The band of weight across his hips makes Date jerk, his cock bobbing eagerly; your mouth on it drags a soft, smothered grunt from him as his head lolls to one side, eyes fluttering shut. His fingers grip at the tile, nails flashing white; one foot scrapes for a grip as well, his knee rising, trying to brace his body to thrust. It's all instinct. He muffles it as best as he can, pushing his knee back down, forcing his fingers to relax.

Then with your lips wrapped snug around him, Date catches just a flash, just a moment's sight of your expression as you look up at him, through his own eyelashes, eyes half-lidded with sleepy lust, and your brow drawn down, measuring, careful, perhaps even calculating.

He has just enough time to think, Oh! That's what was always missing in Anko's beauty. A sense of sympathy before your lips tighten, your head bobs down slowly, and finally the groan he's been trying to restrain rips from him, deep and alpha and loud, with a curse word tangled in its trailing sound.

"Shi--" It could be a curse; it turns into your name. "Shingo..."