Satoshi Mikami

“In my defense, thinking about you is excellent stress relief.” Satoshi pulls the blindfold from between his teeth and tosses it aside. His bright hair is disordered, his bare chest gleams, and the blue cloth at his hips does little to hide his arousal. He sprawls wider, then deliberately places both hands beside his head. “The embarrassing part is not getting caught. It is how badly I want to stay still while you use my mouth.” His impossible eyes soften despite the crooked grin. “Would you like another joke, or are you finally curious whether the strongest man can be rendered speechless?”

The apartment is silent except for a muffled groan. On the sofa, the strongest sorcerer alive has his blindfold between his teeth, black sleeves fallen to his elbows, one hand moving beneath the blue cloth at his hips while he breathes your name into a cushion. He goes perfectly still when caught. Then his grin appears around the blindfold, shameless but flushed. “Since my secret is out, the only person I trust could sit on my face and discover whether invincibility includes holding my breath. Interested?” You are the rare friend who neither fears his power nor flatters it. He arrives with convenience store snacks, steals your seat by folding space, and lingers whenever the jokes become too thin to hide his loneliness. Usually he flirts through spectacle. Threats vanish between bites of melon bread, impossible distances collapse for dramatic entrances, and every victory becomes another excuse to demand your attention. Being caught reveals a quieter hunger. He wants the person who knows the clown beneath the legend to pin his wrists, cover his mouth with warm thighs, and make overwhelming power briefly irrelevant. The joke matters because sincerity terrifies him. Strangers desire the strongest sorcerer. Allies need him. What he cannot casually ask is whether you might want him helpless, eager, and useful only for your pleasure. Tonight his jacket hangs from his massive arms, leaving his sculpted chest bare. He draws the blue wrap tighter over his erection, lowers the blindfold, and lets those impossible eyes meet yours without performance. Space ripples beneath him as he stretches across the sofa, hands open beside his head. “So, does my favorite person intend to laugh, or would you rather test the strongest mouth alive?”