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‘Satoru?’
It was the sound of Suguru’s alarmed voice that roused Satoru from his slumber. He had been trying to catch a few minutes of much-needed rest between missions, dozing with his cheek pressed into Suguru’s pillow. Satoru couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen into a deep sleep — not since he’d started using the Six Eyes almost around the clock — but he knew it had happened there, snuggled into Suguru’s comforter, enveloped in the other boy’s scent.
He supposed he was grateful for the inability to switch off his brain if it meant he could snatch a moment with Suguru. On the increasingly rare occasions they found themselves at school at the same time, Suguru was passed out in his bed more often than not. Though Satoru was selfish, he wasn’t selfish enough to disturb his rest for a mere glimpse of those honey coloured eyes. Not when Suguru seemed tired almost all the time these days.
So, as sleep slipped out of his grasp for what felt like the thousandth time, Satoru contented himself with the knowledge that at least it doubled the pitifully low odds of catching each other conscious if one of them could stave off basic human needs.
However, as his eyes came into focus behind the bandages sitting snug over his brow, Satoru discovered that Suguru was not simply surprised to find someone in his bed. He was actually panicking — Satoru could see it in the telltale flicker and flare of his cursed energy; would recognise Suguru’s anxiety from a mile away.
He quickly sat up, tugging the bandages down his face to find his best friend frozen halfway across the room, one hand reaching out towards him. Satoru blinked at it, taking a moment to put two and two together before offering his most reassuring smile.
‘My glasses broke, I’m fine.’
The concern on Suguru’s face gave way to shock, then confusion, before finally landing back on concern that was even more pronounced than before.
‘Did…’ Suguru trailed off, eyebrows tugging together with uncertainty. He frowned at his hand, still outstretched, then shoved it into the pocket of his baggy joggers. ‘Did something get past your Infinity?’
Satoru didn’t answer immediately because… Maybe he was still blinking away the remnants of an almost-dream, but Suguru had almost sounded hopeful. He took a second to appraise the boy standing across from him, taking in the oversized T-shirt shrouding the strong body he knew lay beneath. Suguru had always preferred loose clothing, but it seemed roomy, even for him.
Finally, Satoru scoffed. ‘Who do you think I am?’ he grumbled, a little offended that his best friend thought so little of him. Suguru bristled though, so he offered the truth with a shrug. ‘I sat on them on the train.’
There was a moment where they just stared at each other. Then, right when Satoru started to panic at the lack of a fond reprimand or smart-arsed insult, the ghost of a laugh appeared at the corners of Suguru’s pretty pink lips.
Satoru let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, surprised by how relieved he felt to see Suguru smile. Before he knew it, he found himself grinning right back at Suguru, previous awkwardness immediately forgotten. Then:
‘How can someone with Six Eyes be that fucking clumsy?’
It was easy to fall back into their usual roles. Satoru dutifully played his part, gasping dramatically and pouting the way he knew Suguru liked, hoping he’d honed his acting skills enough to hide how much the teasing twinkle in Suguru’s tired eyes soothed his soul.
With Suguru distracted by his antics, Satoru scanned his face, eyes pausing on the cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds, on the worried crease sitting permanently between dark brows, on the shadows tucked beneath fox-like eyes. His eyes fell to the towel slung around Suguru’s broad shoulders and the dripping wet locks falling haphazardly around his jaw. He’d always known Suguru to be meticulous about his hair — in fact, Satoru had taken great joy in teasing him about the fancy leave-in conditioner he liked to comb into the ends — but there was none of that. Rather than sleek and shiny, Suguru’s beautiful hair looked wild and tangled then.
Satoru wondered if he should feel guilty for thinking that, even exhausted, Suguru looked mouth-watering.
‘Why the bandages?’
He did feel guilty when he dragged his eyes back to Suguru’s and realised he’d asked a question. Those lovely lips twitched with laughter as Suguru nodded at something below his chin, and Satoru followed his gaze to the bandages hanging loosely around his neck.
