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Megumi enters the room at the same time Sukuna exhales cigar smoke directly in Satoru’s direction. A sound of contempt and wrinkle of his nose later, Satoru has lost Megumi to the crowd, the bodyguards and women around the edges of the room.
Satoru doesn’t crane his neck. He’s not desperate, just… curious. It’s been so long since he’s seen that face—not since: raised voices, and doors slamming, a plate crashing to the ground, an apologetic break from the fight to sweep up all the glass, and then back to the races with the anger—but he would recognize Megumi anywhere.
Satoru looks around without looking like he is; the last thing he needs is for someone to think he’s casing the place, or worse, cheating. He spots Megumi on the far side of the room, but he’s not even glancing Satoru’s way. Surely he’s seen him; Satoru’s the sexiest one here by a mile, after all.
He follows Megumi’s gaze, and—oh, the world is really testing his patience today, huh? Because Megumi is looking at Sukuna. Satoru is made to watch as Megumi, gliding over in a black, silky slip of a dress, tiny straps and tinier portion covering his ass—fuck—leans into Sukuna’s space on the adjacent side of the table.
He can’t hear what Megumi whispers in Sukuna’s ear, but he does see the hand Megumi flits over Sukuna’s giant arm, the slight squeeze of his bicep. Satoru holds back a scoff; that’s so… basic.
Watching them, Satoru spots when Megumi’s gaze flickers briefly his way, quick and panicked. Oh. So he has seen Satoru, but just doesn’t want anyone to know.
With that, it’s fairly obvious what Megumi is playing at, pretending like he doesn’t recognize Satoru, pretending like he wants Sukuna of all people. It must be one of his missions, those reckless, stupid things Megumi would return home from with a deeper bank account and sometimes a deep wound or two, too.
Megumi focuses back on Sukuna, trusting him—hah! Satoru could laugh—to keep his mouth shut. But well, Satoru doesn’t want him in danger. So for now, he holds his peace, watching as it… progresses. Megumi is playing coy in Sukuna’s lap, looking pretty with his satin dress riding up those thighs, fuck, it’s obscene.
Satoru isn’t one for alcohol, but he could really go for a fucking drink right now, something to sip nice and easy and hold over his face to hide his interest. He can’t even focus on the poker game in front of him, blindly calling every round.
His eyes keep darting over to the picture Megumi and Sukuna make every few seconds, and Satoru’s grateful for his tinted glasses, because holy shit, Sukuna would hold this over him for ever, if he knew.
One of Sukuna’s hands is high on Megumi’s leg, thumbing over the skin of his inner thigh, and Satoru remembers clearly how soft that skin is, pale and hairless, and he can almost hear that familiar, pretty hitch of Megumi’s breath when Sukuna’s hand moves higher, disappearing beneath the dress.
Fuck it, Satoru thinks, watching them. Megumi probably wants him to stay out of the way, if this is one of his missions. But conceding here means Satoru would be playing nice, and well—let’s just say that Satoru is nowhere close to a nice man.
He throws his cards down without looking at the rest of the table’s and lets himself look blatantly, leering over the top of his glasses. Megumi’s eyes are closed, a slight furrow in his brow. Sukuna’s hand is moving almost imperceptibly beneath Megumi’s skirt, between his legs, and fuck, is he feeling him up right here, now? That’s fucking hot.
Sukuna meets Satoru’s gaze, and one side of his lips curls up meanly. He knows what he has in his hands: Satoru’s type, exactly. Satoru’s not feeling charitable enough to explain that his type was born directly from this pretty body writhing in Sukuna’s lap right now.
“Let’s go,” Sukuna tells Megumi, a low drawl that carries. His eyes meet Satoru’s over Megumi, and his eyebrows lift in question.
Satoru nearly grins. He can’t wait to see Megumi’s reaction. Thing is, Sukuna knows Satoru’s type, and he’s a total bastard, so he never misses an opportunity to rub Satoru’s face in it when he fucks them.
Sometimes though—sometimes, rubbing Satoru’s face in it is a little more literal.
Satoru stands when they do. Megumi wobbles a bit—fake, probably; Satoru has seen the way that man can do anything in heels—and leans into Sukuna for support. Slut.
Is it betrayal? Anger? Jealousy or protectiveness? Satoru doesn’t know. He doesn’t wanna think about what it means to see Megumi again, to fuck Megumi again. It’s bad for him, and the good doc told him to keep his blood pressure down. Sukuna’s the one calling the shots here, anyway. And well, Satoru’s more than happy to let his dick do the thinking for tonight.
So he just follows. He watches Megumi and catches the moment he realizes that Satoru isn’t just leaving at the same time as them, that he’s coming with them. Satoru sees the panic, the shock. He wonders if Megumi cares about him being Satoru or just someone who knows who he actually is.
