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Satoru Gojo is tired of being a virgin.
He’s over it, moved on, done.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being a virgin, of course - even though he's nineteen, and losing one’s v-card is maybe, kinda sorta important to a lot of other people his age, he’s never once felt ashamed of the fact that he’s never had sex with anyone.
Mostly because he’s incapable of feeling even the least bit self-conscious, but also because it’s not a big deal, yeah? Virginity as a hallmark of value or worth is just some stupid medieval concept that’s somehow managed to linger on into the present day.
It’s archaic, dumb - meaningless, even.
So losing it is no big deal, right?
It’s just another part of life, no different from having your first drink or smoking your first cigarette, and Satoru is always down for new life experiences.
Really, when he thinks about it, now’s just the right time.
Things have finally calmed down after Riko Amanai’s unfortunate death; jujutsu society is no longer in an uproar over Tengen’s failed assimilation. He and Suguru graduated last year and have been put to work exorcizing curses, and summer has once again given way to fall, cool mornings and chilly evenings taking the place of the hot, humid Tokyo nights.
They have time to breathe again; they have time to think, the slog of missions and barely addressed trauma and life finally slowing to something resembling a normal pace.
But the most important change, he thinks, is that he’s moved out of the school. He and Suguru had gotten a place of their own in one of the surrounding neighborhoods this past spring, settling down into the kind of easy domesticity that had seemed impossible even just a year ago, and that’s -
Well, it’s kinda pivotal to his plans.
Because he isn’t about to have sex in the same uncomfortable twin bed he’d been forced to use for the entirety of his high school years.
Hell no.
He doesn’t know much about sex beyond what he’s gleaned from porn and a handful of really bad self-help (self-love?) books the school had had in the library, but there’s got to be some correlation between mattress size and performance, right? Between the width of the bed frame and the number of positions one can safely contort their body into?
He’s not a scientist, but that’s just common sense.
If he’s going to be having sex, he needs a bed big enough for him to be comfortable, and Satoru isn’t small. He doesn’t want to have to add worrying about falling off the mattress to the list of things to be concerned about for his first venture into this new world of sexual pleasure.
And that’s to say nothing of the fact that the school wasn’t really private.
Satoru’s not a prude; he knows what people do in the sanctitude of their own bedrooms in the middle of the night, and he doesn’t judge them for it.
But the walls of the dorms were notoriously thin; more than once, he can remember waking up to the sound of hushed moans drifting through the ventilation, not quite muffled by the plaster and insulation. He’s heard more than one of his friends getting off behind closed doors, and while he’s always tried to not really pay attention to that sort of thing, it’s also kind of impossible to ignore.
Having a private apartment, then, is just -
Better.
He can be as loud as he wants without the fear of someone overhearing; he doesn’t have to worry about keeping his friends up at night if it turns out that he’s a screamer.
Again, not that he’s concerned!
Because he’s not.
He’s had enough orgasms at this point that he knows what he likes, and he’s not self-conscious about it. He may not have any experience, sure, but he thinks he’ll pick up kissing and oral and fucking just as quickly as he’s managed to learn everything else in his life.
It’s not like he’s going to be graded on this shit.
But he does want to be prepared, and so he’s given this a lot of thought - he’s put way too much time and effort into determining how he wants this to happen, and through his careful planning, he’s come up with three very important conditions for the big event:
- First, he has to smell his absolute best. Which is why he plans to take a big bubble bath the night of, with the fancy body wash he likes that makes him smell like a peach.
- Second, he has to look his best. Which means having sex at night, because ambient mood lighting is both easier on his eyes and best for his complexion.
- And last but not least, he has to feel his best. And since there’s only one person he’ll ever trust to take care of him, since he’ll only ever accept that sort of vulnerability with one other person, it has to be -
Suguru, obviously.
No one else will do.
Part of that is just familiarity, sure.
They’re already as close as two people can be; Suguru lives with him, for fuck’s sake. He’s put up with Satoru for the better part of four years now, with only minor complaints about his eating habits and his tendency to leave dishes and wrappers and gently used clothing wherever he goes. They share an apartment, a closet, and a beat-up old bicycle that Suguru insists on taking to the grocery store instead of just taking the bus like a normal person. When one of them cooks, the other cleans, and they’re always bringing each other back little snacks and goodies when one of them goes out alone.
Fuck, more often than not, they even crash in the same bed after one of them falls asleep during a movie night. They end up having to peel themselves apart in the morning, untangling their limbs from where they’ve unconsciously sought out the other’s warmth as they slept.
Obnoxiously codependent, Shoko calls it. They’re practically glued at the hip.
But more than that, it’s -
Well.
Suguru has seen him at his worst. He’s been there during Satoru’s most vulnerable moments, the only person Satoru’s ever felt comfortable enough with to truly let his guard down.
He’s listened as Satoru raged and lashed out at the world around him.
He’s held him afterwards when he’s cried.
If Satoru is uncomfortable, Suguru can tell; he can read between the lines, in a way no one else can, and he’s long since learned to interpret his expressions and idiosyncrasies. Even when Satoru is being obstinate, refusing to say what he really means, Suguru knows, and that’s -
Comforting.
Reassuring.
It sets his mind at ease, and while he’s not really nervous about having sex for the first time, he is - uneasy, he guesses. A little concerned that something’s going to go wrong, or that maybe it won’t be quite what he’s expecting. It’s something he hasn’t done before, after all, and so while he isn’t trying to lose his virginity just to get it over with, he would definitely prefer to do it with someone who cares about him, someone he knows won’t ever judge him.
Not to mention, someone with experience would be nice.
And boy, does Suguru have experience.
How could he not?
He’s just way too friendly and likable to still be a virgin, even if Satoru knows most of it is all for show. He’s too warm and too funny and too kind, and don’t even get him started on just how fucking hot Suguru’s gotten in the last couple of years or so.
With those teasing smirks, those subtle glances… those warm, gentle hands juxtaposed with that cruel, nihilistic smile, and that fucking body… Suguru knows exactly what he’s doing every time he posts a photograph to his Facebook, and even if he keeps his page relatively private, he’s not fooling anybody with those gym pics.
No one posts pictures of their abs with the hemline of their shirt between their teeth unless they know what they’re fucking packing, and Suguru - god help him - is packing.
Honestly, it’s just not fair - that one person can be so attractive.
And Satoru knows he’s not the only one to have noticed. Hell, they can barely go on a mission together these days without Suguru getting at least one person’s name or phone number while they’re out, and though he knows Suguru isn’t really doing anything to draw attention to himself, it’s still irritating.
It’s still frustrating that other people notice the muscle he’s packed on the last few years, the last handful of centimeters he’s gained that have left him almost of a height with Satoru.
It annoys him that Suguru has thought to enhance his already kinda edgy looks with eyeliner and black nail polish and a handful of new piercings, not because Satoru doesn’t like the look - but because other people so clearly like it, too, and Satoru would rather keep it all to himself.
He would rather keep his very hot, very sexy one and only best friend locked away for no one else to ever see but him, but that’s -
Not very nice, he guesses.
To Suguru or the world at large, because keeping that sort of physical perfection hidden is just wrong on so many levels.
So he manages.
He deals, even when he gets grumpy and cagey whenever they go out in public, having to fight every instinct in his body not to cling to Suguru like plastic wrap. He settles for the knowledge that he’s the only one who can reach out and grab Suguru’s hand, that he’s the only person whose touches Suguru leans into instead of away from. That’s good enough for now, he thinks, and if he sometimes feels like throwing up when he thinks about one day having to witness Suguru reciprocating a stranger’s affections? If he sometimes wants to be the one Suguru holds at night, wants to kiss him so badly he aches?
Well, that’s a problem for tomorrow.
His feelings can wait until he feels more comfortable addressing them.
Because right now, he still needs to think of how to broach the topic with Suguru. He has to figure out the last step in his plan -
Namely, how to get Suguru to agree to fuck him stupid.
He doesn’t think it’ll be too hard.
Satoru’s a pretty persuasive guy (though whether this is due to his charisma or his sheer propensity to annoy the shit out of every other person he comes into contact with is still up for debate), and he already has his argument mapped out. He just -
Needs to find the right moment.
He has to wait until the mood is perfect, and then he’ll sit Suguru down and lay out his plan. He’ll list out the pros and cons of sleeping together, he’ll address any concerns Suguru might have, and then, hopefully, they’ll fuck!
It’s foolproof, he thinks.
There’s no way Suguru will decline.
Or, at least, he hopes so - because that would really put a damper on things. That would really fuck things up between them, and considering they live together -
Yeah, that’d be hella awkward.
But again, Satoru feels that’s a worst case scenario.
Suguru turning him down would be nothing short of catastrophe, and while it’s impossible for anyone to predict every possible outcome in a scenario like this, he’s thought about this way too much for things to go that badly.
He just has to have a little tact, yeah?
He’ll just have to read the room and react accordingly, which - he can do that.
Of course he can. He’s Satoru Gojo; he can do anything when he puts his mind to it, whether that’s learning arcane jujutsu techniques, eating enough sugar to put a small child into a coma, or convincing his best friend to sleep with him.
No problem.
No big deal.
He can totally do that.
Satoru totally cannot do this.
The two of them are sitting on the couch together, watching some dumb TV show Shoko had recommended as the afternoon bleeds into evening. Suguru has an arm loosely draped around his shoulder, and Satoru’s dug his toes into the space beneath Suguru’s thighs, knees knocking gently into his ribs beneath the blanket he’s dredged up from the hall closet.
It’s the perfect time to broach the subject of losing his virginity.
It’s a great time to pop the question.
