The door swung open just as Sai was rubbing a towel over his damp hair, casually wandering barefoot across the bedroom to get dressed. He had expected Dylan to take at least half an hour—maybe more. Between traffic, his tendency to overanalyze product branding, and his habit of threatening any stranger who dared look at him too long, Sai assumed he had time.
He did not.
Dylan reappeared in less than fifteen minutes.
Sai looked up, brows raised. “That was quick—”
He stopped.
Mid-sentence. Mid-thought. Mid-breath.
Because Dylan didn’t just walk in. He strode in, a tall black paper bag dangling from one hand like a trophy, his suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and a dangerous glint in his storm-gray eyes.
And then—
He reached into the bag.
And pulled out a box.
A large, glossy, matte-black box that slid smoothly out and flipped over in his palm with disturbing elegance.
Sai's eyes widened.
“Are those—”
Flick.
A second box.
Then a third. Then a fourth.
And finally, Dylan pulled out the fifth.
Then, with no warning whatsoever, he casually tossed them onto the bed like poker cards at a high-stakes table.
They landed with a bounce, spreading across the silk sheets like a scandal. All of them marked boldly on the front in crisp silver:
XXL.
The words felt louder than they looked. Sai could practically hear the packaging shout.
One box slipped off the edge and hit the floor with a gentle flop.
He stared at it.
Then stared back at Dylan.
“…You bought five?” Sai asked, his voice cracking halfway through.
Dylan didn’t answer immediately. He just stepped closer. Slow. Confident. Like he knew something Sai didn’t yet.
Then he picked up one of the boxes, gave it a little shake—rattle rattle, like an ominous maraca—and looked Sai right in the eye.
“Pick a number from one to ten,” he said smoothly.
Sai blinked. “…What?”
“Pick. A number.” Dylan leaned down just slightly, close enough to kiss, but with that damn smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “From one. To ten.”
Something in Sai’s stomach tightened. Not unpleasant—but not exactly safe, either.
“…U-uhhm…” He looked at the boxes. Looked at Dylan. Looked at his own towel-wrapped body. “…Ten?”
Dylan’s smirk deepened, eyes gleaming.
“Ten rounds then.”
Sai’s breath hitched. “Wait—what?”
“I bought many condoms like you wanted.” Dylan stepped forward, gently brushing his fingers under Sai’s chin. “Now I expect a return on my investment.”
“Dylan.”
“Mmm?”
“That is not how this works—”
“Oh, but it is,” Dylan said, his voice all velvet threat and affectionate chaos. “You told me to buy condoms. I bought all the condoms. And now…” He kissed the corner of Sai’s jaw, lingering there. “Now I’m going to use them. One. By. One.”
Sai inhaled sharply as Dylan’s lips brushed his skin again.
“You’re not serious.”
“Deadly.” Dylan’s voice dropped an octave. “You gave me a task. I completed it like a responsible husband. I even refrained from buying glow-in-the-dark ones. That deserves reward. Ten of them.”
“Dylan, I will not survive ten—”
“We’ll pace ourselves. Hydration breaks. Stretching. Maybe a protein shake halfway.”
Sai stumbled back, towel threatening to slip. “You're insane.”
Dylan caught him before he could retreat any further, arms wrapping around his waist and lifting him with humiliating ease. Sai squeaked—a very undignified sound—just as Dylan deposited him on the bed, right between the scattered boxes like some sacrificial lamb to the altar of lust.
“I’m going to file a complaint,” Sai muttered weakly as he tried to sit up.
“Accepted,” Dylan said. “It’ll be reviewed after round ten.”
“I should’ve picked three.”
“Too late. You said ten. Your word is law.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Dylan leaned down, mouth barely brushing Sai’s as he whispered, “You love me.”
Sai hated that it was true. That even now, with the absurdity, the smug grin, the emperor-sized ego—he did love him. Down to the last cell. Down to the laugh bubbling up in his throat even as his heart raced from panic and anticipation.
“You’re a menace,” he breathed.
“And you’re mine,” Dylan replied.
He kissed him deeply then, slow and certain. And as the room began to spin with heat and tension and silk sheets wrinkling beneath them, Sai thought—
At least the damn condoms are here.
Because this man?
He was not going to stop at ten.
Then Dylan suddenly slam his lips on Sai's, kissing passionately.
The kiss was slow, thorough, and laced with the kind of heat that made Sai's thoughts short-circuit.
Dylan’s hand was already sliding up his thigh, making the towel feel completely useless, when Sai’s gaze flickered sideways—and landed on one of the boxes that had spilled open.
A single foil packet had slipped out.
It looked… different.
It wasn’t like the others. The usual smooth, anonymous packaging was replaced by something slightly shinier, with bold, red text on it and—
Sai squinted.
Wait.
Were those tiny raised bumps?
