Work Text:
Suguru had a pretty steady routine when he got home from work. Shower, cook, find something to watch, then sit on his couch to roll up. It was a ritual at this point, one he rarely deviated from.
Today, though, he was rolling a Backwood, having run out of Dutches. He meant to grab more on his way home but forgot. Annoying, but never a dealbreaker.
Smoking was something he’d been indulging in since he was a teenager, but he made sure to balance it out with his health.
He worked out daily, kept himself in shape. He wasn’t about to be one of those out-of-breath smokers hacking up a lung just from taking the stairs. His body had already made a compromise with him, and he wasn’t about to push his luck.
He grabbed his tray, breaking down the wood and letting it soak in a glass of water. It made the rolling process smoother, the smoke less harsh. While waiting, he stared at the TV screen, eyes unfocused as he ground up his weed.
Today’s strand was something new—his coworker had been hyping it up all week, swearing it was some top-tier gas he grew himself.
Suguru was skeptical.
Everyone claimed their weed was “the best shit ever.” He’d believe it when he felt it.
Still, the buds were a good sign. Deep purple and green, sticky as hell, with a sharp, flowery scent that filled his nose as he broke them down. He only had a 3.5, not much compared to his usual weekly stash, but he knew how to stretch it.
Rolling without a Dutch was an adjustment. He sighed, scooping up his tray as he stood. The wood softened enough, so he took the cup with him to the kitchen, dumping the water before laying the wrap between two paper towels. Flattening it out helped dry it, but he was on a time crunch. He stuck it in the microwave, hitting the timer for a few seconds.
He had to wake up early tomorrow.
Suguru glanced at the stovetop, the scent of his dinner filling the small space. A pot of nikujaga simmered gently, the broth thick and rich with soy sauce and mirin.
It was the kind of meal that tasted even better after a smoke—warm, comforting, the perfect way to wind down.
He gave it a quick stir before heading back to the living room, retrieving the now-dried wood.
Time to roll.
He tuned back into his show, the dialogue barely registering as he filled the wrap, the familiar motions grounding him.
The texture of the weed, the way the sticky buds clung to his fingers, the floral and piney scent that hit when he brought it to his lips.
He pinned the wrap down with his tongue, rolling tight and precise, sealing it with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times.
After grabbing his lighter, he baked the blunt, letting the flame toast the edges, drying out any lingering moisture. Usually, he’d let it air dry, but like he said—early morning tomorrow.
Suguru got up once more, giving the blunt a moment to set while he checked on his food. He tasted a bite, humming in deep satisfaction. It was good now, but after he smoked? Elite. He plated a portion, grabbed his drink, and carried everything back to the couch.
Settling in, he picked up the blunt again, turning it between his fingers, deciding which end to light. He sparked it, inhaling deeply, his lungs filling with smoke. He held it for a second before exhaling slowly, letting the tension in his body melt away.
Oh, yeah. That was nice.
The high hit instantly, warmth creeping up his limbs, settling into his bones. His body sank deeper into the couch, eyelids heavy, mind pleasantly hazy. He took another pull, watching the smoke curl lazily through the air, floating in front of the TV. Choso really outdid himself.
His phone buzzed just as he was about to put the blunt out. He glanced down, Satoru’s contact flashing across the screen. The photo attached—a ridiculous selfie of them cheek to cheek, Satoru poking him with his tongue while Suguru feigned disgust—made him huff a quiet laugh.
He swiped to answer, holding the phone up so Satoru’s face filled the screen.
“Oh, Suguruuuuuu!” Satoru’s voice rang through the speaker, obnoxiously bright.
Suguru smirked, exhaling another slow stream of smoke. “Satoruuuuu,” he drawled, matching the energy but stretching it out lazily, a little languid due to his high.
Satoru laughs. “Aren’t you excited for tomorrow? I’m excited.”
They’re going to the opening of a boba shop—a new place not far from the school with bright signage and a ridiculous theme that’s already gone viral. It has a claw machine, a bunch of cute drinks with even cuter names, and every cup comes with a surprise plushie.
It’s cool and all, but Suguru knows the real reason Satoru wants to go is for the custom plush that comes with a specific drink.
A limited edition. Of course.
Suguru is excited as well. Not for the boba, though—it’s more about seeing Satoru.
“I am too. Are you sure we have to go so early?” he asks, taking another drag from the blunt. He tells himself he’ll put the wood out after a couple more hits, it’ll be okay.
Satoru scoffs, like that was a stupid question. “Well, yeah. I’m not the only one who wants the doll. You know they’re only selling it for their opening week?”
Suguru hums. “No, I didn’t.”
“Well now you do,” Satoru says, shifting in the camera. He holds his phone above his head, angled so Suguru can see his face. He’s laid out on his bed, a hand brushing snowy strands out of his eyes before settling on the pillow above his crown.
Suguru doesn’t even try to fight the soft look that pulls at his lips. It’s fine. He can always blame it on the high.
“I was thinking we could meet at mine. Or even the shop. I don’t know, it’s up to you,” Satoru continues, voice a little slower now, like he’s getting comfortable.
Suguru thinks for a moment, dragging again from the wood. If they want to make it in time, it’d make more sense to meet at the shop.
Another slow drag.
But at the same time… it’d be nice to go together. Suguru could wake up earlier, meet him at his dorm, and they could walk there. Together.
God, he’s gonna be so tired.
He takes another hit, holds it a little longer this time before letting it go. When he looks back at his phone, Satoru’s staring at him expectantly.
“Yeah. Let’s meet at yours,” Suguru says, reaching for the ashtray to stub out the blunt.
When he looks back at his phone, Satoru’s still staring, brow quirked in that familiar curious way.
“…What?” Suguru asks.
Satoru shifts again, rustling as he rolls onto his stomach. His phone rests on his pillow now, camera angled just right. “How do you do that every day?”
Suguru raises a brow. “Do what?”
“Smoke. You’re always smoking,” Satoru says like it’s obvious. Like it’s weird.
Suguru laughs. “You’re making it sound like I’m an addict.”
Satoru rests his cheek against his arm, lips curled into a soft pout as he gazes up through thick lashes.
Suguru promptly takes a photo.
Satoru clicks his tongue. “Well you kind of—hey, pics for pay, pal—you kind of are! Don’t you think? I’ve never seen you go a day without smoking.”
Suguru giggles, a small shrug as he leans back into the couch. His body’s completely given up on him at this point, and the cushions swallow him whole.
“I guess. There are days I don’t smoke.”
“Yeah? Like when?”
“I never smoke the night before an exam.”
“Ehh, that doesn’t count.”
“It doesn’t?”
Satoru shrugs. “Not really. That’s just common sense. Like not drinking the night before a class. Tomato, tomato.”
He rolls onto his back again, the phone still angled toward his turned head.
“I don’t know,” he adds, “I just don’t think it’s something worth being addicted to.”
Suguru shrugs, nonchalant. “High’s nice after a long day.”
And boy did he have a long day today. The wood was well earned, in his eyes.
“Just like how you like your candies and treats.”
Satoru purses his lips in annoyance. “That’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Suguru shoots back.
“Ah, whatever. You’re high. Not thinking straight.”
“Hah? What?” Suguru looks at him like he just grew another head, the comment pulling him upright a little.
“Isn’t that what weed does? Makes you loopy and lazy and hungry?”
Well.
“Not really. Not this blend, at least.”
Choso had said this one was for relaxation. A balanced hybrid with lavender in the profile, meant to wind you down, not knock you out.
“Blend?” Satoru’s eyes go wide, confusion obvious.
“Yeah?”
Suguru’s body slouches again, sinking lower into the couch cushions. A bad idea, considering his food is sitting untouched just inches away.
“Did you know there are different weed blends?”
Satoru just blinks. Then shakes his head.
“Uh uh. Since when?”
Suguru shrugs. “I dunno the specific date or anything. But yeah, this one’s for sleep.”
Satoru oohs into the mic, and Suguru can hear the curiosity in it.
“Have you never…” Suguru starts, but trails off. His brain answers the question before Satoru even can.
Of course not. Of course he’s never smoked.
Satoru grew up the golden boy. Sheltered, polished, immune to anything that might’ve scratched at the surface. College be damned, he’s probably never even held flower, let alone lit a blunt.
Satoru shakes his head. “Nope. Not planning on it either. I hate smoke.”
Suguru laughs. “Fair enough. I’d try it at least once though. Just for the experience.”
Satoru gives him a look—one of those “stop trying to sell me crack on the street” expressions that makes Suguru snort.
“It won’t kill you.”
Satoru blows air between his lips in a raspberry before flopping over again. The phone lands on his bed, screen facing the ceiling. When he picks it up again, he’s under the blanket, only his eyes and the top of his nose visible.
“I’ll think about it,” he mumbles. “We should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
Suguru laughs. “True, true.”
They stare at each other for a beat longer than necessary. He watches as Satoru swipes across the screen, checking his notifications.
“Okay, goodniiiiight,” Satoru sings, soft and sweet.
“Goodniiiiight,” Suguru sings back, equally drawn out.
He lets Satoru hang up first.
When Suguru finally finds the will to move, he groans, pushing himself upright. He reaches for his plate and sighs.
His nikujaga is cold.
🍃
So, they end up going late.
Suguru doesn’t know what he expected—neither of them are morning people. Honestly, he should’ve seen it coming.
When he woke up during the early afternoon, blinking through the haze of sleep and checking his phone, he was half-expecting to see a storm of texts from Satoru.
Maybe a dramatic “WE’RE SO LATE” or missed calls every ten minutes. At the very least, some furious banging on his apartment door, Satoru yelling about how Suguru had ruined everything.
But… nothing.
No texts. No missed calls. Just a peaceful morning.
He didn’t hear from Satoru until he showed up at his dorm, knocking like he wasn’t even sure if anyone was home.
A few moments later, the door creaked open and there stood Satoru—still in his pajamas, hair sticking up in all directions, eyes half-lidded and puffy with sleep. He rubbed at them lazily with the heel of his hand and asked, voice hoarse, “What time is it?”
Suguru just blinked at him. “You’re kidding.”
It took exactly three seconds for Satoru to register the situation. Then he was groaning, stumbling back inside to grab his phone, and yelling, “Shit, we’re late!” They rushed out not long after.
Satoru kept muttering the whole time—half complaining, half blaming Suguru, even though he’d clearly been asleep too.
They finally made it to the boba shop in a hurry, Satoru still grumbling as they joined the back of a line that wrapped around the building. The sun was hot, the wait was long, and Satoru would not stop talking about how it was all Suguru’s fault. “If you had just woken up earlier—”
“You didn’t wake up either.”
“Yeah, but if you had woken up first, you could’ve woken me up.”
Suguru took the blame with all the energy of someone watching raindrops slide down a window. It didn’t really matter.
And in the end, Satoru got his strawberry milk tea and, most importantly, the plushie he’d been obsessing over for the past two weeks.
Turns out, there was no rush at all.
The boba shop was selling the plush for the entire month.
Satoru blinked down at the flyer taped to the counter, read the small print, and just… shrugged. “Oh. Well, I still got it.”
Suguru didn’t even bother responding. He was just happy he didn’t have to wake up at some ungodly hour.
With no major classes on their schedule today, they skipped and headed straight to Suguru’s place, drinks in hand and sun on their backs.
Now, Satoru’s lounging on Suguru’s couch, slurping annoyingly at what’s left of Suguru’s drink like it’s some sort of competition. He’d made Suguru get a milk tea too—peach flavored—just because he didn’t want to risk not liking it.
Suguru doesn’t even like milk tea.
As he kneels in front of the TV, fiddling with the settings and turning down the brightness for Satoru’s light-sensitive eyes, he glances over his shoulder and says, “I think you finished it.”
He hears a few more empty, airy slurps, followed by the plastic cup being put on the table. When he turns around, Satoru’s grinning up at him with his usual smugness.
“Thanks,” he says.
Suguru rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tug upward anyway. He tosses the cup in the trash and returns to the couch, only to find Satoru now scrolling through TikTok with the volume way too high.
“Soo guess what?” Satoru says, not even looking up.
Suguru flops down beside him. “What?”
“Did you know that weed is not actually addictive?”
Suguru blinks, then starts giggling. “Oh?”
Satoru finally puts his phone down and turns to face him, crossing his long legs beneath him. His expression is animated, eyes wide with whatever epiphany he’d had.
“I was doing my research,” he begins, and that alone explains why he hadn’t woken up on time. “And, dude, I seriously thought something was wrong with you. Let me just say that first.”
He laughs to himself like he’s remembering some corny inside joke with nobody but himself.
Suguru scoffs. “For no reason.”
“It was genuine concern, if anything.” Satoru lifts a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “I’ve never seen anyone smoke as much as you do. Excluding Shoko.”
Understandable.
“And I thought cigarettes and weed were the same thing.”
At that, Suguru absolutely loses it. He bursts into laughter, shoulders shaking as he doubles over, wheezing.
Satoru’s mouth falls open in offense, though it twitches at the corners like he’s fighting a smile. His face is flushing pink. “Hey. Stop that. Not like that. Just listen.”
Suguru tries to contain himself, wiping at his eye. “Sorry. That was funny.”