And yet they’ve been sitting here for the better part of an hour now, not saying a word as they bask in each other’s presence and watch shitty dramedies on MTV, and Satoru -
Well, Satoru just can’t bring himself to do it.
He can’t quite work up the courage, not when Suguru’s just come back from a mission earlier that day, not when he looks so exhausted and soft and happy to be home. He doesn’t want to break the silence; he doesn’t want to pop the warm, comfortable little bubble they find themselves in, even as his mind itches with the question.
The words are already on the tip of his tongue, just begging to be asked.
And yet all he can do is stare, his throat slowly going dry as he takes Suguru in.
Because Suguru is -
Stunning, even now.
Even though he’s practically falling asleep beside Satoru on the couch, the remnants of his eyeliner smudged around his eyes, a handful of scrapes and bruises dotting his arms and neck, he’s beautiful. He’s dressed down for the night, clad in a comfy pair of pajama pants and a loose, oversized sweatshirt. The neckline drapes low around his throat, exposing the sharp, hard lines of his collarbones, and his hair is still damp from the shower he’d taken.
A couple pieces are plastered to the side of his neck, and Satoru wants to touch them.
He wants to reach a hand out and twist them around his fingers, to see if Suguru’s hair really is as soft as it looks.
He bets it is.
He bets it feels like silk.
But there’s really no platonic explanation for touching your best friend’s hair, not unless you’re trying to help them style it, and since Satoru’s preferred method of hair care is waking up like this, he’s shit out of luck. He’s resigned to keeping his hands to himself, hoping that Suguru doesn’t notice the furtive looks he keeps sending his way, and -
“Do you not like this show?”
Well, shit.
So much for going undetected.
Satoru tenses, caught, as Suguru turns towards him, a soft smile on his tired face.
“I like it fine,” he replies, shrugging.
Suguru quirks an eyebrow. “You’re not paying attention.”
“Yeah, well, it’s -”
He flounders, trying to come up with an appropriate adjective.
He doesn’t find one.
“Stupid.”
Suguru snorts, grabbing for the remote. “We can watch something else, you know,” he points out, ever practical. “I only put this on because you were watching it last night.”
He was?
Huh.
Satoru remembers a grand total of nothing about the plot, the characters’ names and faces utterly unknown to him. He doesn’t recall anything save the way Suguru had been sitting beside him, his thigh pressing insistently against Satoru’s as he worked at something on his laptop.
But if Suguru says that he was watching it, then that’s what he must have been doing.
He pays attention like that; he’s always noticing the little things that Satoru does and says, taking care of him in that quiet, thoughtful way of his, and that’s -
“Will you fuck me?”
- not what he means to say, Jesus Christ.
The question pops out before he can pull it back, carried forward on the current of affection and trust and hope that Suguru’s careful attention has evoked, and Satoru freezes.
He opens his mouth, scrambling to think of something else he can say to play it off, some joke he can make that will diffuse the sudden tension.
But nothing comes to mind.
For once in his life, he’s speechless, and Suguru, staring at him with very wide, very confused eyes, his jaw gone slack as he gapes at Satoru, isn’t helping the matter.
Suguru recovers first, withdrawing his arm from around Satoru’s shoulders to wipe a hand over his face. “Satoru,” he murmurs, “What - what the fuck -”
His voice draws Satoru from his stupor.
“Shit,” he says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts, “Fuck, sorry, I - I promise that wasn’t - that wasn’t as random as it sounds, I swear -”
“You want me to fuck you?”
“...I mean, yes? Kind of?”
Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose, twisting so that he’s facing Satoru more fully. “You can’t just - you can’t just ask someone to fuck you, Satoru, what the fuck.”
Satoru frowns at that.
Because why not?
How is asking someone to have sex with you any different than asking them to do, literally, anything else with you? It’s a little more personal, sure, maybe a little more intimate.
But he and Suguru already know everything about each other. Growing up together has meant that they’ve discussed everything from their greatest fears to their darkest secrets to their biggest turn-ons. They’ve bandaged each other’s wounds, slept in the same bed; they’ve washed each other’s dirty fucking underwear, for fuck’s sake, so why would this question be off the table? Why would this be off-limits?
It shouldn’t be, not unless -
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Suguru’s going to turn him down after all. That’s why this particular inquiry is taboo.
He doesn’t want Satoru, not that way. The horrified expression on his face suggests that he’s so appalled by the question that he’s scrambling to try and find something kind to say, something to turn Satoru down gently, something that won’t hurt his feelings.
The thought has Satoru recoiling, pulling his feet back to tuck under his knees. He looks away, hurt, wishing he could hide the way his cheeks have gone red as a beet - but his complexion means he’s always been prone to blushing, his face betraying him at every fucking opportunity, and this, he finds, is no exception.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says, forcing out a humorless chuckle.
Suguru sighs. “Satoru -”
“I take it back! Forget I said anything!”
He makes to stand, ready to put as much distance between the two of them as he can. But because things can never be simple, he ends up stumbling over his own feet as he attempts to weave around the coffee table. He trips, falls, and nearly bashes his head in -
Or, at least, he would have, if Suguru wasn’t there to catch him.
But Suguru leans forward, his strong hands curling around Satoru’s arms, keeping him steady just as he threatens to tip over and hit his head, and that -
It’s too much.
Satoru jerks back, dusting imaginary debris from his shirt as he veers away. “Sorry,” he says. “Should’ve watched where I was going -”
Suguru makes an unhappy noise, his palms sliding down to wrap around Satoru’s wrists. “Are you okay?” he asks.
Satoru barks out a laugh. “Are you serious right now? Am I okay?”
“...maybe that was a dumb question.”
“A bit,” Satoru agrees, nodding.
“I don’t want you to run away, though. Will you sit down?”
Satoru eyes him, hesitant. “Why?”
“Because I want to talk,” Suguru replies.
With a sigh, he settles back against the couch. But Suguru doesn’t relinquish his grip - almost like he’s afraid Satoru will bolt if he does, like he’ll run away and stick his head in the freezer or something, anything to cool off his flaming cheeks.
Which, honestly?
It’s a fair assumption.
“You can’t just ask me that and leave, Satoru,” he says, his voice gentle despite the reproach in his eyes.
And okay, yeah - it’s probably not the greatest look for him to just drop that question and then go, like he’s asked nothing more important than what Suguru wants for dinner. It probably isn’t sending a great message. But he’d also not been expecting a rejection, yeah? He’d kind of been counting on Suguru’s enthusiastic participation, and now that that’s off the table, it’s completely thrown him for a loop, every little bit of tact he had going straight out the window.
And yeah, in retrospect, that’s… really fucking dumb of him.
He should’ve prepared for more than one eventuality, or at the very least, tried to get a feel for where Suguru felt on the topic before just busting out the big guns.
But Satoru had just been so excited; he’d been so ready, and then Suguru had been so thoughtful and attentive, and he’d looked so fucking good sitting there on the couch, and -
Well, fuck, but Satoru’s only human.
He thinks maybe Suguru should cut him a little slack.
He’s still just staring at Satoru though, patiently waiting for him to say something, and so Satoru shrugs, looking away, the weight of his gaze heavy. “It’s not important.”
“Satoru,” Suguru admonishes.
“It’s not,” he insists, even as his shoulders start to creep up towards his ears. “It’s nothing, just - just an idea I had, something I was thinking about -”
“You think about me fucking you?”
That is -
That is not fair, dammit, Suguru’s voice low and rich and perfect.
He’s not even trying to be sexy, for fuck’s sake, he’s just - he’s just fucking asking a question, his face entreating and curious and… and hopeful as he looks up at Satoru.
And that’s -
Huh.
Not… bad?
It’s a hell of a lot better than Suguru’s initial reaction, and so slowly, Satoru nods.
The noise Suguru makes is nothing short of a groan. “What else do you think about?” he asks.
“Lots,” he admits.
One of Suguru’s hands shifts from his wrist to his waist, palming his hip bone with such soft, quiet intent that Satoru can’t help but squirm. “I’m going to need you to elaborate on that,” he murmurs, his thumb tucking beneath the hem of his shirt to touch skin.
Satoru swallows. “What -”
“I need you to tell me what you want.”
It’s as good of an invitation as he’s ever likely to get, maybe his one chance to get this right. Suguru has asked him to be as direct as he possibly can, and so though his heart’s pounding in his chest, though he feels a little like throwing up, Satoru looks down at him and complies.
“I want you to have sex with me,” he says. “I want you to - to fuck me.”
Suguru’s breath hitches. “Why?”
The thumb he’s snuck beneath Satoru’s shirt is joined by the rest of his hand, his touch feather-soft as he pets Satoru's hip bone.
It’s incredibly distracting.
“Why do you want to have sex with me, Satoru?”
“Because - because I do.”
“You’ve never shown any interest in me before.”
That is -
Patently false.
But then again, Satoru has gone to great lengths to hide his infatuation with his friend; he’s tried very, very hard not to be obvious about his feelings, at first because neither of them were in a good place for that kind of thing and then, more recently, for fear of messing things up.
So maybe he can give Suguru the benefit of the doubt here.
Maybe that’s understandable.
Suguru, he sees, is still waiting for an answer. He’s got both his hands wrapped around Satoru’s waist at this point, looking up at him like Satoru is about to give him everything he’s ever wanted, and that’s -
“Yeah, well, I am,” he retorts, flushing. “Interested, that is.”
Suguru hums, his eyes starting to wander over Satoru’s lanky frame. “Have you ever fucked someone before, Satoru?” he asks.
“I’ve never even kissed anyone before,” he admits, his breath hitching when Suguru’s hands flex around his hips, his warm eyes going dark. “Is that - is that a problem?”
“Of course not,” Suguru replies.
“Oh.” He swallows, thick. “Good.”
“It does make me curious, though.”
