Work Text:
Halloween doesn’t mean much to sorcerers. It doesn’t mean anything to Satoru either, but he’s always taken advantage of every excuse to be a menace, and this one’s no different. Shoko’s been too desensitised to care since they were students together, stonewalling everything Satoru does, but Nanami can’t. Not even his short little sabbatical from sorcery taught him how to handle Satoru’s antics.
Megumi’s the same way, only slightly better. He’s had about as long as Nanami to get used to Satoru, but he’s never gotten any better at it either, the same determinedly scowling look on his face every time Satoru sees him. It’s nothing new; Satoru tends to have that effect on people no matter how long they’ve known him. Sometimes, people grow fond enough to almost not mind his presence, but even that runs out eventually, only refreshed by Satoru giving them time to cool off.
Yuuki’s different, though. She always has been. It took her seconds to feel the same reluctant fondness people can take years to feel for him, if they ever do, but Yuuki’s affection has never been reluctant. She’s as tactile as Satoru, matching him beat for beat no matter what he does, and she’s always so genuinely delighted to see him. It’s cute; she’s cute, the fifteen year old vessel of Ryomen Sukuna, except she’s been a whole lot more than that to him for far longer than should be possible.
Satoru doesn’t tend to care about people. Not really, and definitely not personally. But Yuuki wormed her way in somehow, and before Satoru knew it, he was looking at a cold corpse ready to be dissected and wondering why his ribs felt ready to splinter till the shards pierced into his heart.
Shoko called it a soft spot. Satoru doesn’t agree.
The end result is the same, though—Halloween night coinciding with a rare night off, Satoru doing his yearly rounds for the look on Nanami’s and Shoko’s faces, and then veering off towards the cool blue pool of Yuuki’s cursed energy.
She’s near the dorms from the looks of it, no sign of Megumi or Nobara with her. The latter’s off-campus trick or treating—with Maki, maybe, seeing as Yuuki’s not with her to carry her bags. And Megumi’s never done anything special during Halloween, more used to exorcising curses than enjoying himself. It’s a shame; Satoru’s always wanted to force a pair of dog ears and a tail on Megumi. With Yuuki’s puppy eyes around, he could probably pull it off. No one is immune to that lethal look, least of all Megumi.
Satoru rounds the last corner, Six Eyes landing on Yuuki.
He freezes.
Yuuki’s leaning against the wall, pink head bowed over her phone. Her fingers are moving like she’s typing, an unconscious smile touching the edge of her mouth, strands of two-toned hair falling loosely to frame her face. She looks happy, hints of pink dotting her cheeks and the tip of her nose from the cold.
She’s also, Satoru can't help noticing, wearing a skirt.
She’s wearing an entire cheerleading outfit, actually, from the chunky shoes to the cropped top, but the skirt is the part Satoru can’t help staring at, Six Eyes caught on where the hem ends at her thighs.
It’s nothing he’s ever seen her wear before. Yuuki’s always wearing oversized clothes, hoodies and jeans and shorts all too big for her. It’s not insecurity; Satoru’s known that since the night they met on her school roof, Yuuki in nothing but a pair of jeans and still only barely leaning away when a grown man came in close enough to kiss her. There was that time she came back to life too, sitting up and spreading her legs and definitely noticing the three adults in the room while making no move to cover herself. She’d strip after spars sometimes too, peeling her sweat-soaked shirt off to scrub herself clean in the nearby stream close to one of their usual sparring spots. Satoru got used to it.
But it’s been long enough for the body under all that thick fabric to fade from his attention, becoming nothing more than a memory that crosses his mind far too often to be decent.
The hem of the skirt barely reaches Yuuki’s mid-thigh. The way she’s got her hip cocked doesn’t help, the hem riding up almost indecently high, threatening to flash panties.
Or threatening to show if she isn’t wearing any.
Of course she is. It’s October, and Yuuki runs so cold she doesn’t even sweat in her uniform. There’s no way she’s not wearing pants underneath her skirt. Maybe she’s even wearing a pair of shorts too.
But she might not be.
“Sensei?” asks a voice far too sweet for the thoughts Satoru’s having.
He blinks; the skirt is still there, slicing across soft skin, and a whole lot closer than before.
Yuuki’s wearing thigh-high socks. They look like cotton, tracing the flex of muscle running all the way up her calves and thighs.
“Sensei?” repeats that same voice, confused and a little concerned, lilting up at the edges.
Satoru snaps back to life, straightening out of his slouch. “Yuuki-chan!”
