Chapter Text
Satoru Gojo is a star.
He was always destined to be one, perhaps from the moment he was born.
No, even before that. The moment he was conceived, it was fated for him to dazzle the world with his talents.
And many talents he had. He could do it all; dance, act, excel at playing any instrument he picked up, outperform anyone in any sport he wanted to play (professional athletes included).
The one thing he loved to do though, was sing.
At the age of five he was already writing songs, by the time he was seven he got his first record deal, at ten he scored his first number one album, and at fifteen he was embarking on his first world tour.
The world was his oyster, a bull he was ready to grip by the horns and ride the hell out of (and he was certain if it were an actual bull and not a metaphorical one, the outcome would be the same).
But every rose has its thorn. The thorn in Satoru’s case? Getting too big for his britches.
Satoru knows he’s wanted, so wanted that he doesn’t care what he does. He doesn’t care that he’s late to his rehearsals or even his shows because people still show up. Still fawn over him, still cry and beg and scream while he’s performing on stage. And the attention drives him mad, makes him drunk with power, knowing that his voice can captivate so many people.
Only, that doesn’t work for his manager.
Too many drunken nights that end in belligerent social media tirades or even worse, a brawl. Interviews that have to be rescheduled again and again because he’s too hungover or even worse, already inebriated. Brand deals that are lost because no one wants the guy who was photographed snorting a line in broad daylight to be the face of their product.
But why should he care? He has what he wants and will always get what he wants.
“If you get dropped from your label, I guarantee no one else will sign you.” He argued about all the money he makes, all the revenue he brings the label and his manager just tsked, shook his head and said, “They don’t give a fuck. There will always be more money for them to make.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Satoru asked with a frown. “Stop having fun?”
“We’re just going to make some… adjustments.”
So when Satoru learns the adjustment takes the form of a new security team, he thinks nothing of it, because who can control him? He’s the shot caller, the rule breaker.
It's not like he hasn’t had security before, though it didn’t really seem like they were doing anything extraordinary if anyone asked him. Not like they helped him win any of the fights he got into, only pulling him away once all was said and done and asking if he was okay.
What he doesn’t know though, is that this new team is elite, the best of the best. His manager needed references just to get the number to their headquarters because unlike the rest of the world, no one there cares about the Satoru Gojo. Not when there are royal diplomats and high ranking politicians that are much easier to watch over than a pop star with a rebellious streak.
His manager pleaded his case, saying that Satoru was a nice kid and just needed distractions out of his way.
Masamichi Yaga, head of the company, pinned him with a cold glare, stating that none of his staff had time to deal with Satoru, well aware of the star’s antics.
“I’ll tell him all that stops now,” his manager pleaded once more. “And I swear if anyone complains, you can drop him as a client. I promise.”
Masamichi raised a skeptical brow but shook on the deal.
The Satoru Gojo now has dedicated personnel watching him twenty-four seven. Way different than the ever watching eyes of the fans or paparazzi.
These eyes are much more vigilant, concerned with different things.
They don’t care what clothes he’s wearing today or where he’s going to eat. They don’t even give a shit about his music.
Their instructions are simple: Keep Satoru out of trouble, no matter the costs.
“So you’re really saying I can’t party anymore?” Satoru had asked his manager the morning his new bodyguard was set to start. They were sitting at an oval table at the security’s headquarters, waiting to meet his new protectors.
“It generally isn’t advised,” a voice had cut in. When Satoru looked up, it was one of the most stunning men he’d ever seen. Tanned skin, eyes the shade of alliums, hair flowing down to his waist, a body as broad as the door he walked through. Even beneath the perfectly fitted suit jacket and slacks, he could tell this man had herculean strength. He almost felt like a looney tunes character with the way he must have had visible heart eyes. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gojo.”
He offered his hand out to Satoru who offered his back. He was almost sure this man could have easily broken every bone in his hand.
“Just call me Satoru, Mr. Gojo is my father.”
The joke did not go over well. At all. It was ignored all together, actually.
“Mr. Gojo, I will be your primary bodyguard. Even if you do not see me, rest assured your safety is intact.” He gave a courteous nod of his head, some of his locks pooling around his shoulder before his head rose. “Suguru Geto, I look forward to working with you.”
Satoru severely underestimated how much this adjustment was going to affect him.
Every time he looks out of the corner of his eyes there’s a big broad body behind him, an unwavering flat mouth that doesn’t care about his demands or his needs.
He never thought anyone would say no to him, but Suguru does so without any hesitation. Even his manager still trembled every now and then when speaking to Satoru.
Suguru, though, does not care about any bitching and moaning. Doesn’t care about the biggest award show after party of the season, really doesn’t care about the birthday bash the princess of pop (whoever the hell that is) is throwing in Dubai, and definitely doesn’t give a fuck about some celebrity brunch Satoru is begging Suguru to take him to against his manager’s wishes.
He doesn’t even budge when Satoru threatens bodily harm because in the time they’ve spent together so far, he knows there isn’t a single thing he would do to botch his looks on purpose. He just shook his head and dryly said, “Try it.”
Suguru does learn a lot more about Satoru over time. More than the public knowledge of his love of sweets and Digimon. Satoru does not even notice he begins to confide in Suguru, probably just assuming that he isn’t listening.
One night though after a long performance, Suguru offered to take an exhausted Satoru to a twenty-four hour bakery he always hyped up. It was small, so small, but Satoru knew then that his words would always be safe.
There were a few more instances where Suguru would indulge him, picking up his favorite snacks for long rides, taking him out to places he deemed as trouble free, sighing and telling him his hair care routine after he repeatedly asked.
Even with those small moments and knowing what his manager and consequently Suguru won’t allow, it doesn’t mean he won’t try.
“I said I’m going out after this,” Satoru says in his dressing room, drenched in sweat after a two hour set that he actually showed up on time for. Thanks to Suguru, of course.
“Manager said to take you home after this.” Curt, short, to the point like always. Not a lick of emotion to his tone, not a singular expression on his face.
“You can come to the party too, you know?” Satoru teases to no avail. Suguru still stands by the door, muscular legs clad in black cargo pants, an equally black shirt stretching across his chest. Satoru already wasn’t a fan of more of less having a glorified babysitter, the last thing he was going to have was some man following him around in a fucking suit.
It did take some weeks for Suguru to acquiesce, defiance coursing through him for the sheer fact that his attire was a complaint of the client opposed to his direct employer, but even he can succumb to constant nagging at some point.
“Come on, you don’t drink?” No answer. “Smoke?” he follows up with.