“About what?”
“About why you’ve waited - why you’ve never said anything.”
“Well, I’ve - I’ve been busy.” He waves a hand, dismissive. “Missions, exams. Life.”
Though Suguru snorts, the sound is fond. “And you’re not now, is that it?”
“No, now I’m just ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to start having sex with people.”
Suguru looks up at him, his smile fading as some thought works its way through his head. “Wait, is that what this is about?” he asks slowly. “Is this just your fancy way of asking me to take your virginity?”
Satoru nods, hesitant.
For a moment, Suguru just stares at him. Then -
“Satoru, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says quietly, sitting back on the couch. He relinquishes his grip on Satoru, leaving him cold in its wake, and Satoru panics at the cold, closed off expression he schools his features into.
“What?” he blurts out. “Why not?”
“I don’t think I’m what you need.”
“That’s not possible,” Satoru scoffs. “You’re all I’ve ever needed.”
Suguru bites his lip, looking a little pained as he says, “Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true,” Satoru protests. “Suguru -”
“It’s not, it’s -” He pulls away with a huff, putting an entire couch cushion between them as he stares at Satoru through his bangs. “I’m sorry, Satoru. But I can’t do this for you,” he says, resigned. “Please don’t ask me to.”
Then, looking away, he adds, “You should find someone else to experiment with,” and it hits Satoru like a ton of bricks -
Suguru isn’t refusing him because he doesn’t want him. The way he’d touched him earlier, as well how gently he’s treating Satoru now, is proof enough of that.
Rather, he’s refusing Satoru because he wants him too much, because he doesn’t just want to be a quick fuck, a one-and-done, and that’s -
Oh.
Oh.
He can fix this. He can - he knows what to say now, knows how to make his intentions clear.
“Suguru,” he breathes, leaning forward. “Is that what you think I want?”
“Isn’t it?” he asks, his voice wary.
Satoru smiles and shakes his head. “I want you, Suguru,” he says.
Suguru doesn’t look convinced. Again, he has his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it until it’s dark and red. His knuckles are white where they’re gripping at his knees.
“I only want to have sex because it’s you,” he clarifies. “Because I really fucking like you. If it was someone else - fuck, I don’t think I’d even care. I’d stay a virgin forever if it wasn’t you.”
It’s only as Satoru says it that he realizes it’s true - because if it isn’t Suguru, what’s the point?
It’s not about getting off. After all, he has two hands, a box of dildos, and a very vivid imagination; he can do just fine on his own, thank you very much, and for years, that’s been enough. He doesn’t need physical intimacy to have an orgasm, not the way some people do; he’s never felt the need to hook up with a pretty stranger just to say he’s had someone else’s hands on him.
That’s not an itch he’s ever felt a need to scratch.
And to be honest, he’s not even sure he could - because there’s a certain level of trust involved when you fuck someone you don’t really know. There’s a certain amount of vulnerability that’s required for that, and Satoru’s never been great at letting people in.
The only person who’s ever really seen him is Suguru, and that’s -
That’s all he really wants, he thinks. He just wants Suguru.
In every way that he can possibly have him.
“Sorry I took so long to figure that out,” he finishes, sheepish.
Suguru closes his eyes for a moment, contemplating. And though it’s difficult, though it goes against every instinct in Satoru’s body to just sit still and wait, he doesn’t move.
He doesn’t interfere, letting Suguru process everything Satoru’s said to him -
How he’s basically asking him to rewrite the framework of their entire relationship, how he’s all but confessed to being in love with him.
It’s… more than he’d intended to say. It’s more than he’d planned to reveal, even if he knows it’s true.
But he’s fucked up the initial approach.
He’s gone in too hot and made an ass out of himself, and now he’s been forced to reveal his hand, so that Suguru understands that while he may have fumbled the execution, there’s real emotion and feeling behind his request. It’s just -
He’s kinda shit at talking about that sort of thing.
“Satoru.”
He looks up, hopeful.
Suguru, he sees, has let his knees fall to the side, leaving a small space in between his thighs. He pats the couch cushion, beckoning Satoru over even as he opens his arm wide.
“Come here.”
Satoru goes, quickly.
It’s a struggle to fit his long legs in the narrow gap, but somehow, he manages. He ends up tucking them beneath him, snaking an arm around Suguru’s knee for balance as he tries to push closer; he only stills when Suguru raises a palm to his chest, shooting him an inquisitive look.
“Are you sure?” Suguru asks. “This is what you want? Me?”
Satoru nods. “You.”
Suguru groans, his hand digging into the fabric of Satoru’s shirt. He uses the grip to pull Satoru towards him, until their faces are scant centimeters apart.
“You could have anyone, you know,” he breathes.
Satoru scoffs, even as he preens at the praise. “Yeah, maybe.” He curls his hand atop Suguru’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “But I don’t want anyone.” He leans forward, much bolder than he feels as he presses the tiniest, most tentative kiss he can manage to the corner of Suguru’s mouth, his heart beating so fast he can barely breathe -
“I’ve only ever wanted you,” he finishes.
For a moment, Suguru is silent; all Satoru can hear is the sound of the television, playing softly in the background as they stare at one another.
Then -
“Fuck,” Suguru rasps, choking out a rough, shaky exhale, “Fuck, I want you, too - ”
It’s all the permission he needs. He surges forward, his hands coming up to cradle Satoru’s face as he slots their mouths together, and Satoru -
He’s overwhelmed almost instantly.
There’s too much sensation, too much feedback, his mind going completely blank as Suguru deepens the kiss. He pries Satoru’s mouth open with his tongue - his pierced tongue, what the fuck, how has Satoru missed this vital piece of information - licking into Satoru’s mouth and tasting him. Satoru thinks he lets out a whimper at how good it feels; he thinks he grabs Suguru’s forearms, holding on for dear life as he tries to keep up.
But he can’t really be sure.
The only thing that’s really registering is how warm Suguru’s mouth is, how insistent it is as his lips press against Satoru’s. He tastes faintly of cherry candy and cigarettes, and though Satoru’s not really a fan of all the smoking, he thinks it might be the best thing he’s ever tasted.
He opens his mouth a little wider, hoping to get more of it -
Only to recoil when his teeth clack awkwardly into Suguru’s, the little spark of pain jolting.
He makes an embarrassed noise as his cheeks flush, bringing a hand to his face.
But Suguru just smiles, using the hand he’s kept on Satoru’s cheek to gently twist his head to the side. “Try it like this,” he instructs, easing their mouths back together.
And oh, but that’s better.
It’s so much better, and Satoru brings his arms up to wrap around Suguru’s neck, pulling him in close as they keep trading kisses.
Suguru seems to like that; he shivers when Satoru’s fingers find their way into his hair, lips momentarily going slack as Satoru pulls at the silky strands, and when Satoru thinks to swipe his tongue across the plush span of his lower lip, he moans.
It’s a filthy noise, downright lewd in the relative silence of their apartment.
Satoru fucking loves it, his entire body flaring hot with want.
He feels like he is on fire, even the thin fabric of his t-shirt almost too much to bear as Suguru slowly takes him apart with his mouth; he wants to take it off - or better yet, for Suguru to peel it off him. He wants Suguru to tear it from his shoulders, to press his palms against the planes of Satoru’s chest, to run them down his back and palm his ass. He wants to feel Suguru’s skin pressing against his. He wants, he wants, he wants -
Suguru bites down on his lip, hard, and Satoru jerks back with a startled gasp.
He stares at Suguru, panting as the sting slowly ebbs away. His eyes are blown black with desire, his lips swollen and pink and wet. There’s a bit of color sitting high on his cheeks, giving his face a ruddy glow it otherwise lacks, and Satoru can’t -
He can’t fucking breathe, he’s so entranced; he feels high as a kite, his skin two sizes too small, completely out of his element as he stares at his best friend, his one and only.
He’s so beautiful.
He’s the prettiest thing Satoru’s ever fucking seen, and he kind of just wants to kiss him forever.
Fuck curses.
Fuck jujutsu.
This is what he was put on this earth to do, he thinks. This is his purpose in life - chasing this feeling, this closeness.
He understands, suddenly, why people are so willing to throw their lives away for the people they care about, why they do such stupid things for love. He hadn’t ever gotten it before.
It’s because of this feeling, this sensation of their heart living outside their chest. It’s because they feel so strongly, so much, that they’d rather perish than be without it.
It’s because his life has less meaning if Suguru isn’t in it, and that’s -
“Satoru?” Suguru queries, his voice soft. “Sweetheart?”
Satoru shudders at the pet name, his head falling forward to fall onto Suguru’s shoulder.
Instantly, strong hands wrap around his chest, holding him tight. “What’s wrong?”
He whines, shrugging. “Suguru -”
“Shh. I’ve got you.”
“I can’t - it’s too much -”
“I know,” Suguru murmurs. “I know, baby.”
And maybe he does.
Maybe he knows exactly what Satoru needs; he certainly doesn’t seem to mind the abrupt stop to their make-out session. Instead, he just urges Satoru into a more comfortable position, directing him to lean forward until he’s all but laying on Suguru’s chest. He just holds him until Satoru’s breathing evens out, his hands warm and steady on Satoru’s back, and when Satoru pulls back, looking up at him through his messy, white bangs -
“Hey,” he says, running a thumb down Satoru’s cheekbone. “You good?”
Satoru nods. “I think so.”
“I lost you for a second there,” Suguru murmurs. “Where did you go?”
“Dunno,” he replies, frowning. “It was all just…”
“Overwhelming?”
He nods again, clutching at Suguru’s sweatshirt. “Is it always like that?”
Suguru’s head tilts to the side in question. “Like what?”