His stomach flipped.
He leaned slightly to the side, picked up the packet, held it between two fingers, and stared at it like it was a live grenade.
“…Why,” he said slowly, voice barely above a whisper, “does this condom have spikes?”
Dylan paused, hand mid-glide.
Sai turned his head with robotic stiffness and held the packet up to Dylan’s face.
“Spikes,” he repeated, louder. “There are spikes on this. On the inside. Dylan—why?”
Dylan, completely unashamed, blinked once, then smirked. “Ah. That’s the ‘Intensifier.’ Premium. Limited edition.”
Sai stared at him.
Dylan continued like he was describing a wine label. “It’s designed to enhance stimulation. Raised textures. Internal ribs. A few gentle... nubs.”
“Nubs?” Sai echoed, scandalized. “It says ‘Intense Warrior Mode’ on the back.”
“I thought it was catchy,” Dylan said, taking the packet from his hand and flipping it over casually. “See here? ‘Unlock legendary sensations.’ I figured it sounded... fun.”
“I’m not a battlefield.”
Dylan leaned in, amused. “You’re my battlefield.”
Sai narrowed his eyes. “That sounds romantic until you remember battlefields get torn apart.”
“Oh, I don’t plan on tearing you apart. Not without proper aftercare.”
Sai reached for a pillow and smacked him square in the chest.
“Dylan, there are tactical instructions on this thing!”
Dylan burst into laughter, a rare, deep sound that made Sai’s stomach betray him with warmth. But he was not letting this go.
“Did you read what it says?” Sai asked, flipping the packet open. “‘Not for the faint of heart.’ ‘Do not use if allergic to pleasure.’ ‘Use at own risk.’”
“I told the pharmacist to give me the ‘most aggressive’ option in the aisle.”
Sai slapped a hand to his face. “You asked a pharmacist that?”
“She laughed,” Dylan shrugged. “Said I was brave. Or stupid. Maybe both.”
Sai groaned. “You are not putting anything called 'Intense Warrior Mode' near my intestines.”
“I bought five boxes,” Dylan pouted mockingly. “Just a little test run—”
“Nope. Return it. Burn it. Offer it to the gods as tribute. I am not engaging in battle with your novelty weaponry.”
Dylan leaned over and kissed the tip of Sai’s nose. “You’re so dramatic.”
“And you are not sneaking this into any round of anything tonight,” Sai said, plucking the packet from his hand and throwing it across the room like it had offended his entire bloodline.
It landed somewhere behind the dresser.
“Fine,” Dylan laughed, hands up in surrender. “Standard issue only.”
Sai gave him a sharp look, but he couldn’t suppress the faint curl of a smile.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he muttered.
“I’m lucky you love me,” Dylan corrected, kissing him again.
Sai didn’t argue this time.
But just in case, he checked every single remaining foil packet before round one officially began. And every time Dylan reached for another one, Sai made damn sure it didn’t say anything like “Dragon Scale,” “Turbo Pulse,” or “Ultra-Mega-Shockwave Edition.”
Because with Dylan Castanier Reifler?
There was no such thing as just one surprise
Sai lay flat on his back, somewhere between bliss, exhaustion, and spiritual disassociation.
The sheets were a wreck—twisted, half-off the mattress, damp with sweat and heat. Pillows had been flung into various corners of the room like casualties of war. The bedside lamp flickered from where it had been nudged by someone's foot. Probably his. Or maybe Dylan’s, during round five, when things got a little… acrobatic.
Sai could no longer remember what time it was. Or what dimension he belonged to.
He only knew nine rounds had happened.
Nine.
Nine glorious, indulgent, overwhelming rounds, fueled by expensive latex, terrifying stamina, and Dylan’s maddening tendency to turn every intimate moment into a test of Sai’s physical limits and willpower.
And just when Sai thought it was over…
Just when he had collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs and post-climax haze, murmuring, “I’m dead. Bury me in satin and don’t wake me till winter,”—
He heard it.
That sound.
Riiiiip.
The unmistakable hiss of foil tearing.
A soft, familiar one.
Followed by a second, more sinister one.
Sai’s eyes cracked open, barely.
He lifted his head slowly. “…Did you just…?”
Dylan, completely unbothered, was kneeling at the edge of the bed, muscles glistening under the low light, his back tattoo flexing with every casual movement. He tossed a used condom into the waste bin without ceremony, and with the other hand…
He held something.
Sai squinted.
That packaging was shiny.
Too shiny.
The text—red.
“…No,” Sai whispered, voice dry. “No. Dylan. Don’t you dare.”
Dylan’s grin was all wolf, mischief gleaming in his eyes as he slid the new one on with practiced ease. And yes—yes, Sai could already see the faint texture. Those raised, horrifying little bumps.
