A SANDWICH?

Or why exactly winning a bet against Nanami feels like he still has an upper hand.

genre: smut prompt pairing: Nanami x gn!reader word count: 0,9k cw: filmed masturbation (m!), confessions, food play

author’s note: I am NOT responsible for this. I wrote it half-asleep and @diaphanoso okayed it so now y’all have it. Whatever :/

You and Nanami have been working together for so long that your relationship progressed past the boundary of an office one.

You not only share lunches, but also dinners sometimes - well, two foodies finding one another in lifeless walls of a lifeless financial firm, what a modern day romance.

So, there’s this little game you two have. A challenge. Every day each of you tries to outdo the other cooking-wise. Every day you and Nanami head to either your or his place and while one is working their magic, another has to wait patiently for said magic to bless their tastebuds.

One day, you surprise him though.

“Bet I can make you hell of a sandwich” you say, munching on his homemade vegan lasagna.

His brows fly up. “A sandwich?”

You swallow, a playful hum indicating your satisfaction with the meal of the day. “Yeah, a sandwich. But-“ you chug lukewarm tea and Nanami winces, still annoyed at your barbaric afterwork habits. “I bet I can make it just like your favorite one, from the bakery. You won’t tell the difference”

He scoffs at that, wiping his hands with a cotton napkin. “You do realise they put some chemicals there to postpone the due date, right? You won’t find it on a shelf in some sto-“

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You’re up?”

He shrugs, tongue gliding over his teeth behind the tomato-stained lips. “I guess. What’s the catch?”

You grin, a chuckle rumbling through your chest. “You’ll owe me one wish. Any wish. However weird or crazy. And vice versa, sure”

“Okay” he grins back, certain of his victory.

Days pass, and a couple of dozens of shared dinners later, when he’s effectively forgotten about the bet, you present him with a package.

“Open up” you smile, devious glimmer blatant in your squinted eyes.

Nanami cocks his brow, turning from the keyboard to face you. He weighs the package in his hands, familiar pleasant heaviness and softness hinting at exactly what’s inside.

Wrapper gone, he ogles at the perfect piece of handiwork, indistinguishable from his guilty pleasure.

“Eat up already, come ooon” you whine, foot tapping at the hardwood in anticipation.

He nods, teeth digging into the crunchy bread nonchalantly, and stills. The taste is exact, just absolutely the same taste he’s had this morning. Identical.

Bemused, he raises his blown wide eyes to you, and you snicker at the silliest face of Nanami Kento the “please keep the noise down” coworker.

“How?” he’s wondering, impartial to the fact that he’s speaking with his mouth full.

“No, no, it’s only magic if you don’t know!”

“But-“ you lean closer to his ear, careful to never let the pre-pension age accountant in the corner hear you. “Now you owe me, Ken”

He nods, intent.

“Now, you owe me a set of nudes because I was dying to know what’s under the shirt of a man so hot I’d fuck his goddamn lunch”

He stills again, mouth slightly ajar to welcome another bite in. Putting the delicacy aside, he simply nods, not finding it in himself to word out anything to such a lewd confession.

After that encounter, you and Nanami stagnated. Too professional nods shared in the hallways, an order for one - for once, - in the nearby cafe, you pondered if you’ve ruined everything you two had going on, a sweet friendship that you threw away to honour your annoying horny.

The chat with him was unusually quiet all weekend, and you were head deep into your notes app, failing to formulate a makeshift apology for your inappropriate request. Words never stuck together right, and you were about to give up for the night, when a loud ping breeched the silence of your room.

Nanami Ken👨‍🦳: a video attachment.

Hands shaky, you open the dialogue too fast for your own good, finger tapping at the video the second it downloaded.

And you gasp. There, in a dim light of what you recognise to be Nanami’s kitchen, stands Nanami himself. Or so you guess, since his face is only there up to the nose.

Also, Nanami is naked.

Your silent room fills with small huffs and tiniest squelching sounds and your eyes blow wide. He’s stroking himself, perfect body flushed and glistening with sheen, his right hand moving characteristically for the deed. There are only glimpses of his dick, but what you manage to catch is impressive to say the least. Appetising.

He’s letting out the shallow moans, lips pressed tight, and you fail to hold your thighs from squeezing, barely restrained sounds of his pleasure exciting your own.

He’s close, and you anticipate to see his lips opening up to wash you over with what you believe will be the best moan of your life, but...

It’s so much fucking more.

Seconds away from climax, he yanks something from out of the frame and blood rushes to your core: a fucking sandwich sits atop of the table. Nanami shifts the camera with a shaky hand and you can see everything now: the full length, his contorted face, and how cum spurts lusciously out of his angry tip, covering up the bread and planting onto the lens in few drops.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Bon appetit, bun”

Cut.

MDNI, reblogs and comments are welcome, eat well

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