“It just felt like I couldn’t get enough of you,” he admits, swallowing. “Like - air, or something. I just wanted to get closer, and when I couldn’t -”
Suguru’s eyes go soft; he lifts a hand to card through Satoru’s hair, settling on the nape of his neck. “It’s like that sometimes,” he says. “If you really like the other person, if you have good chemistry. If you - have feelings for them.”
“Was it like that for you?”
He nods, and Satoru’s head tilts to the side, his breath catching.
“You have feelings for me?”
Suguru laughs; it’s a touch self-deprecating, and his cheeks go pink as he admits, “So many.”
The admission echoes in Satoru’s head, again and again and again. Like a bell that’s been rung too close to his ear, he hears it over and over, growing stronger with each repetition, and that’s -
“Oh.” Satoru finally clears his throat, looking away. “Well, good.”
Then, thinking of something, he frowns.
“How come you’re all normal then?” he asks.
Suguru snorts, lifting one of Satoru’s hands to press against his chest, right atop his heart. Though it’s been at least ten minutes since they stopped kissing, it’s still beating a mile a minute, drumming against his ribcage like it wants to break free, and Satoru realizes he’s not the only one so affected here.
“I’m not, Satoru,” he replies, smiling. “I’m really not.”
“But you’ve kissed other people before.”
“A few,” Suguru admits.
“So you’ve had more practice.”
“Well, yeah, but… I wouldn’t say it’s the same.”
Satoru blinks. “You mean this time was different? It’s not like that for you every time?”
Suguru shakes his head. “No,” he says simply. “It’s never been like that for me, Satoru.”
Oh.
That’s -
“Because I’m so great, right?” he guesses. “Such a great kisser?”
Suguru laughs, the weight of the moment lifting. “Sure. That’s it.”
Satoru grins. “I’m a fast learner.”
Feeling a little more like himself, Satoru pushes back up onto his knees. He kisses Suguru again, meaning to keep it short and sweet - but Suguru holds him fast. He still has a hand on Satoru’s neck, using it to keep him in place as he slowly deepens the kiss, and Satoru -
He melts at the careful, cautious way Suguru eases their lips together, and when Suguru finally pulls away, a handful of minutes later, he feels a little dazed.
“You don’t have to go fast,” he says, running his thumb across Satoru’s bottom lip.
Satoru blinks, long and slow.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?”
Suguru’s smile is so, so soft.
“Promise.”
They take it slowly, after that.
Though neither of them lack for enthusiasm, Satoru’s reaction to having Suguru's tongue in his mouth was pretty telling. A lifetime of not allowing anyone else to touch him has made him pretty easy to overstimulate, and Suguru wants to be cautious, giving him time to ease into this kind of thing. Which -
Yeah, okay.
It’s probably a good idea.
Satoru’s already keenly aware of his own inexperience, and he doesn’t want to get so caught up in his head that he can’t enjoy what they’re doing.
That doesn’t mean he has to like it though.
That doesn’t mean he isn’t frustrated, in more ways than one, at his own lack of progress.
Instead of getting his dick sucked, he’s had to settle for Suguru holding him close at night; in place of having his ass eaten, he makes do with Suguru holding his hand.
And it’s not - it’s not settling, really.
That isn’t the right word. Satoru loves every minute of it; he’s so happy every time Suguru touches him with gentle, quiet intent that he feels like he could fucking sing.
He knows Suguru is just trying to make sure he’s having a good time.
But it’s still a little fucking frustrating.
More than once, he’s had to take matters into his own hands - quite literally, in this case. Now that he knows what Suguru tastes like, what he feels like trapped beneath Satoru’s body, he can’t seem to stop himself. He’s jerked off more in the past week and a half than he did the entirety of their second year (he was stressed, don’t come at him, shit got real), tugging at his dick so much it feels fucking raw, and yet it’s still not enough. It’s not -
He groans, palming himself through his shorts.
All he had to do was think of the way Suguru had been kissing him last night, kissing him long and slow and hard as they cuddled on the couch, that fucking tongue ring sliding against the roof of his mouth, and he’s fucking dripping.
He only just got off in the shower that morning, after he’d woken up so horny he wanted to die, and now -
“Fuck,” he breathes, sliding a hand beneath the elastic waistband and the other over to the table beside his bed. He knocks over the clock as he reaches for the bottle of lube in the drawer, but now’s not the time to worry about that, not when his hand already feels so good. “Fuck -”
He barely has a chance to get started before the door to his room is pushing open, Suguru staring down at him.
He blinks at what he sees, his mouth falling open in surprise.
“Oh,” he said, intelligent.
Yeah, oh.
But Satoru isn’t embarrassed; he’s never been the least bit ashamed of himself or his body, and it’s not like he and Suguru haven’t planned for this sort of thing to happen eventually. Seeing each other (mostly) naked is kind of one of the prerequisites for having sex, and so he continues to slowly fist his cock as he looks up at Suguru through his lashes.
“Ever heard of knocking?” he teases, breath hitching.
Suguru’s eyes are glued to what his hand is doing beneath his shorts. He doesn’t look away as he replies, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“I thought I heard something,” he offers.
“Yeah,” Satoru snorts. “Me, beating it.”
“That’s not -”
Satoru twists his hand, thumbing at the slit of his cock; his whole body jerks at the sensation, eyes rolling back a little as he really embraces the feeling. It feels so fucking good, even without any other sort of stimulation; Suguru’s eyes on him have him feeling red hot, and before he can think twice, he snakes a hand out, patting the bed beside him.
“You just gonna stare?” he pants, grinning.
He gives himself a few more strokes, tugging his shorts down just enough that Suguru can see the tip of his cock poking out. It hits his stomach on every upstroke, leaving a warm damp spot where precome pools on his belly, and Suguru -
Oh, he likes that.
He likes what he sees, Satoru can tell - if not from the hungry, wanton look on his face then because of the way he’s suddenly pitching a tent, his arousal obvious even from across the room.
But will he do anything about it? That’s the question.
They haven’t tried anything like this yet, haven’t crossed that line. Satoru’s always had to finish himself off in his room after making out for hours on end left him feeling exposed and raw, and Suguru, he’s sure, has done the same.
This time is different, though.
This time Satoru feels ready, the timing so wrong but so, so right, and Suguru -
His hand starts to trail down his side, coming back to the center of his body to tug on the drawstrings of his loose, dark pants. Satoru watches greedily as they fall to the floor, unheeded, leaving Suguru in nothing but his boxers. The long, hard line of his cock presses insistently against the fabric, bigger than all of the toys in his collection, and Satoru’s mouth fucking waters.
It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.
Kinda hard not to look when your school has communal showers.
But he’d tried not to look too closely, because staring at your best friend’s dick over the divider in the shower stalls and thinking about how much you’d like to choke on it is both A) kinda rude and B) an egregious waste of hot water.
Now, though, he thinks he has a license to stare. Things between them have changed, and Suguru certainly isn’t shying away from what Satoru’s doing.
No.
He’s staring, licking his lips like he wants to fucking devour him.
Satoru is of half a mind to let him.
But not today.
A horny Suguru is still (probably) a considerate Suguru, and so Satoru knows he’ll have to wait for that. There’s still plenty they can do today, though. Case in point -
The way Suguru has seated himself on the bed next to Satoru, leaning back against the headboard as he pulls his dick out of his underwear. The way he’s slowly started to jerk himself off as he stares at what Satoru’s doing, eyeing the grip he has on his cock curiously.
“That what you like?” he asks.
Satoru pushes up into a seated position, shucking his shorts the rest of the way off. The movement has his dick bouncing up to meet his fist, and he groans, so turned on he can barely think as he looks down at Suguru’s cock, drinking in the details and committing them to memory.
Suguru’s starting to catch up with him now; his steady breathing has devolved into a series of soft, frantic pants, and there’s a beautiful flush working its way across his chest as his hand moves up and down his dick.
He bites his lip, gaze flicking up to Satoru’s face before he glances back down.
“What’re you thinking about?” he asks.
Satoru almost laughs, despite himself. “Do you have to ask?”
Suguru shakes his head, annoyed. “Tell me.”
“You,” Satoru replies. “I was thinking about - about you.”
“What was I doing?”
It might’ve been better to ask what Suguru wasn't doing in his fantasies - but now isn’t the time to go into great, sweeping details. Satoru sticks to the quick and dirty facts as he relays his latest desires to Suguru, telling him how he wants Suguru to eat him out until he cries.
He seems to enjoy that; he makes a punched-out, desperate noise as precome drips down the side of his cock, the noise his hand makes as it slides over his dick absolutely obscene.
It’s almost enough to make Satoru come; he’s so close to getting off he can almost taste it, all of the muscles in his thighs locking into place as his movements start to stutter.
“Suguru,” he whines, twisting his head to the side. “Suguru, please -”
He’s not really sure what he’s asking for.
But Suguru knows just what to do, leaning over to pull him into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. He shoves his tongue into Satoru’s mouth, drinking down the moan that rips its way out of his throat as he comes, hard, all over his fist and the lower half of his shirt.
Suguru pulls back with a curse, the hand that’s not on his dick cradling Satoru’s face as he slowly comes down. He keeps his gaze locked on the way Satoru’s come is pooling in the divots of his hips, holding him close as he watches how his cock is still weakly twitching in his grasp.
It must be enough to tip him over the edge. Because then Suguru is coming, throwing his head back to smack into the headboard as he squeezes his eyes shut.
Satoru can only stare as Suguru puts a hand to his head, tangling his fingers in his hair as he tries to catch his breath.
Because, fuck.
That was -
He wouldn’t have pegged mutual masturbation as something that could be so hot, and yet - he thanks whatever fucking gods might be listening for his good memory, intent on preserving this moment in his mind’s eye. He’ll put it out again on some cold, lonely night, reminding himself of how Suguru had looked at him as he jerked himself off, how Suguru had looked as he came.
