Thread by @UhohShouto

#daisuga NSFW lap dance, thigh riding

Third time’s the charm.

The first time, it’d devolved immediately. The second time, he’d managed to twerk in Daichi’s face for a full minute before twisting around and humping his leg.

This time, he’s determined.

He’ll give Daichi +

a full lap dance, complete with sensuous body rolls and meticulous jiggles of his ass, and /Daichi/ will be the one to get off! /Not him/. Please, Sweet Baby George of the Jungle, give him the strength to not wrap around those tree trunk thighs.

He’s always been supremely confident that he’s capable of a professional-level lap dance even without lessons. He always swears to anyone who’s listening that he must be a distant cousin of Shakira, because hip agility like his /has/ to be genetic.

Tragically, it’s not his skill that’s been holding him back from the lap dance of the century.

It’s his self-control. Or lack thereof.

“You ready?” Daichi asks as he settles in the chair.

“Yep!” Suga chimes, scrolling through his phone for the right song. “Are /you/?”

“Very. You’re sure you don’t need me to cover up my legs with a pillow or something? You can handle it?”

There’s blatant smugness in Daichi’s voice, and Suga glances over to scowl at him.

That glance was a mistake. Dammit. Damn it all, those fucking thighs.

Even just glancing at Daichi’s face, he can sense them in his peripheral vision. He /knows/ what they must look like wrapped in the material of Daichi’s basketball shorts—golden skin and teardrop quads peeking out from beneath thin black fabric.

The tug to lower his gaze is magnetic, compelling, like a needle on a compass being drawn true north. Like the gravitational pull that whips the earth round and round the solar system. It feels like fighting a law of nature. Suga’s sweating already.

/You haven’t even fucking started!/ he scolds himself. /You weak, weak man, control yourself!/

“I’ll be fine!” He quips, rolling his eyes for an air of nonchalance. He digs his thumb into the play button on his phone and sets it down, turning his back to his boyfriend and rolling his head between his shoulders. /I’ll be fine/, he repeats to himself.

As the music begins, he flexes his fingers, letting it settle into him with its twisting, sultry beat, its filthy, rasping lyrics, the bass humming in his chest. He squeezes his eyes closed with one last determination that this is about /Daichi’s/ pleasure.

It’s something that /he/ asked for. And asked for again when it didn’t go so well the first two times.

Suga starts. Slowly. Just delicate swivels of his hips, drawing figure eights, so all Daichi has to focus on is the sway of his ass in these tiny, cotton sleep shorts.

Suga plays with the hem of Daichi’s t-shirt he’s wearing, running his hand up his own chest and through his hair, dropping his head back.

The first part is about sinking into the moment and letting himself feel sexy. He’s always made it this far with no problem.

It’s all about the instant heat of Daichi’s eyes on his body and the thrill of the performance singing in his blood.

He hums along with the music, peeks at Daichi over his shoulder. Daichi exhales heavily.

Suga bites his lip with a half-lidded grin.

He loves the way Daichi looks at him, like it’s torture to not be touching him. It makes him feel like one badass sensual motherfucker.

He starts getting into it then. He turns sideways, gives a body roll or two and stretches his arms overhead as he drops low, bouncing

provocatively on his heels in time with the beat.

In the first attempt this is where it’d gone wrong. He’d looked at Daichi from down here, at eye-level with his thighs, and promptly crawled over to bite them, squeeze them, and rub his dick on them until he came.

But, not this time! Nope! This time, he doesn’t look at Daichi but at the floor. Between his hands, to be exact, as he presses them flat to the hardwood and straightens his legs until he’s folded in half.

“Goddamn,” Daichi murmurs, already husky with arousal. “How do I keep forgetting how flexible you are?”

Heat flares through Suga’s stomach. He smirks, keeping his back flat as he straightens and wiggles his ass.

“Is this actually a lap dance?” Daichi rasps, the chair creaking as he shifts restlessly. “Or are you gonna stay all the way over there the whole time?”