Satoru is only graced with silence, a huff leaving his lips as he uses a wipe to rid his face of some of his stage makeup. Even without it, Suguru still sees how pristine his skin is, unsure why he even needs that coat of foundation at all. Like a snake he sheds, wiping off some of the eyeshadow and glitter next, the rosy blush on his cheeks replaced with just a natural flush.
Satoru doesn’t opt to change, staying in the skin tight red leather pants that hang low on his hips, the white mesh shirt he has on showing off every bit of his toned midsection, pink nipples on full display for all to see. He waltzes over to Suguru, eyeing him up and down. “You’re really going to take me home?”
“Yes.”
“Sugu—”
“Mr. Geto,” he corrects immediately, clearing his throat. He’s so used to peering down at his clients, it’s almost jarring to be looking squarely into a sea of unrestrained action, a sky of challenges that refuses to back down. “I’m taking you home as your manager requested, end of story.”
“Can’t I go if you come with me?” Satoru scoffs. “That’s all you have to do, right? Follow me around.”
“Are all your things prepared to leave?” Suguru asks, ignoring the previous questions.
“Come onnnn ,” Satoru groans, and Suguru can’t help but think there is an actual child in front of him when his foot stomps against the carpet. “I haven’t been to a party, had a drink, smoked a vape, or even had just one line in weeks.”
“And look how better off you are without all that shit.”
“I—” There isn’t much room to argue when he’s right. He hasn’t been tardy, he’s actually been less sluggish, and he does feel incredibly… safer. “So?”
“Get your stuff.”
The back and forth is pointless. Even with their twin heights, their builds are where the line is drawn in the sand. Where Satoru is toned and lithe, Suguru fills out everything he puts on, muscles always bulging, never shying away from beneath his layers of clothing. Satoru doesn’t know how many times he has tried to push past him only for an arm to yank him back, and he’s sure it wasn’t full force being used in those moments either.
So he won’t push, won’t shove, won’t try to break past a steel wall. “Are you going to come home with me?”
Suguru doesn’t realize when Satoru got so close, lips nearly brushing against his own as he speaks. He practically hears Satoru’s heart beating in his chest, feel it thumping against his own and his blood runs hot in his veins.
“No.” Never has he done anything with a client, and he doesn’t mean to start, but Satoru is the biggest test he’s ever received, every action always on the teetering of teasing. Suguru doesn’t get nervous, his composure is one of his biggest attributes, but Satoru does always have him on edge.
“Why not?” Satoru challenges, the smell of the jolly ranchers he was eating wafting into Suguru’s nostrils with his new proximity, both of their chests touching with each passing breath.
“When have I ever?”
“You can start now.”
Suguru doesn’t know exactly what it is swirling in the air that makes the sudden silence more deafening than anything he’s heard before. Maybe it’s Satoru’s intent stare that’s speaking volumes, or maybe it’s the tension that’s been brewing beneath the surface, bubbling up and demanding to be acknowledged. Suguru decides to swallow it down.
He doesn’t even bother to explain to Satoru that he has a different bodyguard once he goes to sleep, that Suguru’s responsibility ends the moment his eyes close.
He also doesn’t explain that even then, he’s still more concerned than he needs to be, always ensuring his team knows the importance of heeding to what Satoru’s management wants. Still, there’s something niggling at the back of his mind, telling him that it’s more than just the semantics of this job. That little thing threatens to make a hole, escape and manifest itself into reality, but he’s better than that. More professional, able to make the clear distinction.
“Satoru. Get your stuff,” he repeats, and how he wishes his conscience would let him go out to the car, wait for him there. But who knows what could happen with that few feet of distance between them. He doesn’t want to imagine it. “You have an early day tomorrow and you did an encore performance tonight. You need to rest.”
“Who said I’m tired?” he retorts.
“I didn’t ask.” Somehow Satoru seems even closer, or maybe everything else in the room is being sucked away in some kind of endless vacuum. “It seems like you’re done, let’s go.”
“Mr. Geto.” Satoru’s voice comes out as a seductive purr as he raises his hand. His fingers hover just above the area of Suguru’s pecs, already mentally salivating at the prospect of the muscles under his touch. His fingers inch closer and closer, starting to tremble before Suguru’s wrist locks down on his own, stopping him abruptly.
“Get your stuff before I get it for you.” Suguru’s voice comes out more ragged than he expects, more rushed.
“And what happens if you get it for me?” A white brow raises challengingly, free hand reaching up to touch Suguru anywhere he can, intent on letting his intrusive thought win. Suguru’s eyes follow Satoru’s other hand as it reaches for his midsection in the sliver of space between them, creeping at a snail’s pace. “Does that mean you’re going to come home with me?”
Suguru is frozen for a moment, only thawing out when long fingers graze over the indents of his abdomen. When he doesn’t pull away instantly Satoru takes full advantage, letting his fingers explore every indent, every ridge, committing it to memory the best that he can with the pocket of time that he has to do so. His own heart is racing as he feels the muscles beneath the soft fabric rippling, labored breaths one of the only things audible in the room.
“No.” Suguru slaps his hand away, releasing his wrist to step around Satoru. His heart is hammering fast in his chest as he collects whatever the fuck else he assumes Satoru needs to leave. When he turns, Satoru has now taken his position by the door, standing in front of the knob with his legs spread apart. “We’re leaving.”
Satoru almost wants to laugh seeing his satchel on Suguru’s shoulder, looking more like a child’s purse than a practical bag. Still, his blood is running hot just from touching Suguru previously, arousal strumming low notes in his core. “Make me.”
Suguru’s eyebrows furrow as he takes a step closer, effectively crowding Satoru against the door, making his palms splay against its cool surface. “Satoru,” he says lowly, voice thick with something he can’t even recognize. Yet another thing he succumbed to, calling Satoru by his first name after nagging that calling him Mr. Gojo made him feel old. “Turn around, let’s go.”
Turn around he says? Well Satoru can certainly do that. There’s barely enough space to with Suguru standing in front of him but he turns, pressing his chest against the door and arching his back so his ass is squarely on Suguru’s crotch, wriggling his hips ever so slightly. “Like this?”
Suguru can physically see the line starting to blur, the boundary he always sets for himself diminishing with each movement of Satoru’s hips against his crotch. He sucks in a breath, knowing that he should stop this, fully aware there’s no reason he should be letting him do this. “Satoru, stop.”
Satoru turns his head, a pout on his face, ass still pressed firmly against Suguru’s crotch. “Why?”