His cock gives a renewed twitch of interest, and Suguru chuckles.
“Again?” he asks, teasing. “Really?”
Satoru shrugs and pulls off his shirt, using it to wipe up the mess smeared on his stomach. “You’re hot,” he offers.
“I suppose I’m flattered,” Suguru muses.
He accepts the shirt from Satoru when he offers it, turning it inside out before cleaning himself off and pulling his underwear back up over his hips.
“Though I could say the same about you,” he adds, tossing the soiled shirt into the corner he knows Satoru uses in place of a hamper. “You’re…”
“Hot? Sexy? Cute as a button?”
Suguru palms his cheek, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Beautiful.”
Satoru’s cheeks go red hot; he squirms as he buries his face into Suguru’s shoulder, whining at the praise even as it sends a little thrill through him.
“Suguru,” he groans, “You can’t just say stuff like that!”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s - because you just can’t!”
Suguru hums. “When you think of an actual reason, let me know,” he teases.
“Suguru!”
“Until then, I think I’ll say what I want. And I want to tell you that you’re beautiful.”
“You just wanna see me squirm!"
“Maybe,” Suguru allows, laughing.
Satoru huffs, crossing his arms over his chest - arms that Suguru tries to pry apart, lacing their fingers together as he tries to soothe Satoru’s artificial outrage. “I can’t believe you. You’re so mean to me, even now -”
Suguru’s eyebrows raise. “Telling you that you’re beautiful is mean?”
“It is if you don’t mean it!”
“But I do mean it,” Suguru says, amused. “You are beautiful, Satoru.”
Satoru tries to slap a hand over his mouth, desperate. “Stop.”
“Pretty, pretty Satoru Gojo -”
“Stop.”
Suguru shoves the hand away with a grin. “Never.”
“Should we tell them?”
Suguru looks over at him; his tired eyes are hooded and dark, gifts from having to wake up at the crack of dawn to go chase down curses in Chiba. He looks absolutely exhausted, and yet he still turns to Satoru with warmth in his face.
“Should we tell who what, Satoru?”
“Everyone. Should we tell them that we’re…” He trails off, waving a hand. “You know.”
Suguru shifts onto his side, propping his head up on an elbow. “Fooling around?”
Satoru flicks his nose. “Dating.”
Though he recoils at the initial attack, Suguru recovers quickly, catching Satoru’s hand before it can retreat. “Is that what we’re doing?”
Satoru freezes, his wrist going slack in Suguru’s grip.
Because that’s -
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Suguru says quickly, correctly interpreting Satoru’s stillness for concern. He gently nudges Satoru’s calves with his foot beneath the blankets, pulling his caught arm in to press his cheek into Satoru’s palm.
“How did you mean it, then?”
Suguru considers for a moment. “Saying we’re dating just seems… dumb?” he muses. “I mean, you date someone to get to know them, so you know whether or not you want to be in a relationship with them. But you and I are different.”
“...different.”
“We already have a relationship,” Suguru explains. “We live together. We work together. And we’ve known each other for years now.” He smiles, twisting to press a kiss to Satoru’s palm. “You’re my one and only, Satoru. There’s one else for me but you. So saying we’re dating just sounds a little -”
Okay, yeah.
Satoru thinks he gets the gist of it.
And sure, what Suguru’s saying makes sense. In light of everything he and Suguru have been through, in light of everything they’ve shared, saying that they’re dating is maybe a little juvenile.
But things aren’t the same either.
Their dynamic has shifted these last few weeks, settling down into something they’d both clearly wanted but been hesitant to seek out. Now that he knows his feelings are reciprocated, Satoru can barely keep his hands to himself; he’s always reaching out to touch Suguru, to hug him and kiss him and love him, and Suguru, he knows, is no better.
Nor is it just the physical stuff, either.
It’s the way Satoru has started sleeping in Suguru's bed, snuggling up to his back whenever one of them isn’t off on a mission somewhere. It’s the way Suguru will sometimes join him in the shower after a long day of exorcizing curses, running his fingers through Satoru’s hair and making sure he gets all the sweat and grime off Satoru’s body before bundling him up into his pajamas and pressing him into bed.
It’s the shared meals and the lazy mornings and the sheer, fucking intimacy of it all that really gets to Satoru, and that’s -
That’s worthy of a change in title, yeah?
“You’re my boyfriend, then,” he announces - telling, rather than asking.
Which, again, is maybe a little presumptuous.
But Satoru is nothing if not presumptuous; it’s one of his greatest charms, he thinks, that and the fact that he’s determined enough to never take no for an answer.
Either way, Suguru doesn’t seem bothered, his smile so big his eyes crinkle at the corners. “If that’s what you want.”
Satoru nods, solemn. “It is. You’re my boyfriend. And I’m -”
Suguru shifts, leaning forward to kiss him.
“Mine,” he breathes as they break apart, imprinting the word directly onto Satoru’s lips. “You’re mine, Satoru.”
Satoru shivers, leaning into his embrace. “Oh, yeah?”
Suguru hums, his nose skimming along Satoru’s jaw. He presses one, two, three kisses to his neck in quick succession, letting his teeth graze skin on the last one.
“Yes,” he replies.
Satoru groans, tilting his head backwards to give him better access. “I thought you were too tired to do anything?” he asks, even as arousal curls through his belly.
“I am,” Suguru agrees.
“Just gonna rile me up and leave me like this?”
Suguru hums. “Like what?” he asks innocently.
Satoru makes a face. “Rude,” he grumbles.
“Maybe,” Suguru says, chuckling. He pulls back, presses a lighter kiss to the tip of Satoru’s nose. “You like it, though.”
Satoru huffs, allowing himself to be pulled further into Suguru’s arms. “A bit, yeah.”
Suguru just laughs again and runs a hand through his hair, and like that, they drift off to sleep.
Blowjobs, Satoru thinks, are fun.
Giving and receiving.
Before today, he’d only been on the receiving end; Suguru had surprised him the other day after he’d gotten back from the school, pinning him to the wall in the entryway before falling to his knees. Satoru hadn’t even had time to take his shoes off before Suguru was swallowing him whole, sucking his actual soul out through his dick.
It was so good he’d cried. Suguru had had to carry him down the hall and into the bathroom to clean up, looking extremely proud of himself as he’d run the water for a bath.
All Satoru had been able to do was sit there, dazed, as Suguru cleaned him up, and that -
Well, shit.
It didn’t really get any better than that, did it?
But today is different.
Today is all about Suguru - Satoru wants to reciprocate, wants to make him feel good. He wants to put his mouth on Suguru’s cock, drinking down all the soft, pretty noises he makes.
He wants to make Suguru come.
He wants it so badly he’d even practiced while Suguru’s been gone these past few days, shoving dildos as far down his throat as he could manage before he started to choke.
Not that he needs the practice, of course.
Satoru’s sure he’ll be a natural at sucking dick, just as he’s a natural at everything else. But Suguru - with his tongue ring and his lack of an actual fucking gag reflex, maybe courtesy of his cursed technique - has set the bar pretty fucking high, and Satoru wants to do his best.
So far, he thinks he’s doing okay.
Suguru is lying back against the couch, his knees spread wide to give Satoru room. He’s breathing hard, one hand threaded through Satoru’s hair and the other clenched into a fist at his side, and his face is flushed, mouth slack as he stares down at Satoru.
“That’s it,” he croons, groaning when Satoru pulls back a bit to lick at the tip of his cock. “You’re doing so - god, so fucking well, sweetheart.”
Satoru shivers, opening his mouth wider as he presses his head forward again; he takes Suguru right to the hilt, to the very limits of his ability, the unshed tears in his eyes in danger of falling through his lashes. He shoves his nose right in the thatch of dark, neatly trimmed hairs at the base of Suguru’s cock, reminding himself to breathe as he seals his lips around him and sucks, hard.
Suguru throws his head back, another groan leaving his lips as Satoru works his way back up, licking and kissing as he goes.
There’s fucking spit everywhere - leaking out the sides of his mouth, dripping down Suguru’s cock. It’s getting all over the hem of his shirt, and so Satoru snakes a hand up, pushing it up and away so he can get a glimpse of Suguru’s (mouth-watering) abs.
An incentive to keep doing good work, he thinks.
“God, you feel so good,” Suguru groans.
Satoru makes a happy noise, pleased - and the sound must do something to Suguru, for his hips suddenly jerk, forcing his cock deep into Satoru’s mouth.
It’s too much, too fast.
He chokes, tears finally spilling down his cheeks as he struggles not to cough, helplessly looking up at Suguru even as his cock throbs in his pants.
The expression on his face is… interesting, Satoru thinks.
He’s expecting concern, Suguru always keen on making sure he’s okay.
Instead, he just looks enthralled, the hand at his side coming forward to wipe the tears from Satoru’s face. He holds it there, keeps it steady as Satoru regains his composure -
And then he shoves Satoru back down, the hand in his hair unflinchingly tight.
Satoru chokes again, sobbing, and oh, that really shouldn’t be as big of a turn-on as it is.
But he’s so fucking hard right now; Suguru hasn’t even touched him, and he’s in danger of coming in his pants, so turned on at the thought of Suguru manhandling him that he has to remind himself to keep breathing.
“You like this?” Suguru pants, fucking up into Satoru’s mouth again.
Satoru nods, vigorously.
“You like me fucking your face like this?”
Satoru whimpers, more tears leaking from his eyes as Suguru shoves him down on his cock and holds, keeping his head in place as he moans. He keeps him there until Satoru actually, physically whines, writhing on the floor as he tries to keep up the good work; only then does he relent, letting Satoru pull up and away to catch his breath. Only then does he thumb at Satoru’s cheeks, trying to make sure he’s still doing okay before he does it again.