Phone slipping into her waistband, Yuuki smiles up at him, eyes almost crinkling closed. “How was your day, sensei?”
“The usual,” he says, wondering if he can trust his mouth right now. The socks, the skirt, the shirt—his eyes can’t stop trailing across them, fixing on new details. It’s times like these that the blindfold really comes in handy. “The holidays don’t change it much, as Nanami likes to remind me, but when else can I get him to wear a costume?”
“What was the costume?”
“Cat ears,” Satoru chirps, and Yuuki tips her head back and laughs, hair trailing along her shoulders to expose the slope of her neck, the curve of her collarbones. Satoru keeps talking. “He looked so disgruntled, you know, even though the cat ears suited him well. I even made sure they matched his hair! Really, he should be grateful. I put a lot of effort into it.”
“He should,” Yuuki agrees, the leftovers of her laughter clinging to her voice. “It sounds like a really nice costume.”
“It was,” Satoru agrees. Nanami tore the ears off the second he registered them enough to scowl, but it still wasn’t quick enough to stop Satoru from taking a picture. “What about yours?”
“Mine?”
“It is a costume you’re wearing, isn’t it? Not your uniform.” If Yuuki starts regularly wearing a skirt, Satoru’s going to have to hide behind his podium.
“Oh!” Yuuki looks down at herself, examining her body with the same critical stare she treats curses to. Satoru looks down too, his reasons a whole lot less wholesome. If he keeps his eyes above her waist, it almost helps—but he’s still treated to the slice of skin between Yuuki’s hips and ribs, exposed by the short length of her shirt. It’s tighter than her usual fare too, showing off the muscle in her shoulders and arms.
Eighty kilograms of muscle, Shoko’s bored voice said once, with a fat percentage in the single digits. It was the professional curiosity of a nearly-mad scientist.
Satoru’s feeling a little near-mad too.
“Kugisaki got me it,” Yuuki tells him, tugging at the hem of her skirt. It slips an inch, the waistband sinking down her hips; Satoru’s got to swallow around a helpless sound, eyes fixed on the sun-kissed hint of Yuuki’s adonis belt. “Well, kinda. She made me carry all her bags, and then she saw a costume I thought she liked, except then she told me to try it on.” Yuuki’s nose wrinkles, but her eyes are smiling. “It was this or a pumpkin costume.”
“Because you’re a ‘country bumpkin’?” Satoru asks, and he’s almost proud of how steady his voice sounds. “How cruel. You should’ve at least been allowed to go as a witch.”
Yuuki laughs softly. “That’s Kugisaki’s costume. She said I didn’t suit it.”
“Did she,” Satoru asks, missing the tone of a question. He knows he shouldn’t even before he opens his mouth, but he can’t resist adding, “You suit this one.”
Yuuki looks pleased, warm and fond from eyes to mouth. “You’re sweet, sensei.”
Satoru doesn’t feel sweet. He barely feels sane.
“I figured you’d say that though,” Yuuki goes on, and the surprised gratefulness is still there in her voice, but something else is too. Satoru gets caught on it, leaning in like he’s got to get closer to hear. “Y’know, it was hard to tell where you were looking when I first met you. Your blindfold really doesn’t help. Kinda made it a guessing game, and it’s not like asking you would’ve helped—you would’ve just told me to learn.”
“I would've,” Satoru agrees shamelessly. “Curses don’t always have eyes to conveniently let you know what they’re aiming for, Yuuki-chan. It’s good training.”
Yuuki only hums. “Yeah. Except you’re not a curse, are you, sensei?” Her head tilts,; her waterfall of hair shifts with it, pooling on her shoulder. The look on her face doesn’t change. “You’re a pervert.”
Satoru almost chokes on air. “What?”
“Are you gonna try and deny it?” She sounds genuinely curious and nothing else, but her mouth tilts, smile sharpening into something that’s almost a smirk. Satoru can’t help staring, for once stunned genuinely speechless. Of all the people to call him out, he somehow hadn’t expected Yuuki to. He didn’t even expect her to notice.
He should have, probably. Yuuki’s always been a quick learner. And she’s not blind to attention, only mostly oblivious to the meaning behind it till it’s made clear.
Still. “What makes you so sure? I could just be admiring Nobara’s handiwork.”
Yuuki has to have picked up that expression from Nanami. It’s a look that asks how many times Satoru was dropped on his head as a child.