He held himself above Sai, one hand braced beside his head, the other trailing teasingly down his side as he whispered—
“Ready for the thrill, darling?”
Sai stared at him like he’d been betrayed in a Shakespearean tragedy.
“Dylan. Castanier. Reifler. We had a deal.”
Dylan pressed a slow, sinful kiss to Sai’s collarbone. “The deal was ten rounds. We’ve done nine.”
“That’s not a reason to bring out the torture device.”
“It’s called Intense Warrior Mode, Sai.”
“It should be called Intense Lawsuit.”
Dylan laughed softly, and the sound vibrated against Sai’s skin. “Come on. It’s the final round. Let’s go out with a bang.”
Sai grabbed a pillow and shoved it weakly against his face. “I knew you were going to pull something like this. I felt it in my soul.”
“Too late,” Dylan murmured, already positioning himself with lethal precision. “It’s equipped.”
Sai peeked out from the pillow, genuinely nervous now. “Is it… sharp?”
“No,” Dylan reassured. “Just… enhanced.”
“Enhanced how?”
“You’ll see.”
“Dylan—”
“I’ll be gentle.”
“You said that in round four, right before the headboard broke.”
“I’ve evolved since then.”
Sai groaned. “I swear, if this leaves me with a weird sensation for the next twenty-four hours, you’re sleeping on the couch.”
“I’ll carry you to the couch with me.”
“If I can’t walk tomorrow, I’m calling your therapist.”
“She already knows I have a problem.”
Sai opened his mouth, then closed it again when Dylan moved—just a little, just enough to make him forget what his original point was.
“…This is so irresponsible,” Sai whispered, voice shaking.
“And yet,” Dylan said softly, “you’re still underneath me.”
Sai let out a small, nervous whimper as Dylan leaned down, nose brushing his cheek, lips warm at his ear.
“Let’s unlock legendary sensations, my love.”
“You are so lucky I love you,” Sai muttered.
“I know.”
And with that, round ten began.
Sai would later describe it as spiritually enlightening, alarmingly textured, and the reason he couldn’t sit properly the next day.
Dylan would just grin and restock the bottom drawer—with one extra box of spiked reinforcements.
Just in case.
The moment it began, Sai felt the difference.
The initial glide was slow—deceptively gentle—Dylan sinking into him inch by inch, giving him time to adjust, to feel. And oh, did he feel.
Sai’s eyes flew wide open, his breath catching as his back arched slightly off the bed. His mouth parted, a gasp escaping before he even realized it.
There was texture.
Subtle at first—barely there. But as Dylan pushed deeper, the pressure changed. The soft, raised ridges of the spiked condom scraped against nerves that hadn’t been touched like this before. Not painful, not harsh, but overwhelming. Surprising. Wickedly stimulating.
Sai’s fingers clenched the sheets beside him.
“Ah—!” he gasped, his voice already beginning to shake. “F-Fuck—Dylan…”
Dylan groaned against his neck, lips brushing along Sai’s jaw as he whispered, “Feel that?”
Sai could only nod, too breathless to form a reply. His legs trembled, instinctively tightening around Dylan’s waist as another slow thrust rolled through him.
And this time—
“Ngh—ahhh!” Sai cried out, louder now, head tilting back as the sensation hit harder. The raised edges, those damn spikes, rubbed with maddening friction inside him, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to his spine.
Dylan gripped Sai’s hips, holding him firmly in place as he began to move—rhythmic, steady, deliberate. Every push dragged the texture deeper into him, and every pull made Sai keen.
“You like it,” Dylan murmured darkly against his skin.
Sai couldn't lie. He was gasping, panting, fingers now clawing at Dylan’s back.
“It’s—ahhh—different!”
Dylan chuckled, low and smug, pressing a kiss to Sai’s shoulder as he thrust a little faster. “Different’s not bad.”
“Sh-shut up—!” Sai stuttered, but the next sound that tore from his throat contradicted everything he was trying to argue. “Dylan—Gods, it’s too—too much—!”
“You’re taking it so well,” Dylan groaned, voice rasping as he buried himself fully. “So tight—gripping me like you don’t want to let go…”
Sai's entire body jolted with the next thrust. He nearly sobbed with pleasure.
It wasn’t just the spikes—it was how Dylan used them. He knew every angle inside Sai, every spot that would make him cry out. And now, enhanced by that sinful little invention, it was overwhelming.
Every nerve lit up like a string of firecrackers. Sai couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. He was caught in wave after wave of sensation—his voice spilling from him in broken moans and gasps, his legs wrapped tight around Dylan as if anchoring himself.
“Dylan—ah—ahhh—harder!”
Dylan obeyed.
And the friction—it intensified. The ridges of the condom dragged across that one spot, that spot, again and again, and Sai screamed.
It was shameless now. The bed creaked under them. Skin met skin in quick, slick rhythm. Dylan’s breathing turned ragged, his control faltering as Sai clung to him, flushed and trembling.