Suga hums contemplatively. He rolls his body again, slipping a hand beneath his shirt to pinch at his own nipple. The pleasure joins the simmering in his blood, his cock beginning to thicken in his shorts. He sighs a breath of pleasure, mostly for show.

Daichi looks like he’s gonna pop a blood vessel. His arms are crossed, and his fingers dig into his own biceps. “C’mere, Koushi. I wanna touch you.”

This is the part where it had gone wrong the second time. When desperation slips into Daichi’s voice, it turns it rough and low. Commanding. With that /and/ the temptation of those thighs, Suga’s willpower had gone marshmallow soft.

The second he’d transitioned from twerking to sitting in Daichi’s lap, any notions of a dance had been chucked out the window for some of the most ridiculously desperate thigh riding the world has ever seen in a modest apartment kitchen at two in the afternoon.

Today, Suga knows better. Today, Suga smiles sweetly at him, says, “Be patient, baby,” and continues on. He’s determined to control himself. He makes his way over to Daichi as if he has all the time in the world, which he does, but Daichi’s ravenous expression says otherwise.

He keeps Daichi’s eyes roving up and down his body with the swiveling of his hips, undulating of his abdomen, and the shimmy of his ass.

As difficult as it is, he manages to keep his own eyes on Daichi’s face. The delicious sharpness of his clenched jaw and the dangerous hunger

in his eyes definitely make the task easier. That is—until he’s standing with his legs on either side of Daichi’s chair.

He can feel the heat of Daichi’s skin just centimeters from his own. His thighs are right there. Suga’s heart pounds. His cock twitches. His exhale is shaky.

Daichi’s just… so fucking hot. All of him. His personality and face and chest and arms and the thick, muscled part of him Suga’s determined not to think about.

Shit. He wants to touch himself.

Well, what he /wants/ is to sink down in Daichi’s lap and let the friction bring him

some relief. But history tells him that won’t go well. Instead, he makes it part of the show.

He slips his shirt up his abdomen and off his shoulders, tossing it to the ground. Then, he smooths a palm down his bared stomach to squeeze his cock over the fabric of his shorts,

to let Daichi see the shape of him—so full and desperate for him he’s throbbing.

“Koushi,” Daichi whispers, licking his lips. He slips his hands around the backs of Suga’s thighs and drags his palms up to his rolling hips, tugging down insistently.

“Be patient, Daichi,” Suga repeats, even though his own rope is frayed thin. He grips the back of Daichi’s chair with white-knuckled fingers and rolls his torso to the music, right up against Daichi’s solid body.

Daichi’s hand slides up to press flat and warm against his abdomen, feeling its undulations beneath his fingers.

“Fuck,” Daichi breathes, hot against Suga’s chest.

“Mhmm.” Suga stills, arching his back and encouraging Daichi’s hand to grip his ass instead. When he does, he shakes his hips until his ass jiggles in Daichi’s hold. Daichi squeezes him roughly. His fingers press between his cheeks, rubbing delicately over his hole.

Suga chokes out a pitiful sound that tumbles into a low moan. Through the paper-thin fabric, it’s as good as skin-to-skin.

“/Fuck/,” Daichi says again.

He leans abruptly forward, licks and sucks at one of Suga’s nipples, and shoves his hand down his own basketball shorts.

“Daichi! Cheater!” Suga scolds, tugging at the rogue arm. “/I’m/ supposed to make you feel good.”

“You are. You don’t even have to touch me and you make me feel so fucking good, baby.”

Pride and red-hot affection swell in Suga’s chest, dripping into his stomach.

“You’re enjoying yourself, then?” He’s lap-dancing successfully for once, thank /goodness/!

“/Yes./“ Daichi hums, sucking kisses all over Suga’s chest as his hand continues to work in his shorts. “Don’t know how you learned to move like that but it’s so fucking sexy.”

“I-It—/oh/, Daichi… It’s g-genetic. I’m related t—“

“Shakira, I know.” Daichi chuckles. He tugs at Suga’s hips again, craning his neck to suck at his throat.