He is, he thinks.
He’s fucking - great.
That’s not to say it isn’t taking a lot out of him. His throat is sore from the rough treatment; his jaw aches something fierce, not used to hanging open for so long, and his knees are starting to throb from where’s kneeling on the hard floor.
But that’s all eclipsed by how fucking hot this is; that all means nothing in light of the fact that Suguru’s using his mouth how he wants, like Satoru’s nothing more than a hole for him to fill.
It’s enough to make him want to come.
And so the next time Suguru thrusts up, he does just that.
It’s entirely involuntary, the orgasm ripped from him just as Suguru shoves him down onto his dick, the noise that leaves his mouth inhuman. He thinks his eyes roll back a little, his tongue lolling out as every muscle in his body abruptly tenses and then goes still.
Above him, Suguru freezes.
“Did you just -”
He sounds… awed, Satoru thinks. Entranced, as if the thought of Satoru getting off on getting Suguru off is more than his sex-addled brain can currently process.
He thumbs at Satoru’s lip, insistent.
“Satoru,” he breathes. “Baby, answer me. Did you just come?”
Satoru nods, still feeling a little dumb.
He looks up at Suguru with wide, teary eyes, lips still stretched wide around his cock; it throbs in his mouth, pressing against the back of his throat, heavy on his tongue.
It gives him a perfect view of the way Suguru shudders, something dark and possessive flashing through his eyes as he grabs for Satoru’s head.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, thrusting up into his mouth.
Satoru keens, desperate, trying to hold on.
“You’re so good for me, so perfect.”
His breathing’s gone ragged, his movements losing their rhythm as he chases his orgasm. He’s close, Satoru thinks - he has to be, something in his eyes wild and frantic.
Trying to spur him on, trying to be good for him, he makes an encouraging noise, looking up at Suguru imploringly -
And Suguru jerks, the low, rich sound he makes when he comes like music to Satoru’s ears. He jerks and goes still, even as he spills into Satoru’s mouth, the taste a little bitter on his tongue.
He barely even has time to swallow before Suguru’s pulling him up into his lap, licking into his mouth with enough intent that Satoru wonders if he can taste himself.
The thought’s enough to make him groan, and he pulls back, shuddering.
“How was that?” Satoru asks, his voice a little hoarse. “Good? Was I good?”
Suguru huffs out a laugh, wiping the rest of the tears away with his thumb. “You were incredible, sweetheart,” he admits. “I don’t know that I deserved that - deserve you.”
Satoru squints, his face scrunching up. “Does anyone, really?”
Suguru rolls his eyes, playfully swatting at his arm. “Brat.”
“Your brat,” Satoru counters, grinning.
Suguru hums, but makes no move to deny it.
Instead, he just picks Satoru up and carries him down the hall to the bathroom, ignoring Satoru’s protests in favor of pressing kisses to every part of him he can reach, and that -
Well, that’s good too.
Here’s the thing -
The awareness that the Six Eyes grants Satoru is cool.
It’s a wonderful tool, and being able to detect threats before he physically sees or hears them has saved his life on more than one occasion.
But increased perception without a subsequent increase in the number of neural pathways available to process that perception sucks.
It hurts, for lack of a better word.
He can only focus on so many stimuli at once before his brain physically cannot process the input it’s receiving. There’s only so much information he can take in before his body rebels, resulting in migraines and cold sweats and a plethora of other problems that he’s learned to just fucking manage as best as he can.
Hence, the blindfolds.
Learning how to use reverse cursed technique has helped; now whenever his neurons get too overstimulated, he can simply heal them, erasing any damage as if it never was.
It’s not perfect, though.
Rather, he’s not perfect, much as he hates to admit it. He’s still mastering the technique, and sometimes, when he’s not paying attention, or when he gets particularly tired or distracted, it fizzles out on him.
It just stops, and then the pain starts creeping back in.
Today, unfortunately, is one of those occasions.
He’s just gotten back from a particularly nasty mission - not because the curses were hard to exorcize, but because they just wouldn’t sit still. Instead of fighting him, they’d chosen to run, and so he’d ended up chasing them all over Sendai, the full heat of the midday sun beating down on him all day. He hadn’t taken a single wound in the fight, the grade one curses no match for his technique, and yet -
Here he is, lying facedown on his bed, his head absolutely throbbing.
He’d barely managed to get the blackout curtains shut before he’d run to the bathroom and thrown up, the light too much for his head to bear.
He hates migraines.
He hates them, hates how nothing ever seems to make them go away.
Even reverse cursed technique is helpless in the wake of the pain threatening to split his skull in two, because a migraine isn’t a wound. Pain is just a symptom of an injury, not an injury itself, and migraines don’t necessarily have an organic cause; there’s nothing for the cursed energy to fix, and so he’s just shivering in the dark, his hands thrown over his head as he tries to keep as still as possible.
It is, maybe, the worst possible timing his stupid brain can have.
Because he’d had a plan, you see.
He’d had a plan to take care of this mission as quickly as possible, teleporting back to the outskirts of Tokyo despite the higher up’s express wishes that he only do that in emergencies. He’d teleport home, take his sweet time in the shower, getting himself all nice and pretty for Suguru. He’d then clean up his room, making sure the sheets were fresh, pitching the small army of water bottles that hold court on his nightstand in the bin. He’d make sure that the dirty laundry was safely hidden within the bowels of his closet, and once all that was taken care of, and Suguru was home for the night -
They’d fuck.
They’d make sweet, sweet love all night long, until one (or both) of them passed out.
That, or they ran out of lube.
Whichever happened first.
But by the time he finished tracking down the curses, his head was already throbbing. If the train ride home had sounded unpalatable, the thought of teleporting was enough to actually fucking end him, and so he’d reluctantly set aside his plans in favor of burrowing down into a blanket.
He’s not certain how long he’s out.
He doesn’t exactly have the presence of mind to glance up at his clock.
But sometime later, he hears the front door to the apartment click open. He hears it slip shut, Suguru’s footsteps changing timbre as he swaps his shoes for a pair of slippers, and then there’s a quiet knock at his door, a tentative, “Satoru?” that has him wincing despite his best attempts to keep his voice down.
Suguru takes one look at him and knows what to do.
He retreats into the kitchen, coming back a minute or two later with a glass of water and some aspirin. He gently tugs Satoru into a seated position, mindful of his head as he settles Satoru back against him, and brings the cup to his lips.
“How bad is it?” he murmurs, pressing cool fingers against Satoru’s neck.
Bad.
Better than it was when he first got home, though.
He relays this to Suguru in short bursts, only able to say a handful of words at a time before he has to stop, clamping his mouth shut as waves of nausea hit him.
But Suguru doesn’t seem to mind.
He just sits there, patient, holding Satoru as they wait for the pain to dim. And when his body heat gets to be too much, when Satoru can’t stand even that any more and shrugs him off, he just moves to a chair, pulling it from his desk to sit beside the bed as they wait it out.
It’s past midnight when the pain finally becomes manageable.
Satoru twists onto his side, looking over at Suguru; he can only see him in the darkness because of the Six Eyes, and even then, he’s just a muted smear of colors and shapes. He’s fallen asleep, arms crossed over his chest, head lolling to the side. But he’s still there, still ready and able to spring into action if Satoru needs him, and that -
Satoru doesn’t have a word for how that makes him feel.
He thinks it might be love.
But this thing between them is still so new. He still feels so vulnerable every time they touch, so raw and exposed and alive -
Suguru’s been his whole world almost as long as he’s known him.
It’s a little humbling to think he might be Suguru’s whole world, too.
He shifts, poking at Suguru’s knees. Instantly, he’s awake, twisting towards Satoru in the darkness. He squints, unable to see him without Satoru’s technique.
He grabs for Satoru’s hand instead, using that to connect them.
“Satoru? Are you awake?”
“Unfortunately.”
Suguru chuckles and shifts a little closer. “How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
He rolls over onto his back, using their intertwined hands to pull Suguru up and onto the bed. He curls up into his chest as soon as he’s laid down, pressing an ear against his ribs. The slow, measured thump of his heart is soothing, as is the way Suguru threads his fingers through Satoru’s hair, careful not to let them catch on any tangles.
“Better, though. It’s not…” He shrugs, as if that’s enough to convey what he means.
And maybe it does, for Suguru nods, snaking a hand down to pull the rumpled blankets over them. He tucks them both in, doing an admirable job of keeping Satoru still as he works, and once he’s got them into a more comfortable position against the pillows, he sighs.
“It’ll be gone by morning,” he murmurs.
Satoru nods.
They always are.
“I’ll make you breakfast before you go turn in your report. Whatever you want.”
Satoru perks up at that. “Pancakes?”
Suguru laughs. “Sure, Satoru. I’ll make pancakes.”
Satoru squeezes him a little tighter, relishing the little huff he makes, once again reminded of how very fucking lucky he is -
That this had worked out.
That Suguru somehow, for some reason, liked Satoru just as much as Satoru liked him.
He snuggles down into Suguru’s chest, humming happily as he plants his face directly into the divot of his sternum, breathing in his comforting, familiar scent.
“My hero.”
“Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”
From where it’s hidden beneath his arm, Satoru’s face contorts. “Can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” Suguru replies, chuckling. “You have to, if you want to keep going.”
Satoru huffs, glaring up at him. “You try breathing with a couple of fingers up your ass!”
“Wow. To think - the greatest sorcerer of the modern age can’t do two things at the same time.”
Satoru opens his mouth, a hot retort on his lips. But then Suguru works his fingers a little deeper, spreading the lube around as he prods at Satoru’s prostate, and Satoru yelps, shoving his face into a pillow.
