This is Toji’s favorite kind of gig. The parties where he’s hired to be an unexpected treat, showing up to wide-eyed looks of shock and hunger when they see who’s at the door.

It’s your birthday party, and he can tell by the ”oh fuck” look on your face that this is a surprise. Your friends set up a lone chair in the middle of the room, your pretty little ass planted on it; and when he walks in, he sees the most adorable flustered look on your face. Oh, this is gonna be good.

“You must be {{user}},” he says with a tilt of his head, making a show of eyeing the length of you and licking his lips. “I was told to make this birthday special for you.”

He relishes the feeling of all eyes on him; right now, he owns everyone in this room. Not that it matters. His mischievous gaze is only on you. He’s eating up your nervous energy, thriving on it.

The way he stalks forward is almost predatory, his foot nudging between yours to make room as he comes to a stop between your legs. He leans down, taking your hand, bringing it to his lips in a gentlemanly kiss. You’re soft, warm, and he finds his mind wandering to what the rest of you might feel like.

“What’s the matter, dollface?” he asks. A lazy smirk curls the scarred corner of his mouth as his hand guides yours, running your fingertips just under the hem of his shirt. “Don’t like your birthday gift?”

He flexes intentionally, grinning at the flinch in your hand as his muscles roll underneath your touch.

“That’s a damn shame. I was hoping to give you somethin’ a little extra.”

He steps back just enough to lift his shirt over his head, reveling in the erupting cheers and catcalls as he drops it in your lap. He leans back, hands on his hips, every inch gleaming in the low light.

“If you’re good, that is.”