“Found yourself a pretty one,” Satoru comments casually. He throws an arm around Sukuna’s shoulders, then leans down to gaze at Megumi, who stares back with wide eyes. For a half-second, Megumi almost straightens, his tipsy wobbliness forgotten. But Satoru winks obnoxiously: Don’t worry, babe, I gotchu.
Satoru’s not as bad as Sukuna; he won’t blow Megumi’s cover. But that doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy tormenting Megumi tonight. Call it payback for all the hoodies he never got back.
Megumi realizes, Oh, this is actually happening, when they’re at the door to the hotel, the doorman nodding genially at Sukuna and Satoru.
Satoru—god. Megumi didn’t expect to see him here tonight. This is the crowd he’s been hanging around since their break-up—yakuza and poker and cigars and top-shelf whiskey with those stupid ice balls that take up the whole glass?
He knew that Sukuna and Satoru were… acquaintances. But for them to be together this night, when Megumi is slated to take Sukuna home, fuck his secrets out of him? For this to be a normal thing for them, with Satoru following them back to the hotel? For him to be… not revealing Megumi’s secret.
It’s too much. Megumi can’t back out now, not without aborting the mission entirely. Now or never. It’s just that—that Satoru’s presence is so heavy and warm at Megumi’s back, like a gravity well Megumi can feel himself sinking back into, and Sukuna is a fucking black hole with how he looms.
This isn’t part of the plan at all. They move through the hotel quickly. Megumi is half-hard, blood thrumming and heart quickened. Sukuna opens the door to his room. Megumi is exactly where he’d hoped to be when this night began, in the lion’s den itself. But right now, there isn’t much on his mind except the two bodies towering over him.
Megumi is totally, royally fucked. Or at least he will be.
He steps into the room first and feels Sukuna right at his back. A predator on its prey. The moment they’re inside, Sukuna is on him, crowding Megumi to the nearby wall. His lips are hot on Megumi’s, consuming, and Megumi has to tilt his head up, which makes something hot curl in his gut. It makes him shiver, the way Sukuna blocks off the rest of the room, the light, everything but himself and his tongue fucking into Megumi’s mouth, made of intent.
Then Megumi hears a familiar whine, “Hey, not fair.” Satoru appears at Sukuna’s side, only a step behind them.
He pulls Megumi from Sukuna’s kiss by the jaw, simply grabbing him with brutish impatience. His hand is tight on Megumi’s cheeks, puckering them cruelly.
He smiles, dangerous, and asks sweetly, with his eyes boring holes into Megumi’s, “What did you say your name was again?”
It doesn’t matter, not really. He’s just trying to get Megumi to trip up. Even if Megumi isn’t going by an alias, it’s not like people like Gojo Satoru and Ryoumen Sukuna call their whores by their names. Sweetheart, babe, pretty little thing. Megumi knows men like this.
He tells Satoru his fake name, but it comes out muffled, squeaky with Satoru squeezing his cheeks. The humiliation joins the heat in Megumi’s gut, blindingly, stupidly hot, especially when Satoru grins down at him, when Sukuna plays idly with the strap of Megumi’s dress.
Megumi glares, trying to maintain his composure, but oh god, Satoru’s expression is ravenous. He thumbs at the saliva on Megumi’s lips, slick from Sukuna’s kiss, and Megumi is suddenly shockingly hot.
“Is he joining us?” Megumi asks Sukuna. He knows it’s out of character for his gold-digging boytoy of a persona. But he’s desperate. Because if it’s Satoru—if Satoru is here, watching, playing with Megumi—Megumi is going to lose it.
“Don’t worry about him.” Sukuna crowds close to Megumi again, forcing Satoru away. “You won’t be able to feel his tiny dick anyway.”
The words barely register. Sukuna leans in until they’re touching, and Megumi’s breath hitches at the presence of him, at the size. You have a job to do, Megumi reminds himself, but then Sukuna grasps Megumi’s side and rubs his crotch deliberately against Megumi’s hip. The slip dress rides up a bit. Megumi can feel Sukuna’s dick, half-hard, and feels his own cock fill.
“Let’s see what you have under there, sweetheart,” purrs Sukuna. He traces a whisper of a touch high on Megumi’s thigh. Arousal swirls, a whirlpool sucking Megumi in. His knees feel weak. With effort, Megumi ducks past Sukuna and into the main part of the room. The distance does him good, air no longer hazy with the smell of smoke and cologne.
But Sukuna’s gaze is wolfish. Satoru’s blue eyes blaze with want, and Megumi swallows thickly. His half-chub is pressing against the lace of his panties, and the bulge is definitely showing through his dress. Megumi doesn’t want to look down. He keeps his eyes on Sukuna: the prize, the mark. Satoru is a dangerous man, but not the way Sukuna is, and besides, Megumi knows him.
Sukuna, on the other hand, is an unknown entity, even if the lust in his eyes isn’t. Megumi knows how to unspool men like this, to manipulate. He’s been taught to use his looks, his lithe body, to pull attention away from his brain—look coy until they have you, then shyly determined, because a little bit of attitude makes them want to fuck it out of you; bare yourself slowly, a tease, which makes them want to take you hard, make you cry; look like you want it more than you can admit to yourself. These rabid animals chomp at the bit at that: a boytoy to strip down to simple desire.