“It really wasn’t,” Satoru mutters, but presses on anyway. “But yeah. Weed’s not addictive ‘cause it doesn’t have nicotine or whatever. Like, yeah, you can get dependent, but it’s not the same. It’s not chemical.”
Suguru nods, a blank expression on his face. “I could’ve told you that.”
Satoru pushes his shoulder. “Okay, dude. So then why do you smoke?”
Suguru blinks, like the question hadn’t occurred to him in a while. “Because it feels nice.”
Satoru raises a skeptical brow and leans back, draping himself across the couch’s armrest like some Victorian widow. His long legs swing lazily over Suguru’s thighs.
Their leg hairs brush and stick in the most uncomfortable way imaginable, but Suguru doesn’t bother moving. Instead, he rests his hand on Satoru’s shin, tracing invisible shapes with his thumb.
“‘Feels nice,’” Satoru repeats with judgment.
“I feel like I’ve explained this to you already.”
“Lots of things feel nice. Smoking is not one of them.”
“And you know that how?”
A pause.
“I’ve smoked before.”
Suguru looks genuinely surprised, eyebrows rising. “Oh really?”
“One of Shoko’s cigarettes.”
“Ah.”
“‘Ah?’”
“Ah.” Suguru nods. “That doesn’t really count.”
Satoru glares at him and crosses his arms. His toes wriggle inside his socks and Suguru glances down at the motion before looking back up at his unimpressed expression.
“Why wouldn’t it? They do the same thing. Make you feel good. Relaxed,” he adds with exaggerated air quotes.
“Not in the same way,” Suguru says, amused. “And not with the same result.”
“Smoke is smoke. Inhaling anything like that can’t be good for you.”
Suguru flicks his arm. “A lot of things that feel good aren’t good for you. You of all people should know that, Mr. ‘Two-Large-Milk-Teas-200%-Sugar.’”
Satoru grins and rubs the spot where he got flicked. “Whatever.”
“And when did Shoko even let you hit one of her cigs? What’d you bribe her with?”
“I didn’t bribe her!”
Suguru gives him a look.
“…I gave her twenty bucks.”
Suguru laughs, full and loud. “Of course you did.”
“It was so not worth it,” Satoru grumbles through his embarrassment.
“I bet. Hold on.” Suguru taps Satoru’s legs as a sign to move.
When Satoru lifts them, Suguru disappears into his room. He digs through his drawer and grabs a small container and his rolling tray. When he comes back, Satoru is sprawled on the couch dramatically, one arm over his head, shirt riding up just enough to show pale skin.
Suguru pretends not to notice.
“What’s that?” Satoru asks, lifting his legs so Suguru can sit.
“Flower,” Suguru says, placing the tray and container on the table.
Satoru props himself up on an elbow, interest piqued. “You’re gonna do that now?”
“I just want to show you something.”
“Come on dude that stuff reeks.”
“Oh hush. You’ll be fine.”
Suguru personally thinks cigarettes smell worse.
If Satoru could handle that stench off of him and Shoko for years, he could survive a little weed. Not that he planned on smoking—yet. Right now, he did just wanted to show Satoru the flower.
He reached into the container and plucked out a bud, holding it out in his open palm. “Look,” he said, voice low but direct.
Satoru blinked, eyes flicking down to Suguru’s hand. “Oh.”
“Mhm,” Suguru hummed, inching the bud closer to him. “Smell it.”
Satoru cracked a smile, giggling. “Yuck, dude. Why’d you say it like that?”
“Come on,” Suguru rolled his eyes, still holding steady.
Satoru hesitated, his expression hovering between reluctant and amused, before leaning in. Suguru felt the warm puff of air against his skin as Satoru gave a sniff.
“Yep,” Satoru said, leaning back with a grimace. “It stinks.”
Suguru laughed under his breath. “It’s not that bad.”
“It really is. You’re just used to putting this shit in your body every day.”
Maybe he was. But still—this strain was fresh, mellowed by a hint of lavender, and the smell wasn’t nearly as sharp as others.
If anything, it was Satoru being dramatic.
As always.
Suguru rolls the bud between his palms for a moment, letting the texture warm under his skin before he starts breaking it apart with his fingers. The dense green crumbles slightly, and he nods to himself before holding his hand out again.
“Look,” he says, more insistently this time.
Satoru leans in, eyes flicking curiously toward Suguru’s palm. “This is a strain I got from a coworker,” Suguru continues, “Like I was telling you before, there’s different kinds of weed. This one—”
“Wait,” Satoru cuts in, snatching half a nug from Suguru’s hand and bringing it to his face. “I thought weed was a flower.”
Suguru blinks, caught off guard. “It is…?” he says slowly, uncertain where this is going.
“Then why’s it all scrunched up like this? There’s no way it grows like this,” Satoru says, scrutinizing the bud with intense suspicion. He sniffs it like a curious golden retriever, nose scrunching. The sight makes Suguru smile warmly.
He can’t help it—it’s rare to catch Satoru out of his element like this. Usually, Satoru knows everything, or at least acts like he does. Seeing him fumble through something as ordinary as weed? Suguru’s living for it.
“It is a flower,” Suguru repeats patiently. “But no, it doesn’t grow looking like that. They trim and dry it after harvesting, then cure it so it’s smokeable. That’s why it looks kinda… shriveled.”
Satoru squints at it, then glances back up. “So you can’t just pick it and smoke it?”
“You can,” Suguru shrugs, “but it won’t burn right, and the effects won’t hit the same. It’s too moist straight off the plant. You gotta dry it to activate the THC.”
“Ohhh,” Satoru nods like he’s just uncovered a government secret. “So it’s like… aging cheese.”
Suguru raises a brow. “Sure. If that helps.”
Satoru grins. “It does.”
And just like that, he pockets the little nug like it’s a rare collectible, and Suguru pretends not to care that he just stole half of it.
🍃
Suguru’s phone doesn’t ring often during the day. He keeps it on Do Not Disturb through classes and work shifts—no buzzing, no distractions, just quiet. By the time he gets home, he checks it all at once, filtering through whatever he missed. It’s a system that works.
But today, during his Political Theory class his phone buzzes three separate times in his pocket before he even thinks to look. Only three people are allowed to bypass Do Not Disturb. Two of them are his parents.
The third is Satoru.
Seeing Satoru’s name light up his screen sparks something he refuses to name—too warm, too sudden. He forces it down. Now’s not the time. Still, it’s not just frustrating—it’s also a little alarming. Satoru knows he’s in class. Why the hell is he calling now?
Suguru declines the call and fires off a simple “Busy.” text. When there’s no follow-up right away, he exhales and refocuses on the lecture. Not that there’s much left to absorb—the professor has been repeating the same concept for the third time now, and Suguru got it the first. His notes are neat and unnecessary at this point.
Just as he shifts in his seat, ready to zone out, his phone buzzes again. The vibration is persistent.
Satoru. Again.
Suguru clenches his jaw. He eyes the professor, who’s now pacing across the room, gesturing dramatically. With a sigh, he digs through his pocket for his AirPods, slips one in, and answers the call before it can hit voicemail.
“I’m in class,” Suguru mutters, keeping his voice low.
“Weed causes memory loss,” Satoru blurts, rushing it out like he might forget what he was saying mid-sentence.
Suguru freezes, blinking at the whiteboard in front of him. There’s a twitch in his eyelid. He doesn’t respond. He lets the silence stretch, hoping it’ll register how deeply unnecessary that interruption was.
“You hear me?” Satoru asks after a beat, voice laced with faux concern. Suguru can hear the look on his face—wide eyes, lips parted in mock seriousness, like he’s delivering state secrets from his couch.
Suguru ends the call.
No warning. Just a sigh, a click, and back into his pocket the phone goes—along with the AirPod.
It vibrates immediately with a string of texts:
Satoru:
I’m just saying.
You didn’t even deny it.
That silence was suspicious.
HELLO??
You probably forgot what we were talking about already.
Suguru doesn’t even glance down. He’ll deal with him later.
🍃
“Why’d you hang up on me earlier?”
“I was in class.”
“Okay, and?”
Suguru stops mid-step on the campus sidewalk, turning slightly. “What do you mean ‘okay, and’?”
“You don’t need to pay attention in that class,” Satoru says casually, waving a hand. “You’re too smart for it.”
Suguru’s face heats up slightly despite himself, but he smooths it over with a stern look. “That doesn’t change the fact that someone else was trying to teach. And other people were trying to learn.”
“They’ll be fine,” Satoru shrugs, unbothered. “If they still don’t get it, they need office hours, not your problem.”
Suguru exhales, long and slow. There’s no point arguing with him when he gets like this.
They continue walking down the sidewalk together, shoulder to shoulder. Suguru doesn’t have work today, and his paycheck hit last night.
He already knew a re-up was on his to-do list.
Satoru met him after class, practically glued to his side since, talking his ear off without ever once asking where they were headed.
Typical.
Luckily, there’s a dispensary conveniently located just a few blocks away—close to both his apartment and the college. Whoever picked that spot was either a genius or a past student themselves.
Satoru hasn’t shut up the whole way there. He’s been rambling about what he found out earlier—something about weed affecting short-term memory. He’s not panicking about it, just genuinely curious, listing off the stuff he read like he’s giving a TED Talk.
Suguru listens the entire time, nodding here and there, amused more than anything. He likes that Satoru cares enough to look into it, even if his delivery is a little dramatic. By the time they reach the dispensary, Satoru’s halfway through theorizing about THC interacting with dreams.
Suguru hums. “You gonna write a paper on this or something?”
“No,” Satoru grins. “But I could. I bet I know more than you at this point.”
“Uh huh. Wait out here,” Suguru says as they approach the entrance. He knows Satoru too well—if he brings him inside, he’ll start inspecting everything, asking the staff a million questions, and somehow turn a five-minute errand into a thirty-minute ordeal. Suguru just wants to get in, grab his pickup, and leave.
“Huh? What’s this?” Satoru finally tunes back into reality, looking up at the building as they stop in front of it. He peers through the glass windows, eyes going wide with recognition. “No way. I’m coming in.”
Before Suguru can even get a word out, Satoru’s already yanking the door open. It bangs against the stopper as he strides in like he owns the place, leaving Suguru to awkwardly hold the door for himself.
Suguru groans quietly, already regretting this. As he walks in, the air hits him—crisp and thick with the scent of fresh weed. It’s a far cry from the usual street-stank Satoru complains about; this stuff smells cleaner, almost floral depending on the strain. Still, Satoru wrinkles his nose like it’s the worst thing he’s ever inhaled.
The music inside is some kind of synthpop beat, mellow and spacey. The lights are low, casting a calm glow over the shop. Splashes of green stand out on the otherwise white interior—neon signs of cartoon weed leaves with joints dangling from their grinning mouths, bongs and grinders arranged like boutique jewelry.
Suguru shoves his hands in his pockets, fidgeting with his AirPod case as he watches Satoru gasp and dart toward the glass display of bongs. “Suguru, Suguru,” Satoru calls out like a kid in a toy store. “You need this one.” He points at a ridiculous rainbow-colored bong shaped like a cat. “It’s so you.”
“I don’t use bongs,” Suguru replies flatly, making a beeline for the counter. He hears Satoru gasp dramatically behind him like he’s just been betrayed.
“You need to be 21 to be in here, sir,” the girl behind the counter says dryly, not even looking up from the screen as Satoru practically glues himself to the grinder display.
“He is,” Suguru replies quickly with a sheepish smile, before Satoru can open his mouth and make it worse. The cashier glances at Satoru briefly—still spinning one of the grinders with intense focus—then looks back at Suguru. Her expression softens once she recognizes him.
“How’s it going, Getou? Haven’t seen you in a bit. What can I get for you?” she says warmly.
“I’ve been good, Manami. Every time I come in, there’s a new face at the counter. I put in a pickup. Unless you’ve got some secret deals I should know about,” Suguru says, already reaching for his wallet.
“For the seventh of Runtz, right? Gimme a second to pack it for you.” Manami flashes him a smile and heads toward the back. Just as she steps away, she pauses and spins back toward the counter. “Oh! Yeah—we’ve got a promo going today.”
She grabs a card from under the register and slides it across to him. “Two free 100mg edibles for any purchase over sixty bucks. Looks like you qualify.”
Suguru lifts the card, scanning it. A choice between a small pack of gummies or a singular cereal bar. He’s not huge on edibles unless he’s got the week cleared out—he prefers the manageable high of flower. Still… maybe not toda—
Before the thought can finish forming, he feels a weight lean into him—Satoru’s chin resting on his shoulder, one hand casually ghosting over Suguru’s hip.
“Suguruuuu,” Satoru sing-songs into his ear, voice playful and low, like he’s about to ask for something he definitely doesn’t need.
He turns slightly, just enough to feel the warm puff of Satoru’s breath graze his cheek. “What?” he mutters, clearly annoyed, swatting Satoru’s hand off his hip with a delay that betrays him more than he’d like. Too slow. Too soft. Satoru grins like he knows it.
He shifts to stand beside Suguru and bumps his hip into him, casually like it means nothing—like it isn’t a little game he’s playing.
