Desire

Part 13 - send pics

**NOTE** This chapter DOES contain smut 

This whole part is from Tamaki's point of view

WC: 1441

Summary: Tamaki makes a purchase and receives a message from you at an inconvenient time.

Includes: smut/teasing

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tamaki's POV:

Tamaki stares at the pineapple on the shelf of the grocery store. It's his lunch break and he's popped into a store, immediately unhappy when he comes face to face with the prickly yellow fruit.

For the taste sweetheart.

He remembers your words and sours. Were you serious? He grabs the pineapple almost angrily and tries to think of your comment more as a promise that you would do something like that again.

As he walks back to his office, his phone pings. Tamaki isn't used to getting texts from you so when he sees your name scroll across the top of his screen his heart leaps a bit in his chest. He opens the message, a flush immediately darkening his cheeks and tinting the tips of his ears at its content. It's- dirty. You're all laid out on those pink sheets that he knows all too well. And you look divine. He can feel his pants tightening as he walks faster. He can't tear his eyes away. He's jealous of the way your lingerie clings to your skin, the image burning into his mind. He'll never be able to look at you in regular clothes again without imagining you wearing that underneath.

His eyes roam helplessly over the image, hating that he can't see your face and jealous of all the lap dances you must've given in the set before he even got to see it. Despite how hard he feels in his pants, he continues to look, noting the single block he has to speed-walk before he's at his office. Why did you have to send this at such an inconvenient time? He tries to push away the vision of you holding up your phone over your poised body just for this picture for him but it's useless. Even as he shoves the phone away without responding, his erection stays prominently tenting his pants.

He puts his grocery bag in front of his crotch, hoping that it looks inconspicuous as he walks into his office building, making a beeline for the elevator. He thanks the gods that there's no one in there to witness his strife and then books it to his office, slamming the door behind him and pressing his back against it as he pants. Dropping the pineapple bag on the floor, he contemplates the filthiness of office masturbation.

And then he stops contemplating and starts undoing his belt and zipper. He wants to be upset at you for sending him that picture when he was out but he can't be. He can only pathetically and desperately tug at his aching cock as he looks at your picture wishing only that you had sent more. He glances at the floor to ceiling windows behind his desk, vaguely wanting to close the blinds but also very caught up in the moment. He's slumped against the door and no one can see into windows this high up. Plus who really cares when it feels so good. It's not anywhere near as good as your mouth on him but it's certainly relieving.

Tamaki's hand speeds up, wrist starting to ache a bit as sweat beads at his brow. Just a little more and he would be there. He stumbles over to his desk and grabs a tissue, not wanting to make a mess in his office. His face flames at the thought and the realization of the vulgarity of his acts. But he doesn't stop, thumb rubbing over his swollen cock head as he bites down on his lip to muffle his noises. He fumbles for his phone, pulling up your image on it. He tries to imagine what would've happened if he was there with you when you took that picture, if you would've had him right there. He tries to imagine you picking out a set of lingerie you knew would rile him up and slipping it on with that signature smirk of yours.

"Y/n", a whispered gasp of your name falls from his lips as he tightens his grip on himself.

He knows it's common courtesy to send back a picture but he doesn't know how it works. Awkwardly, he holds up his phone camera before bailing. You don't want a dick pic right? That's filthy and shallow Tamaki thinks, letting go of his member to unbutton his shirt. His abs would be better, he concludes, trying desperately to ignore how hard his cock feels. Once his shirt is finally open, Tamaki holds up the phone and captures a picture of his abs, slightly shiny, down to his v-line and covered in fading hickeys from a week ago. A very suggestive yet not-too-showy picture. He doesn't send it yet, too eager to wrap his hand back around his red cock.

He grits his teeth as he comes, trying to catch his spend in tissue as he shakes against his desk. Shirt open and chest heaving, Tamaki races to regain his composure, shaky fingers rushing to fit each button into its correct hold. As he gets to the last button though, he sees a splotch of cum on his stomach. He looks at it, considering and then wipes it with his finger and sticks it in his mouth. His face instantly sours at the taste and he gags. Bitter, salty and warm. He should've given you a gold medal for swallowing his entire load. Tucking himself back into his pants, head hazy, he reaches for his phone, hitting send on the image and adding on:

Had to masturbate at work. Hope you're happy.

Okay, so maybe he's a bit embarrassed at the whole predicament. A knock sounds at his door. Scratch that. He's a lot embarrassed about the whole thing. Tamaki jumps, zipping up his fly in record time and straightening out his hair as he calls out; "O-one second"!

Tossing the soiled tissue in the trash and centering his navy blue tie, he walks over to the door and opens it. It's an intern. Great. The guy stutters out a question about filing reports while looking at Tamaki's shoes and Tamaki almost laughs. Would've if it weren't for almost getting caught at work. His phone dings in his pocket and his fingers itch to check it immediately, knowing it's you, but he can't because of this stupid intern asking about a-

"...pineapple"? The intern's eyes are glued to the toppled grocery bag on the floor of Tamaki's office. The pineapple has tumbled onto the carpet along with various other items as a result of Tamaki's frantic attempt to get off. Tamaki pushes the door a little bit more closed, praying that his face hasn't gone red.

"I-if you have a filing question ask Nejire. She was on that case". Tamaki dismisses the intern and his frivolous questions with a wave of his hand, shutting the door as soon as the intern admits defeat and turns around.

Tamaki sighs, slumping against the door as he stares at the pineapple for the second time today.

"Fuck you", he mutters under his breath at the fruit for no reason in particular as he puts it back in the bag.

Once he's seated at his desk, pineapple hidden away, he indulges himself by looking at your text.

Y/n: I'm very happy. Send a vid next time ;)

Tamaki gawks. A video? Next time?? He taps out a reply, flustered.

Tamaki: an intern almost caught me

Y/n: lucky them!

Tamaki's face goes red as if you're there with him right now. How could you say stuff like that so brazenly? He can almost imagine you giggling as you type out the text, maybe even still in the same lingerie as before. Tamaki doesn't want to think about that too much, opting instead to put his phone away and turn to the boring task of filling out reports.

—

Nejire knocks on the door later that evening, entering with Tamaki's permission, bearing files which she drops on his desk.

"You ready for tonight Suneater"? Her painted nails tap on the glass of his desk, impatiently. He looks up at her and nods.

"Yes. I'm bringing- y/n", Tamaki says, missing the way Nejire's face sours at the name.

"Exciting! I can't wait to meet her"! Nejire's chipper voice almost distracts Tamaki from the way she's squishing her breast together in her low-cut top right in front of his face. Tamaki blushes.

"Y-yeah. She's excited too", he smiles tightly, sliding the stack of files closer.

"Okay well. I'll see you there Suneater", she says joyfully, leaning over to ruffle his hair before leaving.

This was going to be a long night.