Megumi picks at the hem of his dress, barely covering his crotch. He tilts his head down at an angle, then flicks his gaze toward the two men, acting shy through his eyelashes. He lifts his dress, bit by bit, and shivers when his panties are revealed. His cock tents them obscenely, and Megumi stands there with his dress clutched in his hands at waist-level, baring himself to them. Waves of heat roll through Megumi. He fights the urge to squirm.
Satoru stares just as intently as Sukuna, but it’s different, overwhelmed where Sukuna’s is entirely carnal. Megumi can feel Satoru’s eyes on him even as he fixes Sukuna with a coy look, even as Sukuna prowls over to him and touches, oh, a hand right at the crease of his thigh—impossibly suggestive.
Megumi’s hands tighten in the folds of his dress. Light reflects off the silky material, the wrinkles and taut sheen betraying how affected Megumi is, how the tension swims in him.
Sukuna’s fingers ghost over the band of Megumi’s panties. He traces that line, back and forth, sweeping with his thumb, and Megumi’s cock hardens even more at the proximity, as if begging for Sukuna to take notice, to cup it. And Megumi only stands there, biting his lip and trying not to exhale because if he does, he just might fall over.
Sukuna dips his finger under Megumi’s panties the barest amount, just a suggestion of the thing, and Megumi shudders. Over Sukuna’s shoulder, he sees Satoru let out a breath, affected just watching.
He regains himself, never one to lose out on a good fuck. Satoru swans over to him—them—and fixes Megumi with a look that has brought a thousand men to their knees, including Megumi himself. “Simon says take off the panties, baby,” he sing-songs.
But Megumi glances at Sukuna before moving, as if asking for permission. It’s a tactic, and it works. He can tell Sukuna is pleased.
His dress falls when he lets go to remove his panties, but Sukuna’s hand remains under its silk, hot on the sensitive skin around Megumi’s crotch. He explores, now, getting a hand between Megumi’s thighs, eliciting a gasp, and then giving his dick a mean squeeze through the fabric. Not able to help his tiny shivers, Megumi pulls his panties down, but Sukuna’s hand is in the way. All this beneath his dress. All while Satoru watches.
By the time Sukuna has moved to other parts of Megumi’s body, tracing along a v-line of his hips, around his back, to his ass and underbun crease, and the panties are off, pulled around his knees, then falling silently to the ground, Megumi is more turned on than he can remember ever being on a mission before. None of his usual targets were this proprietary with his body, owning Megumi with a glance.
Sukuna puts some distance between them, moving toward the bed. When he pulls his shirt off, Megumi can’t help the way it hits him. He’s a spy, sure, but he’s also gay as hell, and who just looks like that? It honestly isn’t fair. The casual shrug of his shoulders, the shirt dropping to the floor—it’s an invitation to look, so sue Megumi for taking him up on it.
Sukuna toes off his shoes, taking his socks with them, and lounges back on the bed. He looks so casual, so at ease. Something about it strikes Megumi where it’s hot, the caveman part of his brain that salivates at a man that built, that chiseled and confident. When Sukuna beckons him over, it’s barely even Megumi's mission that makes him do it.
It’s clear what Sukuna wants. Megumi crawls up the bed, letting his back arch a little and making sure his hands are one in front of the other, feline and graceful. It makes his shoulders come inward, so his slip dress’ neckline hangs down, revealing Megumi’s chest.
He bends, leaving his ass up in the air, when he reaches Sukuna and moves up his body. Megumi noses at Sukuna’s crotch, the clothed bulge of it a line of heat against his face. The musk is intoxicating. The smell of expensive smoke is embedded in the threads, and Megumi nuzzles at Sukuna’s dick before looking up at him through his eyelashes.
Megumi undoes Sukuna’s zipper with his teeth, showy. This confidence will make Sukuna want to make him cry more, to see what else Megumi has to offer. He isn’t a kind man. Neither is Satoru, who has climbed on the bed now with a dip of the mattress.
Trying to ignore him, Megumi focuses on the cock in front of him. Thick and veiny, long and curving up, with precome beaded at the tip. Megumi pumps it in his hand, then leans forward, mouth open. He flattens his tongue, broad licks, until the entire shaft is wet, and then finally, with a sigh escaping Sukuna, closes his lips around the head.
The taste and weight of him hit Megumi right at his core. But it’s distracted. He’s impossibly aware of Satoru in his periphery. Megumi notices the clench of Satoru’s jaw, knows how mad he is. Someone else might think it’s because of desire, Satoru’s own cock, hard in his hand when he undoes his pants. But Megumi knows him better than that.
