"Hmm, lovely," Makoto purred, a genuine, unadulterated thrill shooting through him.
He loved it. The insults, the public humiliation, the sheer, audacious power dynamic between them. "I love the sound of that."
He followed her into the boba shop, a dopey, compliant grin plastered on his face.
He bought her the largest strawberry milk tea on the menu, extra boba, and got himself a simple jasmine milk tea.
The contrast was a perfect, unspoken reflection of their new, twisted dynamic.
"Well, this is nice. Feels like a real date this time," he said as they stepped back out onto the street.
He was pushing his luck, he knew, but the thrill was too intoxicating to resist. "Maybe we should go watch some movies next?"
Yuna slurped her boba aggressively, her cheeks puffing out as she eyed him over the rim of the cup. "A date?"
She scoffed, the sound a mixture of derision and something else… something he couldn't quite name. "What, so you can grope me in the back row like some cheap, pathetic high schooler?"
But even as she spoke, she was pulling up the local showtimes on her phone, her thumb swiping through the listings with a surprising, almost eager, speed.
"Fine," she declared, her voice a reluctant concession. "But we're watching something violent. No rom-coms where you get any stupid ideas."
She stabbed her straw in his direction, a plastic, boba-filled threat. "And if your hand wanders above my knee, I'm dumping this on your crotch."
She marched toward the theater, her twin-tails bouncing with a righteous, indignant energy.
Then, she paused. Without turning around, her hand reached back slightly, her fingers twitching in the air between them.
It was a silent, almost imperceptible, invitation. Her ears were a betraying shade of bright red.
"Hurry up, you trash," she called over her shoulder, her voice a little too loud. "Or I'll pick the sappiest love story on the menu and make you cry in public."
A lewd, wide, genuine grin spread across Makoto's face as he paid for two tickets to Demon Slayer: Infinity Castle as she requested.
"I know what you are thinking, pig bro," she cooed, poking his lips. "Don't think I will cosplay Shinobu for you next. Not for… free."
He ordered a special couple's popcorn set at the concession stand, a ridiculously large bucket of popcorn with two straws sticking out of a massive soda.
The sheer, audacious domesticity of it was a thrill in itself.
"Well," he said, his voice a low, teasing murmur as they found their seats in the dimly lit theater. "It really feels like we're on a date, aren't we? Maybe I should book a fancy dinner for next time."
Yuna choked on her boba, a violent, sputtering sound that sent a spray of tapioca pearls flying across the aisle. "I... you... SHUT THE FUCK UP!" she hissed, swatting his arm as the other moviegoers turned to stare. Her own face was burning a furious shade of crimson. "This is NOT a date!"
She stomped into their row and then froze, her eyes landing on the seats he'd chosen. They were the couple seats: wide, plush, and suspiciously intimate, with a retractable armrest in the middle.
"…Trapped," she muttered, sinking into one with a death grip on her drink. "I'm being held hostage by my brother's romantic delusions."
As the lights dimmed, she leaned closer than necessary, her voice a low, threatening growl in his ear.
"One hand on the armrest. One on the popcorn. Anywhere else…" Her teeth grazed his earlobe, a sharp, thrilling promise of pain. "…and I bite."
But twenty minutes into the movie, he felt it. The hesitant, feather-light brush of her pinky finger against his.
He didn't move, didn't breathe. He just waited.
Slowly, tentatively, her entire hand slotted into his, sweaty and tense, a silent, grudging surrender in the dark.
Makoto rested their joined hands on her thigh, a bold, testing move.
He caressed the soft, warm skin through the thin fabric of her skirt, then pulled his hand away to grab a handful of popcorn. He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
"Well?" he whispered, his voice a low, teasing taunt. "No bite?"
Yuna's grip on his hand turned vice-like, her nails digging into his skin. "Don't push your luck, trash," she hissed, but she didn't pull away.
In fact, her thighs seemed to press together, trapping his hand in a warm, gentle vise. It was hard to say if it was a threat or an invitation.
She glared at the screen, her jaw clenched, as the Demon Slayer Corps were fighting in glorious, high-definition 4K.
"…You get one thigh touch," she muttered after a long, tense silence. "For paying for the fabric."
A minute later, her legs parted just slightly: a tiny, almost imperceptible movement.
But it was enough. Enough for his fingers to slip a little higher, to brush against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Her breath hitched, a tiny, sharp sound in the dark, but she kept her eyes stubbornly, furiously fixed on the screen.
"I'll do the biting, then," he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous purr.
He leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a swift, surprising kiss. He bit her lower lip, just hard enough to make her gasp, before sliding his tongue into her mouth.
She tasted of artificial strawberry, butter, and a shocking, unadulterated sweetness that was all her own.
Yuna made a muffled squeak against his mouth, her free hand flying up to claw at his wrist, but she didn't push him away.
When he finally pulled back, her lips were swollen and red, her chest rising and falling rapidly under her thin blouse. The faint, flickering glow of the movie screen illuminated her furious, beautiful blush.
"You!!" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes blazing with a mixture of outrage and a raw, undeniable arousal.
"In PUBLIC?! Are you TRYING to get us arrested?!"
But her legs were still parted under his touch, her breathing still uneven and ragged.
She leaned in close, her voice a venomous, thrilling whisper. "Wait until we get home, you fucking animal. Then you can bite me… wherever you want."
"Fine, fine, no more kissing," he chuckled, leaning back in his seat. He behaved himself for a while, a perfect gentleman.
Then, his mischievous hand, as if with a mind of its own, crawled back between her thighs, his fingers resuming their gentle, relentless caress.
"So warm… and so soft," he murmured, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "I can't believe these are all mine."
Yuna's entire body jerked in the seat, her drink nearly toppling over. She grabbed his wrist, her grip bruising, her knuckles white in the dim light.
But, tellingly, she didn't shove his hand away.
"You," she hissed, her voice trembling with a mixture of fury and a pleasure she refused to acknowledge, "are going to pay for this later!"
Her thighs quivered under his touch, a betraying, undeniable response. As another, even more gratuitous, explosion lit up the screen, he caught the way her teeth were digging into her lower lip, the way her breath hitched in a tiny, suppressed gasp.
Suddenly, she snatched the bucket of popcorn from his lap and, with a wicked, triumphant grin, dumped the entire contents into her own.
"Oops, my hands slipped," she whispered sweetly, her eyes glittering with a dark, malicious challenge. "Now you have to pick it up."
Her legs spread just a fraction wider under the scattered, buttery kernels, her eyes daring him, taunting him. A group of teenagers sitting beside them gasped in unison.
Yuna beamed at them, her smile a terrifyingly sweet, innocent thing.