“Stand up,” Suguru says, though there is much conviction left to be desired in his voice. He feels like he can’t move, stiff and stuck to this spot much like his cock beyond the zipper of his pants. Every one of Satoru’s movements is tantalizing, his outfit leaving so little to the imagination. Suguru can already picture the crescent shaped indents he would leave in Satoru’s hip when he plants his hands there, rutting into him from behind; can envision just how pretty and red his skin would look when his hips are meeting his ass, when his hands comes down and slaps down harshly on the flesh there, watching it ripple under his touch.
“You aren’t telling me why I should.” Satoru’s own mind is far, far away, teeth sinking into his bottom lip when he feels a heaviness growing against the cleft of his ass. His pants are starting to feel awfully tight, bordering on uncomfortable as he continues to sashay against the man behind him.
Satoru watches the increasing rise and fall of Suguru’s chest while Suguru’s eyes continue to flick between Satoru still grinding on him and his eyes. Those eyes that are so easy to to fall victim to, that seem to have their own voice, beckoning Suguru to give in. But he won’t. He can’t.
“I already told you.” Suguru places one hand on Satoru’s hip, and regrets it instantly. The curve seems to fit in the shape of his hand perfectly, like Satoru was just made to be manhandled. Satoru feels the need to stifle a groan at the calloused hand on his skin, only pushing back against him more. Suguru clears his throat, ignoring the arousal roaring in his ears. “It’s to go home. I have your bag, it’s already late.”
“Why? ” Satoru questions yet again, voice coming out as more of a whine than a demanding ask. “Don’t you like this?”
“Satoru.” Suguru doesn’t know if his word is a warning directed to the man insistent on stimulating his erection, or if it’s for himself. With each passing second he starts to feel his resolve crumbling, turning into dust and being blown away. He’s already capitulated to Satoru in so many ways; taking the scenic route instead of the fastest way, accompanying him to ice cream shops all because Satoru knew the public eye wouldn’t harass him as much with Suguru around, forgoing his professional attire for something more suited to Satoru’s taste. It takes too much, nearly everything not to give in to this too.
“Suguru,” Satoru hums, and Suguru doesn’t correct him this time. His hand hasn’t moved either, grip tightening instead on Satoru’s hip, seeing some of the skin turning red.
Suguru feels fucked, so fucked that he tears his eyes away. But there’s nowhere else to look. Of course this is Satoru’s dressing room and everything is filled with signs of him, but he doesn’t know how Satoru manages to fill any space he’s in. It can be a cramped tour bus or the penthouse of a hotel, he’s just always so present, demanding attention wherever he goes.
He should be used to it given he’s around him all the time, immune even to his allure, but right now it’s so evident that he isn’t. And maybe he never was.
“Satoru,” Suguru says again, hoping his voice is instilling the resolve he is willing his mind to muster up.
“Suguru,” Satoru coos this time, still grinding against a now steadily throbbing cock. “You know you want to.”
Suguru has always been good at any challenge thrown his way. Mental ones that wrack his brain and make him think, physical ones that push his body to extreme limits. Endurance and stamina, critical thinking and problem solving—all of those are a testament to his expansive skillset. Suguru is convinced however, that Satoru is a test that he was always meant to fail. An exam whose words he can’t decipher, completely clueless on how to approach.
Or maybe he needs to stop looking at Satoru like he’s something to figure out. Perhaps Satoru is a solution, not quite the problem he characterized him as.
Does he want to do this? Cross this line, go beyond the point of no return?
“I don’t,” Suguru grits out in response, even though the ever tightening grip on Satoru’s hip is telling a different story. “I don’t,” he repeats, more for himself than for Satoru to hear. “Stand up.”
“I can’t.”
“What?” Suguru asks incredulously.
“I—I can’t.” A stretch of silence sits heavy between them, the only sound in the room being the dull hum of the air conditioner and the squeaking of Satoru’s leather pants. “It feels too good.” He’s more breathless than he realized, a pant escaping from his lips when he rolls his hips against Suguru again, the hot length on his backside making his own length hard and useless in his pants.
Suguru thought wrong. Problem . Not a solution. Satoru is a monumental, libidinous problem that has him cracking like an egg about to be scrambled.
He tries to discern what’s so different this time. This is far from the first instance Satoru has attempted to rile him up, but this is the only time Suguru has ever felt himself being so tempted. Satoru might as well be the snake in the garden of Eden, whispering enticing salacious thoughts in his ear.
No words are exchanged, but neither of their gazes have torn away from each other, movements still going strong, and this is the one time Satoru is grateful that he can’t move Suguru; the rare occasion where an unyielding body works more to his benefit than to his detriment. As their eyes stay locked, Suguru desperately searching for the factor that’s making him so susceptible to this (admittedly, great for others but the sweetest form of torture for him) treatment, he spots it.
It’s just a flicker in Satoru’s eyes, and if he blinked, he would have missed it, but beneath the mask of fame and the role he plays for the public, he can see the vulnerability, the caution in his words.
No, this isn’t driven by alcohol or any other substance. This is just Satoru, raw and unfiltered. The one that many people think they know but never actually see.
“Satoru,” Suguru says a final time, and he still hasn’t stopped.
Satoru is still looking, still grinding, hoping that Suguru can somehow feel his sincerity this time around. When he doesn’t speak again Satoru doesn’t either, turning his head to stare down at the carpet instead. He doesn’t know if it’s defeat he’s feeling, his lust doesn’t allow him to stop what he’s doing.
Conscientiousness is a staple of this job, of Suguru’s life. Rules are meant to be regulated and followed. It’s all but essential and ensures everything goes as intended. He’s never had a fuck it moment a day in his life.
Until now.
In an instant his hand leaves Satoru’s hip, tossing the satchel on his shoulder to the ground, guiding him upright and pressing him against the door. Satoru hisses, feeling the cold metal of the door against his chest. Warmth washes over his body in an instant when he feels Suguru’s breath against his neck, his erection pressing firmly against his ass, those strong hands on his hips—both of them this time. The desire that was sprouting before blooms fully, presenting itself as a low moan coming from the depth of Satoru’s throat. “Sug— oh. ”
His words die in an acidic pit when he feels Suguru thrust against him, letting out another moan when his fingers dig into the skin of his hips. He arches his back, and Suguru can’t help but think that Satoru is pure sin on legs.
“So you can stand.” Satoru shivers at the words being spoken in his ear. “That’s good to know.”