At the same time, Manami returns with a sealed container, popping the lid as she holds it out. “Your Runtz,” she says in a falsely sweet tone, eyes flicking to Satoru with the kind of forced patience that only retail can teach. She’s visibly unimpressed by his giddy energy—like he’s a kid in a store meant for grown-ups.
Suguru leans in to inspect the bud, eyes narrowing in appreciation at the dense nugs coated in white trichomes, hints of deep purple threaded through the green. He takes a slow inhale, and it hits his nose just right—sweet, gassy, earthy.
He hums, nearly moaning. “Perfect,” he says, smiling at the container.
Manami mirrors the smile with a nod, already starting to bag it up. “Alrighty. That’ll be $63.68. Card, right?”
“Yeah—” Suguru starts, reaching for his wallet.
Then, Gojo happens.
Before he can even blink, a pale hand shoots across the counter like a flash of lightning. Two brightly colored items land next to his pickup—a neon pink cereal bar labeled Strawberry Shortcake and a pouch of Watermelon Peach Rings, each stamped with a bold 100mg THC label.
“Add this on,” Satoru says cheerfully, grinning with all his teeth.
He holds the grin as both Manami and Suguru stare at him, unimpressed. He’s completely unfazed, hands on the counter like he just did them both a favor.
Suguru sighs. “Add those on, please.”
🍃
It took everything in Satoru not to eat the edibles on the walk back to Suguru’s apartment—and it showed. His whole body was practically vibrating with restraint. “It can’t be that bad,” he kept saying every few steps.
“It will be that bad. Just wait,” Suguru would reply flatly, not even glancing at him anymore.
Even once they were settled in the apartment, takeout containers opened in front of them—thanks to Satoru’s impulsive ordering—he still wouldn’t stop fidgeting. His attention kept drifting back to the edibles. He sniffed them, poked at the bag, even tongued the corner of the cereal bar like a weirdo.
“Stop that,” Suguru said without looking up. He was rolling a blunt, tray balanced neatly in his lap, catching stray crumbs of weed as he worked.
“It smells so good though, dude. Have you ever had one?” Satoru asked, his voice way too close to awe as he took tiny, mouse-like bites out of the cereal bar.
Suguru nodded, sealing the blunt with a quick lick. Yeah, he’d had that one before. It was actually the first edible he ever tried—back at a high school party where he mistook it for a regular snack. He found out fast it wasn’t when he realized he couldn’t peel himself off some random girl’s couch, giggling like an idiot at the ceiling fan.
He’s lucky, honestly. Back in high school, Suguru was getting violently high every day. Before school. After school. Lunchtime? Religious. He and Shoko would sneak behind the building like it was a sacred routine. He blames her entirely for his old habit.
Now here Satoru is, acting like he’s about to take a bite out of the sun, convinced he can handle it. But Suguru knows his size means nothing when it comes to edibles—especially strong ones.
So instead, he figures he’ll ease Satoru into the experience the old-fashioned way: with a blunt.
Satoru sighs dramatically and finally places the edibles down on the table, watching as Suguru gently waves a lighter over the sealed blunt, warming the leaf.
“What’re you doing?” Satoru asks, eyebrows scrunching together.
“Baking it.”
“What the fuck?”
Suguru snorts at his expression. “All that research you did, and you don’t know what baking the blunt means?”
Satoru’s face twitches in offense before smoothing into faux confidence. “Ohhh. I thought you said something else. Of course I know what baking the blunt means.”
Suguru hums like he believes him, but the look they exchange says otherwise. Smartest idiot he knows.
“I’m gonna hit it three times. You can do it once,” Suguru says, already sparking the lighter. “But if you ever wanna eat those edibles, you have to at least finish this Dutch with me tonight.”
Probably a little rough for a first timer, but Suguru’s not worried. Satoru can handle anything. He learns quick.
“I bet I could do three as well,” Satoru challenges, and Suguru doesn’t even try to talk him down. Just flicks his bangs out of his eyes and cups a hand over the end of the blunt as he lights it. One spark, then two—finally the stubborn flame catches. He pulls the smoke into his lungs, slow and deep, making a mental note to get a new lighter soon. This one’s dying.
The strain hits instantly. It always does. It coils around his nerves like a warm hand, dragging him down into ease. Familiar. Comforting. But something new buzzes under his skin too—something lighter. A little giddy.
Maybe it’s the way Satoru’s staring at him. Suguru glances over while taking his second hit and almost chokes. Satoru’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes wide, like he just witnessed a war crime.
“God, that stinks,” Satoru groans, swatting at the air like it personally offended him.
Suguru just grins, raising the Dutch to his lips again. He puffs three cheek-fulls of smoke into his lungs, holds it, then leans in and gently blows it right into Satoru’s face.
Satoru starts hacking immediately. “Bitch, fuck you—what the fuck?”
Suguru lets out a full laugh, deep and satisfied. “You’re fine.”
“You’re awful!”
Suguru mumbles an unserious “sorry” as he ashes the blunt, leaning back on the couch. He takes one more drag and then, still grinning, holds the blunt out to Satoru.
He won’t lie—he likes showing off a bit. Especially around him. Likes the way Satoru watches him when he inhales through his nose, then out his mouth in a smooth stream. There’s something cute about the way he mutters, “Show-off,” under his breath as he reaches for the blunt.
Suguru notices the slight tremble in his fingers. Satoru lifts it to his mouth like it’s going to bite him.
“Just pull some into your mouth,” Suguru coaches, voice low. “Then I’ll tell you what to do.”
Satoru immediately inhales like he’s taking his first breath ever. His chest puffs up big, and when he looks over at Suguru, his eyes are huge.
“Well,” Suguru says, fighting back a smirk, “that’s not what I said. Let it go.”
Satoru exhales in a rush, immediately breaking into another coughing fit.
“Hold it in here, don’t inhale—just suck.” Suguru pokes his cheek for emphasis, then takes the blunt back to demonstrate. He puffs his cheeks dramatically, lets the smoke ghost from his lips, and sucks it right back in before blowing it straight at Satoru again.
This time, Satoru doesn’t flinch. He’s got that determined look now.
“Let me try.”
When Suguru hands the blunt back, Satoru doesn’t hesitate—takes a hit immediately like he’s been doing it his whole life. He listens well. Too well. Suguru finds himself grinning as he watches Satoru puff his cheeks out dramatically, mimicking Suguru’s exact form, clearly proud of himself. Then he sucks the smoke into his lungs and holds it just a beat too short before exhaling.
Suguru taps the heel of his palm against his thigh in mock applause. “There you go.”
Satoru beams, coughing into his fist like it’s no big deal, even while his eyes are watering. He hands the blunt back, still smiling. Suguru takes it, gives it a couple slow pulls, then passes it over again.
They haven’t broken eye contact once.
Suguru watches Satoru’s eyelids grow heavier with each pass. He’s holding the smoke better now, coughing less and less. And each time Suguru praises him—it’s automatic at this point. And every time, Satoru lights up like a kid winning gold stars.
But there’s something different in his eyes too. Something warm. Something Suguru knows is not just appreciation.
He doesn’t let himself linger on that. Focuses instead on the blunt, which is officially low enough to be called a roach. He holds it out to Satoru. “One more.”
Satoru takes it, flinching when it burns his fingers. “Burns my fingers. Is it supposed to do that?”
“Mhm. I’ll put it out after you hit it,” Suguru replies.
Satoru’s posture is still a little stiff, but there’s a buzz of excitement in him that’s hard to ignore. Even with his eyes half-lidded, he’s grinning ear to ear. Suguru has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. He’s so proud of himself.
Suguru’s proud, too. He really didn’t think Satoru would get through the whole thing. Hell, he was hacking like he got maced earlier.
He is a little concerned about the tolerance, though. A weed virgin probably shouldn’t face that much in one night. Suguru was expecting him to tap out after two hits, not match him all the way. Still, he looks fine. Great, even. If anything, he looks like he could take more.
Suguru presses the ember out in the ashtray, snuffing the glowing tip.
It’s the first time he’s looked away from Satoru in a while.
When he looks back, Satoru’s still watching him. Sitting with his knees hugged to his chest, head tilted and resting lightly against his shoulder. His eyes—glassy and fluttering with every blink—are fixed right on Suguru’s face.
And yeah, Suguru thinks. He’s gorgeous. But the look he’s giving him? It’s borderline goofy.
“Are you good?” Suguru asks, indulging the stare for a second longer under the excuse of making sure he’s okay.
Satoru’s doing the same—his eyes dart across Suguru’s face like he’s trying to memorize something.
The attention makes Suguru feel weirdly shy. He shifts a little in his seat, suddenly aware of how long it’s been since he’s blinked.
“Satoru.”
That snaps him out of whatever haze he was falling into.
“Hm? Yeah,” Satoru answers, voice so soft Suguru almost misses it.
Suguru gives him a quick once-over. Notices the slow rocking motion Satoru’s doing now—like he’s self-soothing. It’s subtle, but enough to clock.
“Are you comfortable?” Suguru asks, shifting his legs wider, sinking deeper into the couch. He’s fine. But Satoru looks scrunched up. And with how tall he is, those knees have got to be feeling the pressure.
“I’m good,” Satoru replies, but Suguru’s barely opened his mouth to say something else before Satoru cuts him off.
“I’m gonna lay down.”
Suguru expects him to wander off toward the bedroom—his room, specifically—but instead, Satoru just flops off the couch with zero warning, landing on the floor with a soft thud. He sprawls out on his back, limbs spread in all directions like a starfish, right in the center of the living room.
Suguru stifles a laugh. “You sure you don’t want to lay on the couch? Or even my bed?”
He tries to ignore the rush that sparks in his chest at the thought of Satoru laid out in his bed, but it’s hard when the image is so vivid.
“Buh uh. So comfortable here,” Satoru hums, clearly unfazed, wiggling his arms and legs like he’s making carpet angels. His eyes flutter shut with a sigh of pure content.
Suguru snickers, and Satoru doesn’t even flinch.
“Do you wash your carpet? Why’s it so soft?” Satoru moans, nuzzling his cheek against the floor.
Suguru’s grin stretches wider. “Water and vinegar,” he says through a quiet fit of giggles.
Satoru cracks one eye open. “What’s so funny? I’m serious. Smells like… mmmoxiclean.” His voice is slurred and dreamy, face still smushed into the carpet.
Suguru shakes his head, trying to compose himself. Satoru’s always been goofy, but this is a different level. Weed’s peeled back the filter completely and what’s left is ridiculous and adorable.
“Water and a bit of vinegar,” Suguru repeats between breathy laughs.
Satoru’s eyes widen slowly, pupils practically swimming. “Really?”
Suguru nods, still giggling, and Satoru lifts a lazy hand to slap the floor a couple of times. “C’mere. No way you just use vinegar.”
“Water and vinegar,” Suguru says again with mock authority, dragging himself off the couch and plopping down next to him.
“But vinegar stiiiinks,” Satoru protests, scrunching his nose up before pressing it to the carpet again. He sniffs dramatically. “And this? This smells like…”
He trails off, sniffing the air like a dog trying to place a scent, then—without warning—grabs Suguru’s thigh.
“Lay down with me.”
Suguru gives him a look but caves instantly, laying down beside him with a long exhale. The second his back hits the floor, Satoru dives toward him, shoving his face into Suguru’s neck with all the grace of a drunk puppy.
Suguru startles, his shoulder shooting up in reflex. “Ai—!”
He’s half-laughing, half-gasping as he pushes Satoru away and sits up. “Stop, stop—come back real quick, c’mon man,” Satoru whines, reaching up with limp, grabby hands.
Suguru’s already cracking a smile again. He sighs, defeated, and lies back down beside him.
“Don’t shove your face in my neck like that again, weirdo,” he hisses, but there’s zero heat in it.
“Yeah, yeah,” Satoru mumbles, immediately draping an arm over Suguru’s chest and tossing a leg across his thigh like he’s locking him in place.
Suguru’s face instantly goes hot.
Satoru sniffs at his shoulder next, working his way up to his collarbone before settling his face into Suguru’s shirt. “Smells like you. You smell like carpet,” he giggles, voice muffled in the fabric.
Suguru huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes even as he wraps an arm around Satoru in return.
“You’re fried,” Suguru says flatly, biting back a grin.
Satoru stops laughing instantly. “Fried??”
Oh, yeah.
“You are very high,” Suguru says, matter-of-fact, like he’s explaining the weather.
Satoru squints at him. “Is this some kind of hypnosis or—”
“No, Satoru,” Suguru cuts in with a smile. “You’re actually fried. We just smoked an entire blunt.”
Satoru blinks. His brows furrow deeply, like he’s trying to solve an equation with only half the variables. He stares at Suguru, stunned, letting the information marinate in his hazy brain.
“I am?” he says, voice soft and genuinely confused, pink-tinged eyes wide and shimmering like he’s trying to process the revelation of his own consciousness.
Suguru’s grin stretches into something warmer. He nods, amused. “Yeah. You don’t feel that?”
Satoru continues looking at him, dumbfounded, eyes slightly unfocused. And then they go comically wide as it finally clicks. “Shit, I am.”