Because this was Satoru’s favorite thing, right? He taught Megumi this, broken his mouth in. Megumi takes Sukuna deeper and shows him, yes, he still has the trained gag reflex Satoru used to boast about endlessly. He’s watching, Megumi knows with certainty. He can’t control the shiver that ripples through him and has to close his eyes to keep himself from looking Satoru’s way.
It isn’t long before Sukuna pulls Megumi off of him. Megumi blinks up at him, licking his lips and breaking the string of saliva connecting them. His mouth is smeared with spit, and Megumi wipes his chin, then wipes his hands on the bedspread.
Sukuna hands Megumi a bottle of lube. “Get yourself ready,” he says.
Megumi kneels up on the bed, lubing his fingers and warming it. With one hand he pulls the dress up, so Sukuna can see his red cock, see Megumi reaching behind himself. And with the other hand he smears lube around his hole and plays with his rim. He presses in with two fingers immediately and exhales gustily; he stretched himself before coming.
It feels good almost immediately, with how keyed up Megumi is. He knows how to finger himself quickly, stretching his rim and feeling that tingly anticipation spark through him.
He tilts his chin up and closes his eyes, letting Sukuna drink the picture of his body, of the pale column of his neck, which he knows Sukuna will want to mark, and then a warm body drapes itself across his back.
Megumi stills, breath catching. Satoru’s hands are everywhere, above and inside the dress, and Megumi has never felt more slutty, more like the prized item in a show. It’s so familiar, these hands, the first Megumi’s body ever experienced. Satoru kisses his shoulder, then his neck, then that one spot under his jaw that has a direct line to Megumi’s dick, and Megumi gasps.
The hem of his dress brushes against the head of his hard cock, and Megumi shivers. Sukuna’s gaze is half-lidded and teasing, and Megumi screws his eyes shut. He can’t look at Sukuna watching him, can’t think about Satoru’s hands on his ass, both of them greedy and pleased.
Sukuna uses a foot to kick Megumi’s knees further apart, and the dress rides up more on his hips, and Megumi’s balance is off now. He has to lean back against Satoru to not fall over, and Megumi reaches back with his free hand to hold on.
But Satoru is feeling mean, Megumi realizes. That sadistic bend is out today, probably because the asshole sees this as a betrayal. He bites Megumi’s neck, laves the spot with his tongue. His fingers find a strap of Megumi’s dress, and Satoru hums in low laughter as he flicks it easily off Megumi’s shoulder. The dress slips down, baring a nipple. And Satoru plays with it, thumbing over it and pinching, twisting until Megumi keens and tries to squirm away.
He pulls Megumi’s fingers out of his hole and then replaces them with his own, thicker and more forceful. The world is melting around Megumi, as Satoru brushes against his prostate, rubbing it, and pulls at his rim. He loses track of time as Satoru makes a show out of him for Sukuna.
Until finally, Satoru pulls out with a squelch, leaving Megumi feeling open and gaping and loose. He slaps Megumi on the thigh, the meaty part so it makes a loud resounding noise, and says, not to Megumi, but over him to Sukuna, “He’s wet enough for ya.”
Humiliation curls in Megumi’s gut. He feels so used already, a toy passed between the two of them. And to be spanked like that, just like how Satoru gives his stupid posh sports car a friendly pat when he’s showing it off: “She might look small, but she can fit more than you think.”
Yeah, Megumi can, and Satoru and Sukuna are gonna make him. Sukuna makes the next move, pulling Megumi toward him. He turns Megumi around so that he’s facing Satoru—oh god—and squeezes his ass, playing with his rim. He reaches around and pumps Megumi’s cock a few times, and Megumi’s legs tremble. He sees how Satoru’s smirk widens, how there’s a hard edge to it, too.
Then Megumi is being pulled back, and he feels the head of Sukuna’s cock at his rim. He feels it all the way through his whole body, his hole and his core, all the way up to his fucking throat, as Sukuna fills him. It’s impossibly good. He’s wet enough that it doesn’t hurt, not at all, just a stretch that makes Megumi feel like his head is on the fucking moon.
Sukuna’s hands on his hips start to move Megumi after a bit, and Megumi’s legs slowly get with the program. He moves, grinding, circles, making little movements with his hips.
This is easy, normal. Something he’s done tons of times before. Or at least, it would be, if not for Satoru. “Oh god,” Megumi moans. It’s not even half-faked.
Megumi stares at Satoru with wide eyes, cheeks burning flushed, and he feels so open and vulnerable, the way Satoru is watching with those eyes of his. Satoru’s dick is so hard, held in his hand so the head peeks out, red and wet. Megumi’s mouth waters. His hips stutter.
Sukuna holds Megumi tighter, mouthing at his neck. He looks over Megumi’s shoulder at Satoru, who’s still frozen at the end of the bed. “Can’t get it up?” he teases. His voice rumbles through Megumi, who shivers.
Satoru makes a noise of derision. Whatever Megumi could glean from his expression is lost as his mouth pulls into a mean smirk. “Why don’t you pull his hair?” he suggests. “Seems the type to be into that.”