Suguru’s breathing is heavy as he familiarizes himself with the feeling of Satoru’s body in his hands. He’s always used to pushing him away, he’s never gravitated toward him. It’s foreign, such an alien feeling, but he has a passport, he can travel and transverse these new grounds.
He lets his hands push up the material of the (what he calls a pathetic excuse of a shirt but Satoru insists is fashion) mesh shirt he has on, admiring Satoru’s slender waist, the dimples in his back, the milky expanse of his smooth skin.
“I—” Satoru breathes, breath fogging against the door. What is he even trying to say?
“What?” Suguru’s hips are moving with more insistence, creating a perfect rhythm with Satoru pushing back against him. They move like this wordlessly, with Suguru’s groans being the new soundtrack to Satoru’s arousal. “Come on, let me hear you.”
To his dismay, one of Suguru’s hands leaves his hips. He wants to demand it back, command him to keep touching him in that way, but he is again silenced when the hand moves above his head, his large palm against the door. It doesn’t seem possible, but Suguru moves in even closer, and Satoru swears he can feel the entire imprint of his cock against him, grinding, rutting, making him greedy for more.
Any words he tries to speak are pushed out of his lungs and evaporate pathetically in the air as he closes his eyes, drowning in his own lust.
“Now you got nothing to say.” Though, even those words are hard for Suguru to utter as he continues pressing his aching cock against Satoru’s firm ass, beads of sweat beginning to form at the top of his hairline. “You were so talkative earlier.”
“T-This is—” Satoru is cut off by his own moan.
“This is what?” Suguru asks with another roll of his hips, lips brushing against the shell of Satoru’s ear, experimentally letting his tongue dart out and trace the delicate curve. He was expecting the familiar taste of salty skin on his taste buds, but who is he to think anything about Satoru Gojo would be ordinary? Instead the skin is sweet, like ripe strawberries and cotton candy.
“Childish,” he rushes out, body trembling with the hot tongue on his ear. “Th-this is childish.”
Now that wasn’t what Suguru was expecting to hear in the slightest. “And why is that?” Suguru mumbles, pressing his hips against Satoru once more, keeping his body pinned against the door.
“Quit dry humping me and fuck me. ”
Suguru stills, the words echoing in his mind with surround sound.
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
He’s already been tempted, given in this far. Now those words are just taunting , challenging.
“What?” Satoru says lowly, straining his neck to turn to look at Suguru again, the indecision clear on his face. “All that cock and no motion in the ocean, huh?”
Bait, it’s just bait. There’s no reason for him to fall for it.
“Don’t tell me all those nights I spent jerking off thinking about you were for nothing,” Satoru eggs on.
This is already too far, just having Satoru like this, but every taunt that leaves his lips is like a siren song, luring Suguru closer and closer to complete destruction.
“If you don’t think you can fuck me well, just say that,” he taunts once more. He can feel Suguru’s cock throb against him with each provoking statement, bringing a twisted smile to his face. “Is that it, Suguru?”
“Oh please,” Suguru scoffs and narrows his eyes, pressing his hips even closer to Satoru’s ass. A soft whine leaves Satoru’s lips when his painfully ignored erection makes contact with the surface of the door. “Like you even know the first thing about taking cock.”
Satoru’s teeth sink into his bottom lip at the silky voice in his ear taunting back, but he’s determined to keep goading him on. “I know all there is when it comes to that.”
There’s so much confidence in his voice, so much assurance it almost startles Suguru, making his next words hard to come by. “And what makes you so sure?”
“There’s only one way for you to find out.”
The challenge proposed by Satoru hangs in the air, heavy like a weight sitting on Suguru’s chest. Eyes that are usually reminiscent of clear blue skies are now a cloudy sea of luxuria staring Suguru down, waiting for him to make his move.
He really shouldn’t. This isn’t a challenge he needs to rise to, there’s no need for him to prove himself right to Satoru. But the image he conjured up in his head earlier resurfaces, of Satoru bent over for him, panting and gasping for more. His cock throbs again at the mental visage as his chest heaves.
“If you—”
The hand that was on Satoru’s hip moves quickly, two of Suguru’s fingers pushing past plush pink lips, lodging themselves in his warm mouth. Satoru doesn’t waste any time in hollowing out his cheeks, greedily sucking on the two digits. “I think I like your mouth a lot more like this,” Suguru says, letting his fingers lay flat against the wet muscle, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of his mouth. “This is much better than you talking, that’s for sure.”
Satoru’s hands ball into fist as he tries to speak around Suguru’s fingers to no avail, voice coming out unintelligible and muffled. Instead Suguru’s fingers push deeper into his mouth, exploring its depth, testing his limits. Euphoria quickly muddles Satoru’s mind, allowing him to relax his throat, eyes beginning to roll to the back of his head as Suguru’s slender fingers reach the back of his throat, causing some saliva to dribble from the side of his mouth, making a trail down his neck and onto his chest.
“That’s it,” Suguru chuckles lightly, slowly increasing the pace that his fingers are moving in and out of his mouth. With the suction around just his fingers he could only imagine how his cock would feel sandwiched between those pink lips, gliding in and out with ease. “Good boy, get them nice and wet for me.”
An eagerness to follow instruction makes Satoru whine around the fingers submerged in his mouth, sucking and coating them diligently with his saliva. Suguru even nudges a third finger in, watching the way Satoru’s mouth stretches to accommodate it, groaning every time he sucks his cheeks in.
Suguru should stop, get off of him and drag him out to the car, but instead his fingers are exiting Satoru’s mouth and cascading down the front of his body until he arrives at the button of his pants. Satoru’s abdomen quivers when the button is undone and his pants are slowly being shimmied down his hips. It’s not an easy task given how tight the pants are and his erection making them fit even more snug to his body, but Suguru’s strength could rip the material clean off if he really wanted to.
The pants bunch and settle at Satoru’s knees as Suguru lets his hand cradle the bare skin of his body, smooth as satin between his touch. His heart hammers faster in his chest when his hand grips one of Satoru’s firm cheeks, giving it a greedy squeeze. He repeats the action with the other cheek, watching the way Satoru arches into his touch, the planes of his body looking like a marble statue that’s meant to be fawned over and admired in a museum.
“You say you can take cock,” Suguru says, teasing Satoru with his own words, fingers slick with saliva moving into the cleft of Satoru’s ass. One finger prods at his entrance, just shy of breaching. “So that means you can take some fingers, right?”