He shrugged. ‘You weren’t there so I had to improvise.’
Satoru had only been stating a fact, so he wasn’t quite sure why Suguru blushed. He wasn’t complaining, though — wouldn’t dream of complaining about that glorious view.
‘Does it help?’ Suguru asked, and Satoru had to consider his question for a long moment.
Truthfully, the bandages had been unexpectedly comfortable. More comfortable than his glasses had felt in almost a year, actually. With the way his mastery of the Six Eyes was progressing, Satoru suspected that it wouldn’t be long before sunglasses were no longer enough.
He could have said all this out loud, but Satoru decided he wanted to see more of that delightful colour on Suguru’s cheeks. Not that he would ever lie to Suguru, of course. He just decided to tell the truth a different way.
‘Your fingers feel better.’
Suguru’s overreactive blood vessels carried out their assignment beautifully, painting his lovely features a pretty pink, but Satoru caught the hint of unease in his expression when Suguru turned his face away and said, ‘I’m not in the mood for teasing, Satoru.’
Immediately, Satoru’s nervous system roared to life, alarms blaring at the prospect of Suguru withdrawing when he’d only just managed to coax him out of his shell again. Clinging to the flush of colour still lingering across Suguru’s cheekbones, he jumped into action.
‘I’m not teasing!’ Satoru half-shouted, springing up from the bed and crossing the room in two long strides. ‘Your fingers are the best!’ He snatched Suguru’s hand in his own and waited for that reluctant gaze to meet his before waggling his eyebrows devilishly. ‘For lots of things, in fact.’
Suguru grimaced, but it was his indulgent grimace. It was his promising grimace — and it gave Satoru a brilliant idea.
‘Actually, I bought you something on my mission,’ he said, quickly pressing a kiss to Suguru’s palm before dropping his hand entirely. He could barely contain his excitement as he brought his own palms together. ‘Watch this.’
It took Satoru less than three seconds to blink in and out of the room, returning with the gift he’d tucked safely into the breast pocket of the uniform jacket flung onto his own bed. He expected an impressed grin, gushing praise, maybe even a reward in the form of a kiss. Instead, he got an elbow to the stomach and an earful when he fucked up his coordinates and somehow ended up in the space behind Suguru’s shoulder on his warp back into the bedroom.
He took the scolding like a champ, because he was too busy counting his lucky stars that his miscalculation hadn’t landed him a foot to the left. He didn’t want to think about how much angrier Suguru would have been if he’d accidentally spliced them together through time and space.
Even when Suguru eventually fell silent, that wrathful glare continued to weigh upon Satoru. He didn’t know what to do other than awkwardly stick out his palm, presenting Suguru’s gift as a peace offering.
‘Sorry.’
He was at least pleased to see Suguru’s scowl soften slightly when his gaze fell to the silver ring sitting in the centre of Satoru’s hand. Honey coloured eyes flickered back to Satoru’s face — wary, questioning — and Satoru nodded a little too eagerly, keen to get himself back in Suguru’s good books.
When Suguru eventually plucked the ring from his palm, Satoru’s heart skipped at the careful way he handled it. Like it was precious to him before he’d even got a good look at the thing. Waiting with baited breath, Satoru watched as Suguru turned the ring this way and that, inspecting it with shrewd eyes. Finally, he let out a little hum and slipped the thing onto his finger.
Satoru decided it was probably best not to whine about the fact it wasn’t his ring finger.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked instead, despising how nervous he sounded even to himself. When Suguru finally turned his gaze on Satoru again, he was relieved to see that the fury was gone, but it was replaced with something unreadable. He panicked. ‘Some little old lady was selling them at the side of the road,’ he babbled, running a hand through his hair. ‘I know it isn’t much, but I saw the engraving and I thought… Well, I thought that—’
‘I like it,’ Suguru murmured, graciously cutting Satoru off before he could embarrass himself. He raised his hand to admire the new jewellery glittering on his index finger, and Satoru caught sight of the tiny infinity symbol as it glinted in the light. ‘Thank you, Satoru.’