“D—/hah/—Daichi…”

“C’mon, Koushi. Wanna feel you against me.”

Suga’s head is hazy. He’s floating on a fluffy purple cloud of sultry r&b music and Daichi’s husky voice and his silky hot tongue. He’s transcending to another plane, to Horny Land, the happiest place on Sweet Baby George of the Jungles’ green earth.

On that cloud, in that headspace, there is no such thing as fortitude or better judgement. Which is why he forgets why he’d even prayed to Baby George in the first place.

He sinks down, straddling Daichi’s lap. He loops his arms behind Daichi’s neck, tilting forward to kiss him and feel that silk hot tongue against his own. He grinds his hips down, and oh, /fuck/, oh god, that friction feels so /good./

There’s the slippery friction of the head of his cock against the soaked-through fabric of his shorts, and then there’s the friction against Daichi’s thigh: the perfect combination of soft and firm and warm and /Daichi./

He hums into Daichi’s mouth and humps forward again, shifting so his weight is settled over just one of Daichi’s thighs. Thick fingers come to grip at his hips, encouraging him to rock back and forth.

Foggy-headed with pleasure, panting, Suga stumbles back to standing to shove off his shorts and fling them from his feet. Fully naked now, he zeroes in on those thighs: how the shorts are hiked up, how they’re spread apart, how Daichi’s patting the top of one.

Suga jolts forward to reclaim his favorite throne in existence, but freezes midway as the realization punches into him.

“W-wait… I’m… I’m humping your thigh again, dammit!”

Daichi tilts his head, an infuriating little smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Yep.”

“Goddammit Daichi!” Suga shouts, punching his arm. “You’re not supposed to just /let/ me! This is about giving /you/ a good time!”

Daichi rubs his shoulder, smirk full-blast now. “Who says I’m not having a good time?”

“But—I’m not even touching you, I’m literally just… Oh. You /are/ having a good time.”

Daichi had pulled his cock out from his shorts, and it’s hard as steel, making slick noises as Daichi smooths the precum up and down his length.

“You… You like it when I ride your thighs?”

“I mean… Of course I do?” Daichi shrugs, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. “You get so desperate and make these /noises/, just because of some random part of my body.”

Suga’s face is burning. His whole body is burning. Daichi /likes/ it when he loses his mind and rubs his dick on his thighs like they’re his own personal sex toy.

“How dare you, Daichi.” Suga takes a step forward, feeling electric.

“Huh?”

“How /dare/ you. Blasphemy. They’re not some ‘random’ body part. They are the pinnacle of human evolution, millions of years in the making.” Suga straddles one of his legs and sits down, sucking in a harsh breath at the feel of Daichi’s bare skin against his own.

“So… You’re gonna keep going?”

“I mean… If /you/ like it too, it’s kinda a win-win, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Okay.” Suga smiles, heat still staining his cheeks. He can’t believe he’s doing this so sober-minded, fully aware of the way Daichi’s watching him and

urging his hips into motion.

He grinds forward, his balls dragging over Daichi’s thigh and precum smearing a slick-smooth path for the tip of his cock along Daichi’s skin. He stares down past his heaving chest at flushed pink of his length contrasting Daichi's gorgeous tan.

Another level of arousal punches him hard in the stomach. More wetness blurts out over Daichi’s skin.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He presses his palm down over his cock to increase the friction as he circles his hips. “This okay?”

“Yeah, that’s… You’re so sexy, Koushi. Just make yourself feel good.”

Suga bites his lip, letting his eyes slip shut and his head loll to the side as he keeps grinding down, letting that fog of pleasure fill his head again, trusting by the slick sounds of Daichi’s hand

on himself that he’s feeling good too.

He works up a rhythm with circles and thrusts of his hips, and it’s good, it’s so good, he can’t believe something as simple as this can feel so good. The vulnerability only adds to it. He feels stripped-raw, on full display.

Naked and utterly shameless as he seeks his pleasure by humping his boyfriend’s thigh.

He’s whimpering here and there, cursing. His movements have lost nearly all of their sophistication. He’s just bouncing, jerking, a live-wire of desperation.