Satoru’s hole is already twitching in anticipation, his own cock dripping a stream of precum from the tip as his entire body tingles with arousal. “O-Of course I can,” he answers as Suguru wastes no time slipping one finger to the hilt. He carefully curls the digit, making a low moan emit from Satoru’s throat. It’s just one measly finger, but he already feels like he needs to manually tell himself to breathe. Still, he goads him on by saying, “This is nothing.”
“What?” Suguru laughs, letting his middle finger join his pointer one inside of Satoru’s tight heat. “Are you telling me you’re a professional cock sleeve?” Satoru sucks in a breath as he clenches around the digits that are thrusting inside of him with ease, scissoring, stretching him open.
When the fingers touch his prostate, he feels the corner of his vision start to blur, body trembling with a need that he can’t even put into words. He doesn’t know what Suguru’s cock will possibly feel like if he’s already coming undone with just two fingers, but he pushes aside any fear, any doubt, any real thoughts and lets his body chase its high, thrusting back onto the fingers blissfully invading his body. “Heh, I guess you are, huh?” Satoru can’t think of any real retort, answer coming out as a garbled whine when a third finger is breaching his entrance.
“Adjusting so nicely for me,” Suguru moans against his neck as he plants a soft kiss against the skin there, working his way up to a more steady rhythm. “Wonder if I can make you come before I even consider if I really want to fuck you.”
“Why—” His fingers plunge in deep, reaching that spot that sends waves upon waves of pleasure through Satoru’s body, his words being lost in the air for the nth time in such a short period. His legs tremble, and pushing back onto the fingers is the only thing that’s helping him stay upright. He catches his breath, searching his mind aimlessly for the words he was trying to say before. Suguru does not relent though, still moving his fingers in and out at a faster pace. “Why wouldn’t you want to fuck me?”
He has every reason to want to.
The answer should be so simple. Satoru is incredibly attractive from head to toe; stunning hair that resembles a fresh blanket of snow, soft to the touch and easily able to reflect any color that dances off of it. Eyes that are more captivating than the clear waters in the Caribbean islands, inviting anyone who looks in them to jump in whether or not they can swim. A body that some can only aspire to have, whether they want to see that in the mirror when they look at their reflection or in a possessive manner, claiming Satoru as their own, using him as they see fit.
Yet, none of those factors are the selling point for Suguru. It isn’t his fame or his looks or his money. Some rational part of his mind is telling him those are all pluses, but he knows it ultimately doesn’t matter.
If the world really knew Satoru, they would know about his kindness and his compassion, his utmost dedication when he is truly committed to something. Peeling back the layers of the cockiness and confidence there is a softness within him that should be treated as preciously as a crowned jewel.
Even Suguru is having a hard time making sense of it. It’s far past the point of rejecting any advances because of the job. It’s simply because he knows him.
Suguru knows Satoru almost better than anyone else does, and that’s why he knows he shouldn’t.
But he’s already in this tangle of temptation, listening to Satoru’s airy gasps and moans, feeling him clench and writhe, commanding his body with just a stroke of his fingers.
If he doesn’t let this go on any longer than this it’s fine. He moves the hand plastered to the wall above Satoru’s head and sucks in a breath as he lets it sluice down the side of his body. Goosebumps pepper Satoru’s skin at the contact of the rough hand brushing against his skin, but it’s so welcomed. With fingers curled against his prostate, leaving Satoru gasping for breath Suguru circles his hand around his cock. “Stop talking,” he says in a hushed voice in Satoru’s ear, squeezing the base of his cock.
If he doesn’t talk Suguru doesn’t have to keep this endless debate going on in his mind, doesn’t have to think about what’s going to happen once the two of them leave this room.
The tip of Satoru’s cock is flushed a pretty pink, much like his lips and his stiff nipples and a sizable length and girth. Not as big as Suguru, but enough that makes stroking the length of his cock a challenge for some. With the size of Suguru’s hands though it’s an easy task, aided by the precum leaking from his slit.
Satoru’s abdomen clenches, beads of sweat starting to run down his face from his forehead despite the air conditioning cooling the room. Every part of him is hot, absolutely burning with the desire that’s threatening to burst out of every pore in his body. He’s thrusting his hips into Suguru’s fist and rocking back on his fingers, desperately and greedily taking pleasure, climbing higher and higher until he truly can’t breathe.
“P-Please,” Satoru whispers.
“I said stop talking. ”
“Fuck me, ” Satoru insists yet again, coming with a whine in fat bursts all over Suguru’s hand, still filled with him. “Hah–oh, fuck me. ”
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
Those two words yet again, taking Suguru by the hand and leading him to a cliff with jagged rocks at the bottom.
“You can’t even stand right now.” Satoru’s body is trembling, hole still clenching even though Suguru’s fingers already slipped out. He’s only supported by a strong arm wrapped around his midsection.
“I don’t care,” Satoru breathes, garnering every bit of strength left in his body to stand on his legs. He gets out of Suguru’s hold—and he knows it's only because Suguru allowed it—and bends over his vanity. He doesn’t need to stand when this is a perfectly viable option. Suguru turns, meeting Satoru’s eyes in the mirror. “I took your fingers, I know I can take your cock.”
“You don’t know what you're talking about.” Still, Suguru finds himself taking a step toward him, cock painfully hard in his pants, aching for release.
“I do.”
He doesn’t know if it’s a stroke of luck or twisted fate that has Satoru like this in front of him, just as he imagined no more than half an hour ago.
“Spread yourself for me.” Suguru’s voice is raspy, ragged with lust that’s getting harder and harder to contain. “Let me see you.”
Satoru obeys wordlessly, reaching behind himself to plant his hands on his cheeks, tight hole on display for him to see.
Suguru can feel his breath stuttering as he takes another step closer, falling to his knees as his hands first trail up the length of Satoru’s legs before his hands settle over his own. He’s so close, just looking at his hole that’s free of any hair, dusted pink with some darker brown portions right around the edges.
He shouldn’t. He absolutely shouldn’t.
“Ah, ” Satoru moans out, fingers gripping onto the edge of the vanity, nearly breaking one of his red polished nails. Suguru’s hot tongue licks another stripe across his hole, a mind numbing sensation that makes his toes curl in his boots. “Oh f- fuck. ”
Suguru continues listening to the sweet melody of Satoru’s moans and whimpers as his tongue moves with a mind of his own, licking and prodding at his hole. His fingers dig into Satoru’s flesh, moaning against the skin that’s just as sweet here. It shouldn’t even be possible for someone to taste so sweet, but again, this is the Satoru Gojo.