The fucking bastard, Megumi thinks. Because Satoru knows—he knows how Megumi reacts when—
The breath leaves him. Sukuna’s hand tangles in Megumi’s hair and pulls, tugging him back so his back arches, and Megumi can’t think, he can’t even breathe. Inside him, Sukuna’s dick is rubbing over his prostate with every move, and Megumi keens, a high, embarrassing thing.
Sukuna uses Megumi’s hair as leverage, and he doesn’t so much kiss as just suck at his throat, and then he speaks against it, a low rumble that Megumi feels everywhere: “Beg for it, sweetheart.”
And it spills from Megumi. “Please, please,” he begs. Sukuna grins against his neck, and Megumi can feel his teeth, like a tiger closing in on its kill.
“Yeah, you like this, don’t you?”
Satoru jumps in next. He licks at his fingers and then rubs over a nipple. Megumi groans helplessly as the pleasure zips down his spine. “Of course he likes it,” Satoru teases slyly. “Look at him. Pretty boy like this is meant for it.”
And Megumi burns. An electric wave of arousal stabs at him, and it’s fucked up, god, because Satoru knows how embarrassed Megumi gets when someone calls him pretty, says he’s meant for this, and how painfully it turns him on, too. But he says it anyway, the bastard, and maybe that humiliation adds to it too: that Satoru knows and says it expecting this, and Megumi has delivered helplessly—desperately—with a kick of lust and a shudder and a moan. He’s never been accused of being easy before, but he’s having a hard time thinking of himself as anything but right now.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him as he braces himself on Sukuna and bounces on his dick, trying to jack himself at the same time. Turning his feverish gaze on Satoru and finding him watching intently, his blue eyes like burning coals, the pleasure crests. His rhythm fails, and Megumi stills his legs and only jerks himself, wet and tight, and feeling so so full. The edge nears. Megumi is on fire, red hot. He can only cry out, “Oh god, I’m gonna—”
And then Sukuna takes over, batting Megumi’s hand away. “Not yet, sweetheart,” he says. Megumi cries out again, in shock this time. His mind reels.
“No, please,” he weeps.
But he’s at Sukuna’s mercy entirely. It happens too fast for Megumi to comprehend. Not when he only has the capacity to think about his aching dick. Sukuna grabs Megumi’s hip and pushes him forward with his other hand, and then he shoves Megumi’s face into the bed, and holds him there, and while Megumi is still trying to gather his bearings, Sukuna pounds into him with abandon.
Up until this point, Megumi has been doing a good job, he would say, of keeping his wits, making sure he’s acting overwhelmed but not actually letting Sukuna’s dick get the best of him. He can’t give away to Sukuna that he knows Satoru, after all, or that Megumi is here with a purpose.
But the angle is too fucking good, and Megumi’s balls throb. He turns his head to the side, immobilized by Sukuna’s huge hand on his nape, holding him down, and just takes it. Megumi clutches at the sheet and feels Sukuna fucking him so open, so good, each glorious stroke closer to fucking an orgasm out of him.
“God, Sa—” Megumi chokes. Satoru. He’d almost moaned— “Sukuna,” he cries instead. “Please, Sukuna.”
A hand tangles in Megumi’s hair again, and this time it’s Satoru. He wrenches his head from the bed. “Suck me,” he demands.
Oh, he’s annoyed, Megumi thinks distantly, already fitting his lips around Satoru’s cock. Sukuna’s thrusts are doing all the work for him, spitroasting Megumi between them both. Satoru takes a fistful of his hair, tilting Megumi’s head back the barest amount, so he has to look at him if he opens his eyes. He keeps them closed.
How on earth did it end up like this? He feels so fucking—fuck. His dick is throbbing between his legs, aching for a touch. Megumi’s hips are working themselves in the air, desperate, and each of Sukuna’s thrusts fucks Satoru's cock deeper into Megumi’s mouth, down his throat. Tears squeeze from his eyes.
“Having a little trouble?” Satoru asks, mocking.
Megumi opens his watery eyes to glare. He takes Satoru as far as he can, deep in his throat, until he can taste him in his fucking lungs, and stays there until Satoru pulls him off, just so he can fuck right back in.
Megumi forcibly relaxes himself, trying to collect himself. He’s gloriously open on both ends, being used like a double ended fleshlight. He wonders if Satoru and Sukuna are looking at each other, trying to one-up the other. It feels like it, fuck, with the way they’re riding him so hard.
And then Satoru moans, “Fuck, Megumi,” and Megumi’s heart trips.
That’s not his alias, oh my god, and Sukuna will notice, and find out, and—fuck. But there’s nothing Megumi can do, stuck in this position, and Sukuna angles down and nails Megumi precisely enough to make him choke on Satoru’s dick—and maybe he hasn’t noticed?
