Mika drifted over to his other side, the picture of sweet reason.
"It would be helpful to have you here," she added, her voice soft and thoughtful. "In case we need help with a zipper. Or a particularly tricky button."
The sparkle in her eyes suggested she wasn't thinking about buttons at all.
And then they began.
Mika moved with deliberate grace as she unzipped her sundress. She let it pool at her feet, and Makoto's breath caught.
She was wearing the black lace lingerie from before, and somehow it looked even more scandalous in the afternoon light.
She gave him a perfect view of her back as she reached for the white blouse of Marin's uniform. The fabric was just sheer enough that he could make out the dark lace underneath when she pulled it on.
Yuna, meanwhile, was all sharp movements and barely contained energy. She yanked off her unicorn pajamas and tossed them aside with an annoyed huff.
Underneath, she wore simple black underwear that looked almost plain compared to Mika's elaborate lingerie. She pulled on the Shizuku-tan costume with quick, aggressive motions.
The black lace hugged every curve, and those strategic cutouts revealed flashes of pale skin that made his mouth go dry. The costume barely contained her.
They finished at exactly the same time.
When they turned to face him, Makoto forgot how to breathe. They were like two different versions of temptation itself.
He gulped audibly. "Well, the outfits seem to... fit."
His eyes traveled from their heads to their toes and back again, unable to stop looking. "I guess putting on the wigs, the lenses, and the makeup will take a while, too?"
"Oh, we have plenty of time," Mika said. She picked up the pink and blonde wig, turning it over in her hands with careful consideration. "And we have a very captive audience."
Yuna's grin was slow and predatory. It made something in his stomach flip. "Don't worry. This is the best part."
They settled on the floor in front of him, propping a mirror against the coffee table. Makoto watched, transfixed, as they transformed themselves.
Yuna worked with intense focus. Every movement was precise as she applied her makeup, and he noticed how her tongue peeked out from the corner of her mouth when she concentrated on getting the eyeliner just right.
Layer by layer, she became Shizuku-tan. Dark, alluring, and absolutely breathtaking.
Mika was completely different. She chattered away as she worked, asking his opinion on lip gloss shades and whether the blush was too much.
Her energy was infectious, bubbling over as she styled the wig and adjusted the contacts. She became Marin Kitagawa right before his eyes. Bubbly, perfect, and utterly irresistible.
When they finished, they turned to face him with expectant eyes.
But they weren't Yuna and Mika anymore. Shizuku-tan and Marin Kitagawa sat before him, and both were looking at him like he was something delicious they wanted to devour.
Makoto gulped again. "Ahem, you both look... breathtaking, Yuna, Mika."
He fumbled for his phone, his hands trembling slightly as he started taking photos.
His body was responding in ways that made it hard to think straight. The ache in his pants was becoming painful.
"Breathtaking?" Marin-Mika repeated. She struck a pose with a perfect peace sign, tilting her head just so. "Just breathtaking?"
"He's speechless," Shizuku-Yuna purred. She stood and walked toward him, her hips moving with a hypnotic new grace that the costume seemed to inspire.
She leaned down again, hands on his knees, trapping him exactly as before. "Isn't that right, big bro?"
She was so close. He could see every detail of the purple contacts, the way the light caught the shimmer on her eyelids.
She smelled like lipstick and hairspray and underneath it all, something that was purely her.
"You're not just going to take pictures, are you?" Her whisper was rough, almost desperate. "You're going to... touch."
Suddenly, Marin-Mika was at his other side, all pink hair and sweet perfume. Her breath was warm against his ear. "You can touch me first. I'm softer."
Without really deciding to, Makoto found his hands moving toward Shizuku-Yuna.
He touched her everywhere, running his fingers over the lace, checking the fit of the costume with what he told himself was professional interest.
"Need to stay... cool, and professional," he murmured, the only lie that kept him sane before this temptation.
"Hmm, the lace feels right. And the eyes and the hair are nicely done." His hands slid down to her thighs, adjusting the stockings with careful precision. "It quite matches the original design, I assume. Nine out of ten."
Then he turned to Marin-Mika. His fingers worked through her hair, checking the wig's placement. "Hmm, you'll need to put on a bit more makeup, and maybe some accessories, to really nail that gyaru look."
His hands moved to her back, then her legs, then the pleated skirt.
Finally, he tugged gently on her tie, adjusting it. "But it's not bad for your first attempt. It should be... an eight-point-five out of ten, I guess."
A wicked grin spread across Shizuku-Yuna's face. That half-point difference was clearly a victory in her mind.
She leaned into his touch, making herself soft and pliant under his hands.
"See?" she hummed with satisfaction. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lace-covered body against his. "My brother has good taste. He knows quality when he sees it."
Her purple eyes flickered to Marin-Mika. "Maybe an eight-point-five is the best a beginner can do."
For just a second, Marin-Mika's sweet smile cracked. Something sharp and competitive flashed behind those pink contacts.
But then the smile came back, brighter and somehow more dangerous than before.
"You're right," she said, her voice pitched a bit too high, too cheerful.
She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes that held steel underneath. "I'm not gyaru enough. I'm not perfect yet."
Before he could respond, she closed the distance between them.
Her pleated skirt brushed his legs as she took his hand, the same one that had just been on Yuna's thigh, and placed it against her cheek.
"You'll have to help me then, Makoto," she whispered, and her voice cracked slightly.
She pulled him toward the coffee table with its scattered makeup supplies. "Show me exactly what I need. Be my Gojo-kun."
She leaned over the table and presented her face like an offering. The pose was open, almost desperate in its invitation.
"Make me perfect for you."