Chapter Text
By two in the morning, Satoru was between two men.
By two in the morning, his brain was too sex-melted to remember their names. One of them was kneeling before him— Satoru’s cock in his hot, wet mouth. The other man was behind, buried to the hilt inside Satoru with Satoru’s full weight on his lap, both hands holding Satoru up by the back of his knees to make his thrusts more relentless, more punishing, more ruthless.
And Suguru was watching it all.
Satoru had thought that this would be a quick thing. They’d spotted these two at a bar on the far side of town, looking absurdly out of place: one in a suit with fair hair, high cheekbones; one with tattoos wrapped around his arms, the debonair type of handsome, suave as you please. Both stunningly attractive.
Satoru and Suguru had taken both men home. And by two in the morning, they’d taken their turns fucking the soul out of Satoru, wringing four explosive orgasms out of him (one from their fingers, three from their cocks). Satoru had sobbed and moaned and whined and begged, his throat raw from crying, and at this point he isn’t sure he even retains the ability to speak coherently.
And Suguru...
Satoru had thought that this would be a quick thing. But by two in the morning, it had totaled up to three whole hours of this, and Suguru had done nothing but sit in the leather armchair beside the bed, watching them with a half-lidded gaze of mild interest.
Suguru was clearly erect through the dark fabric of his pants, the top three buttons of his shirt unfastened, but he wasn't even palming himself. He didn't even look remotely tempted to join in. All he’d done is simply maintain eye contact with Satoru, unwaveringly trained on his lashes, his tear-stained cheeks, his open, gasping mouth.
Satoru felt like he'd already reached his limits for the night. He didn't think he could come again, dry or otherwise. The last orgasm he had was a dizzying, muffled scream into the inside of his elbow — every nerve ending of his body pulling taut to its bounds — and even then, the men hadn’t stopped. Not for a minute, not for a moment. Satoru’s limbs were sore, his hole was swollen, his vision was blurry with tears, and his arms were not even capable of lifting, let alone attempting to struggle away from their grasps. But from what he’d gauged, the two men weren't even near to finishing with him yet: still fucking brutally into his now over-sensitized body, hard and careless and cruel, as if they were trying to leave bruises that would last for weeks on end, as if they were trying to goad and mock Getou Suguru into doing something about it.
But all Suguru did was watch.
Casual as can be. The only indication that Suguru was even enjoying himself, aside from the evident erection, was the hunger in his gaze. Eyes so dark they were nearly all pupil. Satoru knew that he himself had suggested this. Knew that he was the one who had brought this onto himself, but…
Satoru hadn’t expected this.
At no point during the entire thing did Suguru even touch him. Not when they’d made Satoru suck their cocks. Not when they drove into him ruthlessly, one after the other for four consecutive rounds. Not when they were laying him bare like this for Suguru to see. Not even now, when tears were clouding Satoru’s vision, hot streaks of it falling down his cheeks, and it’s gotten so difficult to just breathe.
It was driving Satoru nuts.
He tried to call for Suguru, tried to turn toward the younger man. But the motion required Satoru to lift his head off the stranger’s shoulder, and—
“Fuck,” the man behind him grunted, one hand immediately reaching up to wrap around Satoru’s neck, pressing down, at the same time as the other man scraped his teeth against the underside of Satoru’s cock. Satoru choked out a noise too broken, too shattered to a moan. “Stay still, would you? You fucking—”
“Hey,” Suguru warned. His voice was calm, lazy, like he didn't quite care too much about the outcome of this, but there was a dangerous note there anyway. The sort of simmering, patient warning that could turn sour at a misstep— and the rhythm of the man’s thrusts faltered. “I trust you know what will happen to you if you hurt him.”
There was a breathless tsk against the shell of Satoru’s ear — an annoyed, exasperated sound — and god, Satoru had gone through four orgasms already, his body numb from overstimulation, but the menacing threat coming out of Suguru’s mouth was already pumping all the blood back into his groin, his half-erection growing fully hard again in a heartbeat’s time. The simple movement of it was so fucking painful on his cock, now, after three whole hours of going at it, that his thighs quivered with a bone-deep ache — and Satoru gasped out a sob before he could stop himself.
“S-Suguru,” he whimpered shakily.
Through the corners of his hazy vision, Suguru smiled. Like he’d predicted this reaction, like he’d foreseen this outcome.
“If Satoru needs me,” Suguru said quietly, chin resting on the knuckles of his hand, elbow on the armrest, “he’ll have to beg harder than that.”