Sukuna’s thrusts don’t stop. Did they get away with Satoru’s slip-up? Megumi glares up at Satoru, but all he gets in return is a smirk. Fucking annoying ass, stupid, idiotic—
Megumi’s ire is interrupted by Sukuna, whose hold on his hips tightens. He pulls Megumi back to meet his thrusts, erratic now, and then he slams into Megumi for one, two final thrusts. Megumi can’t feel it, but he can imagine it, being filled by Sukuna, his come dripping out when he pulls out.
Megumi whines around Satoru’s dick, and finally, Sukuna puts a hand on his dick. It’s too tight, but it’s good enough. Megumi is so, so close now. His hips jerk, and he works them as Sukuna jacks him.
“Spank him,” Satoru says. “He likes that.”
Megumi doesn’t even have a moment to be upset about that, another way that Satoru is revealing they know each other, before Sukuna’s hand comes down hard on his ass. Megumi’s cry is muffled. The shock of it radiates into pleasure, muddling his mind. He’s so high on it. So, so—
Sukuna pulls out, and immediately, Megumi can feel the trickle of come leaking from him. It goes straight to his head. He’s so turned on, so close. He would do anything, fuck. He’d take Sukuna again, forever, if he could just— Sukuna’s hand comes down again, right between Megumi’s legs, on his taint and balls, and a crest of pleasure tears through Megumi all at once. He yells. Comes.
The world stops spinning after a bit, slowly re-focuses. There’s still—still a cock in his mouth, a familiar shape and weight against Megumi’s tongue. He’s drooling around it as Satoru fucks him, trying mindlessly to get his rocks off. Megumi loves this part of him, fuck. He misses this, the taste and smell of him. The desperation.
But then—chaos. Sukuna rips Satoru away from Megumi, out of him. “What the fuck?” Satoru yells as he’s grabbed.
Sukuna has Satoru by his jaw, a hand like a muzzle, and Megumi stares up at them in horror as he snarls, “You think I’m an idiot, Satoru? You know each other, don’t you?”
Anyone else would freeze. But Satoru doesn’t have a panicking bone in his body. The only time he even came close was when Megumi put his house key on the counter—when Satoru realized he was serious. He puts his hands up, grinning. “You caught me,” he chimes. “Face like that, you think I haven’t fucked him before? Been a few years, but whew, the mouth on him.”
When Sukuna turns his suspicious gaze on him, Megumi hesitantly nods. He isn’t expecting Sukuna to grab him, to lean in close enough that his red eyes block out the rest of the world. “Let’s see it then,” he says, mouth widening into a grin.
Megumi might be coming down still, his afterglow rudely interrupted by alarm, but Satoru apparently suffers from none of the same fright. He nudges Sukuna out of the way, pushes Megumi down on his back, and slides right in.
“Wait—” Megumi cries. His body is on fire, numb. The overstimulation almost hurts, but it’s Satoru, and he’s always been this type of selfish. Outside himself, Megumi can hear the noises he’s making: whimpers, and whines and keening moans, begging.
Satoru’s hips are rabbiting, fast, getting himself off in Megumi without any regard for the blubbering mess beneath him. And Sukuna is watching, a pleased look of intent all over his features when Megumi’s clenched eyes open blearily.
Megumi doesn’t fight it. He can’t muster the strength to do anything but lay there as Gojo thrusts, moaning loud. He was always so vocal, and that hasn’t changed. “Megumi,” he pants, over and over. “Megumi, babe.”
It’s so much. The mix of anxiety of Sukuna wondering about his name and the feelings erupting in Megumi at hearing Satoru call his name like that again. Megumi wraps his arms around Satoru’s back, digs his nails in a bit.
He feels Satoru’s mouth open against his collarbone, licking, nibbling over his skin. Megumi’s hole is so wet, the noises it’s making as Satoru fucks into Sukuna’s sloppy seconds. But it isn’t long before he’s adding to it, hips jerking as he plunges in and stays, coming deep inside.
Megumi makes a soft noise at the thought of it. He doesn’t know if he loves or hates it.
Satoru rolls off Megumi, staying close. And laying there, his spine melted into a puddle, seeping into the mattress, Megumi closes his eyes and just breathes. Satoru’s hand comes up to Megumi’s chest, casually fondling without any real intent. He pinches at a nipple, rolling it between finger and thumb, and Megumi makes a noise of discontent and bats at it.
He’s exhausted. He’s—fuck, he’s still got a job to do, after this? He doesn’t know how he’s going to manage trying to talk to Sukuna after this one. Satoru always ruins everything.
Blinking open against the bright light of the room, Megumi sets his eyes on Sukuna… only to find him stroking his cock, hard again. Wet, still. Sukuna’s gaze meets his, and he grins, all evil.
“Oh, god,” Megumi breathes. Sukuna grabs Megumi by a leg, pulls him down the mattress to meet him with a strength that makes Megumi’s gut swoop. Megumi doesn’t fight him. Can’t.