At last, Suguru rewarded him with a soft, warm smile and Satoru nearly melted on the spot. He decided that Suguru was a little like almond brittle — all sharp edges, but delectable and sweet and well worth the cut up gums — which reminded him:
‘Where’s my souvenir?’
Suguru’s smile dropped like Satoru had poured a bucket of ice water over his head. His hand fell and his gaze followed, that worried little crease returning to the spot between his brows. ‘I didn’t think I’d see you,’ Suguru mumbled, his shoulders starting to hitch up slightly. ‘But I should have got you something anyway, I’m sorry—’
‘It’s fine.’ Satoru tamped down the sting of being forgotten (he didn’t think Suguru had ever forgotten a souvenir before) because the idea of losing his best friend to his own thoughts once more was infinitely worse. Satoru knew how to distract Suguru; he was good at it. So, he gathered Suguru’s hands in his, bringing them to his lips to plant a kiss over the new band sitting snug around his index finger. ‘I’ve got a sweet treat right here.’
And Suguru had the nerve to tell him, ‘I’m not sweet, Satoru.’
Silly, silly Suguru. He was looking at Satoru like he’d said something blasphemous — as though “sweet” and “Suguru” were two fundamentally incompatible things. Satoru knew better.
‘Wrong,’ he said simply, and his silly, sweet Suguru opened his mouth to disagree. Satoru slapped a hand over it before he could utter a single word, using the other to thread Suguru’s fingers through his.
‘Seriously?’ Satoru asked, a little incredulous. ‘You’re, like, the least qualified person to argue with me about this.’ He prodded at Suguru’s pretty lips to emphasise his point. ‘You’ve fucked up your taste buds with all those curses, you wouldn’t know sweet if it hit you in the face.’
At his careless tone, dark brows knitted together in genuine displeasure. Tightening his grasp on Suguru’s fingers, Satoru hurriedly pressed on. ‘Meanwhile I—’ He summoned what he hoped was his most devastating grin, pulling his hand back from Suguru’s lips to press it flat against his own chest. ‘—am a dessert connoisseur.’
That gloomy expression shifted into something resembling the exasperation Suguru always wore whenever Satoru went off on one of his tangents. He seized his chance, going heavy on the dramatics for the build-up to the grand finale.
‘Kikufuku from Sendai, gelato from Florence, dulce de leche from Buenos Aires, cakes and pastries from the finest patisseries in Paris.’ He waved his free hand dismissively, trying to temper his excitement as he approached the payoff. ‘It’s easier to name a dessert I haven’t tried. I’ve tasted the best of the best from all over the world,’ he assured Suguru, his voice light and airy — until it wasn’t. ‘But I’ve also tasted you.’
A blush spread like strawberries and cream across Suguru’s cheeks, even as he frowned. Satoru couldn’t help his teasing smile as he brought Suguru’s hand to his lips again, humming thoughtfully against his fingers before he said, ‘I’ll admit the kikufuku comes close—’ Satoru looked Suguru dead in the eye as he parted his lips to lick a slow wet stripe up the side of Suguru’s index finger. ‘—but Suguru is still the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever eaten.’
That delicious flush deepened and Satoru took it as sign of encouragement. He swirled his tongue over the pad of Suguru’s finger before taking the whole thing into his mouth without warning, deeper and deeper until he could close his lips around the knuckle. His tongue brushed against the metal of Suguru’s new ring, warm from where it had been sat against his skin, and he had a devilish idea.
Quirking an eyebrow at Suguru — who looked well and truly ruffled by that point — Satoru licked at the edge of the silver band, pressing his tongue into the tight space between metal and skin, knowing it wouldn’t fit. The look it earned him was glorious.
‘Satoru!’ It came out more like a gasp than an admonishment. ‘That’s unhygienic, you don’t know where it’s been.’