All Yuuki says out loud, though, is, “How stupid do you think I am, sensei?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, pulling away from the wall to straighten up properly for the first time. It’s an infinitesimal movement of weight, Yuuki barely shifting before she settles back onto the soles of her chunky shoes, but Satoru’s eyes still fasten themselves to the sway of her skirt, watching the hem ride up till it’s baring even more of the skin not hidden under her thigh-high socks, the cotton a shock of white against the tan of her thigh.
“Seriously?” Yuuki only sounds amused—amused and fond, because her catching Satoru staring hasn’t killed any of her sincere enjoyment at seeing him.
That, somehow, is more of a shock than Yuuki learning to know where Satoru’s looking even through his blindfold.
Satoru can’t help smiling, only a little helpless. “Seriously,” he confirms, watching Yuuki’s head shake in response. It’s the same quiet, fond amusement he’s used to seeing on her, everything from the look on her face to the one in her eyes confirming what Satoru’s wondered since that day in the morgue.
Yuuki really, truly doesn’t mind.
Well. If she doesn’t, then Satoru doesn’t either. He reaches out, wondering if he should bother moving slowly enough for Yuuki to react in some way, but all she does is lean back against the wall and watch him through her lashes, warm brown eyes almost black in the lack of light.
Her thighs aren’t soft when he touches them—at least, the muscle definition underneath her skin isn’t. Shoko wasn’t kidding; Yuuki’s in peak physical condition, more defined at fifteen than even Satoru was at seventeen, but her skin is smooth and soft where Nobara must’ve convinced her to shave, Satoru’s hand gliding up it when he tucks his fingertips under the hem of the skirt that’s been dragging his attention to it again and again with every little from movement from Yuuki.
The hem catches on his wrist, riding up, and Satoru’s treated to the sight of even more skin. It shouldn’t get to him the way it does when he’s seen this girl naked once, seen her shirtless even more, but there’s something about the little strip of exposed skin between the top of her thigh-highs and the hem of her skirt that makes him want, heat thrumming through his blood.
“Do you think I owe Nobara a gift basket?”
Yuuki snorts. Her body doesn’t shift, but her head tilts so she can look up properly at Satoru, laughter shining in her eyes and curving her mouth. “I think she’d gut you if she knew what it was for.”
“Probably.” The girl’s a spitfire, never taking any of Satoru’s shit. If she knew about this, she would come after his head—but she doesn’t, and the threat of it isn’t nearly enough to stop him.
The skin on Yuuki’s legs really is so soft, dimpling under Satoru’s fingertips when he applies a little pressure. It’s not a request, but Yuuki’s knees slide wider, giving him room, opening up just enough to reveal the paler stretch of skin on the inside of her thighs, muscle flexing.
Satoru’s got to stop his hands from clenching. It’s almost mesmerising, the awareness of how strong Yuuki is; she can rip through concrete with nothing but her hands and run quickly enough to tear up the ground under her, but she’s soft everywhere Satoru touches, cotton candy wrapped around steel.
His hand inches a little higher, almost disappearing entirely under Yuuki’s skirt.
He doesn’t know whether or not to be disappointed when he feels cotton cupping the curve of Yuuki’s ass, but something must show on his face well enough for Yuuki to grin at him. “Did you think I was naked under here?” She only sounds a little teasing.
“A little.” Yuuki’s expression goes deadpan; Satoru bites down on a smile. “What? It’s not my fault the skirt is so short.” He pinches the hem and pulls it down just to prove it. “You can’t hide a lot under here.”
“Lucky you.”
“I am very blessed,” Satoru agrees, just bland enough to make Yuuki grin again, before he rests a hand on her waist. She’s a lot less soft here; her hipbone could almost cut into his palm, the musculature of her stomach rising and falling with her steady breathing under his thumb. Dragging his nail across her stomach earns him a shiver, Yuuki’s nose wrinkling like it felt more ticklish than teasing. Satoru notes it down for later and keeps touching her, one hand on her waist and the other tucked up under the back of her skirt, splaying over her soft cotton panties.
Grabbing a handful and squeezing gets him what he was looking for—Yuuki slings an arm over his shoulders and pulls, pressing them together from throat to thigh, before she fists a hand in his hair and yanks, harsh enough to sting.
Satoru can feel himself shudder. Pressed this close, Yuuki can too, her eyes narrow and dark on his through the blindfold. The flush is still there on her face, touching her cheeks and jaw and the tips of her ears, but it’s darkened since, turned a deeper pink. As still as she stayed through Satoru groping her, it didn’t leave her unaffected.