He lets Sukuna manhandle him into position, bending Megumi in half and hinging his legs over his shoulders. “Call me Sukuna, sweetheart,” he says, corny bastard, and then he fucks right on in.
The pleasure zings up all the way to Megumi’s hairline, making his skin tingle white-hot. Sukuna is a dick, but hey, Megumi likes dick. Fresh sweat breaks out all over. Megumi can’t even breathe, can’t make a noise. His mouth is open, he’s distantly aware. He’s drooling. Somewhere in his hazy, swimming vision, there’s Satoru watching with his hand on his prick, tugging himself again, as quick to get hard again as he is quick to come.
Megumi is getting hard, too, his refractory period over or simply overwhelmed. His body, unwittingly, is reacting to this—handling. Sukuna, seeing this, smirks. “He didn’t even get hard for you,” Sukuna taunts. “But look at your little whore. He knows what a real cock feels like.”
Megumi can’t move. He’s a—a toy. A sleeve. Sukuna presses down above Megumi’s dick, on his lower belly, and forces Megumi to feel him moving, fucking him. And oh god, Megumi can’t think, can’t stop crying. His body is aching with pleasure. It hurts, like fire in his insides, blindingly hot.
“Look at you, taking it so easily,” Sukuna croons. His voice washes over Megumi’s whole body, like it’s sinking into his skin directly. “You’re so wet. We should just keep you here, keep you loose and open. Bend you over and give it to you whenever we feel like it. And you’d beg for it, wouldn’t you? I bet Satoru would like that, not that you’d need much prep to take his tiny excuse for a dick.”
“Is not—” Megumi slurs weakly.
Sukuna laughs, loud and brash. He fucks in hard, rails him, and Megumi loses all semblance of thought. “He’s trying to defend you, cute thing. Satoru, you should thank him.”
Megumi feels the bed moving as Satoru shifts, and then a moment later, a hand is back on chest, teasing his nipples. Satoru crowds back next to Megumi’s side, sneaking a hand past Megumi’s leg bent near his head, and turning Megumi’s head to the side with a hand.
He kisses him, and Megumi’s heart, through the loud rush of his blood, sinks its hooks into this moment. It’s been so long.
“Is it good, baby? You like that?” Satoru asks against his lips, and Megumi nods feverishly. “Yeah, I know you do.”
He pulls back then, and gestures something to Sukuna, who obliges. Sukuna leans back from where he was leaning over Megumi and lets his legs fall from his shoulders, to either side, so they’re spread wide around him. He doesn’t falter in fucking Megumi, but the angle is different now, less intense—less deep.
“No,” Megumi whines. His legs try to close around Sukuna, but he can’t muster the strength, jelly that they are.
But the high wash of pleasure lessens just barely before Satoru is breathing over Megumi’s dick, blowing cool air over it. Megumi jumps, or tries to. His hips jerk. Satoru doesn’t keep him waiting. He blows him, and draws the pleasure to impossible, ruinous heights.
He’s never felt this way before, so open and fucked, in and out. “Pl’s,” he moans brokenly. “I wan—I’m—”
He comes again, overwhelmed and sensitive, into Satoru’s mouth. Tears leak from Megumi’s eyes as his vision whites out. It shivers through him, chills up his spine, down to the curl of his toes.
Satoru pulls back, wiping his mouth. Megumi cries at the last touch of his mouth, and it’s too much already. His body is going to melt, burn from the inside out. And Sukuna doesn’t stop. Oh god, Sukuna doesn’t stop.
A sob breaks from Megumi’s lips as Sukuna bends him in half again, leaning back over with Satoru out of the way. He just… keeps fucking him, throwing himself into his pleasure only. He’s so—so mean, the way he manhandles Megumi. Megumi keens. Some instinct of his body tries to close his legs, but he can’t with Sukuna between them.
A hand finds his jaw, and Sukuna sticks a thumb in his mouth. Megumi’s lips fall open, drooling around it, and close around the two fingers that follow. He suckles, tasting skin and sweat and come.
“S’kuna,” Megumi moans.
And that sends Sukuna over the edge. “Fuck,” he growls. “God fucking—” This time he pulls out when he comes, jacking himself through it until Megumi’s crotch is filthy with it.
Through his wet eyelashes, Megumi dully watches him. Sukuna’s chest heaves as he pants afterward, cheeks flushed and hair mussed from where it was slicked back. It’s a good look. If Megumi’s body wasn’t made of goop, he would reach up and smooth that lock back off his forehead.
Sukuna moves off him, and the light of the room splashes back in. Megumi closes his eyes against it. He groans softly, a noise of discomfort.
With a click, the light turns off, and instead, the room is illuminated only by a dim lamp in the corner. “Thanks,” Megumi croaks to Satoru.
Satoru returns to the bed, takes up at the head, arms behind his head with three fucking pillows below him. Sukuna sits cross-legged by Megumi, who is sprawled across the rest of the mattress, spirit fucked out of him.
