an opportunity to make sure they were both eating at least once daily, accountability, like two soldiers might arrange when trying to reach some training milestone. It's nice to check in, too, to put eyes on the man who so easily disappears from Koby's rapidly-developing senses -- here a flicker, there a flash of crimson aura on the edge of his mind, gone as soon as he's able to focus in on it. Something settles in the knot of anxiety in his chest when he sees -- yes, Shanks is fine, he's always fine.
Even the addition of the colors, accidental at first, a pocket square in red, an ear cuff with pink inlaid filigree, then on purpose, a subtle signal -- I'm here for you, tonight, because I promised, because I gave my word -- hadn't been completely unexpected. It felt right, even, adding a scarf or tie or belt in various shades of crimson. Granted, Shanks had never given a gift for Koby to wear, but even still, the box isn't completely out of the blue. Until he opens it up.
The second mistake was the exact angle of the...item, object, toy. Not that it's painful -- far from it, the sleek, rounded shape nudges up inside him perfectly, slipping through the mess of lube he'd carefully slicked himself up with. He'd never had anything that wasn't a person inside before, and by the time the thick bulb of the toy is settled where it should be, the jeweled base is tucked up against his clit, which seems a perfectly satisfactory place. The pressure is nice as Koby slowly walks down to the dining room, gradually becoming more and more accustomed to the fullness, the stretch, to the strangeness of trying to remain composed around other people.
And the third mistake was taking a sip of his drink right as Shanks reached into his pocket and pressed something that had the toy inside Koby suddenly start vibrating.
Thankfully it's just water, and Koby's coughing is enough to disguise the sharp, pitchy sounds that keep tearing out of his throat, uncontrollably, helplessly. His breath hitches at the hand on his thigh, wide eyes flicking over incredulously to Shanks, jaw dropping at the audacity, the daring. He should be scandalized. He should be completely indignant. Instead, though, Koby just presses his thighs together and draws in a trembling breath, the hum of the toy sending shocks up and down his spine, making all that lube completely unnecessary.]
I-It's fine. [Koby's voice comes out squeaky, swallowing convulsively, hand trembling a little as he reaches for his glass again.] Comp-pletely f-fine. What d-do you m-mean?
screaming crying throwing up etc etc etc
Even the addition of the colors, accidental at first, a pocket square in red, an ear cuff with pink inlaid filigree, then on purpose, a subtle signal -- I'm here for you, tonight, because I promised, because I gave my word -- hadn't been completely unexpected. It felt right, even, adding a scarf or tie or belt in various shades of crimson. Granted, Shanks had never given a gift for Koby to wear, but even still, the box isn't completely out of the blue. Until he opens it up.
The second mistake was the exact angle of the...item, object, toy. Not that it's painful -- far from it, the sleek, rounded shape nudges up inside him perfectly, slipping through the mess of lube he'd carefully slicked himself up with. He'd never had anything that wasn't a person inside before, and by the time the thick bulb of the toy is settled where it should be, the jeweled base is tucked up against his clit, which seems a perfectly satisfactory place. The pressure is nice as Koby slowly walks down to the dining room, gradually becoming more and more accustomed to the fullness, the stretch, to the strangeness of trying to remain composed around other people.
And the third mistake was taking a sip of his drink right as Shanks reached into his pocket and pressed something that had the toy inside Koby suddenly start vibrating.
Thankfully it's just water, and Koby's coughing is enough to disguise the sharp, pitchy sounds that keep tearing out of his throat, uncontrollably, helplessly. His breath hitches at the hand on his thigh, wide eyes flicking over incredulously to Shanks, jaw dropping at the audacity, the daring. He should be scandalized. He should be completely indignant. Instead, though, Koby just presses his thighs together and draws in a trembling breath, the hum of the toy sending shocks up and down his spine, making all that lube completely unnecessary.]
I-It's fine. [Koby's voice comes out squeaky, swallowing convulsively, hand trembling a little as he reaches for his glass again.] Comp-pletely f-fine. What d-do you m-mean?