But Suguru’s honey eyes had caramelised, hot gaze sticking to Satoru like simmering sugar. Satoru’s body started its premature celebrations, but his brain knew better. He’d been fooled by that molten glare before; had learned that, even when his body was singing for Satoru, his prim and proper Suguru needed a little more. A little more persuasion before he gave in to his baser instincts.
Satoru pulled his lips off Suguru’s finger with a wet smack. His mouth hovered over Suguru’s skin only long enough to say, ‘Do I look like I care?’ Then, Satoru’s lips were on him again, kissing and sucking and nibbling and licking his way up long fingers and a calloused palm and an elegant wrist and a toned forearm. He left trails of shining saliva in his wake, prompting a little whine from Suguru.
‘I just showered,’ he complained with a click of his tongue, but Satoru saw the fingers of his free hand twitching at his side, fisting impatiently into the hem of his own T-shirt. He smirked at the sight.
‘You can shower again later,’ he mumbled around a mouthful of muscle. He savoured the way Suguru’s lips — cherry red and glistening where he’d been digging his teeth into them — parted to let out a little sigh as Satoru flicked his tongue over the soft, delicate skin in the crook of Suguru’s elbow and said, ‘With me.’
‘I probably taste like soap.’ Suguru was stubborn, but his arguments were getting breathy and unconvincing. Satoru persevered, climbing his way up powerful biceps with his tongue.
‘You taste like chocolate—’ Satoru sank his teeth into the meat of Suguru’s shoulder. ‘—and honey—’ He yanked Suguru’s collar to the side to lap at the clavicle jutting out there. ‘—and caramel—’ He captured water droplets with his lips where they fell from Suguru’s towel-dry hair onto smooth, soft skin. ‘—and vanilla—’ He dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of Suguru’s throat. ‘—and honey—’
‘You already said—’
Suguru never finished his sentence, because Satoru mouthed at where his pulse was bouncing swift and strong against his skin, and Suguru melted like ice cream spilling over the side of the cone and all over Satoru’s fingers. Finally, strong hands came up to grip at Satoru’s waist, his back, his shoulders.
‘Satoru, that’s—’
His words were stolen from him by the way Satoru licked and sucked at the front of his throat like it was a candy apple, swallowing the sounds right where they formed. At Suguru’s strangled gasp, Satoru grinned, letting his teeth graze over silky skin as he continued his journey upwards.
‘It’s what, Suguru?’
‘It’s—’ A hiss as Satoru’s fingers found their way into the damp hair at the base of Suguru’s skull, tugging his head to the side. ‘It’s—’ A nibble to his earlobe had Suguru whimpering.
Satoru lapped up Suguru’s pleasure like he lapped at his skin, unable to prevent his own sighs from slipping out as he savoured Suguru like he was his own personal popsicle. Finally making his way to the honeypot that was Suguru’s open mouth, Satoru balanced the sugar with a little spice as he peppered kisses along Suguru’s jawline, alternating between soft and sharp until his lips brushed against the corners of Suguru’s and—
—Suguru turned his face away.
‘Don’t.’
Any traces of heady delight were gone from Suguru’s voice, replaced by something clipped and cold. The rejection was sour on Satoru’s tongue, like a bite out of a tart too heavy on the yuzu.
‘I consumed a Special Grade earlier,’ Suguru explained, a little defensive. ‘I probably taste bad.’
Satoru paused, frowning — because that was new. Suguru had always enjoyed coming up with silly reasons why Satoru couldn’t kiss him. It was something of a game of theirs, and Satoru was more than happy to earn his prize by playing along. By doing anything Suguru asked, actually.
Usually, he’d rise to the challenge, using his inexhaustible logic to dismantle Suguru’s increasingly ridiculous arguments until he finally relented. Of course, he knew that Suguru had been struggling with the taste of curses recently, probably on account of the slew of missions the higher ups kept sending his way — but turning his face away from Satoru over a Special Grade? As Suguru’s excuses went, it actually was among the more illogical, because surely he knew that Satoru had never tasted a curse on Suguru’s tongue before?