Eventually, after their breathing has all settled, Sukuna is the first to move. He gets up and finds his pants, digs through the pockets until he finds a box of cigarettes and a lighter. He lights one, grey curling across his face upon his exhale.
“At least smoke outside, asshole,” Satoru grumbles. Sukuna grins, blows a bit in his direction, and then steps out to the balcony.
The room falls silent. Megumi doesn’t look in Satoru’s direction. He stares up at the ceiling, at the spackle spots and the fire alarm and the sprinkler, suddenly now the most interesting things in the world. This was a mistake. He should have turned around the moment he saw Satoru in that room. He definitely shouldn’t have let him fuck him, blow him, kiss him.
He hopes Satoru won’t say anything. But Megumi’s hopes for Satoru are meant to be crushed, it seems.
Maybe it’s an intake of breath or just instinct, but Megumi braces himself the moment before Satoru speaks. “I haven’t seen you like that in so long,” Satoru says.
Megumi sighs, but when Satoru crawls down the bed to him, it turns into a shuddery breath. Satoru leans in and tips Megumi’s chin up and starts kissing him, a small peck, then something deeper, more intimate. Familiar.
The feel of his lips, fuck. Wait—Megumi turns his head away, breaking their kiss. He can’t fall back into this.
“I missed you, Megumi.”
“Satoru,” Megumi says, trying to keep his voice hard. It comes out more as a whine instead, still tempered from his afterglow. “We can’t keep doing this.”
Satoru shifts, about to say something, but then another voice interrupts. “Wait. This is Megumi? The ex?” Sukuna asks, eyebrows raised.
Megumi and Satoru look over at him at the balcony door. Sukuna hadn’t… figured that out by now? Satoru had called him by his name many times. If Sukuna knew Satoru’s ex was named Megumi, then wouldn’t the game have been up the first time Satoru slipped?
But then Sukuna continues, another drag of his cigarette, leaning against the wall near the balcony. “I can see why you’re still so hung up on him. Body like that. Fuck.”
Megumi’s eyes widen. So do Satoru’s, now caught out, when Megumi turns on him. “Satoru, you still—?”
Sukuna laughs, mean. He flicks his cigarette out onto the balcony and approaches the bed. With a single strong hand around Megumi, he pulls him up, then wraps his arms around him from behind. Sukuna’s hands roam his body, rubbing over a nipple, then pushing at a bite one of them left on Megumi’s hip. Satoru watches them, eyes narrowed.
“Still?” Sukuna repeats. “You should see the people he picks up. Pretty little things like you, with an attitude. Black hair he can pull.” He reaches up and tugs at Megumi’s locks, then his hand falls to his lips. “Mouth like this.”
Megumi is reeling. His brain doesn’t want to process it, this idea of Satoru fixating on Megumi like this, so long after—after.
“And get this,” Sukuna begins.
Megumi sees Satoru’s eyes widen, panic in his expression, as he attempts, trying to stop him, “Sukuna—”
But Sukuna kisses along Megumi’s shoulder, and neck, and when he reaches his ear, he tells him, “He moans your name, sweetheart. All the time. Every whore he fucks, it’s ‘Ah, Megumi, Megumi. Take me back, Megumi. Let me touch you, Megumi.’” His smirk against Megumi’s skin is obvious.
Oh, Megumi thinks, shaken. Sukuna did hear Satoru call Megumi’s name, but it was—it was normal for him. Because Satoru wasn’t over it, still. Because Satoru still—
Sukuna’s hand curls around Megumi’s throat. He whispers, low enough that only Megumi can hear, “You came here wanting to know how to take me out, right?”
Megumi stills, breath caught. Sukuna’s hand around his neck suddenly seems like a real threat. “I don't know what—” he tries.
“Don’t worry,” Sukuna assures, voice still quiet. The hand tightens slightly, enough that Megumi can feel it but Satoru can’t see. “Maybe you’ll find out in a year or two, if you stick around.”
“What’re you saying?” Satoru interrupts, never one to be left out. He shifts closer.
Sukuna doesn’t reply at first. His hand leaves Megumi’s throat, threat complete, and moves down to sit on Megumi’s stomach, proprietary. He kisses him terribly lightly on the cheek, and Megumi just knows he’s looking at Satoru as he does it.
Then Sukuna says finally, tone amused, “Nothing. Just telling Me-gu-mi here,” the name drips off his tongue like silk, “That I own him now. Your little boytoy, Satoru. But don’t worry,” Sukuna’s voice rumbles so low, a threat and promise both. “I’ll let you have a turn, too, here and there.”
Satoru reaches out then, and his hand lands on Megumi’s side. It avoids Sukuna’s hand around Megumi, but not by much. Megumi knows what he’s thinking: that Satoru can’t have Megumi by himself, but through Sukuna—
Air feels thin in Megumi’s chest, a heady mix of anticipation and unease. But maybe the fight has been fucked out of him, and the good sense, too. He leans back against Sukuna and lets Satoru crowd closer. For his mission, right? Right.