The Satoru Gojo who is a mess, hair sticking to his forehead, words lost to the wind. Suguru ends up pushing Satoru’s hands aside completely, hungrily spreading his cheeks apart so his tongue can delve in even deeper.
With each flick and stroke he can feel Satoru’s hole tightening, clenching, just yearning to be filled. “S-Stop,” Satoru cries, eyes closing tightly. He can already feel heat churning in his abdomen again that’s already covered with his cum. “I don’t want to come like this.”
Suguru gives him a moment of reprieve. “How do you want to come?”
“With your cock stuffing me full,” he answers with a sense of urgency. “God, fuck me, please. I-I can’t wait anymore.”
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
Those words again that manage to sound like a desperate plea opposed to a raunchy demand when they fall from Satoru’s lips for the third time.
Suguru stands, placing his hands on Satoru's waist, meeting his eyes in the mirror once more. Glossed over blue eyes challenging a heated violet stare, weeks worth of unspoken words being shouted all at once.
“I don’t have any lube.”
“I have some in my bag,” Satoru answers quickly.
“I don’t have a condom.” It’s his last ditch effort, the only thing keeping him from falling off the deep end.
Satoru’s words come out with earnestness as he keeps his eyes on Suguru’s. “I trust you.”
He’s falling, hard and fast to the place of no return. He knows he shouldn’t, but he’s in Satoru’s bag, looking for the alleged bottle of lube.
He’s slicking up his fingers, working Satoru open again, groaning at the clench around his digits, biting his lip at the glorious arch of his back.
He’s pulling down his pants, sighing in relief when he strokes his neglected cock, coating it with a generous layer of lube.
Satoru’s trust weighs heavy on Suguru’s shoulders, unsure if he’s really earned it. Would he still trust him if he knew how much he was fighting this? Would he still trust him if he really knew how many times getting a moment like this with him has crossed his mind?
“Satoru.” His voice is hoarse as he presses the tip of his cock against his hole, Satoru’s legs stiffening at the pressure.
“I already told you, I know how to take cock.” The desperation is replaced with a vexatious look when Satoru meets Suguru’s gaze once more, cock hardening again between his legs. “Show me you can fuck.” Satoru sucks in a breath when a hand grips his hip tightly. A final time he says, “ Fuck me. ”
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
Suguru is shattered, ruined.
Suguru plants his hand on the other side of Satoru’s body, slowly pushing his way inside. The slick of the lube and his saliva from just moments ago makes the tip of his cock slip in easily, already clenching around him so tight. “ Fuck, just relax for me,” he grits out, blowing out a breath as he incrementally feeds Satoru more of his cock.
It’s a heat Satoru hasn’t felt before, boiling lava sloshing around every portion of his body. Crimson paints his chest and his cheeks and he breathes, relaxing the best he can at the girth threatening to make him fall to his knees. “Just like that, good boy, keep breathing for me.” And no matter how many times Satoru has defied that voice, damned him to hell and back for trying to assert authority over him, he can’t help but mewl at this praise, chasing Suguru’s approval.
“S-See?” Satoru exhales, trying very much not to sound like there isn’t an intrusion stealing every one of his breaths. “Told you I can take cock.”
“Satoru, I’m only halfway in.”
Any trace of snark vanishes at those words, and he fears he may not be able to back up any of the claims from his shit talking. Half? It already seems like he was pushing in for a millennium, it doesn’t even seem conceivable that there’s still more.
“I can fuck you with just half my cock if that’s all you can take.”
“Give me all of it.” Satoru clenches tightly around the portion of Suguru already inside him, and with his permission Suguru begins easing the rest of his length inside, watching his thickness disappear into Satoru’s tightness.
After what seems to be another millennium, Satoru feels the warmth of Suguru’s pelvis against his ass. He feels like a dog in the height of summer, gasping, panting for breath. He lets his cheek rest against the cool surface of the vanity, the only thing in proximity to chill his heated body. He’s so full, consumed completely by Suguru.
“That’s all of me.” Even Suguru has to take a moment to admire the space where they’re joined, every inch of him buried inside of Satoru. One hand moves from his hip to caress the small of his back, content when he feels Satoru’s breaths starting to become more even. His hand circles around, feeling the indent of his Adonis belt, traversing the plane of his abdomen when he feels Satoru jolt. “Does it hurt?”
“N-No,” Satoru staggers out. “I… I never felt that before.”
Suguru curiously investigates, rubbing his hand over his abdomen again when he feels it. Amongst the ridges of tone muscles there’s a protrusion. “God, I’m so deep inside of you.” He presses down against the bulge gently, a small whine coming from Satoru’s lips. He didn’t lie to Suguru, it really doesn’t hurt, but it’s a different kind of invasion he’s never felt with anyone before. “Look at me.”
He presses down against the bulge again, and Satoru can feel small tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. He’s never had a cock this big, never been filled to the actual brim like this.
Never had someone ask about his wellbeing during the act.
“I’m not going to ask you again.”
Suddenly Satoru feels coy, so exposed. One hand stays on the bulge on his stomach, applying pressure lightly as Suguru’s other hand leaves his hip, tracing up his spine until his fingers are running through his undercut and gripping a fistful of his hair. Satoru gasps, the pain on his scalp absolutely delicious, making him clench around the cock stuffing him full.
“You’re going to watch me when I fuck you.” Suguru says it factually, like he’s giving a weather report. “Got it?”
“Y-yes.”
“Can I move?”
That simple question makes Satoru’s heart clench in the oddest way. He’s always so used to getting what he wants, but when was the last time someone put his consideration first? He truly isn’t sure. Shaikly he nods, summoning up the bravado to say, “I hope you don’t come in five minutes like everyone else.”
Suguru pulls his hips back, thrusting into Satoru with a force that makes him feel like his brain is rattling around in his skull. “It’s rude to talk about other people when someone is fucking you, if you didn’t know.”
Satoru’s words hold a degree of ambition he no longer feels as Suguru sets his pace, each thrust seemingly deeper and harder than the last. One hand returns to his hip, fingernails digging into his skin as the other hand stays on his stomach. With each motion of his hips Suguru can feel his own cock moving inside of Satoru, the tip reaching his belly button when he buries himself all the way inside and settling in the area above his pelvis when he pulls his hips back.
Even with the harsh thrusts each one is calculated, brushing against his prostate, making it hard to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. He’s determined to keep his eyes on Suguru though, watching the way the veins on his muscular arms bulge, the flush adorning his face, the sweat making his bangs stick to his forehead. The hair tie that keeps some of his hair neatly tucked away in a low ponytail is long gone, glossy locks flowing freely and moving as he does.