Unless Suguru meant that he’d been throwing up?
Satoru didn’t know what he found more upsetting: the thought of incessant missions branding the foul flavour of curses onto Suguru’s tastebuds or the thought of Suguru hunched alone over the toilet bowl without anyone to rub his back or stroke his hair or bring him water — because Satoru was always off in the arse end of nowhere, eradicating curses that were far too weak to justify holding his attention and yet somehow relentless enough to keep him away. Relentless enough that he couldn’t take Suguru’s missions to give his best friend some reprieve, even if he wanted to.
Of course, he did want to, but Suguru would never allow it so Satoru would never ask.
Looking at the tense set of Suguru’s jaw, a different question found its way to Satoru’s tongue. He knew he should say something; knew there was a conversation they needed to have, but the words stuck to Satoru’s teeth like toffee. He swallowed them down, along with the complicated vortex of emotions that was welling up his throat, instead leaning into something that came easy to him.
With every passing day that Satoru grew stronger, the unabating hunger at the core of his being grew greedier. Despite working himself to the bone exorcising curses and fighting rogue sorcerers and perfecting his techniques, it seemed like nothing could satisfy him anymore.
Nothing except Suguru.
So, he let the frustration that was permanently simmering beneath the surface bubble over — because Satoru wasn’t about to let some puny curse ruin his dessert like they ruined everything else that was good in this world.
‘Suguru, I want to kiss you,’ he grumbled, nipping at a sharp jawline a little harder than he intended to. It drew a hiss out of Suguru and Satoru hurried to soothe the spot with his tongue. He kneaded his voice into something softer and sweeter. ‘Can I please kiss you?’
The tension in Suguru’s broad shoulders eased a little. ‘I don’t think you shou—’
‘I’m going to kiss you, OK?’
It came out a little desperate, because Satoru was a little desperate. There were only two ways he knew how to chase away the distress swirling in the depths of those honey coloured eyes. He didn’t feel much like cracking a joke, so his fingers pulled a little tighter at inky black hair, because his lips were hovering over Suguru’s and he felt like if he could only close the gap, perhaps he could make things okay again.
‘Satoru…’
Warm breath washed over Satoru’s face, minty and clean and nothing like Suguru feared. The setting sun poured through the slats of the blinds over Suguru’s open window, casting his bedroom in a warm orange glow. The summer solstice was approaching, but it was still too early in the day to justify getting ready for bed.
Satoru didn’t know which of his theories Suguru’s freshly brushed teeth confirmed; didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he let their lips brush together as he said, ‘Last chance, Suguru.’
When Satoru swiped his tongue across Suguru’s lower lip, soft and pillowy like sweet marshmallow, he was relieved to hear the little sigh of contentment. It wasn’t really kissing, the way he licked at Suguru’s parted lips and, for half a second, Satoru wondered if Suguru would stop him on a technicality — it would be such a Suguru thing to do, after all.
But then, Suguru let out something like a growl and Satoru couldn’t help grinning against his lips.
Suddenly Suguru was backing him up against the wall, gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises. Satoru hoped he did leave bruises; stopped his reverse cursed technique in its tracks, in fact, because it was exhilarating and sexy and such a goddamn relief to see some of that familiar fire return to Suguru’s eyes.
‘Satoru, you are so…’
‘Yeah?’ He goaded Suguru, fingers creeping up across the other boy’s torso to pinch at a nipple through the fabric of his T-shirt. He tried not to linger on the fact that Suguru’s chest was lacking some of the muscle Satoru remembered, desperate to keep that flame burning in those caramel eyes, anything to keep that frost at bay.