He smiles, slow and sharp, gratified when Yuuki’s eyes drop to fix on his mouth. “Did I go too far, Yuuki-chan?”
“Put us in an empty classroom?”
Satoru blinks. “An empty classroom?” It’s well within his capabilities, considering the size of campus and the range of his warping, but it’s not what he expected. “Not your dorm room?”
“That’s not what I want,” Yuuki says; her voice is just sharp enough to make Satoru twitch, leaning down and in, almost crushing Yuuki against the wall. The fist in his hair softens, stroking along his scalp to cup his nape instead. “An empty classroom, sensei.”
Reality unravels around them. To Yuuki, it doesn’t even last a second, and a little spatial distortion isn’t enough to rattle her. She drops neatly into space with him, hand still in his hair, looking around curiously at their new surroundings.
Satoru did put some consideration into which classroom to borrow. The windows and managers cleaned this area recently, and it’s far enough away for the distance to act as sound-proofing. If it occurs to someone to look for them, they’ll be starting on almost the other side of campus. This little corner is wholly theirs.
Yuuki knows none of that, but she seems to trust his judgement, stepping back and out of his loose hold. She keeps going, backing up till she hits a desk, and then she sits on top of it.
The spread of her thighs under her skirt, the way the hem rides up, the flash of panties—Satoru’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth and stays there, hands flexing uselessly.
It really shouldn’t fuck him up so much to see this girl in a skirt. He’s seen her naked. He met her shirtless. But the cheerleader outfit hides as much as it shows, her socks slipping lower and her skirt hem slipping higher, baring the muscle in her thighs.
“Are you just gonna stare at me again?”
It’s not mocking. It’s not even really teasing, the curve to Yuuki’s mouth more sweet than serrated, like she’d let him look if he wanted to.
There’s no world in which Satoru only looks at something when he can touch it instead.
His hands settle on Yuuki’s thighs, thumbs dimpling the soft insides. Sitting on the desk, Yuuki’s almost completely level with him, eyes meeting his perfectly through the blindfold. That should’ve been his first clue, probably, or at least a good enough warning sign for him to realise Yuuki would know where he’s looking even with his eyes covered.
It did get him here, though. Satoru’s got no complaints.
Yuuki doesn’t seem to either, looking at him the same way he must’ve looked at her. The appreciation there is nothing new, but the warmth is, and the way Yuuki’s gaze wanders and the places it wanders to—his mouth, always, but his jaw and throat too, the spam of his shoulders and the width of his waist and his own thighs even through the unflattering uniform.
Satoru preens under it. “Like what you see?”
Instead of answering, Yuuki kisses him.
It’s answer enough. For a second, it’s as soft as the look on her face was, and then it’s as blisteringly hot as the look in her eyes. Satoru opens up for it on sheer, desperate want, before he presses close enough for the lip of the desk to dig into his legs, for the press of Yuuki’s own thighs to close around his, solid even through the thick layer of his uniform. His hands stay on Yuuki’s thighs, gripping the thick muscle there, but Yuuki’s hands roam wherever they want, climbing up the length of his chest to cup his throat, his jaw, his cheek, fingertips and then nails digging in, biting pressure that makes Satoru groan in his throat and try to press closer somehow even though he’s all out of space to climb inside.
Yuuki’s fingertips slip under his blindfold, palm pressed to his cheek. Satoru presses into it too, nuzzling in, and Yuuki makes a soft little noise in the back of her throat Satoru already knows will bloom in his mind during all the most inappropriate moments—
Teeth sink into his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood.
A noise tears free of Satoru’s throat, too deep and too desperate.
When he pulls back to breathe, Yuuki’s mouth is red and wet, a smear of blood dotting her bottom lip.
The look in her eyes almost raises the hair on Satoru’s neck. The pitch-black of her pupils has eaten all the way into her eyes, devouring the warm brown there. With the red of his blood staining her mouth, she looks almost animalistic, more hungry than wanting.
It goes straight to Satoru’s dick.
“You liked that a lot more than I thought you would,” Yuuki says, her voice as hungry as the depthless black in her eyes, but the hand on Satoru’s face softens, a thumb smoothing across his cheek, so carefully gentle he wouldn’t feel it if ever inch of him wasn’t hyper-aware of every point of contact
He’s got to clear the rasp out of his throat before he can speak. “Did you not want me to? For shame, Yuuki-chan. For shame.”