“Would you look at that,” Suguru grunts as his hips meet Satoru’s ass once more. Satoru is convinced that if Suguru wanted to take up archery, he would be able to aim the arrow at the bullseye with ease each time with the way he manages to hit his pleasure point with each roll of his hips. He lets out moan after moan, adjusting to the intrusion he begged for, watching as Suguru continues to rut into him with increased fervor. “Guess you really do know how to take cock.”
Satoru is sure that if he tries to answer, it’s going to come out as a series of pathetic gasps and whines so he does the next best thing—starts pushing back against Suguru, meeting every one of his harsh thrusts. Even with the loud smacking noises of their skin hitting each other, it doesn’t drown out Satoru’s cries of bliss; The feeling of Suguru’s cock sliding in and out of him so brutally, stretching him out is really like no other.
His arms start to tremble, struggling to keep their grip on the vanity when he feels the dam holding another orgasm at bay threatening to burst. “Eyes on me,” Suguru commands when he sees Satoru’s head dipping down, noticing that his movements are getting sloppy. His own are no better, a near death grip on Satoru’s hip as he propels his cock in and out at the same pace. “At least you’re letting me hear that pretty little voice of yours.” His pace only falters when he bends over Satoru’s back, burying himself balls deep to whisper in his ear, “Bet you haven’t cried on anyone else's cock like this.”
Satoru clenches around him, gasping for breath when it feels like his organs are fighting for space in his body with Suguru inside him so deep. “I– ngh. ”
“Don’t lie to me either.” As deep as he is, with nowhere else to possibly go Suguru humps his hips harder against Satoru, seemingly trying to create a new depth inside of him. Each movement only presses directly against Satoru’s prostate, doing nothing to help his current argument as more whines fall from his lips, legs starting to become unsteady. “Who else has fucked you like this?”
Satoru wants to taunt, tease. Tell him that he’s been fucked better and harder and he would rather be doing anything else right now, but there’s not a chance he can even lie with the intensity of his body’s reactions. “No one,” he answers weakly.
“What was that?” Violet stares intently into blue in the mirror as he speaks right into his ear again. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“No one has fucked me like this before.”
His hips press in closer, hand pressing down against the bulge again. Suguru hisses, feeling his cock inside of Satoru, right on the brink of his own release. “One more time.”
“No one has fucked me like this before!” Satoru cries, tears dripping off of frosty lashes and streaming down his face.
Suguru knows he has no right to feel as triumphant as he does, being the sole person that is able to bring Satoru to tears on his cock, but he swells with pride anyway. He’s already thrown everything to the wind, abandoning what his most rational self would do. The only thing left to do is indulge, even if it means cleaning up the mess later.
And with the way Satoru’s cock is steadily leaking, hard and untouched between his legs it might be a literal mess he’s left cleaning up.
“That’s right, good fucking boy.” For the second time Suguru reaches around to stroke Satoru’s cock, feeling his rigid length throb in his hand. “You said you wanted your ass stuffed with my cock when you came, right?”
“Oh fuck, I— fuck. ” Satoru sucks in a sharp breath, entire body trembling as Suguru wordlessly strokes his cock, running his thumb over the slit as he stays buried inside, pressing against the spot that makes Satoru see stars. “Suguru I’m going to—fuck, fuck, fuck. ”
“You took me so well, you deserve this,” Suguru praises, his own voice breathless as he pumps Satoru with more vigor. “Bet you've been keeping your hole nice and tight, just for me.”
“D-Does it feel good for you?” Satoru whimpers, voice just a little smaller than before, laced with an uncertainty Suguru has never heard from him before.
“Feels fucking amazing,” Suguru reassures, pressing a kiss to the back of Satoru’s head. “Tightest and hottest ass I’ve ever had.”
The far off corners of Satoru’s vision are filled with bright and twinkling stars, coming again with a whine as his body quakes, jetting out streams of white into Suguru’s hand, pathetically thrusting his hips forward despite the overstimulation starting to take over.
“Finish in me,” Satoru says, voice barely audible, throat incredibly dry as he meets Suguru’s smoldering gaze. “Fill me up, please. ”
He’s already jumped off the deep edge without a life jacket and there’s no boat in time to save him. What’s one more thing to keep driving him deeper and deeper into this abyss.
His lips are latching on to the back of Satoru’s neck as he begins to thrust quickly. No particular rhythm like before but he still manages to hit the right spot each time, Satoru’s hole clenching around him, greedily sucking him in as his breaths come out more ragged. Satoru’s mesh shirt clings to his sweaty body as more curses fall from his lips. Suguru continues to rut into him, gripping his waist so tightly he’s sure it's going to bruise.
“Shit—fuck.” Suguru stills as he presses himself to the hilt again, using Satoru’s hole as a canvas as he paints his insides white. He pushes some hair sticking to his forehead off of his face, only withdrawing from Satoru once he's sure his orgasm has racked through his body.
Satoru whines at the emptiness, hole quivering and leaking a steady stream of Suguru’s cum.
It’s not his place. It would be absolutely out of line.
But Suguru has gone against so many things tonight. Using two fingers he pumps his cum back into Satoru’s tight hole, watching as it clenches around nothing, trying to keep the milky stream in.
Neither of them speak for a few moments, both of them just heaving, trying to regulate their breathing to what it was.
Suguru still feels like he just finished running a marathon, entire body buzzing like a live wire, adrenaline still running hot, but he makes the first move anyway. He bends at the knee, taking time to leave a soft trail of kisses up the back of Satoru’s thighs, over the indents that his nails left in his hips, bending over him and letting his lips press along his spine. He helps him shimmy his pants back up, though it’s even harder now with the tight leather just sticking to his sweaty skin.
Suguru gets his own pants buttoned, looking at everything scattered on the floor in Satoru’s haste. All kinds of makeups—rhinestones and body glitter and eyeshadows that he really doesn’t think Satoru needs at all, but he helps to pick them up, rearranging them on the vanity to the best of his ability.
Satoru quietly watches as Suguru pieces everything back together, reverting the room to the state it was once in. The only evidence of their coupling being the faint smell of sex that’s soon going to fade away.
Suguru motions for Satoru to get his jacket. Legs still weak, he nods, shrugging it on. When Suguru has his own jacket on, he swings Satoru’s bag back on his shoulder and says, “Let’s go.”
The walk to the car is silent, Suguru trailing closely behind Satoru as he always does.