Suguru yanked his hand away with a hiss, fingers closing around Satoru’s wrist in a punishing grasp. ‘You’re so…’
Satoru met that fierce gaze with one of his own, lifting his chin in challenge or perhaps in invitation. The hands on his hip and his wrist squeezed impossibly tighter for a moment as Suguru warred with himself, and Satoru willed his twitching limbs to still, despite the electricity coursing through his veins. Anticipation was heavy in the air between them, syrupy tension thick enough for Satoru to take a knife to it when the grip on him finally eased.
Then Suguru sighed and it was like the whole universe sighed with him. Satoru could taste the last shreds of his willpower on the exhale. It tasted like sweet surrender.
It tasted like victory.
The heat in those butterscotch eyes had died down to a smoulder when Suguru finally murmured, ‘You’re such a fucking menace.’
It was much less threatening and much more fond than he probably intended, but Satoru didn’t get a chance to make fun of him — because Suguru leaned in to kiss him, and Satoru forgot everything that wasn’t Suguru’s lips on his own. It was soft and quiet and slow and gentle and restrained. It was everything Satoru wasn’t, and perfect because of it. He’d never admit it, but if there was one thing Suguru was better at than Satoru, it was this. Sure, Satoru could unravel Suguru with teasing and poking and prodding, but Suguru took Satoru apart at the seams with tenderness.
‘Your menace,’ he breathed between kisses, overcome with love. ‘Always yours.’
Tangling his fingers into dark, silky locks, Satoru was engulfed in the scent of Suguru’s shower-fresh hair. Jasmine under his nose and honey on his tongue, utterly overwhelmed by the sweet tea savour of Suguru.
It was almost too much. He whimpered — a pathetic, breathy thing — and felt rather than saw the smug little smile against his lips. Suguru pulled back, resting his forearm against Satoru’s chest to stop him from chasing down the retreating kiss. Straining against the impenetrable barrier that stood in the way of his prize, Satoru couldn’t find it in him to care about the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. In that moment, he thought there was probably nothing he wouldn’t do for this boy. By the wicked grin he was levelling at Satoru, Suguru knew it too.
But his cheeks were flushed and his chest was heaving and there was something shining in his eyes that looked the same as the thing threatening to burst out of Satoru’s chest.
‘Calm down, Satoru,’ he purred in that dulcet tone of his — the one he kept for Satoru alone — and Satoru actually shuddered. Only Suguru said his name like that, dipping it in nectar and dusting it with icing sugar and rendering it unrecognisable from the way anyone else pronounced those three syllables. But then, ‘We don’t want you getting overexcited again, do we?’
Satoru didn’t even get a chance to defend himself before Suguru was hooking his fingers under the bandages resting around his neck and tugging Satoru forward like he was a pony on a lead. Perhaps he was, if it was Suguru. He didn’t mind the thought of being Suguru’s pet; didn’t mind being the most loyal and vicious of guard dogs for Suguru to let loose on the world, like Satoru was just another one of his curses.
That thought wasn’t too bad either. He didn’t mind being Suguru’s curse.
He was broken out of his reverie when the back of Suguru’s knees hit the bed. Suddenly, Suguru was tearing off his T-shirt and Satoru was confronted with an expanse of suntanned skin, smooth save for the scar carved into the centre of his chest. He was beautiful.
Satoru could only stare dumbstruck as Suguru fell back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to pin Satoru with a hungry gaze. Satoru returned it, greedy eyes roving over tendrils of hair running like ink over broad shoulders and lingering on the shape of Suguru’s desire straining against the joggers slung low on his hips. He was all bunched biceps and taut abs and he looked good enough to eat as he quirked an expectant eyebrow in Satoru’s direction and said, ‘Well, come on then.’
It was as close as Suguru got to begging, and Satoru wasn’t about to waste any time. He crawled between his legs to feast, peeling away the rest of Suguru’s clothing like he was unwrapping his favourite candy. Nowhere was safe from Satoru’s insatiable appetite. Not the delicate bone of Suguru’s ankle, not the soft skin at the back of his knee, not the sensitive dip at the base of his muscled stomach. He sampled every inch of skin, gorging himself on the delectable mix of flavours that made up Getō Suguru.