Yuuki only hums, still cupping his face, and then: “I want you to eat me out.”
Satoru's hands turn into vices. If Yuuki was anyone else, she’d bruise, but all she does is blink slowly, smiling like Satoru’s reaction surprised her somehow.
He pulls his fingers away, one by one, and grips the desk instead. “Repeat that.”
“You heard me.” Yuuki’s still smiling, but the amusement there looks almost indulgent when she presses her thumb to Satoru’s bottom lip, applying pressure till it dimples. It’s nothing close to a pin, the hold not even close to being a restraint, but Satoru still feels caught, held in place under the heat in Yuuki’s eyes. “Are you going to, sensei?”
There have been times in Satoru’s life where he’s been genuinely convinced he’s about to lose his mind.
This beats all of them.
Dropping to his knees is less of a conscious choice and more of a decision to enjoy his last few seconds feeling sane. His hands drop with him, curling around Yuuki’s ankles instead of the desk. It’s easy enough to pull her legs over his shoulders, giving him room, except then he’s treated to what’s under Yuuki’s skirt.
He felt the cotton earlier, but he didn’t feel the lace edging or the cute bow on the front. He definitely didn’t feel the wetness he can fucking see, the sheer pink of Yuuki’s panties turned almost translucent where she’s soaked through them, and it’s nothing he’s never seen before, the panties not even designed to seduce, but he’s still got to press his mouth almost urgently to the soft skin of Yuuki’s inner thigh, his hands flexing around his knees.
Above him, Yuuki says dryly, “You missed.”
It’s enough to startle a laugh out of Satoru. “I can’t take my time?” he asks, except Yuuki fists a hand in his hair and pulls, the sting in his scalp pouring down his spine, and presses his face to her cunt.
Satoru tries to move, tilting his face, except the hold in his hair only tightens. The thighs thrown over his shoulders do too, Yuuki’s leg tensing to tug him closer, lock him in, cage him close, and Satoru shudders all over with a thin, muffled sound, sucking in a breath, but he fucking plays himself because he only gets a lungful of cunt, the smell of Yuuki’s slick filling his head till it swims.
Opening up for it is instinct, tongue pushing flat and wide against the line of her cunt. Yuuki breathes out a sound, her hand relaxing in his hair, smoothing through the strands to cup his nape, but she doesn’t let him go—she pushes, thumb digging into the short hairs there till all Satoru can do is pant with his mouth open, licking her through her panties, his nails sinking into his knees sharp enough to sting through the thick fabric.
“Sensei,” Yuuki damn near sighs, and like this, panting on his knees for her, Satoru almost can’t help it.
His cursed energy pulses, atomising the cute panties that won’t stop getting in his way, and finally, he can get his mouth on the source—Yuuki’s cunt, hot and wet and right fucking here.
Satoru’s never choked on cunt before, but he tries his best to now, swallowing what drips down his throat and licking up the rest. Yuuki doesn’t open up for it so much as she makes sure he’s got no choice but to, legs pulling him in till Satoru’s neck aches with the angle, his knees spreading wider for balance. The hand in his hair doesn’t help, the pressure pulling on his scalp, but it feels like an anchor too, something to hold him in place while he tries to down.
Yuuki’s just so hot here. Slick drips down her thigh to smear his cheeks, and she keeps clenching against his tongue, little rhythmic pulses that make Satoru dig his nails so deep into his legs the skin gives through the fabric. He can feel every flex of muscle in her legs, the heels of her chunky shoes digging into his shoulders and sides, and Satoru tries to press closer, moaning so low in his throat it feels like he’ll choke on it, but he can’t.
At least Yuuki feels the same way. Her hand’s brutal in his hair, crushing his face close, and the cage of her legs is a vice, keeping him from even twitching away. She’s not even giving him the space he needs to breathe, all his exhales coming out in heated huffs of breath that just make Yuuki clench again, wetness drooling down her cunt, her fingers flexing in her hair, her other hand gripping the wood. Satoru can hear it splintering, giving under her strength, and she must be keeping herself so carefully control even now to stop the wood from shattering.
It goes straight to Satoru’s head and dick both, the control of her strength and the control of his breathing. He’s so hard it hurts, cock one urgent pulse between his legs.
He’s got to pull a hand off his knees, digging the heel of his hand into the aching need between his legs—
Something digs into the skin of his hand, forcing it off his crotch and crushing it flat to the floor, and Satoru can’t help the sound he makes, a choked-off whine all in the back of his throat, his fingers sinking into the floor underneath. Yuuki’s shoe only presses down harder, keeping his hand splayed out uselessly, and it’s an absent thought Satoru barely means to act on, impulse and a need to test it, that makes him pull his other hand off his knee.