Once they reach the car, Suguru opens the backdoor for Satoru who climbs inside. He lets out a sigh when he goes around to the front seat, the gravity of the situation now weighing heavily on him in these small quarters.
“So… ” Satoru says, voice playful and light, nothing like the starless night beyond the window. “You're gonna come home with me now, huh?”
For the first time, there isn’t a skill in Suguru’s arsenal that can help him in this situation. He’s always been sedulous with everything he does, adhering carefully to the formal and informal. His poise, his equanimity, completely shattered in glass shards at his feet. The glinting fragments are just as tempting to piece back together, but he doesn’t even want to think about the pain that will come with it.
The feeling of failure is unfamiliar and unnerving.
“Put your seatbelt on.”
“Put your seatbelt on, ” Satoru mocks, shaking his head. “Come on, aren’t you?”
“Satoru.” Suguru’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly. “Put your seatbelt on.”
A chill runs down Satoru’s spine at his tone. It’s not the stern one he’s used to, and definitely not the one that was commanding him just moments ago. This one is laced with bite, an irritation that he doesn’t quite understand the origins of.
He complies without a word, buckling himself in as Suguru takes off. He shifts in his seat the whole time, suffocated by the silence in the car. The only thing on his mind is Suguru, and even though they are only mere feet away separated by the space between the front and the back seat, he feels so far away. A distinct distance that makes Satoru ache.
Suguru arrives at the private entrance to Satoru’s condo, the hum of the car hanging between them.
“You’re coming inside, right?” Suguru meets Satoru’s pleading eyes in the rear view mirror, and he wishes he could look away. “You’ll spend the night with me?”
“Satoru… ”
“I’m a great cuddler, you know,” Satoru laughs. This feeling, this thing making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This extrinsic entity that has no place in the body of the Satoru Gojo.
Nerves.
He’s nervous.
He’s stood in front of the biggest CEOs of record labels, the highest in command at the best talent agencies, has performed for thousands upon thousands of people but not one of those moments has made him feel the way he is feeling right now.
Suguru’s gaze lingers on his own, and he hopes that he can’t hear the incessant beating of his heart that's threatening to burst out of his chest with each passing moment of silence.
“I can—”
“That can’t happen again.” It’s as if Satoru didn’t even try to speak with the way Suguru’s words abruptly cut the silence. “It was–”
Was his judgment really that misguided? Suguru doesn’t have the gall to call it a mistake.
Things were always so black and white for him; he had no issue distinguishing between right and wrong. He truly doesn’t know now.
No matter what he kept telling himself to enable him to sleep soundly at night, deep down he knew it was bound to happen. Somehow he knew the moment he met Satoru that he would be entangled with him in some way, he just didn’t think it would result in him feeling so grave.
“It was what?” Satoru’s eyes begin to get glossy, voice trembling as he speaks. His fingers curl into his palms, ignoring the pain of his nails digging into the skin there. It’s no match for the fierce ache forming in the middle of his chest.
“Satoru, stop.”
“It was what?” Satoru repeats, dread running through veins, voice still wobbly.
“Satoru, please.”
“What is it!” Satoru shouts, the tears that were brimming on the bottom of his eyes starting a slow stream down his cheeks. The crystalline drops run hot down his face despite how cold he feels, a cold ache he has no idea how to soothe. “What the fuck is it?”
Suguru can’t bring himself to look at Satoru, not with tear stained eyes and cheeks.
Tears that he is responsible for bringing to the surface.
Was he wrong? Such a large part of himself knows that he was. He shouldn’t have mixed his personal feelings with the job, should have continued with business as usual, kept pushing everything down.
But then there’s that tiny voice telling him that it was inevitable; no matter how hard he fought it was going to happen at some point or another.
Maybe it would have been better at some other point.
He owes this much to Satoru, he can’t be this coward. He meets Satoru’s eyes again, pinning him with a sorrowful gaze. “It won’t happen again.”
Satoru shakes his head, sniffling as tears continue to stream down his cheeks. “Don’t say that.”
“It won’t.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Satoru, please.” Suguru’s voice croaks, and it pains him to look at Satoru any longer. He’s not as brave as he thought. He tears his gaze away again. “Go inside, get some sleep.” Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.
“How could you say that?” Satoru feels his entire body trembling, the ache in his chest making its course to every single part of his body, stabbing him with pain. “How could you say that!” he repeats when he’s met with more silence.
This doesn’t happen. This never happens.
Sure, he’s been surrounded by it, probably has even been the progenitor of it for many people who dare to compete with him, but he’s never experienced it himself.
Rejection sure does sting.
Satoru waits to see if Suguru will meet his gaze again. He doesn’t. It feels like someone twisting a knife right into Satoru’s heart. “I trusted you.”
Suguru knows Satoru almost better than anyone else does. His likes and dislikes, loves and hatreds, further aspirations (Satoru is determined he will be able to be the president one day) and fears (he claims to have none, but refuses to get anywhere near anything with more than four legs). They’re all committed to memory.
This extensive knowledge of Satoru leaves Suguru with one more fact.
Suguru is one of the only people capable of hurting him.
He meets his teary gaze once more, voice pained as he says, “You still should.”
“Suguru.” Satoru’s voice is small, desperate, searching for any bit of the man he was with no more than an hour ago. Not this alien one in front of him telling him everything he doesn't want to hear.
“Mr. Geto,” Suguru hesitantly corrects, voice barely above a whisper.
Satoru feels his lip wobbling uncontrollably, an amalgamation of feelings churning in his gut. He doesn’t know which one it is that’s even making him tear up right now. Maybe it’s the embarrassment, or it could be the anger.
But that doesn’t happen, this shouldn’t be happening.
“Suguru,” he says again, voice smaller than before.
“Please, just go inside.”
“Fuck you.” Satoru reaches for the handle, slamming the door shut behind him, making the car shake.
Suguru wants to chase after him, comfort him, tell him that he didn’t mean to make him feel the way that he does now.
Instead he calls his other team member and tells him that Satoru is home safely. His head slams down on the steering wheel as he waits for his colleague to arrive.
It’s not a surprise his thoughts are filled with white. Not white and blank like he would like right now, but with images of Satoru.
His hair, his lashes, his happy trail.
His emotional innocence that he left torn and tattered.
When his colleague arrives he knows he should stay, go inside even to talk to Satoru right now, but his impulses have caused enough damage today.
As he drives off, Satoru’s condo becomes a small dot in the distance. “It’s better this way,” he sighs, trying his damndest to convince himself that it’s true despite the despair creating a hole in his chest, cracking it open and fracturing him completely.