Above him, Suguru chuckles. “So responsive,” he croons.
“Shut up,” Satoru says weakly.
“How are you gonna take my cock if you can’t even take my fingers?”
“I can take it,” he insists, letting Suguru push one of his knees up against his chest.
“Can you?” Suguru asks. He pulls his fingers out, tracing the tip of his index finger around Satoru’s rim only to push back in with a third a moment later, and Satoru keens. “I thought you said you’d done this before?”
“I have,” he gasps.
“More than once?”
Satoru doesn’t dignify that with a response, given the (very visible, very well used) box of dildos literally sitting two meters away on his desk.
Nor does Suguru push. Instead, he just waits another couple of seconds for Satoru to adjust before he starts shallowly thrusting the digits back in and out, letting him get used to the additional stretch as he leans down to mouth at Satoru’s throat.
It’s… different than when he does this himself.
The angle, for one thing, and the fact that he can’t predict what Suguru’s going to do. He doesn’t know how hard Suguru’s gonna fuck him, or when he’ll pull back; he can’t anticipate it when he decides to really rail his prostate, and when he accompanies the increased pressure with sucking a dark mark into his neck -
“Suguru,” he whines.
Suguru hums, laving his tongue against the bruise he’s created, retreating just far enough away that he can admire his handiwork.
It’s not the first hickey he’s given Satoru; it’s not even the first one he’s given Satoru this evening, his throat littered with marks of varying sizes. He’s been in a possessive mood all fucking day, ever since Satoru had announced he was finally ready for Suguru to fuck him into the mattress over breakfast, and this is just the latest manifestation of it.
Not that Satoru minds.
He likes it when Suguru gets a little proprietary; he likes it when Suguru stares at him, his eyes dark and hungry, and tells Satoru he’s his.
And maybe that’s weird.
If anyone else were to make such a claim, he’d probably rip their throat out, because Satoru Gojo belongs to no one. He’s untouchable, the strongest.
He alone is the honored one.
But coming from Suguru, it feels different.
Coming from Suguru, the claim on him feels right.
He is Suguru’s, after all - his one and only, his friend, his other half.
Just as Suguru is his.
Satoru groans, pushing at Suguru’s shoulder.
Immediately, Suguru pulls back, one brow lifting in question as his hand stills.
“I’m ready,” Satoru pants. “I want - please, Suguru.”
Suguru’s head tilts to the side, his bangs falling into his face. They stick to his sweaty forehead, and he flicks them back with a sharp jerk of his chin as he grins down at Satoru, teasing.
“Please, what?”
Satoru pouts. “You know what.”
He hums, curling his fingers in a quick, brutal jab at Satoru’s prostate, and Satoru chokes, all the air punched from his lungs.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Suguru says.
Satoru’s eyes roll back at the continued onslaught, his cock throbbing against his stomach. It’s impossible to focus on anything but the pleasure, on the way Suguru’s fingers are continuing to work him open. He’s being mean, Satoru thinks. He’s being - so mean, even as he’s giving Satoru everything he’s ever asked for, and Satoru chokes back a sob.
“Fuck me,” he finally gasps out, his hands scrabbling for purchase against Suguru’s forearms, climbing up to claw at his shoulders. “Fuck me, please -”
Suguru quickly relents, shushing his whines with a quick kiss.
“Alright, sweetheart.” He pauses to suck Satoru’s lower lip between his teeth, nipping just hard enough to sting before he retreats, grinning. “I’ll give you what you want, since you asked so nicely.”
Shucking off his pants, Suguru reaches for the box of condoms on the nightstand. He quickly rips one open, rolling it on and grabbing for the lube as Satoru watches, impatient. It takes far too long for him to get himself ready, and when Suguru finally - finally - lines himself up, the tip of his cock just catching on his loose, stretched rim, he can’t help but squirm.
Suguru grabs for his hips, shooting him a vexed look. “Quit that.”
Satoru wraps a long, lean thigh around his hips, digging the heel of his foot into Suguru’s back to urge him forward. “No,” he pants, grinning.
“Satoru.”
“Suguru -”
For the first time since they’ve started this, Suguru actually looks a little frustrated. He bites his lip, the hand at Satoru’s hip flexing in warning, and Satoru groans.
Because what is he waiting for? What’s with the delay?
He’s spent the better part of the last fifteen minutes fingering Satoru, so it’s not like he’s not (thoroughly) prepared. They used plenty of lube, and while Satoru isn’t quite pliant and agreeable and fucked out just yet, he thinks he’s being pretty reasonable here.
And yet Suguru’s staring down at him, the look on his face one of utter concentration, and so he can’t help but wonder if something is wrong.
He lifts a hand, tentatively pressing it to Suguru’s face.
“Suguru?”
Dark eyes flick up to his, and Suguru’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.
“You good?”
He nods, the flush on his chest blooming anew on his face. “Sorry,” he bites out, rubbing apologetically at Satoru’s hip. “I just - I’ve never done this before, and you’re really fucking hot, and I don’t want to… I want to last longer than five seconds, so I’m trying -”
Satoru blinks, feeling a little dazed. “Wait, what?”
Suguru frowns. “What part of that didn’t you get?”
“You’ve never done this before?”
Suguru shakes his head.
“You’re a virgin?!”
He makes a face, like Satoru’s said something particularly stupid. “Satoru, neither of us are virgins,” he snaps. “We’ve been fucking for weeks.”
Satoru ignores this (frankly) earth-shattering revelation in favor of continuing his thought to its inevitable conclusion. “No, like before that. You’d never - not with anyone else?”
Suguru snorts. “What, you think I’ve been sleeping around?”
“No,” Satoru says quickly. “That’s not -”
“If you didn’t have time to hook up with anyone, where would I have found any?”
That’s -
A good point.
Because for all that Satoru’s a special grade sorcerer, and the de facto leader of the Gojo clan, and trying to successfully mentor (parent?) the two young Fushiguro children he’s somehow inherited, Suguru’s days are even more packed. He’s a special grade sorcerer as well, one who actually cares about submitting reports on time, doing his due diligence for Yaga and the higher up’s, and he has his own kids to worry about. Nanako and Mimiko are very different from the largely self-sufficient Fushiguro’s, and Suguru’s schedule reflects it.
He generally gets home after Satoru, even when he doesn’t have missions to complete.
He also rises earlier, and though Satoru does his fair share of the chores, Suguru always seems to be doing more. He always seems to have something else to do, and that doesn’t leave a lot of time for casual dating, sure.
But Suguru is just so charming. He’s popular, well-liked, friendly - and while Satoru knows a lot of it is just for show, and that beneath the polite veneer he wears in public, Suguru is actually kind of, sort of, sometimes a dick, he’s also genuinely kind to the people he cares about. For all that he’d said that Satoru could have had his pick of people to be with, Satoru knows the same can be said of Suguru, and so he’d thought -
He’d always just assumed -
“Oh,” he says, his voice very small.
Suguru rolls his eyes. “Yeah, oh.”
They’ve both gone a little soft, the conversation derailing the frantic energy that had been pooling between them. As if to remedy this, Suguru snakes a hand down, giving them each a couple of perfunctory strokes before he leans back in and kisses Satoru.
Satoru grabs for his face, moaning when Suguru licks into his mouth. The noise is soft, almost subdued - but Suguru seems to relish it just the same, his hand around Satoru’s dick twisting a little harder, a little rougher.
“Ah,” he pants, lips going slack when Suguru’s cock catches on his rim again. “Suguru -”
Suguru wrenches himself away, but only far enough that he can press their foreheads together. “I’ve kissed five other people,” he admits. “And one of Shoko’s friends blew me at her birthday party a couple years ago.”
Satoru makes a punched-out noise as Suguru slowly starts to push into him, holding himself steady with one hand while the other cradles Satoru’s cheek.
It’s impossibly intimate - how Suguru watches his every expression, how Satoru stares up at him. Something in Satoru wants to look away, some deeply buried instinct urging him to bury his face in a pillow as Suguru bottoms out.
But he doesn’t.
He forces himself to stay still, gazing up at Suguru with something like wonder as his hips finally meet the curve of Satoru’s ass.
The hand at his face moves down, gripping for his hand. Suguru laces their fingers together, giving his palm a little squeeze as he leans down to press his lips to Satoru’s, exhaling out a heady groan when Satoru’s hips twitch.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, though,” he murmurs.
Satoru whines, his legs tightening around Suguru’s waist.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever -”
Satoru can’t stand it anymore.
The noise he makes as he rolls his hip is halfway between a laugh and a sob, and when Suguru groans, his free hand coming up to grasp at Satoru’s hip, he leans into the touch.
“Me too,” he gasps. “Me - Suguru -”
The rest of his sentence is, unfortunately, lost - because Suguru has pulled back a bit, finally starting to move now that Satoru’s had a chance to adjust to the feel of him. He slides back home with a sharp thrust of his hips, and Satoru -
He’s gone.
He can’t speak as Suguru fucks him, fast and hard.
And maybe that’s because every time he tries, Suguru seems to slam forward, literally driving the breath from his lungs with his dick. All he ever manages to get out is a breathless wheeze, a gasped moan before Suguru is withdrawing once again.
Fuck, he’s getting a little lightheaded.
He’s getting a little stupid, already so close to the edge that he’s near trembling, his thighs shaking with the effort of keeping his legs bracketed around Suguru’s waist.
But it’s just so good.
He’s never felt this connected to someone; he’s never felt so full.
Suguru is inside of him, for fuck’s sake.
He’s fucking him, he’s holding him open and pressing his cock in deep, and while inexperience means the rhythm isn’t quite smooth, means that neither of them is really capable of lasting more than a couple of minutes, that doesn’t matter.