The way Satoru says it has Suguru doubling over in laughter so hard he has to clutch his stomach. “You just now noticed?” he manages through breathless giggles.
Satoru pouts dramatically, but it melts into a lazy smile, head lolling to the side. “It snuck up on me. I thought I was just in a really good mood.”
“You are in a good mood,” Suguru says, still chuckling. “You’re just in a fried one.”
“Mm this does feel nice. You were right.”
“Told you.”
“You should be more humble Suguru.”
“What?”
Satoru giggles, then turns his attention back to the television.
Every now and then, he leans toward Suguru to offer stellar commentary like, “That scene was totally blah blah,” his tone mock-serious as if he’s one of those shitty film critics on YouTube.
It makes Suguru laugh though, which eggs Satoru on, a fat grin plastered on his face.
After a few more minutes of Satoru giggling to himself and babbling nonsense into Suguru’s collarbone, Suguru finally convinces them both to peel off the floor. He tugs Satoru up by the arm like he’s pulling a sleepy toddler out of a nap, and they flop onto the couch together, limbs tangled, bodies pressed side by side.
Suguru turns the volume up on the television just enough to fill the space around them with noise. A random animated show plays—neither of them is really watching it. The room glows soft with warm lamp light, and Satoru’s head finds its natural place: nuzzled against Suguru’s shoulder.
They don’t talk much now. Satoru’s too far gone, blinking slowly at the screen while his fingers absentmindedly play with the hem of Suguru’s sleeve. Suguru leans into the touch, resting his cheek against Satoru’s hair. He’s enjoying Satoru’s company.
Eventually, Satoru’s breathing slows. His body gets heavier, his grip on Suguru loosens, and before long, he’s asleep.
Suguru doesn’t move. Doesn’t even think about it. Satoru’s body curled into him feels too familiar, too comfortable. He lets his eyes drift shut too, just for a moment, fingers gently rubbing circles into Satoru’s back. He knows the after effects of the high will hit Satoru like a train when he wakes up—but for now, he looks peaceful.
The next morning, Satoru wakes up on Suguru’s couch with his hair sticking up in every direction and the dopiest expression Suguru’s ever seen. He blinks at the sunlight streaming in from the windows, rubbing at his face like a sleepy kid.
“Mmmf,” Satoru groans. “What time is it?”
Suguru’s already in the kitchen, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes like he’s been up for hours. “Almost eight,” he calls over his shoulder.
Satoru shuffles into the kitchen, still rubbing at his eyes. He looks up at Suguru with a face that’s one-third bashful, one-third dazed, and one-third deeply affectionate.
“You’re making breakfast?” he mumbles.
“Someone’s gotta make sure you eat after almost greening out on my living room floor,” Suguru teases.
“I didn’t green out,” Satoru insists weakly, slumping into a chair. “I just… got comfy.”
Suguru raises an eyebrow, sliding a plate in front of him with a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Eat up, princess.”
They eat in companionable silence, punctuated by yawns and the clinking of forks. Satoru’s smile grows with each bite, eyes soft as he watches Suguru move around the kitchen like he’s done it a thousand times before.
By the time they’re walking to class, Satoru’s still groggy, still yawning into his hoodie sleeve, but he keeps bumping shoulders with Suguru on purpose, mumbling things like “last night was fun” under his breath.
Suguru just grins, hands shoved in his pockets, content. He glances sideways at his best friend—puffy-eyed, still a little high, but glowing with quiet joy.
“Yeah,” Suguru murmurs, “it was.”
🍃
Satoru:
That was the best sleep ive ever gotten in my LIFE
can we do that again
plssss pls pls pls pls pls
Plspslsplspslspss
Suguru:
Okay let’s do it
🍃
Suguru learns quickly that Satoru gets very touchy when he’s high. Not in a clingy or annoying way, just… constantly seeking contact. It’s cute. He comes over a couple more times after that first night, each visit turning into an unofficial tolerance training session.
“Let’s try some tricks,” Suguru says one Wednesday night, passing the freshly lit blunt between them.
They’re curled up on Suguru’s couch, though Satoru’s idea of sharing space is more like invading it—his body pressed flush against Suguru’s side, practically draped over him. He smells like weed, skin, and whatever sickly sweet cherry candy he’d been sucking on earlier.
“Tricks?” Satoru repeats, voice muffled as he rests his chin on Suguru’s shoulder.
“Mhm. Like this.” Suguru inhales deeply, letting the smoke drift from his mouth before pulling it back in through his nose—smooth, practiced. “That’s a ghost,” he says casually, exhaling the rest through his nose.
“Oouuhh.” Satoru coos, sounding thoroughly impressed as he plucks the blunt from Suguru’s fingers. Suguru watches with a smirk—he’s not surprised when Satoru gets it right on the first try, ghosting the smoke just as well, though he makes a point of exhaling with extra flair, clearly showing off.
“How was that?”
“Very good,” Suguru praises, and he watches Satoru’s red-tinted, half-lidded eyes sparkle a little.
“Try it a couple more times.”
Satoru does, each hit a little deeper than the last, smoke thicker, posture lazier. By the third attempt, he coughs hard, nearly curling into himself as he holds the blunt out in surrender.
“That shit really gets you high faster,” he rasps.
“Only because you’re actually focusing on it.” Suguru takes the blunt back with a chuckle. “Wanna try another one?”
“Mhm.”
Suguru knows a lot about a lot. He knows the sky is blue during the day. He knows the world is chaos and that duality is essential to the human experience. He knows the inside of a perfectly rolled blunt should burn evenly—and that his best friend is beautiful.
Satoru’s always been attractive, that’s never been a secret. But right now? Red cheeks from coughing, shirt slipping off one shoulder, his entire body melting against Suguru’s side as if drawn to him by gravity—it’s unfair.
The shirt he’s wearing isn’t even his; it’s Suguru’s, and it swallows his frame just enough to be dangerous. He looks soft and inviting. Suguru can’t stop staring, even as he brings the blunt back to his lips.
After they finish smoking, Satoru excuses himself to the bathroom. Suguru sets the ashtray down and flips through streaming apps, settling on something Shoko had recommended.
He’s not even two minutes into scrolling when Satoru returns—now wearing obnoxiously tiny shorts and still in Suguru’s oversized shirt, the hem barely covering the curve of his thighs.
Suguru almost chokes on air. He forces himself to look away before his eyes get stuck.
Satoru drops back onto the couch, boneless and dramatic. “I feel so high.”
Suguru laughs, trying not to stare. “I bet. We just faced a whole blunt.”
“Yeah, whatever that means,” Satoru groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Ugh. Sooo high…”
“Watch this with me,” Suguru says, casually brushing his fingers over Satoru’s thigh to get his attention. “Shoko said it’s good.”
Satoru’s head snaps up comically fast, eyes darting first to the touch and then to the TV. Suguru quickly withdraws his hand, internally cursing himself. Did he just… cross a line?
But Satoru doesn’t seem to notice—or care—because he’s already talking. “Oh my god, she tried to make me watch this too. It’s terrible.”
“I know. But everything’s better when you’re high.”
“Really?”
“Mhm. Let’s try one episode at least.”
And they do.
Satoru falls quiet as the show starts, unusually still beside him. Suguru leans into the screen, mildly interested despite himself. It’s kind of decent. Not incredible, but with the buzz in his head and Satoru’s warmth at his side, it’s more than watchable.
Then—just before the second episode autoplays—he hears it.
A soft, almost inaudible breath.
Tight, strained.
He barely registers it until the TV cuts to black for a second, reflecting the room back at him. He catches a glimpse in the screen’s glare—his own figure… and Satoru’s.
Satoru is moving. Not shifting or repositioning. Moving in a way Suguru wouldn’t have noticed without the mirror-like flash of the screen. Subtle. Rhythmic. His hand—
Suguru’s eyes widen. He doesn’t turn his head right away, still staring at the reflection to make sure he’s not imagining things. But no—Satoru’s shoulders are tensed, his thighs parted slightly. His breathing is deeper. That sound earlier wasn’t nothing.
Suguru blinks and finally dares a glance beside him.
Suguru looks over—and Satoru is… well, there’s no other way to say it.
He’s humping his hand. Slow. Measured. Like he’s trying to be coy about it. Like he doesn’t want Suguru to know, but not really trying that hard to hide it either.
Suguru can hear him. Not loud, but just enough. The soft shift of fabric. The subtle catch in his breath. He can see him too—biting down on his lower lip, eyelashes fluttering, hips barely grinding up into his palm. Like he’s trying to keep it under control. Like he knows Suguru is sitting right there and is doing it anyway.
Suguru doesn’t say anything.
And maybe he’s the weird one for not doing so. For not calling him out, or storming off, or even just making a joke to break the tension. But he stays still, glued to the couch, eyes pretending to focus on the television in front of them. Pretending he’s not completely aware of what Satoru’s doing two feet away.
Maybe Satoru doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
Suguru remembers how the first couple times he got high, he’d get horny out of nowhere.
That warm, tingly ache in his gut, everything feeling heavier, more electric. But that was usually when he was with someone—someone he knew he was going to fuck once the blunt burned out. Not… not like this.
Not next to his best friend.
But Satoru is just shameless.
Absolutely fucking shameless for touching himself right here like this. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And Suguru—God, he’s even more shameless for not stopping him. For pretending he doesn’t notice. For watching.
He sees it in Satoru’s jaw when he nearly lets a sound slip, the way it tenses as he kicks his hips up a little harder. Suguru swallows, mouth suddenly dry, tongue thick in his throat. He wants to hear him. Just one sound. One breathy little moan. The TV’s loud enough—he could pretend he didn’t hear it.
He wonders what Satoru sounds like when he gets off. Are his moans soft and high? Or deep and guttural? Are they just as pretty as he looks?
He takes another glance, and his face goes hot.
Is—is Satoru looking at him?
His heart skips, cold panic fluttering in his chest. He gives it a second, then checks again.
No. His eyes are squeezed shut, his head turned the other way. He’s too lost in it.
Suguru exhales, slow. His cock throbs angrily in his sweats.
Would it be weird to…?
No. No, it can’t fucking be. Satoru is literally jerking himself off next to him. If anyone’s crossing a line, it’s not him. If it goes bad, he can always—God, he doesn’t even know. He can’t think straight.
It’s the weed. It’s Satoru. It’s—
A sound.
Barely there. A soft little whine that sneaks into Suguru’s ears and sticks. He turns his head fast, heart pounding, only to find Satoru still facing away, jaw tight, breath shaky.
Fuck it.
He palms his cock hard through his sweats, finally giving in to the pressure that’s been building for what feels like forever. He rubs himself slow, breath hitching as he gives his cock a firm squeeze, trying to ease the ache. His head tips back against the couch.
Satoru. Satoru. Satoru.
Suguru squeezes his eyes shut, like that’ll stop him from imagining how Satoru looks right now—flushed, panting, glistening. He doesn’t care if it’s wrong. Doesn’t care if it’s crazy. His body wants it too badly. He wants Satoru’s noises in his mouth. His skin on his tongue.
He dares another peek, and this time he sees it—Satoru’s chest rising and falling like he’s trying not to fall apart. Like he’s holding back everything.
Suguru bites his lip, desperately needing just one more sound. Just one more breathy moan. It’s almost like Satoru knows he’s being watched. Knows he’s putting on a show. And God, if he is, then Suguru is going to lose it.
He presses his palm harder over the tip, feeling himself leak through the fabric. His hips twitch, and for a second, he thinks—
What if he just asks?
It’s not that crazy, right? He could make it mutual. He could say something like, “Let me hear you.” Just something small. No big deal. Satoru’s literally jerking off on his couch. He can definitely ask his best friend to make a little noise.
Suguru lets out a low laugh to himself, starts rubbing again. He feels like a pervert. But it’s Satoru’s fault. Who the hell looks like that and then starts masturbating five inches away like it’s nothing?
God, Suguru thinks, giving the head of his cock a firm press through the cotton. What a fucking weirdo.
“Take it out.”
Suguru flinches.
The voice cuts through the room like a blade. Calm. Rough. Way too steady for someone who was just trembling moments ago.
Suguru turns slowly. His heart’s in his throat. When his gaze meets Satoru’s, it’s like the air leaves his lungs.
Satoru’s head is tipped against the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded, face flushed, brows drawn together in this soft, gorgeous look Suguru’s never seen on him before. Like pleasure incarnate.
Suguru opens his mouth, ready to explain, to backtrack, to pretend he wasn’t—
But then Satoru’s hand drifts up to the waistband of his shorts. His shirt rides up a little, exposing a sliver of pale pink skin, and his fingers play with the elastic, slow and lazy.
Suguru stares.
Then, without a word, he slips his hand under his waistband and pulls his cock out.
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t blink.Just watches Satoru watching him, heat pooling between them like something alive.
And now? There’s no going back.
Satoru sighs almost like relief, a lazy grin on his face. “I knew it.” His hand dips into his shorts, moves faster now that he’s not trying to hide anymore.
Suguru watches the movement and his cock literally throbs. When his eyes dart back up to look at Satoru’s face, Satoru’s eyes are trained on his dick. “It’s big.”