“Say my name,” Dylan growled, picking up the pace.
“Dylan! Dyl—ahhh! Fuck— DYLAN!”
He was unraveling.
Faster than ever. His vision blurred, legs shaking violently, pleasure coiling so tight in his belly it hurt. And still Dylan drove in—deep and sure—dragging the condom’s textured length against him with every stroke.
“Come for me,” Dylan whispered hotly. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
Sai didn’t need permission.
With one final, gasping cry, his body snapped.
Pleasure burst through him like a tidal wave, white-hot and mind-numbing. His body arched, back bowing, toes curling as his climax hit so hard, he saw stars.
He barely registered Dylan’s voice—a strangled groan against his ear—as he followed, hips stuttering as he emptied himself with a deep thrust, body shaking with the force of his own release.
They collapsed together, tangled, sweaty, gasping.
Silence hung in the air.
Sai lay boneless beneath him, chest heaving, his entire body flushed red.
Dylan finally pulled back, rolling to the side and tossing the used condom into the bin with a triumphant flick of his wrist.
Sai turned his head slowly.
“…I hate you,” he rasped.
Dylan chuckled, breathless and smug. “That sounded like the opposite of hate.”
“You cheated. I said no spikes—”
“You said no rounds one through nine spikes. Ten was fair game.”
Sai groaned and pulled the sheet over his face.
“I swear to all things sacred,” he muttered, “if I can’t sit down tomorrow…”
Dylan reached over and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Then I’ll just carry you everywhere.”
Sai peeked at him from under the sheet. “…Even to breakfast?”
“Especially to breakfast.”
“…And you’ll make me pancakes?”
“With chocolate chips.”
Sai sighed dramatically. “Fine. You're forgiven.”
Dylan grinned.
And from behind the dresser, somewhere deep in the shadows, one more spiked packet lay untouched…
Patient.
Waiting.
But that was for another night.
Morning light crept through the heavy velvet curtains in golden slants, soft and warm across the wreckage of their room.
Sai stirred with a groan.
His body ached. His muscles hummed with fatigue in places he didn’t know could feel exhausted, and his thighs trembled even lying still. He cracked one eye open, then winced at the sunlight and tried to roll onto his side.
Mistake.
He let out a faint whimper, burying his face into the pillow. “Gods… I can’t move.”
From the far end of the room, the sound of plates clinking echoed faintly. Footsteps padded back toward the bed, light but deliberate. Sai didn’t even have to lift his head to know who it was.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Dylan’s voice rang with infuriating cheer.
Sai managed a muffled, bitter reply into the pillow: “Die.”
“Aw.” Dylan laughed softly. “You said that last night. Around round six, I think.”
Sai hissed through his teeth, turning just enough to glare at him.
Dylan stood at the edge of the bed shirtless, hair still wet from a shower, wearing only loose pajama pants—unfair, frankly—and holding a tray with two plates, a mug, and a glass of water.
“I bring peace,” he said diplomatically. “And pancakes.”
Sai blinked blearily, then sniffed. Chocolate chip.
“…You remembered.”
“Of course I did. I cherish your post-war recovery phase.”
Sai sat up very slowly, back stiff, limbs aching. He immediately winced and muttered, “No spikes. Never again. I still feel them haunting my bones.”
Dylan bit his lip, clearly trying not to grin as he set the tray down. “So you're saying it worked.”
Sai squinted at him. “If ‘worked’ means I saw heaven, died, and am now bound to this bed for eternity, then yes. Great success.”
Dylan reached out, brushing fingers gently through Sai’s tangled hair. “You’re beautiful when you're angry.”
“I’m beautiful when I’m plotting your punishment.”
“Oh? Gonna deny me again? Go celibate for a week?”
“I was thinking a month.”
Dylan’s eyes widened dramatically. “Cruel tyrant.”
“You started it.”
“I brought breakfast.”
Sai took a bite from the fork Dylan offered him, chewed slowly, and narrowed his eyes as Dylan grinned like he hadn’t just broken his husband's lower back with textured madness.
“You know what’s worse?” Sai muttered, swallowing. “I liked it.”
“Of course you did,” Dylan said smugly.
“But if I find one more of those ridiculous condoms anywhere in this house—”
“There’s one behind the dresser.”
Sai didn’t even hesitate—he picked up the nearest pillow and whacked him with it, hard.
Dylan didn’t fight back. He just laughed, let himself fall back onto the bed, arms spread as if surrendering to divine punishment.
They lay there in the aftermath—sore, tangled in sheets, one smug and one sore—but both grinning like fools.
It was messy. Over-the-top. Unreasonable.
It was them.
And Sai wouldn’t trade it for anything.
(Except maybe normal condoms. And a heating pad.)
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