What matters is that Satoru feels amazing, and Suguru is the one making him feel this way.
He hopes Suguru feels the same.
He hopes -
Above him, Suguru groans, his hand spasming around Satoru’s hip, nails digging in deep. “Oh, fuck,” he murmurs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck -”
It’s all the warning Satoru gets before Suguru comes, his lips parting on a wordless sound as he grinds his hips into Satoru once, twice, three more times. He barely prevents himself from faceplanting into Satoru’s chest, catching himself on his arm at the last second as his hair slides free from its tie to hang around his face like a curtain.
It’s pretty.
He’s pretty, and Satoru wraps a hand around his cock, staring up at Suguru as he chases his own release. He’s so close. He’s so close he can fucking taste it, Suguru’s cock still twitching in his ass as he comes down.
Suguru makes an appreciative noise, eyes flicking between Satoru’s face and his hand.
Satoru preens at the attention. “I’m so close,” he gasps, watching as Suguru swipes at some of the precome that’s dripped down onto his stomach.
He brings the finger to his mouth, licking it clean, and Satoru’s mind goes utterly blank.
“Are you gonna come?” he asks, leaning down to press the words directly into Satoru’s lips.
Satoru nods, overcome.
“Can you do that for me?” Suguru encourages, petting Satoru’s face - his cheekbones, his jaw, his lips. Everywhere he can reach in this position. “Can you come for me, sweetheart?”
It doesn’t take long after that.
Suguru’s voice has always been a catalyst for Satoru’s most desperate, horny thoughts, and this is no exception. He makes a sharp, broken noise as the orgasm hits him, come shooting up over his hand to paint his stomach white as Suguru coaxes him through it.
He presses his lips to Satoru’s hair as he sobs out Suguru’s name, something about the moment leaving him feeling incredibly raw, every nerve ending frayed from the sheer force of the pleasure Suguru’s managed to rip from him.
He feels… exposed.
He feels seen.
He’s sweaty and exhausted, his hips aching from where Suguru’s been holding him open for so long; there’s a dull throbbing in his lower back, his voice is hoarse from use, and he’s already so, so sore, and yet he can’t fucking wait to do it again.
Suguru waits until Satoru has stopped shaking before he finally pulls out, reaching down to tug off the condom and toss it away. He barely has time to flop back over before Satoru’s on him, pressing his chin into Suguru’s chest as he peers up at him through his lashes.
“So, how’d I do?” he asks, grinning. “How was my ass?”
Suguru brings a hand to his face. “Satoru -”
“Was it amazing? Ten out of ten, would do again?”
“You are -"
“Incredible?”
Suguru pokes his side, and Satoru yelps. “I forgot you have no refractory period.”
Satoru beams up at him and laughs. “Perks of reverse cursed technique, baby!” he crows. Glancing down at Suguru’s body, at the come still smeared across his dick from where he hasn’t cleaned it up, he bites his lip, already feeling the familiar stirring of arousal in his belly. “So, you wanna go again?”
“Some of us need a minute,” Suguru retorts.
“Ugh, fine.” Satoru flips over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ll give you a minute. But only because I really, really like you.”
“So generous.”
Satoru makes it all of thirty seconds before he’s looking back at Suguru, a question on his lips. He’s surprised to see that Suguru is already staring at him, something uncertain in his eyes.
“Does it bother you?”
Satoru blinks. “Huh?”
“You seemed surprised I didn’t have a lot of experience,” Suguru explains. “Does that -”
“Oh, god, Suguru - Suguru, no.” Satoru twists onto his side. “I just… always assumed you did because you’re -” He waves a hand, encompassing Suguru’s long, muscled frame, his thoughtful, handsome face. “- well, because you’re you.”
Suguru, bless him, frowns. “What?”
“Oh, come on,” Satoru replies. “You know what you look like. You’re like - sex, personified.”
He flushes. “What does that even mean?”
“People are always hitting on you! They’re always giving you their numbers!”
“Yeah, but it’s not like I call them back.”
“...really.”
“Really.”
“Not once. You have never called any of those people back.”
“I haven’t.”
“None of them caught your interest?”
Suguru shoots him an annoyed look, twisting to face him. “No,” he says, reaching out to grab Satoru's chin. “They didn’t. I didn’t care about them, because I was only ever interested in you -”
“...oh.”
“- which you would’ve noticed if you weren’t so busy glaring at anyone who so much as touched me.”
Now it’s Satoru’s turn to blush, and he lets out a nervous little chuckle. “You, ah… you noticed that, huh?”
Suguru snorts, rubbing a thumb over Satoru’s lower lip. “Kinda hard not to,” he admits.
Well, yeah.
Okay.
He’s not exactly great at keeping secrets.
But it’s what Suguru hasn’t said that’s caught Satoru’s attention this time. If he knew that Satoru liked him, if he could tell that Satoru hated all the attention he was getting -
“You never said anything.”
Suguru blinks.
“If you knew I liked you, how come you never tried to start something? It’s not like I would’ve turned you down.”
“Would you believe I just thought you were jealous at first?” Suguru says, laughing; it’s a little self-deprecating. “That I was getting attention and you weren’t. I thought you were maybe upset that people were hitting on me instead of you.” He sighs, the hand at Satoru’s jaw falling down to rest on his arm. “It wasn’t until Shoko pointed out that you also got hit on by strangers, and never reacted that way to any of them, that I realized it wasn’t me you were jealous of. It was them.”
Satoru hums. “She’s observant, our Shoko.”
“Too much, sometimes.”
“But you figured it out eventually?”
“Eventually,” Suguru confirms. “Maybe a month or two before you asked me to fuck you. I didn’t know that that meant you actually liked me back until you told me, though.”
“What, really?”
Suguru nods. “At first, I thought you just… didn’t like the idea of sharing me with other people.”
“I don’t,” Satoru agrees.
“Like, I thought you were jealous that I might make other friends. That you were worried I might spend time with them instead of you.”
“I do.”
Suguru shoves him playfully, able to tell he’s (mostly) joking.
“I would keep you locked up in my bedroom all day if you’d let me,” Satoru deadpans, and Suguru snorts, his laughter a little more true this time, as his lips pull into a smile. “So I can keep you all to myself.”
“That’s not creepy at all.”
“Not at all,” Satoru confirms with a sage nod.
“I’m so glad you’re aware.”
“And for the record, I was jealous - but it was more than just that.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I…” Satoru swallows, the next part a little hard to admit. “I just kept thinking about how much it would suck if you eventually told one of them yes. Like, if someone caught your eye.”
Suguru’s face softens. “Satoru.”
“Because you’re amazing,” he quickly adds, “I know it. Those people who hit on you know it. But I wasn’t doing anything about it. Every time I tried, I just… I couldn’t.
“And that made me feel like shit. These people who didn’t even know you were comfortable telling you they wanted to date you, but I couldn’t?
He shook his head. “So every time it happened, I just kept thinking, well, what if this is it? What if this is the one? What if this is the person he says yes to? And that -”
He swallows, unable to complete the sentence.
But Suguru gets the gist. He grabs Satoru’s wrist, idly rubbing his thumb alongside the sensitive skin as he smiles at Satoru. “You’re giving me a lot of credit here,” he muses. “Assuming I could have paid attention to anyone else when I only ever had eyes for you.”
Satoru tries to protest. “Suguru -”
“It’s true,” Suguru cuts him off. “I’m flattered that people think I’m attractive, sure, but…” He shrugs. “None of it ever mattered. I never gave any of them a second thought, Satoru.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew what I wanted,” Suguru admits, and something in Satoru just melts at the admission, at the thought that Suguru had been pining for him just as much as Satoru had wanted him. “And I was willing to wait until both of us were ready.”
He smirks then, lifting a hand to chuck Satoru’s chin.
“Even if you did think I was fucking around,” he teases, grinning.
Satoru rolls his eyes. “Oh, fuck you.”
“No, no, it’s cute when you’re so dumb.”
“What was I supposed to think?” Satoru splutters. “You’re so - so hot, and you’re just good at everything!”
“And you aren’t?”
That does a number on Satoru, inflating his already sizable ego; he’s going to have to really sit back and contemplate the ramifications of the praise later. But for now, he’s intent on proving a point, and so he shakes his head, not to be blown off course.
“I made a logical assumption,” he insists.
Suguru hums. “And made an ass of yourself in the process.”
Ouch.
That stings, though Satoru can’t help but acknowledge that it’s fair.
He’s not just about to admit it, though. Not when Suguru looks so pleased with himself.
Instead, he attempts a diversion, giving voice to something that’s just occurred to him.
“Actually…”
Suguru glances over at him when he pauses, brows knit together in a frown.
“Yes?” he prompts.
“You know, I’m kind of… glad you didn’t actually have a lot of experience.”
Suguru raises an eyebrow, inviting him to elaborate.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was all about it first. I wanted you to fucking ruin me. Like, Daddy Dom wrecks Sub Twink type shit -”
“Oh, my god -”
“But this way, we were each other’s firsts, yeah? Like we’re figuring all this shit out together, just the two of us? And that’s kinda cool, too.”
Suguru’s eyes go soft, his annoyance fading. “Yeah. It kinda is.”
“And, hey - plenty of time to get ruined later!” he adds, looping an arm around Suguru’s waist to tug him in closer. Suguru goes willingly, letting Satoru curl his long limbs around his body until it’s impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. “Like right now, maybe?”
Suguru laughs, squeezing at his sides. “You’re insatiable.”
“For you?” Satoru laughs, already leaning into the kiss Suguru’s trying to give him.
He sighs, utterly content, and so, so in love.
“Always.”