It gets the same treatment, pinned in place under Yuuki’s shoe.
Satoru shudders all over. His hands flex helplessly, his thighs trembling, opening up, but Yuuki doesn’t shift an inch or give him one. All he’s got free is his mouth, and even that’s under Yuuki’s thumb, her hand still gripping his hair.
He’s here for her to use—a face for her to ride, a mouth for her to fill.
Satoru makes a sound like an animal and digs in till Yuuki’s all he can taste, all he can feel. His hands stand pinned in place, his head held there still, but Yuuki lets him eat her with growing frenzy, his tongue messy on her, his face soaked.
He can hear here, barely, over the rush in his ears. Her breaths are coming faster, shallower, moans scattering in his skull like sparks, but it’s the way her hips are rolling that’s killing him quickly, her cunt clenching and her stomach flexing with every movement. She’s practically riding his tongue, giving him no room to breathe, and when he licks over her clit Yuuki’s control finally slips, her fingers going straight through the desk, the wood turned to dust.
That slip of control he caused, Yuuki’s perfect precision with her body slipping just enough—it makes Satoru whine, so high and thin it almost hurts, his body burning, his blood turned to magma as he sucks, cheeks hallowing, mouth married to the hot heart of her.
There’s a rush of slick; Satoru licks at it desperately, wondering almost distantly if this is how dying men in deserts feel when they’re crawling towards water, the sheer mindless need turning his world into a hot, pulsing haze.
Yuuki yanks his head back, pulling his mouth away. All Satoru can do is hang there in her grip and breathe in quick, choppy gasps. He can feel the wetness all over his face, the tip of his nose and the apple of his cheeks soaked with it.
There’s no warning when Yuuki hauls him up onto his feet. Satoru almost stumbles, catching himself with a hand by her thigh. Even if he did crash, he’s sure Yuuki would’ve caught him on her mouth, the hand in his hair pulling him down till he’s close enough for Yuuki to lick his face.
“Fuck,” Satoru scrapes out, voice a raspy ruin. Yuuki’s tongue drags hotly up his chin and jaw and cheek, her mouth as hungry as Satoru felt with his face between her legs, doing his best to drown, and then Yuuki’s licking into his mouth to clean him there too.
It’s enough to make Satoru’s knees wobble, his cock pulsing urgently, but he doesn’t reach down to touch himself and Yuuki doesn’t even seem to consider it. She’s still licking into his open mouth, fingers hooking over his teeth to force it wider. Satoru can almost taste the smear of his dried blood on her bottom lip, but it’s faint, only a red memory of Yuuki’s mouth reminding him it was ever there.
Eventually, Yuuki pulls away. Her fingers slip out of his mouth, spit-slick when they cup his jaw. Satoru’s almost tempted to slump into it, looking back at Yuuki through heavy-lidded eyes, tracing the sheen of sweat on her cheeks and throat, the length of her hair spilling down her broad back.
The pretty, pink part of her mouth, and the slick still shining there.
Satoru must look even worse. Or better, probably, considering who’s looking at him and what she did to the mess she made on his face.
“Tell me honestly,” Satoru says, his voice still scraping out his voice. “Was all that just so you could lick me clean?”
Yuuki snorts. “I did want you to eat me out.”
“I noticed.” Cock still aching, he adds, “I didn’t realise that was all you wanted me to do.”
Yuuki looks genuinely confused for a second, frowning at him, and then her eyes drop down to the space between his legs. “Huh.”
“Huh,” Satoru agrees flatly, except he can’t help the flash of amusement or the way his dick twitches.
“You won’t die if you wait a little longer.”
Satoru’s jaw drops.
Yuuki’s response is a laugh soothed by the press of her mouth to the edge of his, her smile so wide Satoru can feel It. “How about this,” she muses, her voice warm and thick, and Satoru holds carefully still while she noses at his cheek. “I’m going out with Kugisaki soon. We’re going trick or treating. But when I get back…”
“But?” Satoru asks, a breathless, helpless edge to his voice. It’s not his fault, really, the way this particular girl gets to him.
Yuuki leans back to smile at him, and there’s the serrated edge Satoru kept expecting, the promise of something with teeth. “You’ll be my treat, sensei. I’ll eat you then.”
Satoru’s looking forward to it.