Suguru sighs again, deep and trembling, like the sound alone could undo him. Satoru’s words cling to him, settle heavy and hot in the pit of his stomach, and throb straight down to his cock.
He tightens his grip at the base, precum coating his palm with no resistance—his body betraying just how far gone he already is. It drips in slow, steady beads from the tip, obscene and shameless.
“You have no shame,” he rasps, not even trying to hide the raw hunger in his voice.
“Neither do you,” Satoru answers, breath hitching, wrist jerking in tight, desperate flicks. The pace has quickened, and the slick sound of it is unmistakable now—wet and lewd, echoing in the small space between them like a dare.
That’s all it takes.
Suguru finally starts stroking himself in earnest, fingers curling tight. He drags his fist up his length with steady, deliberate pressure, teasing the head with a flick of his thumb that makes his breath catch. But he doesn’t take his eyes off Satoru—not for a second.
Satoru’s staring too, but not at Suguru’s face. His gaze is pinned low, watching Suguru’s cock with open fascination. His lips part, pink and soft, and Suguru sees it—the shiver in his lashes, the slight twitch of his brow as his fingers slide deeper. He’s fucking himself. Still clothed, still halfway decent, but fucking himself while watching Suguru fall apart.
Suguru can’t see what he wants. But he doesn’t need to. Not with the way Satoru’s hips flex, his breathing hitches, the way his pretty mouth trembles with the effort of keeping himself quiet.
God, he wants to see it. Wants the shorts off. Wants the full view—Satoru’s legs spread, cunt messy and glistening, open for him.
“I didn’t even mean to…” Satoru starts, voice paper-thin as his head tips back, neck bared, lashes fluttering. His fingers must’ve slipped deeper again, because the rest of the sentence never makes it past his lips.
Suguru groans, hand moving faster. “You started touching yourself in front of me because I had my hand on your thigh?”
“To be fair,” Satoru breathes, “I didn’t think you were watching.”
“You went quiet. I was gonna look eventually.”
“Good.”
That word slices through Suguru’s control like a blade. His jaw clenches. He watches Satoru’s tongue dart out again, slow and deliberate, dragging across his bottom lip like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And maybe he does.
Suguru switches hands, wrapping his dominant around his cock while his free one reaches out again—this time not just to tease. He palms Satoru’s thigh with intent, warm skin quivering under his touch. This time, he squeezes hard, possessive.
Satoru gasps, wrist stalling, legs twitching wider. His whole body seems to shift toward Suguru, like he can’t help it.
“Such an easy thing,” Suguru hums, voice like silk over a blade. His fingers drag slow circles just beneath the hem of Satoru’s shorts, teasing the edge of where skin turns damp with sweat and arousal.
Satoru whines. It’s high and soft and so sweet it hurts. Suguru’s cock pulses in his hand at the sound, and he has to choke back a curse. He could finish just like this. Just from touching Satoru’s thigh and listening to that slick, filthy sound echo between them.
But he needs to see. He needs it.
“Take these off,” he growls, tugging at the waistband of Satoru’s shorts.
Satoru hesitates, but only for a moment. His hand slows, then slips out from between his legs as he lifts his hips and pulls the shorts down. Suguru watches every second—watches the way the fabric peels away, how it clings damply to his thighs. Watches the way Satoru’s fingers glisten before he’s even fully exposed.
And then he sees it.
Satoru’s cunt is soaked, pink and puffy and glistening with slick, lips parted around nothing now that his fingers are gone. Suguru can barely breathe.
But then Satoru hesitates, thighs pulling in slightly, his gaze dropping like he’s just remembered modesty.
As if it matters. As if they haven’t already crossed every line.
“Come on,” Suguru murmurs, voice dark and low, “don’t be shy now.”
And slowly, Satoru opens his legs.
“Show me what you were doing,” Suguru says, voice rough with disbelief and arousal, each word scraping past his throat like it burns. He genuinely can’t even believe the situation he’s in—can’t believe the words are coming out of his mouth, can’t believe Satoru is actually listening.
But he is.
Satoru shifts without hesitation, legs spreading open on the couch with an eager sort of grace, like he’s proud to display the wet mess between them. His pussy glistens in the low light, pink and needy, practically winking at Suguru—and fuck, Suguru nearly loses it right there.
His hand tightens around his cock, stroking faster, breath catching in his throat. Satoru is something out of a dream. Something twisted and beautiful, from that brilliant, unhinged mind of his down to the swollen, dripping cunt spread open just for him. He moans softly at the sight, hips twitching as his eyes drink Satoru in.
His free hand finds Satoru’s thigh again, fingers dragging upward to ghost along the soft inner skin. Teasing. Tempting. Satoru meets his gaze with blown-out eyes and a bitten lip, then moans as he starts rubbing tight, quick circles over his clit. His fingers are fast and practiced, shameless in the way they move.
Suguru doesn’t think—just acts.
He digs his knees on the couch in front of Satoru, yanks one thigh toward himself until Satoru flops onto his back across the couch. Satoru lets out a startled little squeal that sends a pulse of heat through Suguru’s cock. It’s so fucking cute—so fucking him.
“Finger yourself,” Suguru rasps, voice frayed and low, hips thrusting into his own hand. “Like you were doing before.”
Satoru looked good sitting up, but now? Laid out on the couch like something ready to be devoured? He looks unreal.
Satoru’s fingers linger on his clit for a moment longer—one, two more strokes—before two fingers sink into his cunt. It’s tight, almost comically so, but slick and yielding. The sound is obscene. Wet and desperate.
“F-feels so good,” Satoru whimpers. “You’re so big, Suguru, I—”
He’s babbling already, flushed pink from the tips of his ears down to his chest. His eyes are heavy, lips slick, his body already shivering under the weight of his own arousal.
Suguru presses one leg up toward Satoru’s chest, watching the muscle flex, fingers leaving indents in the soft flesh of his thigh. He shifts in closer, cock hovering just above where Satoru’s fingers are working in and out of that pretty, wet pussy. His own fist speeds up, jerking fast and tight.
Satoru sobs when their skin brushes, the heat of Suguru’s cock so close only makes him go faster. His free hand reaches for the armrest, gripping so tight it makes his shirt rise, baring the toned dip of his stomach as it rises and falls with each breath.
He tosses his head back—but then, like he can’t help himself, snaps forward again, eyes locked on Suguru’s cock. Watching every movement, panting like the sight alone is enough to make him cum.
Suguru grits his teeth, breath ragged, the sight pushing him right to the edge. Satoru looks like a fucking dream—wet, flushed, trembling. And when he adds another finger to his cunt, slow and teasing like he’s showing off, Suguru almost forgets how to breathe.
“Your pussy’s so fucking pretty, Satoru,” he huffs, hand flying over his cock now. His other hand massages Satoru’s thigh before sliding up to his hip, pinning him down, keeping him still. Not that Satoru’s going anywhere. He’s too far gone, too wrapped up in the pleasure of being watched.
“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” Suguru mutters, half to himself. He watches Satoru’s pace pick up, fingers pumping harder. His thighs tremble. His breathing goes ragged. He’s close.
“I know those fingers aren’t enough,” Suguru croons, voice sharp with desire. “That’s why you love my cock, right? Love the idea of me splitting you open?”
Satoru nods like he’s possessed. “Yes—yes, so big—”
“You want me to fuck you?” Suguru grins, almost feral now. “You gorgeous little thing. Look at you. Wetting up my couch like this. You’re soaked, baby.”
The pet name slips out natural as breathing, and Suguru barely catches it—until Satoru moans. Loud and broken, his back arching beautifully off the cushions.
“Say it again,” he begs, voice rising. “Say it again, again again again—”
Suguru growls low in his throat, hips jerking. “Gonna cum? Let me see you. Show me, baby.”
And Satoru listens.
Of course he does. He’s Suguru’s favorite little listener.
The moment the words hit him, he cums—hard. His entire body tenses, legs shaking as a thick jet of squirt shoots from his cunt, splashing against his fingers and thighs. It’s intense, blinding. Satoru moans loudly, voice cracking as he fucks himself through it, hand working fast, hips twitching uncontrollably.
Suguru can only stare, ruined by the sight. Satoru, so fucking beautiful, spread out and dripping, begging for him.
“Want you,” he’s whimpering, voice wrecked. “I want you—please, Suguru, give it to me, please—”
That’s it.
Suguru groans, deep and guttural, as he cums hard, cock twitching in his hand. Ropes of cum spill from him, painting Satoru’s belly, his shirt, his wrist—and a few perfect drops land right on his messy, fluttering cunt.
Suguru swears under his breath, chest heaving. The sight nearly sends him into cardiac arrest.
He wants to fuck him. Wants to bury himself deep and stay there. But for now, all he can do is watch—watch Satoru breathe, twitch, whimper beneath him, looking like the most sinful, sacred thing Suguru’s ever seen.
🍃
Now Suguru, as high as he is, still has enough sense to know that what just happened wasn’t normal. Best friends don’t typically do what they just did.
They hadn’t said a single word after. Just moved in sync, silently cleaning up the mess they made.
Now Suguru sits on the couch, a half-dead blunt in his mouth, staring at the dark, wet stain Satoru left behind. He’d tried to scrub it when Satoru mumbled something about showering and awkwardly excused himself. Paused when Satoru popped his head back out asking for pants. Resumed once the water started running.
Satoru squirted. On his couch.
Like, actually.
Suguru puffs at his blunt, but it’s gone cold. Probably because he’s been sitting here zoned the fuck out for a while, lost in his thoughts. He relights it with shaking fingers and takes a long pull, smoke filling his lungs while his brain swims in the memory.
What the hell does he even say to him?
It’s not like he didn’t enjoy it—he definitely did. Too much, maybe. His skin still tingles from the way Satoru looked spread out in front of him, from the way his pussy clenched and dripped and welcomed everything Suguru said. He wants more. That thought alone makes his stomach twist with something ugly and selfish.
But then there’s the way Satoru acted after. Closed off. Quiet. Robotic.
He’d shut his legs, slid his shorts back on, avoided eye contact. Just walked straight to the bathroom. Suguru had just been sitting there, cock softening in the open air, unsure if he should be reaching for a towel or an apology.
It was…weird.
He was weird.
He cringes, groaning softly and covering his eyes for a moment. He has to talk to Satoru. Has to clear the air, ask if he’s okay, see where his head’s at. Maybe Satoru was just embarrassed—sitting in all that mess probably wasn’t comfortable. And Suguru had done a lot. Got a little carried away. But fuck…Satoru looked good. Suguru can’t stop thinking about it.
The way his cum had splattered across Satoru’s belly, his wrist, his pussy—fuck. That image is burned into his brain now. Permanently etched there.
When the bathroom door finally creaks open, Suguru quickly stubs out his blunt, watching as Satoru steps into the living room.
He’s wearing Suguru’s clothes. The pants are too big, hanging low on his hips, and the shirt—oversized—drapes over his frame. Still, Suguru can see the soft V-lines on his pelvis.
He swallows hard.
“Hey—”
“Did you hate that?” Satoru interrupts, stopping right in the middle of the room.
Suguru blinks. “No.”
Silence.
Just them, standing there, staring at each other.
“…Did you?” he asks after a moment.
“No.” Satoru says it fast. Too fast.
“…Okay.” Suguru says.
More silence.
“So…”
“I’m crashing in your bed tonight. Goodnight.” Satoru spins on his heel and disappears down the hall.
Suguru hears the door shut—but not lock.
He sits there for another few seconds, trying to process whatever that just was. That whole conversation was like talking in a dream. Disjointed. A little unreal.
Well. Alright.
He looks at his blunt. Still warm, the ember flickering like it’s got one last breath in it. He watches it go out before glancing down at the stain on the cushion again.
Yeah…he’s not sleeping out here.
Suguru drags himself up, shuffling toward his room. The light’s off, but he can see Satoru clearly—splayed out across the mattress, one arm flopped above his head, snoring soft and steady.
He grabs some clothes and heads to the bathroom. Showers quick. Tries not to think too much.
When he comes back, Satoru’s moved over a little. Not by much, but just enough to leave space. Like he’s trying to be considerate, even in his sleep.
Suguru slides in next to him, back turned. They can talk more tomorrow. Maybe laugh about it. Maybe not.
Satoru’s probably just overwhelmed. High. Sleepy. Processing.
It’s fine.
They’re fine.
🍃
It goes unmentioned for several weeks after that.
Life slides back into routine. Suguru and Satoru still hang out on Suguru’s off-days—usually after class, when Suguru isn’t working, and the sun’s already low in the sky.
They get high, watch stupid videos, and talk shit like always. The only difference now is that Satoru’s the one sparking up the blunt first, and he’s been weirdly determined about “building his tolerance.”
“I wanna get to your level. Minimum,” he’d said one day, eyes narrowed like he was on a mission, taking two extra hits like that alone would launch him into veteran stoner status.
And to be fair… he’s getting there.
He can finish a full blunt now without whining, and there was that one day—when neither of them had class or work—where Suguru rolled three dutches just because. No reason.
Just vibes.
Satoru made it halfway through the third one before he tapped out, groaning and going boneless on the couch like a sack of potatoes.
Suguru has so many pictures from that day.