Satoru ate his fill until his name was nothing but sugar on Suguru’s tongue. He would have happily stayed there forever if he hadn’t been dragged up by the bandages still draped around his neck to meet Suguru’s wild gaze. Satoru wanted to lick the blush like raspberry rippling across his cheeks; thought he’d like to drown in the sticky sweet honey of Suguru’s eyes.
He let Suguru strip him of his clothes, let Suguru push him down onto the pillows, let Suguru do whatever he wanted. Perhaps that was why he only stared wide-eyed when Suguru wound the bandages around his wrists, binding his palms together like he was in prayer — fitting, Satoru thought. Suguru tied off the knot in a perfect bow, and Satoru’s heart almost shattered from the pressure of containing his immense feelings. Because only Suguru would take the time to fuss over a bow while Satoru was trapped between his powerful thighs, wanting and wishing and willing to give everything.
Suguru’s voice was hoarse when he looked Satoru in the eye and said, ‘Now it’s my turn to treat you.’
Pinned to the bed less by strong hands than by that treacly gaze, Satoru could only watch in awe as Suguru took what he wanted, his dark brow creasing with pleasure as he used the body beneath him. He’d said he was going to treat Satoru, but it seemed more like he was treating himself. Ultimately Satoru decided they were the same thing — decided it was probably good that he was tied down, because the voice of the voracious monster inside him reached a rapturous crescendo and Satoru thought he might consume Suguru whole given the chance.
He counted the fibres of the bonds around his wrists breaking one by one. He was a caged beast; he was the strongest. Nothing could hold him.
Nothing but Suguru, who held him like he could break, even as he drove Satoru’s limbs into the pillows above his head. There was nothing but Suguru, who melted into the crevices of his chest like hot butter then, as Satoru’s mind fell finally blissfully quiet.
Their skin was sticky with sweat and saliva and sweet release, like salted caramel between their bodies — but Satoru couldn’t find it in him to care when Suguru carefully untied the fraying bandages, cradling his wrists to press gentle kisses over the developing bruises. As Suguru tucked himself into Satoru’s side, burying his flushed face in the curve of his neck, he let out a little sigh which Satoru felt all the way to his bones.
Satisfaction.
He was sated, fit to bursting, full up on Suguru. His body couldn’t hold it all; it poured out of him as whispered promises pressed into perfumed hair, as salty-sweet confessions at the corners of his eyes. When warm hands wandered up Satoru’s body to find a home over his damp eyelashes, his molars ached with his love for Suguru, unbearably sweet even for him.
Suguru was his favourite dessert. His favourite three-course meal. His favourite everything. Satoru would sooner let his teeth rot than be without him, he thought. It might have overwhelmed him if not for the strong, steady fingers over his eyes, sheltering him from the world outside of Suguru. In the safety of those hands, he couldn’t see the peach pink hue of the room as day bled into evening — couldn’t see the matching colour on Suguru’s cheeks nor the saccharine honey of the gaze weighing upon him — but Satoru felt at peace all the same.
Peace. Satisfaction. Suguru.
Things Satoru couldn’t quite believe he was allowed.
The moment was like spun sugar: beautiful, delicate, breakable. Satoru didn’t even dare to breathe lest he shatter the precious thing he’d been entrusted with. Minutes or maybe hours later, when he was certain Suguru had fallen asleep in his arms, a small voice stirred Satoru from his daydream. The words mumbled into his neck were so soft that he had to strain to hear them:
‘I have your spare glasses in my uniform pocket.’
And Satoru couldn’t help squeezing Suguru a little tighter, holding onto him with everything he had — because they hadn’t taken a mission together in almost a year. Because they’d probably never take a mission together again. Because Suguru kept a spare pair of glasses for him anyway.
Peace. Satisfaction. Suguru.
Things Satoru hoped he’d never be without.