“Feel good?” Daichi rasps, so husky and low Suga whines. “Shit, you sure as fuck /look/ good.”

“S-so good, baby. I wanna… I’m close.” He drops his face into the crook of Daichi’s neck, panting raggedly against his skin as his hips keep working.

“Koushi.”

When Suga merely squirms and bucks his hips: “/Koushi./ Here. Try this.”

Suga cracks a bleary eye open, confused until he looks down to see Daichi pinching the fabric of his shorts and pulling it up away from his thigh, creating a little pocket of friction for Suga to fuck into.

Suga shuffles up, slips his cock in against Daichi’s thigh, and moans when Daichi pulls the fabric taut.

Fuck, it’s… It’s… /yes/. Suga digs his fingers into Daichi’s shoulders, rocking forward and back and grinding into that tight pocket of space Daichi made for him, his cock

trapped against Daichi’s skin.

He can feel Daichi’s muscles tense beneath him, his thigh trembling slightly with the effort of supporting Suga for so long, but still, he doesn’t push him off.

So strong, /fuck./

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, that’s so hot. You’re so hot. Fuck,

you’re gonna make me come just looking at you.”

“Daichi…” Suga breathes, hips rabbiting madly. He’s absolutely mindless now. He mouths against Daichi’s throat, moans against him. “Oh my god, I’m gonna, I’m— Daichi, /Daichi/, /Daichi/! I-I’m—/Daichi/!”

Suga’s teeth scrape against Daichi’s neck as his mouth drops open in overwhelming pleasure. His hand shoots down to stroke himself through it, sighing and moaning, spilling into the space between Daichi’s thigh and the fabric of his shorts.

“Fuck, Koushi. F-f…”

Daichi jolts against him. A familiar, deep, delicious, gravely groan rumbles from his chest.

When he’s finished, he drops back against the chair, limp, and Suga falls against his chest. He drifts slowly down from the clouds to earth, and the absolute uninhibited shamelessness of

his actions scorches hot over his cheeks. He buries his face into Daichi’s shoulder.

Daichi reaches up with his clean hand to smooth over Suga’s hair.

“Holy shit, Koushi. Oh my god.”

Suga wants to focus on his embarrassment. He just came in Daichi’ shorts, for fuck’s sake. But he can’t sulk even a bit when Daichi’s touching him so sweetly. Or when he presses a kiss to the side of his head. Freaking adorable, wonderful Daichi.

“Babe, that lap dance was so good you actually killed my lap. I can’t even feel my legs.”

Suga smiles guiltily and pushes shakily to his feet. He takes in the sight of his boyfriend: flushed, grinning hazily, his gym shorts totally ruined.

A different warmth cascades down his shoulders all the way to his toes.

He’s so glad he has Daichi. So lucky he has someone who loves him enough to allow him to let go and be totally goofy and go absolutely /freaky/ over his thighs.

“We’re a pretty good pair, you and me,” Suga says as he pulls on the shirt he’d dropped to the floor. He walks over to turn off the music, leaving them in the comfortable quiet of their apartment.

“Agreed, one hundred percent. But why do you say that?”

“A long lost cousin of Shakira and a representative of the evolutionary pinnacle of the human thigh? We’re a force to be reckoned with, babe.”

“A thigh-riding match made in heaven," Daichi grins. "It’s about time you accepted that, Sugawara.”

Suga laughs, his eyes sparkling. He skips over to straddle Daichi’s lap again, ignoring his exaggerated wince of pain. “Now that you’ve said that, I’m never letting you talk down about these puppies ever again.”

“Please don’t call them puppies.”

“Lion cubs.”

“No.”

“Slabs of pure-fucking-grade-A beef.”

“… Fine.”

/Fin/

yet another dsg humor and smut from me? more likely than you think. Let me know in comments or qrts if you enjoyed!! i had fun with this one hehe

based on this lil tweet o mine

https://twitter.com/UhohShouto/status/1640369579603161088?s=20