He’s not even the type to take a ton of photos, but Satoru’s glazed-over expression, his heavy-lidded eyes and lazy grin every time he noticed the camera—he couldn’t help himself. It was too cute. Too funny. A goldmine of blackmail and serotonin.
He’s laid out on his couch now, phone in hand, scrolling through the photos with a small smile tugging at his lips.
There’s a video of Satoru struggling to peel himself off the couch when the food arrived, flailing like a newborn deer.
Another one of him shoveling food into his mouth—so slow, but with these comically massive bites that made Suguru laugh so hard the camera shook.
“You’re so annoying,” Satoru had slurred, cheeks full of rice, glaring at Suguru while a rogue grain flew right back into his tray.
Suguru had lost it.
His face actually hurts from how hard he’s smiling now, watching it all back.
In about an hour, he’ll see Satoru again. A new show just dropped on Netflix, and Satoru insisted—demanded—they watch it together, fried.
Which, coming from him, is kind of wild. A month ago, he wouldn’t even let Suguru smoke around him.
Now? He’s texting “don’t forget the snacks and your loud” like it’s part of the ritual.
Suguru tosses his phone on his chest and stretches out with a grin.
He’s not saying anything about it.
But yeah. He’s looking forward to tonight.
Suguru sits up to roll. He’d grabbed a 3.5 for them today—nothing major, just enough to get them through the night, especially with how fast Satoru’s tolerance has been climbing. He rolls two woods and a dutch, leaving one untouched to make a roach dutch later.
As soon as he finishes admiring his work, his phone buzzes.
He glances at the screen, smiling when he sees the contact name pop up with “new message” underneath it.
Satoru:
Dude.
Suguru squints at it. Confused.
Suguru:
Dude?
He watches the typing dots appear. Disappear. Then reappear. Over and over. For nearly a full minute.
Finally:
Satoru:
Am I supposed to feel like this?
Suguru frowns. Feel like what?
Suguru:
Uhm
What?
Satoru:
ok
listen
I took like
ok wait wait listen
remember the edibles you got me
Suguru’s stomach sinks.
Instantly.
He told Satoru specifically not to take them without him. He should’ve never trusted him with them in the first place.
Suguru:
Aren’t you still in class???
Why would you take them.
Satoru:
LISTEN
listen listen
I rlly wanted something sweet
and I forgot my snacks at my house
and yk
I wasn’t home last night
…He was, in fact, at Suguru’s last night.
Satoru:
And u told me u would get me replacement snacks or wake me up early enough so I could go get my own rmb that
He had said that.
Suguru:
yeah
Satoru:
Exactly
So it’s your fault bitch
I was hungry
Suguru:
So what exactly did you eat.
Satoru:
like uhm
a handful of the peach rings
they were soooooo food
good
Suguru groans, dragging a hand down his face.
Suguru:
You’re stupid.
Stupid stupid stupid do you know that.
Satoru:
Stop
Listen
It’s your fault
there’s only like 3 left in this package LOL
I feel weird sufuuru
Suguru’s already standing, grabbing his jacket, stuffing his feet into his shoes. No way is he letting Satoru green out in public. That would be a disaster—for both of them. He’d never hear the end of it.
As he zips up and checks his phone again by the door:
Satoru:
Suguru
I just ate them like
10 minutes b4 I texted u
am I supposed to feel like this already
Suguru:
Sick? You feel sick? Or dizzy?
He’s already running through symptoms in his head, trying to guess how bad it could get.
Satoru:
Dizzy but like
Horny
I’m horny as fuck
Like
I alr felt like that with the bunt
Blunt
Are edibles aphrodisqcs
Aphrodisics
aprhodisacs
fuck your
suguru
Suguru just blinks at his phone.
Horny?
That’s what this is about? He leans against the doorframe, staring at the screen. All that panic for…. that?
He doesn’t respond fast enough—literally just three seconds—because Satoru is already typing again.
Satoru:
Suguru dude
Suguru:
Yeah sometimes
Not the aphrodisiac part
But yes some people get horny off THC
Just makes you feel good
Instantly:
Satoru:
I can’t stop thinking abt it
Suguru:
? About what
Satoru starts typing. Stops. Deletes. Starts again.
Suguru sighs and finally heads out the door, locking up behind him. He might as well meet Satoru at the school—just in case. One sharp shift in mood, and it could go from funny to scary fast.
At the red light, Suguru checks his phone. Five new messages from Satoru. He probably thought Suguru was ignoring him—but when Suguru reads the texts, his face goes warm, eyes wide.
Satoru:
You
Your dick your hands I cant stop thinking abt you
at all
I’m sorry I csnr stop
cant
Suguru steps forward when the light changes, walking slowly as he processes what he just read.
It makes him feel… lighter.
Not just flustered, but relieved. Because truthfully, he hasn’t stopped thinking about Satoru either. Not since it happened. And they hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t acknowledged it, so Suguru thought maybe he was the only one replaying it in his head like some creep.
But this?
It’s made his whole day.
He’s not a weirdo for thinking about his best friend’s pussy if said best friend is literally thinking about his dick.
Suguru crosses the street and whips his phone back out.
Suguru:
It’s okay
I think about it too
Satoru doesn’t even acknowledge the message. He’s already moved on.
Satoru:
cna u come get me frm class
Ik I was supposed to
Walk to urs
But idk if id an
Suguru blinks at the switch-up but responds quickly.
Suguru:
it’s okay i’m already On My Way!
Satoru:
phew
Awwwww
sugu coming to get me
this is why i keep thinking abt ur dick
so sweet
lol sorry
Suguru flushes hard and stuffs his phone away.
He gets to the lecture hall just before class ends, hearing the shuffle of students packing up.
When the door opens, he peeks inside and spots Satoru near the back, moving a little slower than usual—but not alarmingly so. That edible’s creeping in, but they’ve got time.
Suguru weaves through the crowd and makes it to him, grabbing a few of Satoru’s books to help pack up.
“Satoru,” he calls softly.
Satoru blinks, like he’s shaking off a haze, and looks at him. He’s a little sweaty, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Suguru exhales, relieved.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Mhm. Let’s go to my dorm for a second.”
Suguru hesitates. “You sure? We should probably go to mine—this shit’s gonna hit you soon.”
“Nah.” Satoru waves him off, “Just grabbing snacks. Then we can go to yours.”
Suguru chuckles. “What’d you get? I can just order more. That way you’ve got some stocked for later.”
Satoru visibly perks up at that, probably remembering he hasn’t paid for any snacks since they’d started smoking together. “It was that weird brand of cotton candy you got me. And the KitKats.”
Suguru nods and grabs his bag. They walk in silence for the most part, Satoru counting his steps out loud under his breath. Suguru notices him getting higher by the second—it’s honestly kind of cute now that he knows Satoru’s safe.
They make it to Suguru’s on the 1100th step, according to Satoru’s muttering. The second the door unlocks, Satoru collapses onto the couch with a groan.
“Ahhhhhh I’m starved,” he whines.
“Let me order something. Put your show on.”
Satoru blinks, like he forgot the show existed, then lights up with an “oh shit” and slowly navigates to Netflix.
Suguru places his bag down and joins him on the couch, pulling out his phone to order food—and the snacks Satoru wanted too. Satoru waits patiently, leg bouncing, until Suguru finishes.
“How’re you feeling? Need anything? Water?” Suguru asks, setting his phone aside.
“No. Did you get a drink with—”
“Yeah. Mango lemonade.”
“Mmm,” Satoru moans just thinking about it.
Suguru laughs under his breath, warmth blooming in his chest.
Satoru scooches closer to Suguru. “When will it get here?” he asks, resting his chin on Suguru’s shoulder.
Suguru doesn’t turn to look at him—if he does, they’ll end up face to way-too-close face. “Said twenty minutes. You know it’s right down the street.”
He’s especially on edge because of the texts Satoru sent earlier. He’d tried to push it all out of his mind, but now? After Satoru admitted he’s been thinking about it too? That’s out the window. And with Satoru this close? Suguru can barely contain himself.
“Mhm,” Satoru hums, then pulls back like he knows he won’t get Suguru’s attention that way. They start the show, and Suguru distracts himself by inspecting his woods.
Satoru’s gonna be fried for sure, probably won’t even smoke. But Suguru’s still completely sober.
He picks up each wood, holding it to his lips to see which one feels right before settling on the one he wants.
All that’s left is to wait.
They’re halfway through the episode when Suguru’s phone buzzes—the food’s on the way. He grabs the wood and sparks it up.
When he glances to his left, Satoru’s half-sprawled on the couch, head barely held up like he’s dozing off. But his eyes are wide and red. Not asleep. Just… high.
“You good?” Suguru asks mid-pull. He exhales smoke in Satoru’s face just to snap him out of it.
Satoru nods slowly, still not looking at him. “Mhm. She’s probably gonna die at the end. Look at the way they’re framing her.”
Suguru raises a brow. “Yeah?”
“See how the lighting’s set up? That’s called—uh, I forgot. But it’s how directors hint someone’s gonna die. Like foreshadowing.”
“That’s cool.”
“Uhhhhh huh.”
Satoru shifts like he’s uncomfortable, still not making eye contact. It makes Suguru frown, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He stubs out the wood halfway and heads to the front door to meet the delivery driver.
When he returns, Satoru’s sitting up cross-legged on the couch, wide awake. “Here,” Suguru says, setting the bag and drinks on the table.
Satoru’s eyes dart from the bag to the drink. He grabs the drink first and downs it like he’s never tasted liquid before.
“Jesus,” Suguru laughs. “I’m getting you water, you could’ve said something.”
“Mm not,” he hears Satoru mumble as he leaves the room.
Suguru comes back with two bottles and drops one in Satoru’s lap before plopping down beside him. Satoru hasn’t even touched the food—just stares at the screen like it’s the only thing grounding him.
“You good?” Suguru asks again, knowing it’s annoying but not caring. Satoru being this quiet makes him nervous. He’s never like this.
“Mhm.” The answer takes a while to come.
Suguru gives him a quick once over. Nothing seems wrong, but he still grabs the wood again. He figures he’ll catch up to Satoru’s level before eating.
He sparks it back up and pushes his hair out of his face. Two puffs in, he feels a hand on his knee.
“Suguru.”
“Hm?”
The hand stays there. Doesn’t move.
“I… I need uhm…”
Suguru looks at him properly now. Satoru’s still glued to the screen, face flushed, lips red from licking them too much.
“You need…?” Suguru gestures vaguely with the blunt.
Satoru’s eyes finally flick to it. He licks his lips again. “I need, ah… Suguru.”
Before Suguru can ask what, Satoru scooches closer.
“I need something. In my mouth.”
“Huh?” What an odd thing to say. He glances at the food. “Like… food? It’s right here.” He leans forward to grab it, laughing a little. Satoru’s so high he didn’t even realize it was right in front of him.
But then Satoru grabs him—stops him.
Suguru turns and really looks at him. Wide eyes. Flushed cheeks. Pupils blown.
“Suguru. Do you remember what I said earlier?”
That wipes the grin off Suguru’s face.
He doesn’t even try to play dumb. Just meets Satoru’s gaze.
“You, uh… you still—?”
“Yes,” Satoru blurts, tongue darting out across his bottom lip. “Yeah, Suguru, I just… I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. I told you—me too.”
Suguru hopes his face says what he’s feeling, warmth blooming in his chest as the high settles in.
Satoru relaxes, lets go of Suguru’s wrist.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” he says softly. “About your dick.”
Like Suguru doesn’t already know.
It still makes his face burn.
“I want… I need…”
Satoru plays with his mouth, licking and biting at his bottom lip like he’s holding something back.
Suguru knows what he means.
“Did you want to… do something now?” he asks, trying to coax the confidence out of him.
“Yeah. Yeah I really do. I wanna…” Satoru swallows thickly. “I want you in my mouth. Really bad. Please, Suguru?”
Music to his ears. Suguru’s dizzy with it, more from Satoru than the weed.
“Are you sure?” he asks gently, taking a small pull.
Satoru watches the smoke leave his lips and nods.
“Very.”
🍃
Having Gojo Satoru on his knees in front of him is not something Suguru ever expected to check off his “getting Satoru high” bingo card. But here they are. And he’s definitely not mad about it.
Not in the slightest.
The first wood has already been stubbed out—Suguru’s moved on to the next, sparking it up with one hand while the other rests lazily on Satoru’s head. Satoru’s nuzzling into his sweats, face pressed against the obvious bulge there like it’s the only thing grounding him.
“Been thinking about it all day,” Satoru mumbles against the fabric, his voice muffled and needy. “All week.”
Suguru’s cock twitches, painfully responsive even under the soft press of Satoru’s lips. The heat of his mouth bleeds through the cotton as he starts mouthing at the bulge, drooling a little as he tries to suck him through the fabric.
“Fuck,” Suguru hisses, head falling back slightly. The sudden wet warmth spreading on his sweats makes his cock jump again, and that pulls a moan from Satoru’s throat. It vibrates against him, wrecking and sweet.
Suguru looks down at him through the slow drag of smoke curling past his lips.
“Been thinking about you too,” he says after the wood finally catches.
Satoru blinks up at him through half-lidded, bloodshot eyes. His cheeks are flushed, lips red and slick from all the licking. His hands slide up Suguru’s thighs in lazy, teasing circles, thumbs stroking over the fabric like he’s worshipping it.
“Yeah?” he breathes.
“Mhm.” Suguru takes another pull. “Told you you’ve got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. How could I forget that?”
Satoru beams, hazy, dazed, and dreamy. That smile could start wars. He tugs at the waistband of Suguru’s sweats, voice lilting, a little breathless.
“Give it to me,” he says, like he’s pleading for something sacred. “Let him out.”
It’s the way he says it—like Suguru’s cock is some caged beast, wild and untamed—that makes him exhale a laugh through his nose. But he listens.
Of course he listens.
He lifts his hips and lets Satoru tug everything down in one go—sweats and boxers pooling at his ankles. His cock bobs out, thick and heavy, already leaking, twitching slightly as the cool air in the apartment hits it.
Satoru goes still. Just stares. Mesmerized.
“I just… uhm…” he starts, a little quieter. “I’ve never done this before. I just wanna hold it in my mouth. Is that okay?”
Suguru’s chest clenches.
More than okay. Better than okay. That’s a fuckin’ blessing.
He watches the worried flicker in Satoru’s eyes and reaches out to cup his jaw gently. “Yeah, baby. That’s fine,” he says, voice low and calm. “Take your time.”
He takes a slow drag from the wood again, letting the smoke roll from his nose and drift out his mouth. Satoru’s eyes follow it like it’s casting a spell on him.
Then his hand comes up—tentative at first, then firmer—to wrap around Suguru’s cock. Suguru hisses again, hips twitching. Satoru’s pale fingers look ethereal against the darker tone of Suguru’s shaft, like some forbidden art piece.
And his face?
Fuck.
That’s the part that undoes him. Lust wrecked and reverent, eyes wide with wonder as he starts stroking slowly, getting used to the weight of it in his hand. Like he can’t believe he’s finally got it. Like he’s still trying to make sure this isn’t just some sweet, stoned dream.
And Suguru?
He’s thinking the same thing.
“Getting high with you has been so fun, Suguru,” Satoru says dreamily, voice syrupy and slow. His eyes stay locked on Suguru’s cock, pupils blown wide and red-rimmed.
Suguru chuckles under his breath and spreads his legs a little wider for him. The movement draws Satoru closer, practically face to face with the thick length resting against Suguru’s thigh.
“It’s been so hard though,” Satoru murmurs, inching forward until his lips are a breath away from Suguru’s tip. “Are you supposed to look that hot when you smoke?”
His fingers curl around the base of Suguru’s cock, giving it a slow, firm squeeze. It jumps in his hand, and Satoru watches it with quiet awe.
“And your dick…” His voice is hushed like he’s confessing a secret, his nose brushing against the flushed head before he tilts it slightly to press a soft kiss to the sensitive bellend.
Suguru nearly jolts, a wave of heat crawling up his spine like he’s been shocked. His whole body tenses, overwhelmed by the sensation.
“Can’t stop thinking about it. It’s so big…” Satoru says, flicking his tongue out for a few tentative kitten licks. Just barely tasting it—but it’s enough to make Suguru choke a little on the smoke still lingering in his lungs.
“I want it. Want you.”
His words are slurred now, dripping out of his mouth like honey, his high and his need tangled so tightly they’re indistinguishable. He gazes up at Suguru with those pretty, glassy eyes, lips brushing against the head of his cock again as he plants another soft kiss there.
“I came so hard thinking about you in my mouth… in my throat…” he whispers, voice so sweet and breathy it sounds like a prayer. Then, after a pause, even softer—“…in my pussy too.”
That pulls a reaction from Suguru so visceral it feels like a full-body twitch. His cock jerks in Satoru’s hand, leaking more, aching with how turned on he is.
“It’s like when I’m high, I can’t think. Can’t function unless I’m thinking about you—your cock.”
The way he says it so innocently, like he doesn’t even know how devastating his words are, nearly breaks Suguru. He brings one hand down, gently cupping Satoru’s cheek, and the moment Satoru leans into it, nuzzling his palm like a kitten, Suguru’s heart stutters.
“Go ahead, baby,” he says, voice lower, rougher than he meant it to be. “It’s all yours.”
Satoru hums in response, rubbing his face against Suguru’s hand one more time before turning his attention fully back to the cock in front of him.
He sticks his tongue out and taps it against the head playfully, like he’s testing the temperature. Then he moves it across his lips, smearing pre-cum like it’s gloss, savoring the taste.
With one final swipe of his tongue over the slit—slow, deliberate—he finally wraps his lips around the head and sucks it into his mouth.
Suguru groans immediately at the heat, hips twitching as he watches his cock disappear into Satoru’s soft, wet mouth. His thumb strokes along Satoru’s cheekbone, eyes locked on the gorgeous sight below him.
Satoru keeps his eyes up, never breaking the gaze as he sinks lower, lips stretched wide around the girth.
A quiet, desperate moan escapes him, and Suguru can feel it vibrate around his cock, the sensation making his knees twitch.
“You’re so pretty, Satoru,” Suguru exhales, a puff of smoke escaping with his words.
Satoru perks up at the praise, adjusting his knees beneath him like he wants to show off more.
He leans forward again, this time taking Suguru deeper, inch by inch, until his lips meet the base.
He gags a little, but doesn’t pull back—hands resting on his thighs, mouth stretched wide as he bobs his head slowly.
Not fast enough for rhythm. Just enough for Suguru to feel the warmth of his throat, the wet, tight heat, every single inch.
Spit glistens at the corners of Satoru’s mouth, eyes glassy and watering as he looks up at Suguru like he’s starving.
He sinks down again, lips plush around the base, and takes it—all of it—until Suguru can feel the back of his throat flexing.
“Fuck, just like that…” Suguru groans, brushing hair away from Satoru’s face and gripping his scalp firmly. He rocks forward, hips flush against Satoru’s lips.
“Hold it right there for me, baby. Just like that.”
And Satoru—eager, pretty, perfect—obeys without hesitation, moaning around his cock like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.
He feels the second blunt kicking in now, slow and heavy in his limbs, warmth crawling across his chest. It’s mellowed him enough to finally put it out.
With one hand, he keeps Satoru’s head down, fingers tangled loosely in his hair, while he leans forward to stub it out in the ashtray nearby.
Satoru doesn’t fight it. His hands grip Suguru’s thighs for balance, choking softly around the thick cock filling his throat—but staying put. His lips are stretched wide, spit pooling at the base, soaking into Suguru’s neatly trimmed pubes.
By the time the blunt’s out, Suguru sets it aside and leans back against the couch, exhaling a long, lazy breath. Satoru pulls off immediately, gasping for air, a thick string of spit still tethering his tongue to Suguru’s cock.
“Fuck,” Satoru pants, catching his breath.
For a split second, Suguru thinks he might’ve pushed him too far. But Satoru shuts that down quickly. He dives right back in, swirling his tongue around the head, tasting the steady drip of precum before swallowing him whole again.
Suguru groans, honest and stunned. Mr. “I’ve never done this before” is now deepthroating him like it’s nothing, like it’s fun. His eyes are red and wide, watering at the corners but still trained on Suguru, spit coating every inch of his shaft.
He repeats the motion a few more times—pushing himself down until his nose touches Suguru’s pelvis, holding it there until his throat convulses, then yanking off with a gasp, tongue out and panting, like he’s waiting for Suguru to say something, to praise him.
“That’s so good, Satoru,” Suguru breathes, voice low and ragged.
Satoru moans at the praise, cheeks bulging as he takes Suguru back in, sucking him down like he belongs there.
But suddenly, he pulls off again, coughing once, then speaking in a hoarse little voice. “Can we—my knees hurt. I need—”
Suguru doesn’t let him finish. He stands up fast and grabs Satoru by the elbow, guiding him up with him.
“C’mon.”
He steps out of his pants, leading him to the bedroom, steps heavy and cock still glistening. He sits on the top of the bed against the headboard and watches as Satoru follows without hesitation, eyes zeroed in on Suguru’s dick like a man possessed.
Satoru drops onto his belly between Suguru’s legs, settling down comfortably with a little sigh, and then—without fanfare—pops Suguru’s cock back into his mouth like it’s candy.
It looks even better from this angle—his legs bent at the knees, feet kicking idly in the air as he swallows Suguru down again and again, mouth slick and hungry.
Suguru’s fingers weave into his hair, gently guiding him as Satoru bobs his head.
“You look too fucking good, Satoru,” he gasps. “So fucking pretty sucking my cock. Like you were made for it.”
Satoru moans loudly at that, lips wrapping tightly around the head, sucking hard like he’s starving.
“You like hearing that?” Suguru teases, voice thick with want. “You’re so beautiful. Perfectly made for me. My little cockslut.”
Satoru lets out a high pitched whimper around his cock—then Suguru feels it, that extra bit of wet heat as Satoru relaxes his throat and lets him in deeper.
He doesn’t waste the chance.
Suguru thrusts up into his mouth, slowly at first, then a little harder. His grip tightens on Satoru’s hair. Satoru’s eyes flutter shut at the force, gagging once, then they roll back entirely as his throat opens and Suguru slides in deep.
He starts fucking into his mouth properly, fucking up into that wet heat, spit stringing from Satoru’s chin to Suguru’s base, every push forward punctuated with a wet slap. Satoru doesn’t look away, eyes watering but still locked on Suguru’s face like he needs to watch him fall apart.
“That’s it. That what you wanted?” Suguru pants, fucking him faster now. “Wanted me to fuck your face this whole time, huh? You could’ve just asked, baby.”
His cock slips in and out of Satoru’s mouth with slick, obscene sounds, his hips slapping against Satoru’s flushed face like he’s fucking a cunt.
God, he wants to fuck his cunt.
That thought alone hits like a freight train in his THC-soaked brain.
“Can’t wait to feel that pussy around me,” Suguru groans, voice cracking. “I bet you’re so fucking tight. Probably won’t even be able to fit, hm?”
He sees it—Satoru shifting beneath him, one hand sneaking between his legs, the other gripping Suguru’s thigh for leverage.
“You’ll help me make it fit, right?” he groans, fucking harder.
Satoru moans around him, deep and desperate, eyes rolling back again.
Suguru can feel it—feel him touching himself down there, rubbing his soaked cunt while Suguru fucks his mouth like he owns it. And fuck, it’s driving him crazy.
“You touching yourself, baby?” he growls. “That desperate for it?”
Satoru moans in answer, barely holding himself up as Suguru fucks into his throat with mindless, needy thrusts, spit flying and heat building fast between them.
He’s close—and so is Satoru.
They both are.
“You’re—Satoru, I’m close,” Suguru warns, voice thick and trembling. He reaches for Satoru’s hair, intending to pull him off before it’s too late.
But Satoru resists, moaning at the tug on his scalp, and only presses in deeper—lips sealing tight against Suguru’s pubic bone.
He swallows around him, throat fluttering like he’s ready for it.
“Shit, shit—” Suguru groans, hips bucking reflexively as he pushes deeper into Satoru’s throat. Satoru moans again, eyes locking onto Suguru’s with a heat that sears through him.
That’s all it takes.
Suguru groans loud and guttural as he cums, hips jerking, hand tangled in Satoru’s hair, holding him down. He can feel Satoru swallowing around him, every pull of his throat sending shocks through his overstimulated cock.
And Satoru doesn’t stop.
He moans louder, arm moving quick under his own body, jerking himself off as he gulps down everything Suguru gives him.
“So gorgeous—fuck—are you swallowing for me?” Suguru pants, chest heaving. “Shit, Satoru. Fuck.”
Satoru finally pulls back with a gasp, coughing softly as he breathes in, cheeks shiny and flushed.
His face is a mess—cum and spit clinging to his lips, glistening across his chin. He rubs his cheek against Suguru’s dick like a cat begging for more.
“Sugu… Suguru—I need to—”
“I know, baby,” Suguru murmurs, sitting up fast. His hands reach for the hem of Satoru’s shirt and yank it up and off, tossing it somewhere behind them.
He leans in immediately, kissing and sucking down his neck. Satoru moans, squirming under him, hands scrambling to undo his own jeans.
He shimmies out of them quick, knees lifting off the bed—and Suguru takes full advantage, holding Satoru’s tiny waist, his lips trailing down to latch onto a nipple, sucking hard, then biting lightly, earning a sharp gasp.
He’s addicted to Satoru’s noises. Addicted to him. This is what he’s been missing out on?
Satoru whines, pawing at Suguru’s shirt now, tugging it like it’s in the way, like he’s angry it still exists.
“Off,” he breathes. “Take it off—wanna feel you.”
Suguru pulls back just long enough to strip it off, and Satoru’s hands are on him immediately—palms gliding over his chest, his arms, his sides, fingers digging in like he doesn’t know where to touch first.
Everything’s hot. Rushed. Urgent.
Like they’ll fall apart if they stop.
Suguru’s hands slip lower, exploring the curves and heat of Satoru’s hips before finally dipping between his legs—and fuck.
He groans, pushing Satoru flat against the mattress. His fingers slide easily through the wetness coating his pussy.
“You’re soaked,” he says, voice hoarse with want. “You gonna let me fuck you, baby? You’ll let me inside this pretty pussy?”
Satoru nods fast, biting his bottom lip and spreading his legs even wider, panting like he’s burning up.
“Please. Please, I need it. Fuck me.”
“I’m going to. You don’t have to beg, I’m gonna fuck you,” Suguru breathes, voice low and rough.
He doesn’t waste a second. Doesn’t think about a condom—he can pull out if he needs to. Not that he can think at all right now, not with Satoru spread out in front of him like that, glistening and flushed, hips twitching.
Suguru’s hand wraps around his own cock, stroking slowly as he watches Satoru’s fingers flutter over his clit, teasing himself, biting back whines. He won’t even need much—he knows once he’s inside, he’ll be good.
But Satoru’s pussy just looks too good.
A quick taste won’t kill him.
Suguru grabs Satoru’s thighs and pulls him up, lifting his lower body clean off the bed. Satoru yelps at the sudden change in angle, gasping—but Suguru’s already burying his face in his cunt, inhaling deeply like he’s starving.
“Fuck…” he growls, voice muffled as he presses in, licking a broad, wet stripe over Satoru’s folds. He moans at the taste, loud and eager, tongue immediately going back in for more.
He’s sloppy with it, obscene. Sucking, slurping, making a mess as he licks like he can’t get enough, trying to drown himself in the wet heat of Satoru’s pussy.
Satoru cries out, fingers flying up to pull the tie from Suguru’s hair. He fists it in both hands, tugging Suguru impossibly closer.
“Suguru, Suguru, mm—fuck, yeah—” he moans, thighs squeezing around Suguru’s head, hips rolling into his mouth.
Suguru groans in response, dragging his tongue in tight, deliberate circles around his clit before latching onto it, sucking hard. It’s feral. Desperate.
“So fuckin’—God—yeah, shit, wait, I’m gonna—”
Satoru chokes on a sob, hips jerking away like it’s too much all at once. But Suguru doesn’t stop.
He won’t.
This is for him now. This is his. His reward. His feast.
His moans rumble against Satoru’s cunt, tongue fucking into him with frantic energy, lapping up everything Satoru gives him.
Satoru twists, writhes, pants. His stomach is fluttering with fast, shallow breaths.
“M’gonna—mm—I’m—Suguru—!”
His voice cracks and then cuts off completely.
Suguru watches it happen. Watches Satoru arch violently, mouth falling open in a silent scream as his orgasm hits. His whole body trembles, back bowed, legs trembling around Suguru’s head.
And still, Suguru doesn’t stop.
He sucks through it, dragging out every wave of it, every cry, every twitch of Satoru’s overstimulated body until he’s yanking on Suguru’s hair with weak, frustrated whines, trying to push him off.
Only then does Suguru finally pull away, breathless, spit and slick glistening on his chin. He lowers Satoru back to the bed like something precious.
But his restraint’s hanging by a thread.
He needs in. Now.
Suguru lines himself up, cock thick and hard again, and Satoru wraps his legs around his waist, pulling him closer with an impatient huff.
“Come on. Come on already.”
Suguru doesn’t make him wait. He pushes in slow, and—
“Holy shit.”
He gasps as Satoru’s pussy clamps down around him, tight and wet and perfect.
“Yeah, yeah—come on. Let me—God, Suguru, just give it to me—”
“Hold on,” Suguru pants, pushing in inch by inch as Satoru claws at his forearm and kicks his heels against his back. “Hold on, baby—”
“Need it—need it so bad, please,” Satoru begs, voice high and broken.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Suguru murmurs, on the verge of bottoming out.
Satoru cries out, whole body arching, cunt pulling him deeper.
“Yes, God yes—”
His arms wrap tight around Suguru’s shoulders, heels digging into his back to keep him close. Suguru’s brain short-circuits.
Satoru feels unreal. Better than anything he’s ever imagined.
“Satoru…” he groans, trying to move, but it’s like his cock is locked in place—Satoru’s too tight.
“Let me in,” he breathes. “Come on, baby. You said you’d let me in.”
Satoru lets out a shaky moan, reaching down to rub his clit, trying to help himself relax.
“Okay. Come on. Inside—deeper—mm, more, more, more—”
His voice turns into babbling, his walls finally giving a little, and Suguru slides all the way in.
He groans at the stretch, the squeeze. It’s almost too much.
He pulls out until just the tip remains, then slams back in.
Satoru yelps.
Suguru doesn’t give him time to recover—he keeps going, rolling his hips into him, easing his body into the rhythm.
“So big—so good—Sugu—yeah, just like that—”
“Just like this?” Suguru grunts, grabbing Satoru’s thighs and yanking him down onto every thrust.
“Yes! Just like this!”
Satoru wraps his arms around his neck, dragging Suguru closer until their foreheads press together. His eyes are wide, dazed, filled with something soft and starry that makes Suguru’s chest ache.
He stares. Can’t look away.
Satoru stares right back, lips parted. His eyes flutter like he’s trying to keep them open just for him.
“That’s—you’re—”
His mouth hangs open in a moan.
Suguru glances down at his lips. Should he?
No way it’s weird. He’s literally inside him. Already had his tongue in him.
Satoru doesn’t give him the chance to overthink.
“Stop staring. Come here already.”
His hand pushes at the back of Suguru’s neck, pulling him in.
Suguru crashes their mouths together—wet, messy, desperate. Their teeth clash before their lips lock in sync, tongues sliding over each other in rhythm.
Satoru moans into his mouth, gasping for air, the vibrations of his voice making Suguru rut harder.
His hips snap into Satoru, pushing deep with every thrust, cock dragging perfectly through his tight heat.
“Su—Su—fuck, fuck, ahh—God—”
Satoru sobs into the kiss, words muffled as Suguru swallows them all, tongue diving in deeper like he wants to taste every sound.
Suguru’s breath is caught tight in his chest, every inhale strained as the heat of Satoru’s pussy wraps around his cock, wet and pulsing.
It’s too much.
He doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer—especially not with the way Satoru’s babbling through every kiss, his voice trembling, sweet and filthy all at once.
“Making me feel so good, Suguru—mm—fuck, you feel so good,” Satoru whimpers, his arms locked tight around Suguru’s shoulders. “I’m so—please talk to me, how do I feel? Suguru, please…”
Suguru groans, voice low and raw. “So good, Satoru. You feel like fucking heaven, baby. So fucking good for me.”
“Yeah?” Satoru whispers, wide eyes glossy with tears and want.
“Yes, baby.”
“Then show me,” he breathes, voice trembling. “Show me how good. Cum, please. Need you—need you inside me, Suguru.”
His hips stutter at the words. His mind goes blank. Fuck. It’s tempting. So fucking tempting. But he grits his teeth, fighting for restraint. “I—I can’t, Satoru—”
“You can,” Satoru gasps. “You can, it’s okay. Please—I need it. Please, Suguru.”
His voice breaks on the last syllable, and Suguru caves instantly. He can’t tell him no. Not when he’s begging like that. Not when he’s holding him like that.
Suguru cuts off his pleas with a kiss, moaning against his lips as he grips his hips hard, pulling Satoru down as he starts fucking him harder—rough, deep, fast.
He’ll do it. He’s going to cum in him.
Satoru scratches down his back, pulling at his hair, mouth clinging to Suguru’s as he moans against his lips, voice high and needy. “That’s it, fuck—Suguru, yes, cum in me. Fill me up, please. Want it so bad.”
His cunt is soaked, tight, squelching obscenely around Suguru’s cock with every thrust. The wet, messy sounds and Satoru’s sweet, gasping voice completely unravel him.
“Gonna cum,” Suguru chokes out, and just as the words leave him, Satoru’s entire body shudders violently, a loud, broken moan leaving his throat as he cums again—hard.
“Fuck, fuck—you’re so tight—” Suguru groans as Satoru spasms around him, cunt pulsing wildly.
Then suddenly—it hits. A hot, sudden gush against his cock.
Satoru squirts with a cry, body twitching under Suguru, fingers digging into his back as his slick gushes around his cock. Suguru sees stars.
“Oh, baby…” he breathes, dazed. “Fuck.”
That’s it. He can’t hold back.
Two more desperate, deep thrusts and Suguru buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he cums hard inside him. His vision goes white for a second, his body shaking as his cock twitches inside Satoru’s heat, pumping him full. It’s so intense, so overwhelming he nearly blacks out.
Satoru holds him tighter, whining softly as Suguru’s body collapses on top of his, both of them trembling.
“Su—Suguru,” he breathes, saying his name like a mantra, like it’s all he can say.
Suguru can barely speak. His throat’s tight, and his breath is jagged. But he hears the next words, quiet and slurred into his skin.
“Mmmlove you.”
Suguru’s heart stutters. His voice comes out cracked when he says it back, but it’s still full of certainty.
“Love you too.”
Satoru doesn’t react to the tremble in his voice.
He’s too busy pressing gentle kisses to Suguru’s jaw, temple, cheek—every bit of him that’s close enough to reach. His hands move softly over his back now, soothing where his nails had torn the skin moments ago.
Suguru eventually shifts, rolling over onto his side, but not before pressing one last kiss to Satoru’s cheek.
Satoru curls into him immediately, still trembling slightly, legs tangling with Suguru’s, arms snug around his chest.
Suguru wraps his arms around him without thinking, pulling him close like he never wants to let go.
And right now, he doesn’t.
“Shit, that was good. God, I feel so fucking good,” Satoru breathes out, voice still shaky with the afterglow.
“Yeah?” Suguru murmurs, turning his head to look at him.
“Hell yeah. Can we go again?” Satoru asks.
He’s got that lazy, pretty grin on his face—the kind he uses when he wants something, like he’s trying to convince Suguru to buy him a snack at the store. Suguru can’t help but smile back.
“Yeah,” he says, voice warm. “Give me a minute.”
Satoru hums and immediately presses into him, slinging one leg over Suguru’s waist, curling into him like it’s second nature. “Can I have another kiss?” he asks. “Or are you gonna be weird about it?”
Suguru snickers. “No, I’m not gonna be weird.”
Satoru doesn’t wait for another word. He leans in and kisses him again, slow and soft, the kind of kiss that melts tension instead of creating it.
It’s still got a bit of heat, sure—but nothing like before. This is calmer, more intimate.
Suguru lets his eyes fall shut as he kisses him back, bringing a hand up to cradle Satoru’s face. The kiss deepens, tongues moving lazily against each other, not rushed, not needy—just… content.
It’s loving. Gentle. And it doesn’t scare Suguru like he thought it might. It feels good. It feels right.
Satoru’s fingers curl around Suguru’s wrist, holding the hand on his cheek like he doesn’t want him to pull away. Between kisses, he speaks, voice quiet. “I was freaking out a little earlier,” he admits, “’cause I thought you wouldn’t want to have sex with me.”
Suguru chuckles against his mouth. “How couldn’t I want to? Look at you.”
He pulls back just enough to glance down at Satoru, sprawled out on the bed, still glowing from their first round. His cum leaks between his thighs, his skin flushed, hair a mess. Suguru lets his hand slide down, grabs a handful of his ass, and pulls him closer with a soft groan.
“Yeah, but… you know,” Satoru mumbles, shrugging a little as he leans in for another kiss.
And yeah, Suguru does know. He doesn’t say it, but the kiss he gives in return says enough.
They stay like that for a while. Kissing slow and easy, trading soft touches and lazy moans, the kind that come from nothing but affection. It’s quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes from feeling safe.
Eventually, Satoru pulls back with a little laugh, looking down at Suguru who immediately chases his lips again, stealing another one—then two—quick kisses before Satoru puts a hand on his chest.
“Can we smoke?”
Suguru snorts. “Are you not still fried?”
“I am,” Satoru says, completely shameless. “Very. But I wanna be even higher for the next round. I didn’t know it was gonna feel that good.”
Suguru rolls his eyes, already sitting up. “Okay.”
“I can still kinda feel you inside me,” Satoru adds with a dreamy smile. “Like the ghost of your dick.”
Suguru groans. “Okay, that’s enough.”
“I’m serious!”
“I believe you,” he mutters, shaking his head as he swings his legs off the bed. He tries to ignore the flash of heat that shoots through him at the words, tries not to notice how quickly his cock starts waking back up. “I’ll bring the tray in here.”
Satoru flops back onto the mattress with a satisfied sigh, watching him go. “One more kiss.”
“I’ll literally be right back.”
“So?” Satoru says, brows furrowed like Suguru’s being unreasonable.
Honestly, he’s got a point.
Suguru leans down again and kisses him, one hand braced on the bed. Satoru hums happily, lips parting immediately as he wraps a hand around Suguru’s neck and pulls him closer. The kiss deepens, messy and warm, tongues tangling again.
Then Satoru’s hand starts to drift lower, sliding down Suguru’s stomach, fingers curling around his half-hard cock.
Suguru groans, head falling forward, forehead pressing to Satoru’s as he breathes hard. “If you keep that up, I’m never leaving this bed.”
Satoru just grins. “Exactly.”